Page 26 of Through Darkened Clouds

Chapter ten

Mr. Bell woke to a quick rap on his hotel room door. He heard, “Your breakfast, sir,” spoken from the hallway and opened his eyes. Staring at the unfamiliar wallpaper, he realized where he was and why he was not at home.

Reluctantly, he rose from bed. As the years passed, he found that waking to another day was no longer compelling. The memory of his friend’s recent death flashed into his mind to chasten him. He should be grateful that he had woken up at all at his age.

He put on a dressing robe and retrieved the tray left outside his door, setting it on the small table by his bedside. He poured hot tea and sat to enjoy it, the hot liquid helping to chase away his drowsiness.

He looked outside at the tarred rooftops and brick chimneys of Milton, the gray sky looming over all. What a dreary picture compared to the view he had enjoyed just yesterday morning!

The visit to Helstone had been bittersweet. The peaceful beauty was unparalleled—it was an entirely different world from Milton or Oxford. And yet, the memory of his friend Hale and the creeping thought of his own mortality had given the landscape a tinge of sorrow.

He brushed aside these thoughts to contemplate his purpose for the day. Would Margaret truly be happy to live in such a town as this? He might soon enough know the answer.

That same morning, Mr. Thornton rose at his usual hour and prepared for work. He brushed off any lingering somberness from the previous evening and descended the stairs to find his breakfast waiting for him, as it always was.

“It is just us from now on, Mother,” he said with a rueful smile as he bent to greet her with a kiss before seating himself across from her at the breakfast table. She poured him some tea. The aroma and the comforting routine relaxed him.

Now they would begin this new, quieter chapter of their lives. The steady succession of ordinary days would make the years go by swiftly enough. There was always work to be done, although it was never far from his mind that his business was running on tenuous conditions. The strike had caused lost contracts and income. He could afford no sudden downturns in the cotton market or any worker unrest. Restoring his mill to its former steady position would give him enough occupation during these coming months and years.

Mr. Thornton was walking the rounds of his mill when one of his clerks caught up with him to tell him he was wanted in his office.

“Who is it?” the Master asked, concerned it was the purchaser of a recent order that may not be ready in time to meet the contract terms.

“It’s Mr. Bell, sir,” was the reply.

His concern growing, Mr. Thornton’s brow contracted as he hastened toward his office, wondering what matter would necessitate a visit from his landlord.

“Mr. Bell,” the master greeted his visitor as he stepped into the room.

“Thornton,” Mr. Bell returned with a smile, getting up from the seat he had taken to shake hands.

“What brings you here?” Mr. Thornton asked directly, taking his own seat as Mr. Bell resumed his relaxed position.

“I’ve just been to London to visit Miss Hale.”

Mr. Thornton’s caution was not eased at this announcement. He made no answer.

“How do you suppose she is faring?” Mr. Bell asked with the slightest quirk of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Mr. Thornton tilted his head to the question. He hesitated. “I suppose she is still grieving her loss. But she is cared for by family and must enjoy far more elegant surroundings than her lot here in Milton.” The last few words he spoke in low tones, looking away.

“Oh, she has everything she needs, that’s certain. But you should see the girl. They treat her like some kind of nursemaid. She’s lost all her verve and vibrancy.”

“What do you mean?” was the instant reply. “She is still in mourning—”

“Yes, yes. But there is something not quite right about it all, as I observed it.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you coming to me?” Mr. Thornton pressed, a quizzical expression deepening the lines on his forehead.

“Pardon me for troubling you,” Mr. Bell replied. “I have no one else with whom I could share my concerns about her. You were friends with her father, and I thought you might have a special interest in Margaret. You admire Hale’s daughter, do you not?”

Mr. Thornton lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet the scrutiny of the Oxford scholar. “Everyone must do so; she is a beautiful creature,” he said, careful to keep his voice even.

“Bah!” Mr. Bell said, startling the younger man. “Is that all you admire her for? I thought you were a more discerning man than that! I’ve not seen a finer girl in all my years. She has no pretense about her and speaks her mind. Her compassion and tenderness come from the depth of her heart. And yet she is no lamb when it comes to strength! Why, she rises from every tribulation thrown upon her—troubles which would fell most men.”

Mr. Thornton’s heart swelled with a fierce pride to hear the woman he loved so lauded. He pushed away from his desk and strode to the window, his back to his visitor. “I am well aware of her great strength and her independent spirit,” he answered, his breathing quickened to recall how she had braved the rioters to come out and save him!

“But I do not comprehend how I may be of any help…” Mr. Thornton continued.