A MOTHER'S FINAL GIFT

CHAPTER 4: THE MESSENGER, THE MASTER AND THE MEDDLER

'M is for...marriage,' she started thoughtfully, twisting the gold ring on her finger with an enchanted air of comfort.

When Mrs Maria Hale had first stirred that pleasant Thursday morning, she did not do so with the customary vulnerability and despair, which of late, had persecuted her body and soul. Recently, she had spent almost every second, of every hour, of every day, in a state of forsaken depression, as she cowered and grieved amidst her condemned existence in the harsh north. She had been adrift and amiss in a raging sea of woe, powerless to claw her way back to shore, to hope, to life.

M is for misfortune.

Endeavour as she might, she could not seem to wrench herself out from within these relentless and staggering waves of callous misery. She was drowning and she knew it. In the end, she had even given up struggling, instead surrendering herself to the obscure depths of sadness that seemed to swallow and secrete her. It was then, after abandoning the fight, that the merciless sickness within her head struck its fatal blow. It seeped into the roots of her very core; corrupting and conquering her entire being, compelling each inch of her frame and faculties to sink into a slow decline, from which she would never be allowed to escape − to recover.

But, not today.

Today, she had awoken with a rekindled feeling of resolve. This very same aura of determination had succeeded in revitalising her ailing morale and bones, more than any tonic or treatment had in many weeks or months. She had a fixated energy about her, which she was certain derived from her newfound resolution.

Even Dixon had distinguished the change in the mistress's vitality when she came bustling into the room with a breakfast tray. She had half expected to find her lady much in the same way as she did yesterday; lying prostrate on the bed, senses dulled to the world, and a pessimistic prophecy for the day ahead. However, she had been gratefully mistaken in her prediction, for in its place, she had found Mrs Hale sitting up in bed as sturdy as a post and as sharp as a nail. Her previously pallid and dour complexion had turned decidedly rosy. It did not even occur to the servant to enquire as to the cause, for in her humble opinion, all that mattered, was that her mistress was brighter and had recovered some of her old fortitude. Nevertheless, sadly, Dixon was under no illusion that her dear friend was in the irreversible clutches of deterioration and knew – with immense sorrow − that there was nothing medicine or prayer could do to save her. Still, she was satisfied that the Mrs appeared to be having a good turn, even if it were to last just a moment. For she understood, with a heavy heart, that there would be few such days remaining.

It was after Mrs Hale had been washed, dressed and aptly swathed, that she reclined in her armchair, awaiting the promised arrival of her husband, who had agreed to visit and converse with her, after his morning pupil had departed. It was at this point, that Mrs Hale's vivacious mind, which had been refreshed by sleep, began to sagely assemble, and examine the pieces of the puzzle that she had accumulated the night before. She proceeded to distractedly chew on the nail of her thumb, (as was her habit when she was in serious contemplation), as her brooding wit assessed the findings.

So, what were the facts?

M is for memory.

Firstly, she had accepted that her daughter was not one to marry any eligible gentleman presented to her, nor one that only professed to be amiable due to his wealth or social standing. In contrast, he would need to be a rarer breed of man, who could claim to be noble through possessing both sincere substance and spirit.

Secondly, despite the remorse it caused her, she could now finally admit that their ruinous removal to Milton was resolutely settled and unlikely to ever be reversed. Subsequently, it was perhaps futile to ignore the reality that Margaret's fate would likely involve the need to accept a suitor from hereabouts.