Page 13 of Through Darkened Clouds

“I should think not. It would be far too dangerous,” was the reasoned reply. “Why do you ask?”

“Margaret was seen with an unknown gentleman at the train station around the time of Mrs. Hale’s death,” Mr. Thornton explained.

“I can’t imagine he would take such a risk,” Mr. Bell tutted. “At any rate, I was never told he had made such a visit.”

“I see,” the younger man replied, his brow creased in uncertainty.

The two men exchanged a few more words before the Milton master expressed his thanks for Mr. Bell’s hospitality and gathered his things to return home.

As he sat on the train heading north, Mr. Thornton turned over in his mind again and again the possibility that she had no lover. He wished with all his heart that it had been Frederick whom he had seen with Margaret that October evening.

And although this conjecture relieved him of grievous jealousy, it did nothing to alleviate the lasting scar of her rejection of him. He had no reason to think her opinion of him had changed.

Snowflakes drifted past the window of Mrs. Hale’s sitting room. Spring still gave way to winter’s wiles in the North. It would likely be only rain back in London…and Oxford, Margaret mused as she watched the white wisps collect on the outside pane.

Her heart was heavy at the thought that her father was being buried today—far from here, his chosen new home. And far from his wife, who lay forever in Milton.

She had wanted with all her soul to attend his funeral herself, despite society’s disapproval. Instead, she must take comfort knowing that Mr. Bell and Mr. Thornton would be there to honor his life.

Setting aside the luncheon tray Dixon had given her, Margaret stood up just as Aunt Shaw entered the room.

“My dear, you must eat more to regain your strength,” the elder woman encouraged, noting the broth and toast had only been partially consumed.

“Henry and I agree it would be best for us to leave as soon as possible,” Aunt Shaw continued. “I’m certain it will lift your spirits to be away from this place,” she said, eager to return to her dog, Tiny, and to the luxuries of her home. Dixon’s cooking was far too plain, and she missed her own cook’s meals.

A surprising weight of sadness pulled at the pit of Margaret’s stomach at the thought of leaving this simple home forever. When her family had first arrived here, she had thought this place gloomy and confining. She had resisted coming here.

And now that this chapter of her life was to close, she gazed about the pretty little room in distress at leaving it. A long sigh escaped from her throat.

“Oh, my poor, poor dear,” Aunt Shaw mewed, noting the girl’s restlessness. “If you feel well enough, let us leave this afternoon. I’ll help you choose which clothes to take for now. The rest can be sent later,” she directed, leading Margaret to the cozy bedchamber across the hall.

Aunt Shaw opened the tall wardrobe and glanced over the garments, giving a small shake of her head at the lackluster collection. “Well! We’ll have to go shopping when we get to town. Edith will be delighted to help you. You’ll need more cheerful clothes than these. As soon as you are finished wearing your mourning clothes, that is,” she added with solemnity.

Dixon appeared at the door, giving Margaret a wary look. “Pardon, ma’am,” the servant directed to Mrs. Shaw, “but Miss Margaret has callers in the parlor. A Mary Higgins and her father.”

“Oh! I will go directly,” Margaret responded and left her aunt to continue going through her clothes.

Dixon trailed her mistress down the hall. “I’m sorry, Miss, but they said they wouldn’t leave until they saw you! The impertinence—”

“No, Dixon. I am glad to see them. Thank you,” Margaret said before reaching the stairway.

“I was worried I might miss you!” Margaret said as she rushed to hug Mary, who burst into tears. Margaret touched Nicholas’ arm affectionately.

Henry appeared, unsmiling, as he noted the fond gesture given to the man in worker’s clothing.

“Henry,” Margaret turned to greet him. “This is Nicholas Higgins and his daughter, Mary. Nicholas works at Thornton’s mill.” Then to Higgins: “This is Henry Lennox, from London.”

Henry gave a cursory nod and a half-smile to the factory worker. “I’ll leave you to continue your conversation,” he offered, and strolled to the front parlor to read the book he had taken from Mr. Hale’s study.

“We’d not let anyone stop us from saying our goodbye. As soon as Thornton told me that yo’r father was gone, I knew we must make our visit here. It weren’t right to see yo’r father go so sudden-like. He was a good man. There was no pretense with him. I thank the likes of him for speaking with me.”

Thornton says to me, he says ‘Miss Hale is leaving us for good. She’s off to become a fine lady in London. We’ll not see her again.’

A tug of sorrow pulled at Margaret’s heart to hear Mr. Thornton’s words. He is likely very glad that I am leaving, she thought.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” she answered, her soft voice tinged with emotion. “Come, I wish to give you something,” she said, leading them to her father’s study off the entrance hall.

Margaret looked about her and swiftly picked up what she sought. “I know Father would want you to have this,” she said, holding out to him a leather-bound Bible.