Chapter 5. A Caucus Race and a Long Tale

Several days after her encounter with Bessy, Meg stood in the kitchen, arranging flowers in a vase. She had helped Dixon clean and dust the family's living spaces, and was putting the finishing touches on a lovely arrangement of yellow roses, lavender, and ivy, filling one of the large china vases she had found in the kitchen pantry. Stepping back to admire her creation, she was startled by her mother's cry from the parlor above.

"Meg!" Mrs. Hale called out again. Lifting the vase and carrying it carefully in front of her, Meg ascended the steps. Placing the vase on a side table, she moved to stand by her mother at the window overlooking the street.

"We have company," exclaimed Mrs. Hale.

Meg watched as an austere-looking woman descended from a carriage. She was dressed in black from her old fashioned bonnet to the half boots on her feet, and she looked about frowningly, as if she were sorry that she had come to such a place.

"It must be Mrs. Thornton's mother," Mrs. Hale said in wonderment.

"There is no mistaking that stern brow," Meg remarked. "The son truly favors his mother, especially when he is displeased."

"And that must be the sister," her mother added, as a young girl in huge plaid skirts that splayed out stiffly from her frame attempted to squeeze out of the carriage door. She struggled and squirmed much like a butterfly attempting to escape its chrysalis, and when she stood on the pavement at last, freed from the confines of the carriage she shook her skirts about her much as a dog would shake his wet fur.

"What a silly dress," Meg said in exasperation. "Do you think it will fit into our parlor?"

Mrs. Hale looked at Meg in surprise and began to laugh, the first true laugh Meg had heard from her.

Meg giggled in turn, and felt a stirring of warmth and kinship for this lovely, fragile woman. She had never had a mother with whom she could laugh or share silly moments, and was beginning to realize how much she missed.

"Meg, your apron," whispered Mrs. Hale, and Meg turned about so Mrs. Hale could undo the laces.

Thank heavens the parlor is clean and tidy, Meg thought, and she had had time to change her dress from an earlier ramble. Smoothing her hair down, she stepped to her mother's side as Dixon ushered their visitors into the room.

Mrs. Thornton introduced herself and her daughter Fanny to Mrs. Hale and Meg, and Mrs. Hale requested Dixon to serve tea.

Meg stood to help Dixon, but her mother frowned and gave her a fleeting shake of the head. She recognized that her mother was trying to convey to her that it was not her place to prepare the tea tray, but to remain and entertain their company.

Conversation was desultory until the tea tray arrived. Meg served their guests and her mother, and had just settled herself in a chair with her own cup when Fanny Thornton addressed her.

"I see you are not musical, as there is no piano," Fanny commented.

Meg opened her mouth to respond, but her mother's voice cut across her. "We had to sell our piano when we moved from Helstone. As you can see, this parlor would not accommodate a grand instrument."

Meg added, "But I do love music. I understand you have concerts here in Milton."

"Oh, yes," Fanny trilled airily. "We have everything London has, only later." She smoothed down her skirts and studied the tray of cakes, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the selection available.

This tepid style of conversation continued, with sparse comments and long pauses between topics. Mrs. Thornton spoke grudgingly, as if it cost her by the word to converse. Fanny offered several topics, but it became apparent within minutes that she was a very silly girl. Several of Fanny's pronouncements concerning the Hale's small rooms and homely furnishings caused her mother some degree of embarrassment, judging from her pained expressions.

Meg wished fervently that they would leave so that she might continue with her chores. She was mentally creating a shopping list when a comment from Mrs. Thornton caught her attention.

"Rather than study the Classics, my son would use his time better to pursue his main objective," she said in measured tones. At the blank gazes from Mrs. Hale and Meg, she continued, "Which is to hold his place, master and magistrate, as a leader of industry in Milton." Her face took on an aspect of deep pride. "Go where you will, speak to whomever you may, the name of John Thornton is known and respected by all men of business-and sought after by all the young ladies."

Meg found this statement on Mr. Thornton's overwhelming attractions so ludicrous that she burst into merry laughter. "Surely some of the young ladies can resist him," she asserted, and caught her mother's smiling eye. Her smile quickly faded when she recognized that she had offended and hurt Mrs. Thornton, who glared at her. That such a chit of a girl could find her son an object of base amusement irritated the proud mother to no end.

Rising suddenly from her chair, Mrs. Thornton looked down at Mrs. Hale and retorted, "If you had a son like mine, Mrs. Hale, you would not be ashamed to sing his praises."

Meg started to apologize when she caught a look of such sorrow and hurt on her mother's face that it drove all thought of apology from her head. What had Mrs. Thornton said to cause her mother to have tears in her eyes?

Meg stood with Mrs. Hale and watched silently as the Thornton women swept from the room and down the stairs. At that moment, a memory stirred. Gran had told her that the family of the master who had been killed in the riot had left town after his death and was never heard from again. What sorrows Mrs. Thornton must have suffered with the death of her beloved son, Meg thought, who clearly was the source of her pride and hope for the future.

Turning her attention to her mother, Meg asked gently, "Why are you so grieved, Mother?"

"Oh, Meg," Mrs. Hale sighed, "Hearing her speak with such pride of her son made me think of Frederick and the fact that we shall never see him again."

Meg frowned. Who was Frederick? She had heard no discussion over the past weeks of any brothers or sisters.

"Why do you say we shall never see Frederick again?" Meg asked cautiously.

"I cannot bring myself to speak of your brother's situation now, Meg," Mrs. Hale said with a small sob. "Please forgive me, my dear. I am going to lie down for awhile. My head is hurting me dreadfully."

Meg grasped her about the waist and helped her to her feet. "Please let me help you to your room. I will prepare a cup of chamomile tea for you to ease your headache."

Mrs. Hale smiled wanly. "Thank you, my dear," she said softly.

Here is a mystery, Meg thought glumly as she supported her mother to her room and tried to make her comfortable. I have a brother of whom we do not speak.

Meg prayed Dixon might be a source of enlightenment, and was not disappointed. When Meg raised the topic later that afternoon as she was ironing, Dixon shook her head sadly. "It is not something of which the family speaks. Master and Mistress were so proud when Master Fred joined the Navy; they thought it would be the making of him. Instead, it has led him to live the life of an exile. It is such a shame that you were in London when the mutiny took place; your mother could have used your support. She fell to pieces, and your father wasn't much better."

Meg stared. Her brother had been involved in a mutiny? "Dixon, why can't Frederick return home?"

Dixon sighed. "He would be hung on sight if he were to set foot in England again. The other sailors involved in the mutiny stood trial, and were hung for their efforts. No, Master Frederick is better off in Spain, where the law cannot get to him. I know he lives under an assumed name, but I am not sure what that name is." She nodded at the curtains Meg was pressing. "Miss Meg, you will scorch that fabric if you don't move the iron soon."

Meg started, and turned her attention back to her task. The conversation about Fred was over, at least for the time being.

**********

When Mr. Hale entered his wife's bedroom that evening, he was startled by the sight of his wife with a towel draped over her head, bending over a basin of steaming water. She was supported about her waist by Meg.

"Meg, what are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

Without taking her eyes from her task, Meg calmly replied, "I am trying to ease Mother's breathing. Steam from hot water often helps open the breathing passages, and the eucalyptus oil I have added should ease her congestion." She helped her mother stand and led her to a chair. "I think that is enough for now, but I would like you to try a teaspoon of cod liver oil after our evening meal, if you can tolerate it."

Mr. Hale shook his head in wonder, and explained, "I must change my clothes. I dine with Mr. Thornton this evening." He stepped out of the room.

Meg said a silent prayer of thanks that once again her father was too preoccupied and her mother too immersed in her own thoughts to question her sudden medical acumen. Meg guided her mother gently to the bed and settled her among the pillows and bolsters.

"Thank you, my dear," Mrs. Hale murmured weakly. "I do believe I feel better. Well enough, I think, to try your cod liver oil."

"Good," Meg responded. "We shall do this again tomorrow morning, and hope to see some improvement in your cough." Once her mother was comfortably established, Meg gathered the bowl of water and kettle, and left the room.

"Meg!" Mr. Hale's voice stopped her in mid-descent on the staircase. He moved closer to her and said in a low voice, "How ill is your mother?" His voice was anxious and his expression worried.

Meg hesitated; she suspected that Mrs. Hale was quite ill, but did not wish to alarm him. From the symptoms she had noted, and discussions with Dixon, she believed her mother to have consumption. Meg had seen the disease in various stages of progression, and her mother was exhibiting the key symptoms.

Mrs. Hale was weak and had lost both weight and strength, according to Dixon. Her cough was dry and raspy, and she complained of pain in her chest. Worst of all, Meg had seen small, bright spots of blood on her mother's handkerchiefs after extended bouts of coughing. All of these signs pointed to consumption, a dreadful disease for which there was no cure.

Meg knew she could not share this insight with Mr. Hale. She determined that she must find a doctor in Milton to examine her mother. Perhaps Mrs. Thornton would be willing to recommend a medical practitioner. Meg was determined to visit Marlborough Mills and brave Mrs. Thornton's ire for her mother's sake.

Catching her father's worried look, Meg smiled at him and clasped his hand comfortingly. "She is complaining of a cold, Father. She needs nourishing food and rest to recover, and I will make sure she gets both." It would be good for her to have a change of climate if I am right, Meg thought, but I will wait until my diagnosis is verified to broach that topic.

Mr. Hale smiled in relief and patted Meg's hand. "You are a good girl. You have been a God send since we have arrived in Milton. Do what you must to help her get well. I must dress for dinner, but I will not be home too late tonight. Will you wait up for me and let me know how she is?"

"Of course," Meg said soothingly. "Enjoy your evening with the great Masters of Milton, father," she added cheekily, and he laughed. I do not think I would enjoy eating with Mr. Thornton glowering at me, she thought as she headed toward the kitchen to help Dixon with the evening meal.

Later that night, Meg finished unpacking the books and other belongings that Margaret Hale had brought from Helstone. Because so much of her time over the past several weeks had been spent overseeing their move to their new home, this evening was the first time she had to set right her own small bedroom. As she moved books from the desk to the small bookshelf, examining titles and wondering about Margaret Hale's tastes in reading, a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, Meg saw that it was a half-written letter-the writing took up most of the front page, and broke off in mid sentence.

Margaret must have written this letter and left it undone, Meg thought, and she read the contents with rising curiosity.

Dear Edith,

We have just arrived in Milton this evening, and I am sick with apprehension. It is a horrible town full of rough people. I feel as if I have come to a foreign land. I cannot return to Helstone, and I do not believe I can stay here. Mother is ill and Father fools himself into thinking that he will be able to make a living here teaching, but I am not sure he will have anyone to instruct. We shall be no better than paupers here before too long.

I have a sort of premonition that something terrible will happen to me if I remain here. With that in mind, I have formulated a plan to return to London which I intend to put into motion soon. If I succeed, I shall be with you before too long. If not,

The letter broke off at this point. Meg refolded the note, her forehead creased in thought. What plan did Margaret have in mind to return to London, she wondered? How could she contemplate leaving her mother and father behind, or did she plan to return for them later? Another mystery, she sighed, and tucked the letter away in a desk drawer.

**********

Mrs. Hale professed to feel better on the following morning, given an evening meal of fresh meat and vegetables from the grocer and a breakfast of porridge and fresh fruit for which Meg paid an exorbitant price in exchange for its potential beneficial effect. Until Mrs. Hale was examined by a doctor, the best Meg could do was ensure that her patient ate fresh, nourishing foods, took regular doses of cod liver oil to build her stamina, and rested frequently.

By mid-morning, Mrs. Hale was dressed and seated in the parlor, sewing a design of flowers and leaves on a piece of cambric. Mrs. Hale urged Meg to join her in her sewing, pointing out that Meg had not sewed a stitch since she had arrived in Milton.

Meg made a face; she hated needlework of any kind except that which involved stitching up wounds. Aunt Lily had despaired of her ever learning this feminine art, and Amelia had giggled at Meg's badly stitched samplers.

Meg had no patience to sit and sew; she preferred more active pursuits, and would disappear any time the sewing basket made an appearance at the boarding house.

"I have several errands to run, Mother," Meg explained as she prepared to leave the parlor. "I will be back later."

Mrs. Hale clucked her tongue. "You have become quite an independent spirit here in Milton, Meg. Be careful where you go, and remember not to wander too far."

Meg leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. "I will. Please promise me that you will rest after you have eaten." Mrs. Hale nodded and patted her cheek before turning her attention to her sewing.

Meg slipped from the room and outside into the busy streets of Milton, intent on paying a visit to Bessy Higgins. She was forced to stop and ask directions several times, finally getting her bearings at the Goulden Dragon.

Francis Street was a congested byway, filled with women doing laundry and men loitering about the steps of their homes. It appeared to be a place of great poverty and much want, Meg thought as she met the empty, sullen eyes of men out of work and women struggling to do their daily chores. Walking up to a small dwelling, Meg knocked briskly on the door. After several seconds, the door swung open, and a young, sloe-eyed girl clutching a worn shawl about her thin shoulders gazed out at Meg.

"Excuse me," Meg explained with a smile, "I thought Bessy Higgins lived here."

In response, the girl opened the door wider and beckoned Meg inside. Stepping over the threshold, Meg got a closer look at the young girl and started with surprise. She resembled Gran-her height, build, beautiful eyes, and oval face were the same as those of the woman who raised Meg.

Meg stared at the girl as she continued into the room, only taking her eyes from her unblinking gaze when the other occupant of the room exclaimed, "So, you have come."

Meg turned and met the pleased expression on Bessy Higgins' face. The girl sat in a chair next to a table, mending what looked to be a well-worn shirt. The room was bare of comforts and had precious little furniture, but it was clean and tidy, and a small fire burned in the hearth.

Meg placed a basket on the table. "I brought you some fruit-the grocer had some lovely oranges today. I bought a number for my mother, and I thought I would bring you a few, as a treat, along with some fresh bread and cheese. I hope you enjoy them."

Bessy smiled in gratitude. "Thank you for such kindness. Mary," she called out to the girl, "would you unpack Miss Meg's basket, please?"

Meg's head snapped around. Mary was Gran's name. She felt a chill of apprehension-could this young woman be Gran? How remarkable, to meet her beloved friend when she was younger than Meg. Coming on the heels of this discovery was another, more staggering realization: Gran had said that her father had hung for his role in the riot, and her sister died of grief. Higgins must the unfortunate union man, and Bessy the grieving daughter.

The fortune teller's words rang in Meg's ears: More than one life depends upon your actions. If she could stop the riot, she would save not only Mr. Thornton, but Higgins and Bessy, and Mrs. Thornton and Fanny, along with the other men who were hung. She trembled at the thought of the staggering responsibility thrust upon her, and wondered once again with a modicum of desperation how she was to accomplish such a feat.

"Are you all right, miss?" Mary asked in a solicitous voice, with a cadence and sweetness so familiar to Meg. "I saw you shiver," she explained in response to Meg's blank look.

"I-I am a bit cold." Meg replied, and moved her chair closer to the fire. "Do you have any other brothers and sisters, Bessy?"

"No, miss, it is just Mary and me," Bessy responded promptly. "Father wanted a son, but he does well by his daughters." She began coughing, and Mary went to stand behind her to support her until the coughing abated. "I am all right, just a bit of fluff."

Meg leaned toward Bessy and took one of her cold hands into her own. "Bessy, have you considered putting a mask over your nose and mouth to protect you from ingesting any more fluff?"

Bessy stared at her for a moment before she burst into peals of laughter that brought on another fit of coughing. "Lord love you, miss, what a sight I would make with a mask tied about my face!"

Meg smiled, but said seriously, "You may look a sight, but it would help protect you against breathing in any more fluff."

Bessy shrugged. "I only work two days a week at the mill now, so I'm not swallowing near as much fluff as before."

They sat and chatted amiably while Mary swept the hearth and put the kettle on for tea. Before Bessy could serve them, the front door opened and Nicholas Higgins sauntered into the room.

He stared at Meg impassively, and nodded to her. "Her told me you would come," he said quietly.

Meg lifted her chin and returned his stare, and saw a small spark of humor come alive in his eyes.