“She’s not yet come back from going out,” was the dutiful reply, her back turned to the inquirer.
“Then you must tell me—you were at Thornton’s yesterday, were you not?” Dixon asked.
Martha went still. “Yes,” she answered feebly.
Dixon pulled out a stool and sat on it. “Come now, and dry your hands. You must tell me what happened. I’ve heard rumors of a riot and a girl—Lord, have mercy!” Dixon exclaimed, seeing Martha’s guilty countenance.
“It was Miss Margaret, wasn’t it?” Dixon declared.
Martha nodded.
“Gracious, my lass! Why did you not tell me or the mistress? Oh, the mistress! She’ll be struck with fear. Why, she’ll fret about ever letting Miss Margaret out on the streets of this terrible town.”
“What happened? You must tell me all,” Dixon insisted.
And so Martha told her all she had seen from the Thornton’s window while Dixon muttered pleas to her Creator.
When all had been told, Dixon stared at the cold flagstone floor in disbelief. Then, she looked straight into Martha’s eyes. “Miss Margaret must marry the Master.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Dixon shook her head at the sad predicament involving the young miss. As she climbed the stairs, she fretted about how to tell the Missus that her daughter was involved in a scandal.
There was no way to present the facts pleasantly. She only hoped it would not cause the suffering invalid to have a relapse.
“Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Hale said, upon Dixon stepping into the sitting room. The mistress of the house was reclining on the couch with a fair amount of pillows. “Could you bring me that fan over there? It is getting warm,” she said without looking up.
“Mum,” Dixon answered, her voice thick with the weight of the news she brought.
“Dixon, what is it?” Mrs. Hale asked, stricken now by the look of the longtime maid’s somber countenance.
“There’s a bit of gossip rattling all over town. And you’ll need to know it,” Dixon said, coming closer.
“Why? Is it about me? Mr. Hale? Margaret?” when she had reached the answer by Dixon’s voiceless signals, she sank back further into her pillows. “Oh dear, what has happened?”
And so the faithful Dixon told her mistress all that she had heard. Mrs. Hale sat up at the first mention of the riot and exclaimed throughout as the tale was told. She threw her hands up to cover her mouth at the revelation that Margaret had held on to Mr. Thornton in front of hundreds of people.
“Is she hurt? Why didn’t she say so?” Mrs. Hale exclaimed upon finding out her daughter had not only been swept up into danger, she had been injured and had not told a soul.
“I suppose the doctor thought she was recovered well enough. The poor girl likely thought to save you from worry. You know she’s a dear girl, always thinking of others,” Dixon answered.
“Oh, but to know what everyone in town must think of her!” Mrs. Hale replied. She was silent for a moment, staring vacantly as she wove the threads of fate for her daughter in her mind. She reached its conclusion before long.
“Why, Mr. Thornton must make an offer for her. It’s the only way to save her reputation. And I must say I am fond of such a match, although this precipitous situation is not at all how I should have liked it to come about.”
She looked up into Dixon’s face. “I’m surprised Mr. Thornton did not come last evening to make his offer. I’m sure he must also know—”
“He did come last night,” Dixon replied, just now realizing herself the likely reason for his visit.
Margaret shut the front door of her home behind her. She was taking off her bonnet when Dixon appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Your mother wishes to speak to you.”
The tone of this relayed request roused Margaret’s suspicion. Had the rumors spread this far? She climbed the stairs warily.
“Yes, mamma?” Margaret said, stepping into the room. She knew instantly that her mother had heard by the pained look on her pale face.
“My dear, I have heard such things about what happened to you yesterday that I can scarcely believe it,” she stretched out her hand to her daughter, who moved forward to take it. “Is it all true?”
