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Chapter Text

January is a bleak month in Milton. The snow falls, and sticks and freezes. The mill chimneys pour forth their unparliamentary smoke and soot falls on the snow. When it snows again, the layer of white on top of black is soon covered by its own dark dusting. The town becomes dingy and icy and drear. The days are short and the light is dim, and the workpeople go forth to the mills and on their necessary business wrapped in shawls with heads down, trudging along on the treacherous setts.

John Thornton sat, this January afternoon, in his office at the warehouse. A small fire spluttered in the grate. He intermittently read the papers before him, then wrote something; rubbing his hands together when he was reading to keep the blood circulating in his fingers.

A knock came at the door and the office boy brought in a note.

Thornton stood up, elbow on the narrow mantelpiece, close to the fire, to read it.

Dear Mr Thornton,

I hope you ar e well.

I would be obliged if I may speak to you on a confidential matter. Would it be possible to make an appointment to see you in your office? It is of utmost delicacy.

I would endeavour to come at the time that best suits you, but it is easiest for me to leave the house when my father is teaching, in the late morning or early afternoon.

In hopes that you will grant me a meeting,

yours,

Margaret Hale

This note was sufficiently surprising to cause Thornton to reread it several times. He then sat down and wrote his reply, calling the office boy to take it to Crampton at once.

.oOo.

The following day, at eleven o’clock, Miss Hale was shown into his office. She had a heavy shawl over her coat and her nose was red.

Mr Thornton had placed two elbow chairs near the fire, which was burning brighter than it had the day before, and a pot of hot tea stood on a small table. He saw her settled with a cup, while they exchanged polite greetings, then he sat opposite her.

“Miss Hale, how may I be of assistance?”

Her gaze fixed on his, and he saw that the pinched look in her face was not merely from the cold. Her eyelids were puffy and there were smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes.

“Mr Thornton,” she began, in a low tone, “I turn to you as I am seeking assistance and I do not know where else to apply. It is on behalf of another but – when I explain – you will understand why I feel obliged to aid this person.”

“I trust there is nothing the matter with Mr Hale?” he could not imagine who else she could be speaking of.

But she shook her head. “No. Papa is well. I must – let me explain. I am obliged to tell you something I refused to speak to you about some months ago, when you asked me, so that you will understand. I – I must beg your pardon if I speak of an event that was unpleasant.” She hesitated, looking down at her hands which still held her cup, which she then put down on the table Thornton had pulled near them. “And I must beg that, although you are a magistrate, you will not use the information against – against the person.”

Thornton frowned at this, but he nodded at her to go on. What could Miss Hale have to do with someone whom he might need to think of in his role as a magistrate? Was this about the incident at Outwood?

She took a deep breath and looked up at him, her grey eyes meeting his blue gaze unflinchingly. “Mr Thornton. Before my mother died, I wrote to my brother – for I have a brother – in Spain, and bade him come. Which he did. He was here in my mamma’s last days.” Tears came into her eyes, and she paused.

Thornton took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “I did not know you had a brother, Miss Hale.” His voice was low and measured. He seemed to have slipped into his official manner, despite what she had asked.

She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, then looked at him again. “My brother Frederick was a Lieutenant in the Navy. Some years ago, he was involved in a mutiny.” She stopped, looking at him, as if to gauge his reaction.

“Miss Hale. You remarked that I am a magistrate. I have heard many things and I am not likely to be shocked. Pray, go on.”

She nodded. “Well, I made mamma tell me about it, because it happened when I was in London, at my aunt’s house. The captain was a bully and on this occasion he goaded the seamen to race down the rigging and one threw himself down and died.” She took a shuddering breath, “Fred and some of the other officers stood up to to the captain. They put him and those loyal to him in a boat and cut them adrift. But the navy called them mutineers and they named my brother as one of the ringleaders. He could not return to Britain. He has been in South America and is now in Spain. My father sends him a portion of the family income.”

Thornton nodded, making sure his face was calm and that he did not appear to judge. In truth he was surprised that Richard and Maria Hale had raised a son whose life had taken such a turn.

“I said that Frederick came here and it was a great comfort to mamma. But – I fear he was very shocked to see her so ill and diminished, and there was all the necessary secrecy, and we were all in such a state.” She paused again.

“Go on, Miss Hale. I do not yet understand what you have come to consult me about – this was all months ago, did your brother manage to make his way out of the country without being apprehended? I take it that it was he whom I saw you with at Outwood Station.”

She nodded, “Oh, yes, he was able to get on the train without anyone other than that man Leonards suspecting him. And, you know what happened to Leonards – and the lie I told – to the police, to you.” Her voice was low.

“And now I understand it much better,” he said quietly, although he was conscious of a lifting of his heart at the thought that the man he had seen her with had been her brother.

“Yes, and I never told papa about the police coming, and I thought it was all over, other than the blow to my reputation, and your thinking badly of me.” Here her voice became somewhat unsteady and she paused.

“But last week,” she went on in a low voice, “Mary Higgins came to me. Nicholas Higgins’s daughter. When Fred was here we gave Martha a week to visit her mother and Mary came to help in the house, for I knew I could count on her discretion.”

He nodded at her, although she was staring fixedly at her gloved hands and did not see. He looked down at them too. The gloves were worn, and the stitching was coming undone on one finger. Thornton thought irrelevantly that Fanny would be scandalised to be seen in such gloves, but he himself remembered all too well the days when the Thorntons had worn patched and made over clothes.

“Mary told me – it is hard to speak of this, but I must if you are to understand – she says she has missed her courses and that, that she is with child. Fred’s child.” She looked up suddenly, her expression fierce. “I was taken aback, shocked, I could not believe – but she said Fred had come to the kitchen one evening, when Dixon was with my mother, and he was so despondent and she sought to comfort him with kindness, and he, he….” Tears were rolling down her face.

“I could not believe it at first. My brother. For – you know – Mary is a good, dear girl, but she is not quick in understanding, and she is young. I think she meant to be kind, and he – he – took advantage – or, I don’t know, he was so distraught – he sought comfort – but – Mr Thornton,” and here she looked up, “I cannot condone it or forgive him. But he is in Spain. And I must help Mary. Now you see why.” And streams of tears made their slow way down her cheeks.

Chapter Text

John Thornton stared at Miss Hale.

She had told him that Mary Higgins, daughter of Nicholas Higgins, the weaver he had taken on and was getting to know, to respect, had been got with child by her brother. He had told her that he would not be shocked, but he was.

Her brother – a mutineer wanted by the Navy, who had been in Milton secretly at the time of his mother’s death. Leonards – Thornton recalled the reports of his ravings – had obviously recognised Hale and sought to turn him in for a reward – the hundred pounds he had spoken about.

Miss Hale! She had sent him to face the rioters and then, realising the danger, had put herself in front of the mob. She had summoned her brother – in the same rash manner that she had sent him down to the yard at the time of the riot – then she had seen him safe onto the train after he had pushed Leonards, and stayed to face the consequences of his actions.

And now, she was preparing to take on the further consequences of what her brother had done. Actions she did not condone.

He ought to be scandalised. He ought to feel that it would be a Christian duty to give her such aid as he could without involving himself too closely, and then put her out of his mind.

But he felt a resurgence of devotion to her and pride in her intention to do right. And underneath that, a feeling of fierce relief that the man he had seen her with – the gentleman who looked so elegant, the man she had seemed so intimate with – he was her brother.

He would aid her, even if she had come to him out of no warmer feeling than not knowing where else to turn.

“Miss Hale, what is it you are thinking I can do? Has Mary Higgins spoken to her father?”

“No, no, she is afraid to do that. I did say I could speak to him, but she begged me not to. And I cannot write to Fred. It would be no use to tell him of it, and what could he do? Would he even remember?” she broke off, and red stained her cheeks, “Oh, I should not speak so to you, Mr Thornton.”

“I do not know why not. I should think it is exasperating to be responsible for taking on all the family problems. For I think that is what you do, is it not, Miss Hale?” For a moment he thought he had gone too far. He knew that this particular problem was one that could be considered scandalous for her to be discussing with him. Usually such things would only be whispered about and unmarried women, in particular, would never talk about such a thing to a man, and quite possibly not at all. He could not picture Fanny doing it.

She sighed, “Yes, for if I did not, I do not know what would happen. Papa – he is very dear, but he could not even tell mamma that he was leaving the church and that we were coming to Milton, I did that. And Fred – he could not bear to see mamma in her illness. And papa could not bear to take Fred to the train. And I could not tell papa when the police came.”

Her voice was weary. He recalled that the day he met her, she had been aiding her father in going round to possible lodgings. And he had heard that it was she who had told Mrs Boucher of her husband’s death. So many burdens placed upon her. Thornton longed to put his arms around her and offer her himself as a place of rest, of protection. She had done something similar for him, on the day of the riot – to her cost.

“Miss Hale, what do you wish to do, to help Mary Higgins?”

She twisted her hands together. “In Helstone, I would know what was best to do. I could call on the midwife, and Mrs Hodges, who did so much in the parish, and we would speak to Mary’s father, and if he cast her out, we would find her a place to stay and make sure she was looked after. And the baby. But I do not know those people in Milton. I fear that there is only the workhouse that would take her in. And if she stays at home, there are all the Boucher children. I suppose there are women with just as many children to look after, but Mary would be having her first.”

Thornton did not feel that he had the answer either. “Miss Hale. I will help you. But I do not know at the present moment what the best course would be. Shall I make some discrete enquiries?”

“Oh, if you would.”

“I will write to your father – not to tell him of this,” he said hastily, as he saw her expression of alarm, “to come for a lesson. I have neglected my studies,” he paused and they both thought of why that had been – that he had ceased coming after her refusal of his proposal. “I know we will not be able to speak privately, but I will be able to indicate if I am making progress.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mr Thornton. I – I thought I could rely on you – and you have confirmed my supposition. I – I do not deserve for you to allow me to bring you into this matter, but I am so grateful.” Her eyes met his. “I am ashamed of my brother. I truly do not understand. I had heard that men behaved this way, but – my brother. I have so long held him in high regard, and it was such a relief to have him here – but I must stay resolute to help Mary.”

Thornton nodded. He thought about Mary Higgins, shy, slow to speak, but very kind to the Boucher children. For he sometimes visited to see how they progressed, those children orphaned by the consequences of the strike and the riot. He found it hard to imagine Mary as a seductress, and he knew that women in service were often the targets of their masters or their masters’ sons – a few years on the bench had taught him that.

A young Hale was hard to picture, but he had been at sea, and in many ports, and it was to be presumed that he had experiences his sister (and his father and mother) could have no conception of.

“Miss Hale, I am honoured that you have given me your confidence. And – I believe I owe you an apology. For, when I saw you with your brother near Outwood Station, I put the wrong construction on things. I am sorry.” She could not know how deep his feelings on this ran.

“I accept your apology, and I am sorry in return that I could not tell you who Frederick was. It was too dangerous. But – but you helped me in spite of not knowing, is that not true? That you stopped the inquest?”

He would not admit to himself that he might have been less than assiduous in that matter. “The doctor said that there was no indication that the fall caused Leonards’s death. There were no grounds to pursue the matter.”

“Thank you, Mr Thornton, nevertheless. And I must apologise again for coming to you with this – but I do not know where else to turn, and I cannot leave Mary on her own.”

She keeps apologising, he thought, and – to me – when it is she who is dealing with the consequences, when I could walk away from her. When it is Frederick Hale whose action caused this.

“Miss Hale,” his voice was as kind as he could make it, “I will see you one evening, I will write to see which suits your father best.”

“Papa will be so glad to see you.”

He could see that it was beginning to snow again, so he took her through to the clerk’s office and sent the office boy out to get a cab, insisting on putting her in it and paying the fare, for the icy streets were treacherous.

He returned to his office, and sat again before the fire. He knew there were those who supported unfortunate women in Mary’s situation, but he had never directly involved himself in their efforts. He must enquire.

Furthermore, there was the delicate matter of Higgins. He had been working in the Marlborough Mills weaving shed for some months now. A good worker and someone whose opinion John and come to value – surprising himself in this. The whole venture of the dining room, which was such a success, owed a deal to Higgins.

He had found Higgins to be a serious minded thinker – not just against the masters but against specific practices and actions of the masters. But he was also fair-minded and loyal, attributes which Thornton valued as they mirrored his own nature.

It was surely only right that Mary’s father – he who had authority over her – should know about her trouble. But, he had promised Miss Hale not to speak to him. Perhaps it might become necessary, but, for the moment, he would hold his tongue.

Chapter Text

John Thornton undertook some cautious enquiries, as time allowed.

With Fanny’s wedding in just a few weeks, there was a great deal of activity at home, and he was called upon to pronounce on various matters, try as he might to evade such questions. He must also be active in the matter of her settlements, so had little spare time to command.

He could see his mother was irritated that he should choose to reinstate his evening visits to the Hales just when there was so much to do, but he was firm in this.

Arriving on the fixed evening with his book in his pocket – having just managed to find time to read the suggested chapters – he was met at the door by Martha.

Richard Hale was effusive in his greetings. It was an embarrassment to Thornton – clearly his absence had been noted and he attendance missed. They soon settled down for a lively discussion.

After some time, the door opened and Miss Hale came in, “Good evening Mr Thornton. Papa, I have asked for tea, may I sit with you and then pour?”

Her father gestured to a chair and continued what he had been saying, while Thornton, who had sprung upright at her entrance, waited until she had settled herself before returning his attention to Mr Hale.

Margaret picked up a workbasket and began knitting.

Thornton, however, could not regain his concentration on the discussion, and Mr Hale soon noted this, laughing, “Well, perhaps we should continue this another time. I should have enquired about your mother and your sister, are they well?”

Thornton replied, detailing the intense activity at Marlborough House.

Miss Hale threw in a friendly remark, and when the tea was carried in by Martha, she prepared it, rising to present Thornton with a cup. He remembered how he had been struck by her in his early lessons, and now the warm smile she gave him seemed to flow right down to his toes, giving him a surge of pleasure and longing for the moment to continue – to intensify. With a start, he drew his attention back to Mr Hale, who was leafing through the book to identify which passages they would discuss at the next meeting. Thornton made a note of these in his memorandum book.

When he was ready to leave, Miss Hale rose with him and said that she would see him out.

At the door, he spoke in a low tone, saying that he was going to see Mrs Davies, wife of a Methodist minister, who was known to concern herself with fallen young women. Miss Hale thanked him, and gave him a grateful smile as she took his hand in farewell.

On his walk home, Thornton mulled over the fact that the transgression of Frederick Hale, with its serious consequences for Mary Higgins – as yet the full extent of these unknown – had led to a reinstatement of pleasant relations between him and Miss Hale. As such, although he could not but condemn the man, he felt himself profoundly grateful for the silver lining to this cloud.

.oOo.

Thornton’s interview with Mrs Davies was instructive. She was part of a small committee running a fund which provided support to young women in Mary’s position. If Mary were turned out, they might find her a place where she could work until her time and then ensure some support in the early days.

It was plain that while Thornton strove to make it clear that he was not the man who had fathered the baby, Mrs Davies, in the furtherance of a more tolerable outcome for young women than a life on the streets, was indifferent to this point. He imagined that, in counselling young women or in teaching children, she might be an advocate for preaching abstinence and chastity; but when in addressing the consequences of the failure of these, she was simply very practical.

Thornton was impressed with her, and his subscription to her Fund undoubtedly did not harm him in her eyes.

Marlborough House

Dear Miss Hale,

I have discovered a place where our young friend can find support. I believe you must now press upon her to decide when she wishes to make her situation known to her parent.

I believe it is best not to commit the particulars to paper, so will speak to you when I may. Perhaps you would consent to my escorting you for a walk one Sunday afternoon, in order that we might converse?

With regards,

John Thornton

.oOo.

On the following Sunday, which was providentially dry, John Thornton presented himself in Crampton. The outing had been sanctioned – even welcomed – by Mr Hale. They had agreed to that they would visit the cemetery and Mrs Hale’s grave. Richard Hale was troubled by a bad head cold, so could not himself take this walk and he was pleased that Thornton’s offer meant that Margaret would not be prevented from doing so.

As they navigated the streets, her first remark was thanks for his taking the time – knowing how soon his sister’s wedding was, she imagined that there might be other calls upon him. For she knew that the wedding was to be a grand affair – Martha, their maid, had spoken about it. The mill masters liked to display their commercial success on such occasions, and, for the Thorntons, this would be the most public mark of their rise after the ruin some seventeen years before.

Thornton was, in truth, glad to have some respite from thoughts of the wedding, and mildly said as much.

As they passed in at the cemetery gates, there were only a few people, dispersed on the paths which wound around the slight hill. Here they could speak more freely, although propriety was observed by their being in plain sight.

He told her of the arrangements described by Mrs Davies. Mary could be housed in a room above a workshop, where the women in her situation worked at plain sewing. The fare was simple but adequate, Thornton could take Miss Hale on a visit if she wished – he was now a patron in a modest way and this could be done as if it were at her interest in supporting the venture.

The women visited a farm for the last weeks and gave birth there, remaining until they were fit to return. Some gave up their babies, others were found situations of various sorts, to the best ability of the ladies who ran the fund.

“I will tell Mary,” Miss Hale said. “Of course, this still requires that she tell her father. I do think it so much more desirable that she should do that, than risk his finding out accidentally. But she appears afraid.”

“Miss Hale, I leave the matter of speaking to Mary to you. I will do what I can, including speaking to Higgins, if you decide that will be of use. I know that he is a proud, but also a tender man, with the capacity of great kindness, as I have seen him with the Boucher children, and also his daughter, when I have called. But, I do not know, of course, how a man might feel to find something like this out about his daughter. And – I am sorry to say this – it must appear different in his eyes that it was not a man of her own class – someone who might either marry her or be punished by Higgins – but a gentleman – and one, furthermore, who is out of the country and cannot be confronted or applied to for support.”

Margaret hung her head during this speech. They were now at her mother’s simple headstone.

“It was so good of you to take the trouble, Mr Thornton,” she finally said in a low voice. “Here, where mamma lies, I know that, if those in heaven are able to see what takes place below, that she is blessing you for the help you have given me to try and make amends for my brother.” After a pause, she said in choked tones, “She loved him so.”

Confound that young Hale! thought Mr Thornton. Of course, he had been distraught at coming to see his mother on her deathbed. But – and here he was thinking of the terrible situation thrust upon him at his own father’s suicide – he should have faced up to it like a man, and not indulged in seeking comfort from a poor young girl in the kitchen. Mary Higgins’s fall would be public and shame her father, and was the cause of distress and anxiety for Mr Frederick Hale’s sister, who had taken on the responsibility of the matter.

But, he only said, “Miss Hale, I will let you pay your respects. I will take a moment, too, to pray for your mother.” Then he stepped back to allow her space for her grief.

Chapter Text

WARNING: some discussion of miscarriage

The following week, two days after another lesson in Crampton, Thornton received a note at his warehouse office.

Crampton

Dear Mr Thornton

Yesterday my friend was indisposed. Mrs Ryan – you may remember her as the one who helped with the Boucher children the day their father died – was with her while I looked after the children. She is as well as can be expected.

Now the assistance I begged of you will not be needed. I can only thank you for your willingness to give aid when I asked it of you.

I very much hope that you will have the time and inclination to continue lessons with my father. He enjoys them very much and I have also enjoyed seeing you in our home.

Your ever grateful

Margaret Hale

Thornton stared at this, turning over this circumstance.

He looked at the time – half past ten. He thought through his obligations for the day – he was to meet with a cotton factor, but not until the afternoon.

With resolution, he put on his hat and left the office, walking rapidly through the streets.

When he reached Crampton Terrace, Martha told him that Mr Hale was out, teaching, but Miss Hale was within.

When he entered the parlour, she was standing, and came forward with every appearance of relief at seeing him.

“Miss Hale!” he took her hand for a moment. She looked pale and shaken.

“Mr Thornton, how kind of you to come. I hope my note was clear, Mary is no longer, that is, there is no need now for the measures we were considering.”

He nodded, “Miss Hale, please do sit, you look quite unwell.”

“It was – I did not see the worst, I was with the children, and Mrs Ryan was so calm and helped Mary, when she was in pain. But – there was – there was – there was blood and the shock. Oh, Mr Thornton, I knew something about childbearing, but not this.”

He did not know what to say.

“I should not be talking to you. It is not seemly. But – truly, I think men have no notion what things are like. How could they bear to go on as they do, without consideration for what women experience and suffer?” She sounded angry.

“Miss Hale, please, sit down. I shall ring for something – can I ask for coffee? I think it would be advisable.”

She sat, and rubbed her face with her hands. “I apologise,” she said in a low voice. “You will think me immodest and improper to speak so, and perhaps I should not question the order of things, but I am so tired, I could not sleep. It all came back before my eyes, Mary’s pain, and that we must try and keep it all quiet and clean up as soon as we could so that Nicholas did not know. For she still wishes not to tell him. And – and – it was my brother who – whose actions brought it about. Yes! I know that women should remain chaste, we are taught that and it is emphasised over and over, but I truly cannot feel that it would be right to think ill of poor Mary, Mary who is so simple but so good – she has been looking after all those children for months – missing the guidance of her mother and the company of her sister, my poor Bessy. I know Nicholas is a kind father, but – the burdens that she has had to bear.”

Thornton had gone to the door and called for coffee, which Martha now brought, and he gave her a cup, and saw her start to drink.

“Miss Hale, it has been a hard thing for you.” How inadequate his words sounded. Truly he was a bit shocked at the particulars she had voiced.

Of course, he had known what losing a pregnancy must entail, but he had not ever considered what it must be to go through such an event. He had overheard his millworkers at times, but never such distressing particulars.

“Miss Hale, please, you must not make yourself ill.”

“Mr Thornton,” her tone said that she had not taken in what he had said, was following a thought of her own, “Are men – are they so blind to what women bear as a result of their passions? How could my brother – any man – how could he inflict that? Was his – comfort – was it really so necessary? Did he understand what Mary was giving him?” Then she appeared to realise what she was saying and her hand flew up to her mouth and she said in quite a different tone, “I beg your pardon, Mr Thornton. I do not know how I came to voice such thoughts, I can only plead that – that -”

“That you have had a most distressing experience. Aye, I understand. I have taken no offence.”

She nodded and took up her coffee again, not meeting his eyes.

“But – if I may try to answer your question, even if it should not be a topic of discussion between us: I do not know how men can do that – I have no experience in the matter, and have asked myself the same question.”

He could see her face flush red as she took in his meaning as to his own lack of experience, something that certainly he should not have mentioned.

“But, as master of a mill, with many young women working for me, I have seen various ways in which women, who should be protected and supported by the men who have authority over them, are put in difficult situations by those very men, and must deal with the consequences.”

She was not meeting his eye, but he saw she was listening intently.

“I have often thought that women – with the model of my mother before me – can be as strong as any man in meeting difficulties. And that most men do not regard sufficiently the way their actions impinge on women, the women closest to them, whom they have the privilege and the duty to protect.” Now he dropped his voice, “My own father – his suicide was an act of cruelty to my mother.”

Margaret looked up then, her eyes looking directly into his. For a long moment they held one another’s gaze, each marvelling that they had reached such intimate and difficult subjects – that there was the possibility of speaking to another person about such things – to this other person.

After some minutes of silence, Thornton gathered his thoughts. “Miss Hale, in practical terms, what must be done? Is Mary truly well?”

“She is somewhat indisposed, but Mrs Ryan thinks it is but normal in the circumstances. She is in bed for today, at least, and Mrs Ryan is there to look in on her and to tend to the children. She is such a calm and authoritative person, I do not think Nicholas will question what they told him.”

Thornton could only nod. He himself had little idea what would be likely in the circumstance.

“If you should hear that she needs a doctor….” he began, but Miss Hale cut in.

“I believe Mrs Ryan will call someone if needed. I think she had seen other cases, and feels quite confident.”

Thornton began to feel that he should go. He saw that Miss Hale looked better after the coffee – and perhaps after her outburst of feeling.

He stood and took his leave, promising to return for the planned lesson.

.oOo.

Hastening back to business, Thornton tried to concentrate his thoughts. What had he been thinking to tell her that he did not understand the habits of other men, including her brother, by implication? When she was calmer, what would she think of him, his indelicacy in revealing this? She must have known that he was a rough sort of fellow, but perhaps she had been shocked at this coarseness.

She had turned to him in a situation of extremity – he had tried to provide the support she needed. Had he behaved as a gentleman ought? He simply did not know. He knew he had responded in the truest way he knew – with the offer of assistance, without making a judgement on her for the actions of her brother. He also knew that his love for her had not been weakened, but rather strengthened.

But what her feeling now for him might be – other than the gratitude, which might turn to embarrassment once the urgency of the situation were over – he could only conjecture.

Chapter Text

Fanny’s wedding was now less than two weeks away, and Mr Thornton wrote to Mr Hale, regretting that he must miss the next lesson. He intended to resume once his sister had set off on her wedding journey.

The crescendo of activity and discussion, a house full of muslin, lace and flowers, a stream of notes, and deliveries of wedding presents, food and wine were distracting even to John, who escaped to his office or the mill as often as he was able, but was often required to pronounce on some matter or other.

From time to time thoughts of Mr Watson and how he might treat his new wife came into his head. He had made sure Fanny was provided for in her settlements, and in the provision Watson intended to make for her in the way of the household and carriages and so on. He had trusted to his mother to be aware of Watson’s character and fitness to be Fanny’s husband in a deeper way than his knowledge of his general propriety – and he knew of no reason to doubt that he was a fine choice. But – had he enquired deeply enough? He thought of Miss Hale – if she could have a brother whose actions were so at variance to her principles – although not such unusual conduct for a young gentlemen – it was hard to feel secure. But – what could he do now? – there was no evidence that there was anything he should be concerned about.

The wedding itself went off very well. He found himself with an unexpectedly tender feeling for Fanny as she set off on her wedding journey. She seemed happy and was looking forward with no trepidation that he could discover.

Once the servants had tidied away the wedding breakfast, and the final guests had departed, Marlborough House settled into quiet. John took himself to the study to prepare for his next lesson. Tomorrow would be time enough for resuming work.

.oOo.

On his visit to Crampton, he found Richard Hale with more vigour in his manner than usual. It seemed that he had received an invitation to Oxford for a reunion at his college from Mr Bell – Thornton’s landlord, and the old friend of Hale’s who had suggested to move to Milton. Hale was minded to accept and Miss Hale was firm in supporting this wish.

“So, I fear there will be a pause in our lessons, Thornton, but we have a few weeks yet to examine Herodotus – perhaps even complete discussion of the Peloponnesian War.”

Thornton felt pleased that his mentor was looking forward. He had seemed sunk in himself since his wife died.

His rebound in stamina meant that he was able to accompany his daughter to Maria Hale’s grave that Sunday, so there was no need for Thornton to offer his escort. There was no chance for private conversation with Miss Hale but her presence, serving tea, at the end of his lessons was very pleasant, and it seemed the footing of their relations had been altered completely.

She managed to convey the information that Mary appeared to have recovered well, including in her spirits. Indeed, he saw Mary himself on a visit to the Higgins house, where he was in the habit of calling in to see how the Boucher children were faring with their schooling, which he was funding.

He still felt uneasy to have been part of keeping knowledge of his daughter’s predicament from the man. He had nothing but respect for Higgins these days – the suspicion about him had been eroded by experience of his probity, hard work and continual thought for the rights and welfare of his fellow workers. In Higgins, Thornton felt he had met someone who challenged him to defend his position and to re-think it when he could not. It would not do to say it to anyone, but he would prefer to engage in conversation with the Darkshire weaver over most of the other mill masters.

At the final lesson before Mr Hale’s departure to Oxford, there was an air of bustle in the Crampton house. A portmanteau stood inside the door, and Martha quite scurried away after showing him to the parlour.

After their discussion of Herodotus, Hale said, “Thornton, I have a favour to request.”

He nodded.

“My daughter has repeatedly stated that she will be perfectly content here on her own, but would you call in, and perhaps, if you have time, escort her on a walk? I do not wish her to be moped or find the time irksome. I will be enjoying my chance to revisit the scenes of my young manhood, but it will allow me greater pleasure if I am assured that you will keep an eye out for Margaret.”

Thornton was easily able to pledge himself to this, and he bade his tutor a pleasant sojourn in Oxford. Miss Hale, who had not come in before, now entered the parlour, with some folded clothing in her hands. She apologised to Thornton – there had been some laundering to see to, but now she sat and they drank tea. He felt, however, that he ought not prolong his stay as there appeared to be tasks to complete, and soon took his leave, saying, “Miss Hale, your father has asked me to call in while he is away, so I will have the pleasure of seeing you soon.” Turning to Mr Hale, “My regards to Mr Bell and I hope that you will return refreshed from your time in Oxford.”

As he walked away, he could not prevent a lift at his heart at the thought that he might soon have time alone with Miss Hale.

.oOo.

He called in Crampton some days after Mr Hale’s departure and stayed for a short time for tea. The conversation was easy but did not touch on anything deeper than his description of Fanny’s gown and her reporting of her father’s pleasure in visiting Oxford.

Thornton proposed escorting her to the cemetery on the Sunday afternoon, and this was accepted.

When he called, sunshine meant that the streets were full of Miltoners taking advantage of the pleasant weather on a day of rest. She was wearing her mourning, but had a bright aspect in her face.

Thornton took the basket of flowers she carried, and offered his arm, which she took.

When they had paid respects at the grave, he led her to a bench in a pleasantly shaded part of the grounds. “Would you care to sit for a while, Miss Hale? I find it so pleasant to be out of doors after the winter.”

She assented and they settled themselves.

There was silence for a few minutes, but he did not feel that it was strained. It was sweet just to sit near her and feel her presence and let the balmy day relax his thoughts.

Then she turned to him. “Mr Thornton. I know you may think it indelicate to reopen this subject – but – I have no one else I can speak to about it. I am thinking of my brother.”

He nodded.

“I – it has thrown my ideas of gentlemanly conduct all in disarray. We are taught that a woman should submit in obedience to the men in her family and that they should take charge of her. I have often tried to settle that most difficult problem for woman, how much is to be utterly merged in obedience to authority, and how much might be set apart for freedom in working or thinking. I had thought that papa was always to be my guide and that, after, if need be, Frederick. Or a husband. But – papa – I should not say, but I think you must know – papa is often not as decisive as to help me guide my actions. I have said that he could not tell mamma about leaving the church. And, I think he could not take in the fact of her illness. I had to speak to the doctor to get the clear information.”

She fell silent.

“Miss Hale, you have borne burdens that most young women do not.”

“But,” and here her voice was low, “the burden Mary Higgins had put upon her is not one I have had to face.

He had no answer to that, and the thought was somewhat shocking.

“It has made me question everything that I have been taught about gentlemen and the code of behaviour they should be expected to observe. Is it really all a pretence?”

He hardly knew what to say. “Miss Hale, the conduct society considers allowable in a gentleman is very different than a young woman might be expected to know. If you recall, we spoke of gentlemanliness some time ago and I said that to be a man is a finer thing – perhaps you may understand my meaning more clearly now.”

She shook her head. “It is hard to believe that society would have no condemnation for what Frederick did, but I have been thinking about it and I feel that it is the case.”

“I am sorry, Miss Hale, for I think the knowledge is very unpleasant to you. Most ladies simply do not think of such things.”

She lifted her head. “I cannot do that. Avert my eyes to keep the world convenient.”

“No, I think that is not your nature. You take on the burdens that others have dropped.”

“But I think that is your nature, too, Mr Thornton. Have you not been handed the situation your father left and made sure your family did not sink?”

He was taken aback. She had discerned this part of him, the young man who had had to shoulder responsibilities at a young age, and had come through, but at a cost to himself. “Aye, Miss Hale. Perhaps we are alike in that way.”

She did not reply and they sat in silence for a while, before he rose, suggesting they return to Crampton.

There was nothing further said other than commonplaces, but he felt that something had profoundly shifted between them, although he could not tell what precisely it was and what it meant.

Chapter Text

Some days later, Thornton made time to call again for tea. Miss Hale was knitting a sock and resumed her activity after pouring him a cup. The sunshine of Sunday had fled and the day was grey.

The parlour was welcoming and cosy with the flames of a small fire reflecting off some fruit in a dish. As always, Thornton marvelled at the way this young woman could create a welcoming home, despite her restricted budget. He felt more at ease here than in any other Milton room he visited.

He was talking of the reading her father had suggested for him, when there was a sharp knock at the door below, and then Martha appeared with a rather frightened face, holding an express letter for Miss Hale.

Margaret sat up, the sock falling to the floor, and opened it. She gasped; Thornton looked at her in alarm.

“It is – oh – it is Mr Bell. He has died suddenly. Papa says that yesterday he was well and they had a long talk in the garden, very pleasant. But – this morning he was dead.” She held the letter out to Thornton and he took it, but did not read it at first, gauging whether she was in need of the maid. She shook her head and tears appeared in her eyes. “He was only here a few months ago. And what a difference it made to papa. He will feel this keenly. He intends to remain in Oxford until the funeral.”

Thornton offered to call for smelling salts, which she rejected. He turned it over in his mind. “Would – do you think it would be a support to your father if I were to go to Oxford?”

“Oh – yes – why, Mr Thornton, how kind of you. I am sure papa is overwhelmed, I can see it in the way his writing is so shaky. I am sure there are those in the college who are dealing with the practicalities, but it would ease my mind if you could spare the time.”

He assured her that he could, and she summoned up a smile for him, “I seem to be pulling you into all our family troubles, Mr Thornton.”

“I wish to be of assistance – to you – and to Mr Hale. I will stop by the post office and send a telegram, saying that I will arrive in Oxford tomorrow. But – if you will excuse me, I should go and arrange things so that I can be absent for a few days.”

He rose, and she thanked him again, with such sincerity, that he felt it would be no trouble at all to help her.

.oOo.

In Oxford, Thornton found Mr Hale grateful for his presence and he was satisfied that it had been the right thing to travel and support him. The college undertook most of the funeral arrangements, and the two men were able to travel back to Milton as soon as this sombre ceremony had been performed.

Thornton saw his tutor to the house in Crampton Crescent, but declined to come in, feeling that he should not intrude.

Calling in Crampton a day or so later, Hale told him that he was requested to return to Oxford for the reading of the will – here he waved a letter at Thornton. With concern at the thought of what this journey would mean for the older man, Thornton offered to travel with him and this offer was accepted. They would stay but one night.

This time, on their return, Thornton did come in to the house. Miss Hale rushed to greet her father, and they all went into the parlour, where she rang the bell for coffee.

As they were settled, Hale cleared his throat, “Margaret. My dear. The will was – was a surprise.” Margaret looked at him, then at Thornton, who strove to keep his features neutral. “Bell – your godfather – he has left nearly all – all but some bequests to the college and his servants – to you – to you! my dear. As you were his god-daughter and there was no family.”

Margaret looked puzzled, “To me?”

“Yes, and – you know, do you not – that Bell had many properties in Milton. Why – John’s mill and house – they belonged to him. And – my dear there is money, too.” He named a sum, at which Margaret clutched at the base of the throat.

“To me, that will be mine?” She sounded bewildered.

Thornton urged them both to finish their coffee. “It will take some time to transfer the inheritance, Miss Hale. It will be held for you until you come of age – which I believe is some months from now. I think you must have a man of business here in Milton – I know Mr Bell’s advisor, Mr Taylor. He is a good man, I would suggest you retain him. He was in Oxford for the reading, I feel sure he will call on you, in any case.”

Margaret nodded, although he was not sure she had taken it in. Never mind, it was bound to take some time to appreciate the reversal of her personal fortunes. It had been a shock, he supposed. It had to him, indeed. For – she was now his landlord.

.oOo.

The news was soon all round Milton. Mr Bell had had considerable holdings, and, although he had mostly been an absentee landlord, there were many affected by the change. No one was sure what Miss Hale might do – sell out? Or – more likely, most said – leave Milton and live on the proceeds of the invested money, as Bell had done.

Mrs Thornton had some sniffy words to say, along the lines that Miss Hale’s haughty nature would now be unrestrained. John bit his lip. He would not be provoked. But it was a foretaste of the kind of talk likely to come.

He was crossing the mill yard, when he met with Higgins. He stopped to ask about a matter in the weaving shed, and when that was settled, Higgins said, “Beg pardon, maester, yo’ know o’ Miss Mar’gret’s change o’ fortune, I suppose? Has hoo said – will hoo be off back to London?”

Thornton wished he knew the answer. “Aye, I know of her inheriting – she is now the owner of this mill, you know, Higgins. I am her tenant. But – as to going to London, I have not heard what her plans – their plans – are.”

“’Twould only be natural. There was a deal o’ tragedy here for her.”

“Aye. A deal, indeed.”

“And – mappen tha’ll know all about this – hoo’s been a great friend to my family. First to my Bessy, as died. And then – I think tha knows, maester, to my Mary. Mary tellt me o’ the trouble she were in. From that young Hale, him as is a mutineer and a scoundrel, and not fit to be the son o’ th’ old parson or the brother o’ that lass, Miss Mar’gret.” He looked troubled. “But, from all as Mary says, Miss Mar’gret helped her and would ha’ helped further. Mary says Miss Mar’gret urged hoo to tell me, and I wish hoo had done.”

Thornton felt obliged to respond, “I know. Miss Hale asked for my help, when she was thinking what to do for Mary. But – and Higgins, I was not easy about it – but she made me promise not to speak to you at that time. I felt it was wrong, for I know you are Mary’s father and guardian. I hope you will forgive me that part of it. It was my honour to be asked by Miss Hale, and I would have helped your daughter as best as I could.”

Higgins looked him in the face for a long moment. “Aye, no hard feelin’s, maester. I were sorry Mary thought hoo could not tell me, that hoo thought I would be ireful an’ not kind, but ‘tis a satisfaction to a man to know that there are others as ‘d help. I thank you. Though – mappen tha were doin’ it for Miss Mar’gret more’n for me or Mary.” He gave a sudden frown. “An’ tha should know, maester, I in’t the kind o’ father that would turn my lass out in t’ street for what happened. I’se not best pleased, o’ course, but, to my mind, Mary were mostly not to blame, it were that gentleman, as I am sure he would consider himself. I’d call him by another name, but I won’t say that name here.”

Thornton could only nod. He was relieved to have this in the open between himself and Higgins, and that it appeared that Higgins had forgiven his daughter.

On impulse he put out his hand, and Higgins took it readily.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Thornton called in at Crampton again. Mr Hale was out giving a lesson at a pupil’s house. Thornton had not expected him to have resumed his tutoring, but he supposed it was easiest to fall into routines and contracted obligations.

Miss Hale’s dress was unchanged, but there was a larger fire than usual in the grate – for it was one of those grey, chill days which Milton experiences, even so far into Spring as they were.

Martha brought the tea, and Miss Hale gave him a cup – his eyes following her hands as she did this – thinking that the times that he sat here might be numbered and he should commit every part of the ritual to memory.

“Have you thought what you will do once you have the money, Miss Hale?”

“Papa and I have talked it over, and we have met with Mr Taylor. He is, as you said, very helpful and explains it all very clearly.”

“I am sure you must have thought of going back to London?”

“Oh, my aunt and cousin are pressing for that – although how they can say what a boon it would be for me to be near them is hard to hear when they have never come and seen us in our poorer days.”

He looked at her with surprise – this was the bitterest utterance he had heard her make about her London relations. Was it not her dearest wish to be away from Milton, with its dirt, its roughness, and all its sorrowful associations?

After a pause, she went on, “I never really enjoyed London society, you know, Mr Thornton. And now, there would be so much of being sought after because my fortune has changed.”

“I think you would find that to be true in Milton, you know,” he felt obliged to say. “Have you not already had any overtures?”

“Indeed, I had a card from Mrs Hamper and one from Mrs Slickson. But – I am still in mourning, so I would not be expected to throw myself into society just yet. And – I have other friends here, in the Higgins family – and you. Also, I have been thinking. I do not think I would be comfortable as an absentee landlord.”

He lifted his eyes from his teacup at this.

“I now own several houses, and Mr Taylor says the lease is ending soon on one of them. So papa and I may remove to Brook Lane. We have not decided. There would be room there for papa to have a large study – for he will go on giving lessons, only not so many, you know.”

“I imagine he would miss having any occupation,” Thornton thought out loud, “and I would be very glad to continue my own lessons with him. They have given me much interest over the time I have been attending.”

Margaret smiled, “And I believe they give papa as much pleasure. And, once we have settled, we would now be in a position to repay your hospitality. I hope you would be one of our first guests. Of course, until the end of mourning, we will only be doing things in a quiet way.”

He nodded. There was a pause. He was trying to take in that she would be remaining in Milton. That had given him a rush of relief. But, of course, it would be different, as she went out more and became part of Milton society. She would be courted – for her money, if for no other reason. And he would have to stand by and watch.

“And, I thought I would like to meet Mrs Davies, whom you spoke of. You know, to see if I might be of assistance in the work she does.”

He nodded again. Of course, she would want to be active in such things.

“And – Mr Thornton – I hope, that is to say, this change need not mean a change in our relations. I mean, that we will remain on the terms we have established.”

“Aye, Miss Hale. I know that there will be a big change for you, perhaps more than you can imagine at the moment. But – it would be my honour to remain your friend – as you mentioned that you consider me a friend.”

“My friend,” this was said in a suddenly bleak tone.

He was emboldened, “More than that, if you ever wished. You know, you must know – you only ever need say one word. But – I will not trouble you overmuch with that thought. I would be honoured to remain your friend.”

“One word? Mr Thornton – and what is the word that I would need say?”

For a moment he stared at her, trying to take her meaning in. The colour was rising in her face, and her eyes dropped. He felt himself move forward and heard his voice, “Miss Hale,” it came out hoarsely, “Miss – Margaret -”

She looked up, her eyes fixed on his.

He stepped forward again. “Yes, the word is yes.”

“Yes,” she said it clearly, there was no mistake.

Then he folded her in his arms and she was shaking. He bent his head, his lips finding hers. After a time he pulled away again, “I am not dreaming? You will marry me?”

“Yes, John, yes.”

He bent to kiss her again.

.oOo.

January is a bleak month in Milton. The snow falls, and sticks and freezes. The mill chimneys pour forth their unparliamentary smoke and soot falls on the snow. When it snows again, the layer of white on top of black is soon covered by its own dark dusting.

But there are moments when the latest layer of snow that blankets everything remains pristine for a day, and the piercing winter sun sends forth light across a winter blue sky – and the wind blows the smoke clear away from the town – and the reflection of the light gives heart to everyone, despite the cold.

It was Sunday morning, with the first sunbeams of such a day creeping around the curtain. John Thornton turned his head to look at the woman – his wife of a few months now – sleeping next to him. Her nightdress had slipped down, he could see one ivory shoulder, so delicate compared to his, but – as he knew – a satisfying size, that fit snugly into his cupped palm. Was it blasphemous to feel such worship at the sight and feel and scent of someone’s body? Of course, their love was sanctioned by marriage, but it was not in the Bible as preached in the chapels of Milton that one should feel delight and abandon in another person.

The months since their wedding night and their first hesitant love-making had been a time of unfolding exploration of one another, and had deepened his love for her, something he had not imagined possible.

At the beginning, their physical intimacy had been tinged with trepidation – the shadow of Frederick Hale’s transgression falling over them. Her modesty had been compounded with the memory of Mary Higgins’s distress and the suffering on the day she lost the pregnancy. His natural reserve had been deepened by concern lest he exhibit the brutishness that men so often brought to their relations to women.

He thought again of the events which had dissolved the estrangement between them. He had pondered so many times how relations between a man and a woman could be so sought after when it was not part of an intellectual and emotional intimacy. What had driven Fred Hale (and many, many other men, he knew) to physical relief with someone he could scarce have spoken to, and when he had had no care whatsoever for the effect of his act on her? Someone, furthermore, he was in a relation of power over, due to his status as son of the house where she was but a servant. Was such physical relief alone at all satisfying?

He thought he would never know, for making love to Margaret would always be deeply meaningful. It was not just mechanical satisfaction that he experienced, it was a feeling of having found a place of profound rest and safety.

He turned and gently stroked her shoulder. Her eyes opened sleepily, and then she smiled, snuggling into him. “John”, her voice was clogged with sleep.

“Margaret,” he murmured, caressing her shoulder, hand sliding down her arm, across to her breast. Slowly, deliberately. He would stop if she pulled away, but she did not. Her hand came up to his chest and began tracing its contours in a way he recognised, that meant she was beginning an exploration that would gradually drift down his body until it met with his rising desire.

This, this was what he would always wish for, an act of love with this woman and this woman only. But thought was blotted out as they moved together in a slowly intensifying rhythm.