Midnight Delusions
Mr. Bell walked reluctantly down the street that led to the home of the Hales. The scenery was grayer than usual, and the fogginess seemed to mimic his current mood. His best friend, Richard Hale, was dead. The intimidating responsibility of informing Margaret now rested on his shoulders.
How could he break such news? The unfortunate young woman had just lost her mother… The only thing Mr. Bell could do to soften the blow was to take care of her, as he had promised his friend. With that interest in mind, he had delayed delivering the news in order to first arrange Margaret's immediate fate.
The first step was to get her out of that house. He didn't want to subject her to those haunting silent and empty rooms, and much less to the pain of packing up her parents' belongings. That would be too much to handle for the poor creature. Both, Dixon and himself, could tend to this task without her.
There was no question that she would have to move to her aunt's house in London. But taking care of the logistics of the move could take some time. He just needed to secure a room for Margaret for that period; preferably, a place with familiar faces, and where she could distract herself with conversation. This was why he had visited Marlborough Mills earlier in the day.
Mr. Thornton was busy reading some correspondence in his office, when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," he said, not looking up and predicting the intruder to be one of his employees. "What is it?" he added after he heard the door open and close.
"Thornton," Mr. Bell greeted, removing his hat.
The unfamiliar voice caught his attention, and Mr. Thornton looked up to find a miserable looking Mr. Bell.
"Mr. Bell," he said, a little taken aback by both, his presence and appearance. "What brings you here?"
"The most terrible news, I'm afraid," he said, touching the back of the guest's chair in a silent request for permission to sit.
Mr. Thornton extended his hand, granting it.
"Thornton, I'm sorry to inform that our dear friend—Mr. Hale—has passed," Mr. Bell explained calmly.
Mr. Bell went on about Mr. Hale's last days and impromptu funeral in Oxford, but Mr. Thornton was no longer listening. His eyes were firmly set on the left corner of his desk while his mind was reeling. What was to become of Margaret? Would she stay in Milton? Would she have to leave? Yes, he was fond of Mr. Hale, and the news saddened him, but what saddened him most was thinking about how she was faring.
"…and so I promised I'd take care of her. He probably foretold that the end was near."
"How's Miss Hale?" Mr. Thornton asked, bringing his attention back to the conversation.
"She doesn't know yet," Mr. Bell admitted, letting a hint of embarrassment taint his voice. "In fact, I came to you first because I have a favor to ask."
Mr. Thornton felt uncomfortable then. He didn't think it fair to hear of this before Margaret did. Right now, she was likely preparing herself for her father's return in blissful ignorance. But before criticizing Mr. Bell's decision, he waited for him to explain the logic behind his actions.
"I worry that staying in that empty house will have a terrible impact on her state of mind. I want her to be amongst friends, you see." Mr. Bell explained. "Ultimately she'll move back to London with her aunt, but preparing for the move could take up to a week. Now, I know you were close to Mr. Hale, and it's in his memory that I request the following. Would it be possible for Miss Hale to stay at Marlborough Mills while Dixon and I take care of vacating the house?"
"Indeed," Mr. Thornton answered, not even pausing to think it through.
"I can only hope that Mrs. Thornton will be as agreeable."
"Rest assured Miss Hale is welcome to stay here as long as she needs to." Mr. Thornton knew his mother would have a hard time accepting it, but it was his decision to make. Honor would also bind her to give in.
"Very well, now that this is settled, I can't delay it any longer. As hard as it may be I must go to Miss Hale" Mr. Bell said, standing up. "I'll come back with her this evening."
Now here he was, standing outside of Miss Hale's home, bracing himself for what was coming. Mr. Bell gathered all his courage and knocked on the door, Margaret answered seconds later. Her face was bright and welcoming, but this glow faded once she realized that it was Mr. Bell, and that he was alone.
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Bell!" exclaimed Margaret. She could see bad news hiding in his eyes, but she pretended to be oblivious to it at first. "I trust that your trip went well. Where's father?"
"Margaret…" Mr. Bell's voice broke a little.
Margaret felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.
"Is he…?" Margaret asked in half a whisper, not managing to finish the question.
Mr. Bell read in her face that she understood the situation, and he nodded.
"H-how?" She asked breathily, gently placing her hand over her abdomen.
"Margaret," Mr. Bell took her by the arm. "Let us take this inside," he said guiding her to the parlor.
Once they were all sitting down, he told Dixon and Margaret everything, and he watched helplessly as they cried. An hour later, they were still in the same spot, but an eerie silence had filled the room. The sun was setting and it was getting cold, but nobody moved.
Margaret's gaze seemed vacant, she had stopped crying, but her eyes and her nose were red. Her arms were limp and they rested on her lap; her right hand still holding on to her handkerchief. Mr. Bell thought the time had come to tell her what he'd decided.
"I promised your father that I would look after you, which is why I have already taken care of everything," Mr. Bell said, breaking the silence.
Margaret snapped out of her trance and looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" she inquired.
"I have arranged for you to leave this house today," explained Mr. Bell. "I've come to believe—and I'm sure Miss Dixon will agree—that staying here will not do any good."
"But-" Margaret stopped abruptly when Mr. Bell raised his hand, indicating he hadn't finished speaking.
"I'm afraid there's no room for discussion, my dear. Your father has bestowed a huge responsibility on me, and you must respect my decisions as you would his. Do you understand?" he said in a gentle, yet authoritative, tone.
"Yes," she responded weakly "I understand." She swallowed hard, and continued with more confidence. "I just want to stay long enough to make sure that my parents' belongings are safely kept."
"Which is why Miss Dixon and I will be in charge of this very task," he explained, trying to ease her mind. "Right, Miss Dixon?" asked Mr. Bell turning towards her.
"Yes, I agree with this gentleman," said Dixon, who was sitting beside Margaret. "Staying here will be very painful for you, Miss Margaret. Trust me to take care of the masters' things," she said soothingly, putting her hand on hers.
Margaret was touched by the gesture, and couldn't help but smile a little. "Thank you, Dixon." She returned her attention to Mr. Bell. "I'm very thankful for what you are doing for me. But I can't leave Milton with so little notice, without saying goodbye to our friends."
"Oh, don't fret, my dear. I deemed it best for you to stay in Milton while we settle things. I'll inform your aunt you'll be joining her in London next week," said Mr. Bell.
The idea of leaving Milton didn't sit all too well with her. But knowing she had at least a week reassured her.
"It would be best to leave now though. It's getting late." Mr. Bell observed, looking out the window and casually peeking at his pocket watch. "Pack lightly. I can arrange for the rest of your belongings to be brought to Marlborough Mills tomorrow."
Margaret froze. "Marlborough… Mills?" she asked, hoping she had misheard.
"Yes. How clumsy of me! I forgot to mention it sooner—old age. The Thorntons have been kind enough to offer their home temporarily." He explained in a casual tone.
Margaret's heart skipped a beat. She was sure she wouldn't be able to handle it. After everything that had happened. Her last encounter with Mrs. Thornton had been very unpleasant. And after the train station affair, every interaction with Mr. Thornton had been awkward at the very best.
"They agreed to this?" she asked, trying to mask her disbelief.
"It shouldn't surprise you. They esteemed your father, and want to be of service," he explained with a kind smile.
"Miss Margaret, let us not keep them waiting. A small suitcase will do for now," said Dixon, standing up.
Margaret and Dixon excused themselves for a few minutes. They packed the necessary toiletries, a nightgown and her mourning dress. Dixon assured Margaret that she would personally make sure to send her the rest the following morning.
Before coming down the stairs to meet Mr. Bell once more, Margaret glanced at the empty room that had been her parents'. They were never coming back. Surely, being uncomfortable at Marlborough Mills would be more bearable than what she was feeling now. With that in mind, she descended.
Mr. Thornton had waited until after work to break the news to his mother.
"I understand that this is very unfortunate for Miss Hale, John!" she exclaimed from the couch. The embroidery she had been working on, forgotten on her lap. "I agree she cannot stay in that house. But I don't understand why she has to stay here."
"I owe it to Mr. Hale, mother. He was a good friend," he explained, remaining calm. "With Fanny gone, we have a room to spare. And Miss Hale will be moving to London next week," he added, trying to keep disappointment from seeping into his voice.
The promise Mrs. Thornton had made to Mrs. Hale came back to haunt her.
"I'm not saying we should turn her away," she sighed, knowing the matter was settled. "It's our duty to help her get back on her feet." After a brief pause, she added, "it is you that I'm concerned about."
The kindness in his eyes flickered out. "There is nothing to be concerned about," he said coldly, indicating that the discussion was over.
Mrs. Thornton didn't push it any further. "Anna!" she called for the maid.
The old woman responded immediately to the voice of her mistress.
"Anna, make sure Fanny's bedroom is ready. We are expecting a guest. Also, put an extra plate at the table tonight," she instructed.
Satisfied, Mr. Thornton went on about his business.
An hour later, Mr. Bell was knocking at the Thorntons' door with Margaret by his side. They were met at the entrance by John and his mother; both were quick at offering their sympathies to Margaret, who accepted them humbly.
"Thank you for your condolences and hospitality," she said, focusing on Mr. Thornton's chest—too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Mr. Thornton noticed her timidity and found it endearing. That feeling was quickly suppressed when he remembered the train station incident. He was convinced that her shyness wasn't borne from any romantic interest, but from a guilty conscience, and that made his demeanor toughen once more.
Wanting to get rid of some of the awkwardness before coming in, Margaret turned to his mother. "Mrs. Thornton, I know this was a while ago, but I would like to apologize for how our last meeting unfolded," Margaret said looking down.
For a moment she wasn't sure whether the comment had remedied or increased the tension. When the silence became unbearable she dared to take a peek at Mrs. Thornton's face. She wasn't smiling. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it.
"I'd already forgotten, Miss Hale," she lied.
Margaret let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and relaxed somewhat.
"What are you waiting for? Come in, girl," said Mrs. Thornton, ushering her in. "Anna will show you to your room and we can have dinner after."
Anna diligently took the small suitcase from Mr. Bell's hand and asked Margaret to follow her upstairs.
Margaret passed right by Mr. Thornton. He realized she looked very tired—as if she had been crying for hours—and that made him feel terrible. He wished he could do more than just politely offer his condolences. He wanted to hold her and kiss her, soothe her in the way a lover would...
No, he couldn't dwell on that now; she had made it clear that that would never happen. He brought his attention back to his guest.
"Mr. Bell, will you join us for dinner?"
"I would love to, Thornton, but I'm afraid I have to catch up on some urgent correspondence," he replied. "I trust you'll take care of Miss Hale, I would like to come back later in the week to pay a visit, if you don't mind?"
Mr. Thornton accepted before exchanging goodbyes.
"Right this way, Miss," said Anna, leading Margaret to the second floor.
The second floor consisted of a wide and long corridor, with four sets of tall double doors.
"Yours is the second to the right," she said opening the door and showing her in.
There was no doubt that this had been Fanny's room. The pastels of the curtains and duvet screamed her name, and contrasted sharply with the rest of the house. While Margaret admired the decoration, Anna placed the suitcase at the foot of the bed.
"Make yourself comfortable, Miss. Dinner will be served shortly," she said excusing herself.
Margaret didn't feel like eating anything, but the last thing she needed was to break the delicate truce with her hosts by acting rude. She approached the intricately carved vanity and looked at herself in the mirror, the toils of the day were written all over her face.
She approached the water jug and bowl that had been placed by the window, and washed her face. The cold water felt refreshing against her skin. She dried the remaining droplets with the towel provided.
She looked at her reflection again—this was the best she could do. A part of her wanted to look beautiful for Mr. Thornton. She quickly reprimanded herself for that thought. Thinking of such frivolous things at a moment like this! She exited the room to head back down, telling herself that she didn't care at all what that gentleman thought of her.
They sat at the table, which was too big for the three of them. Mr. Thornton was at the head, and his mother was sitting to his right. Margaret's plate had been set to his left. After she took her place, Anna came in and served them chicken broth.
"Thank you," whispered Margaret. She didn't feel like initiating conversation, and just stared at the steam coming out of her plate.
"Mr. Bell said he couldn't stay for dinner," commented Mrs. Thornton, grabbing her spoon.
Margaret's eyes came up to meet hers. "I see," she didn't know what else to say.
To make up for her silence, she forced herself to eat a spoonful.
"This is delicious," she commented politely. Her face suddenly lit up with the hint of a smile. "No one believes when I say that father's chicken broth is…" she stopped herself, looked back down and her smile faded away, "was… much better than Dixon's," she finished the sentence at an almost inaudible volume.
"I believe you, Miss Hale," said Mr. Thornton, making her meet his eyes for the first time that evening. "Your father was a man of many talents," he added.
Margaret's smile came back. She was relieved to see kindness in Mr. Thornton's gaze. As of late she had only seen disdain and disapproval in his features when it came to her.
"Higgins' daughter has also demonstrated her skill," Mr. Thornton commented trying to lighten up the conversation.
"You mean Mary?" Margaret asked, pleasantly surprised.
"Yes," he continued, seeing that it was lifting Margaret's spirits. "She has been working as a cook in the mill's kitchen."
"I'm happy to hear it," she said sincerely. "I would love to go see her, if I may," she said, "I wouldn't distract her, of course. I can help her with her chores," she added.
Mr. Thornton smiled at her eagerness, but before he could answer, their exchange was cut short.
"That is out of the question, Miss Hale!" interrupted Mrs. Thornton. "People would gossip. Do you want them to think we are taking advantage of your circumstances?"
The comment brought Margaret back to reality and to the pain of her loss, dimming the brief glow that had appeared on her face. Although Mr. Thornton understood her mother's point of view, he resented her interruption.
"Excuse me, I'm not feeling very well. I think it's best for me to retire for the night," Margaret said, standing up. "Thank you for dinner."
She disappeared from the dining room. It didn't escape to them that her soup bowl was still full. Mr. Thornton couldn't help but direct an accusatory glance towards his mother.
"I only spoke the truth, John," she said. "Her emotions are still raw, she will be better tomorrow morning, you'll see."
"I understand, mother. But spending time with Higgins' daughter would be a welcome distraction for Miss Hale," argued Mr. Thornton.
"I will send for Fanny. She can be just as distracting," she remarked returning her attention to her soup.
Everyone had retired to bed but Mr. Thornton. Miss Hale's presence couldn't distract him from the fact that the mill was in imminent danger of going bankrupt, which was enough to keep him awake. Instead of spending the night fidgeting in bed, he chose to spend time back at his office. Sometime past midnight—when he was sure there was nothing else he could work on—he headed back into the house. He didn't want to wake up anyone, so he walked up the stairs as quietly as possible. This was a difficult task, since the wooden floorboards had a tendency to creak.
On the way to his room he heard soft whimpering, it was coming from Fanny's room. Mr. Thornton approached the door but did nothing; he knew disturbing Margaret at this hour would be indecent. His heart ached for her. He knew what it felt like to lose a parent, but he couldn't imagine the pain of losing both in such a short period of time. He wanted to console her and make sure she was fine.
Margaret was already in bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Her mind had bombarded her with bittersweet memories of her whole family together. She had been so happy, and yet she saw nothing but darkness ahead. With her parents gone and Fred so far away, she was all alone. What was she supposed to do?
She didn't want to move back to her aunt's home in London, and she didn't like the idea of leaving England altogether in order to start anew in Spain. Why couldn't things have remained the way they were? Just when she was starting to grow fond of Milton…
She tried to stifle her cries, putting a hand over her mouth and sinking beneath the covers. The last thing she wanted was to disturb her hosts further after that abrupt exit at dinner. A strange sound pulled her out of her misery—a creak by the door. Margaret sat up on the bed, her heart racing in fear.
She stood and approached the door slowly. She heard a similar creak that froze her in place. Could it be a thief? Or worse, a revengeful spirit? She had always been easy to scare, and Fred had taken advantage of that by recounting her every ghost story he knew. She continued walking towards the door, and she put her hand on the knob. Gathering up her courage, she opened it.
There was no one there. She stepped out into the corridor to look at both sides, but she was met with darkness. She heard something by the staircase and she felt a shiver run down her spine, and with that, her lapse of bravery was gone. She locked herself back into the room, and crawled under the covers. The scare at least succeeded in distracting her away from the pain of her loss for a bit. After a while she fell asleep.
Mr. Thornton's heart skipped a beat when the wood creaked under his weight right by the side of Margaret's door. Her whimpers halted abruptly. He headed to his room immediately to avoid being discovered lurking about. His room was conveniently located right across from hers, so he was already inside by the time she opened her door.
He heard a familiar creaking sound coming from the staircase and he sighed in exhaustion. Hopefully tonight the noises wouldn't be so loud as to wake him. Before falling asleep he remembered his mother's words and wished for them to be true; he wanted Margaret to feel better come morning.
Margaret opened her eyes feeling rested. The numbness of slumber had soothed her pain, but her surroundings reminded her of what had happened, bringing back that familiar ache to her chest. She sat up slowly, the loose neckline of her nightgown slipping below her shoulder. She walked towards the window to open the curtains and let the sunlight in. She smiled at the sight before her. She hadn't noticed that the window was facing the mill. She could see all the busy people coming and going, carrying huge packs of cotton one way or the other. She stood there watching, hypnotized by the movement.
She spotted Mr. Thornton coming out of his office to have a word with one of the overseers. He was so tall compared to everyone else, she mused. The overseer left his side, but Mr. Thornton remained. Suddenly, he turned to look directly towards her window, their eyes met. For that instant, the pain in her heart was replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that quickly became overwhelming. Margaret gasped and took a step back, almost stumbling. Her cheeks burned. Had he noticed her state of undress? Her worries were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," she said, sounding a little alarmed.
"Hello, Miss," greeted Anna, stepping into the room.
"Good morning, Anna," she responded, trying to compose herself.
"Not morning, Miss," responded Anna with a smile. "It's already past midday."
Margaret felt very ashamed. She had decided to behave in the most ladylike manner to avoid causing offense, and here she was, waking up offensively late.
"Don't worry, Miss," said Anna, noting her preoccupation. "I was instructed by the master himself to let you stay here for as long as you needed. I just came to bring you these."
Anna carried two large suitcases with her inside the room.
"A Miss Dixon came earlier to see you. I told her you were indisposed. She told me to hand these to you. She explained they contain your belongings and some of your father's books."
"Thank you," said Margaret, approaching the suitcases.
"If you wish to stay, I can bring lunch to you," offered Anna before exiting.
"Oh, I would really appreciate it," she said, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment.
She spent the rest of the afternoon on the floor rummaging through her father's books—the smell of old books had always reminded her of him. She continued tracing her fingers through pages melancholically until it got dark, and continued with the help of an oil lamp after.
Margaret stumbled upon her father's copy of Plato. She caressed the cover with fondness. This one would have to go to Mr. Thornton, she thought. She approached the window once more with curiosity. The mill was dark and empty now, but there was light coming from his office. Margaret felt for him, how could she ever have thought badly of him? He was tough, but had also shown her to be hardworking, honest and kind.
When she saw the door of the office open, she immediately got into bed. He was coming back into the house and she didn't want to get caught spying from the window again. She turned off the light and tried to fall asleep.
A few hours later she was woken up by wood creaking. She could tell that the creepy sound was coming from somewhere downstairs. It was the middle of the night! Everyone had to be sleeping. Maybe it was her imagination. She avoided thinking of Fred's ghost stories, closed her eyes real tight and waited for sleep to come again.
The next morning she woke late, but with more energy than the previous day. Anna came into the room saying Mr. Bell and Fanny would join them for lunch, and Margaret knew that she needed to make an appearance. She took a hot bath, which left her feeling much better, and by lunchtime she was ready to get out of her confinement.
She made her way downstairs wearing her black mourning dress. Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were already sitting down, along with Mr. Bell and Fanny.
"Right on time, my dear," said Mr. Bell, standing up in order to greet her.
"Please, forgive me," Margaret apologized, knowing she was everything but on time.
"Miss Hale! You mustn't apologize! It's perfectly understandable that you would need a moment for yourself at a time like this," exclaimed Fanny a little too loudly.
"Thank you, Miss Thornton," said Margaret, sitting down beside her.
"It's Mrs. Watson now, don't forget!" she said teasingly.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Watson," corrected Margaret with an uncomfortable smile.
"Well, now that we're all here. Anna!" called Mrs. Thornton.
Anna went around the table serving lunch, and the guests diligently complimented the food. Mr. Thornton was oblivious to the chatter. He was relieved to see Margaret had joined them once more, and that she looked much better. The pink color had returned to her cheeks. He felt a little guilty for finding her attractive even in her mourning dress.
The previous night had been particularly difficult for him—his sleep had been restless—and it had nothing to do with the noisy floorboards. Try as he might, he couldn't shake away the image of Margaret by the window. Her tousled hair framing her face, and the uncovered, delicate curve that led from her neck to her left shoulder. The image had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Had it been real?
If it hadn't, this would be his first delusion while awake. He had already grown accustomed to the ones that plagued him at night; something between dreams and nightmares. His brain played cruel games, portraying a version of Margaret that desired him, that came to him begging for his touch. The torturous images allowed him to touch her briefly, but once he was about to kiss her, she vanished into nothingness.
Last night, the vision by the window had come to pay him a visit. She had walked towards his bed and climbed on top of him with the confidence of an experienced seductress. He remembered she had trailed her scorching palms up his torso, before lowering her face to his. Her lips just inches away from his; her bewitching eyes pulling him towards her, like gravity. His hungry lips sought to meet her halfway, desperate for her kiss. But his fevered skin was met with nothing but the night's cold air. He had punched his empty mattress in frustration—this was always the worst part—waking up from another one of those cruel fantasies.
Margaret tried to keep up with the conversation at the table, but gazed upon Mr. Thornton discreetly. She was still wondering if he had seen her by the window. Would his behavior towards her reveal if he had? Mr. Thornton's eyes caught hers, and the intensity she saw made her look away immediately. She felt as if she had been burnt, the same wave of heat she had felt by the window invaded her once more. Maybe he had seen her… or maybe it was her own imagination.
"How are things back at the house, Mr. Bell?" asked Margaret, trying to put that fire down.
"Very well," he answered. "Although Miss Dixon is definitely the most difficult supervisor I've ever had!"
Margaret chuckled. She imagined Dixon ordering him around, warning him to not touch this or that.
"But you can rest assured that everything is being done with the utmost care," he added. "I've also received news from Mr. Henry Lennox."
Mr. Thornton flinched at the mention of his name.
"He asked me to tell you he's very sorry for your loss and that he'll come personally to escort you back to London next week," he said suggestively.
Mr. Thornton paid close attention to Margaret's reaction to the comment, but her expression gave nothing away.
"Oh! Who's this mysterious gentleman?" asked Fanny with excitement.
"Fanny! Don't meddle in other people's business," reprimanded her mother.
"It's quite alright, Mrs. Thornton," said Margaret awkwardly, "he's just a family friend," she explained. "That's very kind of him, but completely unnecessary," she continued, addressing Mr. Bell.
She briefly checked on Mr. Thornton, but his attention had shifted to his plate.
"Well, I'm sure he has already made up his mind," said Mr. Bell, implying there was nothing else he could do. "He has made it clear that he's very interested in your well-being, my dear."
Fanny smiled widely and clapped her hands together excitedly, making Margaret even more uncomfortable.
"Ignore mother, Mr. Bell. I demand to know all about this gentleman, " she insisted, making Mrs. Thornton shake her head in silent disapproval.
"Well, I understand that he's a renowned lawyer in London," he explained, always a little too eager to prolong unsettling conversations.
"Oh!" she exclaimed appreciatively, "well done, Miss Hale! A very respectable position."
"You may as well congratulate me for the invention of the printing press," joked Margaret. "I don't see why I should be congratulated, Mrs. Watson. I had nothing to do with the gentleman's accomplishments, " she added, attempting to get out of the irritating turn the conversation had taken.
"Don't worry, Miss Hale. Your secret is safe with me," Fanny said with a complicit smile that failed to inspire any trust. "But, it is indeed a very profitable profession."
"Much better than cotton these days, I hear," added Mr. Bell, knowing very well that the comment would earn him murderous glances from Mr. Thornton and his mother. Margaret also seemed taken aback by the observation.
"Mr. Bell, I didn't take you for someone who paid any heed to idle chatter on the streets," said Mr. Thornton, trying to mask his discomfort. "You shouldn't concern yourself with these matters."
"I hope so, for both our sakes," he said, keeping a cheery tone. "Finding a new tenant is never an easy task."
Thornton deduced Mr. Bell had talked with Mr. Latimer about the mill's financial struggles and the extra pressure this meant bothered him. But what bothered him even more was that Bell had chosen to bring the topic up in the context of a comparison to Henry Lennox. He resented his connection with Margaret.
"There will be no need for that," he said, more severely than intended.
The meal resumed in an uncomfortable silence.
After they finished, Mr. Bell retired and promised to come back with news in a day or two. Mr. Thornton also retired and went back into his office. Fanny and her mother remained, keeping Margaret company for a while longer. They moved to the sitting room and called for tea. Right then Margaret did feel thankful for the distraction. While Fanny did most of the hard work talking away, Margaret nodded and listened, and Mrs. Thornton sewed in silence.
"You must visit our house before you leave Milton, Miss Hale," said Fanny. "I've decorated it beautifully."
"I'm sure," commented Margaret. "Your room here speaks for itself."
"Well, thank you, Miss Hale. But I must confess I'm happy to be out of this house," she said lowering her voice. "It's so gray and serious, and the noises in the middle of the night are terrifying."
"Noises?" she asked curiously, recalling her past two experiences.
"Yes," Fanny said, leaning in. "Sounds of footsteps and wood creaking," she described. "I told mother that the house was probably haunted, but she wouldn't listen."
Margaret's eyes widened, but she didn't outwardly express her concern. All the anxiety caused in the past by Fred's horror stories started to come back. What if someone had been murdered here? She gulped and glanced towards Mrs. Thornton, but she continued sewing with what seemed like a playful smile on her lips.
"This house has been here for years, it wouldn't really be surprising," added Fanny, increasing Margaret's apprehension.
"That's enough, Fanny," said her mother with gentle authority.
Fanny changed the subject, but it was difficult for Margaret to concentrate on anything else. She pretended to listen, but she was actually dreading the sun coming down.
Fanny stayed for dinner as well. They waited for Mr. Thornton in vain, for in the end they were forced to dine without him. By the time they had finished and Fanny had said her goodbyes, he was still at the office. The disappointment Margaret felt by his absence took her by surprise.
Margaret retired to her room and put on her nightgown. The oil lamp illuminated the room dimly. She let her hair down and brushed it with care. She blushed when she remembered Mr. Thornton had seen her like this. She set the brush down by the book she was planning on giving to him. The best moment to do it would be when exchanging their final goodbyes. It pained her to think that, once the week was over, it was likely they would never cross paths again.
She stood by the window for a while, staring at the light in Mr. Thornton's office. She sighed and chastised herself for rejecting him that one time. It was too late for regrets though. She had lost his good opinion—however unfairly—and nothing could be done now. She hated to admit that those words still haunted her…
"I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over."
When she saw the door of his office open, she knew it was time to step away. She turned off her light, went to bed and closed her eyes trying to get that sentence out of her mind.
For the third night in a row, a noise woke her in the middle of her sleep. Margaret's heart skipped a beat as Fred's stories and Fanny's words came rushing back. She sat up, her eyes had already gotten used to the dark, so she could make out silhouettes. The sounds seemed to be coming from the staircase. She tried to convince herself that it was probably nothing. Ghosts didn't exist. Her parents had told her countless times, saying Fred was only teasing.
Getting rid of her doubts wasn't so difficult. She just needed to venture out, and make sure that—in fact—there was nothing in the staircase. She gathered all her courage and walked towards the door at a steady pace. The polished wood felt cold against her bare feet. She opened the door and closed it behind her as she stepped into the corridor, lest she be tempted to turn back before finishing the task she had set for herself. She heard the sound again; she swallowed and continued making her way towards the top of the staircase.
Her breath caught in her throat when she peeked down, her body momentarily frozen in place. There was someone standing in the corner of the first landing. She blinked a couple of times making sure she wasn't hallucinating. She was sure it was a lady. She was leaning back and forth on the same spot. She was wearing a nightgown—much like her own—and her face was covered with long tresses of white hair. Margaret wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn't come out.
She turned back around, wanting to cower back into her room. She was so scared that her whole body felt numb as she made her way to the rear of the corridor clumsily. She turned to the room on her left, entered and closed the door behind her. She hurried to the bed and jumped under the covers breathing heavily, only to find herself pressed against something that felt nothing like fabric. Wait. Was her room to the right or to the left of the corridor?
Mr. Thornton was woken up violently by Margaret colliding against him. He was startled, and his first thought was that he was being attacked by a trespasser. He reacted to the threat instinctively. He flipped them over, so that he was sitting on top of the intruder. He caught the person's wrists violently and pushed them to the sides to prevent any further assault.
If Margaret hadn't been sure before, now that she saw Mr. Thornton straddling her, she knew she had entered the wrong room. Although the scene was very inappropriate, she was still high on adrenaline and oblivious to that fact.
"Mr. Thornton," she whispered, realizing she had scared him.
Mr. Thornton relaxed his grip on her wrists, recognizing her voice. Had it been a thief it would have made more sense to him, now he was very confused. Was this real?
"Miss Hale?" he asked, recognizing her features with a little help from the moonlight, which poured in from a gap in the curtains. "I thought you were a trespasser. What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to ignore her parted lips.
"Mr. Thornton, there is someone in the house," she responded breathlessly, still in a panic. "I saw a woman in the staircase."
Mr. Thornton saw genuine fear in her eyes. He let go of her wrists, but stayed on top of her.
"A woman?" he asked, failing to hide his amusement.
"Yes," said Margaret nodding vehemently and propping herself up on her elbows. "I'm not lying," she added, a little offended by his carefree reaction. "She had a nightgown and white hair," she explained keeping her voice low.
"Miss Hale…"
"We should call someone," she interrupted nervously.
"Anna sleepwalks," he continued. "She roams the first floor, sometimes comes halfway up the stairs. She gets back safely into her room after a while."
"Oh…" Margaret's adrenaline died down, in its place a feeling of embarrassment at her overreaction took over.
Her embarrassment increased once it actually dawned on her where she was. She had never been in such an intimate position with a man before; the whole room smelled of him, and it made her feel dizzy. She also became very aware of the feel of his weight pinning her down. He gave her one of those disarming looks she had hidden from in the past, but she couldn't look away this time. Margaret felt the fire inside of her return with a vengeance.
"Well, you should've warned me," she whispered, attempting to sound harsh. She was desperately holding on to her bearings. She needed to leave now. Why was her body refusing to obey?
Thornton ignored that remark. His mind only had space for one thought at the moment: Margaret was in his bed. Was this another one of those dreams? It seemed more realistic somehow—usually there wasn't a backstory, she just appeared. This was the vision at the window again: her tousled hair was framing her beautiful face, and the low neckline of her nightgown exposed her chest and the curve of her left shoulder. He became distracted by the quick rise and fall of her breasts; he could even see the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.
Margaret noted the trail of his heated gaze, and she allowed herself to look at him in response. She realized his torso was bare, and her body reacted involuntarily when she saw the outline of his chest. She squeezed her legs together, trying to fight the strange pulse between her legs, but managed to make it even worse. Her gaze came back to meet his, her pained expression betraying an inner battle.
Thornton hadn't failed to notice Margaret's wandering eyes—there was desire in her slow appreciation. That settled it… this was one of those dreams. Margaret would never look at him like that in real life. If he kissed her she would disappear, and he would wake up miserable, frustrated and unsatisfied. But he couldn't deny that the brief moments before waking were always worth it. Maybe the dream would be prolonged if he avoided her lips…
The hem of her nightgown had ridden up during their brief struggle. Thornton took advantage of this, and in one swift motion, he was between her thighs. One of his hands traced her leg and settled on her hip, while the other traveled through her hair to grasp a handful, making her gasp. His grip was tight against her scalp, betraying his frustration at her impending disappearance.
Margaret didn't have time to register what was happening. His sudden closeness both took her aback and set her blood on fire. She couldn't look away from his eyes, and his touch was so commanding that it made her feel as if he owned her. She knew she had to say something, but another—a much wilder—part of her bid her to remain silent. The hours with this man were counted.
Using her hair as leverage he pulled her to lie completely back down onto the mattress, and forced her to bare her neck. His lips touched her uncovered shoulder, and she shivered at the contact. He traced his way up her clavicle with licks and kisses, and she could feel the graze of his stubble against her skin. Once he got to her neck, he bit it softly; she squirmed under him and a light moan escaped her lips.
Her own reaction startled her, what if someone heard them?
"Mr. Thornton, this can't…" Margaret gasped, trailing off with a sigh when he proceeded to nibble her earlobe.
Her hands involuntarily moved to his shoulders, neither pulling nor pushing him away. The feel of his naked skin beneath her palms detonated another unexpected sense of yearning through her. She didn't understand what she was longing for, but it was becoming overwhelming. The spot between her legs became more sensitive to the pressure he was exerting, sending tiny waves of pleasure through her and leaving her craving for more. Her hands itched to trace the rest of his body; however, she fought the impulse.
Thornton pulled his head back to look at her. They both saw the reflection of their hunger in each other's eyes. Thornton let his hand make its way between the mattress and her lower back in order to encircle her waist possessively. With a clenched jaw, he brought their lower halves even closer with one aggressive pull. She suppressed another moan, digging her nails on his shoulders instead—she was sure she would lose her mind. His passion flared at her reaction. He nuzzled the valley of her breasts, and lightly bit one of her nipples through her nightgown, making her whimper.
When she opened her eyes she found his face inches away from hers. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek; he stared at her lips and let his thumb trace their outline. Her lips parted expectantly in response. She shivered, knowing that this could be her undoing.
"I shouldn't be here," she said guiltily between pants, refusing to let go of her last remainder of decency.
"You're not," he remarked hoarsely before gently biting and releasing her lower lip—a sample.
She feared she would lose her sanity. What did he mean by that? She needed to get out of this stupor. A bucket of cold water would be very welcome.
"If someone hears of this…" she didn't dare finish the sentence, knowing the tremble in her voice was giving away her lust.
In his dreams Margaret had never voiced any concerns, which struck Thornton as strange. That thought was fleeting though, as he was too drunk on her to think logically. He was probably about to wake up anyway, the dream had already outlasted the others. He couldn't resist kissing her anymore. His lips crashed down on hers, knowing that this would send him straight back to reality.
Margaret didn't vanish—at least not in the way he was expecting. The combination of his kiss and the feel of his body against hers, threw her last bit of common sense out of the window. His lips moved at a slow and sensuous pace, disconnecting her mind; her body operated on nothing but pure sensation. The concept of propriety, the pain of her loss and the uncertainty of her future were suddenly so far away.
She opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue, and met its languid strokes with her own. Her arousal heightened sharply. Having discovered that her pleasure increased with movement, she instinctively encircled her arms around him and undulated against him.
That delectable motion took him by surprise. He groaned, breaking the kiss. His hands flew to her hips to keep her from repeating it. That had felt too good; it trumped any of the dreams he had had in the past. He wanted to continue, to remove their clothing so he could feel her naked form writhing underneath him; to bury himself deep inside of her and take her again and again.
But his dreams usually never got this far… Wasn't he supposed to have awakened by now? He rested his forehead against hers, and felt the hot air of their hastened breaths intermingling. She looked ravishing; her eyes heavy-lidded, filled with desire for him, and her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Thornton noted that the only reason he could take in this much detail was because dawn was breaking. That realization sobered him up in a heartbeat—this was real.
Margaret had come to his room because she was scared and he had taken advantage of her like a wild beast. His inner reprimand was interrupted by the recapture of his lips by hers. Margaret was still blissfully lost in the passionate haze.
"Margaret, my love, stop," he pleaded painfully, contradicting his own words by reciprocating her advances with more kisses.
Mustering all his self-control, he grasped her chin and forced himself to pull away from her. He held her in place and avoided staring at her lips, which were still open in invitation.
"Miss Hale," he said in a more authoritative tone. Thornton's sudden restraint slowly started rewiring Margaret's brain. She was suddenly overcome by feelings of shame and worry.
"What have I done?" she asked in a whisper. "What did you do to me?" she continued, unwilling to believe she had been an active participant of whatever that spectacle had been. She pushed him away to stand up by the bed. "I had never… I would never… This is not who I am," she mumbled to herself, starting to pace nervously. She covered her face with her hands, wishing she could disappear.
He incorporated and put his hands on her shoulders tentatively, not sure if she would welcome his touch. She didn't protest at the contact, but kept her face down.
"Margaret," he whispered.
She flinched at the mention of her name. Thornton thought that maybe his informal address made her feel worse, so he quickly corrected himself.
"Miss Hale, stop this," he ordered in a low voice.
She obeyed, just as her body had done minutes earlier before his silent commands. She uncovered her face, and forced herself to look him in the eye. It pained him to see that she was on the verge of tears.
"You're not responsible for this, Miss Hale," he assured her. "I took advantage of your vulnerable state and my behavior was inexcusable," he acknowledged; his guilt growing before her searching doe eyes.
"I can only ask for your forgiveness, as you have already made clear that any other kind of arrangement between us wouldn't be welcome," he explained.
"Please, don't continue," she looked the other way, avoiding his gaze.
"Miss Hale, I would understand if you chose not to forgive me. But, do not blame yourself," he added, ignoring her request.
"I can't allow you to excuse my appalling behavior, Mr. Thornton. I… I let you… because I wanted to," she admitted mortified.
The confession made his desire for her come back. He held her hands in his, and placed a kiss on them. She pulled them away from his grasp with a pained expression. She straightened her back and she held her head high.
"I'm not a child, Mr. Thornton, and I'm well aware that I must face the consequences for my actions," she said with an arched brow. "I also know I lost your good opinion long before this night," her voice broke, but she tried hard to keep her emotions in check. "However, I must tell you—whether you're inclined to believe me or not—that I had never acted like this in my life," she declared, quickly wiping the runaway tear that betrayed her weakness.
He knew then that his attitude towards her after the train station incident had affected her deeply.
"And now I fear that all those absurd rumors about me have become true," she added with irony.
She was pulled out from her self-pitying reverie when she felt his hands tenderly frame her face. She gazed into his eyes, and she noticed that this look was different from the others; there was love and adoration.
"Was tonight not enough to show you that my feelings and passions have remained unchanged?" he asked. "My hateful words were spoken in a fit of jealousy. I believe you, and I'm not concerned on the account of those two gentlemen. Not if you care for me; not when your body responds so fervently to my touch," he said encircling her waist and pressing her small frame against him.
Relaxed by his words, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his strong arms around her.
"You must know by now that you have no business in London, or anywhere else but here. You belong with me," he said, kissing her lips possessively "in this room," he added, letting himself fall back onto the mattress with her on top, "in this bed," he finished, kissing her again.
She reciprocated, but pushed away after a few seconds.
"Mr. Thornton, this is serious," she said, trying to regain her composure.
"Very serious, Miss Hale," he buried his face in her throat and found it amusing that she was still addressing him formally.
"Just so you know, I've never cared for Henry Lennox," she said, feeling him smile against her neck. "As for the other gentleman…"
Thornton leaned back to look at her, his smile gone.
"His name is Frederick," she explained, "and he's my brother."
"Your brother?" he asked in both, relief and disbelief.
"Yes, it's a complicated and long story that-"
He interrupted by kissing her again.
"I must go," she whispered between kisses.
The sun was almost completely out now. It was only a matter of minutes before the Thornton house woke.
"But I'm not done with you," he said refusing to let her go.
Margaret attempted to stand, but couldn't fight the strength of his hold.
"Oh, you can be sure I'll be keeping my distance from you," she warned, knowing now how easy it was to be willing to lose one's virtue.
"We can get married this very afternoon," he suggested with a playful smile.
"Mr. Thornton! That would be most inappropriate," she scolded. "I suppose the announcement could be made once Mr. Bell comes back to visit," she meditated out loud.
A creak coming from the first floor startled them, and she jumped away from him like a cat from water.
"That is probably Anna, she wakes up first to prepare breakfast," he observed.
"I really must go now," she said heading towards the door. "I'll see you for breakfast," she said glancing back one last time.
Thornton was sure there was no man happier than him at that moment. Now he just needed to pretend that he was as miserable as always in front of his mother. That couldn't be an easy task. He hoped Mr. Bell would pay them a visit as soon as possible…
