That her son made this command to her again irritated her, although she was now more intrigued than ever to see this girl. “If you wish, John. I don’t know how we can help, but if you believe it will do some good, we will go.”
“Thank you, Mother,” was all he said, sitting down and picking up the paper.
Mrs. Thornton let out a sigh to see the power these Hales had over him. She began to dislike Miss Hale, despite not having laid eyes upon her. Who was she among womankind, to catch the attention of her wonderful son?
Fanny twisted her mouth in a recalcitrant pout as she and her mother trundled through the streets in their carriage toward Crampton. She was certain she would find little in common to talk about with a country vicar’s daughter. What made herbrother press them so in going to pay an afternoon call to the family of his tutor? John’s motives were a mystery to her. She would not bend her mind to discover his meaning. She pressed her face almost against the window as they passed a window display of dresses and then tugged at her own voluminous skirts in satisfaction that she could at least enjoy showing her latest fashionable acquisition of brightly colored plaid with lace and ribboned trimmings.
Margaret scurried about all morning to arrange the upstairs drawing room for their visitors. Their rooms were yet to be fully settled with all the sundries and bric-a-brac that make a house a home. She’d been surprised to receive Mrs Thornton’s calling card informing her family of their intended arrival hours earlier.
Dixon was overwrought in her extended role as cook, thrusting pans of apple cake in the oven and rolling out dough for scones. Margaret went down to help her at intervals and volunteered to dust the banister and sweep the front hall.
Mrs. Hale rested, as she was still recovering from the ordeal of moving to a less desirable part of England, with closer quarters, no fresh air, and no society. She was uncertain what to make of Mrs. Thornton’s social standing in Milton, as the mother of one of the great manufacturers of the town.
The scones were still hot from the oven when the front doorbell rang. Margaret could not help feeling a tug of apprehension as she shrugged off her apron and went to answer the door in Dixon’s stead.
Mrs. Thornton raised her eyebrows as the comely girl who led them inside introduced herself as Margaret Hale. So this was the young woman her son found so fascinating! She appraised the girl with a critical eye, noting her simple but tasteful skirt and blouse. She took note that Miss Hale bore no shame in having to usher them in as a servant should have done. Instead, she movedwith a queenly grace that seemed at once careless and utterly natural.
As the two guests were introduced to her mother, Margaret glanced at the wallpaper, grateful once again that the glaring gold and blue papers had been replaced by a delicate pattern of ivory and mauve.
“Do you play the piano?” Fanny asked after the common preliminary conversations about the weather and how the Hales found their new home were exhausted.
“I’m afraid I play rather poorly, although I had lessons while in London. My cousin plays very well,” Margaret answered.
“London!” Fanny enthused. “How long were you in London? I’ve so longed to go there!”
“I lived with my cousin for nearly eight years. It was my second home,” she replied, giving her mother an appreciative glance.
“Oh, I can’t imagine you’re very happy to have moved here, then,” Fanny blurted, dismissing the silent glare from her mother.
“I imagine it’s always good to see new places and meet new people,” Margaret offered.
Mrs. Thornton approved of her answer. “Have you seen any of our great warehouses and factories, Miss Hale? To know Milton is to know its manufacturing power. Here is where England is becoming the envy of the world in industry.”
“I have seen them on my walks, but I’ve not seen inside them.” And nor would I really wish to, she thought, although she had a certain curiosity as to the kind of world in which Mrs. Thornton’s son moved.
“I suppose it must be a very great change to come here from your home in the South,” Mrs. Thornton remarked to Mrs. Hale.
“Oh yes! In Helstone, we had a spacious vicarage and extensive gardens. The rooms here are smaller, but we’ve managed to find places for most of our furniture,” Mrs. Halereplied. “I do wonder, however, how you manage to keep your house clean here. There is so much soot in the very air, it appears we will be required to scrub our windows and wash our curtains every fortnight.”
“It is a very dirty, smoky place,” Fanny agreed.
“We have a cleaning schedule and staff to accommodate the conditions of living in town,” Mrs. Thornton replied, her rigid posture a great contrast to Mrs. Hale’s sunken appearance.
“We have only Dixon with us for help at present. Charlotte and Cook we had to leave behind,” Mrs. Hale said.
“It can be difficult to find help when work at the factory is always available,” Mrs. Thornton pointed out. “But we have a girl whom we could send to you two days a week if that would be of any assistance,” she offered with reluctance, her son’s wishes in mind.
“How very thoughtful!” Mrs. Hale enthused, her face brightening. “I’m sure it would be a great help. I’m much obliged.”
An awkward silence ensued, which Margaret ventured to break with an eager question. “Do you have a garden?”
A huff of derision erupted from Fanny’s throat.
“I suppose that’s what I miss most,” Margaret explained hesitantly. “Even in London, there were roses in the back courtyard.”
Mrs. Thornton studied the girl’s soft, clear complexion and the delicate way her slender white hands were folded. She saw in the girl’s face that youthful expectation that all things be pleasant and beautiful.
“Our house sits across from my son’s factory. We have no garden to speak of,” she answered, letting the newcomer know they no longer lived among the flowers and trees, but in the midst of brick, stone, and glass.
