Margot
by Laura Hogg
In Victorian England an orphan, Margot, has ambitions. She banks on her intellect and her love, Brad, who went from the streets to opulence. Brad's father demands he not marry Margot, so Brad abdicates a fortune for love. Brad turns on Margot. Devastated, she refuses to give up her dreams.
Excerpt
Love. At its best and worst is all-consuming, eccentric in its timing, impressing the liberty
of its own action upon an unassuming soul.
Chapter One
Northern England. 1851
Nestled behind a majestic forest, an orphanage for girls lay tucked away.
Margot sat forward on her narrow slab of wood, supported by crossing timbers, which served as her bench. She gazed at her guardian with interest. The lantern light darkened Miss Adams’ red hair to nearly brown, a shade close to her own.
“Oh, Margot, the Great Exhibition is a marvel, but perhaps we should discuss…”
Margot raised a brow. “You hesitate, once again, to discuss issues beyond what a girl of my humble prospects should be trained to know.” She sighed, thinking of her greater ambitions. Perhaps she’d start as a governess once she was independent, but she’d not die one. No, she would find a way to make a difference in the world. She could do it through the written word—yes write books. “Please, tell me because you know I’m meant to be different with my vexatious ideas of the manner of things or rather how they should be.”
Miss Adams shook her head, but her lips curved up at a corner. “Could be all those books I allowed you to read.”
Yes, and my dreams. I’m called by my heart to rebel. "Miss Adams—”
“Very well. I believe your father would have approved, your grandmother being the bluestocking she was.”
Margot glanced up at the low ceiling. Dust darkened patches of the woodwork. A spider
crawled toward its web in the corner.
“We’re quite alone,” she teased, looking into her teacher’s thoughtful face. “The others will not hear our scandalous talk.”
With a stern tip of her head, Miss Adams went on to describe how thousands of exhibits went on display at the huge iron and glass Crystal Palace at Hyde Park. Images of triumphs of industry such as the electric telegraph or powered printing presses flooded Margot’s imagination.
“Now, Margot, what does this show?” her head mistress asked.
Margot thought for a moment, glancing up then back at Miss Adams. “Britain is being impelled into the greatest power of the century with its industrial, economic, and military supremacy, and opportunity abounds for the clever—rich or poor. Oh, and British trade will lead to greater things everywhere.”
Miss Adams smiled. “Indeed. Too bad you were not born male. You’d pull yourself from this orphanage and make the most of that opportunity, I’d allow.”
“I will anyway.”
Miss Adams gave her a penetrating look before walking across the floor, which creaked under her sensible boots. She exited the room.
Margot sat alone a moment, thinking of all they had discussed. She stood and made her way downstairs to the door leading outside. It hung on its hinges.
A pale orange dusk greeted her, streaks of sun warming her skin She searched her heart for gratitude and looked around.
The roof of the main building caved in at one end, boards near the entrance cracked and let in the elements, and the floor of the interior pressed its cold, earth-packed presence against toes poking through holes in little shoes.
But Margot turned her back on the dismal image to focus on what her world had to offer. From her bench in the courtyard, where her best friend Cathy often sat next to her reading some delicious romance, Margot observed the tranquility around her. She gazed at the looming trees in the distance then took a seat by Cathy and considered the vegetable and flower garden whose upkeep flourished under her loving hands. Margot had planted the seeds and cared for the garden all throughout the growing season. The girls hadn’t complained last year when it yielded a bountiful fall feast for all. This would be the third year of such a treat.
“Margot.”
Opening them, she found stress lines dusting Cathy’s pale complexion, drawing attention to vibrant gray eyes once sparkling but now muddy with ill-health. Cathy stared at her, covered her mouth and coughed.
Margot watched her thin, frail companion, her hand hovering over Cathy’s back. Cathy gasped and nodded. Margot squeezed her friend’s arm.
“Better now.”
Margot swallowed a lump of sadness and stood. “Could I fetch you some water? Anything?”
Cathy shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Margot’s shoulders slumped. “I am sure this will pass. Remember the similar cough I had two years ago. I recovered nicely, and so shall you.”
“You are so inclined to anticipate the best possible outcome. In your nearly eighteen years upon this earth, have you ever encountered a pessimistic thought?”
“You forget how I was after my parents had their accident.”
