Margaret of the North (13 page)

Fanny and her husband were at the
dinner as members of the Thornton family and their presence lessened Mrs.
Thornton's discomfort somewhat.  Interacting with Londoners, whose ways she was
unfamiliar with and felt some disdain for, taxed her equanimity too much and she
welcomed having others entertain them and occupy their attention. 

Watson was only too willing to
engage the men in discussions about money and investments.  In contrast, Fanny
was content to closely observe Edith, her demeanor and dress, assuming them to
represent what must be currently fashionable.  But her attention was also often
directed at John and Margaret, searching for signs that would justify her
unwavering notion that Margaret had designs on her brother all along.  She and
Margaret had scarcely said a word to each other and neither of them took any
extra effort to advance towards a more sisterly relationship.

Fanny seemed obsessed with
believing that her brother was marrying Margaret because his choices had
narrowed with his financial collapse.  But she could not ignore what she saw in
how John regarded Margaret, how his eyes constantly sought hers from everywhere
across the room or followed her figure as she moved among the guests, and when
they were together, how he gazed at her in that intent way he had that Fanny
always found mysterious.  Fanny could never recall during their courtship and
engagement when Watson looked at her the way her brother did Margaret although
Watson doted on her and treated her with indulgence.  She reluctantly felt envy
for this woman who would soon become her sister and, several times that
evening, she had to reassure herself that the relationship she had with Watson
was exactly what she preferred.

When the group was seated in the
drawing room for after-dinner drinks, John turned to Edith and reminded her of
her promise to entertain them with some music.  He was also rather curious to
hear Margaret play.  She had never touched the piano in the Thornton house.

Edith got up and approached
Margaret, "I will play if Margaret will play a few pieces with me as we
did often when we were growing up."

Margaret protested, shaking her
head vigorously, "But I am out of practice."  She refused to get up
but Edith grasped her hands and tried to pull her up from her chair.  Margaret
laughed, continuing to protest in a self-mocking tone.  "You play so well
and have always done so since we were children that I am loath for everyone
here to see how badly I play compared with you."

"But Margaret, have you
forgotten how much we enjoyed playing together?  It did not seem to bother you
then how well or badly you played."

"I was a child and we had no
audience then except our poor teacher and my kind aunt."

Edith was insistent.  "We
could do that short Mozart rondo we were practicing just before you came back
to Milton."  Then turning to the group, she looked at John and added,
"Mr. Thornton  was unaware that you could play the piano."

Margaret smiled at John and
shrugged her shoulders.  Then, she stood up.  "All right, I will do this
short rondo with Edith if she promises to play more.  I am sure you will forget
my fumbling when you hear her."

Edith and Margaret sat at the
piano side by side.  After a few practice notes, they paused a little and then
played a lively piece that had them crossing over each other's hands to strike
the piano keys.  The piece brought back the delight the cousins always had
playing together.  Forgetting they had an audience, they launched into another
rondo immediately after the first one, with Edith playing the high notes and
Margaret the lower.  During an instantaneous pause in the middle of the piece,
the two exchanged places in a swift move that punctuated the piece with the
swishing sound of colliding skirts, almost knocking down the piano seat and
inducing suppressed laughter in the two performers.  They had started this
maneuver as a game when they were children and never tired of doing it to amuse
themselves when piano practice became boring, which it always did for
Margaret.  They continued the piece, this time with Margaret doing the high
notes.

John watched and listened with
great interest, as diverted as the rest of the group at the cousins' childlike
ebullience.  They sounded good together and even to his untrained ears, he
could tell how well synchronized they were despite the differences in their
skills.  Edith was, without question, the more skillful of the two, playing
smoothly and confidently.  Also obvious to him was the relaxed camaraderie
between them.  Although he saw for himself the many ways in which the cousins
were indeed different, he also saw that they developed complimentary
dispositions, no doubt borne of necessity and long association, facilitated in
the beginning by a child's desire to be agreeable.  The lively music and the
infectious exuberance with which the young women played together could not fail
to lighten the mood of the group.  When the two finished and got up for an
elaborate but mock curtsy, their enthusiastic audience clapped for some
minutes.

Margaret turned to Edith and
gestured for her to resume her seat at the piano.  "Now, you will hear
something that will surely give you pleasure."

Edith played a few piano sonatas
she knew by heart, from a repertoire she put together to entertain or divert
herself.  She combined her skill with a real feel for her music that came
across clearly and infected her audience with whatever mood or sentiment
infused a piece.  Margaret knew that the piano was Edith's one true passion
which she considered hers and hers alone.  Edith had devoted the greater part
of her day mastering it when they were children and continued to do so until
just before she got married.  It was her antidote to boredom, the balm to her
little frustrations and the diversion that made her forget anything annoying or
bothersome.  She concluded her performance with an airy and melodic morsel that
continued to resonate in the minds of her listeners as the evening ended most
pleasantly for everyone.

Mrs. Thornton who had never
before understood the necessity of spending time on what she considered
frivolities, was almost ready to concede that, perhaps, music did serve a
purpose.  Fanny was the only one she had listened to in the past and, to her,
that required her maternal indulgence to endure.  Having heard Edith, she
ruefully realized her daughter did not have anywhere near the skill Edith had
nor even the expressiveness of Margaret who, were she to practice more, could
surely play much better than Fanny.

Fanny could not deny Edith's
superior musical skills.  Unfortunate in having been born without an ear for
music and short on general cleverness, she was also never exposed to the sort
of serious instruction and guidance that Mrs. Shaw  bought for her daughter and
niece.  Fanny thought herself accomplished and her model for a superior player
and lady had been Ann Latimer for the simple reason that, being the sole
heiress to her father's wealth, Miss Latimer was rich and had learned what she
knew at a finishing school.  And yet, through some instinct primal to all
humans rather than real knowledge, Fanny could sense that Edith sounded several
cuts above Miss Latimer's playing.  Even Margaret, who might have been rusty
with her technique, had played with more feeling for the music than her idol. 
She was almost regretful that she had once derided Margaret to her brother's
face for not knowing how to play the piano.

Fanny began to think that,
perhaps, she had not been thoroughly acquainted with Margaret and how well
connected she was.  She had learned for the first time that evening that Margaret
had lived among the wealthy families of London for most of the ten years before
her move to Milton.  In Fanny's reckoning, that counted for much.  Was she not
passing an evening that was unlike any she had ever had in this house or any
other house of their Milton friends?  It had been very agreeable, devoted to
the pursuit of diversions that she was convinced occurred in wealthy London
households.  She thought, as she sat in the carriage taking them back to their
home, that there was much to be gained from being more pleasant and attentive
to Margaret from now on.

Later that night, as John kissed
Margaret goodnight in front of her bedroom door, he said, "Will you never
cease to amaze me?  What else have you got up your sleeves that I should know
about?"

She whispered saucily against his
neck as he held her close.  "You will just have to keep me around to find
out, wouldn't you?"

**************

The wedding took place on what
passed for a beautiful early Sunday afternoon in Milton—when a late spring sun
barely peaked out of the miasma of clouds, smoke and still stale air heavy with
particulates from the mills.  Still, the new leaves and buds on trees and
grasses were vivid with color, not yet weighed down or discolored by the heavy
smoke nor withering from want of sunshine.

Inside the church, a profusion of
red and yellow roses—pinned on the pews and on green garlands adorning the
walls—forced the look and smell of country spring into its somber and chilly
interior.  Margaret recognized her cousin's hand in the arrangement and the
abundance of roses very similar to those that grew around the Helstone
parsonage.  She gave Edith, who was attending her, a bright and grateful smile
as Captain Lennox led her towards the altar.  There, John waited for her,
handsome and distinguished—Margaret thought with some fluttering in her
heart—in his dark coattails and light shirt and cravat.

John felt his pulse quicken at
seeing her, a beguiling smile on her lips and, it seemed to him, anticipation
in her shining eyes.  She was resplendent in the simple white wedding gown
first worn by her mother and the delicate Spanish lace from her brother draped
simply on her luxurious hair, held in place with a pearl comb, a Hale
heirloom.  John took Margaret's hand from Captain Lennox and whispered,
"Ah, my love, you take my breath away."

None of the guests considered the
whole wedding celebration particularly memorable.  But many women were
impressed with the roses strewn all over the church, a display rarely seen in
Milton and one a few of them would later try to mimic.  More of the same roses
graced vases on the dining table and other surfaces in the drawing room at the
house, their pure vibrant colors even more vivid against the nearly unrelieved
expanse of dark tones, flooding the room with the ambiance of a sunny spring
afternoon.  The men, mostly John's business colleagues, relished the sumptuous
feast, particularly the wines, and thought that Mrs. Thornton outdid herself
for her son's wedding.  But with her usual frankness, she quickly disabused
them of their mistaken assumption and told them that what they enjoyed the
most, the wines and meats, were brought over from London by Margaret's aunt and
cousin.

Many had earlier noticed these
women, very elegantly dressed in rich finery.  They were particularly struck by
the beautiful young woman escorted by a tall handsome young man, who was
obviously her husband.  Before long, word was passed around among their wives
that Miss Hale and her cousin were raised together in London.  With such
relations and such a background, most of John's business associates began to
wonder if they had been wrong about Miss Hale.  One of them, echoing what they
thought, remarked to Mr.  Hamper who was sitting next to him at the dining
table.  "You know Thornton better than any of us so, perhaps, you can tell
us.  Had Miss Hale been left with some money?  If so, Thornton had not married
as foolishly as we thought."

"You thought," Mr. 
Hamper corrected him.  "I never thought.  He is in love, all right." 

Mr. Hamper watched John Thornton
lead his new wife to greet the guests, an arm possessively around her.  He
recalled an incident at the last dinner Mrs. Thornton gave two years ago when
he first saw Miss Hale and asked Mr. Thornton who she was, with the intention
of seeking an introduction.  But when Thornton saw her, he walked away and left
him behind to welcome her. 

Mr. Hamper continued, "I
suspect his attachment to Miss Hale dates back at least to that last dinner
party Mrs. Thornton gave."

"You mean that one when Miss
Hale defended Higgins?   But that is not possible!  Thornton seemed so
consternated by her and pointedly ignored her through dinner."

"He did.  But you can see
for yourself that he is quite enchanted with her.  To be sure, she is beautiful
and at least as fine as her London cousin but who would have thought Thornton
would choose this outspoken belle from the south?  I wager that she will test
his fortitude.  As it is, she has already made her mark on him.  I miss that
scowl, don't you?"

"Yes, but, perhaps, her
father was not as poor as we thought and she did inherit some money."

"That, I do not know.  I
have heard some rumors that she might have had a legacy from Mr. Bell which
included Marlborough Mills.  But look—would you have predicted Thornton could
be so smitten?  He did not seem the type."