Mr. Hale continued on. "His indefatigable will and moral principles impressed one of these creditors and brought him into the cotton industry, setting him up to succeed him. And so here he is today, the master of Milton’s largest mill.”
“What say you, Margaret?” he prodded after some silence.
“I hardly know what to say,” she replied, still absorbing the surprising history of his rise to power.
“Is it not commendable? Hardly a dark secret,” he rejoined, observing her quiet reaction with interest. Proud of his pupil, he was eager for Margaret to approve of him.
“It is very fine indeed,” she admitted, “only I find it a shame such a strong character should belong to a mere manufacturer.”
“Whatever do you mean?” her father asked, nonplussed.
“Oh, only that he should have made a fine gentleman in some other respectable calling. To waste such character on counting figures and seeking profits—I can’t seem to think very highly of this class of persons.”
Mr. Hale smiled reflectively at his daughter. “You see things through traditional eyes, which I’m sure your Aunt Shaw and Edith would do. But coming here has helped me change my views. At the very least, I have learned that the world is changing, and Milton is in the thick of it.” He continued, “These manufacturing men are pushing and pulling all of us into the future, whether we like it or not, I dare say. And who is to say it is more worthy for a man to own land or to own the machinery that is making England an industrial triumph? In any case, you agree that Mr. Thornton has quite a commendable character. That should speak for itself,” he concluded.
Margaret nodded her agreement. His words turned over in her mind as a gentle rebuke. Her independent nature resisted his reasoning, but she would reflect upon it that night.
Chapter fourteen
As she sat up in bed, Margaret swept aside her curtain to see the landscape below and the sky above were as bleak as ever. She longed for Helstone mostly in the quiet mornings, when beams of sunlight had angled through her windows to cast a yellow glow to her room and birds chirruped merrily to greet the day.
The signs of coming rain could not be gathered as readily here as they could at home, for the sky in Milton was never-ending gray. But as she gazed at the clouds above in her melancholy mood, they seemed darker than ever, casting deeper shadows in the crevices and moldings of the buildings across the street.
She lingered in bed, not wanting to start the long day ahead of her. Even with Martha’s help today, Margaret would likely be called to assist in preparing for Mr. Thornton’s arrival this evening. The thought of him coming was enough to create a disquieting stir within, which she hoped would be quelled by keeping mind and body occupied with the tasks of cleaning, ironing, or baking. And all the while, her mother must be entertained and tended to.
Margaret’s anxious thoughts turned to her mother’s welfare. Ever since they had arrived in Milton, her mother had fallen to one ailment after another. Margaret had at first attributed this distressed condition to a natural sullenness at being brought to a place she did not relish. But as the weeks went by, her mother slipped deeper into a lassitude and feebleness that worried her.
If her father had perceived this concerning decline, he had not spoken of it. And she knew that even if he had noticed, he would likely push it far from his mind—telling himself that she would improve as the weather grew kinder. Perhaps he was right.
Margaret sighed, sweeping aside these depressing thoughts as she pushed her bedcovers aside and swung her legs to the floor. She would make the best of it, for all their sakes.
Mr. Thornton set his ledger aside, weary of studying the numbers on the page. In truth, his calculating powers had lost their luster today. He looked up at the grand clock on the brick wall of his office, a testament to the superlative value he placed on time efficiency.
But time was his enemy on this particular day. From the minute he had woken this morning to the moment he walked into his workspace, the thought of his engagement with the Hales that evening conjured distracting images to mind. The anticipation of being in her presence was pure pleasure, but the eagerness to know how she would receive him was the torture that kept his jaw set and made him unable to stay in his chair for any great length of time.
If the workers noticed that the Master made the rounds of his factory more often than was his custom, no one would ever wager the reason.
At last, when the whistle sounded at the end of the day and the workers streamed from their workaday home, Mr. Thornton grasped his own coat and headed out in their wake.
Mrs. Thornton heard her son’s quick footsteps before he entered the room. She kept to her embroidery work.
“Remember that I am to take tea at the Hales’ tonight, Mother,” he told her.
She put her work down onto her lap, catching the tone of eagerness in his voice with a sense of dread. She still did not see what attraction Miss Hale held over him and worried that the girl did not appreciate who it was who was paying attention to her. “Yes, I remember it well, as Martha was lent to them this day for your visit.”
“I must go dress. It is nearly six o’clock.”
“Surely you don’t need to dress for a country parson,” she returned, wishing he would not let his intentions toward this family show so much.
“You know well why I must,” he replied, unable to keep a shy smile from lightening his face as he bent to kiss her cheek.
Mrs. Thornton sighed as she watched his figure disappear into the darkness. She resented Miss Hale for having disturbed their steady pattern of life. Now, a ripple of uncertainty unsettled the atmosphere of their home. This was uncharted territory; she felt the possibility of lurking danger to her son’s heart.
It would have been better for John to have taken an interest in some Milton girl, such as Violet Grayson, who would have surely known the honor it would be to be chosen as his wife.
She prayed this evening tea would turn out well—for John’s sake.
As for herself, she began to wish these Hales had never come to Milton.
