Chapter Text
I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me
His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me
- Song of Solomon
The china cat was safely in the cupboard alongside the Doulton, where Mrs Thornton’s rapier eye would streak to it in the morning and wonder exasperatedly where she could hide it. John courteously escorted his wife to the bedroom, and closed the door to keep them safe from the world.
He asked, very formally, “Would you like me to stay tonight, Margaret?” and he added, bending on her a gentle look, full of love, “ I mean as last night, nothing more. An’ you don’t 'ave to say yes.”
“I couldn’t bear it otherwise! I find it intolerable when we are apart even in the day... I won’t have it at night too.”
A little glow kindled inside him. When she said things like that, he felt so loved and so wanted, and it was a new feeling for him. He had always suspected, and people’s attitudes to him generally confirmed it, that he was quite unlikeable, but she liked him. She looked at him with soft, adoring eyes, as she was doing now. She wanted to be with him always... It was a mystery to him how Fate, not always kind, had blessed him with the love of this special woman.
“Then I’ll leave you while your maid helps you dress for bed.”
“No,” she said, “don’t go, John. I want you to stay...not as last night.”
Puzzled, he looked at her, trying to work out her mood. She was a little flushed, happy and sparkling after her wonderful evening out with her beloved husband, among other humans just like themselves...
They did not behave so properly perhaps, those other humans. But they were happy. It was the training, instilled in her since childhood, that she must behave properly that had made her turn her beloved husband away last night. She who had always longed to turn upside down on her hands, to ride a carousel horse, to dance and sing in public; well, here in the bedroom with this trusted man who loved her and needed her was the very place to shrug off all the rules that kept her bound.
She smiled at him. “I don’t need a maid to help me undress. Not if you are any good with hooks and eyes. You seem good at everything else.” She lifted off the necklace he had won for her, and laid it beside the Helstone rose on its midnight-blue nest. Both precious, though as far apart in value as her Kashmiri sapphire to a pretty pebble from the beach.
“I thread needles faster than most of my weavers,” he boasted, trying to sound normal though his head was beginning to spin, “so I've a chance... “
“I knew you were going to say something just exactly like that!” she laughed. He opened his arms and she came to him and he folded himself around her and nuzzled her lovely hair. It smelt of the expensive wash she used on it, and woodsmoke from the fair campfires.
She was not straining away from him this time as he kissed her – she was pressing herself to him as if she had the urge to merge them together...
“Are you sure, Margaret?” he broke the kiss to whisper to her, knowing what he was being given. “Be very sure...”
She nodded - quiet, shy perhaps, but yes: quite, quite sure.
“What’s changed your mind? I’d rather we do nothing of this nature at all, if it were only out of some notion of pleasing me.”
“I knew you would feel like that.” She looked very seriously into his face, her grey eyes translucent and clear like moonlight shining on a path, her fingers absently plucking the stuff of his shirt as she held him. “I was just a little nervous. It all seemed suddenly so strange, to be alone with you that way. It really did feel so very strange! But I realised tonight at the Fair - we, who love one another so much, how could we have a marriage that is less than others who love less? Why would we make do with that?”
She was looking at him adoringly. “And....” she raised up to tiptoes and whispered to him, “And... you did look so very handsome tonight...”
There was a sort of warmth to her admiration that he had not seen in her before. He was remembering some work of Plato which he had studied with her father, on the subject of Love; for some reason hers tonight seemed touched with eros, the love which encompasses sexual desire. It thrilled him; it made him nervous; he had to get this so right!
“I’ll be so careful with you, darling Margaret....” overcome with emotion.
After all his bragging, his fingers shook so he was clumsy with her fastenings. She teased him that she would ‘give him the sack and call back Dixon’.
“Well I was not expecting to have to start with twelve labours like Hercules. Are there eleven more after this?”
“No,” she said, “this is the last. You have passed all the others already.”
“If you’re countin’ the coconut, I’d ‘ave to confess that was more luck than judgement.”
They laughed together, his head on her shoulder, just taking a moment to gather himself for what was to come; she felt the heat of his breathing through her clothes. After a while she turned herself around for him to unhook the back of her dress, push it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, burying his face in her neck. “You looked so beautiful tonight, Margaret,” he whispered. “I’m always so proud when I walk out wi’you.”
His warm breath was on her bare skin; she could feel his body pressing to hers and though she had no experience, some instinct of womanhood woke in her and now she knew this was what it was all about. The change in his body - this shocking heat and iron-hardness was what made him male; it was what put women in danger; it was what a wife must lovingly accept.
She lay naked in his naked arms in their bed, looking into his eyes. He propped himself on one arm and kissed her, caressing her gently. The treasures of her mind and heart she had already given him; now she was willingly offering the sweet, hidden treasures of her body. He knew the shape of what he must say, but he was struggling to find the form: he tried anyway:
“Margaret – last night you said you’d no knowledge of what to expect – ‘an I should have just answered you then, an’ maybe we could have gone on from that, which would have saved you some anxiety, I know you’ve bin anxious about it ever since - thinkin’, maybe, you’d disappointed me, though I ... understood.” He traced a gentle finger around her lips, watching himself do it, as he waited for his thoughts to clarify. “But... it was difficult to say, as it sounds so... as the words do no justice to the loving act it is, or should be. I knew I’d not the skills to put it in a way which you would find appealing... but I will try now, if you like – “
She was gazing at him lovingly, seeing it was difficult for him, but alongside words he offered touch, which he was more skilled at: his naked thigh, darkly haired and slenderly muscled, lay over hers, warm and kindly, as he spoke, sometimes looking into her eyes, sometimes stopping to give her little kisses, sometimes slipping his hand down over her body, or taking her hand in his to touch him, as he told her tenderly about the act of love, which might sound strange in words but would, he promised, seem the most natural thing in the world.
She expressed no disgust, which he had feared, but only surprise, as she wondered aloud if they would really fit as he was saying they would – she was gazing, in some fascination, at the male parts of his body – he was hiding nothing from her - which all seemed incongruously large, and were very unexpected and surprising as he always looked very neat in his trousers.
A small wry smile upturned one corner of his mouth as she told him this. She was so sweet and so endearing... He told her tenderly, “It’s that way because you are so beautiful, because you thrill me so. Yes, I promise we will fit. We were made to...”
He ran a hand over her breasts, surprisingly full and sweet, something he had ached to do for so long. His own chest so flat, and dark with hair, lightly muscled to his flat stomach, her skin so pale and smooth, and soft, soft everywhere. “You see, how different we are?” he whispered to her. “Different everywhere... and very different here – “ he caressed her gently where he must go, and saw her eyes flare up with stars.
When he couldn’t wait any longer he rolled over so his body covered hers, propped on his elbows. He kissed her as gently and as lovingly as he could, though his urges told him different. His breath caught on half sob, half laugh, “Don’t turn me away now Margaret, will you?” governing the needy impatience of his body with such an effort.
“No, darling,” she whispered, stroking all the long muscles of his back, her eyes closing. “I am all yours, and willingly.”
It was nothing after all, but it was everything. Why had no one told her that instead of pain and fear she would feel so immensely moved and emotional and adoring to have him be part of her like this – just as he had said, as if he were made to fit inside her? They were truly one person now, at this moment.
“Margaret. Are you all right?” he whispered, a thread of sound.
“I love you. I love you so much.”
She kept looking right into his eyes, watching them change, seeing them focus on something faraway, lost now to the fast countdown inside himself, right until the moment they hazed over and he travelled away from her...
.... and then he was back with her, falling away from her to one side, keeping hold of her with his hand, comforting her with his touch before he could find words again. She laid one hand over his heart, feeling its furious rhythm.
He had been so powerful in his burst of energy it awed her, and so endearing in his need, right down to his long gasp and intense, trembling shudder when he gripped her and kissed her hard and wet and deep, passing to her in secret some precious part of himself. How could she have thought she would love him less? She loved him more.
She soothed him with gentleness, proud of him, adoring. She was wet between the legs, a strange thing, but she could not leave him now. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, his arm around her so her head lay on his shoulder, and stared at the ceiling, sucking in great breaths.
“I did not know it would be like that.”
Recovering, “What was it like?” he asked, curious.
“It felt just... natural. Like you were made to be part of me. Just as you said it would.”
“Well if you think about it that is exactly how it is.”
She was smiling on some inner thought. Anxious to know all her thoughts at her very first glimpse of this new country he had brought her to: “Tell me anything. Anything you are thinking.”
“Oh you will laugh. It is silly. I was thinking... how I am more womanly now. (I said it was silly.) I am one of those women... married women... who know this secret.” It did feel like a little camaraderie, a group he had given her admission to the moment he had pierced her, fast and sudden and sure, of women who secretly knew what it was to take a man inside themselves. She wondered if she would ever be able to indicate to Edith, her friend from when they were just little girls, that now they were Women one and the same... ?
He smiled, hearing this. How he adored her – his brave girl! She had not made a sound, even when he knew he must have hurt her a little – he had meant to take it slow and easy but that had turned out to be beyond his powers.
“Another night, darling Margaret, we will see if we can’t make it... wonderful for you too,” he said, carefully choosing his words.
Her lips curved against his bare arm. “It was wonderful. I loved it.” She sounded sleepy.
His innocent Margaret. Not tonight, another night, he would lead her towards her own pleasure. He had an inkling that might be more improper for her than simply taking her husband into herself when he needed her. And yet he saw an awakening sensuality in her that was all her own. He had felt it in the changes in her body, which had flowed like warm living silk around his and made his path easy. He knew he could guide her all the way there. It would thrill him to.
He kissed her goodnight. “Are you comfortable, my beloved wife?” he used the word deliberately. Now they were fully man and wife, indeed.
“Yes...” a little murmur. She searched for and found his hand, which she held.
“I must sleep on the right, like this. So my sword-arm is free to defend you if we are attacked in the night,” he yawned; it was something he had read once.
“Do you even own a sword?”
There came no reply. Unexpectedly, he had fallen asleep first, just like that, eyes shut, gone away into dreams. She stayed awake a little longer, gazing at him shining in the candlelight, just because. Just because.
In the morning, he stayed for a while looking at his beautiful wife, asleep. Her alabaster skin, the tender curve of eyebrow, the silky brown eyelashes on her cheek, stirring as she breathed, up and down; those beautiful moonlight eyes hidden from him. He stroked a wayward curl of brown hair from her forehead, where her little scar gleamed palely; the wound she had willingly taken to protect him, for a love of him which was greater than any fear for herself.
He wondered if love between two people was ever equal; he felt he loved her more than she loved him, not through any lack in hers, but of a keenly-felt sense that there could not be a love more vast, more consuming, than his. He wanted to protect her so fiercely he feared his own violence if anything dared threaten her, yet he himself wanted to crush her to him in a wild, impassioned storm of devouring love. It was in a way agonising and yet it was rapturous. He felt everything more acutely than most, he knew it, anger, misery, happiness, love - all these moods finely balanced in him where in most they were stolidly spread. It was why he kept such tight control, it was necessary. He felt she was more temperate, more mild.
Yet now when she opened sleepy eyes the look that fastened on his face changed everything. The quiet, sweet sleepy haze as she awoke was swept away at once as she saw him and knew him. She remembered it all, and her love for him was blazing. He knew now he had underestimated her; she more than loved him, she had the same longings and needs and desires and fears as he did. To protect him, to worship him, to consume him. The agony and the rapture.
He had everything he needed and far more than he had ever hoped for. It was the truest moment of happiness he had ever had.
“John,” she whispered, moving closer to him, “Must you go to the Mill today?”
The little smile that curved her perfect pale pink mouth was sweet as it ever was, but now he easily read her mood, which was knowing, newly sensuous.
He threw back the covers and gazed on her bare, warm body, its hollows and its curves; he thought about the places he couldn’t at this moment see. “I must, I should... “
“But you could stay a little while...” her eyes flicked down to his bare hard male body and became complacent. She was already, womanly-wise, beginning to love the power she had over him, to cause this change in him.
“A little while, yes... not long enough.... not long enough to take the time I want ... “ He gazed at her, gathering his thoughts – “Margaret, it was obvious to you what happened in me when we were together that way, wasn’t it?” She nodded, attentively, her eyes wandering down again to his maleness, tempted:
“Can I - ?”
He smiled a little, “Of course – “ his eyes flickered shut as she too-carefully took hold of him – “but don’t distract me, I’m goin’ somewhere here... Margaret, do you understand that women can have that pleasure too?”
An instant blush rushed a rosy tinge over her cheeks. “Ah! I see you do!” he was pleased, and immediately thrilled, wanting to ask her how, when? But ahhh... no, just no, he could not put her through something which he sensed would embarrass her terribly just to please his own curious whim.
“Well that will save me makin’ an explanation I’d not looked forward to – “ he took hold of her little pointed chin and turned her face to him until her eyes finally consented to meet with his and found him warmly loving in his look -
“Tonight, darling Margaret, we will have all the time in the world and we’ll give each other that pleasure. And we’ll love each other till midnight and beyond midnight and till ... till – “
“...till the moon falls from the sky,” she gravely supplied.
“- an’ when it does I’ll hang it up again. So we can love each other longer still.”
With such happy nonsense, the rambly bubblings of too much love to bear, they entertained themselves until their smiles went away in kisses, their talk became sighs and their bodies found one another again. And this time, to his surprise and joy, he found her travelling with him along the same path, so he paused to give her just a little help to find her way, and then joined her there as the helpless spasms of her ecstasy tugged his violently from him.
Afterwards, her smile for him was full of wonder, marking her cheeks with sleepy little curves of joy. Complete and content. His smile for her was less wide but so sweet with tenderness it nearly made her weep, just as it had the first time she had ever seen it.
“I must go, darling Margaret,” he whispered with utter love and gentleness, “Sleep a while, my dearest precious girl,” and drowsily she closed her eyes and turned on her side and went to sleep with her body singing the echoes of rapture fainter and fainter, and the joy in her heart singing loud and strong.
Epilogue
John flew down the stairs three at a time, smiled at his shocked mother still waiting at the breakfast table, kissed her.
“You’re late this morning, John – the factory bell went nearly an hour ago!” He had smiled at her with a deep tenderness she oddly felt was not for her at all; his thoughts were someplace else.
“I’ll make up the time.” This was unprecedented. He was impressively groomed as always, but she sensed some dishevelment of thought; she knew him so well; he, normally so precise, had made for the table, thought better of it, veered away, come to kiss her, had to avoid a chair in his way and now was nearly through the door, all with the air of a man who was completely somewhere else in his head.
“John! You must have something to eat – “
“Send Jane over with something at noon. Ahhh – no.” He had a better thought. “Ask Margaret to bring it. She’ll be glad to.“
“Glad to do servants’ work?” Mrs Thornton tartly doubted.
“She won’t see that as servants’ work, Mother,” - she heard the smile in his voice and now he was gone.
Hannah Thornton stood slightly out of sight in the window-frame and watched her son stride across the yard, brisk and confident. He was changing. He had already changed. She supposed this was the true beginning; the moment his path would start to veer away from hers, and this was how it was supposed to be, and she was not meant to mind but to see it as the natural progression of things.....
Next to arrive, some little time later, was Margaret. She was wearing a pretty dress in pink and had a warm sweet smile for her mother-in-law.
“Good morning, Mrs Thornton.”
“It is still morning,” Mrs Thornton agreed, “but if you and my son are regularly to be so late to breakfast we might as well serve it a little later.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” the girl exclaimed, contrite. “We will not make a habit of it. We were late to ...” There was no reason for her to avoid the word ‘bed’, but she did do, which did not go unnoticed. “ - we were late out at the Fair. We had such a lovely time!”
“So I understand,” said Mrs Thornton drily. “Jane tells me there is a large ham appeared in the pantry; and I see a china ... object in the Royal Doulton cabinet.”
“John was so wonderful! He won so many prizes we had to hire a carriage to bring them all home.” Her eyes were starry with remembering... the best night of her life... and then it had got better.
“Yes, he would do that,” Mrs Thornton said. “He has always been very skilful at anything he turns his hand to, and fiercely competitive. But as for the ornament – “
“I will find somewhere else for it,” Margaret said with a smile. “It does look a little out of place!” she opened the door and took out the ghastly thing, then bent her head over it as she held it in her hand with such a tender look, clearly gone far away into some happy thought Mrs Thornton was entirely glad she could not see.
“Your husband would like you to take to the Mill something for him to eat at noon, I shall get Betsy to prepare it - if that is all right with you,” which brought forth such a delighted reaction at the thought of seeing him (he who had left her just one endless hour ago!) she had to be dissuaded from going right now, and Mrs Thornton realised this was quite a different young wife from the one who had sat quiet and pale with her over breakfast only yesterday. No naive fool, she knew what it meant; she was even glad for it. Glad for John. Her beloved son, who had found his way to happiness.
When Margaret had left the room, planning to dress for a walk to Crampton to see her father, Mrs Thornton reached for her sewing basket. It would clearly not be long before tiny, exquisite baby clothes were needed. She could not trust Margaret to see to those right, so she chose a piece of finest cotton and began to lay it out. It would be a new life for her too, and one, she found with some surprise, she was quite looking forward to.
And so....
John Thornton, Master, is at the Mill, directing operations there, arrogant of air, hard and sharp in his working ways, but secretly warm and thrilled of heart, knowing he is loved and wanted and desired; every time he thinks about last night and about the night to come, his skin tingles and his stomach flutters with the dance of magical butterflies.
Margaret, unbearably impatient to go to her beloved as soon as she may - already she has missed him so much! is looking at the bed in their room – she is remembering the joy she had there in his arms and the joy he had in her – and already an anticipation, a hunger, is growing in her, for soon it will be the next time, and then the next.
It has been a long journey for them, some of it painful, but the path ahead of them is lit by love; they are setting out on it, hand in hand.
"We have reached the open sea, with some charts; and the firmament."