Page 9 of Through Darkened Clouds

“Miss Hale is waking. I sent the servant to see her,” Mr. Thornton said rapidly, as if to explain his current presence there.

“Very good. I cannot stay here another evening. I must return to Oxford to arrange the funeral.”

“I will go with you,” the younger man answered immediately.

Mr. Bell was greatly relieved to avoid facing such a dreaded task alone. “I thank you. You have been a good friend to Richard.”

Mr. Thornton nodded. Had his desires been fulfilled, Mr. Hale would have been his father-in-law.

“What time do you leave?”

“I must wait for her London relations to arrive, and then I will make my getaway.”

“I will return later, then,” Mr. Thornton promised and took his hat from the hallway. “Send for me if need be. I must make arrangements to be away,” he added before taking his leave.

Upstairs, Margaret’s grogginess began to clear as Dixon encouraged her to drink the water set at her bedside. The man’s voice she had heard—had she dreamed it, or had someone been in the room with her just now?

“Was there someone…? I thought I heard someone speaking to me…a man’s voice. Mr. Bell?” she murmured.

Dixon frowned. “Mr. Bell has indeed been reading to you—doctor’s orders. But I believe he sent up Mr. Thornton—”

“Mr. Thornton!” Margaret exclaimed in flustered alarm. A blush rose to her pale cheeks at the thought of him being in her bedchamber.

“There, there, Miss,” Dixon laid a hand on Margaret’s arm when the girl moved to rise. “It was not proper, I know. These men have no sense of propriety! I suppose Mr. Bell meant well, but to send Mr. Thornton up in his stead…” she shook her head in dismay.

Margaret sank back into her pillow at her words. Why, her hair was loose and must be disheveled! She was in her chemise!—albeit covered with blankets. Margaret looked down at herself. A sense of warm embarrassment spread over her entire body.

Dixon left to bring her something to eat. In the quiet room, she closed her eyes, searching her memory for what Mr. Thornton had said. She remembered now the calm cadence of his voice when he must have been reading to her. Not a word did she recall, just the soothing sound of strong comfort.

She had called out to him, hadn’t she? And in response, he had turned away from her! She recalled the sound of his footsteps. He had retreated to the window to distance himself from her. An ugly pain pulled at her chest. She believed she had heard him murmur something about ‘couldn’t love.’

A stab of wretched despair forced a cry from her lips. Oh! It was that awful lie that she had told. Of course he could not love her, for he knew her to be a liar.

And he had rushed from the room, eager to be away from someone he could no longer trust—could no longer respect. Hadn’t he told her as much to her face? That any foolish passion he had held for her was now vanished—destroyed by her one damnable sin.

When Dixon reappeared with a tray of broth and bread, Margaret’s face told of her bitter anguish.

“My poor Miss,” Dixon said, “left alone in this awful place. Your aunt is on her way, not to worry. You’ll soon be home in London again.”

And the twinge of guilt that her every thought should be for mourning her father heaped upon Margaret as one more misery.

Chapter four

Aunt Shaw arrived in the afternoon with much ado about the smoky air outside and the cramped quarters of the Hales’ home. She sent her attending maid upstairs with her hefty baggage.

Mr. Bell introduced himself to Mrs. Shaw and Mr. Henry Lennox, and promptly sent Mrs. Shaw upstairs to care for her orphaned niece.

General Shaw’s widow ascended the stairs slowly, inspecting the banister for cleanliness along the way, and muttering that the stairway was much too narrow. She shook her head at the dismal plainness of the row house her sister had called home in this awful town.

Henry Lennox also surveyed the interior of the modest row house with a grim face as he followed Mr. Bell into Mr. Hale’s study.

“How is Margaret?” Henry asked with a serious mien, although his gaze continued to stray around the room, assessing.

“She’s rallying now, but yesterday she gave me great concern,” Mr. Bell answered. “Strong as she is, it’s a dastardly hard blow to lose both parents in the space of a few months.”

“To be sure, it’s been a difficult time for her since she left her home in Hampshire. I can’t imagine why Reverand Hale would drag his family to this desultory place,” Henry said with a grimace of distaste. “It’s little wonder Mrs. Hale should become ill. Why, he could have easily kept whatever doctrinal grievances to himself and kept his position as vicar for years. It is all well for men who dwell in the country to form stern ideals and mean to keep them. Their vision is too idealistic. Town life, such as in London, teaches one to be more practical, judicious.”

Mr. Bell studied the barrister with annoyance. “I would say that integrity of conscience should be expected of one whose calling is the Church. If such integrity is attained only in the countryside, I should think Londoners ought to spend more time in the hills.”