This gallant action took Margaret aback. She accorded her thanks with a nod, her lips still parted in surprise. The kind smile that met her gaze dislodged the appropriate words from her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered, holding the dampened glove in her outstretched hand.
“It was my pleasure,” came the easy reply, and, with a faint bow of his head, he turned to stride up the dark walkway to the heavy doors of the house.
The faint sound of music and the murmur of voices wafted through the air as the doors opened to receive him. As Margaret moved to follow in his footsteps, she took a long breath of the cool air. Tall windows cast light on the sculpted shrubs outside, which glittered with raindrops. She lingered a moment in the quiet semi-darkness before the doors burst open again and she was ushered into the midst of the gay commotion of society, ablaze with light and color.
Margaret had long since stopped searching crowded halls and anterooms for the figure she knew lived far from London. The hopeful sense, however illogical, that had previously made her scan every social venue had faded over the passing months. She looked now instead for the familiar faces of her family, and swiftly found the full figure of her Aunt Shaw, who appeared more engrossed in the gossip of the plumed and ruffled ladies surrounding her than in the game of cards set out on the table before them.
Following the strains of a delicately played piano piece, Margaret wandered into the next room. There was Edith at the center of an admiring contingent as her fingers worked their well-trained magic over the ivory keyboard. She was a perfect picture of beauty and grace and had captured the particular attention of a gentleman who stood near her. Margaret studied with curious interest how a tall, earnest man in crimson regimental attire gazed at her cousin with mesmerized intensity.
When the last measure was played, Edith looked to him first for his approval and was rewarded with words that made her dip her head and smile. A rare blush colored her cheeks. She alighted brightly, however, when she saw Margaret and swept past the small gathering to greet her cousin, the young man in uniform close behind.
“Margaret! I would like to introduce you to Captain Lennox, who has just recently returned from Crimea, or some suchplace,” she added with a flustered look to the towering gentleman by her side. “This is Margaret Hale, the cousin of whom I have spoken,” she finished, smiling with satisfaction at this meeting.
Both parties bowed and offered their proper greetings. Margaret was introduced to a few others who surrounded their group, and joined in the polite inquiries and trivial conversations required in such circumstances. The chatter of the small gathering continued for several minutes until Capt. Lennox interrupted it with an enthusiastic exclamation. “Henry!” he called out with a broad smile, looking beyond the closed circle.
Margaret turned to see who it was that deserved such an earnest welcome. Her eyes caught those of the gentleman approaching, and she recognized at once the man who had retrieved her fallen glove.
“Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Henry Lennox. Henry, this is Edith Shaw and her cousin, Margaret Hale,” Capt. Lennox announced with constrained eagerness.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the newcomer replied, bowing to both ladies.
Margaret smiled at the sparkle in his eyes, which acknowledged the humor of their previous encounter.
“Henry has come to London to study and practice law,” Capt. Lennox continued. “He is perfectly satisfied to surround himself with books and to be kept within the confines of an office.”
“Your calling is to serve in body, while I do so in mind,” Henry gently retorted.
“Indeed,” Margaret agreed, “One of you has chosen to defend and expand the empire in Her Majesty’s army. The other has dedicated himself to upholding and defining the great law of this land. Both are important in strengthening the glory of England under God’s rule.”
“Indeed, they are,” Henry answered, studying her with increasing interest. “And may I ask what your father does…for the glory of England?” he added with smiling emphasis on her own vaulted words.
A warm smile spread over Margaret’s face, in part for the deep satisfaction she always felt at the mention of her father as well as for the friendly challenge to answer a quick-witted inquiry in kind. “My father surpasses you both in glory and honor, I’m afraid. For he serves God and the Church. And there can be no higher calling than that.”
“I am sufficiently abased,” Henry answered with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “I hope you will allow me to meet your distinguished parent.”
“He is not here. Uncle’s parish is in the Hampshire countryside,” Edith interjected. “Margaret cannot wait to go home every summer. I’m half persuaded that she prefers her quiet hamlet to our dear city.”
Henry saw the confirmation of this conjecture in Margaret’s downcast gaze and pressed lips. “I’m sure it must be very beautiful there,” he suggested. “And much more peaceful.”
His reply was soundly rewarded with a gaze of appreciation from Margaret’s eyes.
“It is,” she answered, with the calm assurance of one who knew both worlds.
“It was a perfectly lovely evening, despite the weather,” Edith declared much later, as the carriage drove through the darkened streets toward home. “As I’ve always said, so much depends upon the company. There were such interesting people there tonight.”
That Edith had almost denied herself the occasion to meet the handsome Captain Lennox was not lost upon Margaret, who could not refrain from smiling to herself at the remembrance of her cousin’s former display of childish petulance at the uncompromising rain.
Whether this new acquaintance would capture Edith’s attention for longer than a few weeks or months, Margaret was not altogether certain. She studied her cousin’s face. Even in the shadowy darkness, a light gleamed in her expression. Her eyes had a new depth of vibrancy, and a smile lingered upon her lips. Perhaps this acquaintance was something different from the rest.
Chapter four
March in Milton-Northern can drain the spirits of the hardiest inhabitants to the dregs. Winter clings to the landscape with a tenacious jealousy as springtide’s gentle rebirth slowly wends its way up from southern shores. Here, where men and women proudly profess an ancestry forged in these granite hills, mortals are forced to endure the caprice of the gods who seem to cast the dice to determine the weather from day to day, as one warming afternoon raises the hope for winter’s final banishment, only to be dashed when frigid winds return to mock such hopes for spring’s reprieve.
Prepared for the dark days of bitter weather that cause human creatures to huddle near glowing hearths, the northern breed waits for the change of seasons with wise patience that eludes those born in more temperate climes. But even the hardiest endurance wanes as the weeks pass and the merciless cold, gray clouds make people yearn for the sun’s rays.
Work at Marlborough Mills continued through the varying onslaught of winter’s barrage of snow, sleet, and bitter wind. Spinners, carders, and weavers from rougher corners of thetown rose well before dawn to put on their thickest woolen coats and shawls and left their cold, gaunt homes to traverse the streets and passageways covered with snow or frozen mud. Shivered greetings were brief as fellow workers converged at the shelter of the giant factory, where blazing furnace fires kept cotton threads supple and human bodies warm. The whir and clank of machinery went on apace as the dim morning sky brightened and the toilers within were glad of the warmth, camaraderie, and wages.
On one such gloomy afternoon, Mr. Thornton scribbled his signature on the last page of a long document and set his quill in its holder. He turned his gaze from the papers on his desk to the mill yard outside his window, where a few flakes of snow fell lazily from the heights of mottled gray that covered the sky. He watched as a solitary snowflake swirled and danced as it passed the pane before him, an innocent harbinger of winter’s stubborn tenacity.
