Page 70 of One London Eve
Margaret stared at the floor, her face blooming with shame and guilt. “Yes, mamma.”
“Come, let me look at you. You were hurt. Let me see.”
Her mother’s worried attentions brought tears to Margaret’s eyes. She sat next to her mother and showed her the area near her temple that she had covered.
“You should have told us, my darling. I can’t imagine how frightening it all must have been. And to think you were on an errand for me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, mamma. Not after you had been so ill.”
“I know it. You have been very good to me. Now there is something we must talk about,” Mrs. Hale said, patting her hand.
Margaret cast her eyes down again, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“Are you aware of the rumors spreading throughout the town—about what happened between you and Mr. Thornton?”
Margaret nodded, unable to look her mother in the eye.
Mrs. Hale let out a sigh. She looked at Dixon, who nodded to encourage her mistress to go on. “Dixon says Mr. Thornton was here last night. Did he…it would be only proper that he make an offer of marriage to you after such a scene. Did he make such an offer?” she asked as delicately as she could, her hope rising that all was resolved already.
Mrs. Hale startled as Margaret stood up suddenly and took a few paces away.
“He came…but I…we crossed words again. I spoke too harshly…” Her hands covered her face, her back turned to the onlookers.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hale murmured. “Well, perhaps your father can speak to him and make things turn out all right,” she offered with gentle brightness.
“Margaret?” her mother called to her.
Margaret turned towards her mother again. Mrs. Hale was astonished to see that she was crying.
“Oh, my dear, what is it? This is all terribly upsetting, to be sure. Your reputation is at stake, and there is only one way to secure it from all these coarse rumors. I know you have your differences with Mr. Thornton, but he is a very respectable man. You must be willing to accept him. After all, he has been nothing but kind to us, you must agree.”
“Yes, mamma,” Margaret whispered through her tears.
Dinner at the Hales’ home that evening was somber and silent.
Husband and wife shared poignant glances in the candle-lit room as Margaret kept her eyes on the plate in front of her, eating little.
Mrs. Hale had appraised her husband of Margaret’s situation as soon as he had come home from his lecture. And although he hated very much to be pressed to force any kind of measure upon Mr. Thornton, Mr. Hale promised his wife he would request to speak with him tomorrow. He would do whatever Maria asked of him—whatever was in his power—to make her days as pleasant as possible.
At the other end of town, Mr. Thornton made his way through the darkening alleys of the Princeton District and rapped on the door of the Higgins’ home.
Nicholas Higgins opened the door a crack and held it there when he saw who it was. “I’ve naught to do with the riot. I’d give yo’ the name of every bastard who did yo’ any damage if I could.”
“I didn’t come about that, but I’ll hear what you have to say. I’ve come to talk to you about a concept I’ve been turning over in my mind. If you’ll let me in,” the Master answered.
Higgins hesitated only a moment before opening the door to let such an unexpected visitor enter his home.
Mr. Thornton swept his hat off his head before entering.
Higgins gestured to the wooden chair at the kitchen table.
“Your daughter. How is she?” Mr. Thornton asked, eyeing the inert form of the girl lying in a bed nearby. He took a seat, laying his hat on the table.
“She’s no better. She sleeps most of the day,” was the solemn answer.
“I’m sorry for your troubles,” Mr. Thornton uttered quietly before getting to his point. “I’ve come to see if the scheme I’ve dreamed up is worth attempting. It’s possible I’ve been wasting my time pondering it, but I thought I’d put it to for your opinion.”
“Why me?” Higgins’ face clouded with suspicion.
