Page 14 of Through Darkened Clouds

“What? Yo’r father’s Bible? I’m not—”

“Please,” Margaret insisted. “He would be pleased to know it was in your home, being read by you to the children.”

“That I will do, yo’ can be sure of it. Yo’r kindness to my Bess, and yo’r father’s kindness to the likes of me has showed me that there are some Christians who take heart to follow the Lord in deed, not just words.”

Margaret smiled at his response. Leaning over to open a desk drawer, she rummaged and pulled out a small, carved ivory box. Lifting the lid, she took a few coins from it and turned to give them to Higgins.

“No, I’ll not take yo’r money,” Nicholas protested, shaking his head.

“It’s not for you, but for the children. You must take it for the children’s sake,” she said, speaking of the seven young orphans Higgins had taken into his care.

“Now, Mary,” Margaret mused aloud, wondering what she could give the girl as she stepped back into the hallway. She took a straw bonnet off the hook. “I hope you’ll think of me when you wear this,” Margaret said, presenting it to her.

Mary took it and touched the blue satin ribbon on it with tenderness. “I don’t need it to remember yo’. I’ll think on yo’ always,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief as she admired the gift. She looked up at Margaret. “I thank ye,” she said, clutching it to her chest.

“Will yo’ not come back to visit sometime?” Mary asked. The wistfulness in her voice made Margaret wince.

“I don’t—”

“I reckon she’ll not have occasion to come back here,” Higgins said. “But I hope she’ll not forget us with all her fancy surroundings.”

“I will not forget you,” Margaret assured them with a warm smile. “I am glad to know that there will be somebody here in Milton who will remember me fondly,” she added, her smile fading as she thought of someone else.

“Mayhap we’ll go to London someday to see yo’ in your London finery,” Higgins said.

“I would like that very much,” Margaret replied.

When they had gone, Margaret stood in the hallway—adrift in the memories of how she had grown to befriend Bessy and her family.

Henry stepped into the space. “I see you continue to play the role of vicar’s daughter here in Milton, taking care to give charity to the factory workers.”

Margaret drew herself up, her head held high. “My first friend here was Nicholas’ daughter, Bessy,” she replied. “But Bessy died from all the cotton fluff she breathed in as a factory girl.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. It’s a terrible conundrum these manufacturers face. They must make a profit from investing in these magnificent machines and, of course, paying the workers’ wages. Even more expensive it must be if they are to consider a remedy for every danger that might befall their workers in their factories. I suppose it cannot be helped that some are exposed to conditions that are harmful.”

Margaret’s brow creased at his casualness in explaining away Bessy’s death. How glad she was that she had refused him that fateful day in Helstone over a year ago when he had asked her to be his wife. How far apart their minds and hearts were, she could see that clearly now. She knew she could never marry Henry.

She did not answer him, but thought of the wheel that Mr. Thornton had installed—at great expense—to clear away much of the dangerous cotton fluff. None of the other masters had done as much to keep their workers from falling ill.

The rest of the afternoon was spent packing her things, preparing to catch the four o’clock train to London.

Dixon would be left behind to sort and sell all that remained. Margaret cast a nostalgic glance over the furniture and sundry items in each room. Her chest ached at the notion of never again seeing her mother's sofa, the dining table and chairs, or her father’s desk.

A tearful Dixon embraced the newly orphaned girl before she headed out for the station. Some of the servant's tears were in self-pity, for she longed to accompany Miss Margaret to the luxury and comfort of Aunt Shaw’s London home.

“I will write to tell you what I wish to keep. Thank you, dear Dixon,” Margaret said.

Henry took the bag from Margaret’s hand and entreated her to follow him to the waiting coach.

Once inside, Margaret looked back at the row house that had been her home until they turned the corner.

After the bustle of boarding the train, the travelers settled into their compartment, and the train began its journey south. Sitting next to her niece, Aunt Shaw heaved a sigh of relief to be on her way home. Across from them, Henry regarded Margaret’s somber mood, noticing with some perplexity that she seemed to be reluctant to leave this industrial town. Her tears, he safely attributed to her fresh grief. He would be patient with her. She had suffered very much since being uprooted from her beloved Helstone to this hostile and discouraging place.

Chapter six

Edith was overjoyed at Margaret’s return to their household, and gave her an abundance of hugs to comfort her in the first weeks of her mourning. The young mistress of Harley Street was well aware that Margaret had loved her father deeply and was still pained from the loss of her mother in the autumn. She promised herself to be patient with her grieving cousin, and saw it pleased Margaret to spend time with her new baby, which so happened to be a delightful benefit to Edith’s social schedule. Margaret was an excellent nanny for little Cosmo.

Margaret relished the quiet of the house when the others were making calls or dining out. Not a thing was required of her in these moments but to tend to little Cosmo—a task Margaret found utterly beguiling and bittersweet. A tender joy welled up in her as she cradled the baby in her arms and kissed his dewy-soft head. This was as close to motherhood as she would ever experience. Tears gathered in her eyes at the gentle cooing sounds coming from the warm bundle pressed to her chest.