Margaret of the North (20 page)

John noted all the busy,
affectionate gestures of concern over his wife with some amusement.  His mother
never fussed over him when he had been ill as a child and although she was more
solicitous with Fanny, it was still in an efficient sort of way.  John knew
that what Margaret needed was rest and sleep and, indeed, that was what she preferred
but she received the attention with gratitude, sensible of the fondness and
caring behind all the pampering her aunt and cousin gave her.  It did do her
some good and by evening, she felt well enough to join them for dinner.  John's
anxieties were allayed for the time being and he turned his attention to
becoming better acquainted with Mrs. Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox.  Edith
implored them to stay longer but despite her appeals, John and Margaret were
impatient to be home and were back in Milton, with Dixon, on Sunday evening.

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

The morning after their return,
John walked across the yard to the mill.  There, he expected to find Williams
who he intended to send on some errands in preparation for reopening the mill. 
After more than two months respite from the work that had been his life, he was
eager to return to it.  He knew that, this time, he was going to have to do
many things differently to forestall or at least reduce the bitter effects of
strikes, the last one of which brought about his recent failure.  Since that
bleak period when it became clear that he had to close the mill, he had spent
endless hours mulling over what changes he would make if he could somehow
restore its operation.  He laid out alternative plans on paper that listed
different possibilities for financing its restoration, among which was working
for some other manufacturer until he could amass enough capital to resume the
management of his own mill.  None of those financing alternatives considered
coming into wealth by marriage and, at that time, he had already resigned
himself to approaching middle age alone as he struggled once more to build his
business.

By law, the wealth that Margaret
brought into the marriage was now also his to use as he pleased or saw fit and
she made it very clear that she would not interfere in business matters. 
Still, he felt reluctant assuming control of that wealth and investing it
freely in the mill.  Perhaps, it was merely that he could not get accustomed to
how easily his financial problems resolved themselves and that, despite his
misgivings about starting all over again at so late an age, he had rather
looked forward to the new challenges that were certain to come with a late
restart.  In marrying Margaret, he no longer needed to find employment with
another mill until he could reopen his own.  He could also immediately start
practices that he had only recently put together, borne out of new perspectives
he had gained through closer alliance with his workers.  He doubted that any of
his colleagues would have allowed him the free reign he needed to try those
practices out at their mills.  Now, of course, he did not have to contend with
those matters.

How much Margaret changed his
life!  He leaned back on his chair thinking about her.  He would see her again
for afternoon tea as he had promised her that morning although she told him
that she understood if he did not come, that she knew how much work he needed
to do to bring the mill back into operation.  But John was still immersed in the
pleasures of being with his new wife, still sometimes in awe that Margaret had
come back and that he could bask in her warmth, listen to her loving voice,
touch her, caress her.  The past two months, their first ones together, had
been blissful, full of wondrous moments that he wanted to recapture as often as
he could and for as long as possible.  He was certain that no matter what the
future held, those moments they shared the past months were his to treasure
forever.

They had never been apart for
more than a few minutes at a time since their wedding and, alone in his office
during a lull in his work, she took hold of his thoughts just as she had in
what seemed like such a distant past when he believed he would never see her
again.  But the images of her he now conjured up had changed.  They were no
longer of Margaret, beautiful, bewitching, distant, unattainable.  Now, they
were mostly of her yielding deliciously, ardently to his lovemaking, of gazing
at him tenderly, her full soft lips in a half-smile, before she swayed against
him and settled contentedly in his arms. 

It seemed that they grew closer
every day but what was most wonderful to him, had also been unexpected:
something she taught him about women or at least, the particular type of woman
that Margaret was.  He had assumed, as many men did, that a woman's more
delicate nature also made them more placid, more diffident, not so intense as
men in their feelings and Margaret was, indeed, tender and sometimes, even
shy.  But he was amazed to discover that she could also be passionate,
returning his ardor with almost equal intensity, and it thrilled him infinitely
to be the object of such feelings.

Occupied as he had been with the
mill before he met Margaret, John had never thought about what it meant to be
married.  He knew that there would be children to inherit his legacy, that his
wife, not his mother, would run his household.  Beyond that, he had no
extraordinary expectations and, consequently, he never seriously contemplated
marrying, much less, choosing a wife.  Finding a woman to marry had not been,
on the face of it, a problem because of all the many young women who would have
welcomed a proposal from him.  But not one of the women of his acquaintance
could lure him into matrimony.  He believed it was because the vision he had of
marriage had not been appealing enough to tempt him to abandon the comfort and
familiarity of his life with his mother and sister.  Then, he met Margaret and
she upset the equilibrium and complacency he had achieved.

He had been aware of a palpable
stirring in his chest on that day they were introduced in her father's study. 
Her uncommon beauty attracted him first.  It was not that she was the most
beautiful woman he had ever met but hers was a different kind of beauty, one
that compelled people to look longer or take at least a second glance or even a
third one to ascertain what they found arresting in her face.  He first noticed
her large blue eyes, more limpid than he had ever seen, defined by thick lashes
and well-arched eyebrows.  What was more intriguing, however, was how
expressive they were and how piercing her gaze was when she directed it at him
that he could not tear his eyes off her and, yet, she also had a doe-eyed look
about her that made him want to protect her.  Her mouth was a little too wide,
the lower lip a little too plump for classic beauty and too easily thrust into
defiance.  Yet, on that first meeting, he imagined kissing those lips and
tingled at the thought of it. 

Eventually, despite their vexing
early encounters, his heart could not resist the depth and complexity promised
in those lively eyes and intrepid mouth.  By the time he was ready to propose,
he had convinced himself that life with Margaret would be far from dull,
perhaps, even occasionally unpredictable.  Were he fortunate enough to persuade
her to marry him, their union would not be the conventional sort he had seen
among his business colleagues, the sort that had not attracted him enough to
consider it.

He had been very worried about her
during the return journey from Spain and remembering her mother's illness, he
hoped that Margaret had not inherited the same constitution.  No longer willing
to conceive of life without her, he shuddered once again at the thought that he
might have lost her to someone else.  He tried to vanish those troubling
thoughts with joyous recollections of their honeymoon in Paris and the trip to
Spain.  They were both enthralled with Paris and looked forward to returning
there for a reunion with Frederick and Dolores.  He liked Frederick very much,
certainly because he had many of his sister's wonderful qualities, but John
knew himself enough to suspect that he was determined to like Frederick to
atone for the many months of unfounded resentment he harbored against him.

John was deep into his reverie,
staring far away into space, a smile on his lips, when Williams returned from
an errand John had sent him on.  Embarrassed at intruding into his master's
obviously pleasant reverie, he mumbled a greeting and handed him a large
envelope.

"Did you need me for
anything more this morning, master?  If not.  I have an errand to run for
myself."

"Can you come back late this
afternoon, perhaps around three?"

"Yes, master."

As soon as Williams left, John
opened the envelope and studied its contents.  It was an accounting from the
bank of the current status of the loan on the mill.  He spent much of the
morning perusing it and making notes, preparing for a noon meeting with his
banker.  He was poised to take the first step towards reviving the mill.

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

That afternoon, John joined
Margaret for their first tea at home since their return.  Dixon had prepared
some special tea cakes and finger sandwiches and John could not help smiling at
the spread before them.  "This must be how it is done in fashionable
circles in London.  Dixon seems determined to elevate my tastes."

Margaret laughed.  "Dixon
takes great pleasure in food and will try different kinds of dishes. 
Generally, her cooking is quite good.  Every once in a while, however, even an
adventuresome eater might find it too exotic."

"Was tea at Harley Street
always this elaborate?"

"Not really.  Only on some
occasions and when certain friends of my aunt came.  This is Dixon's way of
welcoming us back.  I wouldn't be surprised if she also prepares our favorite
dishes for dinner."

John picked up a sandwich and ate
it in two bites.  He grinned, "Hmm.  I can gobble these up."  He did
not, however, take another piece.  Instead, he put his teacup down and opened
his mouth as if he was about to speak but he closed it again and, instead,
regarded his wife thoughtfully.

Margaret arched an eyebrow at him
when, after some minutes, he still had not spoken.  She was reluctant to
intrude into his thoughts, however, and continued to sip her tea.

John got up from his chair,
picked it up and deposited it next to Margaret's.  "Have I ever explained
why I had to give up the mill?"

"No but I assumed it was
because you could not pay the bank loan on account of the strike."

"The strike certainly made
all the difference.  It caused production delays and some orders could not be
completed on schedule.  That meant, in turn, that I did not receive payments
when I expected them.  But I cannot blame the strike solely for what happened. 
The market was on a downturn and some clients whose orders were filled could
not pay what they owed me because they had difficulty selling their
merchandise."

She nodded and he continued after
a short pause.  "The bank loan is not a terribly huge amount and is
actually the only outstanding debt on the mill.  I had set the payroll funds
aside so the workers were paid.  I had borrowed money against the mill to get
new machinery and materials when our orders doubled and, of course.  I needed
to pay the bank by a certain time, but I could not do so without payments from
my clients."

John scowled and compressed his
lips as he talked and Margaret heard the regret and sadness in his voice.  She
wanted to say something to ease his guilt, if not his sadness, but she was
afraid of sounding condescending and insensitive.  Instead, she reached out and
clasped his hand with both of hers.  She knew that any other man would not have
agonized over why he lost his fortune once married to a woman with a sizable
inheritance; he would have merely considered himself lucky that his problem had
been so conveniently solved.

"On that glorious day at the
train station, you offered me a loan for a small interest so I could reopen the
mill."  The shadow on his brow lifted as he recalled that day and he
smiled at her tenderly.

She smiled warmly back,
"That money is now at your disposal to use as you see fit."

"That may be.  But I prefer
to still consider the money a loan that would be paid with interest out of mill
profits.  I don't know.  Perhaps, my pride or my principles demand that I rise
from this failure mostly on my own resources.  But I also worry about the ups
and downs in this business and am loath to place you and the children we will
have in the state of insecurity my mother had gone through."

He paused and Margaret waited,
gazing at his countenance which once again wore his worries on the knitted
brow.  "For now, I will only need a few hundred pounds to pay off the
interest and a portion of the debt and the mill's credit would be restored by
the bank.  I would use that credit to continue operating and if the mill is
successful, of which I am confident or at least I will do everything I can to
make it so, then I would like to return the amount taken from your account and
possibly invest in something relatively stable to serve as a hedge in the event
of another collapse."

Margaret listened, touched by the
nobility of his intent, and when he finished, she was speechless for a few
moments.  When she spoke, her voice was soft and her tone, almost humbled. 
"I came into this wealth reluctantly.  Perhaps because it had been too
easy to acquire, a big portion of it had not really meant that much.  It is not
that I was not grateful.  I was very much aware of how fortunate I was, at
least for the inheritance Mr. Bell generously bestowed on me.  That alone gave
me security as well as the luxury of living well.  I could live as I wanted and
my choices were multiplied.  It was an incredible feeling, realizing that I
only had my conscience to consult in deciding how to live my life."