This is a story based on Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. I have included snippets of text from the book in tribute. (You will see that my writing style is quite basic in comparison). This is my first fanfiction so I am a complete amateur. Disclaimer: These characters/borrowed text do not belong to me.
Chapter 1
Margaret had been filled with so much hope when Mr Bell first invited her to accompany him to Helstone. Hope that it would break the routine of London life. Hope that it would be a welcome distraction for a preoccupied mind. Hope that it would bring back happy memories of a blessed childhood home. And finally, hope that it would sooth the lingering sense of loss and displacement that made her whole being feel weighed down and lifeless everyday.
And now, as she was on the fly between the station and Helstone, sharper feelings came shooting through her heart, whether pain or pleasure she could hardly tell. Every mile was redolent of associations, which she would not have missed for the world, but each of which made her cry upon 'the days that are no more,' with ineffable longing. The last time she had passed along this road was when she had left it with her father and mother – the day, the season, had been gloomy, and she herself hopeless, but they were there with her. Now she was alone, an orphan, and they, strangely, had gone away from her and vanished from the face of the earth…..
Mr Bell knew something of what would be passing through her mind, and wisely and kindly held his tongue. He looked over at his godchild and thought again what a blessing she was. Just being in her presence was a balm for his soul, even when she was as solemn and thoughtful as today. Dressed in a claret wine-coloured travelling suit she was the very picture of London style. But it was in the way she held herself, her manner of speech, the sincerity behind her kind eyes that gave her true grace. He could not help but love her, though he knew she would never look at him in that light. Not the way she looked at John Thornton. He was quite reconciled to that. But she was the only vestige remaining of the most important friendship of his life. That was enough for him to lay down his life for her if she asked him to.
Margaret now stole a glance at Mr Bell. He was looking out of the window, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the scenery in its summer glory. Still a handsome man for his age, he had a style of his own complemented by a devil may care manner. This brought a small smile to Margaret's face. He could be mischievous at times. Conversation was never dull when Mr Bell was around. He had an extraordinary ability to read people and identify the undercurrents of feeling otherwise suppressed by politeness, congeniality and propriety.
Like how she felt about Mr Thornton. Margaret suspected that Mr Bell understood her feelings for his tenant, long before she did. Mr Thornton. The thought of him brought a tumult of emotions she could hardly make sense of. Anger, frustration, tenderness, loss and love. He was the best man of her acquaintance and she had missed her chance of a life with him. Her lies and deceit, however well intentioned, had ruined her in his eyes. There was no hope he would renew his addresses. Those feeling had passed – he had said so himself.
Would it make a difference if he knew the truth?
Margaret spoke aloud for the first time in a while. 'I am not likely ever to see Mr Thornton again,' – and there she stopped.
'There are many things more unlikely, I should say,' replied Mr Bell, the edges of his mouth creeping up at her random remark. He guessed that the handsome manufacturer from the north was the subject of a good deal of his young charge's thoughts.
'But I believe I never shall. Still somehow one does not like to have sunk so low in – in a friend's opinion as I have done in his.' Her eyes were full of tears, but her voice was steady, and Mr Bell was not looking at her. 'And now that Frederick has given up all hope, and almost all wish of ever clearing himself, and retuning to England, it would be only doing myself justice to have all this explained. If you please, and if you can, if there is a good opportunity, (don't force and explanation on upon him, pray) but if you can, will you tell him the whole circumstances, and tell him also that I gave you leave to do so, because I felt that for papa's sake I should not like to lose his respect, though we may never be likely to meet again?'
Margarets words were tripping over themselves, so anxious was she to beg his assistance.
'Certainly Margaret, I will do this for you if given the chance. I think he ought to know and I do not like you to rest even under the shadow of an impropriety…
Mr Bell thought Margaret appeared to visibly relax with this promise. Clearly her attachment was very strong. Something must be done. Two lovers with such passion for each other should not be separated by stubborn ill founded convictions and misunderstanding.
Whilst she felt the truth, when told, may restore some respect and regard Mr Thornton may have had for her, Margaret still harbored doubts that any explanation could reinstate her – not in his love. Still, better that he respect and esteem her than to hold her in such disdain..
'Margaret,' Mr Bell's voice broke through her heavy reverie, 'I thought we would make a stop at the Lennard Arms for a snack and to order dinner before we start our tour of the village.'
Margaret smiled. No doubt Mrs Purkis, the landlady would be there to greet them. She wondered if news of the passing of the previous vicar would have reached the leafy parish.
They drove up to the Lennard Arms; half farm-house, half inn, standing a little apart form the road…Margaret smiled weakly as Mr Bell offered his hand to help her out from the carriage. The door of the inn stood wide open, but there was no hospitable hurry to receive the travellers. When the landlady did appear ….– she gave them a kind welcome, almost as if they had been invited guests, and apologized for her coming having been so delayed...
'Why, bless me!' exclaimed she, as at the end of her apology, a glint of sunlight showed her Margaret's face, hitherto unobserved in that shady parlour. 'It's Miss Hale, Jenny,' said she running to the door and calling to her daughter. 'Come here, come directly, it's Miss Hale!' And then she went up to Margaret, and shook her hands with motherly fondness.
'Hello Mrs Purkis. It is lovely to see you again.' Margaret rallied to maintain a measure of happiness in her voice. 'How have you been since we last met'?
'Speak not of me miss' Mrs Purkis enveloped Margaret's tiny hands, 'it is you we should be concerning ourselves with. Such loss for one so young. Your mother, and then your father. The Vicar, we've never ceased to be sorry that he left. To think the Vicar being dead.'
'It is so, however,' said Mr Bell. 'He died quite suddenly, when on a visit to me at Oxford. He was a good man, Mrs Purkis, and there's many of us that might be thankful to have as calm an end as his. '
Margaret's silent tears caught in her throat. She choked back sobs that threatened to be released for all that she had lost.
'Come, Margaret, my dear.' Mr Bell put his arm around Margaret lightly to sooth her, explaining to Mrs Purkis that Mr Hale was his oldest friend and that Margaret was his god-daughter. 'I thought we would come down together and see the old place, but maybe it was not a good idea after all.'
Margaret, regaining some composure now, shook her head and smiled through her tears at Mr Bell. 'No, I still believe this may be just the tonic I need. I want to be able to rejoice in the memories of my parents, and my childhood. Excuse my tears. I will try to be strong.'
Margaret turned again to the older lady. 'We made many good friends in the north, Mrs Purkis, but I know my parents treasured the memory of the people who shared our happy life in Helstone.'
'Thank you, dear. We shall always remember Mr and Mrs Hale fondly.' Mrs Purkis' countenance suddenly brightened and a smile lit her plump face. 'It is almost providential that you have arrived today Miss Hale. It is only this morning that I believe we said goodbye to one of your friends from the north. A very handsome man if you will pardon my presumptuous manner. He stayed with us for 2 nights. Said he was a manufacturer of cotton. I'm not sure why he was here, he only said that he was passing through on his way back to Milton. He was the one who told us of your late parents passing.'
Margaret's breath constricted and her heart beat wildly. Is it possible that he was here? But why?
'Mrs Purkis, did he say what his name was?' Margaret could hardly form the words. Her mind was racing and she felt suddenly cold at the thought that she came so close to seeing him again.
'Jenny, what was the name of that handsome man from the north?' Jenny had appeared at the door and now joined the small party at the entrance to the inn.
'Mr Thornton, I believe,' said Jenny, picturing the tall stranger and his commanding presence.
Margaret gasped. She had been holding her breath without realizing.
'What time did he leave this morning Mrs Purkis?' it was Mr Bell who asked the question that he knew Margaret wanted the answer to.
'About 9 o'clock sir,' said Mrs Purkis.
'And where was he headed?' The urgency in Mr Bell's voice compelled Mrs Purkis to answer promptly.
'I believe he said that it was such a beautiful day that he would walk the fields and make his way back to the station for the 2 o'clock train north.'
Margaret looked to Mr Bell communicating with unspoken words.
Mr Bell took Margaret's hand. 'It is quarter to two my dear. You may yet make it!' Turning to Mrs Purkis 'is there a cab that Miss Hale can avail herself of?'
Mrs Purkis, quite puzzled by the whole goings on prevailed upon Jenny to fetch Thomas and the carriage immediately.
Margaret smiled gratefully at Mrs Purkis and squeezed Mr Bell's hand. 'Thank you,' she whispered. Mr Bell helped Margaret into the carriage and instructed Thomas to make haste to the station. He then watched on as a grateful Margaret waved to her God-father as the carriage took her away. It was the most energized and impassioned he had seen her pretty face in some time.
'Well, shall we see to that snack Mrs Purkis?' A bemused Mrs Purkis followed the debonair Oxford gentleman inside, all the while wondering to herself what had just taken place and whether the late Mrs Hale would have approved of such conduct.
'What am I doing?' thought Margaret. 'What must I be thinking to race off in such an impetuous manner in pursuit of a man who does not love me.'
Margaret was trying to gather her thoughts to decide on what she was going to say if she was to come face to face again with John Thornton. Should she politely ask him to stay in Helstone a little longer so that they may exchange information on common acquaintances? Or should she throw herself at his feet begging his forgiveness and plead for the opportunity to tell her story.
She felt completely senseless, like she had abandoned her wits. But what did she really have to lose?
All she knew was that the horses could not carry her fast enough to her destination. To her heart's desire.
At once the carriage stopped and Margaret bounded out. She could see the train at the platform and could hear the closing of doors. Running up the stairs she did all she could to make it to the top in good time. As her eyes came into line with the passenger windows, steam wafted up and the train moved. Margaret helplessly looked around her for some way to stop the train. It was no use. He was lost to her, again. She stood and watched the carriages move past her, hoping for a glimpse of him.
In time she turned around, tears blurring her eyesight and her head bowed in painful disappointment. She did not hear or see the person hurtling around the corner towards her until it was too late. Margaret collided with a dishevelled, tall man in a dark frock coat who took her by the arms to steady them both.
Margaret looked up in apology only to gaze into a pair of familiar blue eyes looking as startled as she felt.
'Miss Hale!'