So I recently watched the BBC series North and South and fell completely head over heals in love with it. I'm new to the fandom, but hopefully that doesn't take away from the story.
This is just a thought that popped into my head. It's a little bit of a lot of things...hope you enjoy.
To say that the Thornton household was bursting at the seems was a slight understatement. For the past week, Fanny had returned to Milton and her childhood home with her husband due to some sort of pest invasion in London. Fanny had no trouble in recounting the horrendous scare that took hold of her when the trouble first broke out, and it caused multiple fainting spells, similar to when the strikes took place two years ago. The Watson's wasted no time in packing up their carriage and bags and heading straight to the train station.
Along with the happily married couple came their two most prized servants, raising the head count in the Thornton's home to be ten: five servants, two married couples, and Mrs. Thornton. It was seven people too many, according to John. And Margret couldn't agree more – in fact, she would rather it be eight; she'd quite had enough of Mrs. Thornton of late. With spring fastly approaching, it was difficult for Margret to find any solitude with her husband other than in their bed chambers, but at that time of night he was much too tired to speak of anything and rather he gave her a kiss goodnight before collapsing into a deep sleep. By adding Fanny to the mix, things didn't get much better.
The Watson's had arrived – unannounced – on a Thursday afternoon. Mrs. Thornton had rushed off to attend to some "personal business" after lunch, which left John and Margret to engage in some much needed alone time (improper, yes, but John had repeated multiple times that he was no gentlemen). Before things were started, however, a carriage could be heard pulling up outside, and soon after Fanny's shrill voice was yelling to whomever was inside. With a curse, John pulled away from his chuckling wife and went to greet his sister fuming.
It was now ten days later on a Sunday evening. Miraculously, everyone was home and preparing for supper. Margret and Mrs. Thornton were, once again, listening to one of Fanny's adventures in London whereas the two men were somewhere downstairs, most likely smoking and discussing business manners. As like the many times beforehand, Margret nodded along with a wandering mind while Mrs. Thornton listened with interest. This time, however, Margret's thoughts kept sending unnecessary chills through her body.
She was pale, she could tell. Even with a fire blazing with heat it did nothing to warm her. A little over two weeks ago, she had been getting sick quite frequently. But with a husband waking up before dawn to work and a mother-in-law who still could barely stand the sight of her, no one was there to notice her being ill. After many procrastinations, she had finally dragged herself to Doctor Donaldson that afternoon, telling the others that she was visiting the Higgins' instead.
Congratulations, Mrs. Thornton.
Two months pregnant.
Most likely due around November.
Stop by again soon with your husband and we'll discuss some more important things to expect.
Congratulations.
It felt as though some one was trickling ice water down her veins and through her blood. Every minute or two she shuddered as more of her body turned to stone. A child. She was going to be a mother. How could she be? She had no one to teach her how to be a proper mother – she was barely taught how to be a proper lady! And she'd be cursed if she would let Mrs. Thornton tell her how to raise a child; she'd never want her son to be obligated to stay at home like John was.
John. How in the world was she to tell her husband? They'd never really discussed having children. They, of course, knew that it could happen at some point, but neither of them ever expressed interest in having a child of their own. After everything that he went through as a young boy, mainly his father's suicide, he probably didn't even want one.
That stopped her heart mid-beat. What if he didn't want a child? What if this baby was damned and sent away after birth? God, that would destroy her. Even though it was unexpected, it didn't mean that she didn't want the child. She was absolutely terrified at being a mother, but she'd love her child to death even so. If the baby was sent away, she'd go with it.
"Did you hear me, Margret?"
Margret shook her head and blinked, focusing herself back into the parlor where the two other women were sitting, looking expectantly and reluctantly at her. In the far back of her mind, it shocked her that they still treated her like a woman out of her place. "No, no, I'm sorry. What was it you said?"
Fanny humphedand leaned back into her armchair. Mrs. Thornton lowered her brow and repeated herself, "I was saying that Fanny's decision to turn one of her guestrooms into a music room was a wise one. Do you not agree?"
Frankly, she didn't care. "Oh, um, yes. I guess that was a smart decision on your part. Now you have a room just to play in, no other distractions. That's lovely."
Fanny snorted. "It's not like I'll be needing it any time soon. George is having to do a lot of traveling for his job of late, he hardly could make the trip out here! Looks like it'll be some time before I need to switch it over into a nursery."
Opposite of before, this sparked Margret's interest. How strange was it that the conversation had turned to something that dealt with pregnancies. "Why so? Do you not want children?"
"Would it matter anyways? George is always gone, there's no chance for me to have one."
"Well he can't be gone all the time –
Mrs. Thornton decided to interrupt, as she always did. "You don't need children right now, Fanny. You're too young. Maybe in a few years, but not right now." She turned to Margret. "You best be waiting, too. With everything that John's doing for the mill, he'll never be able to support a family. No, no, he's much to busy for that. I don't believe that he wants any, either."
If Margret believed that her blood was cold earlier, it was nothing compared to the way she felt now. Having some one voice her fears made them all the more worse, especially because the person who told them was her husband's own mother.
With more color draining from her face, Margret stuttered through her next words. "W-well, I'm - I'm sure that he will – he'll come to me if he thinks other," she took a breath, "otherwise." It sounded as if her teeth were chattering from the cold – she was surprised that they weren't.
"Are you alright, Margret?" Fanny asked.
Bustling up some courage, she calmed herself. "Yes, your mother just caught me off guard, that was all. Everything is all right. I do wonder when supper will be served, however. I believe that I'll go downstairs and check. If you'll excuse me, ladies."
As Margret hustled out the door, she missed Mrs. Thornton's burning glare through the back of her head.
Margret was, unfortunately, placed next to Fanny at the end of the table, across from Mrs. Thornton. John, as always, was at the head of the table, next to his sister and her husband. It felt like every one was in high spirits, but excluding herself from the mix. Many times she barely remembered to force herself to laugh at one of the jokes or comments Mr. Watson was saying. The first, and only, time she had forgotten she was met with a cold glare from Mrs. Thornton and a concerning one from her husband.
They had just finished their soup and some of the servants were starting to bring out the main course when some one brought the conversation to her. And it was John. "So how are the Higgins', Margret?"
She settled her napkin in her lap as she voiced her planned lie. "As well as they can be, I suppose. Little Michael is still reading everything he can. In fact, he read me one about a giant beanstalk today. He loves fairy tales."
It seemed as if John was the only one listening, the others were much too preoccupied with their supper. "Good," her husband responded. "It's nice, having young ones start educating themselves at such an early age. He'll make an excellent worker when he's older."
Margret opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Watson beat her to it. "Do you suppose you'll still be running the mill when he comes of age? That's what, ten years from now?"
"Of course he will," Mrs. Thornton eagerly replied. "If cotton is still in demand, my son will be here running it. Why throw away something that you've worked for all your life?"
Margret couldn't help herself. "My father did. And looked what came out of that." She gave her husband a small smile. "There are plenty of things outside of Milton, beautiful and wonderful things, things that are worth exploring, don't you think?"
"Well I think it's ridiculous to cast off your life's work because of some urge to go and, explore, as you said yourself, Margret," Mrs. Thornton told her.
John said, "What happens in the future is ours to discover. There's no use in planning such expeditions ahead of time. They will come in time."
The table lapsed into silence after he had spoken, deciding instead to work on their meal rather than argue. Margret was grateful for the small talk that had distracted her mind for a short time, but in the quietness the thoughts came back to her in full force. Suddenly, she didn't feel all that hungry.
"Margret," Fanny cut through the silence, "speaking of your visit to those people, I myself went out after you had left, to order some more dresses." She took her time in deciding her next words. "And while I was out, I saw you leaving Doctor Donaldson's house. I was wondering what your business was there?"
Her stomach dropped and she could feel bile rising in her throat. Some one had seen her, and to make it worse, it had been Fanny. Heart now beating rapidly in her chest, she felt all eyes upon her and knew that she had only seconds to respond.
"Well, I...I was, um..." She couldn't do it. The thoughts on her lips fell through and came out in sputtered words.
"Fanny, whatever business Margret has with the doctor is her's and her's alone. That was out of place and you know it," John defended from his place next to his sister, eyes burning. He glanced at her quickly, however, and she could tell that he was just as interested as Fanny was.
"Now, now, John, no need to be hasty," Mrs. Thornton scolded. "Fanny was just inquiring, and it would be nice to know if my daughter-in-law was falling ill. Besides, if it was just today and no one's heard about it, I doubt that you've any idea of what it's about." She turned her face to Margret's. "Would you care to enlighten us?"
Her brows furrowed together and she could feel her breath coming in small pants. Eyes wide, she looked down at her untouched meal, and it made her feel sick to her stomach. But she couldn't leave, she had to stay and do something. As quickly as she could, she raided her brain for explanations, but came up short.
Once again, her husband came to her rescue. "Mother, drop it, please. It was just a check-up, wasn't it, Margret?"
John turned to look at her, his mouth parted and eyes large with gentle query. And in that moment, she knew she couldn't hold back what she was hiding. He didn't deserve her silence.
Looking straight at him, she whispered, "I'm pregnant."
She counted to thirteen in her head before she realized what she had done. She wildly looked around at the faces around her; Fanny and George's were wide with shock, Mrs. Thornton's one of anger, and John – her sweet John – looked at her as if she had just told him his mother had dies. His wide eyes turned blank, his face white, and his mouth closed into a straight line that was all too common with him.
She lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes felt as big as the plate in front of her, and after she had looked to those around her she could feel them welling up with tears. Squeaking out an, "Excuse me," she shot up from her chair, ran into the lower parlor, and bounded up the stairs into her sleeping chambers.
She had slammed the door behind her and had made it a few steps into the room before her knees failed her. She crumbled to the ground in a small heap, gasping for breath as tears streamed down her face. In her mind, she kept seeing the blank stare that John had harbored when she admitted her pregnancy. Mrs. Thornton was right, he didn't want children. Why would he? God, she was an ignorant fool, believing that she could live here and be a Thornton. She wasn't from here, she didn't know the northern ways; but she liked to believe that she was beginning to fit it and begin to be accustomed with them. She knew that her and John could never work – it was doomed from the start.
That brought along a fresh wave of sobs. She loved John, she really, really did. And now he was going to send her away with their child, who had no place in his life. Would the child be condemned or mistreated because he had no father? That would tear her apart.
Margret, still a weeping heap leaning against the bed, didn't register the loud entrance that some one made into her room or the large strides that he took to get to her. In fact, it wasn't until that some one knelt down to pick her up and cradle her to his chest that she realized some one had entered the room, and he came in the form of her husband She covered her face with her hands, partially out of embarrassment and partially because she didn't want to look at his face again. She wanted to spare herself of his disappointment for as long as possible.
John was seated on the bed with her in his lap, doing his best to soothe her. She could feel his hands running up and down her back, his lips as they kissed her hairline, and his voice as he tried to console her.
"Margret," he shushed her in his baritone voice, "Shh, shh, Margret, love, calm down. It's all right, I promise. You've got to calm down, though. Please, Margret. It's all right."
Though her tears had stopped, her breathing was still heavy and hot as her hands were still shielding her face. Quickly, she shook her head, and later she felt John sigh at her action. Very gently, he took her small hands in his large ones and pried them away from her red face. She tried to fight him, but he easily had them captured in his iron grip.
"Can you tell me what's the matter, love?" he asked her quietly.
Margret was looking anywhere but at his face. Softer than he had spoken to her, she answered, "I'm sorry."
He lifted a hand to her cheek, trailing his thumb from her eyebrow to her cheek and down her jawline. John paused a moment before saying, "This isn't like you, being so upset. I wish you'd talk to me, let me know how I can make it better."
Reluctantly, she met his eyes, and what she found made her freeze. Instead of the fear and disappointment which she was positive would be in them, she saw concern and worry. She'd never tell him, but she could read him like a book through his eyes after nearly two years of marriage. They were a weakness of his, and John Thornton hated weaknesses.
"Aren't you mad at me?" she hesitantly asked.
"Why would I be mad at you, Margret?" he countered her with, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
"But..." she trailed off. "You – you don't want a child."
"Now who told you that?"
"I thought it was obvious. We've never spoken of one, and you're mother told me –
His demeanor changed. "Of course she'd tell you that," he scoffed as he spoke to himself. "Margret, I never said that I didn't want children."
"The look that you had at the dinner table, though. You looked so...angry," she admitted, scaring herself with his true feelings again.
"Look at me, Margret." She didn't even realize she had looked away. "You caught me off guard, that's all. I wasn't expecting that. Not at all. It's not that I'm not happy, it's just..."
"Just what?" she asked him.
John licked his lips. "I'm scared."
Relief flooded through her, warming her completely for the first time in hours. With another sob, she threw her arms around John's neck. Surely she was suffocating him, but if it was hurting him he wasn't showing it, for he squeezed her waist with just as much force. "Oh, John," she said in his ear, "I'm so scared."
She was shocked to hear him take a short gasp of air, almost as if he was crying as well. His face was buried in her neck, hiding the tears if there were any. His hot breath fanned across her chest as they held each other, trying to be as close as possible.
After a minute, he released her, bring his hands to her face again and wiping away the tears. She pretended not to notice the redness below his. "I promise," he started, "everything will be okay. Whatever my mother told you, ignore it. This child, our child," she smiled at this, "will be cherished and loved and given everything she could ever want. We will figure this out, I promise. I will not abandon you, Margret, for anything." He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I love you. So much."
She cupped his face with her small hands, keeping his nose pressed against hers. "I love you, too, John," she told him with a smile.
The Thornton household was surely bursting at the seems, but in a small room two floors up, John and Margret were the only two alive in their eyes. They sat, locked in each others embrace, whispering words of love and reassurances as the rest of their family sat bewildered and repulsed at their actions in the dining hall below.
Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were not seen until the next morning.
So...yeah. Cheesy? Probably. Sweet. I think. I hope you guys liked it. I love hearing any and all comments. xoxo