Read Online In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South by Trudy Brasure - Free Book Online

worse for the wear,” he concluded with a low sigh. He took one last draught from his teacup and rose to depart.
    “I will go to Crampton at eleven or thereabouts,” he announced. The words, almost casually spoken, stilled the atmosphere like a solemn edict. Their eyes locked together in a meaningful glance before Mr. Thornton turned to take his leave.
    Hannah Thornton sat rigidly in her chair listening to the scuffle of her son’s footsteps as he descended the stairs until she heard the final thud of the outside door.
     
    *****
    Margaret dressed with languorous movements, grateful to have put yesterday behind her and unwilling to hastily relinquish the quiet privacy of her morning. She determined that today would be one of peace and resolved to banish any unsettling thoughts. She would devote her attention to her mother and would visit Bessy, if time allowed.
    She breakfasted with her father, who seemed relieved and cheered that his wife was feeling better. When he went upstairs to his study, Margaret followed, continuing down the hall to keep company with her mother.
    Dixon was clearing away her mistress’s breakfast tray when Margaret entered the room. Mrs. Hale gave her daughter a slightly strained smile as she sat weakly but comfortably in the plush, rose-colored chair of her sitting room.
    “Isn’t the mistress looking much better?” the stout and loyal servant asked Margaret, who nodded cheerfully in reply.
    “I do believe the water mattress helped me sleep better. Margaret, you must thank Mrs. Thornton for her kindness in sending it. And was it not very thoughtful of Mr. Thornton to bring such exquisite fruit the other day?” Mrs. Hale remarked in her delicate voice. She was sincerely pleased to have been accorded such kindly consideration from people she had originally deemed rough and unpolished.
    “Yes, Mama,” Margaret answered politely, fluttering her eyelids in embarrassed distraction. She watched silently as Dixon exited the room with tray in hand, giving Margaret coveted time alone with her mother.
    “Shall I read to you this morning?” Margaret asked, laying her hand on a book of her mother’s favorite sonnets.  
    “Yes, my dear, and then will you read to me again the recent letter from your Aunt Shaw?” she asked meekly.
    Margaret smiled in response and opened the leather-bound book on the tableside to begin reading some of Tennyson’s poetry. Her mother listened with her eyes closed, her head resting against the crochet-covered chair back. The words tripped easily from the younger woman’s tongue, and the rhythm and meter soothed. But no matter how hard Margaret tried to banish it, the memory of her actions the day before stole into her thoughts, bringing an occasional blush to her cheeks.
     
    *****
    Mr. Thornton left the mill at half past ten, unable to concentrate on the matters at the factory any longer. His step was quick and his spirit light at the thought of seeing Margaret again.
    Gray clouds moved slowly overhead and a light wind subdued the growing warmth of noon, stirring the grasses underfoot. Traveling the dusty path that led over a great hill, he took no note of the distant landscape that lay before him. With his gaze fixed ahead, he walked briskly toward his purpose. Exhilaration was tainted by trepidation as he vaguely rehearsed his lines and imagined her response.
    He strode past vendors and workers in the busy streets as he drew closer to the rented townhouse that housed the former vicar and his family. With trembling eagerness, he bounded up the stairs to rap on the painted door. Removing his tall hat as the door opened, his pulse hammered furiously when the broad maid gave him entrance into the Hales’ house.
    Dixon eyed the cotton manufacturer with aloof curiosity. Mr. Thornton was regularly received twice a week in the evenings to study the classics with Mr. Hale, but rarely came calling during the day. “The master is upstairs in the study,” she informed him