The Whistle Echoes Read online

  The Whistle Echoes

  M. Liza Marte

  The Whistle Echoes is an original publication. This work is a novel. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, or events are purely coincidental.

  ASIN: B0097ZCQ74

  Copyright @ 2012 M. Liza Marte

  Cover Art designed by J. Coultham

  Copyright @ 2012 J. Coultham

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent.

  … “I just want a kiss goodnight. Will you deny me that?” He sought to tease her, but her eyes looked frantically back at him.

  “I could have given you one at the door,” she answered. Her face turned as red as a tomato. She was aghast at the idea that he was in her room.

  “Yes, you could have, but you seemed more interested in who might see us than giving me what I longed for.”

  “This is not proper.” Her insistence seemed lost on him though he nodded and agreed with her.

  Her composure began to unravel. She tried to elude him but was unsuccessful when he took hold of her hand and brushed his lips across her skin. The sigh she uttered sounded like a purr and she saw him smile at the sound.

  “I believe you were looking at this.” John pointed a finger to his lips as she watched mesmerized. “I had to assume you wanted a kiss since you stared at this so intently,” he mocked.

  To the wonderful friends who encouraged me to keep writing,

  I couldn’t have done this without you

  One

  Margaret Hale stood content with the grin still etched across her lips and viewed the street from behind the glass window. The small flower John had given her was clutched in her hand. It was looking a little frail and withered now, but its subtle scent was easily distinguishable against the more aromatic fragrances of the vase of roses in her aunt’s sitting room. Without looking down she fingered the petals, and recalled by touch alone how lovely the bloom was.

  So many thoughts ran through her mind while the deep even breathing of the man at her side made the sparkle in her eyes glow and shimmer. Margaret turned to face him and was rewarded with another kiss.

  One strong, male hand continued to rest upon her shoulders as John pulled her close and he used his other hand to caress her cheek. He inhaled sharply, and then let out a shaky breath. A small tremor rocked his shoulders a moment and he shook ever so slightly. His eyes never paused while he studied her face, nor sought surrender until he captured her gaze and held it. It was a strange expression that passed over him. As though in deep concentration, he studied her. He gazed with unabashed pleasure at the way the corners of her eyes gently curved, at the upward tilt of her nose, and at the soft roundness, which formed the line of her jaw. Even after five glorious minutes, John had yet to grow tired of looking or to change the course of his gaze by seeking something else to admire. Neither one of them had spoken but seemed content to stand in relative silence. Only the brief entrance by the butler interrupted the quiet moment.

  “Shall I bring the tea, miss?” Bartley asked, as a soft breeze from an open window blew inside the room, and ruffled the locks of grey hair on his brow.

  Margaret had turned at his entrance. She felt self-conscious at being found standing so close to John. She hastily took a few steps away, seeking to create a greater distance for propriety’s sake. John did not appear to share her unease. Rather, he found amusement in her actions.

  “Tea? Yes, I am quite famished!” he said, as she was treated to the deep, rich tones of his voice.

  He calmly took a seat and left her standing, silhouetted at the window. He watched as Bartley moved the table, edging it closer to them before walking out to retrieve the tray.

  At Bartley’s temporary withdrawal, Margaret expected her aunt to appear next. She already dreaded the confrontation scene to come between them. That Man! Margaret swore she could almost hear her aunt exclaim those exact words in protest. Mrs. Shaw would be shocked and mortified at her decision to accept the hand of a man she would regard as being socially unacceptable; of having no style, no elegance, and for the present, no means of financial support.

  She also had to presume it would be no worse than what Hannah Thornton would say when she learned that the woman she least expected to see again, had now accepted her son’s marriage proposal. Crying out, ‘That Woman’, would be the softest and kindest words Hannah Thornton could utter at first hearing their news. But seeing only two cups on the tray when Bartley returned, she was forced to question the whereabouts of her august relative.

  “Has my aunt returned from her appointments, Bartley?”

  “Not as yet, Miss Margaret.”

  “What of my cousin Edith?”

  “Mrs. Lennox is upstairs at present,” he replied before straightening up and pausing in his work. “Shall I ask her to join you?”

  Margaret in that moment, thought to enlist Edith as an ally. Of all the inhabitants at Harley Street, her cousin would surely stand by her side once her engagement to John was made known. But of late Edith had been determined to reintroduce the idea of a union between Henry and her. As such, she might not be favourable to having John take Henry’s place as the recipient of her affections. Edith might offer some opposition even if Margaret was assured of her eventual acceptance.

  Swiftly arranging the table until all was to his satisfaction, Bartley left just as soon as the tea service was ready. With the sliding doors left open, he left her to see to her guest.

  Margaret saw the smile that lit John’s face. She wasn’t certain whether it was due to her company or to the profusion of cakes and sandwiches now within hand’s reach. She served the tea and watched as he indulged himself with the light fare.

  Now that they were alone again, her face turned many shades of pink and red when she recalled how she threw caution to the wind and kissed him just moments earlier. She wondered if her actions exceeded what a woman of her station should ever allow. But as they merited a reward rather than censure and the additional kiss that followed between them had continued there in her aunt’s sitting room, she had to conclude it must be acceptable, at least between the newly engaged as they were now.

  Strangely enough she also recalled Henry’s saddened expression when she had approached him with her business proposal a few hours earlier. It seemed Edith had been moderately successful in igniting the fires of love in the man, for he had been hopeful a different scenario had commenced. Margaret was sorry for the pain she had caused. Her future would no longer be in London but rather on the cold, grave, and impossibly dark road heading due north. Henry, despite his warnings of hardships, understood and simply told her goodbye. His departure was abrupt but not unexpected.

  In a matter of a few minutes, her life was altered again. She now sat beside the man who had always held her in his heart. John had been less than certain they would ever meet again, but fate intervened and brought them together. Margaret knew she never felt anything as right as being with John Thornton. The heartfelt relief she witnessed in his face was startling when he realized she was no longer lost to him. His soul would no longer be plagued by her absence nor would it give him sorrow.

  Unbeknownst to her, John had offered up his thanks and praise to God for finding her again that day. He silently tried to keep the joy threatening to leap from within his chest at bay until he could formally and legally secure her to him, but it felt impossible to contain. John turned in his seat and faced her. He saw her cast a momentary glance down as he took hold of her hands. When he called her name softly she slowly looked up.

  His voice shook with emotion at first, and then trembled, and eventually broke into uneven tones. Searching her eyes, his gaze locked with hers and a sm
all moment of doubt paused there between them. For an instant he was unsure of her response. All he knew was there could be no life for him now if she refused him again.

  As if reading his mind, Margaret almost cried at the thought that this proud and strong man would doubt her now. Her composure was already on the edge of shattering for she was having the same difficulty containing the emotions that ran rampant in her heart. John sought her eyes and let his gaze travel over her face, lingering a second longer on her pink, stained lips before returning to her eyes.

  “Margaret?” His voice ended in a near whisper as his grip tightened upon her fingers. “I have loved only once. I have loved only you.”

  At his declaration the sprinkle of tears came. They marked her face as he disengaged one hand to wipe them from her cheek.

  “Marry me. Let me shower you with my love, let me drown you in it for the rest of your life, and let my kisses revive you each morning when you awaken in my arms.”

  “Mr. Thornton?” Her breath was raspy and low as she tried to say the words that would bring infinite joy to both from that day onward.

  “Not Mr. Thornton, I am John. Say my name, dearest Margaret. Let me hear the sound from your lips so I can taste how sweet my name is when you speak it.”

  “John,” she spoke before adding, “I love you.”

  Getting up from his chair he gathered her in his arms and bent his head towards her upturned face. The softness of her lips cushioned his as he pressed forward, trapping her breath for a moment. His touch turned gentle as her hands crept up along his chest. When her arms circled themselves around his neck, meeting at the back, she nestled them there, in a loose hold at his nape. John took control of the situation and joined her on the settee. Forced to lean into the confines of her seat, Margaret felt the hardness of the cushion at her back. His kiss deepened slightly, and then pushed with impatience as her lips parted a fraction allowing him to trace the opening. He held her face while he lengthened the kiss they shared until she pulled away, seeking needed breath. Margaret sat back looking dazed.

  The colour that stained her cheeks matched the redness of her full lips. It was a ragged, uneven breath that she tried to subdue as she inhaled quickly while trying to keep her composure. Their intense longing quickened the flames of desire between. It frightened her how strongly their desires and passions were rising to the surface. What if they allowed emotions to override good sense? What would happen then? In understanding, John nodded at her and set her back against the seat. He rested at her side, holding her while his calm, outward appearance hid the fight to slow his pounding heart.

  “I know,” he spoke, voicing the rising turmoil she felt. “My heart beats wildly as well. I can hear the deep pounding in my ears. We must marry at once. I fear a long wait will only serve to enhance what is growing between us. We must marry, as soon as it is possible. I cannot wait.”

  She felt her face grow warm at his declaration and nodded before smiling back at him. She had yet to answer his proposal properly, but no longer bothered to reply with a true answer. The kiss she gave answered for her and it was enough to give him the assurance he sought. There was nothing stopping them from marrying quickly. She was of age. No longer possessing a father from whom to gain permission, it was only her reply that he needed before proceeding. A small pang of regret filled her as she thought of her parents. Margaret let the sad thoughts of their deaths leave as quickly as they came. She wanted to tell John that she would marry him tomorrow if he wished. If the day were sunny and bright, she would put on her best dress and walk to the church to become his wife. But before she could utter the words, she recalled the only obstacle that could halt any such impulsive acts. It was one they could not and would not be able to overcome.

  “The Banns?” she cried out and looked helplessly at him as he groaned at the law, which hampered his amorous ideas. “The Banns must be read first,” Margaret reminded him. “That would postpone any impromptu ideas for at least three weeks.”

  Though loath to agree, John knew there was no other recourse. In his present state of reduced economy, a special license would not be available so the wait would have to be at the least three weeks, if not more.

  “Three weeks?” His voice grew despondent and defeated at the thought.

  Margaret smiled back though her own spirits were dampened, too. “At least it will give us time to plan a proper wedding. Aunt Shaw and my cousin Edith must be told, and Mrs. Thornton! We must tell your mother our good news.”

  She paused at the mentioned of his mother. It did not go unnoticed by him. John had told Hannah where he was going that day and her worry for him was evident when he left. He needed to go alone, to find some peace and understanding though the initial journey had not seemed fruitful at first. He had told her he would journey to London to end all rights to Marlborough Mills. This reversal of fortune was not foreseen. Margaret was right. Hannah would need to be told as soon as possible.

  “John?”

  At the sound of his given name he turned a smiling face towards her. It seemed strange to hear her address him so informally but he quickly grew accustomed to it.

  “Perhaps we need to wait a little longer,” she added, speaking with some hesitance.

  His face darkened at the thought further interference would dare come between them. He could not hide his feelings for he had every intention of refusing any such plans to delay.

  “There is no need to wait beyond the required three weeks,” he stated. “Everything can be made ready by then. We will work together to plan this wedding.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head at him while her happy expression removed some of the agitation he felt. “We need to settle the money matters. I will have the necessary papers drawn so my money can be transferred to your control.”

  John shook his head. “That can be settled afterwards. That is a matter that is best seen to after we are married.”

  “But I don’t want to delay the opening of the mill. If we can proceed while making wedding preparations, by the time we are ready to marry, Marlborough Mills would be in full operation again.”

  At her words, he had to pause. Her idea had merit, but to take control of her finances now seemed wrong somehow. People would talk. He would be branded a mercenary. Yet, try as he might, John also could not prevent the thoughts of how her money could be used to bring Marlborough Mill back to life now. He could almost feel the cotton on his fingers as he imagined how things would be and the changes he could make.

  Margaret saw in his face the hunger to work again. He was desperate to hear the roar of the machines, the sound of the whistle blow at the start of each day, and to view the sight of workers who would march past the gates. The shouts and calls of dozens of voices would fill the courtyard adding their volume to the hum of the machines. It would be glorious, but John turned cautious. He knew how quickly fortunes could be fall.

  “Will it take long, do you suppose, to have my funds transferred?” Margaret asked him. Her thoughts had ventured over to Henry Lennox. She wondered if Henry would be disagreeable on this matter and decided she would fight him if she had to for her decision was made.

  “I think it could be accomplished in a few days,” John answered. His thoughts still strayed to ideas of how to use her money to bring Marlborough back to life.

  “You must stay in London until all is completed,” she insisted. “You must stay here. I will not hear of you taking accommodations at any inn. Aunt Shaw and my cousin Edith would be in complete agreement with me,” Margaret stopped at that. She could work in swaying her cousin’s fears to acceptance for now. It would help to cool the storm, which would undoubtedly erupt once her aunt returned and found John a guest in her home. It was unlikely the invitation to stay would be revoked, but Aunt Shaw could prove difficult.

  “This delay to our wedding saddens me, but it cannot be helped, can it?” John asked, returning her thoughts to the topic in discussion.

  Margaret gav
e him a weak smile back and leaned against his side, feeling his strong body against hers. “We can still make preparations.”

  Her hopeful words gave them small comfort. She thought of all the things that were absolutely necessary and decided most of it could be accomplished within the month. “The last Sunday this month is just four weeks away.” She offered a date that extended just a little beyond their plans and was yet was within reason. “That would be enough time to plan our wedding, and bring my belongings to Milton.”

  Sitting up in his seat, John let the forthcoming days fill his thoughts as he mentally went through all they needed to settle. If he agreed to her business proposal and the immediate transfer of funds now, the bank loans could be dealt with and the creditors paid off. He could start again. There were workers ready and willing to return once the word was given. The gloomy, bleak thoughts he embraced at the start of the day began to wash away as he found a reason not to hate the delay of their wedding.

  “We could meet with your financial advisors tomorrow,” he told her. “I can then return to Milton the day after to reopen the mill while you remain here to pack your things.”

  Margaret gasped at the mention of his leaving. Would she only have him for one day? Suddenly, she disliked the thought of the mill reopening.

  “I do need to gather my things,” she acknowledged. There was much that needed to be done and Dixon must return with her.

  John nodded solemnly, his face darkening a moment at the thought of their separation. But just as quickly, he brightened when coming face to face with what would happen by the end of the month.

  “On the last Sunday we will be married. You will be Mrs. Thornton,” he stated firmly.

  “What of the present Mrs. Thornton?” Margaret asked warily.

  She could not forget how little his mother regarded her. Her departure from Milton a year and half ago must have brought Hannah Thornton pleasure. How less joyous she would be when told Margaret would soon be her new daughter.