Isabel climbed the stairs, returning to the drawing-room, just as Mr Hale had finished explaining to his wife and daughter of Mr Thornton's troubled past. She knew, of course, that the father's "miserable circumstances" in which he had died, were actually suicide, after a failed speculation which ruined the family and blighted their future with great debts. She knew from the book, that Mr Thornton had set straight to work, to re-build the family name and reclaim their honour; that the mother - Mrs Thornton - had ruled their family with staunch economy, so that a sum could be set aside each week to repay their debtors - long after they had lost any hope of seeing themselves re-paid. She knew that Mr Thornton had worked his way up from the bottom, to achieve the position of prominence that he held today - and at the young age of thirty! - purely through his own merit and hard work. She was, therefore, unaffected by the delicately spoken words she heard, upon entering the drawing-room at the end of Mr Hale's sad recital of Mr Thornton's past, but the same could not be said for wife and daughter. Both were grieved and unsettled by the notion of suicide and heavy debts. Margaret, for her part, truly felt the worth of the man in the recounting of the tale, and lamented only that such a man of fine character should be blighted by holding the position of a Milton manufacturer.
Isabel looked on, unable to suppress a scowl. Yes, this is why I could never warm to her in the book; so very judgemental. So determined in her bias, she said to herself.
'How does his being a manufacturer lower his worth?' asked Mr Hale of his daughter.
'Oh, Papa! He thinks solely in terms of trade. Everything of worth to him is only so for its monetary value. He spoke of the great machines with wonder, but I am certain he thought only of the money they could earn him in his mill. His interests lie only in gaining more wealth. He cares not for his workers - poor as they are. He has no feeling of sympathy for them because they are not capable of raising themselves as he has. You see, Papa; he cares only for riches and those who can do as he does.'
'He values the machine only for the money it can earn him?' argued Isabel, her temper rising. 'Can it not be that he takes a genuine interest in the science behind the innovations? Indeed, I cannot myself, see what use Plato or Euripides, Latin or Greek, can be to a manufacture, and yet he takes an interest - pays good money to your father, to see that interest satisfied. It seems to me, Margaret, that you are determined to find fault with him.' Margaret sighed; she was vexed and Isabel had tested her patience, but she was not insensible to the carefully chosen words which formed her companion's rebuke.
'I think him quite a remarkable man,' acknowledged Margaret, grudgingly. 'Surely any man who has improved himself and his family's lot as he has, must be a remarkable man, but personally, I don't not like him at all.' Personally, I do, thought Isabel, before turning to an ailing Mrs Hale and leading her upstairs to see to her comfort, for the woman was very weak, and Isabel was concerned that she would require the treatment of a doctor with tried and tested medicines before long, for no amount of tea or restorative drinks were likely to keep such a weakling from the grave.
Now it was some few days later that Margaret, whilst out walking, came upon her young friend Bessy Higgins - quite by chance. They struck up a conversation, and Margaret asked if she might follow her new friend home. She was sorry not to have kept to her commitment of visiting, but had, in truth, quite forgotten, just as all young people have a propensity to selfish forgetfulness. Mollified by the sincerity of the regret upon Margaret's face, and the strength of her desire to accompany her home, Bessy Higgins relented, and saw her new friend back to their home in Francis Street. And so it was that Margaret Hale made her first visit to the Higgins' home, and spoke at length with the firebrand father, without the cautious input or objective supervision of Isabel. On Margaret's return home, Isabel was most anxious to glean what Margaret had learnt of the worker's plight, but Margaret had sensed an alliance with the likes of Mr Thornton, and did not care to share the Higgins' secrets with the likes of her peculiar companion.
'My friend, Bessy Higgins; she appears to be quite sick, though,' explained Margaret, in a troubled voice. Isabel managed to refrain from saying "I know," and merely nodded sadly.
'Would you like me to pay her a visit? If you tell me when you are next visiting, I shall come with you and see if anything can be done.' But in truth "fluff on the lungs" was not anything she had ever encountered; not in any country.
'And Mamma! What think you of Mamma?' asked Margaret, for she was growing ever fearful of a more permanent decline. Isabel frowned. She had sat with Mrs Hale and felt sure that without modern medicines, there was very little that could be done, and she had always been of the opinion that whilst a doctor ought never to give false hope, if there was to be a prolonged wait for a loved one's demise, it was a kindness not to incite any premature alarm.
'She is comfortable, but I fear she is unlikely to regain her health.' Margaret sighed dejectedly, but she was no fool; she saw the change in her mother and felt she had no wish to fight it; no will to improve, if Milton was to be her reward.
About the same time, Mr Thornton came to his mother and asked her to pay a visit to the Hales.
'But John, we hired horses only a fortnight ago!' complained Mrs Thornton. She was not fond of society; she cared not for idle gossip and did not enjoy the company of strangers. Then there was the expense! Her son had bought her a carriage, but she refused to allow him to stable horses, feeling it to be a luxury they had no need for. So it was, then, that horses were hired whenever they wished to use their carriage, and it had been a mere two weeks since they had kept horses for three days, in order for Mrs Thornton to conduct all social visits she was obliged to keep. She took little pleasure in them, and felt she had taken more than her fill of visiting for the foreseeable future. 'Horses; the expense of horses and for only one visit! To the family of a disgraced clergyman!'
'Mother!' sighed Mr Thornton. 'Mr Hale is my friend. His wife has no company beyond the house and appears of a sickly disposition; I should think you must be the one to pay the visit, for Mrs Hale looked not up to coming here.'
'Harrumph!' grumbled Mrs Thornton. 'Delicate, sickly southerners. All weak, John. Weak! And the inconvenience is ours. The expense is ours!'
'But Mother, you must pay the visit, and it is too far for you to walk.'
'Then we shall high a cab, but I certainly resent the cost.' Mr Thornton shook his head.
'A hired cab will jostle you so; for surely, the last time you rode in such, you suffered from a headache.'
'I did not complain!' scolded his mother. Mr Thornton smiled, his voice laced with pride.
'No, my mother is no weakling. She does not complain.' Mrs Thornton returned her son's smile, gratified by his approval.
'I shall visit to-morrow,' came Mrs Thornton's reluctant reply.
'Then I shall hire the horses, and you and Fanny shall pay the visit.' And Mrs Thornton would not refuse; not when her son had commanded her thus, for there was no greater creature, no greater source of pride, than her dearest John.
And so the following day, Mrs Thornton turned to her daughter and told her of the hired horses and her commission to visit the Hales.
'You would come, Fanny?' enquired Mrs Thornton, but Fanny was an idle creature and had no inclination to visit the Hales. She thought nothing of them; a parson's daughter could never be fashionable, and besides, she was tired and had a headache.
'I think I must stay here, Mother. But perhaps you can run the carriage over to the nurse and have her brought to me. It is warm and I am so fatigued.' Mrs Thornton grimaced. She prided herself on her robust health; on her and her son's strength and fortitude. Fanny, in contrast, was a flighty, fussy weakling. She had no strength of character, no common sense. She would fidget and knew not the definition of poise, and her health! She was forever thinking herself ill. The only saving grace for Mrs Thornton was that most ailments attested to, appeared to be fanciful, for in truth, Fanny Thornton was a hypochondriac. Better that, than a feeble, sickly thing like this southern Mrs Hale, thought Mrs Thornton, with a sneer. And precisely at that moment, her son entered the room, desirous of reminding her of her commitment to the Hales.
'Mother!' smiled he, coming to stand beside her and resting his hand on her shoulder, 'I hardly need say that if you may offer Mrs Hale anything - any comfort or small gesture - that would serve her as an invalid, you will do so?' Mrs Thornton bristled. Surely no grown man would be so oppressively attentive to such a family for the sake of his kindly tutor? No, Mrs Thornton suspected some partiality on behalf of her son for one of the young ladies of the house. But which one? she asked herself. She suspected it; she feared it; penniless, as they must surely be.
'I will do all I can if I should find myself of any use, but as I am never ill, I am ignorant in the ways of the invalid. I should think I can do very little.'
'But you, Fan - you are often afflicted with some ailment or another. You will be able to suggest something for Mrs Hale, surely, Fan?'
'I am not always with some ailment. You seem to fancy me quite sickly and I am only delicate, not being a sturdy great thing such as you or Mother. Besides,' added Fanny, with a trifling sneer, 'I suffer from a headache and shan't be going out to-day.' Mr Thornton was annoyed, and Mrs Thornton, knowing her son to be so, but really feeling that Fanny ought to be allowed to stay at home if she did not wish to see the Hales, turned promptly to her work and sent her needle dipping and diving with an alacrity surprising for even Mrs Thornton's skilled fingers. Seeing his mother intent on her work - consciously not intervening - Mr Thornton glowered at his sister and spoke in a firm voice which would brook no argument.
'I wish for you to go, Fanny! You will oblige me without argument!' And turning on his heel, he swept from the room. Fanny sobbed at the injustice of it all, and Mrs Thornton suffered it with a spirit of irritation, but in truth, she was troubled by the altercation between brother and sister, and it stirred in her a pre-emptive resentment of the ladies of the Crampton house.
Mrs Thornton - a shy creature who was not used to extending her circle of society and much less used to southerners - was anxious to sit in the company of strangers, even with her daughter in attendance. It was with an abnormally stern expression, then, that she entered the Hale's small parlour, and cast a cursive glance about the room. Trinkets, thought she. All the more to dust! The room, adorned with copious ornaments of decoration, was so wholly unlike anything she would choose for her own home. The lady of the house - petite and sniffly - was so utterly feeble in relation to the robust frame and mind of Mrs Thornton, that she instantly felt she could have nothing on which to converse with such very foreign creatures.
Mrs Thornton turned her attention from the ailing mother and focused instead to the daughter; an undoubted beauty with her ivory skin and raven hair. But her posture - so very rigid and prideful, the expression about her mouth, spoke only of an innate sense of superiority, and Mrs Thornton took an immediate dislike to Miss Hale. The other girl, she observed - the smaller one, though perhaps, a few years older than Fanny or Miss Hale - was in contrast, an altogether different creature. Straight-backed with a disciplined posture, she managed to instil in her demeanour an air of wilful subordination. She deferred to the entire party - Hales and Thorntons - in every physical gesture and attention, and yet, in the eye - the quick shifting of focus as the turn of each speaker changed; the dip of the brow or the subtle twitching of the lip, showed Miss Darrow - to Mrs Thornton's mind - to be inwardly rebelling. She could not quash the feeling that Miss Darrow held strong opinions otherwise withheld, nor, that she found amusement in the awkwardness of conversation, where all others found displeasure. Hmmm, mused Mrs Thornton to herself, that goddaughter's a strange one.
Fanny - capable of no character analysis (for she had no intellect, nor the ability to attend to any small detail for long enough to reach an informed opinion) - instead rushed into conversation about her greatest passion in life; that of music, or more specifically, the piano.
'You do not play, Miss Hale? I do not see an instrument.'
'No. I play a little - not very well - but our piano was sold when we left Helstone,' explained Margaret, with an air of sufferance.
'And you, Miss Darrow; do you play?' asked Fanny.
'Not at all.' Fanny baulked and blinked thrice over, her mouth agape.
'Not at all!'
'No. I am afraid not.'
'Oh! but music; whatever do you do for music? For music is my great love, and I cannot think how one could live without a piano!' Mrs Thornton scowled at her daughter's ill-chosen words, but caught the flicker of an amused smile tug at the corners of Miss Darrow's mouth.
'No; I quite agree,' smile Isabel. 'If one is accomplished at the piano, the loss of said instrument must be great, indeed, but as I have never played, I have never regretted the absence of a piano. It is, without a ready player, nothing more than a surface to be dusted and polished, is it not?' One minute nod of Mrs Thornton's head was given in a gesture of satisfied approval at such a response. Dusting and polishing, indeed. Margaret, in turn, thought Fanny quite a ridiculous creature, for had not her father told them that during those early years after the father's death, young Mr Thornton had earned only fifteen shillings a week and three of those set aside for debtors! A life without music - unbearable! She, mused Margaret, certainly knows nothing of hardship; not as the brother undoubtedly does. She felt a certain revulsion toward the young lady - they could have nothing in common - but, as felt by Isabel, she sensed (although not to such a strong effect), there was amusement to be found in such a ludicrous creature, and so Margaret chose to think of her as harmless.
Whilst Mrs Thornton and Mrs Hale held a stifled and painful conversation on the subject of servants, the young ladies discussed Fanny's longing to visit the Alhambra - after having read The Tales of The Alhambra - and London - for she had never been to London.
'Have you been, Miss Hale?' asked Fanny with keen interest.
'Yes; I lived there a portion of the year these past ten years.'
'Oh! Then you must know of all the fashions; all the concerts.' Fanny was quite diverted. 'And you, Miss Darrow? Have you been to London?' Of course, Isabel had, but she could not own to it, for the Hales believed she had spent the past twenty six years or so, overseas.
'I have lived abroad almost my entire life. I am only just returned from the desert; I have not been to London.'
'Overseas! The desert! Tell me, Miss Darrow, have you been to the Alhambra?'
'No, I have been in Africa, and the far east - Mesopotamia.' Fanny frowned, never having heard of such a place, and offered instead that she had never had the opportunity to travel, for her mother was so very fond of Milton that she did not wish to leave it. Margaret supposed that as a lady born and raised in Milton, it was only natural that Mrs Thornton should favour her place of birth, but Mrs Thornton, hearing herself alluded to, asked to be included in the conversation.
'Oh! Miss Hale was just wondering at your preference for Milton,' put in Fanny, carelessly. Margaret was irritated, for it made her appear to question something she felt only natural, and Mrs Thornton - in turn - was vexed that Miss Hale was so very indifferent to the charms of Milton, that she could not appreciate when another should take pride in them.
'What do you know of Milton, Miss Hale?' asked Mrs Thornton, in a tone which dared Margaret to claim an understanding of the place she so clearly undervalued. 'Have you seen our factories? Witnessed the scale of commerce and industry within this city?'
'No, I have not,' replied Margaret. 'Papa would have taken me to see any such places if I had any real interest, but I must own that I do not.' This admission pleased Fanny greatly, for she had not a care for business. Mrs Thornton, nettled at Margaret's slight of her birthplace, continued unperturbed.
'I had thought - as newcomers to the city - that you might take an interest; that you might wish to understand the place better. If you change your mind, I shall be only too happy to arrange for you to view a printing works, or perhaps even, the carding room at my son's own mill.'
'Oh, Margaret! You ought to. We ought both to go!' rushed Isabel, thinking that not only was it a sight she very much wished to see, but also that it would benefit Margaret to be shown the world of industry from the other side of the coin; not to have only one informer in the guise of Nicholas Higgins. Mrs Thornton noted Miss Darrow's interest - which mollified her somewhat - but all good works were done away by Margaret's jutting of her chin as she rose to allow Mrs Thornton and her daughter to take their leave. Proud, wilful girl, surmised Mrs Thornton, as they returned to their coach.
'Do not befriend the Hales,' she warned her daughter, once they were alone. 'For John's sake, we shall be civil, but that Miss Hale won't do you any good. The mother seems a kind, gentle type, but I think her really rather ill.'
'I would not wish to form any friendship with Miss Hale. She has not a piano. And Miss Darrow! Well, she does not even play!' Mrs Thornton did not pass comment on Miss Darrow, however, for she had nothing to admonish in her character, and she was not one given to ready praise.
'How went your visit to the Hales, Mother?' asked Mr Thornton, when he sat down with his paper that evening.
'We were civil; we made an effort, but they are very unlike us, John. I found Mrs Hale difficult to speak with. She is, to be sure, a sickly lady. Kind, but very weak.' She turned back to her needlework, and Mr Thornton, dissatisfied with hearing no more, but unwilling to show it, turned his focus to his paper. A few minutes of silence ensued, before he lowered his newspaper and turned to his mother again.
'And Fanny; did she enjoy Miss Hale's company?' For Fanny was lying idle of the chaise across the room.
'Miss Hale? You ask after only Miss Hale?' Mrs Thornton asked, with an accusatory glare. 'No; I should not say they found one another's company to be agreeable.' He nodded, lifted his paper and returned to his reading. His mother could not know that he had deliberately avoided asking after Miss Darrow, precisely because she was the very person who piqued his interest most. Indeed, he did not understand his interest in her, for Miss Hale was the great beauty, and the truer lady, and yet there was something about her which repelled him; something about Miss Darrow which attracted him.
'The goddaughter - Miss Darrow? - she seems a sensible sort. Not at all haughty like the daughter. She expressed an interest in viewing the mill or a printing works, but Miss Hale did not appear inclined to join her, so I doubt she will have her way.'
'John!' called Fanny, her foot bouncing restlessly upon the chaise, 'Where is Mesopo - Mesopot - oh! somewhere far away. A desert, I think.'
'Mesopotamia?' asked Mr Thornton, intrigued.
'Yes, that is it. That is where Miss Darrow said she had lately been living. When she said she had lived all her life overseas, I had hoped she could tell me of the Alhambra, but she said she had never been; only spent her time in Africa and the desert lands in the far east. It is no wonder she cannot play at all!'
'Her skin is rather tanned,' added Mrs Thornton, her voice uncharacteristically free of reproach. 'She must be a hearty, hale thing - despite being so small - if she was able to thrive in such an inhospitable climate.' But Mr Thornton did not reply, because he was no longer listening to his mother, but determining to slip away into his study and draw out his atlas.