Aunt Shaw's breath was labored from the exertion of rising from the settle to accept the morning mail from one of the maids that tended to her family's needs in the grand home on Harley Street. She was awaiting breakfast and her un-satiated appetite had soured her mood. She had grown round and undefined in her later years; her face that was once girlish, even into middle age, had taken on a bloating due to excessive water retention. Her eyes that once sparkled a clear light blue were masked behind swollen eyelids that no amount of warm compresses could reduce in size. She immediately spied the familiar handwriting of her niece, Margaret, on the front of a letter, perfect handwriting that had been one of her many accomplishments during her formative years living in London with Aunt Shaw and her cousin Edith.
Aunt Shaw opened this letter first, and scanned it's brief content quickly. "Good Lord," she uttered and called out to the departing maid. "Quickly, quickly, girl. Fetch me Edith and send word to Mr. Lennox that he is needed here immediately." The young maid's eyes rounded in terror - the Mistress had spoken to her directly, something must have been amiss. She gave a quick dip of a courtsey and asked "You'll be meaning Master Captain Lennox, then, Ma'am?" The elderly matriarch's body shook with the exertion of deeper breathing caused by her current distress, so that her crown of old styled greying curls visably bounced beneath her lace cap. If it were at all possible, Aunt Shaw's eyes actually narrowed as she puffed out a breath of excacerbation and snapped, "No you silly girl. Mr. Henry Lennox, the Captain's brother. Send for him. Immediately." A fit of coughing overtook her, every bit of lace on her cap, collar and shawl shook with each effort she made to gather her breath.
The news was both alarming and fearful. Margaret Hale had fled Spain and was expected home any day, accompanied by her young niece. The girl belonged to Aunt Shaw's nephew, Frederick. "Maria-something or other," Aunt Shaw tried to recall to herself. One of the several Catholic offspring of her nephew and his spanish wife, Dolores. "Too many children leads to this type of disaster," she tutted. A pack of children, so typical of a country that embraced catholicism as the national religion.
But the worst news of all was that Margaret planned to stop in London, settle her affairs and then move on to Milton.
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The Journey Home
FanfictionThis is a continuation of the story of North and South, many years after the last meeting between Margaret and John. In 1854, Margaret was living with her aunt and cousin in London after the death of her father earlier in the year. John Thornton c...
