The sight of the girl sparked Margaret’s curiosity. How well did she really know Mr. Thornton? For she had been surprised to discover that he had given generously to the new library.
“Martha, if I may ask,” she began, halting the girl from her purpose a moment, “how do you find working with the Thorntons? You could have taken work at the mill instead.“
“Oh no, Miss Margaret! I owe the Thorntons my very life. If it were not for them—“
“Whatever do you mean?” Margaret asked, taken aback at the impassioned response.
“My father knew the elder Mr. Thornton. They worked together and were friends many years ago. When my parents took sick and died a few years ago, my sister and I were left behind. I was gravely ill from the same fever that took them. We had no one to turn to, no relatives in town. But somehow Mrs. Thornton and the Master found out and took us both in. They nursed me, so kindly and patiently, back to health.”
“You mean Mrs. Thornton nursed you,” Margaret endeavored to correct her.
“No, I mean the pair of them. Mr. Thornton took care I had everything I needed and watched over me a time or two. He’s not at all what they might say of him in the streets. They don’t know him as I do!” she said, her emotion rising in his defense.
“And that is why I am honored to serve them. I dare not think of what would have happened to me were it not for their kindness,” Martha said more softly.
Realizing the sordid path Martha’s life could have taken as an orphan made Margaret shudder. “Thank you, Martha. That is all.”
Margaret stood in silent wonder for a moment, endeavoring to match the image of Mr. Thornton as a gentle caretaker to the memory of his stony face when talking of his workers.
Eager to hear what Nicholas Higgins had to say about the new library, Margaret made her way to Bessy’s house as soon as her mother lay down for her afternoon nap.
Margaret knocked but had to let herself in, for Mary was gone—she had found work.
“I thought we were right friends,” Bessy playfully accused, as soon as Margaret took a seat on the slatted wooden chair next to the ailing girl. “Yo’ could have told me yo’ were going to the grand opening with the Master. Some as said you even rode in the Thornton carriage with ’im.”
“Mr. Thornton invited my father and me. It wasn’t anything to note,” Margaret answered defensively, aghast at the intimation.
Bessy grinned. “Yo’ can deny it all yo’ like, but to be seen with ’im makes you the Master’s girl.”
“I am no such thing!” Margaret exclaimed, although a strange thrill quickened her pulse.
“Ah, yo’ didna know how fast one can become the tittle-tattle of Milton. Yo’ ought to be honored, I’d say. He’s never showed a liking to any girl in Milton before. There’s many as said he’d be an old bachelor. Married to his mill… or his own mother!” At this last remark they both had to laugh.
Margaret quickly grew solemn again. The knowledge that she was the subject of gossip made her stomach churn.
“I wish I were there to see yo’. What did you wear?” Bessy asked. “You didn’t wear that old dress, did yo’?”
“No, I did not!” Margaret answered with pretended affront. “I’ll have you know I have several nice gowns to choose from which I acquired during my years in London. I wore a midnight blue dress with black lace trim.”
Voices sounded outside before the door swung open. Nicholas and a weary-looking man entered.
Higgins halted, noting Margaret with suspicion.
“She’s only here to visit me, she’ll bring no trouble,” Bessy said, imploring her father to listen.
“I dunno,” he replied, keeping a steely gaze on Margaret. “She were sitting with the Master.”
“Mr. Thornton takes lessons from my father…to study the classics. He invited us both to attend the lecture as we are still new in town,” Margaret answered his accusatory stare with defiant calm.
“Tell him to learn something about democracy from the Greeks. Workers ought to have a say in what goes on. It’s our work as well as theirs, and ours even more so in numbers.”
“I will agree that you should have a voice. Doesn’t your Union meet with the masters? Don’t they let you air your grievances?” Margaret asked.
“Ha! They only tell us what they’ve decided. Tell us what to do with no questions asked of us. That’s what they think of us—as no more than children to be obedient to their orders.”
“Well, I could advocate for you, but as I said, Mr. Thornton’s connection is to my father, not to me. What I say can matter very little to him,” she replied with naïve confidence.
Father and daughter shared a doubtful glance.
