Chapter 17. The Queen's Croquet Ground

Mr. Thornton might have been reluctant to hire Nicholas Higgins, regardless of his tender regard for Miss Hale, but Higgins gave him no cause to regret his decision. He worked hard, and according to Williams, was attentive and clever in his approach to his job. However, the master was still somewhat suspicious of the hand, and kept an eye on him when the chance offered itself.

One evening as he worked late, Mr. Thornton espied Tommy sitting on the wall outside his office, puzzling over a small book. The lad was obviously awaiting Higgins. Tired of trying to make the numbers in his ledgers balance, he decided to join Tommy and quiz Higgins on his activities when he arrived to retrieve his young charge.

Walking around to the ledge where Tommy was stationed, he sat down quietly next to him. Tommy was busy sounding out words in his primer. Mr. Thornton smiled down at the young lad who was concentrating so industriously on the story he read. "Where is Higgins?" he asked gently, and the boy looked up.

"He's finishing up," he said and returned his attention to his book.

The Master frowned. Higgins may be a model employee at Marlborough Mills, but he wondered what he might be up to. If he is agitating for that union again, he thought grimly, letting the thought trail off. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted that it was past seven o'clock.

"Have you had your supper, lad?" Mr. Thornton asked Tommy. The boy shook his head dolefully.

"Mary went to the butcher," he lisped, "but they didn't have any meat."

Mr. Thornton felt a pang. He knew his own dinner awaited him at home, but what would this lad and his brothers and sisters have to eat? At that moment, several workers exited the mill, followed by Higgins. He strolled up and nodded, pulling on his cap. "Evening, Master," he said calmly.

Mr. Thornton looked sternly at the workman. "What have you been doing?"

Higgins hitched at his belt, and sat on the other side of Tommy. "We were finishing up the order. It weren't done on time, and we worked until it were completed."

"I can't pay you for working beyond your time," Thornton stated sternly.

Higgins shrugged. "I see you working beyond your time. If you go under, I lose my job, and who will take care of these children?"

"The boy was telling me he hasn't had his dinner," Thornton remarked.

Higgins sighed. "Some days, there's nothing at the butcher to be had, nothing better than dog's meat."

"It's a shame you can't get up some sort of a scheme, buy food wholesale and cook for twenty instead of one," Mr. Thornton mused. "Then you could feed young scholars like Tommy."

Higgins snorted. "Better be careful, they'll report you to Master's Union."

Mr. Thornton laughed. "Even Masters know that workers must be fed to work well, unless they're idiots," he said dryly, "which some of them are."

Higgins jerked his head toward a corner of the mill yard. "There's an old shed out back might work as a cookhouse. Mind you, we'd need someone to cook."

Mr. Thornton looked at him keenly, a half-smile on his face. "It looks like you did bring your brains to work with you."

Higgins shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Can't leave them at home all the time."

Mr. Thornton stood. "I can't promise you anything. Get up some numbers and bring them to me, and we'll see. Good night, Higgins."

Nicholas hefted Tommy up in his arms, and nodded at Mr. Thornton. "Good-night, Master," he said genially, and headed for home.

When he reached Princeton, he found Meg there, helping to ladle out stew for the children. She looked up and smiled as he and Tommy walked through the door.

"Good evening, Nicholas," she said in a welcoming tone. "You are just in time to eat with Mary and the children." She placed a bowl in front of one of the young Boucher children, and helped her pull her stool up to the table. "Careful, Sally, it's hot," she said in a gentle voice, and the child nodded solemnly.

"I thought there was nothing at the butchers, Mary?" Nicholas asked.

Mary smiled, "When I told Miss Dixon that the butcher said he had no meat today, she said she'd see about that. She brought soup beef back, and Meg brought it to us along with some leeks and onions and carrots, so we've made stew."

"Mary has become a very good cook, Nicholas," Meg said approvingly. "Dixon has taught her to make quite a few dishes."

Nicholas hummed appreciatively as he sat down at the table with Tommy, "It smells very good. A cook, you say," he added thoughtfully, and Meg saw a gleam in his eye. Before she could ask what he was about, Nicholas turned the conversation to the mill and what late hours Mr. Thornton was working.

"I'm afraid the mill might not be doing too well, given the hours he spends pouring over the books, and the number of times he comes and goes from Marlborough Mills during the day. Rumor is he's meeting with his banker to see what can be done to shore up his finances."

Meg felt her heart sink. "Is Marlborough Mills in trouble?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I'm no Master, Meg, and I don't have knowledge of the inner workings. I just know that Thornton appears worried whenever I speak with him, and the light is burning in his office when I arrive in the morning and when I leave at night."

Meg felt a queer pang in her breast. She had always thought of Mr. Thornton as a successful business man, with profits in the bank and a solid standing in the cotton industry. To think of him teetering on the edge of disaster made her heart go out to him. She remembered Mr. Bell's story of his father's suicide and his work at the draper's shop to support his mother and sister. Such an episode must haunt him, much as it shaped him, just as Meg's being an orphan had shaped her and helped to form her character.

Watching the play of emotions on her face, Nicholas reached out and covered her hand with his. "It will all come out right, Meg. Thornton is an intelligent and hard-working man. If anyone can turn this situation around, it's him."

She smiled at him, and patted his hand before extricating hers. "Eat your stew," she said quietly, and rose to see how the children fared.

********

When the lunchroom opened at Marlborough Mills, the hands were suspicious at first of what the Master was about, serving meals to them. However, Nicholas' support and participation in the scheme made the men willing to give it a go, and within a week word was out that a good, hot meal could be had for shillings at the lunchroom.

Mary was hired as the cook, over her protestations that she could not possibly take on such responsibilities. Meg and Dixon helped her shop for her first meals, and Dixon came to help the first few days. The men loved seeing the pretty young girl who ladled up their soups and stews, and steered clear of the stout, sharp-eyed woman whose gimlet eye kept watch on everything that went on during the lunch hour.

Meg came one day with several baskets, two of which contained loaves of freshly baked bread. Mary had said in a panic to Dixon the previous afternoon that the baker was charging too much for bread that week, and she had to pass on having rolls for lunch. Dixon and Meg had risen early to bake several batches of bread for Mary, and Meg was anxious to deliver them to her before the men and women came bustling in for their meal.

She stepped into the dark room and heard Mary give a cry of surprise as she moved quickly toward Meg from the stove. Her eyes glowed when she saw what Meg had brought her. "Where did you find them?" she asked in wonder.

Meg gave a sweet peal of laughter that made several men loitering near the door awaiting lunch turn their heads to look at her, smiles upon their faces. "Dixon and I made them-call it a housewarming gift for your new kitchen."

Mary stepped forward to take Meg's baskets, placing those with the bread on one of the scarred and worn luncheon tables before giving her friend a mighty hug. "Oh, Meg, you are a wonder!"

Meg returned her embrace, laughing at Mary's unusual enthusiasm. "I am so happy we could help you out. So this is your domain," she added, stepping back and surveying the dark space. "It is wonderful, Mary!" she exclaimed to her friend's great pride.

Mary took her by the hand and proudly showed off her stove and cooking area, and all of the shining new pots and utensils hanging from pegs on the wall or lined up on the counter area, ready for use. She was clad in a clean white apron, a gift from Meg and Dixon to celebrate her new position as cook at Marlborough Mills. "Won't you stay for lunch, miss?" Mary pleaded.

Meg shook her head. "I would love to, Mary, but I must be off to the clinic. I have a job to keep myself, you know," she said, winking at her friend. She turned to leave the lunchroom, and walked directly into Mr. Thornton as he stepped into the room.

"Miss Hale!" he exclaimed in surprise, and his hands grasped her arms to steady her. Recovering quickly, he dropped his hands and stated, "I see you have come to admire our lunchroom. It was all Higgins' idea," he added, turning to indicate Nicholas who stood directly behind him.

Meg smiled at both of them warmly. "I think it is a wonderful idea. How good of you to offer a place for your workers to dine-I honor you for it." Her face glowed with admiration, and Mr. Thornton felt his spirits lifted to the heavens by the warmth of her regard.

"What brings you here, Meg?" Nicholas asked cheekily.

Meg grinned at him. "I have brought Mary some bread for your meal today-the baker gave her a difficult time, so Dixon and I have spent the morning pounding dough into loaves for you."

Mr. Thornton looked faintly surprised. "You made bread, Miss Hale?"

She gave him one of her cool, direct glances. "Yes, I did. It is not difficult to make, and everyone should know how to do so. It is quite therapeutic, and saves me from wanting to knock heads together." She glanced idly down and noticed a trickle of blood on the back of Mr. Thornton's hand. "Oh," she exclaimed involuntarily, "you have hurt yourself!"

He raised his hand and looked at it in surprise. "I must have cut myself on the machinery just now. I was clearing a jam. It is only a scrape." He started in surprise when Meg grasped his hand and examined the wound.

"It is more than just a scrape," she declared. "It is a fairly deep cut." Releasing his hand, she stooped and pulled a brown bottle, a tube of ointment, and a scrap of clean cloth from her basket. "Lucky for you, I am well supplied to make my rounds in Princeton later this afternoon," she explained, smiling up at him in a twinkling way that made his heart constrict.

Wetting the cloth with fluid from a brown bottle, she firmly took his hand and cleaned the wound carefully. Looking closely, she pronounced with satisfaction, "You will not need stitches, but let me put some ointment on the cut and bandage it lightly for you, so the wound may breathe." She quickly dabbed on ointment, and wrapped a short length of bandage about his hand.

"All done," she declared with great satisfaction, and froze as she met his tender, heated gaze. His heart is in his eyes, she thought fleetingly.

"Thank you, Miss Hale, for taking such good care of me," Mr. Thornton said quietly, and raised her hand lightly to his lips.

Meg blushed and stuttered, trying to ignore Mary's curious gaze and Nicholas' knowing smirk. "You-you are welcome. Now, I must be off, Doctor Donaldson has been expecting me this last half hour."

She glanced over her shoulder and called out, "I shall see you later, Mary-I hope all goes well for you today." Glancing fleetingly at Mr. Thornton, she wished the men good day and practically ran across the courtyard.

Nicholas and Mr. Thornton watched her depart. "That girl has a heart of gold," Nicholas said softly. "I don't know what I would have done without her, since my Bess died." He joined Mary in the lunchroom, leaving Mr. Thornton to ponder his words as he cradled his bandaged hand against his heart.

********

Fanny Thornton's wedding was the season's grandest affair in Milton. No expense was spared in the ceremony or the wedding breakfast that followed. Fanny, swathed in silks and satins, her skirts fitted over multiple stiff petticoats, made her way down the aisle under the tolerant gaze of her bridegroom. The church was filled with hothouse flowers, the finest that she could afford. The ceremony was stately, and the bride was given away by her brother without much emotion on the part of either participant.

Meg sat in a pew towards the back of the church, with her father. She had been astonished to find they were invited to the ceremony. Her father had come into the parlor several weeks ago as she and Dixon rolled out the rugs they had just beaten, brandishing the announcement in his hand. "Margaret, we have received an invitation to Fanny Thornton's wedding," he stated in a tone of deep satisfaction.

Meg sighed. "Do we have to go, Father?" she asked plaintively. Fanny Thornton was not her friend, and she guessed that Mrs. Thornton and Fanny had sent the announcement as a courtesy to her father, not out of any desire for them to attend the ceremony.

Mr. Hale was shocked at his daughter's query. "Of course, we must go. I would not want to do anything to give Mr. Thornton offense; he has been such a true friend to us."

"Very well, Father," Meg said evenly. She had no desire to argue with Mr. Hale, and if the ceremony turned his thoughts to happier topics, so much the better. He had been morose since his wife's death, and Meg had strained to find activities that would take his mind along pleasanter paths. She had hoped this wedding would be such an activity, she remembered as she sat in the pew and listened to Fanny and Mr. Watson exchange vows. It was worth the effort to dress and primp to see her Father actually anticipate the ceremony and breakfast afterward.

Of all of the troublesome things about this time she found herself in, nothing surpassed the time that had to be spent in dressing for an occasion. Meg hated wearing corsets, and hated fussing with her hair, which had grown back since she originally cut it. She could deal with the chores because she was used to hard work. She could handle the daily reminders of the suffering and hunger she saw all around her, since she did what she could to alleviate both. She could even accept the strictures placed on women in this time-not to be out after dark, not to walk alone with a man-since she mostly ignored them and did as she pleased, under the guise of her nursing. However, she barely tolerated the strictures placed upon her by the fashion of the time-corsets that pinched and tormented like iron maidens, so many layers of petticoats that one felt as if one was swimming upstream constantly, ridiculous shoes that were soiled daily in the horse manure on the streets or threatened to twist one's ankle being caught between cobbles, and silly accessories like hats and gloves that were misplaced and had to be retrieved or replaced on a daily basis. Lord deliver me from fashion, she thought as she sat in the pew, watching Fanny struggle down the aisle in a ridiculously huge hoop skirt that threatened to be caught between pews, or swing up and put an eye or a tooth out.

The ceremony was mercifully short, and soon she and her father stood in the churchyard, in the weak spring sunshine, watching the wedding guests erupt from the church. Fanny smiled and pulled at the front of her gown, trying to surreptitiously retrieve the grains of rice that had gone down her bodice.

Meg watched Mr. Thornton stand at the entrance of the church, chatting with several wedding guests. She thought he looked pale and tired, but his smile was genuine and he looked particularly handsome in his dark suit and white waistcoat and cravat. As she observed him, she saw Ann Latimer slip from the church and move to stand beside him. Meg raised her eyebrows when she saw Miss Latimer slip her hand through his arm, a radiant smile upon her face. It appeared that this action did not please Mr. Thornton; he grimaced briefly, and as he looked away from her, his gaze met Meg's.

Meg could not help herself. She smiled mischievously, and saw his eyes widen in surprise at her expression, and then warm as he acknowledged her point. She was so lovely, he thought again, with her laughing eyes and dimples. She wore a gown of dusky rose today and the color complemented her complexion. Somehow, she knew that he was less than pleased to have Ann Latimer clinging to his arm. A little too sure of yourself, Miss Hale, he thought, but he was not displeased with her humor-far from it. She was a refreshing break from the tedium of people with whom he had to deal.

The wedding party and guests walked to the wedding breakfast; it was a lovely day, and the sunshine and fresh air helped lend the day a festive air. As they entered the hotel, Meg was amused to see that Mrs. Thornton and Fanny were at great pains to ignore Meg and her father, as they had at the church. When Mr. Hale and Meg had greeted Fanny and Mr. Watson after the ceremony, Fanny had merely smiled and bowed her head, like a queen accepting homage from commoners. Mr. Watson had been far friendlier, well disposed to the lovely daughter of the former parson. Mrs. Thornton had nodded to both father and daughter, and had chatted with Mr. Hale for several moments, but did not speak a word to Miss Hale.

The private room at the finest hotel in Milton had been filled with flowers and elaborate swags and decorations. The head table for the family of the bride and groom and the small tables for the numerous guests were covered in pristine linen, and set with opulent china, silver, and crystal place settings. Small potted palms filled the corners of the rooms, and flanked the ends of the head table. It was obvious that no expense had been spared in celebration of Fanny's nuptials.

Meg's amusement grew when she found that she and her father were seated at a table by themselves, removed from the Thornton family and the wealthy citizens of Milton. Mr. Hale, always believing the best of everyone, saw nothing amiss in their situation, and Meg did not care enough to feel insulted or snubbed. She took her seat and pulled her father down into the spindly chair next to hers. "Come, father, let us be comfortable and cozy. It has been too long since we have had a chance to sit alone and chat, and enjoy each other's company." His face softened in a smile, and he gave his daughter's hand an affectionate squeeze.

Mr. Thornton, however, was far from amused. He may have still felt off balance by his feelings for Meg, but he considered Mr. Hale his friend and was thus deeply embarrassed to see how his family treated his friend and his friend's daughter. He strode up to his mother and sister, who stood in deep discussion with the maitre d'hotel.

"Mother," he said sternly, interrupting them peremptorily. "Mr. Hale is my friend and you have seated him at the back of the room, with only his daughter at his table. Was this done deliberately?"

Mrs. Thornton had the grace to look abashed and started to respond, but Fanny said with a snort, "La, John, what would you have me do? Seat a poor parson and his daughter with the Hampers or Slicksons? Put them at a table with Mr. Watson's mother? I did not think that anyone in this room would care to sit with them."