The evening of the twenty-first arrived and Mrs Hale, able to recline upon an easy chair, looked admiringly at her daughter, bedecked in a sumptuous white silk gown, ornamented with a string of coral about her slender neck. The warm glow of the coral only served to enhance the redness of her lips and promote her pale, ivory skin, contrasting against her crown of glossy raven hair. Indeed, Mrs Hale - excitable at something to break up the monotony of life in Milton as an invalid - felt, in that moment (whether it was true or not), that Margaret had never looked so very beautiful. Isabel, she acknowledged, had never been seen to such advantage, either. For in her teal dress, the distasteful browning of her skin, instead looked a splendid gold, and she could fancy - though she attributed it to a coming fever - that she verily glistened when the light danced upon her skin.
'You look very well, Isabel,' offered Mrs Hale weakly, but with a kindly smile. 'Although you have no ornament. You ought to have an ornament!' And the thought took hold in her mind and she began to fret, turning anxiously to Margaret. 'Do you have a piece - a simple piece - that might be loaned to Isabel?'
'But I have the very thing!' exclaimed Mr Bell, announcing his own arrival. He had called past Crampton to collect the party in his hired carriage, and brought with him a purchase he had surreptitiously made whilst Isabel had been speaking with Mr Thornton. He pulled from his breast pocket a black velvet pouch and handed it to an anxious Isabel. Nervous fingers tugged apprehensively at the drawstring, as she attempted to reason his bestowing upon her, yet another gift. The bag parted, and a pendant of turquoise fell into her palm, a gasp escaping her lips. She had never been made a gift of jewellery; she had thought it the domain of a lover; the actions of a man who would woo, but Mr Bell - old enough to be her father - had bestowed upon her the sole piece of jewellery she had ever been given as a gift.
'You are too kind, sir!' replied Isabel, at length, slowly shaking her head. 'I cannot accept it. It is too much.' For it was no trifling piece. Certainly not gaudy or ostentatious, but of a fine quality and no doubt, a handsome price.
'Nonsense!' cried Mr Bell. 'A dress with no finishing touch? I would be remiss in my charge of seeing you outfitted if I did not offer you some small piece of jewellery to complement it.' Mrs Hale nodded vigorously in agreement. Margaret - sensing that Isabel was discomfited by Mr Bell's attentions - said only that it would suit her very well, and that she would expect no less from the man who was her godfather and Papa's oldest friend. He does this for Margaret's sake; to spare her green dress and preserve her own collection of necklaces and brooches, Isabel told herself, forcing a smile of acceptance.
'Then I am very grateful,' replied she; saved from further expressions of gratitude by the entrance of Mr Hale, who informed the party that he dare not be late and risk slighting his favourite pupil, and that they must depart at once.
The Hale party were the first guests to arrive, and were - to Fanny's mind - unfashionably punctual. Mr Thornton was delayed on some last minute matter of business, and so it fell to the Thornton ladies to entertain their guests; none of whom having anything in common with the other. Indeed, Mrs Thornton did not have any fondness for Mr Bell - whom she had known for many years - thinking him an idle man who sought to spend his time reading and speaking instead of earning a wage with sweat and vigour. She secretly resented his ownership of the mill property, believing that her son - for all his efforts and endeavours - deserved the title of owner, rather than simply, tenant. Mr Hale, she thought rather a bore, and found she had nothing on which she could converse with him, for he was incapable of grasping the nature of trade and the battle the Masters fought against the hands, resorting always to a stance supported by some religious doctrine. Miss Hale, she noticed, looked very well, but she held herself proud and had that disdainful jutting of her chin which irked Mrs Thornton so, and left her ill-inclined to engage the young lady in polite conversation. Miss Darrow, she thought looked extremely well - never better - and that instantly made her cautious, for she had a suspicion that her son might be partial to the strange young lady, and surely, if he could admire her in a dowdy grey dress, in rich silk - which complemented her colouring so very well - his admiration could only increase.
Fanny did not think so deeply upon any of their guests, but acknowledged to herself only that she had no interest in speaking with the two aged gentleman, and that both young ladies knew not enough about fashion, despite being well attired. It was then, to an awkward and stilted flow of conversation, that Mr Thornton stepped into the room. Mrs Thornton sighed with relief; rescued from having to entertain his guests, and excused herself under the pretext of having heard an approaching carriage. Mr Thornton turned first to Mr Bell and Mr Hale, exchanging greetings, resting safe in the knowledge that his sister would occupy the young ladies for a few moments, but in the next instant she cried out that she had heard Miss Latimer's voice from below, and that she must go and greet her (for Miss Latimer was of the highest fashion and had just been finished on the continent). Mr Thornton noted, with regret, that Miss Hale and Miss Darrow had been sorely neglected, and wished to make amends, but he had gleamed, in an instant, that Miss Darrow possessed about her such a delicate and yet fierce beauty that he did not think he had the courage to look at her, let alone speak to her, coherent words. Instead, he allowed Mr Hale to detain him in some small explanation of the strike, and awaited the arrival of more guests, hoping that once more ladies filled the room, he would be able to step away from Miss Darrow and enjoy observing her from afar.
And such, he did. The room soon swelled with Masters and their wives, businessmen and their daughters. Every unattached young lady was pressed before him; a polite bob, lowered lashes, fluttering at him demurely, with an almost-hopeful expectation. He saw them, but did not see them, for he could see only Miss Darrow. She was stood beside his sister; Margaret being engaged by Miss Latimer. He looked over both ladies, noting their cool attitude to one another, and he surmised that Miss Hale did not quite approve of her. Irritating as he often found her, he could not fault Miss Hale's sober response to the finished lady, however, for she had no spirit or personality, and offered little in the way of warmth. He turned his attention quickly to the object of his admiration, and let his eyes drink in her vision.
Her hair appeared gilt, as the light from the sconces on the wall danced above her head; casting rays and shadows upon her cocoa hair. He had never seen such rich and honeyed colour, as he watched gold thread spun upon her hair. Then came the flash of amber; a warm suffusion of red as she turned her head and cast off all shadow. Her hair was alight, and seemed to dance as he had never seen hair dance; so fluid and mobile was it, in its reflection of the light. Her skin, against the teal - which enhanced her colouring so well - made her appear to him a veritable jewel. He noted with a knotted throat, that her sun-kissed skin ascended all the way up her arm, and continued beyond the cap of her dress, which sat low upon her shoulders. So too, did the golden glow sweep down across her throat, across the sweeping curve of her collar bones and beneath the low, yet graceful cut of her neckline, towards - where! - he could only imagine. He swallowed, shook his head a fraction, and sought not to dwell upon it. But he could not prevent his eyes from glancing upon her body and taking in every curve and turn of her figure. And her arms! Where the ladies before him showed off their round arms, which tapered to the hand, Miss Darrow had in the arms, a slender limb which looked hand-carved by a revered sculptor. He saw the curve of muscle, yet slender and slight in her femininity, then contrasted with a flat edge which spoke of useful purpose, and he sensed in that one limb, that she was a woman of action, and would never sit idle. He had always known her to wear a simple dress, which did little to enhance her figure. He had thought her small and slender, but he saw, in the rich silk, which clung to her body like honey to a spoon, the gentle flare of delicate hips, the swell of a bosom, which, by no means large, was yet full and enticing.
His sister spoke - some inanity no doubt - and he saw it; ah! Yes, an inanity - for Miss Darrow's brow dipped a fraction as though something foolish had been spoken, before she cleared her expression and smiled softly with her eyes. He thought the smile forced, but as he looked upon the glinting hazel ellipses, fringed with dark lashes, he saw the smile in the eye, and knew her to be pleased. Amused at her, he thought knowingly, not amused with her. Her lips, noted he, with a sigh - dwelling a moment longer upon her face - curled upwards into a wide smile. So full and of such a proud and darkened pink, they looked so very kissable. He frowned sharply as the traitorous thought stole across his mind, and tried to shake it off, yet his sister spoke again, and Miss Darrow broke out into another broad smile, her lips parting, showing an expanse of white teeth; not perfectly aligned, but pleasing, and so very on display with the broadness of her smile. The sound of laughter met his ears; unrestrained and unafraid, and his stomach roiled as he sucked in a sharp breath. He turned away and claimed a conversation with Mr Horsfall, but his eyes betrayed him, and continually sought out Miss Darrow. Standing beside Hamper's wife - no longer amused - she stood erect and square-shouldered, her neck a proud pylon; unobtrusive yet commanding of the eye, with an inertia which so wholly contrasted with Fanny's fussing and fretting, as his sister stood close by in conversation with Miss Hale. He looked at that woman - the one who had so quickly claimed the title of "great beauty" and he observed that both daughter and goddaughter had within them an innate stillness and gracefulness of posture, yet in Miss Hale, her whole baring bore an expression of pride which had a tendency to leave the observer feeling cold and inferior, whereas in Miss Darrow, he saw only an obedient discipline. The rigidity of her person was unassuming, and spoke of one who sought composure, but there was a tilt of the head and a softness about the mouth, which spoke of a simplicity of heart and mastery of the person. He thought her - as she stood so boldly in posture, and yet so softly in expression; as her hair shone like a crown of gold adorned with rubies, as her skin glowed like one shrouded in gold leaf - the very loveliest person he had never looked upon. Not a great beauty sure to inspire the admiration of the masses, but a beauty who pierced his heart and captured his soul in her tiny fist, gently squeezing, then releasing, each touch, each look, a palpable sensation of longing.
Mr Horsfall turned about, requested by another speaker, and Mr Thornton stole his chance to greet Miss Darrow, having been incapable of offering her a formal greeting upon first seeing her in all her splendour. He strode quickly across the room in no more than five long paces, and inclined his head before rising back up to his full, imposing height; stood proud with wide shoulders; eyes intently focused upon her. Mrs Hamper appeared gratified by his arrival, and turned promptly to an older lady beside her, showing Miss Darrow her back. He felt the slight and bristled, but Miss Darrow only smiled what must surely have been a smirk - and indeed! - the eyes glistened with a playful mirth and he exhaled in relief.
'Good evening, Miss Darrow. I apologise for allowing myself to be interrupted earlier; I am tardy in my greeting.'
'Not at all, sir,' came her ready reply. She was, in truth, quite over-wrought. He blinded her with his beauty. His great height sent him towering above her, and his vast expanse of shoulder - the broadness of his back - gave him such an impression of strength as to send her heart pattering against her chest. He was dressed in the sharpest of black suits, with the whitest of crisp linens. He could not have appeared to a greater advantage if he had dressed the dandy and chased after fashion. Where some might call his appearance staid and austere, she felt him graceful and understated in his very masculinity. His attire was set off with a golden cravat and having never seen him in anything but black and white, she had been unable to refrain from stealing glances at him all evening.
'You look very well,' he said low; his voice strained, his brow dipping. He was not in the habit of speaking intimately with ladies, and knew not how to express himself, but Isabel felt the compliment, and was so very flattered - so very shocked - that she could not deny an admission of her own.
'I admire your cravat. I think the colour quite becoming. It sets off your eyes and -' But she cut herself short, having been about to admit that it brought out the red of his lips, but she could not speak to him of his lips - those very lips she so longed to kiss and feel pressed against her own. She blushed in embarrassment, but Mr Thornton, having no knowledge of what she had been about to say, worried only that he had unsettled her with his attempted compliment. Little did his know that she watched those thin lips part and curl with every word he spoke, longing to feel them dance thus upon her own pink ribbon. She frowned, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. He is Margaret's. You cannot have such thoughts! said Isabel to herself.
But she could not foresee that Margaret observed them from beside Fanny Thornton, smiling a satisfied smile. For Margaret - disinterested in the way that all are, who do not fear an unrequited love - could see the looks each gave the other, and felt sure that love would blossom. Certainly, Isabel - for all her strange ways - was unlikely to be accepted as a proper lady, and she had not a penny to her name, but to a manufacturer - to one little more than a tradesman - she felt there could be no objection.
'What amuses you so, Miss Hale?' asked Fanny, with a drawl. She was bored and wished to sit down to dinner.
'Oh! nothing, I am sure. I was simply remembering something; that is all.' Fanny scowled, displeased to have been excluded from some supposed enjoyment, and turned hastily to Miss Latimer.
'Miss Latimer!' called she, her voice shrill and jarring, causing Mrs Thornton to shudder. 'Miss Latimer, when you were on the continent, I wonder - did you go to the Alhambra?' A furrowed brow ensued, a quietly uttered "no", and Fanny Thornton's scowl returned again. The exchange did not go unmissed by Isabel, who turned to Mr Thornton in amusement.
'I wonder; has your sister ever met anyone who has been to the Alhambra? And if she ever does, do you think she would be pleased to learn of this admired place, or should enlightenment steal from her some keen sense of intrigue?' Her tone was so natural, so easy and free of reserve, that he felt his heart swell with warmth, and he allowed himself a fleeting hope as he had never allowed before. Perhaps she is not so very indifferent to me; perhaps I would be enough to induce her to give up her independence? he asked himself, cautiously. But before he could formulate a reply, Mr Slickson arrived at his shoulder, and dragged him off by the arm. A look of regret was his parting gift to her, and thus, he was wrenched away. Isabel knew they would be discussing his imported Irish workers, who would soon be upon them, and felt a flash of fear. That he should be hurt! she cried inwardly, never realising that she had not spared one thought for Margaret and the blow she knew her companion was destined to suffer.
Mr Thornton spoke sharply to Slickson, keen to return to Miss Darrow before everyone took their seat at the table; he wanted to be the one to see her to her seat - to feel her hand upon his arm - but just as he extricated himself from his colleague's conversation, he saw Mr Bell come to stand before Miss Darrow and take up her attention. He felt yet another lash of jealousy - just as he had in the drapers - and tried to shake it off, but he lost all hope of doing so when the party was called to the table, and Miss Darrow was led in by none other than Mr Bell. One person, of course, was quite relieved by Mr Slickson's inopportune timing, and that was Mrs Thornton. She had watched her son make eyes at Miss Darrow from the moment of her arrival, and she felt sure his regard for her was deepening. That he should choose to admire her was unsettling enough for the matriarch, but she could not cede to the idea that at a party of all Milton's first families, it should be Miss Darrow - penniless, foreign Miss Darrow - who should be the one escorted into dinner by her son. He was forced to make do with Anne Latimer, which gave him no pleasure, but pleased his mother greatly. Let him marry his banker's daughter, mused Mrs Thornton, inwardly. She would suit him well. Miss Darrow, for all her interesting and pleasing eccentricities - for all she looks in a silk dress - she is not for John; not half good enough for my John!
Isabel was seated next to Mr Bell, who was well-situated with Margaret on his other side, and Mr Hale directly opposite. Margaret was relieved to find that she had her father and godfather for ready company, and did not realise that their party had been specifically placed furthest from the most-prominent of Masters. Now Mr Horsfall was the germ of the party - the dinner being held for his very purpose, and other families invited in honour of the dinners they were owed - and, being only an occasional visitor to Milton - was not wont to spend all evening speaking only with the raucous Masters. Mrs Thornton had, therefore, grudgingly placed him beside Isabel, who found herself at the centre of the table. If she had been able, Mrs Thornton would have kept the guest of honour well-apart from the Hales (whom she felt had no place at her table), but as unknowns to the rest of the party, propriety insisted they were included in conversation. Isabel was, thought Mrs Thornton, the least likely of the three - the three being Mr Bell, Margaret and herself - to prove a dissenter to any talk of strike, which was seldom free from the lips of the Masters. No; Mrs Thornton knew Isabel to have an interest in manufacturing, no great affinity with the workers - as Margaret most certainly did - and moreover, she knew Isabel to be respectful of her place; she had felt - despite her son's ill-considered preference for her - that Isabel was the safest person to place in the immediate presence of Mr Horsfall.
As the courses were brought out - numerous in variety, and vast in quantity so that each guest may partake of each little side offering - the ladies occupied themselves with admiring the dishes publicly, complimenting Mrs Thornton on her place settings and crystal, whilst inwardly making note of each little instance to find fault with so that it could be compared with their own dinner service and menus, disparaged, and used as a tool to bolster their own confidence in their abilities as hostess. Margaret - unlike the other ladies of the party only in that she offered no false flattery - quietly observed that the table was too full; the variety and display of delicacies offered so plentiful as to be officious, and the decoration heavy and overbearing. She contrasted it with the simple elegance of London and felt the northern tastes of Milton, wanting. It was to her, as though these wealthy Masters were so insecure in their own status and position, as to need to flaunt their wealth in the manner of their serving a simple dinner to a party of colleagues. Nothing was understated; all too eager to please, culminating in an affect which she feared would cause her a headache.
She could not know - as Isabel did - that in addition to their offerings being of the northern standard, that - despite their present wealth - the Thornton family lived frugally (with the exception of Fanny), through habit from those early years of struggle. She, who had never been poor or struggled for her place in society, could not know the warm pride Mrs Thornton felt in showing off her son's achievements; in feeling that all they now had and all that they could offer to their guests, was as a result of her son's success. Spurred on was Mrs Thornton, by a fierce maternal pride, and - in equal measure - did Mr Thornton approve of his mother's efforts. He saw her satisfaction in seeing a job well done - in being free of any accusation of miserly hospitality - and he felt a male pride in being able to provide for his family, so that his mother may have this one small pleasure. Margaret could not know that as soon as the guests would leave that evening, the dining room would be put to rights, the fire kept burning in only one room, and candles snuffed out, not to be lit again until darkness had well advanced on the morrow. She saw only what was different to her wont and habits - to her southern ways - and felt a distaste for all that was different. She ceded, though, that the men - although loud and rough in their ways of speaking - had a pleasing liveliness which could never be found in the drawing rooms or dinner tables of Harley Street, where Aunt Shaw and Cousin Edith lived amongst fashionable London society. Their energy in speaking, in talking over their work; the vigour with which they shared their opinions and canted back a ready response to any challenge of thinking, was refreshing, and Margaret could not but admire it. She glanced upon Mr Thornton, and saw him sat quietly at the head of the table; so confident in his situation, so rightfully the Master, that she felt him never more pleasing. A surreptitious glance around Mr Bell, showed her that Isabel was attending to the men's conversation at the other end of the table, and she felt vexed that her companion should not notice how very well Mr Thornton looked.
She had no need for concern. Isabel saw him - a fleeting turn of the eye - and thought him so very handsome, so rightly proud and magnetic, for she felt drawn to him; awed by his gentle and quiet command of the table. A question would be posed; the answer debated, and upon no agreement being reached, it would be referred to Mr Thornton at the head of the table. He would speak with such a quiet ease; no need to raise his voice or use a heavy tone to speak of his authority, and all would adopt his word and express their eventual agreement. He is beyond anything I had ever imagined, thought Isabel, as she listened to one quietly voiced reply. She sighed with longing, but he was not for her, and so saying, turned her focus back to the men at Mrs Thornton's end of the table.
Mr Thornton, quiet as he was, was not inattentive to his guests; certainly not inattentive to Miss Darrow. He watched her carefully; her straight back as she sat stiffly at the table, where even Miss Hale appeared to eventually sink into an attitude of tentative repose; the silent parting of her lips as a fork was brought to her mouth, the flash of white as he gleamed her teeth. He noted her tastes, and knew he would be able to recall with the utmost precision, exactly which dishes she had tried; which had satisfied and been partaken of a second time. He saw, also, how very carefully she listened to the men's conversation, and felt his lips curl with pleasure, knowing that she was a thinking woman who could take an interest in his world.
Mr Bell had learnt of this keen interest from Margaret, and, wanting to hear her speak before strangers, and wanting to see if a reaction could be provoked from Mr Thornton, he turned to face her and spoke up, commanding everyone's attention with the inflexion of his voice.
'You take an interest in the strike, don't you, Isabel?' Mr Thornton set his teeth at the sound of her name, falling so freely from his lips, but outwardly smiled and looked to her, awaiting a response.
'Well,' replied Isabel with a frown - she was uneasy about the silence which had descended upon the party, for she did not wish to speak to the room as a whole, 'I think it foolish for any person living in such a place as Milton - so entirely caught up in the cotton industry, and therefore so wholly affected by the strike - not to take an interest. Any strike must surely affect the economy of the city as a whole; you Masters - of course - cannot manufacture without workers, and so cannot turn a profit whilst your machines lie idle. The hands cannot earn a wage if they don't work. The shops who seek their custom, or those more affluent shops which seek yours - all must surely suffer by any prolonged strike, whether they are in the cotton trade or not.' Margaret frowned where Mr Thornton gave a small smile of approval, and, ever watchful, Mr Bell turned to his goddaughter and sought her opinion.
'You don't agree with Isabel?'
'No, I surely do. That is,' she frowned again, thinking how best to phrase her difficulty - ever mindful of where she was and the company she was keeping. 'It is only that from Isabel's speech, one would assume that she is not in favour of any prolonged strike. That she would see any action which assisted the workers, and thus enabled them to hold out in their cause, to be harmful, rather than a kindness.'
'It is no kindness, if they have no hope of winning their cause,' replied Isabel, in a lowered tone. 'I should think they have no hope.'
'But their families are starving!' cried Margaret with emotion. 'Even if they should not achieve the wage they are claiming, surely it is our Christian duty to see that they do not starve!' Diners fell silent in their eating; forks were suspended at parted lips, and cutlery scraped to a halt against china. Isabel was exceedingly uncomfortable, feeling herself at fault for having spoken; fearing that Margaret and Mr Thornton would be forced into an exchange of words which would do little to incite affection in one another. She was committed to speaking no further; to wait out the heavy silence and let talk of lace and crinolines be the order of the day, but Mr Bell was determined; ever-loving a debate; keen to draw out the young lady from overseas.
'Isabel? What say you to Margaret's concern? I see you have an opinion on it; do you think feeding the poor a kindness, or should we leave them to their lot?' Slickson snorted his derision and muttered that there was money to be had and food to be bought, if only they would work; he had no sympathy for the starving; not for woman nor child. Feeling Mr Thornton's heavy gaze upon her, she spoke carefully, conscious of not wanting to wound Margaret before a party of guests.
'I believe that the workers will not see their demands met, and so saying, I see the strike as serving them very little purpose. To offer baskets of food or a few coins here and there is very noble - I do not deny that, where the intention is to do good - but no offer of foods or charitable donations can bolster the hands as full-time employment could. They would do better to work.'
'And if the strike is their only means of bettering their lives? If they cannot live well on the wage they receive? How else are they to raise themselves if they do not strike?' retorted Margaret, unperturbed by the watchful faces. She was thinking of Nicholas Higgins, who had spoken of the Masters as tyrants who sought to keep the men down; she was thinking of the Boucher family; six children and an ailing wife; none of them with enough food, living off strike money from the union, which was not great enough to feed their family of eight.
'I do not deny their right to seek to better their lot. I think that every person's right. I question only their method of seeking to achieve their aim. I question their actions because I know them to be so very foolish, for even if the Masters met their demands, their wage would surely drop again in the years to come, if they don't lose their positions entirely.'
'Why would you predict that?' asked Mr Horsfall, intrigued by the woman beside him.
'Because, sir, the Masters turn less profit than they once did. They will make less profit still, in the years to come. Indeed, mills will undoubtedly close, and I am certain they will close sooner if any Master is to reduce his profit further, by increasing wages.'
'Mills close!' scoffed Slickson. 'How can you possibly say that?' demanded he. He looked at her as though to dare her to speak against their might, and she knew that she would look foolish if she did not speak, and yet, how could she, if she was not to impart some knowledge of the future? She looked uncertainly to Mr Thornton, as though silently pleading for assistance; she knew him to have an interest in the Americas. And, as though divining her thoughts, he gave her the faintest hint of a smile, his eyes warm in encouragement.
'The Americas, sir. They are already beginning to flood the market; you will compete for trade and will lower your prices to do so; it is happening even now, I believe?' Mr Thornton inclined his head in acknowledgement, pleasantly impressed by her knowledge, but Mr Slickson was indignant.
'What know you of cotton!' cried he, his voice rising in vexation. Isabel scowled at his outburst, for she knew he spoke so - was angered so - only because she was a woman. Mr Thornton saw the scowl and although he projected an outward appearance of disinterest, inside he was in turmoil, eagerly awaiting her reply; keen to see how she would react to such open disdain for her sex, from such a man as Slickson; odious as he was.
'I know a great deal, sir,' replied Isabel, in a hardened voice; her eyes taking on an intensity Mr Thornton had never seen in her before. 'You, yourself, cannot deny that the Americans impinge upon your market. To attempt a denial would be a falsehood. And yet I know further, that there is trouble in the south - where the wealth of high-grade cotton is grown - and when war comes - which I am quite certain that it will - between the north and the south of the Americas - your ready supply of cheap, high quality cotton shall be cut off. The price of raw cotton will spiral and demand will outstrip supply. There will be a cotton famine, sir, and it will see the demise of many a mill in England. Only those astute Masters, who are unopposed to diversifying - those with the skill and dexterity to manage such a crisis - will hold their position. I am sorry to say so, if you did not know it, but it is true, and you asked me an honest question, so I was obliged to give an honest answer.'
'However can you know there shall be war? Did you learn this in Mesopot- oh! that place!' laughed Fanny, in her disdainful way, for she thought it very unladylike for any woman to speak in such a way.
'Mesopotamia, and where I learnt it is irrelevant. All that matters is that it is true,' replied Isabel, looking at her coldly. Fanny was now, not so amusing, thought Isabel, but rather irksome and rather stupid.
'May I ask why it is that you predict war?' asked Mr Horsfall calmly, and with genuine interest. He was, in truth, quite taken with the young lady; she was beautiful and was daring in her speech.
'I would happily explain, but I fear it would be unsettling for some ladies at this table,' came her quiet reply, but it was not quiet enough, and Mrs Thornton - upon hearing such an avowal - instantly bristled. Puffing herself up in her proud, indignant way, she spoke sharply in reply.
'Come, Miss Darrow. We northern ladies are not weak, sensitive things. Not like your southern families. No, pray tell; we are all keen for you to share with us your knowledge.' Suppressing a weary roll of the eye, Isabel smiled softly and took a deep breath.
'Primarily, Mrs Thornton, I believe there shall be war due the differences between the Confederates of the American south - the slave states - and the Unionists of the American north - the free states, but the issue of slavery will provoke strong feeling on both sides. And - the empire having abolished slavery already, there will no doubt come a time when you shall have to ask yourselves if you support the Unionists of the north in their fight against the south - so wholly built on slavery - judging them harshly by the standards set by our own empire, or whether you oppose the Unionist's interference and side instead with the southern Confederates, who can keep you supplied with cotton. War will come within the next decade or so - that place is troubled; I am certain of it.'
'And you disagree with slavery - you indicated that you side with the north, despite the harm you predict for our industry?' asked Mrs Thornton. And here, Isabel turned towards Mr Thornton and addressed him directly.
'Do you recall a conversation about trenching upon the workers' independence - outside of their working hours? I know you do - I see it in your look. And of course, a slave has no working hours, but is forced to work without pay. They have no freedom or rights. What would be an outrage for a northern man, is surely an outrage for a southern slave?' Mr Thornton nodded his head once in silent agreement, but Mr Hamper cut in.
'You measure a negro's freedom of independence as the same as our Milton men? Our white men?' asked Mr Hamper, with some incredulity. Isabel smiled, but it was a cruel, disdainful smile.
'I believe,' said she, with a soft firmness which would brook no argument, 'that all people - irrespective of the colour of their skin - have feelings. They feel pain and suffering. They feel exhaustion and hopelessness. They have a mind which thinks as assuredly as we do; they have dreams and ambition, and - if you have any religion - were created by God, and therefore have a sanctity of life. The only failing of your southern slave, is that they are so wholly uneducated - for it is illegal to even teach them to read! - but then I see that so many of your fine northern men cannot read, either, and these fine white men, whom you value more than the negro, have seen fit to strike on you, through an ignorance which could be prevented, should you have seen fit.' Here, she turned back to Mr Thornton once again, and as though speaking exclusively to him, she continued. 'I understand the reasoning you gave for not explaining your motives or thinking to the men, but my point is simply that you could end the strike with words, rather than rioting or starvation. You choose not to; that is your prerogative, but it does not necessarily mean that it is a humane preference; it does not necessarily follow that simply because you can do something, you necessarily ought.' Now turning to Mrs Thornton with a small smile and softening of the eyes, 'yes, if - or I should say, when - the Americans have their war, I shall side with the Unionists. I've no especial interest in their politics, but, for the abolition of slavery, I shall hope for their success. True, it will bring strife upon all whom live in these cotton cities, but with forward planning one may weather the British storm, and I cannot - in all conscience - argue that the British life - the white man's life - is worth more than the enslaved negro's. I judge by what is right, and what shall make a practical difference, and so saying, I shall pitch my hat against the Confederacy.'
'You learned of this tension - you grasped this understanding of their politics - when you were living abroad?' asked Mr Bell, for he was delighted with his new young friend, and thought not one bit of the upset it caused to Mrs Thornton's dinner party.
'I read about it where I came from. It is a topic in which some take a keen interest, studying it closely.'
'Have you been to the Americas?' questioned Fanny.
'I have.'
'And you have seen these slaves? These slaves you say shall go on to ruin us?' asked Fanny, with rising voice. Isabel shook her head.
'It is not the slaves who shall ruin you, but those who go to war; those who do not take heed and equip themselves to weather the war. I have seen more than my share of oppressed peoples and if you have ever seen such a sight, any person of conscience shall not forget it; shall not place above their liberty, the importance of a new gown or sumptuous dinner.' Fanny felt the admonishment, and could only pout in displeasure, but Margaret smiled fondly at her friend, for she had seen in her, the first glimpse of one who did not simply favour trade and progression, but one who found her own cause to champion; if not Milton's working poor, then the Americas' southern slaves.
Mrs Thornton was gravely concerned. Not only had Miss Darrow spoken so boldly at her table - disrupting their dinner and discomposing the ladies - but she had riled the likes of Slickson, all for the seeming intrigue of Mr Horsfall and Mr Bell. A proud woman who did not like weakness, Mrs Thornton could admire the courage with which the girl spoke up, but the sentiment - the pitching her lot in with those whom she so boldly predicted could ruin their city - that she could not excuse, and certainly not admire. But admire it, her son assuredly did, if she did not misread his look, and she knew she seldom did. Indeed, there was a certain excitement in his eyes which spoke of his rapt attention, and such a look had only been heightened when the Darrow girl had so impertinently addressed him so specifically, in front of all their guests. If her son could withstand such impropriety and wilful independence - and still look upon the girl with admiration - she feared his preference for her was no trifling matter, but one which would compel him to seek her attentions. She bristled, but never one to let herself be easily read, she gestured the ladies into the drawing room, a fraction earlier than she would have wished, and thus navigated Miss Darrow's removal from her son's presence.
It mattered little, however, for as soon as the ladies withdrew, the men began talking of the Americas. All wished to know who Miss Darrow was, and why she felt herself such an authority on matters of American trade and politics. The likes of Mr Slickson sought to ridicule her, but Mr Bell and Mr Thornton were quick in their defence - albeit taking a different approach. Mr Bell argued that he knew of the growing political tensions between the north and south, and that it was only a matter of time before a position was took up so as to spark an open and hostile disagreement. He reasoned slavery the very thing to do the job well.
Mr Thornton, in contrast, acknowledged that the Americans did begin to flood the market - were of a nuisance, already - and that their being so completely beholden to one body of people for their supply of cotton, did certainly leave them vulnerable to any changing political scene across the Atlantic.
'I shall not speak with such certainty - I cannot claim to feel so very sure - but if Miss Darrow's words be heeded only as a warning, I should still feel their merit and give them further thought,' announced Mr Thornton.
No, Mrs Thornton did not know that as he sat with the men, about their cigars and port, he thought still upon Miss Darrow; beauty that she was; blind to all her bodily charms as he had been. He thought her mind a treasure, and he knew instantly, as he had listened to her speak, that in her, he had found a woman whom he could never tire of. To take her as his wife would be to gain the promise of a lifetime of conversation; an honest and frank exchange of ideas. A partner with which he could speak of business, trade and politics, and know that not only was he understood, but he was raptly attended to. No; the contrast between Miss Darrow and the likes of Miss Latimer - a handsome creature, and so perfectly finished - could not be more stark. For the thinking, active and passionate man that he was, there could be no other; Miss Darrow was unrivalled, and struck him as no woman ever had. And when she had spoken to him so explicitly - confident in the knowledge that he heard every word she said - he had felt a flash of hope, a warming from within, at the realisation that she sought his good opinion; sought to make herself understood. That she had listened to, and recalled their previous conversations with such clarity, that they would now be the standard upon which all further debate would be measured; the equaliser by which she could press her view and ensure he understood her.
And for all that delicious dexterity of mind; for all his pride in her seeking his approval, she had irked him. She had - whether prompted to speak by Mr Horsfall, Mr Bell, or Fanny's wide-eyed incredulity - interrupted his mother's much-anticipated dinner. She had spoken with a flagrant disregard for etiquette, and although enlivening in the way that all refreshing and novel things are, she had proven herself to be a flouter of convention; a woman who would be a challenge to any man; a woman who could wound a man's reputation and make him the source of ridicule. Indeed, sat at the dining table - the room clouded with the tumbling wisps of smoke, floating about the room in tendrils of greying, fluffy cloud - half the men sought to laugh at her and speak her ill, whilst the other half spoke with admiration, claiming her to need only the strong hand of a brave man to make her quite the thing. Of course, Mr Thornton had a strong hand, and he was no coward to shrink from a challenge, but he loved her too well to see her spirit crushed; to dare her to defy him. She needed, he thought, a gentle hand, and much patience on the part of a husband, and he feared he had not that patience.