Page 58 of One London Eve
She supposed Miss Hale would not approve. But what should a chit of a girl have to say about how her son ran his business? Mrs. Thornton’s ire flared as she recalled Miss Hale’s behavior last evening. The audacity she had to speak up against her son as she sat at his table!
John entered the room just then, greeted his mother, and sat down in his customary place. Martha appeared almost immediately with his eggs and toast, and a bowl of sweetened porridge for the Missus. His mother poured tea for him. The aromatic scent of Darjeeling spices wafted from the steaming cup.
“I’m glad our party is over now, so that you can focus solely on your plans. I expect all the other masters have discovered what you intend to do?” Mrs. Thornton asked, taking a sip of her tepid tea.
“Mr. Slickson knows, so no doubt all the others do as well,” he said blandly, dipping his toast into the yellow yolk.
His mother watched him closely. His manner was short and grave. No doubt, it was because of the risks involved in what he was about to do. Still, she wondered if Miss Hale’s insolence had affected him overmuch.
“I had my misgivings about inviting the Hales,” she said, tilting her chin up. “It’s incomprehensible to me that Miss Hale would give you such a dressing down in front of—“
“Miss Hale is at liberty to express her opinion on any matter. She is a vicar’s daughter after all, and has a care for the lower classes,” he argued in a firm but tired tone. “It is in her nature to have compassion for others.”
But apparently not for you, his mother thought. His defense of the girl vexed her. It confirmed her forebodings that he still held an interest in the girl. They ate in silence together.
“I have much to do. Good day, Mother,” he said after his last bite, then rose from his empty plate to begin his work.
At about the same time, two miles away in the Hales’ home, Dixon shook Margaret awake.
“Miss Margaret!” Dixon urged the sleeper to wake.
“Hmmm,” the drowsy girl rolled to her side.
“Miss Margaret!” the panicked servant urged more loudly, giving the girl’s shoulder another shake. “It’s your mother. She’s in a terrible state. You need to fetch the doctor!”
Margaret opened bleary eyes and pushed herself up. “What is it? What has happened?” she asked, a growing sense of dread clearing away her drowsiness.
Dixon wrung her hands, fear written all over her face. “She’s gone into convulsions. She woke several times during the night in pain. I fear the dinner party was too much for her frail system. You must go get Dr. Donaldson!”
Margaret was already tossing off her nightdress and pulling on her shift as Dixon frantically explained. She put on her day dress, forgoing her corset, and hurriedly thrust her toes into her stockings. Her mind raced with horrific images. Her heart drummed with fear.
Having laced her boots, she threw open a bedside drawer to rummage for the piece of paper with the doctor’s address. Would he still be home? Or would he already be out the door on his rounds?
She raced down the stairs, though with as light footsteps as possible in her flight. It would do no good to wake her father at such a time.
Her legs were wobbly as she walked nearly at a running pace, realizing much too late that she had forgotten her bonnet. She asked directions from several people as she went until at last she climbed the steps of the good doctor’s house and rang the bell.
Relief poured over her as Dr. Donaldson himself appeared within a few moments.
“My mother!” she said, still catching her breath from her chase.
He understood at once, seeing her disheveled state, and disappeared to fetch his bag for only a few seconds before they both dashed on.
When they arrived at the house, Mr. Hale was crouched by his wife’s bedside, clutching her limp hand.
“How could you keep such a thing from me?” he wailed, accusing both the doctor and his daughter of their knowledge. Dixon had been obliged to tell him all.
“We felt it best to allow you to come to your conclusions slowly,” the doctor answered for them both as he attended to his unconscious patient. “However, occasionally a bout of convulsions will show the seriousness of the condition well before the final decline.”
The words, although spoken soothingly to explain, sounded as a death knell to Mr. Hale. He began weeping silently. “I should not have taken you from Helstone. It is all my fault,” he mumbled.
Margaret’s heart bled to see her father so stricken, and gently coaxed him to a chair in the far corner to allow the doctor to examine his patient.
The atmosphere of the room was heavy with fear. Silence pervaded as they waited for the doctor’s pronouncement. The shivering sigh from Mr. Hale and a “hmm” from the doctor being the only sounds for many minutes.
At last he stood and faced the onlookers. “The worst is past. The spasms were bad, but the opiates I have given her will let her sleep. She will rally this time.”
“This time?” Mr. Hale cried out. “I cannot bear it. Perhaps you are yet mistaken?” he asked in desperation. His pitiful hope caused the old doctor to sigh.
