Page 19 of Through Darkened Clouds

“I thought I might surprise you, to cheer you up a bit,” he replied, extending his hand to receive the warm clasp of her hands over his. “I see I have accomplished as much already,” he said of her smiles.

“Will you be staying with us for a time?” she asked, her hopeful tone radiantly sincere.

“If it will not put your relations out, I thought I could stay the night, but I have plans for tomorrow—if you find them agreeable,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “How would you like to come with me to Helstone for a day or two?”

“Oh!” Her hands flew up to cover her open mouth. “I should like that very much,” she replied, her vision blurring with forming tears.

“No tears, my dear. I’ve come to cheer you, remember,” he gently chided.

She duly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “No tears,” she agreed, smiling.

Dining at the Harley Street residence was a far cry from sitting in the narrow and dimly lit room in Crampton where Mr. Bell had dined with the Hales once or twice. Here, the white linen-covered table could seat twelve, and a glittering gas-lit chandelier dangled above. A bountiful centerpiece of pink peonies introduced a softness to the pristine setting of gleaming silver and gold-trimmed bone china. A staff of two uniformed servants quietly maneuvered about to serve the family, which included Henry Lennox and their unexpected guest from Oxford.

“How very kind of you to take Margaret to her old home,” Edith said to Mr. Bell as she raised a glass of wine. “She’s always been very fond of her dear Helstone,” she added with a pitying smile for her cousin before taking a delicate sip.

“I have indeed,” Margaret agreed. “I can hardly believe it’s not even been two years since we left it. It seems like ages ago,” she said, her smile faltering as her gaze fell and grew distant.

“I haven’t seen it for ages,” Mr. Bell said. “Margaret was only a young girl at the time. Have you seen it?” he asked Mrs. Shaw.

“Me? Oh, no. I meant to, of course,” she faltered, laying her fork down a moment. “There was always some reason or other…my health is not always good, you understand.”

“Of course,” Mr. Bell allowed, although he found it strange that Mrs. Shaw had never visited her sister’s country home in all the years they had lived there.

“I hope you won’t stay long, Margaret,” Edith continued, a hint of worry in her voice. “What I mean is, little Cosmo will miss you so,” she added, having noted a cautionary glance from her husband.

“Stay as long as you like,” Captain Lennox stated, countering his wife’s plea.

Margaret smiled politely.

After dinner, a tray of various bottles of spirits was brought to the table where the men remained, and Captain Lennox offered Mr. Bell his choice.

“How did the auction turn out in Milton?” he asked as he poured his guest some port.

Mr. Bell took the crystal glass and sniffed the liquid. “As well as expected. But do not be concerned on any account about Margaret’s keep. I will take care of all that.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for taking the trouble to settle Mr. Hale’s affairs. A very sad business, I should say.”

“Mr. Thornton is who you ought to thank. He’s the mill master who became a friend to Hale. He’s taken care of everything in Milton.”

“I’m surprised Margaret still takes an interest in Milton,” Henry suddenly mused aloud, a look of considered thought furrowing his forehead.

Mr. Bell cocked his head. “I’m sure she lived there long enough to have formed some affectionate connections.”

“Her factory girlfriend?” Henry snidely remarked, swirling a bit of brandy in his glass.

Mr. Bell’s eyes narrowed as he studied the young barrister for a moment across the table. “That Margaret should take an interest in the surrounding people should not be surprising for a vicar’s daughter. I commend her for championing the factory sort, the downtrodden as it were.”

“Good point,” said Captain Lennox, who had lit himself a cigar and was puffing his cheeks to get it started. “I hadn’t thought of it—the vicar’s daughter and all that,” he said.

“It’s all very well to mingle with farmers and the like in a small hamlet,” Henry began, “but it’s quite another to be traipsing into the homes of factory workers in a town such as Milton. There are real dangers there, of which she is likely completely unaware.” He took a swig of his drink with the confidence of one who believed he was wise.

“It’s a pity that Reverend Hale ever gave up his living, or she never would have fallen into this interest in factory people. But you know how these country intellectuals are: separated from the modern rush of things, they sit contemplating their old books and forming unrealistic ideals while their families suffer from following their high principles.”

It took effort for Mr. Bell not to scowl at this pronouncement. He answered in a tepid voice, “So you never find anyone in law endeavoring to follow high principles?”

“Touche!” Capt. Lennox exclaimed, raising his glass to Mr. Bell.

Henry was not amused.