Mr. Thornton led them toward the front, where seats were reserved for donors of the new library. Before they sat, someone sought Mr. Thornton again. A man of apparent significance, with a head of curled locks and fleshy cheeks, thrust out his hand to the Master of Marlborough Mills.
“Mr. Thornton, so very glad to see you here tonight. I thank you for your generous contributions to our endeavor,” the man began.
“The more avenues through which men may raise themselves up, the better,” Mr. Thornton replied, as he shook the man’s hand heartily. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Hale, an Oxford scholar, and his daughter, who have recently moved here from the South. This is our mayor, Mr. John Potter, who has been a key supporter of the free library,” Mr. Thornton said in formal introduction.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope you are bedazzled by all the commotion of our great town,” the mayor enthused. “Although we are not Oxford, you must see how very much interested we are in education here. Welcome indeed!” he said as he shook both of their hands before moving on to greet other attendees.
Margaret was silenced in wonderment of Mr. Thornton’s easy, confident rapport with men of power in this town. She had never seen him in such dignified command of himself. He knew well his power and place here, but without a trace of arrogance or wish to impress. She began to see why some of the well-dressed ladies of her age were giving her scorching looks.
They took their seats, Margaret between her father and Mr. Thornton. Margaret’s pulse quickened whenever Mr. Thornton leaned over her to hear something her father remarked upon.
Swarms of people filled the hall. Those in finer attire took seats closer to the front, while the working classes crowded the back, standing to see. The din of hundreds of voices reverberated in the large stone hall before the master of ceremonies silenced the room to begin the event.
Several speeches were made to explain the system that made the library free to all before Mr. Dickens appeared. When he did, the famed storyteller spoke with a passion for his subject that made the room fall silent under his spell.
“It’s an honor to speak to you tonight on this grand occasion. Men and women of Milton should be proud of this day, when you open our nation’s first free library. You lead England with this step towards lifting all men. You understand that the opportunity to improve oneself through reading—by pursuing knowledge and understanding—must be made available to all who play a part in the production of this country’s great wealth and famous ingenuity.
“There are fine merchants in this town who have helped support this endeavor, who prefer not to employ thoughtless brutes, but intelligent men of supple minds.”
“There still exist those men—incomprehensible to me—who will say ‘a little learning is a dangerous thing.’ Why, there should not be a man in all of England who would deny the rise of anyother man. For, has not every man the natural right to improve himself?”
“We can never deny a man his dignity, and is not the desire to learn and to understand the very nature of humanity? It does not matter one whit what a man’s station in life should be; he has a natural desire to better himself. The Creator has given him self-respect and curiosity to shake off his ignorance.”
“And we believe he should have the means wherewith to educate himself, to learn, to expand his mind—no matter what his daily drudgery requires of him. Although he works with muscle and machine all day to feed his family, he now has access to thousands of books which may feed his mind and give flavor to his soul.”
The audience clapped; whistles from the crowd in the back pierced the air. The thrill of being part of something new and historic vibrated through this gathering of humanity.
There was no sight of Higgins or the other men at the close of the evening as the crowds in the front section overtook Margaret’s view of the rear.
Within the carriage as they returned home, the silent privacy was a welcome escape from the barrage of sound and sights of the last hours. Margaret was content to gaze out the window while her father and Mr. Thornton commented on the speeches. A flicker of pride for Milton rose within her as she thought of what she’d heard and seen. The eagerness to advance was palpable here, and she thought it far more interesting than the search for entertainment that seemed the purpose of London society.
The words of Dickens rang in her mind, giving her hope that there truly was a common desire to create a better society here in Milton, and that steps could be taken to make the lives of others a little less locked in despair and discontent. She could nothelp feeling proud that Mr. Thornton had apparently donated a significant sum to this cause.
When they arrived at the Hales’ home, Mr. Thornton walked them to their door. Before he turned to go, he slipped a folded piece of paper into Margaret’s hand, giving her a cogent look.
Rather discomfited, she smiled and thanked him for the evening again, her heart beating faster from this secret exchange.
She muttered good night to her father as they parted ways in the upper hallway, and she hurried to her room. Her mind raced with anxiety about what the note she held in her hand might contain. Had he written an entreaty of affection? Did he want to meet with her privately? She lit a candle, her hand trembling slightly.
Afraid to open it, she hesitated a few moments before bravely unfolding it.
She smiled and then laughed when she saw what was written:Dr. Donaldson, 305 Stratford St.
Her anxiety melted into a pleasant sense of appreciation for his attention to her request. She studied the handwriting closer, wondering if it was his handwriting or his mother’s. The bold lines could be the signature of either.
As she lay in bed that evening, her thoughts concerning Mr. Thornton were in turmoil, for she felt her esteem for him inevitably rise as she recalled his comportment and the many citizens who honored his regard. Yet, she still could not fathom his sometimes indifferent attitude to the scores of human beings that worked in his own mill. How was it that he remained such a perplexity?
In the silent stone house across from Milton’s largest mill, Mr. Thornton extinguished the candle in his bedchamber and situated himself in the wide bed he had slept in for years. A satisfied smile formed as he thought again, for the hundredth time, of the way Margaret’s cheeks had flushed when he had caught her studying him during Dickens’ speech.
The evening had gone very well, and he had hopes that someday he would not have to sleep alone.
Chapter seventeen
The next day, Mr. Hale bored his wife with the details of the event as he sat with her on the blue velvet sofa in her pale yellow sitting room. His chosen mate had never matched his enthusiasm for education, in particular for reading. Maria Hale had dissuaded him from reading aloud to her early in their marriage. Such a disparity of interests had long prevented a closer harmony between them over the years.
Margaret saw that her father’s love of learning indeed thrived here, whereas her mother was withering from a lack of purpose. Taken from her role as a vicar’s wife who helped poor parishioners, her only occupation of late seemed to be lamenting her situation and her frail health.
As Margaret went into the hallway, contemplating what the forthcoming doctor’s visit might reveal, their new servant girl, Martha, appeared.
