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During that dreary late winter, nearly half-way through the year of mourning her mother, Margaret found herself in a repetitive round. She tended to her father and the house. Now that her mother was gone and there was no longer an invalid to care for, the work was lighter, but there was always something to do. At least, with Martha in their employ, there was no need for her to engage in the most menial tasks. She strove to ensure that her father was enticed to eat by preparing dainty dishes, keeping his linen scrupulously clean, and ensuring there was a cheery fire when he sat in his study.
She went out less and left more of the shopping to Dixon. Partly this was due to the conventions of mourning – although her going on such outings would not be remarked upon in Crampton, where the inhabitants knew the necessities of life – but partly because of the memory of the uncomfortable silences which had greeted her around the time of the incident at Outwood. Her contradiction of Mr Jennings, the greengrocer’s assistant’s evidence had not stood her in good stead with the local traders.
She found solace and a welcome respite in visits to the Higgins’s house. Now that Nicholas was employed – and on a good wage – at Marlborough Mills, this was a much cheerfuller place. The older children were at school in the morning, so she often went to speak to Mary when there were but the youngest three there.
Today, they had rolled out bread dough and supervised the little ones in helping make the shape of numbers from some thin strips.
Mary was speaking of her hope that she would get a place at the new dining room at Marlborough Mills – one of the women currently employed as a cook was expecting a baby, and would need to leave in a few months.
Nicholas Higgins had explained the enterprise to Margaret – Thornton had granted them the kitchen, and it was run on subscriptions, providing a hot meal in the middle of the day for the mill workers.
While the dough was rising, the children sat playing with a set of blocks, and the two women had a cup of tea.
Looking at the watch pinned at her belt and seeing the time, Margaret rose quickly and put on her coat and bonnet, saying she must get home for her father’s lunch – he had gone out for lessons this morning and would return soon.
She had been gone but ten minutes, when Mary rose to put the pans into the oven. Under the corner of one, she saw a gleam of gold – it was Miss Margaret’s bracelet – she had taken off as it kept falling down when she had been kneading the dough and both women had forgotten about it.
Mary felt a bit perplexed – she did not like to have such an object in the house – it felt as if it could be surmised that she was somehow trying to keep it – but she could not run after Miss Margaret with three little ones and no one else to tend them.
There was a knock at the door – perhaps it was Miss, having realised that she had forgotten the bracelet – Mary rushed to answer, with the bangle in her hand.
It was Mr Thornton.
Flustered, she showed him in, saying, “Faether is not here, Sir. In’t he at t’mill?” A sudden fear assailed her.
Thornton hastened to say “Ay, I believe he is at work – I am just calling in to speak to you about the children’s clothes – that is to say, to find if they are in need of anything? I could put an order in.”
His eyes fixed the object in her hand.
Mary flushed, “oh – sir you will be wonderin’ how I come to have this – it is Miss Hale’s – hoo was here with me and left it. Hoo took it off, you know, as we were making the bread. I thought as how you ‘ud be hoo, comin’ back for it.”
Mr Thornton looked at it a bit queerly, she thought, but said, “I could return it – I am going to Mr Hale this evening.”
She assented, relieved to have this means of resolving the problem, for she had thought to send Tommy Boucher when he returned from school, but was reluctant to give him such a valuable object.
Thornton then spoke about boots and jackets for the older children, and Mary forgot to be shy as she engaged in this mundane exchange.
.oOo.
Thornton came away from Frances Street with the sensation of a burning band of gold in his pocketbook.
Miss Hale’s bracelet!
He recalled the teatime when this object had exerted so much fascination over him. How it had fallen down her round, white wrist, was pushed up again, almost automatically. How it fell again.
That was at a time when he had not yet acknowledged to himself more than an interest in talking with her and her father together, after his lessons. Before the day of the riot, when she had goaded him to go out to face the angry mob who had smashed the mill gates. Before she had rushed out to defend him – going so far as to fling her arms around his neck as a bodily shield – and succeeding in stopping a stone meant for him with her own head.
Before he had realised what she had come to mean to him – and before his unfortunate declaration.
Before the death of her mother and that compromising sight he had seen in the field near Outwood Station the following evening – and before her refusal to explain what he had seen.
Before, too, his conscience reminded him, he had closed down the inquest on the railway porter with alacrity – accepting medical evidence, but not, perhaps, enquiring as fully as he might have done.
To protect her.
Before this sore trouble, this continual aching tug-of-war between the desire to cast her out of his heart and the desire to pull her into his arms and assert his right to love her.
Now he had temporary possession of her bracelet – and he must return it.
In truth he had no engagement at the Hales’s that evening. For some months he had gone very seldom, even for the dull cold purpose of lessons. He had neglected his studies and his tutor in the confusion of feelings about the daughter.
He passed rapidly along the pavement.
When he reached his warehouse, he retired to the office and quickly wrote a note to Mr Hale, asking if it would be convenient for him to call that evening.
He was engaged in answering business correspondence when the young messenger returned with a note saying that Mr Hale would see him with pleasure.
Having been interrupted, he thought again of the bracelet, and brought it out of his pocketbook.
Looking at the simple gold band, with its hinge and clasp – so small that it would never fit round his own sturdy wrist, he noticed engraving on its inside. Tilting it, he read: Margaret from Frederick.
Frederick, who was Frederick? Thornton raced through his recollections – he had not heard that name before in connection with the Hales.
Was he the lover – the elegant man at Outwood – on that evening that Margaret had denied being there? The man who might have shoved the porter who later died? Was he the man who had her heart and loyalty? Frederick.
Thornton felt the urge to fling the bracelet away – it was as if it were burning his fingers. A tangible proof of a love that meant he could never hold a place in Margaret’s heart.
But – he must discharge the duty of returning it. If it were precious to her, he could not withhold it.
.oOo.
After dinner Thornton told his mother that he was going out. He scorned to conceal his destination from her, but merely said that he was calling on Mr Hale.
Mrs Thornton looked sharply at him, but seemed satisfied with what she saw – heaven knows it was likely a grim countenance he showed. Of course, she did not object to a visit of solace to the widower. She merely made a remark about wearing his stoutest boots and wrapping up well, for the drear March weather had scarce moved on from winter.
At the house in Crampton Crescent, Thornton gathered his resolve before he lifted his hand to the knocker.
Martha opened the door and greeted him pleasantly. A good omen that he had escaped the dour countenance of Dixon?
He carefully wiped his boots and arranged his jacket before ascending to the little parlour.
Mr and Miss Hale were seated there, and he motioned to the older man not to rise.
Mr Hale eagerly began a discussion with him on the last set of reading that he had suggested, and it soon began to feel like the pleasant lessons of the previous year. Miss Hale sat quietly, with her eyes on her work – some dainty knitting, perhaps for a child.
He hardly dared look at her.
He did not know why he was waiting to produce the bracelet. There was no impropriety in being the bearer. Her father surely knew that she visited in Frances Street, and if she had been baking with Mary Higgins, that was no transgression.
And – was there any possible gain to be hoped for from speaking to her privately? Would it not likely provide a further occasion for words that would wound him? To find that she grudged him thanks for even this tiniest of services, that she would still refuse to confide in him, favouring that other man he had seen her with – likely not telling him the nature of her relation to him – or the reasons for secrecy, which he could only think were a trouble to her – it would be but fresh laceration to his already wounded heart.
After a while, Mr Hale recollected a volume he wished to show Thornton and said he would fetch it. Miss Hale half rose, but her father waved her down and, indeed, seemed quite spry as he went out of the room.
Thornton must seize his opportunity.
“Miss Hale,” he said as he pulled the bracelet from the pocket over his breast, “I am charged with returning your property – something you left at the Higgins’s house this morning.” He held it up.
Her face, at first showing surprise, then relaxed with what looked like relief, but her eyes then fell in confusion.
“Oh – thank you, Mr Thornton. I had hoped that that is where I had left it – the clasp is quite reliable, but I did fear it had fallen in the streets.” She hesitated, then added softly, “It is quite precious to me.”
He knew he should extend his hand and give her her bracelet.
But something rose in his throat. His frustrated and baffled love threatened to overwhelm him. “Miss Hale – is Frederick – is he the man I saw you with? Whom you would not explain?” His voice trembled, he was surprised to hear.
“Fr-Frederick?”
“His name is inscribed,” he managed to say.
“He – “ she began, when they heard Mr Hale approaching the door. She stopped speaking, and Thornton pushed the bracelet forward and she took it.
Mr Hale came in and checked, clearly somewhat surprised at the tension between the two of them.
“Papa – Mr Thornton has brought me my bracelet – I did not mention it, but I left it by mistake at the Higgins’s – and he called in there and was good enough to bring it to me.” Her voice seemed completely under her control as she said this, but it began to falter as she continued, “and – papa – you will recollect that Frederick sent it to me for my birthday when I turned eighteen, and it is inscribed…. And now, Mr Thornton has asked me – asked who Frederick is….” She trailed off.
Mr Hale, looking distressedly from one to the other, sat down slowly. “Ah – Thornton – Margaret, perhaps you will leave us, and I – I will speak to Mr Thornton.”
She bowed her head and left the room.
Thornton felt a great disinclination to hear what might be forthcoming, warring with an intense need to understand.
He sank back into the elbow chair he had been sitting in earlier, and prepared to listen.
Mr Hale seemed disinclined to begin, and when he did, it was with obvious effort. “Sir, I am sorry to have to ask you to treat this as confidential – in the ordinary way of things, I would, of course, rely on your gentlemanly sense of honour and trust to that, but – these are very delicate circumstances.”
With a feeling of dread about what might about to be revealed, Thornton gave his undertaking of confidentiality.
Mr Hale pressed, “It is especially because you are a magistrate, that I request this of you.”
Lurid fancies danced across Thornton’s mind. Was Miss Hale secretly married? To a criminal? Surely not! But what lesser dilemma would tax Mr Hale so?
He pledged to maintain the information as confidential. What else could he do? He had already acted to curtail further investigation into Leonards’s death – he was – if the Hales but knew – already complicit in secrecy.
Mr Hale began his tale. He told of his son, Frederick.
A son! Thornton’s mind reeled – a brother!
He focused again on Hale’s account. The son had been in the navy. Risen in rank. Been implicated in a mutiny. It had stricken his mother’s heart. He was wanted, he could not return to England. The bracelet had been a gift to his sister.
But – Thornton was still puzzled. The story was shameful enough to recount, but why were Mr and Miss Hale so insistent on secrecy? What had his being a magistrate to do with it?
Thornton recalled the day he had come to Crampton and heard a man’s laugh from the window. Could it be that this son had returned? Could he be the mysterious man at Outwood? But Mr Hale did not continue the story, seemingly sunk in reflections.
Thornton thanked him for the explanation of the inscription, and pledged his silence on the matter again – of course he would hardly go gossiping about such a thing.
Then he requested permission to speak to Miss Hale – to give her his assurances that this matter would be kept to himself. This the older man granted and went himself to send his daughter down.
.oOo.
Margaret was aware that her father would have only told part of the tale, for she had never revealed to him the occurrence at the station. He had no idea that she and Frederick had been seen – first by Mr Thornton, and then by everyone at the station at the time of the altercation between her brother and that odious Leonards. Dixon knew, but they had agreed that the worry of it would fret papa in the time of his early bereavement.
She was unaware that the trepidation she felt at what Mr Thornton might have to say, and the resolution to face it, made her face look forbidding. She entered the room in her mourning black like a tragic queen.
Thornton rose when she entered the room. She saw that his face was set in grave lines. Perhaps the revelation that her brother was a mutineer had somehow shifted his opinion of the Hale family – of her.
“Mr Thornton. My father has explained that the bracelet was a present from my brother, Frederick?”
“Ay, Miss Hale. He has told me of your brother’s actions and that he is wanted by the navy, which is why he has never been spoken of. I have assured him that no one will learn of this from me.”
“Thank you.” She almost whispered these words. “I believe Frederick to have acted to protect the men on the ship from a very unjust captain.”
Thornton bowed his head. In truth, this was not what he was most interested in knowing about. “Miss Hale. Forgive my impertinence, but – did your brother travel to England – to Milton – to see your mother?”
Margaret started – such a plain question, right to the heart of the matter. She could see that either she must lie again – a direct lie in answer to a direct question – or reveal her earlier lie both to the police inspector and to Mr Thornton himself. But – that had been undertaken – wrong as it was – to protect Frederick. He was now safe in Spain. Mr Thornton did not have his direction – and he had pledged not to speak of Fred.
In a quiet but firm voice she said, “Yes. He was here. You saw him, when I went with him to Outwood Station. That man, Leonards, he was from Southampton, he had served on Fred’s ship. He threatened to – to – And it would have been my fault, if Fred had been taken up. I had summoned him – it was my mother’s dearest wish to see him before she died. I told – I told that lie about being at the station to protect him.” She got thus far, staring at her clasped hands. Then she lifted her face, which had lost all colour. She faltered, “I – I have repented of that lie, but that was the threat which made me tell it.” She stood, as if waiting for the blow of his disdain.
It did not come.
Thornton was silent for a long moment. Then he said, softly, “I can understand that the woman who would run down to protect a millowner – or any man – from a mob would not hesitate to do what she thought necessary to protect a brother.”
Margaret flushed at the memory of her words, unkind – and untrue, she had come to realise – as they were.
“Mr Thornton – I know that when you found I had told that lie that I was not at the station, your opinion of me was lowered. I have repented of that falsehood – but until I knew my brother was safe, I – I – “ she faltered.
“Miss Hale. I am still rearranging my thoughts – but my first impulse is to beg your pardon.”
She looked at him questioningly but could not speak.
“I doubted your motivation, your reasons for your lie. Knowing that it was in protection of your brother – although as a magistrate, perhaps I should be condemnatory – as a man, as a brother myself – I can only honour you for it.”
Margaret felt a release of tears – a relief – of course she knew that her lie was just as wrong as it had always been, but to know that Mr Thornton did not utterly condemn her –
There was a sound of a door above – Mr Hale must be about to descend. Thornton took a hasty step forward and said in a low voice, “Miss Hale – would you allow me to call for you tomorrow – to take you for a walk?”
Mindful that their conversation must end now, she answered quickly, “yes, thank you, oh – if papa is agreeable – I am sure he will be. Can you spare the time?” Then, realising she was talking too much, she flushed and stopped.
He smiled and turned to the door, which was now opening for her father to enter.
“Mr Hale – I have made my promises to your daughter that I will keep this secret.”
Margaret managed to say, “Papa, I have every faith in Mr Thornton’s discretion – now I will leave you two – “ and she fled. She rushed to her own room, where she sat trying to calm herself from the confusion she felt at the discussions of the past half hour.
Mr Thornton did not despise her! He knew about Frederick, and he understood her actions. That was the great thing she held on to.
And – she would be able to speak further to him tomorrow. Of course papa would agree.
.oOo.
The following afternoon, Thornton called in Crampton. It was a cool, rather changeable day, so he carried a large umbrella.
Miss Hale was already in her coat and bonnet, and Martha was there too, in a sturdy cloak.
Thornton told himself that he should have realised that propriety would dictate that they were accompanied. He thought wryly of the times they had met in Princeton and walked together – but he supposed this was different. He had never made an appointment to walk out with a young lady before. Certainly Fanny had not been often alone with Watson before her engagement.
He nodded to Martha, and offered Miss Hale his arm. The only direction which offered anything of a pleasant walk was towards the old church on the small hill on the way out of town, and he turned in that direction.
At first, they walked silently. Thornton was absorbed by the sensation of her arm in his.
Finally Miss Hale spoke, “Nicholas Higgins and Mary have told me about the dining room you have set up at the mill for the workpeople. I think it a very fine endeavour.”
“It is not charity – the hands pay a subscription, and then they benefit from the economies of buying at a larger scale than for a single household. They organise it – I have but offered the kitchen.”
“It is a cooperative scheme. It surely demonstrates what can be achieved when one takes such an approach.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement, “I have discovered that it keeps me on my toes to be cooperating with my Darkshire workpeople and there is a great deal of interest in dealing with them.”
They had reached the church and turned to go through the gates; she said “I come here often – to see mamma, you know.”
Thornton had forgotten that of course this would be the association of the place for her. How unfortunate! He thought. But Miss Hale did not seem upset.
She led him to the grave.
With her eyes firmly fixed on the headstone, she said, “You were so good to mamma when she was ill, Mr Thornton. But – whatever we could do, her only real wish was to see Frederick again. She had not seen him for so long. So – I wrote to him. I did not clearly realise the danger it would place him in. And Fred – well he disregarded the risk. So – he came. Then that man Leonards recognised him – threatened to turn him in. You will see why it needed to be kept secret. Why I was led to tell that dreadful lie.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “I was so sad that it destroyed your good opinion of me.”
“Were you Miss Hale? My opinion of you mattered? My opinion, in particular?”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes on his, although a flush was rising in her cheeks. “I found that it did matter. And I found that my opinion of you had become quite high.”
“Margaret - “ he stepped toward her. Then he remembered that they were in a graveyard, and that Martha was watching. He held out his hand and she slipped hers into it – he could feel the warmth of her palm through the two layers of kid.
“Margaret – you will remember what I said to you once before – what I wished to ask you – but I undertook not to mention my feelings again – unless – unless you would not mind?”
She smiled, and said in a low voice, “I would not mind. But – would it not be better to speak of this indoors? I know you are a busy man – could you call? Tomorrow?”
.oOo.
Dixon grumbled when she was told that Mr Thornton was to be expected the next morning. For months he had never come and now he was here every day.
It can be imagined what she said when she discovered that his call had resulted in his engagement to marry Miss Margaret. It appeared that Mr Hale was delighted at the idea and had given his consent with alacrity, only saying something confusing about Mr Bell being such a knowing person.
She supposed it could not be helped. It was not her place to remind the Hales that he was but a tradesman, that this would mean that Miss Margaret was bound to Milton, that she would live next to that horrid, clanking mill.
But she soon realised that there would be no use in mentioning such drawbacks. If Mr Hale was delighted, Miss Margaret appeared to be unaccountably besotted. She – who had always been so dignified in company – positively doted on that man.
Not that he was much better. He called almost every day, and brought flowers and chocolates and fruit – it was a puzzle sometimes to make room for his gifts.
.oOo.
Milton was surprised to hear that Mr Thornton, the youngest of the mill masters, and one of the most influential, was to marry the daughter of his impoverished tutor. It was as yet only an understanding – the formal engagement would be celebrated when her year of mourning for her mother was up.
It was recollected that there had been talk about her – although there had never been anything concrete – and the details were now hazy in the memory of the gossips. However, it was discovered, she was related to a Sir John Beresford. And she was really rather good looking.
Thornton had never shown any susceptibility to a woman before. But now – when they were seen together – he was exceedingly attentive. Milton society supposed they would accept her.
Although she did not attend parties or dinners due to her mourning status, she could be met with at Marlborough House teas. And that spring Miss Hale set quite a trend. She was always seen wearing two gold bracelets – not exactly the same – one was a trifle broader. Previously a single bangle had been a common ornament, while two matching ones had also been worn. But this slightly mismatched ensemble was held to have a particular charm and was copied by a number of other young ladies.
It was reported that one of them (it was assumed the broader one) was an engagement present from her future husband. The other was a family gift – this intelligence came from Miss Thornton.
When similar bracelets were commissioned from the jewellers, the purchasers were asked if they wished to have something engraved on the inside. This led to a deal of speculation on what might have been engraved inside Miss Hale’s bracelets. None of the young ladies – not even Miss Thornton – dared enquire directly. And Miss Hale was never seen to remove her ornaments. Thus, it did not become common knowledge that the simple inscription on her engagement present read: Margaret from John.