filled with roses that he had
instructed Williams to bring every other morning, and various vessels that
brightened darker corners of the room. Woolen throws draped on the heavy
armchairs by the fire made them more casual and inviting. With those small
touches, he thought Margaret breathed life into what was, before, a cold large
space and arranged it to her tastes, geared to both gracious living and
reflective pursuits just as the Hales had done in Crampton.
Dixon, sat on a chair by the bed,
working on a white gown that John assumed was Margaret's bridal gown. She
abruptly stood up when he came in, "Good afternoon, master."
"Good afternoon, Dixon.
Please continue what you are doing. I hope you won't mind that I am taking
your helper away for a little while." He turned towards Margaret who was
carefully folding the lace she was working on.
She smiled brightly at him as she
approached. "I am ready." She picked up a shawl hanging on the back
of an armchair and draped it on her shoulders.
John was standing by the writing
table as he waited for her and, unable to resist his curiosity, he briefly
opened a small chest on top of the table. He was not surprised that his quick
perusal told him it was full of notes in other languages as well as English
written in a feminine hand.
Margaret, who had reached his
side as he was closing the lid on the chest, passed her fingers over the chest
with obvious nostalgic affection. "It belonged to my mother, a family
heirloom that was one of the few things saved from the pawn shop when her
parents lost what little fortune they had. The piece is of Chinese origin,
more than 200 years old and the design is a cloisonné."
"It is beautiful!"
John remarked, glancing at Margaret, astonished at how like a caress her touch
was on that chest and he could not help running his fingers over it as well.
She clearly treasured it. If that chest had belonged to his mother, it would
be displayed inside one of her glass domes, never used.
"It had always belonged to
the youngest daughter in the family and was used as a jewelry box, if you had
jewelry, of course. Mama kept the letters from her courtship in it."
He pulled her close and planted a
quick kiss on her lips. He led her out of the room, closed the door behind him
noiselessly and said, "They did not look like love letters to me."
"No. Except for one, my
father burned those before he left for Oxford and that letter was buried with
him. I'm afraid the chest now contains something mundane in comparison, notes
on my reading or passages translated into French or Italian."
**************
It was nearly evening when they
returned. In the drawing room, they found Mrs. Thornton still busy
embroidering linens. Jane was there, too, helping her.
Margaret picked up one that was
finished. "What exquisite work. My hands have never been steady enough
for such beautiful flourish."
She regarded Mrs. Thornton curiously and
thought that she would never have suspected this stern woman, whose somber
tastes in adorning her home were in keeping with her image, to have chosen such
delicate and intricate motifs and do such fine embroidery.
She put it down for a glimpse at
what Mrs. Thornton was working on but shifted her attention abruptly to the
pile on Jane's lap. She saw then that the maid had been very carefully cutting
out the letter "H" from the initials "H.T." on each
napkin and Mrs. Thornton had been replacing it with "M."
Margaret was appalled and she
protested with a vehemence that surprised the other three. "Oh, no!
Please. You do not need to change the initials on these linens. It's a shame
to destroy the beautiful work you have already done. I
do not need to have my initials on them."
Mrs. Thornton replied, annoyed.
"Of course, you do, as mistress of the house. Perhaps, you would rather
replace them with new ones. These are perfectly fine, made of the best
material you can
instructed Williams to bring every other morning, and various vessels that
brightened darker corners of the room. Woolen throws draped on the heavy
armchairs by the fire made them more casual and inviting. With those small
touches, he thought Margaret breathed life into what was, before, a cold large
space and arranged it to her tastes, geared to both gracious living and
reflective pursuits just as the Hales had done in Crampton.
Dixon, sat on a chair by the bed,
working on a white gown that John assumed was Margaret's bridal gown. She
abruptly stood up when he came in, "Good afternoon, master."
"Good afternoon, Dixon.
Please continue what you are doing. I hope you won't mind that I am taking
your helper away for a little while." He turned towards Margaret who was
carefully folding the lace she was working on.
She smiled brightly at him as she
approached. "I am ready." She picked up a shawl hanging on the back
of an armchair and draped it on her shoulders.
John was standing by the writing
table as he waited for her and, unable to resist his curiosity, he briefly
opened a small chest on top of the table. He was not surprised that his quick
perusal told him it was full of notes in other languages as well as English
written in a feminine hand.
Margaret, who had reached his
side as he was closing the lid on the chest, passed her fingers over the chest
with obvious nostalgic affection. "It belonged to my mother, a family
heirloom that was one of the few things saved from the pawn shop when her
parents lost what little fortune they had. The piece is of Chinese origin,
more than 200 years old and the design is a cloisonné."
"It is beautiful!"
John remarked, glancing at Margaret, astonished at how like a caress her touch
was on that chest and he could not help running his fingers over it as well.
She clearly treasured it. If that chest had belonged to his mother, it would
be displayed inside one of her glass domes, never used.
"It had always belonged to
the youngest daughter in the family and was used as a jewelry box, if you had
jewelry, of course. Mama kept the letters from her courtship in it."
He pulled her close and planted a
quick kiss on her lips. He led her out of the room, closed the door behind him
noiselessly and said, "They did not look like love letters to me."
"No. Except for one, my
father burned those before he left for Oxford and that letter was buried with
him. I'm afraid the chest now contains something mundane in comparison, notes
on my reading or passages translated into French or Italian."
**************
It was nearly evening when they
returned. In the drawing room, they found Mrs. Thornton still busy
embroidering linens. Jane was there, too, helping her.
Margaret picked up one that was
finished. "What exquisite work. My hands have never been steady enough
for such beautiful flourish."
She regarded Mrs. Thornton curiously and
thought that she would never have suspected this stern woman, whose somber
tastes in adorning her home were in keeping with her image, to have chosen such
delicate and intricate motifs and do such fine embroidery.
She put it down for a glimpse at
what Mrs. Thornton was working on but shifted her attention abruptly to the
pile on Jane's lap. She saw then that the maid had been very carefully cutting
out the letter "H" from the initials "H.T." on each
napkin and Mrs. Thornton had been replacing it with "M."
Margaret was appalled and she
protested with a vehemence that surprised the other three. "Oh, no!
Please. You do not need to change the initials on these linens. It's a shame
to destroy the beautiful work you have already done. I
do not need to have my initials on them."
Mrs. Thornton replied, annoyed.
"Of course, you do, as mistress of the house. Perhaps, you would rather
replace them with new ones. These are perfectly fine, made of the best
material you can
Similar Books
