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Speculation

Romance

The speculation of 1851. It was hailed as a sure prospect, every cotton mill owner who invested was sure to succeed, but what it it failed? The city of Milton was soon to find out as some of the most prominent mills closed their doors leaving hundre...

#armitage #classics #drama #elizabeth #gaskell #north #period #richard #south

Speculation - Chapter 8

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by Leah147

by Leah147

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<TD vAlign=top colSpan=3>Your presence still lingers here and won't leave me alone..... Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams, your voice it chased away all the sanity in me. These wounds won't seem to heal. This pain is just too real, there is just too much that time cannot erase .... I tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone, but though you're still with me I've been alone, all alone.... ...You still have all of me. ~~ Amy Lee ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 8 Daylight was slowly making its ascent upon the cinereous industrial skyline of Milton. The first wan shafts of morning light stole in through the shutters of Mr. Thornton's private chamber, casting a pale glow over the rumpled heap of his discarded coat, vest, and cravat which had been carelessly tossed upon his bed the night before. Their owner took no notice of it as he sat engrossed in the work before him. Despite its being the largest private room in the house, the master's bedchamber left much to be desired in the service of furnishings. Dominating the vast room was a grand mahogany tester bed. A wonderful pattern of ivy leaves was carved into the warm rich wood and these wound themselves upward in an intricately beautiful spiral around each post and the outer border of the massive wooden canopy. It was truly an exquisite piece of furniture, the one pure indulgence Mr. Thornton had allowed himself when he became Master of Marlborough Mills. A small marble-topped nightstand stood next to this handsome bed where only his father's gold pocket watch resided along with an unlit brass oil lamp and a few lone books that lay waiting to be read. To the right of the chamber, two tall windows draped in curtains of richly dark green brocade looked down upon the mill yard; they flanked the room's fire place which held a lone bracket clock atop its oak mantle. Residing close to the hearth was an old, care worn leather wing-back chair that Thornton had insisted on keeping, for it had seen him through his early years when he had first assumed his role at Marlborough Mills. Now, some 10 years later, he regarded it as an old trusted friend that served witnesses to many of his plans for the mill, along with his hopes, dreams, and undying love for Margaret. As a loyal friend, it continued to see him through this most difficult time. Just a few feet away towards the left of the chair stood a tallboy. Like the room, it was much too large for its meager contents. Though he may have been one of the most powerful men in all of Milton, this bureau stood in testimony to it's owners lack of vanity. The only other piece of furniture to be found in John Thornton's sparse quarters was the simple oak desk at the far end of the room which had once belonged to his father. It was here that John had sat since he entered his room the previous night, sleeves rolled up, braces cast off his shoulders and hanging loosely from his frame as a weak flame from an oil lamp flickered casting dancing shadows of light across his open business ledgers and various other legal documents that lay scattered upon his desk. His head was now lowered and bowed, resting in his hands as exhaustion settled upon him. However, he refused to give into rest; he couldn't, not now! He had spent the whole night pouring over the names of hundreds of his workers and now a finished list containing the names of good hardworking men he would have to let go lay before him. He wished there was some other way, but it was his only logical choice. Yet innately he knew Margaret would have been displeased by this course of action and it was this knowledge that pained him the most. No longer having the will to fight off her image and still hearing the persistent gnawing echo of her name that he had heard in the street the day before, he found himself opening and withdrawing from his desk a small, careworn, and well-loved leather bound book. This book had belonged to his dear friend Mr. Hale. He opened the cover of Plato's Republic and extracted a small piece of note paper. The pale early morning light was growing stronger as he unfolded the small sheet and read the lines, although they had long ago been etched upon his memory. Dear Sir, It is my sincerest wish that you would accept this book as a token of thanks for your friendship to my father. I know he would be pleased to know it was in your loving care. Yours sincerely, Margaret Hale He traced his fingers gently over the words, letting them linger lovingly over her name, while his eyes gazed upon the words ~ "Yours sincerely." ~ He marveled at how such delicate strokes of a pen across a sheet of paper could enlist such longing within a human soul. It was one of his most cherished possessions, a small tangible proof that Margaret had indeed walked in his world and touched him to the very essence of his being. Tucking the small sheet of paper back inside the book, Thornton gently began turning the leaves. Each turn of a page tore at his heart as he thought that Margaret would regard him now, as she had in the past, as a harsh Master for the task he had to perform. ~ If you could only see, Margaret, the man I truly am and the changes I have made. I now see my workers through your eyes, as men to be admired. Oh, how I wish there was another way, ~ he whispered. As he continued to leaf through the pages, a small smile broke through his present gloom at the remembrance of the rousing and thought-provoking conversation he and Margaret experienced one evening. She put forth the need for unity between workers and Masters which to him at the time seemed a type of Utopia fit only for Plato's Republic; given his realistic opinion on despotism as the best kind of government to rule over the people. Oh, how she could vex him at times! But he enjoyed hearing her speak her mind, and speak her mind she did! His smile widened at the memory of that lively discussion and the way her eyes sparked in challenge as she dared him to defy her. He had been sorely annoyed with her that evening but had managed to shake off his anger. In a subdued tone with eyes begging for forgiveness, he had apologized for his uncouth manners and the hasty way he had spoken. To his great relief, she had readily forgiven him; all the north wind effect of their conversation had vanished as she gazed up and smiled into his eyes in her sweet sunny way. Never would he forget that look. Her eyes were so blue and pure that he couldn't look away, creating within him an almost overwhelming desire to bend down and place a tender kiss upon her delicate soft lips. A small shudder came over him as his hands continued to slowly turn the pages. They now fell open to a page near the end of the book. Between the pages, there was tucked within a small faded yellow rose. His breath caught as his fingers gently caressed the fragile petals, and he remembered the first time he beheld this delicate bloom. The warm Helstone air that day had left him hypnotized by its heady fragrance and its pure richness of life. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the intoxicating scent that lit his senses as he held the small recently plucked rose close to his nose. He stood motionless, spell-bound as he drank in the scent while a warm spring zephyr lightly caressed his cheek enveloping him in the very atmosphere that was Margaret. He let out a quivering sigh in the early morning dawn, fingers trembling as he continued to stroke the delicate petals. The memories of Margaret that were etched upon the depths of his soul came vividly back to his mind engulfing him in pure joy even while they lacerated a wound to his wretchedly aching heart, a heart that was on the verge of breaking for the life that would never be his. ~ Oh Margaret, my Margaret. ~ He groaned. ~ Why could you not have loved me? ~ He closed his eyes and slowly bowed his head, unaware that the door to his room had opened. Hannah Thornton stood for several moments gazing at her son with his face bent downward and his arms spread across his desk. A strange pallid look sat upon his features, causing a slight gasp to escape her as fear struck her heart. The look that sat upon John's face was the forerunner of death! Her slight intake of breath was enough to rouse John to his senses, as he realized he was no longer alone. Slowly he stood and discreetly tucked the precious bloom back within the pages of his book. Turning, he faced his mother as she stood in the doorway, and their eyes met and held. If she had heard his passionate cries for Margaret, it did not show in her expression. The only look that rested upon her face was the care-worn look of a Mother lacking for sleep, filled as she was with concerns for her beloved child. Her fear lessened as she saw him return from the dark shadows and color flooded his features. Finally, he broke the silence between them. "Mother, why are you not in bed?" She continued to stand in the door-way motionless, eyes locked on her son. "John, how can you expect me to sleep when you spend your nights awake and so many cares and troubles rest upon your shoulders?" "Oh mother!" John took a couple quick strides and stood close to her, looking intently into her gray eyes as he searched within their depths for answers he knew no one - not even she - could provide. He would not break, not now. She had always been the one who was strong for him; now it was his turn. Burying his worries and pain, he gently placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. "It will be alright Mother. I took care of Watson; Fanny will be fine, I swear to it! As for the mill, I'll have to let some of the workers go for a time I hope, until trade picks up. I am glad to say we are not in the position of selling yet and the house is safe." At the mention of the house, Hannah raised her hands to hold John's face within them, forcing him to look into her steel eyes. " I don't care about the house! I care about you, John!" Came her impassioned reply as she began to caress his cheek as she had when he was young. A grin stole across his features, giving him an endearingly boyish look Hannah had not seen in a long time. "Please, Mother, don't worry so. I am fine. I have you to look after me, and I will always take care of and look after you. Now, I wish you would go and get an hour's rest before all the household activity begins once more." He noted a protest forming upon her lips, and quickly added, "That would give me the most comfort, Mother, and ease my mind." His grin transformed into a warm smile that shone from his eyes. Hannah could never resist that look and readily complied with her son's wishes. "Alright John, I'll try. But would you do something for me as well?" Without waiting for his response she continued, "Get a moments rest, please, for me, John. That would at least bring me a measure of comfort." "I'll try, Mother, I promise I will try." After watching her walk down the hallway to her bedchamber, he turned and strode back into his own, closing the door behind him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Margaret Hale awoke with a sharp gasp as a single "No!" tore from her lips. Her eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright in her bed, her heart beat wildly and her breathing came in short, frantic breaths. The dreams had returned. She was not sure when these dreams had started, but in the past week they had become more persistent and always ended the same way. This time, however, the dream had ended differently. It started as it always had: Margaret walked along a desolate Milton street, shrouded in a cold brume that perpetually swirled around, above, and over her, obscuring her view of what was ahead. The only thing that penetrated through the thick gloom was a lone voice calling out to her from the outer edges of time and space. Although the words were unclear, she innately knew that the voice was drawing her, impelling her to continue to walk forward through the unending Cimmerian night. As each step drew her closer, the words became clearer until finally Margaret could discern that it was her name being called out. Joy leaped in her heart, for she recognized the one who called out to her: it was Mr. Thornton! "I am here, I am here!" she cried out. "John, I am coming!" Margaret tried to break into a run, but as she did so her legs felt as if they were weighted down, entrapped and entangled in an impenetrable quagmire. Margaret fought frantically, struggling with every fiber of her being to move forward. With each leaden step she took towards the sound of John Thornton's voice, the dense fog continued to churn around her. She cried out to him. John's voice was now growing fainter and fainter, and as her feet became more entangled, she heard her name one last agonizing time before the voice faded into nothingness. "Margaret!" To her horror, she felt herself falling back. With her last ounce of strength, she lunged forward, reaching out in hopes of penetrating through the wall of dense murkiness that entrapped her. Suddenly, through the dark gloomy shadows, she caught a glimpse of a phantom like image moving swiftly ahead of her. Margaret cried out with all her might, "John! Turn around, I'm right here! John, please hear me, I'm right here!" Mr. Thornton never looked back; he acted as if he didn't hear her, like she was never there. It would always be at this point, as she watched the man she loved evaporate into the caliginous mist, she would awake. But on this particular occasion, the ending to her dream differed. As Margaret reached her arm out towards the evanescent image of John she heard him moan with a voice filled with tortured misery, ~ "Oh my Margaret, my Margaret". ~ The distressed angst-filled words tore at Margaret's heart, impelling her to thrust her other arm forward in a desperate effort to reach him. To her astonishment, the vaporous screen that held her from his reach parted causing her spirits to soar. The joy was momentary, however, and swiftly receded to be replaced by pure terror. The vision that lay clearly before her eyes struck to the core of her soul. John Thornton lay slumped over, his head rested upon outstretched arms while a wan deathlike look stole over his handsome features. His expression caused sickening fear to strike Margaret to the very core of her being. "NO! John, please, look up, please! John, do not leave me, John, NO!!!" The splendid early morning light spilled in through the shutters as Margaret's wildly beating heart began to slow. As her frantic breathing calmed, Margaret knew what she had to do. "Miss Margaret, Miss Margaret! Where are you going?" Dixon asked, still flustered over the fact that Henry left them here alone in Milton. Margaret busily fastened her cloak about her. When she finished, she turned to look at Dixon. "I am going to Marlborough Mills," came her matter of fact reply. Dixon was horrified by this notion. "Miss Margaret, you can't go alone to Marlborough Mills! It's not proper for a lady of your standing to go to such a place unaccompanied. Oh, why did Mr. Lennox have to leave us here in this miserable place all alone?" Margaret reached out and placed a reassuring hand upon Dixon's arm. "I'll be alright Dixon. I have been to Marlborough Mills many times in the past unaccompanied and have been fine. I have friends here; no harm will come to me. This is my..." Catching herself just in time, she smiled her most charming smile at her dear companion. "Dixon I have to speak to Mr. Thornton! I wish, too, that Henry had not left but it doesn't negate the fact that I have come here for a specific purpose and I am not returning to London until I have fulfilled what I set out to accomplish!" Dixon let out a short, irritated huff. "Very well, Miss Margaret, I can't stop you. You are far too head strong, more like Master Frederick every day, I say. " Dixon replied indignantly. "Perhaps Frederick is a bit too much like me," retorted Margaret as she shot Dixon an impish grin and walked out the door. A brisk wind blew out of the northwest, belying the appearance of what should have been a warm spring day. Margaret gathered her cloak about her, but it wasn't the chill air that sent a shiver through her; it was the ghastly image of Mr. Thornton stretched out across his desk that had haunted her since first waking that morning. If this image left her cold beyond reason, it was the sound of Mr. Thornton's wretched cry of her name that propelled her forward with determined strides. The echo of his tortured voice was like a sword thrust into her soul, causing her to quicken her pace and move with purpose through the crowed Milton streets. She had to see him! Stopping before massive oak doors of Marlborough Mills, fear momentarily gripped her heart. What if he refuses to see me? She thought. Once again, the echo of his voice calling her name dispelled all lingering fears. "Come, little heart, we must be brave," she thought with determination. With those words, she reached out and rung the bell to signal the gatekeeper. ~~~~~~~~~ Mr. Thornton had long since discarded his jacket and, with his sleeves rolled up, he strode out of his office into the unseasonably chill spring air. His fears of the morning were swiftly confirmed as a cold, sharp breeze gusted around him. ~ It's going to be a cool summer, ~ he thought with a look of chagrin. ~ People will have no need for cotton clothing this season I am afraid. It looks like I will have to let more workers go. ~ As he made his way through the mill yard engrossed in his own thoughts, his attention was suddenly arrested by a familiar voice. "Master, won't you come in?" Mr. Thornton slowed his strides and came to stand before Higgins who leaned against the doorway of the workers dining hall. "It's stew today, Master." A small grin played upon Mr. Thornton's face as he replied with a wistful look in his eyes, "Stew? I haven't had that in a while, Higgins." With friendly yet keen eyes, Higgins regarded Thornton for a moment. "Nor ate all day, I bet." Mr. Thornton chuckled and bowed his head for being so easily found out. "No, no, I have been too busy today." In truth, he was busy but he was also never one to intrude on the workers' meals. Higgins, though, had discovered that stew was a favorite of the Master and whenever it was on the menu, Mr. Thornton would be approached by one or two of the workers just as Higgins had approached him, and would be invited to take a meal with them. Mr. Thornton quickly discovered that the stew was exceptional; since it had always been his favorite meal, he found it especially hard to pass up the invitation. Higgins beamed with mirth as he nodded his head inward. "Come on in and sit down. You need a good meal, you're looking rail thin and a bit pale for a Master, I'd say." Mr. Thornton broke into a laugh. "Well I'm not that bad yet, Higgins. But perhaps you can enlighten me, what is a Master suppose to look like?" "I reckon fat and too high and mighty to eat stew with the men of course." Higgins replied with feigned seriousness and a wink. Both men were now laughing as Mr. Thornton entered the dining hall and followed Higgins to an empty spot at one of the long tables. Mary Higgins approached the men with two bowls of hot stew and placed these before them along with a couple spoons. Thornton studied the matter-of-fact girl for a moment before turning to his friend. "You once told me that she was your daughter. She appears to be a hard worker." While digging into his meal, Higgins nonchalantly replied "Yes, she's come into her own since her sister died, she is a good girl and has become a very good cook." Turning his attention back to his own meal Mr. Thornton asked, "So, how is Watson faring? Has he given you any trouble?" Before he could take another bite, Higgins quickly lowered his spoon and laughed hardily. "Trouble? Why, the matron, Agnes, wasted no time putting Watson in his place. You should have seen it Master. Agnes came out of the kitchen and promptly sorted him out, let him know who was in charge, and snatched him by the collar and led him to the back kitchen where I understand he has been busy peeling potatoes ever since." Unable to suppress his own laughter, Mr. Thornton put his spoon down and turned towards Higgins "Watson, peeling potatoes?!?" He asked incredulously. "Aye Master, it's true." "Well, I am glad of it, Higgins!" Still chuckling, both men turned their attention back to their meals and sat for several quiet moments enjoying their stew. After a bit Mr. Thornton turned once again to Higgins, "I believe it gets better, and better each time, Higgins" Smiling to himself Higgins ate another spoonful before he turned and studied Thornton's profile. He was struck anew by the tired lines and careworn look that overtook his once handsome profile. He had to help; it was but a chance, yet he had to try. "I was wondering if you heard about Miss Margaret lately?" About to scoop up another bite of stew, Mr. Thornton suddenly released his spoon, causing it to clatter against the bowl. His breath was caught momentarily by Higgins' question and the mention of Margaret's name. To Higgins' delight, the wintry frost bound look of care that resided upon Mr. Thornton's noble features slowly faded while his eyes smiled benignly. Mr. Thornton replied with a note of longing in his voice "No, Higgins. I haven't heard from Miss Hale. She is in London; we won't be seeing her again, I am afraid." With a knowing gleam in his eye and a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth, Higgins could help but ask "London? Why did she go to London? I thought she would go to Spain." Thornton turned, giving his Higgins a questioning look. "Why would she go to Spain?" "Oh, well I thought that since her brother..." Higgins reply was interrupted by the urgent cry of one of the workers. "Higgins! Higgins! Thank God I found you!" Both men looked up to see Nelson, head mechanic on the second floor spinning mill, enter the dining hall in a rush. "Well what is it?!" Mr. Thornton asked sharply. Words failed poor Nelson as he looked upon the Master, all the while thinking of how he had failed in his duties. He struggled and grasped for words. "One of the main spinning looms on the front line has been down for well nigh an hour now, sir. I am sorry, sir, but I can't seem to figure out what the problem is, I need Higgins to look at it, sir." Mr. Thornton sat with his arms crossed, momentarily studying the young man standing anxiously before him. He had always like Nelson; the man was quick of mind and very bright, one of his best mechanics. "All right, Nelson. I'll come with Higgins as well. Hopefully, between the three of us, we can figure out what the problem is and get the loom back on line before we lose any more time." The men departed quickly and soon found themselves on the second floor in front of the broken down loom. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The massive oak gate to Marlborough Mills slowly opened, revealing to Margaret a mill yard sadly lacking its former hum of bustling activity. Mr. Thornton's grand empire, his whole world, had been reduced to this bleakly desolate sight now before her. She keenly felt what his grief and suffering must be. The gatekeeper, Jensen, was a kindly middle-aged man who beamed at the sight of Miss Hale. "Why, Miss Hale, you are a sight for sore eyes. Come in! I am afraid you'll find that things have changed a great deal here since you left Milton" Margaret smiled warmly at the gentleman who had always been kind to her. "Thank you, Mr. Jensen. I am glad to see you looking well. How is your family?" He was touched by the young lady's thoughtfulness after all this time. "Oh, the missus and children are doing well, considering the situation here in Milton." Jensen turned and proceeded to close the mill door before turning back towards Margaret. "What is it that brings you all the way up here to Marlborough Mills, Miss Hale?" With quiet determination, Margaret simply replied "I have come to speak to Mr. Thornton. Do you know if he is available?" She had come so far, yet her heart pounded with fear that Mr. Jensen Might tell her that Mr. Thornton was not there. "Why, certainly, Miss Hale, I believe he is in his office. Come follow me and I will take you to see him." Margaret eagerly stepped into Mr. Thornton's office, but found to her great disappointment that he wasn't there. Jensen left her to wait while he went off to find the Master. As she gazed about the room, she felt as if time had reversed. Everything was as she remembered on that long ago day when she waited impatiently for Mr. Thornton and now, much to her growing amusement, she found herself waiting for the gentleman once again. To bide the time, Margaret slowly walked around his desk, gently sweeping her fingers over some of the open ledgers as well as various other objects that were all small pieces of the only man she would ever love. She let her tapered fingers lovingly grazed his quill pen resting in its holder before moving on to the ink well beside it. Her fingers finally came to rest upon Mr. Thornton's signature on an open business contract. Staring in wonderment, Margaret was struck anew by the strong, graceful pen-strokes that so perfectly captured the true essence of the man she had finally come to see as John Thornton. Her thoughts slipped back to the evening of Mrs. Thornton's dinner party. The corners of her mouth gradually turned upward at the remembrance of Mr. Thornton. He was dressed handsomely in a sleek black jacket and cravat of pale, golden silk that adorned his throat, giving him a dignified air. As Mr. Thornton approached her, there was a quiet ease of grace about his manner that appealed to Margaret. Never had she seen him look so confident and in control as he halted before her. Margaret extended her slight hand to him, readily placing it within his firm grasp, covering his rugged hand with her other. A glowing expression resided upon her upturned face as she gazed into his azure eyes that smiled down at her with such an intensity of warmth it rendered her momentarily spell bound, only to be broken by the sound of Mr. Slickson's voice. A warm, sweet sigh escaped her at the memory. ~ Why did it take me so long to see the man Mr. Thornton truly is? ~ Turning slowly away from his desk, Margaret faced the window. It wasn't until that moment as she turned that her eyes fell upon his black great coat hanging upon a nearby rack. Margaret stepped forward and stood as one rooted to the floor, simply gazing upon his dark coat. As she looked upon this simple article of clothing that he wore every day of his working life, she was struck with a indescribable yearning to remove his coat from off the rack and hold a piece of John tightly to her. Tentatively Margaret reached her hand out, letting her fingers tenderly caress the coarse woolen material as they slowly made their way to the jacket's collar. The vivid image of twining her arms around John's neck and resting her cheek against his chest as his arms encircled her came swiftly upon her. Margaret shuddered at the overwhelming intensity of sensations the image provoked, causing her lithe frame to quiver in a way it had never done before. She quickly pulled her hand away from his dark coat, shaking her head in an effort to cast off the vision as she spoke aloud in despair, "No, no! He does not love me. He told me so. I am nothing more to him than his new landlord. I am here for one reason only, nothing more!" Turning back towards the window she stood looking down upon the mill yard, forcing her thoughts with great effort to focus on Mr. Thornton, Master of Marlborough Mills, rather than John, the man she desperately loved. Gazing quietly at nothing, Margaret pondered his arrival and how she would be received. Her heart beat thick at what she had to say and how to present it, as a business proposition, nothing more. What she longed for, what she desired more than all else, was that he would greet her by holding his arms out in mute entreaty, catching her up in his embrace so that she could nestle her head against his strong chest once more. His arms were her only true home and resting place; she longed to nest there and confess all to him. The slow opening of the office door pulled her abruptly back to the stark coldness of reality. As he quietly stepped into the room, she heard the door close, in the same slow manner in which it was open, causing her heartbeat to quicken; he had finally come. Taking a calming breath she slowly turned to face him. Her breath caught in surprise as she came face to face with Mrs. Thornton. </TD></TR>

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