John Thornton’s Unfolding Dream – 03

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John Thornton’s Unfold Dream


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As John walked into the office the next morning, Nicholas handed him a cup of coffee. He gave John a look, asking with his eyes –– what happened last night?

John hung his coat on the peg and set his top hat on a side table. Taking the coffee from Nicholas, he walked to his desk and sat. “I guess you’re waiting to hear about last night.” John looked at the floor wondering how to explain last night’s events.

Nicholas started first. “You know, John. I am beginning to think you are fortuneteller. Maybe you need to leave the mills to me and find work traveling the towns, reading people’s minds.” Nicholas could not get it all out in a serious manner and started laughing before he had finished. “I am sorry. I do not know what I am in for this morning and thought to lighten the mood. Yes, I do want to hear what you care to tell me about your planned talk with your lady.”

John slid down in his chair, propped his feet on the desk and clasped his hands behind his head. John began. “First, I need to tell you about my first dream since last we talked, which included Winona.” John held nothing back, including his fear of being set in a trap and his own prevention of it.

“I am proud of you, friend. You are not letting yourself be boxed into a corner. Of all that you have told me, the most striking is the second dream. Moreover, it is not what it was about but that you had one. That is unusual,” Nicholas strongly suggested.

“Nicholas, what are you going on about? A second dream? What is unusual about that? I am tortuously stressed over life-changing personal matters that are weighing heavily on mind right now.”

“Yes, all you say is true,” Nicholas conceded. “I think you have some super sensitive ability which may be telling you more than you know.”

John sat up giving Nicholas his entire attention. “What is this babble you are spouting? I can see nothing beyond coincidence in having two dreams about the most important decision in my life right now. What is on the docks for today,” John said, dismissing Nicholas thoughts, but knew he would hear about them, regardless.

Nicholas stood and walked over to John, then sat on his desk corner. He folded his arms and struck the You Will Listen pose, exhaling a sigh.

“All right, Nicholas, say it so we can get on with the work of the day.”

“John, do not humor me. I think you have a serious . . . how should I put this . . . a serious gift.”

John jumped out of his chair. “A serious gift? What in bloody hell does that mean? Are you daft, man?” John was puzzled over Nicholas’s sudden loss of logical thinking, his irritation growing.

“John, sit your ass down in the chair and let me explain, without the snide remarks, if you do not mind.”

“All right, I will listen but do not try my patience on this,” John said, making a point to look and be attentive. He could never get anything past Nicholas.

“Find your pencil as you will need something to fiddle with it as I tell you a tale about a good friend of mine.”

“I hope it is about someone other than me,” John chided. “I am sorry. That was uncalled for. Go ahead.”

Nicholas strolled over to his desk and rolled his own desk chair in front of John’s desk.

“Once upon a time, my best friend had this fierce head injury.” Nicholas saw John pull open his drawer for his pencil. At least he was going to listen. “As this friend miraculously began to recover, he picked up some small, unknown to him, habits. I became aware of them and I have watched for them every since.”

“Excuse me, but I have to ask if you are talking about me. I know no such habit that has formed.”

“Yes, I am talking about you.”

“In what form do these habits manifest themselves?” John challenged Nicholas and suddenly was finding interest in this tale.

“If you insist. The one that happens most often, of which you never seem to be aware, is that you turn toward someone before they even call your name. In your head, you have heard them call you but they really have not. There was your ‘coming home’ dinner which Cook prepared and you wondered where the trifle was. That was supposed to be a surprise for you, but you knew it should have been there and did not see it, so you asked why it wasn’t on the table.” Nicholas could see half disbelief in John’s eyes as he twirled his pencil. A frown settled on John.

“Do you remember the few series of dreams you had about your horse. I think you had four of them. The last dream you may remember resulted in an injury to Plato’s eye from a snapped harness leather. That is when I knew you had birthed this gift if that is what we can call it. There are a few other inconsequential examples I have not mentioned. John, I think you see into the future. I am sure of it. To test it, we will see what happens with Miss Winona, since your dream last night showed the parting of your ways with her,” Higgins stopped talking allowing this immense revelation to settle.

“And how do you know so much about this so-called gift?” John asked.

“I know this because it runs in my Scottish ancestry. Its tales have been passed down in the family for generations, with one person actually displaying the gift every other decade or so. I will tell you all I know. We have perceived it as a gift. I think science has different thoughts on it. You should talk with Doctor Donaldson and see what he has ever learned about the art.

“Nicholas, this is very hard to take in and it tops all the rest on my mind. However, I will deal with it. Point it out to me as it happens.

“Do you ever have these visions when you are sure you are awake?”

“I do think one of the visions I had about my horse was in the middle of the day, but I could have been dwelling on the reason for the dreams. I honestly can’t remember.”

“John, do not be surprised if that happens. Since I have been aware of this and waiting for you to bring it up, I have noticed it is becoming stronger. You are likely to have more of them. Whether they will be a warning to you as it may have been with Plato and now Miss Winona, I cannot say. Both of those have been actions that were and are associated with you. A day may come when your foresight can save someone’s life, at least that has happened in the tales passed down to me. There never seemed to be any harm that came from the visions to the visionary, you, in this case. They were either pleasant dreams or dreams designed for warnings where you could possibly prevent it. Now that I feel confident that you have a least a partial gift, we will delve into the knowledge we can find. I have only heard the folktales from my family.”

“I am not sure I am going to be comfortable with such a gift as you say. What if I do see a warning and fail to react, will the resulting incident be my fault? How will I know what to believe and what not to believe?” John asked, starting to rub his brow as this enormous weight seemingly pressing in on him. It is a responsibility that he did not want.

“John, let us not get carried away. The visions still seem to pertain to you, something you can control or of which you can be aware. We will take it one-step at a time. From what my ancestors have said, once the issue or incident has passed so does the vision. I still think you need to talk with Donaldson about it.”

Chapter 2


After her parents passed away months earlier, her graduation and her brother’s return to Her Majesty’s Navy, Margaret eagerly made it to London at the behest of her aunt.

Although still heavily saddened by the loss of both parents, Margaret was uplifted with the thought her life was finally her own and it had begun. No more schools. With her small inheritance, she was free to do as she pleased, even settle in her own place but she wanted to know London first. Edith was eager to show her around and take her to parties and balls in the upper echelons of society. Edith was excited, too, as she could now attend more invitations, no longer having to attend alone. Lately, however, a fine military gentleman was asking Edith out. His name was Captain Lennox.


*     *     *


Several months had gone by when Margaret received a note from Mr. Bell asking to visit. She was glad to accept Mr. Bell’s invitation for a walk in a lovely floral park with its historical fountains spewing forth delicate and intricate sprays of water. The water droplets sparkled like falling diamonds when the sun caught them. Huge oak trees dotted the large park along with winding flowered paths that wandered away from the main walk. White iron filigree benches were everywhere along with a copious assortment of small follies, pavilions, and domed shaped structures with awnings, which enabled visitors to escape the sun or rain. It was a very large park with a boating lake down at the farthest end.

Mr. Bell extended his arm to Margaret as they left the coach for the garden’s footpath.” So, Miss Hale, how are you finding life in London?”

“Well . . . you understand that I am fairly new here and have only been to a very few gatherings. I am not settled in my thoughts of these groups that seem to run together. My aunt wanted to have me “come out” this season but after accepting several invitations where I have begun to understand what will be my role in a “coming out” ball, I cannot say that I am comfortable as of yet. I begged with Aunt Shaw not to plan an “outing” for me. From what I hear, it is the dream of every debutante, socialite, every woman reaching 18 or completing finishing school. To me it seems like a parade to show off the individual lady, allowing her to meet many men with her eye toward marriage. I guess in polite society that is how people meet one another. To everyone, other than me, it is expected behavior. I would feel like I was being served on a platter to the congregation being the center of it all. I am not interested in marriage yet. I want to be on my own for a while more. It could be the events of the loss of my parents that prohibit me from enjoying myself to the fullest, but I doubt that thinking.”

“Miss Hale, you seem to have captured the entire concept of the London season. Aside from the Coming Out invitations, what have you thought of the other general dances and balls?” asked Mr. Bell.

“I enjoy the men there, mostly . . . but not all. They want to dance and I love to dance. When I am not dancing I am not at ease being cloistered in some lady’s group gossiping. Mr. Bell, that is all they do. They talk about each other when one is not around. I can find no interest in the rumors, the gossip, and unfaithfulness of both husbands and wives. The sanctity of the marriage vows and the bed hold no place, as most marriages are planned out of convenience, therefore never enticing the husband or the wife to be faithful. Either the wife lives a stoic, unhappy and lonely life or she joins in the husband’s debauchery but in a more clandestine fashion. London is a city of handsome, wealthy, and even titled men to choose from if I desired, but it would be a rare man among them that might find absolution in his wedding vows. He is tasked in his life to produce a son and heir above all else, it does not matter if he loves the mother of his children. I think it is scandalous. I will marry for love but I am not sure that is possible with what I have seen so far. There have been no serious men that seek my favors but I have met many gentlemen. I guess they all start out as gentlemen as we start out as ladies. As you can see, I am not settled.”

“Miss Hale, you sound very wise. In addition, I must congratulate my best friend, your father, for bringing you up with such astute insights and the will to go after what will make you happy and not conform for companionship or to be noticed. Yes, you have discovered London’s harsher side of life among the riches.”

“Mr. Bell, I hear the word ‘ton’ used a lot. What does that mean?” Margaret asked.

“Miss Hale, The Ton is all that we have been talking about. It refers to the British higher society. It comes from the French and means something akin to everything that is fashionable. Before you get too disillusioned with London people, you should know there are many out there that feel as you. You should allow yourself one or two seasons to pick your way through the masses of cravats and lacey dresses. There are a few jewels among them. Take me for example.” Mr. Bell paused there expecting a laugh from Miss Hale, which she finally obliged after a moment.

“Miss Hale, you frightened me there for an instant. I was afraid you thought me serious.”

“Mr. Bell, to tell you the truth, I wanted to laugh straight away but then thought it would be rude. I do not know your humor yet.”

“Well, we shall remedy that, Miss Hale. It has been a lovely day for a stroll and I would very much like to show you the real culture that is London’s history. We could visit the churches, the museums, and art galleries along with an afternoon tea. What say you to that?” Mr. Bell asked as he stopped and walked around to face her, while leaning on his cane, waiting for his answer.

Margaret looked up into that very handsome mature face watching his smile broaden with anticipation. Later, she would wonder exactly what type of smile that was. “That sounds very agreeable, Mr. Bell. Thank you. Do you have a favorite shop for books? I should like to find some reading for myself.” Margaret asked.

Mr. Bell returned to Margaret’s side taking her arm in his and encouraged her to begin strolling again.” Yes, I love to read myself. We shall save that conversation for another day but I do have several good places to buy books. You are very much like your father without the pious slant, of course. No wonder we have a lot in common, as he was my truest friend.”

During the quiet moments of their stroll, Mr. Bell was having a hard time believing in his good fortune at having Miss Hale on his arm. He had admired her when first seeing her at the funeral and had kept her in his thoughts for many months waiting for the next time he could be in her company. Here he was being accepted as at least a friend and knew that he could spend more time with her in the future. He was sure it would never lead to where an older dying man wished but he could dream. Miss Hale would make his last few months very pleasant, possibly more pleasant than any other time in his life.

Image of the Week – A Special Victorian Sherlock – Coming Soon



  •  THE long-awaited Sherlock Holmes special will air on New Year’s Day, it has been confirmed.

Stars Benedict Cumberbatch, 39, and Martin Freeman,44, will resume their roles as Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson for the one-off episode titled The Abominable Bride.

The 90-minute show will be set in the Victorian era and had been shrouded in mystery until the announcement was made at London’s ComicCon event on Saturday.

The show’s co-creator Mark Gatiss said: “I can exclusively reveal that the long wait for Sherlock will begin again in the late evening of January 1.”

While he joked it was New Year’s Day 2024, producer Sue Vertue was quick to confirm it would be 2016 and would air on the same day in both the UK and the USA.

British fans can watch it on BBC One while their American counterparts can catch it on PBS.




The Reform of John Thornton – Part Twelve


Chapter  Twelve


One day in early October, I was in the courtyard, when I witnessed my overseer Williams, who was chasing away from the mill an individual who I had come to loathe most assiduously. Nicholas Higgins seemed to have mustered the effrontery – and the courage, I must admit – to come and ask for work.

I knew he had been dismissed from Hamper’s mill after the strike, and also, why. The firebrand and his abominable union wanted the workers to pay contributions to keep up a fund that would sustain them when there was a prolonged strike.

I had once lectured to Margaret about the Northern traditions, I recalled. About every man or woman to do as they pleased with their wages, but this time, I could not condone the union’s scheme. Paying in order to sit out a strike was disastrous for us, masters. Add to this the ignorance  of most of the working class members as how to spend their funds wisely, and one knew for certain families would grow hungry once again and starve.

There was nothing I could do to prevent such a thing from happening, so I concentrated on my work. In a few days’ time, I had a meeting with Latimer about the latest figures, and I wanted to be certain of what I would do if the results were not satisfactory. It was also my intention to ask Latimer to be permitted to court his daughter Ann. A burden on my conscience, that last fact. I was uncertain if I could ever marry Ann.  If my financial situation was not adequate enough in Latimer’s eyes, he would rightly refuse me.

I asked myself the very urgent question that was nagging me for days, now. Even if I were permitted to marry Ann Latimer, could I summon up the strength I would need to try and love her?


Higgins had the incredible audacity to accost me, a few days later, when I was on my way to Latimer. I had spotted him right away, when I left the house and had no intention of acknowledging him. My stride was purposeful enough to deter even the most assiduous encounter, but Higgins stepped forward nonetheless, cap in hand.

“I need to talk to you, sir,” he said, in a subdued and polite tone.

I planted my hat on my head and strode past him. “I can’t stop now,” I barked.

In truth, I had no time. Latimer wanted to see me on urgent business. I went first to the building that housed the bank, but Mr Latimer, the clerk said to me, was at his club. Musing over how it was possible for a working man to spend time at a club, I walked the short distance from the bank.

I found Latimer leisurely playing billiards.

Unbelievable. Unheard of, too. I swallowed my irritation when he asked, “You’ve seen the new figures?”

It was all I ever did lately, damn it! Yet I replied evenly, “I’d hoped to reduce the bank loan by now.”

“Eh, it’s a pity so much is tied up in the new machinery.”

This man, I firmly told myself, does not know the first thing about running a mill.

“I needed the machinery because we were doing well,” I said calmly. “We had large orders.  And I needed to buy the cotton in bulk.  Obviously I wasn’t expecting not to be able to fulfil the contracts.”

Without looking up from his billiard cue, Latimer continued, “But you’ve been back to work for a good while now.”

I took a deep breath. “But we’re still behind with the orders and we’ll not catch up for … It’s not looking like we will catch up.”

Latimer was now purposefully not looking at me.

“Well, the bank can extend the loan.  Temporarily.  But we’ll have to be careful.”

Damn the man! What was he implying? “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being careless!  Or frivolous!”

My tone must have irked him, because he looked up, irritation written all over his face. I hastened to correct my behaviour. “Forgive me.  I don’t know how I could have prevented this or what to do next.”

“Well, there are more … modern financial procedures.  Investments.”

He bent down and started playing once again. “ I could let you know when I hear of any such schemes.”

Confound it and damn it all to hell! I all but barked out, “Speculation? I’ll not risk everything on some idiot money scheme.”

Now he looked me straight in the face, and his gaze was hostile. “Well, if matters carry on like this, you might not have anything left to risk.”

I went all cold. I knew my figures were bad, but to hear my banker say it aloud was devastating.

I took my leave, since there was nothing left to discuss with Latimer. I walked home in a state of numbness and despair. My mill was in danger of bankruptcy, and I seemed unable to rectify the situation. Black thoughts were milling through my head when I reached Marlborough Mills’ gate, only to see that Nicholas Higgins was still there. The man must be in serious trouble, I realised with a start.

“Good Lord!  Are you still here?”

“Yes, sir.  I want to speak to you.

“You’d better come in then.”

I preceded him to the office. Higgins was turning his cap around and around in his calloused hands. I pretended to rearrange some papers, only to see what he was up to. He stood there, silent and subdued, so I addressed him, none too friendly, though.

“Well, so what do you want with me?”

“My name is Higgins…”

I cut him short. “I know who you are.  What do you want?”

“I want work.”


Just like that. He, of all people, was asking for work? Impossible!

“Work?  You’ve got a nerve,” I challenged him. He stayed calm, though. “Hamper ’ll tell you I’m a good worker.”

“I’m not sure you’d like to hear all of what Hamper would have to say about you,” I scoffed.  “I’ve had to turn away 100 of my best hands for following you and your union.  And you think that I should take you on?  Might as well set fire to the cotton waste and have done with it.”

He made a turn as if to go away, then looked back at me. “I promise you, I’d not speak against you.  If I found anything wrong I’d give you fair warning before taking action.  I’m a steady man. I work hard.”

“How do I know you’re not just planning mischief,” I sneered. ”Or maybe you’re just interested in saving up money against another strike.”

“I need work, for the family of a man who were driven mad,” he said, urgently. “He had his job taken by one of those Irishmen you hired.  Didn’t know one end of a loom from another.”

The bloody nerve! I barked, “Your union forced me into hiring those Irish.  Much good it did me!  Most of them have gone home.”

I continued with my paperwork, and was getting up to get something and then was sitting down again. “If I were to believe your reason … I can’t say that I’m inclined to.  I’d advise you to try some other work and leave Milton.”

“If it were warmer, I’d take Paddy’s work and never come back again.  But come winter, those children will starve.  If you knew any place away from mills … I’d take any wage they thought I was worth for the sake of those children.”

I could not believe my ears! “Oh, you’d take wages less than others?  They have no union of course.  Your union ’d be down like a ton of bricks on my Irish for trying to feed their families, and yet you’d do this for these children?  I’ll not give you work.  You’re wasting your time.”

I took up my papers and began reading.

“And yours,” he said, a smile in his words. I deliberately did not look at him. He continued, “ I was told to ask you by a woman.  Thought you had a kindness about you.  She was mistaken.  But I’m not the first to be misled by a woman.”

Impertinent bugger! “Tell her to mind her own business next time and stop wasting your time and mine.”

He left then, but I was brooding, suddenly. What woman? Margaret? Yes, it must be her.

I left my office, went to find Williams in the sorting room and asked, “How long has that man Higgins been waiting to speak to me?”

“He was outside the gate when I arrived, sir, and it’s four now,” my diligent overseer replied.

So Higgins had been prepared to wait for me all day? He must indeed be desperate. I decided to see into the matter, later that day.

It had started snowing. Never had it been that early for winter to set in.


There was now a thin blanket of frosty snow covering the mill yard and the rest of Milton.

People were beginning to wrap up warmly, although some of my workers only had rags to do so. Something should be done to help people through rough times, I mused.

One overcast and dark afternoon, I was doing the accounts in the parlour, having fled my stone cold office. No use in lighting the stove and spend money on coals when there was a good fire inside the house.

Fanny entered, and I instantly noticed that she was in a fine uproar. I ignored her. Fanny is always in an uproar about something. But it was not to be.

“Honestly!  Miss Hale could do with having just a little humility about her position.  She was at Green’s and stopped to congratulate me.  She seemed surprised when I told her of my wedding plans.  She’s so grave and disapproving, as if we couldn’t afford it. I soon put her right.  It’s not as if she will ever get a husband. She’s much older than me.  And so severe!  I told her about Watson’s business proposition and she really turned up her nose at me!  She as much as said you wouldn’t be interested, as if she knew you better than me.  So superior.”

I listened to this litany with growing fury. Then I caught Mother’s cautioning glance at Fanny’s sneer of Margaret, and I forced myself to be calm. Yet I could not help myself from berating my hare-brained sister. “I’ll thank you not to discuss my business affairs in the street. What do you know about anything anyway, Fanny, except how to spend money?”

Now she looked positively insulted. “I know that if you were to take up Watson’s offer and join him in the speculation, you would be certain to profit. Tenfold….,” she said smugly.

Was she stupid, or what? “There is nothing certain about speculation. I will not risk the livelihoods of my men by joining Watson’s tomfool schemes.  If I lose money, how will I be expected to pay off the expense of your wedding?”

“You’ll be sorry,” she barked at me, and stalked off.

I suddenly bowed my head, resting it on my fist. A headache had been lurking all day, choosing that moment to burst out in full.

Mother came to stand beside me. “Is the speculation so risky?” she asked quietly.

“Do you need to ask me that, Mother?,” I wearily replied. “It’s very risky.  If it succeeds, all our financial problems will be over and no one will ever know how bad things are.”

She took a deep breath.  “If it fails?”

“At the moment, the payroll is safe.  Would you advise me to risk it?”

“If you succeeded, they’d never know.

“And if it fails, I would have injured others.  Would you ask me to risk that?”

She shook her head and put her hand lovingly on my shoulder. “Tell me what to do.”

Dearest Mother. “Pray for a good summer,” I said in as light a tone as I could muster. “People will buy cotton clothes.  Pray that some of our buyers pay their bills on time … and pray that Fanny doesn’t have time to order any more from the draper’s.”

Mother’s rare and very sweet smile brightened her face and she stroked the top of my head.

Ah, Mother. Would I be able to talk in that manner to Margaret, if she were my wife? I seriously doubted that.


That same week, I went to the Princeton district on my way back from Milton Outwood station, where had gone there to check on a cotton delivery I was expecting. In vain, unfortunately. Supplies from Liverpool were slow, these days, due to the inclement weather.

I descended the dark, filthy alley that went down to a cluster of dismal hovels housing workers and their families. I was appalled, as I beheld the grimy, desperate misery these people were living in. Of course I had always known how poor the workers and their families truly were, but what I saw now surpassed every imaginable picture I had in my mind.

The day was cold, with a constant, icy wind from the north, yet people were huddling before their doors, clad in filthy rags. Mothers with eyes devoid of hope were clutching grizzling infants, or groping at grubby, thin children hiding in their skirts. One little slip of a girl held up her dirty, tiny hand. I gave her a ha’penny, smiling at her. She looked back at me without doing so, and her mother averted shameful eyes.

Ah, even in the despair of abject poverty, these Northerners still held up their heads high.

Higgins’ house – if one could call it that – was at one end of a blind alley. I knocked briskly on the rough wooden door. He opened it, looked brazenly at me, and stepped aside. I entered a small room that served as a kitchen and bedroom at the same time. On the bed in the alcove were five children, ranging from babyhood to toddler. One small boy – six or seven years old – was sitting near the hearth with Higgins’ surviving daughter. She was holding a book from which the boy was reading aloud. I took off my hat and gestured to the two.

“Are these your children?”

“No, but they’re mine now.”

“Did your daughter teach them to read?”

“I think they are teaching her.

I looked at the ones on the bed. “And these are the children you mentioned yesterday?”

Higgins’ brow rose. “You didn’t believe me?”

I walked farther into the room, then turned towards Higgins. “I spoke to you in a way that I had no business to.  I did not believe you.  I couldn’t have taken care of a man such as Boucher’s children.  I have made enquiries and I know now that you spoke the truth.  I beg your pardon.”

Higgins shrugged. “Well, Boucher’s dead and I am sorry.  But that’s the end of it.”

“Will you take work with me?  That’s what I came here to ask.”


Nicholas Higgins was thinking for a moment, then said in a tone that betrayed his dissatisfaction, “You’ve called me impudent, a liar, a mischief-maker.  But for the sake of these children, do you think we could get along?”

“Well, it’s not my proposal that we get on well together,” I said, as neutral a tone as I could muster at his impertinence.

He seemed to desist. “Work is work.  I’ll come.  And what’s more, I’ll thank you.  And that’s a good deal from me.

I held out my hand. “And this is a good deal from me.”

We shook hands, Higgins’ grasp was firm and unyielding. “Now, mind you come sharp to your time.  What times we have, we keep sharp.”

I looked him in the eye sternly. “And the first time I catch you using that brain of yours to make trouble, off you go.  Now you know where you are.”

Mischief sparkled in the man’s eyes. “Reckon I’ll leave my brains at home, then.”

I walked to the door to leave, then stopped as a thought struck me. “ Was Miss Hale the woman that told you to come to me?  You might have said.”

“And you’d have been a bit more civil?” Higgins challenged, triumph in his eyes.

I left. On my way home, I realised Higgins must know of my dealings with Margaret. How utterly abhorrent!


When next I went to the Hales’ house to read, I could not help mentioning to Margaret that I had taken Higgins on.

She bowed her head with a sad little smile that tugged at my heart. “I’m glad of it,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t know that it was you who urged him to come to me,” I said, but I did not know why I did so. She answered in a small voice, “Would it have made you more or less likely to give him a job?”

Ah, she was taunting me again now. ““I don’t know.  I’ll not withdraw it though, if that’s what worries you.”

She looked down again, as if she could not bear to look at me. “I wouldn’t think you capable of that.  I have a better opinion of you than you do of me at the moment, I feel.”


Later, when I was seeking sleep in vain, her words came back to my mind.

The meekness with which they had been spoken was uncharacteristic for Margaret. Dared I hope that she had changed her opinion of me, then? She certainly seemed to care for my own assessment of her. Or … was I deluding myself yet again?





Sunset Song 2015

Released on Dec 04, 2015 in UK and Ireland


I am not frightened of you!” The official UK trailer has debuted for Terence Davis’ new period romantic drama Sunset Song, about a daughter of a Scottish farmer coming of age during the early 1900s. Agyness Deyn stars as Chris Guthrie, and it’s told as a sort of a triptych, with one segment focusing on her abusive father, the next when she meets and falls in love and eventually marries Ewan, played by Kevin Guthrie; finally, he goes off to fight in World War I and comes back shellshocked and violent, resembling her father. The cast includes Peter Mullan, Jack Greenlees, Niall Greig Fulton and Ian Pirie. This looks very powerful.

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