Page 8 of Cinders and Smoke

The rumble of heavy footsteps drowned out the mechanical thrum that had permeated the office. Thornton was the first to emerge from the stairwell, followed closely by Higgins and the doctor. Upon seeing Margaret stretched out on his couch, he skidded to a halt, full of conflicting emotions.

His heart would have soared to see her at ease in his office in other circumstances. Only two women in his life—Hannah and Fanny—could presume to recline so intimately, although his sister was unlikely to cross the mill’s threshold. Miss Hale was supine because he had failed in his one duty—to protect her.

Thornton was also immediately overthrown by the ochre and carmine besmirching her evening wear’s collar. How had she survived?

Again, his copybook was truly blotted.

He stopped his recriminations when his eyes were dragged into the vortices centered on her large brown eyes, burning out the pallor of her complexion. Those pools took in his being and, he was certain, weighed his sins and failings against a feather. If he were in the Egyptian halls of Ma’at awaiting judgment, John Thornton was sure that a serpent would snap up his soul to extinguish his existence, so heavy was his heart.

Margaret Hale knew his inner man. She peeled away all his stoic armor. He stood naked before her; such was her power over him. He feared her perception and insight, for it led him to the place he dreaded: where he had to tell himself the truth.

The memory of his father, the suicide, and the destruction of what was, rose unbidden to reaffirm the path forward. Thornton had few recollections of his father; he had ruthlessly purged images that could bring nothing but pain.

Yet one bit of wisdom, seemingly saved for this moment, chased away every shadow that had plagued Thornton. The gift, only appreciated in the current circumstances and not recalled for at least a decade, had been spoken a few months before his family’s world crashed down around their ears. Whether uttered by design or unintentionally, his father had bequeathed it to him one warm summer Sunday as they walked together upon the moor above Milton.

Hannah had remained behind, resting on the family picnic blanket while Fanny played. As the sun began dropping toward the Irish Sea, Mr. Thornton stopped and looked down upon Milton’s smokestacks, asleep for the Sabbath. He assumed a pensive look before offering his soliloquy.

‘The women we love the most, John, are the ones who know our darkest secrets without asking. They see our transgressions without judgment and find gems in the dross of everything we value. They do not hector us, nor do they sermonize. Instead, my boy, they use their infinitely better natures to point us toward examples of acceptable behavior, the traits they would encourage in us, and those they would have us leave behind.

‘This is a difficult task, John, for it demands that we hew tightly to principle rather than expedience. Few men could achieve that which would elevate them above the grasping crowd. I fear the price of failure for that would bring unbearable shame.

‘Such good women would have us work to become the best versions of ourselves so we may be worthy of our name and their love.’

Thornton’s eyes widened as the scales fell away. The man his father had been, and the man Higgins was now, had come together on this night.

Marlborough Mills’s master exhaled. “Exagoras agapis.”

∞∞∞

Margaret flashed him a quizzical look, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. Her eyes bright, she reached out to both men. Thornton and Higgins shuffled forward to take her hands. Each man felt sheepish that this gentle lady had been laid low by their dispute.

Fearing her voice would still be raspy, the young woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Thornton, Mr. Higgins: you and I have much to discuss. I fear that the events of this evening are but a foretaste of further trouble if we do not act. Even in our small corner of Milton, we must find a way forward.

“It is time for two men I deeply respect to set aside their pride and work together for the good of Marlborough Mills, its employees, and Milton!

“Doctor, could you bring two chairs here? I agree that I should not be rattling about until I have recovered more. I would speak with these two gentlemen, but I will remain abed.

“Normally, I would ask you and Dixon to withdraw. However, I fear it might be improper for me to be alone with two unmarried men, however honorable. Might you both retreat to the opposite side of the office to bear witness?”

Dixon looked mulish but allowed the doctor to escort her to the seating area around a small table where a stack of sample books rested.

The field cleared, Margaret continued. “Gentlemen, I am not above using either my sex or my infirmity to have my way. I have offered us as much privacy as we can reasonably expect. You may feel free to air your dirty linen without curious ears overhearing. Neither Dixon nor the doctor will spread our conversations abroad. Both, in their own way, are bound by the confessional seal.”

After establishing the ground of the battle, Margaret looked at both men, her chin firming. “However, you must cease staking out your territory. Neither of you impresses me as being so insecure that you must mark every lamppost in the area.

“Begin considering yourselves as joint stewards of Marlborough. Without the mill, Mr. Higgins, the workers will have nothing. Without the workers, Mr. Thornton, the business will cease to exist, eradicating your dreams and throwing your family into poverty again. A day’s delay can result in disaster, as matters stand now.

“Both of you believe you have the resources to outwait the other. But both of you are woefully incorrect.”

Her glare speared them. “While I find much to admire about you, I also appreciate that the traits that have made you the men you are can also become barriers to finding a route that leads to the greater good.

“Your stubbornness will be your downfall—the Achilles’ Heel that will break more than just yourselves.

“You seem, however, to trust me. For that, I commend your excellent judgment.

“I submit that you should plead your cases to me—both grievances and demands—and consider me an impartial judge. You ought to allow me to craft a compromise that will meet the needs of owner and worker alike.

“Sadly, whatever we decide upon here will be binding—and only after Mr. Higgins’s men approve the agreement—solely upon Mr. Thornton and Marlborough. The other mills will have to deal with their employees as they wish. That will have to be enough.