A MOTHER'S FINAL GIFT

CHAPTER 9: THREE ACT DRAMA ACT 1

CHAPTER 9:

THREE ACT DRAMA: ACT 1

Mr Thornton's appointment to take tea with the Hales would prove to be both a comedy and tragedy alike. Much like a play, the drama unfolds in three acts, therefore, it only seems right to set it out accordingly.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger;

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage...

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit...

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge

Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

ACT 1: Once more unto the breach

John Thornton stood straight and held his head high, as he anticipated his ruin. Even though his composed outward facade gave no indication of the anxiety within, he felt every hair on his body bristle, every nerve tickle, every trickle of sweat, and every vein throb, as he waited with bated breath. The few seconds it took for the front door to open, felt like an eternity, and during this time, he impatiently wondered who would greet him. He half-hoped, half-dreaded it would be her.

As the hinges creaked and the frame began to swing ajar, he inhaled a gulp of air and...oh. The door finally opened, and the light from the hallway spilled out onto the street, illuminating the scene before him. His spirits withered, for he was not met by the lovely Miss Hale, but rather, the ominous Miss Dixon. John swallowed thickly as he took in her unyielding expression. Determined to stand his ground, he matched her stern gaze with his own steadfast one. For what seemed like an age, Dixon simply remained in the entryway, her generous frame blocking his path, like a plump soldier guarding his fort. She looked him up and down suspiciously, as if he were some sort of vagrant, and then sniffed dismissively. He had obviously not passed muster and was therefore still on her blacklist of objectionable visitors.

The irony was, that John Thornton was not accustomed to feeling intimidated. He had such a commanding presence about him, in terms of both size and temperament, that he was used to being the most dominant person in the room. For one, his colossal height generally placed him head and shoulders above other men, rendering him a Goliath. Secondly, owing to the incalculable power of his strapping back, arms, and hands, he was quite sure that if put in a boxing ring, he could scrunch his fist and knock any opponent from here to Timbuktu. And yet, when it came to Miss Dixon, despite her being a woman and half his vertical stature, he was constantly left quaking in his boots. No matter how much he would pull himself to his full peak, square his shoulders, puff out his chest, lift his head, narrow his eyes, and fix her with an unwavering stare, he still felt sure she could take him in a fight any day.

Dixon merely snorted, and stomped away, abandoning him to enter the house and close the door of his own accord. If it had been any other servant, John would have felt insulted, but in Dixon's case, he was just relieved that she had not made him beg or barter for admittance. Besides, there were more pressing things on his mind. While she took his coat, gloves and hat, his senses instinctively snapped into alertness. His eyes skimmed here, there, and everywhere, and his ears pricked, ready to note even the slightest sound. But alas, she was nowhere to be found.