Shadow in the North

Chapter Seven - Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

As Margaret grew to despair for her loved ones - the health of her mother and Bessy Higgins never far from her mind - Isabel found herself to be rather in her element. Life in the Crampton house had a tendency to be dull. True, Mr Hale always had a ready word for her on the classics, but even Isabel's fondness for philosophy could not sustain her interest for long enough to satisfy Mr Hale's insurmountable appetite. She had never met with such a scholar in all her life; not at any university, nor in any school. He was inspiring, but only in small doses. Mrs Hale, Isabel found to be simply a fussy, feeble thing. Isabel's natural propensity to care for her kinsman ensured that she was ever attentive, but the person - the true character of Mrs Hale - in that respect, Isabel found the mother to be very bland. Hardly surprising, thought Isabel, for in the book her purpose was only to ail and lament; to bring about Fredrick's return to England. Ah Frederick! she smiled to herself. I should like to meet him. Margaret was - to Isabel's mind - still Margaret. An intelligent, thinking young lady with compassion and a thirst for knowledge. But as Isabel accompanied her on her visits to the Higgins, and tried to offer comfort to poor young Bessy, she could only feel scorn for the fervour with which Margaret attended to all of Nicholas Higgins' protestations against the masters. In Margaret, he had found himself a very ready listener. Still, the visits created a diversion, and a means to escape the Crampton house, and Isabel was really quite gladdened to meet the rough fellow she knew would go on to orchestrate the strike.

Nicholas Higgins was, she thought, a very sharp man of quick thinking. Indeed, the quickness of his mind was truly impressive, considering he had never benefitted from any form of schooling. She watched him closely as he spoke his impassioned words to Margaret, and felt that if Margaret ever did one good deed in the book, it was bringing Mr Thornton and Nicholas Higgins in league with one another; for surely, if Mr Thornton held true to the words he had so eloquently spoken in the Crampton house that evening he took tea with them - that he neither despised nor scorned anyone for their want of wealth or rank, skill or education, but merely for their lack of striving to better themselves; for their reliance on others to hand to them on a gilt plate that which they so idly and selfishly believed to be their lot, then surely Mr Thornton could only be impressed with such a man as Nicholas Higgins; hard worker that he was, deep thinker and revolutionary.

And the longer he spoke, the more he drew her in, until she, herself, felt that if Mr Thornton was not so very handsome - not the hero of the book she had escaped in so frequently over the past fifteen or so years - then she would perhaps now, be as Margaret was; ready to join the workers' plight and rally with them. She looked to her companion and felt a pang of remorse at judging her so coolly from a mere string of words upon a page. Yes, she is biased and ignorant - she has a natural proclivity to favour the poor - the ones she feels beneath her - but she means well, and had Nicholas Higgins not been such a skilled and inspiring orator, she may not have proven herself to be so impervious to Mr Thornton's merits. No, I blame her natural disdain for those she feels to be of a superior level in society, and Nicholas Higgins for being so very inspiring in his cause. It was an enlightening moment, for Isabel had now truly learnt - for the very first time, since her strange new existence began - that life in Milton - the people of Milton - were not entirely as she had pre-supposed.

The Thorntons, however - namely, Mrs and Miss Thornton - she had felt to be a gift. The afternoon spent taking tea with both ladies had been a true pleasure to Isabel, for she could not pick up the book without delighting in Mrs Thornton's staunch and stubborn ways. She could not fail to admire the woman, and had always taken a certain pleasure in despising her in her unrelenting prejudice of the "soft southerners" she so rigidly decried. No, Mrs Thornton had interested her greatly, and she wished to meet with her again, but even so, she was not insensible to the fact that she had been lucky to escape the derision of the matriarch when she came to Crampton to take tea. Isabel had watched closely, and seen the lip curl in distaste as impatient, weary eyes glanced over the weak mother; the proud and haughty daughter. She had felt no such silent rebuke for herself, but she knew the matriarch's ways; her own views and means of expression, would surely invite the lady's scorn in time, and Isabel, brave solider that she was, had no inclination to face such an enemy; to take up arms against such a formidable woman.