A MOTHER'S FINAL GIFT

CHAPTER 11: THREE ACT DRAMA: ACT 3

CHAPTER 11:

THREE ACT DRAMA: ACT 3

Fairwell, fair cruelty

ACT 3: Adieu!

With Mrs Hale escorted to bed and Mr Hale still out, Margaret was left with the unfortunate task of seeing Mr Thornton to the door. Left unaccompanied, the two twiddled their thumbs, their averted eyes studying the pattern of the wallpaper with scrupulous attention, until they both stood up abruptly, signalling that it was time to say goodnight.

Quitting the parlour, Margaret squirmed at the idea of being alone with Mr Thornton. A sickly panic swelled in her belly, as she fretted about what on earth she should do or say. She had so many things she desperately wished to tell him. She wanted to apologise for her careless and unreasonable treatment of him all those weeks ago. Lord forgive her, how she bitterly regretted it. Margaret needed him to understand that she had not been in a fit state that morning and should never have agreed to see anybody, let alone him. Her temple had ached where the stone had struck, she had been exhausted from staying up all night tending to her mother, and she had been disturbed about the fading health of her dear friend.

She longed to seek his clemency for being so rash. She had been a petulant child. Her temper and tongue had both become unbridled under the wilful influence of her fatigue. She had not meant the spiteful slanders she had propelled at him, ruthlessly slurring both his character and his intentions. He had not deserved such punishment. He had to see that she did not object to him as a person, nor as...nor as a suitor.

Margaret had been confused, ambushed, overwhelmed. She had not known that Mr Thornton harboured feelings for her and had been insulted and hurt by the idea that he only spoke up because he felt indebted or ensnared. She did not want a marriage like that, based on obligation and regret. She wanted him to ask because he wanted to. No, she needed him to know that she did not hate him, not one little bit.

But Margaret feared that she lacked the courage to know what to say, or how to adequately convey it. She would surely make a fool of herself. She may express herself poorly and provoke him further with her mistakes and his inevitable misunderstandings. That would only serve to push him further away and she could not bear that. Or worse still, she might earn his low opinion, by confessing sentiments that were unbecoming to a lady. More to the point, she was not even sure what she felt. Margaret knew she liked him, but just how much, she could not tell.

There was something sweet and almost kind...But he had been mean, and coarse, and unrefined. And now he was dear and so unsure...she wondered why she hadn't seen it there before.

Could it be that she...

Oh, it was all too nerve-wracking! Besides, his mood this evening had been so unpredictable, that she could not be sure that he would be willing to listen to her bid for reconciliation. Perhaps she should remain reserved and not utter a word. That was probably safest. She tried to drive such anxieties from her muddled mind and focus instead on the calm that would settle after he left. She would finish her letter to Fred in her father's library, and then willingly retire to the sanctuary of her bed, for after all, it had been a trying day...a very trying day. Yes, she would say and do nothing. It was better to let the dust settle.

John followed as Margaret led the way through the house. Their stomachs clenched at the knowledge that every tread brought them closer to saying goodbye. As Margaret ambled down the stairs, trying to support the heavy burden of the tea tray in her arms, she faltered, for her skirts were larger than she was accustomed to and rather too long. Her hem caught underfoot, causing her to slip. She let out a scream, as both she and the tray threatened to tumble down the steps and risk breaking.