Chapter 36
"Are you certain you are ready?" Margaret asked. The Doctor had been gone a mere half-hour, and with nothing else for them to do, John had asked her once more about his accident.
"Yes." He replied in a tone of exasperation. "Why does everyone treat my knowledge of how I was injured as if it is some emotionally up heaving tale?"
"Perhaps it is not so for you," Margaret began, unconsciously bristling in anger at his complete carelessness. She should not feel so. It was not as though it was his fault he could not comprehend what that accident had done to her. Or to anyone else, for that matter. "But perhaps consider that you were not the one watching helplessly at your bedside." John frowned at her, before looking at his hands and saying no more on the subject. "I will start at the beginning then." Margaret stated briskly, trying desperately to remove her emotions from what she knew would be a daunting retelling. John nodded once, still not looking up from his hands.
"You own a rather successful cotton mill..." she began, and slowly told him all that she knew of the fire. She left out the parts pertaining to her father's death, the sheer terror she felt when Nicholas told her of his disappearance, and the passionate kiss they shared before he left. She even left out her own involvement. It didn't feel right somehow. It was so much harder to relay the story back to him than Margaret anticipated. With every word she spoke, her mind helpfully supplied a vivid image to accompany it. She could feel his body thrashing against her as he slipped into the horrid coma. She trailed off without realizing it, absorbed in her memories as she was.
"So where does that leave us currently?" The rumble of John's voice brought her back to the present with a slight jolt.
"What do you mean?" Margaret asked, taking a deep breath with hopes of clearing the foggy images of more depressing times from her mind. It did nothing.
"How far away from present day are we?" He asked softly, finally making eye contact with her. His expression was nearly impossible to read at the moment, even for her. She attempted to smile reassuringly at him, but did not know at all if she was successful.
"We are rebuilding the Mill, now." She said.
"And it is..." John faltered as though searching for the right word. "Going well?" He seemed to be uncomfortable with the topic, but Margaret couldn't quite tell. She sighed. The truth of the matter is that it was not going well. "I suspected as much." John said, his voice tight.
Margaret was not sure how to respond to that. "It is hard for the workers, John." she replied softly, after a few seconds thought.
"Why should it be hard?" John asked harshly. "If the Mill is their means of livelihood, why would anyone waste time on rebuilding it?" Margaret huffed irritably in spite of herself and tried to reign in her temper. It was not his fault, he did not know.
"Because their families are dead, John." she stated bluntly. "You know not what horror it has been these past months, and the man they looked to for guidance lay half-dead in the midst of it all." Far too harsh. John frowned at her words and cast his gaze to his lap, undoubtedly pondering her words. Margaret sighed before picking up a book from the nightstand. Perhaps they needed a break from conversation.
The more he heard of the tale regarding his injury, the stronger he felt that Margaret was hiding something from him. Well, many things. He could not name why he felt so, but by the time she had finished speaking, John was certain that there was far more to it than what she told him. He tried so hard not to feel angry towards her, but it resulted in him feeling slightly betrayed instead. He understood that bringing up such an event would be painful, but he didn't understand why she would hide certain aspects from him. It was not as though he'd actually died. He was recovering well as far as he could tell. So many thoughts swirled madly inside his head, and he could make no sense of them.
"We have a rather...complicated relationship. And an even more complicated past."
Technically however, all of their relationship was in the past. Her statement burned his mind, and he could not banish it from his thoughts. He could not even understand why it bothered him so much. It was as though instinct alone told him there was far more to their situation than the hell they were currently in. Nothing made sense to him. Margaret did not seem to look forward to telling him anything of their history, including his accident. The Doctor, even his own mother seemed far more than simply hesitant to speak to him of the past. What happened to him? Margaret's outburst about her brother had shown him that they had some form of horrible misunderstanding, but that couldn't be the whole of it. It would not have been resolved so easily as it was, would it? John honestly had no idea, and shut his eyes against the stab of pain in his head.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Broken. Defeated. Staring at him with a look of devastated betrayal. He could recall the image of her perfectly. She looked worse then, with her hair dull and limp, her frame so small it seemed unhealthy, and the grief shining so familiarly from her eyes. Margaret must have looked at him like that many times before that moment for it to be so familiar to him. 'But where was I?' he thought. Where had he been during that memory, why had she said those particular words? He focused harder on the picture, harder on himself, attempting to conjure up an image that would shed some light on the day. How did he get into the room? He wanted to see for himself, but for some reason the only image his mind supplied was that of a pair of hands clutching at dark blue fabric…
John remembered the day he pondered over Margaret's mourning dress. Before he even knew her name, his over-active mind helpfully supplied fantasies over the mourning dress, and why she should always be so forlorn around him. He realized that they all pivoted around the fact that she must have been in love with him. Why would he assume that? Who was to say she ever really had been in love with him? No, she wasn't in love with the handsome stranger he had been able to remember, but that didn't necessarily mean she was in love with him, did it? A stabbing realization pierced him dead-center in his chest. John had told Margaret of his love for her, but she had remained silent on the matter of her own affections. Distantly he heard a knocking on the door, but he could not tear himself away from his own thoughts.
Her searing touch on his arm startled him abruptly into the present, and he jolted at the contact. Margaret seemed to shrink slightly at his undoubtedly horrid expression, but she inclined her head to the far side of the room. John was more than slightly startled to see two men standing there and looking at him with puzzled expressions. The one on the left was the man from the night Margaret was hurt. 'Nicholas!' he remembered triumphantly He did not recognize the other. "Forgive me," John said, trying his best to sound polite. "I was lost in my own thoughts."
"No matter, Master." Nicholas replied, failing to hide his small smile. John looked around feeling somewhat awkward.
"I'm beginning to think I've missed something important." He said slowly, as no other person in the room seemed willing to offer up conversation. The unknown man stepped forward.
"Mr. Thornton," the man began. "I am Inspector Mason. We were just discussing the events from last night involving Mrs. Margaret Thornton."
"Ah." John replied, his neck growing rather warm at the sudden stupidity he felt. He glanced left and was surprised to see Margaret looking at this Mason with intent dislike. Looking to Nicholas, he noticed the look of disgust within his expression that he failed to notice on his previous inspection. What was going on here?
"Well?" Margaret snapped. John looked swiftly to her. He had never heard her so impatient before. He frowned, wishing he knew the cause of her dislike towards Mason. Acting on impulse, he gently brushed his fingers against her own which rested firmly in the space between them. Her glance flicked to his for but a moment, before settling once more on Mason, who cleared his throat.
"Well, I need to know the details of what took place, and when." Mason stated, a notepad appearing out of thin air.
"Why?" Margaret asked, the simple question being forced through her clenched jaw. John's frown deepened. "I was not under the impression that I requested you to apprehend anyone." John saw his own shock mirrored in the faces of both Nicholas and Mason. He could practically feel Margaret bristling beside him. Nicholas took a half step forward.
"Now Mistress-" he began, but his mouth snapped shut with an almost comical quickness at the murderous expression on Margaret's face.
"Ma'am," Mason said firmly, looking almost indignantly righteous about what he planned on saying. "This is not strictly for you to decide. An act of violence has been carried out against you, an innocent woman. We must take care that it does not happen again to someone else." Margaret laughed somewhat bitterly, before removing her hand from John's now clenched fingers and standing. She pulled the emerald green dressing gown over her chest, and tied it almost painfully tight. John struggled to sit up as straight as possible, a sense of dread filling him at a rapid rate.
"I am an innocent woman now, am I?" She said, with an ethereal calm. "How can you so certain that I don't have, oh how did you put it again, 'quite a lot to gain from this unfortunate circumstance'?" What the hell was going on? John looked to Nicholas, desperate for some sort of reassurance, that perhaps someone else understood this cryptic conversation. Nicholas gave him a look that could only mean he would explain later, or so John hoped it did at least. The Inspector seemed to have expected Margaret's behavior, and the notepad snapped shut.
"I require the name of the man that shot you, and I will be on my way."
"I will not press charges against him." Margaret replied, her tone waspish. John's mouth fell open.
"Margaret!" He cried out in astonishment. "Margaret, he must see justice!" She turned her furious gaze upon him.
"And he will!" She said, passionately. "When he faces Judgment Day as must we all, but he will not see justice in the way you are both implying."
"Have you lost your senses?" John breathed, anger pooling hot in his chest. "He might have killed you, killed Nicholas, and you would do nothing!"
"He is undone by his grief!" She shouted. "Everything he has in this life is gone, everything he worked for, all he cared for. All of it is turned to ash in our Mill!"
"Nicholas!" John barked, unable to hear anything else Margaret might say. It caused a war of conflicting emotions that he simply could not bear to decipher at present. "What is your opinion on this matter?"
"I hardly know, Master."
"This is not a matter of debate!" The inspector cried. "The man is guilty of attempted murder of an innocent woman, yes you Mrs. Thornton!" He growled, pointing in her direction as a form of emphasis.
"As a point of fact he did not attempt to take my life as you are implying, I merely stood between the bullet and it's intended destination." Margaret replied very quickly.
"And just what was the 'intended point of destination' Mrs. Thornton?" Mason replied, his tone far too demeaning for John to not feel affronted.
"I understand it was meant for Nicholas Higgins." John said, his tone sounding as furious as he felt.
"It does not matter!" Mason growled. "The fact remains that the violence was carried out against Mrs. Thornton." Mason turned back to face Margaret. "I neither need, nor require your permission to press charges. It is the duty of your husband, as he possesses legal right over you." The look of utter disgust on the Inspectors face had John clenching his fist and attempting to rise. Even Nicholas seemed close to violence at his behavior.
"How dare you?" Margaret seethed. "How dare you stand there and address my husband as such after all you have done to us!" Her voice grew louder and carried through the room. It left a ringing silence when she paused, chest heaving. The door suddenly burst open, and his mother, followed by a man and woman he had yet to meet, strode briskly inside.
"You!" The man exclaimed, looking towards Mason. The Inspector looked back at him with a scowl. "Oh no." The man said angrily, shaking his head. "No, on behalf of my brother and sister-in-law, I must ask you to leave this house at once, lest I force you out."
"I am conducting an inve-" Mason began, but the unknown man promptly cut him off.
"Not in this family you are not. You've caused us enough heartache, with too little benefit. Tell me if you will, what headway has been made into determining who set the fire at the Mill?" The Inspector said nothing. "No? Then go. If the Police have business with any Thornton or Watson, they may send someone else to conduct it." Mason, apparently not one to give in easily, turned once more to John.
"You will still be required to furnish a testament, as will your wife." John took a breath before responding.
"There was a disagreement among the workers," He began, forcing himself to stay calm. "My mother went outside to try and calm them, followed by Margaret. One of the workers drew a weapon on Nicholas Higgins, and Margaret put herself between them as a shield when he fired."
"And where were you, Mr. Thornton?" Mason asked.
"Watch your tone, boy!" The unknown man barked. "And remember to whom you're speaking!" Mason glanced at John again with a flicker of fear dancing in his eyes. It puzzled John beyond his comprehension.
"I was watching from the window there." John replied, indicating the window behind the tense form of Higgins. "You have your statement, now leave us." His words were blunt, but he did not care. He sagged back into his pillows as Carter ushered the Inspector away, and a weary sigh passed his lips.
"Margaret, come get back into bed." His mother said, and guided her back to his side. Once she was settled, John carefully moved his left hand to brush her own once more, and was pleasantly surprised when she returned pressure. She still looked furious, and John still had questions, but he would wait until they were alone before he addressed them. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from her face, and turned back to his mother so that he might discover the identity of the two unknown people in his bedroom.
"John," his mother said, a smile pulling at her lips in the smallest of ways. "Might I introduce you to your sister Fanny, and her husband Harry Watson?"
"I apologize," John said, his voice more telling of his impatience than his words. "But before we make idle conversation can someone please tell me what the hell just happened?" He looked at the others in the room, gauging their thoughts by their expressions alone. Watson and Nicholas clearly looked rather miffed, Fanny was sympathetic, and his mother bore the same irritated confusion he felt. He hadn't expected that. John turned to his left. "Margaret, please." he said. "I need to know." She looked defeated and tired, but nodded.
"Inspector Mason and I have had some dealings in the past." she said lowly. "They did not end well." John frowned and waited for her to continue, though she appeared to be searching for the right words.
"He tried to press charges against Margaret for attempted murder." Watson's blunt statement had John whipping his head between them. He caught his mother's scandalized look and realized she must not have known.
"Thank you, Harry." Margaret said quietly, looking very intently at John's fingers resting atop her own.
"On what grounds!" John exclaimed, looking back at Watson. He looked somewhat uncomfortable for a moment, before replying.
"It was actually somewhat worse than just that." he began. "Technically they did press charges, and had the warrant for Margaret's arrest ready before I stopped them."
"What exactly were the charges?" His mother asked sharply.
"Attempted murder of a Magistrate, eighty-seven counts of murder, an additional thirteen counts of attempted murder, conspiracy to murder, and grand arson."
"What?!"
Margaret looked horrified, John felt sick. Did Margaret not know what charges had been brought against her? How could it be possible that she would be charged with eighty-seven counts of murder? A very small wriggling doubt crawled through his stomach, and wondered if she was guilty. He tasted bile at the thought.
"Harry-" Margaret began, but couldn't seem to finish. "Nothing—you didn't tell me..." she trailed off, looking desperately at Watson for answers.
"When did this happen?!" His mother exclaimed, eyes darting rapidly between Watson and Margaret. "Why did the pair of you decide to completely exclude me form this!"
"Margaret was accused of setting fire to Marlborough Mills." Watson said, ignoring all in order to finish his retelling. "At the time Mason came to accuse her, the death count was only eighty-seven. Thirteen others were in a critical state, but as you know the total death count has since risen to just over one hundred..." He paused then, and John could not help the feeling of pressing guilt that covered him. Over one hundred… How could such a thing happen?
"The Magistrate?" John choked out through acrid burn in his throat. He took a long steadying breath through his nose, hoping to quell his rolling stomach. Margaret had not divulged any information about the others affected by the fire, only relayed his personal tale. He could not find it in himself to place blame on her for it. It was quite probable that she had planned on telling him in time. "How was the Magistrate involved." Watson gave him an almost nonexistent look of puzzlement, before one of understanding.
"You are the Magistrate, John." Watson replied softly. Cold comprehension bloomed within him. "They charged her with your murder."
"But I wasn't dead!" He cried.
"No," this time it was Nicholas who spoke up. "But you must understand Master, you were...very bad. I was with the group of men who found you in that damnable blaze, and helped the Doctor when we got you out. A part of me wished you would die that night, if only to spare you from the agony you were in." He stopped suddenly, and a haunted look crossed his face as he stared into the distance.
"Come now, it could not have been bad enough for them to press charges against Margaret."
"Don't cheapen what we went through for your sake." Nicholas said harshly, eyes blazing. "For weeks each time I closed my eyes, I saw you as I held you down so the Doctor could work. I could hear you in agony, screaming at the pain. I saw you looking at me, silently begging me to let you die. Don't assume, Master." John nodded slowly, feeling guilt course through his veins. Something Margaret said stuck him then.
"'Quite a lot to gain from this unfortunate circumstance''' He repeated, looking to Margaret. He was surprised to see her eyes red, and tears forming slow but deliberate paths across her face. His guilt intensified, and he regretted his earlier statement. Margaret took a calming breath before replying, but did not raise her gaze to his.
"'The way I see it Mrs. Thornton, you have quite a lot to gain from this unfortunate circumstance.'" She quoted. "It is what Inspector Mason told me when he came for his interrogation."
"When did this happen Margaret!" his mother demanded. Margaret looked to her, an apology burning in her eyes.
"A little less than a week after John slipped into a coma." She replied solemnly.
"So long ago!" His mother cried. "So long, and you never mentioned, not once!"
"I am sorry, Hannah." Margaret said softly. "I felt you had rather a lot to be dealing with, and did not want to burden you with any more troubles."
"So you felt it necessary to take those troubles on for yourself." Margaret gazed at his mother imploringly.
"I would like to know how all of this was settled." John said quietly, still feeling quite tumultuous. "Seeing as how my mother had no previous knowledge of this, and Margaret did not even know of the full charges, I will assume it never went to trial."
"No, actually." Watson said briskly. "The day the Inspector came, I was notified by the bank that I would be assuming control of your financial matters and property, because the Police revoked Margaret's right to it. I did quite a lot of digging, and brought evidence to the lead Inspector, along with quite a few eye witnesses who were in absolute outrage at their Mistress being put through such scrutiny." Watson glanced at Nicholas as he spoke, eyes practically twinkling in amusement.
"Witnesses?" Margaret asked frowning. "What witnesses?"
"Oh lass!" Nicholas exclaimed, smiling brightly at her. "Watson here brought the whole of Marlborough Mills down on him! Such a sight I'll not likely see again."
"And the Inspector, bless him," Watson said merrily. "He spoke with every last one of them. Some eighty souls if not more. We waited there all day, until he said he'd have no choice but to drop the charges based on the overwhelming evidence." Nicholas laughed outright at the memory.
"No one said..." Margaret said in a tremulous voice, eyes glistening with fresh tears.
"Oh Margaret." John's sister spoke for the first time, her voice rather high, yet completely genuine in her sentiment. "With all you have done for them, you did not think they would let their Mistress be treated unfairly did you? I have never seen a people with more respect than your workers have for you both."
"That man had no business coming here." Watson practically snarled. "I'll be making certain he does not come back. Such a shame too, seeing as how you got him in with the Police in the first place, John."
"Then I am doubly sorry for it." John replied, frowning at this new piece of information.
"There is no need for that." Margaret said imploringly. "It is hardly your doing. A great many things have taken place since he became an Inspector."
After some time had passed, Watson and Fanny left to return home. Fanny, growing further along in her pregnancy, could not stay overly long as she grew tired very quickly. She kissed John on the cheek, and with a watery smile said: "Thank you for coming back to us". His mother escorted Margaret to her old room, affording her a moment peace and a warm bath. John was alone with Nicholas, and he had questions.
"Nicholas," He began slowly. He wasn't sure that Nicholas would even want to answer his questions, but something in him told him to try. "Will you tell me what happened in the fire?"
"Didn't Mistress tell you what happened?" Nicholas replied, a dark storm brooding in his eyes. John sighed heavily.
"She did, yes. But something tells me she did not tell me all of it."
"Then why ask me?" Nicholas asked sharply. "I'll not divulge things the Mistress doesn't want known, not even to you. You're a valued friend, but Margaret had more than her fair share of trouble the last three years in Milton." Milton? What was Milton? John shook his head, clearing the fog from unknown memories.
"I am not asking that." John replied, feeling somewhat irritated by the response. "Only, I feel that Margaret gave me a rather truncated version. I did not know it was you who found me. I want to know what I was doing, why I was inside, how I became trapped, how it caught fire in the first place..." He trailed off, and Nicholas looked at him long and hard.
"It started in the sorting room." he began. "I know you don't really know what that is right now, but you'll understand in time. Seems to me that someone created an explosion in the driest part of the Mill. Explosion happened, and hundreds of flaming cotton bales were blown in every direction. The Mill didn't stand a chance, and it was covered in flames from back to front in less than three minutes. Nearly everyone was inside still, men, women, children...those that could ran for it.
"The rest of us able bodied men tried to help the trapped and injured out. It was madness inside, Master. Walls falling to pieces, people screaming for help..."
"Where was Margaret?" John asked, unable to help himself.
"As I understand it," Nicholas said. "Margaret ran into the front side of the Mill. Dug your mother out of quite a pile of rubble and dragged her to the house. My daughter found them. I'd been looking for the pair of you for some time; knew she couldn't stay out of harms way in a situation like that, and I wanted you to know that we were able to get everyone out of the Mill. I asked Margaret where you were, and she told me you'd gone into the Mill."
"So naturally everyone made it out except myself." John said. Nicholas nodded.
"Couple of men found me, told me you went into the storage room for a ladder to get them down and never came out again. So I got a group together, and we went back in after you; took two grown men to hold Margaret back from fetching you herself." Nicholas smiled fondly. "Found you under a heap of burning beams." His voice seemed to get somewhat shaky. "Legs and hands burned badly, soaked in blood, and a shard the size of a baguette sticking out of your shoulder. Had to carry Margaret out of the room once we got you in here. She was injured herself."
"What happened to her?" John asked, sounding quite a bit more breathless than he cared for.
"Pretty good gash on her face, like yours. Lots of small cuts, some burns on her hands, and a nasty deep cut on her left arm. Obviously, she suffered no lasting damage." John nodded.
"You mentioned that I was looking at you during..." He trailed off. "I was under the impression that I was sleeping for some time."
"Oh, that you were Master." Nicholas replied. "Initially, you were quite conscious. It was the next morning that was different. You had some kind of fit from the knock on the head you took. Put you to sleep for a long time, broke your leg all over again, and ripped your stitches out." John nodded slowly.
"I still don't understand why Mason so easily accused her of murder. Were the circumstances really so suspicious?" John could feel his frown deepening at the image his mind supplied of Margaret being accused. He knew it could not be a real image as he wasn't present for the confrontation, but he still wished he could have been there. He felt as though he had a crushing responsibility to understand all past events. He needed to understand them in acute detail, such as Nicholas just gave him, else he could not be on an equal level with Margaret. He needed to understand her.
"Margaret..." Nicholas began but trailed off, apparently searching for words. He seemed to be contemplating the direction of conversation, and John hoped he would not refuse the subject. "Margaret is not well liked by those in high society such as yourself." John sat up straighter, his back tense, but he did not entirely understand why. "Us common folk see her as one of our own, and we're fiercely loyal to her. Those in the middle and higher class have a very different opinion of her."
"Why?" John asked, surprised to find himself burning with guilt. Had he done something to her?
"Master, you know I cannot tell you why." Nicholas began, his tone and expression laced with an unspoken apology. "The circumstances are deeply personal to Margaret and yourself, and happened over a long period of time. It needs to come from Margaret first; when that happens, I will tell you all of my own involvement with it."
Deeply personal. In John's opinion, that could only mean he had done something to her. The poisonous guilt that coursed through him at the first mention could only be proof of that. How else could he feel guilty on instinct, with no knowledge at all of the situation? But what happened? Surely this situation would drive him mad; he needed his memories back, he needed to understand. He wanted to be the John Thornton he was before. Respected by those around him, loved by his gloriously beautiful wife, and absolutely nothing he did not understand.
"I disgraced him!"
"Yes, you disgraced him, Miss Hale! And you continue to disgrace him. Three times now you have entangled my son in you immoral, irresponsible lifestyle. Three! I have already spoken to you on this matter once before, and I believe you know how I feel about the subject."
"You cannot make her do this, Mr. Hale."
"What do you mean?"
"You cannot force her to marry me. It would destroy her. I will not take her away from the one person she has left in this world. I will not condemn her to a life unsatisfied. I could not bear it."
"Oh my God." John breathed. It felt as though his chest was caving in on itself, his view on reality seemed to shatter before him. The scene in his mind changed again, somewhere unfamiliar, and he saw Nicholas.
"Do you have any idea what sort of Hell she's being put through!"
"Higgins."
"If it were just a few harmful names, I could easily stand back and keep to myself about it. But it's more than that Master, and I'll be damned if I just stand by idly and watch her suffer because your pride is too wounded to do the right thing!"
John could feel how horribly angry he had been, how furious he was at Nicholas for being right.
"All I have every wanted is that woman's happiness! All I have every done, was done for her and her happiness! Don't you presume to know the reasons behind my actions, Higgins!"
"Today she was thrown out of the grocers shop. Now they believe that she's trying to trap you into marriage because they're destitute. No one will sell to them, and all of her father's students have resigned."
"Oh my God." John breathed, his voice snapping like a string pulled too tight.
"Master?" He heard Nicholas ask, sounding worried. He could not see, could not focus on anything. The world in front of him looked to be an indistinguishable haze.
"Tell me it is not true." John pleaded, his voice pulling as tightly as it possibly could.
"What, Master?" Nicholas' voice nearly bordered on frantic. John exhaled in a shuddering gasp of air.
"Tell me she was not forced to marry me." His vision focused, and he looked desperately to Nicholas. "Tell me I am not as horrible a person as I feel, that we wanted to marry for any other reason than that she was forced, please Nicholas! Tell me these memories do not paint the entire story." The pitiable expression on Nicholas' face told John all he needed to know. He cut off the response before it came, he could not bear to hear the truth of it spoken aloud.
"I remember you being so angry with me."
"Master-"
"You asked if I knew what kind of hell she was going through. And that other man, her father...I begged him not to force her to marry me. I told him it would destroy her. I was right, wasn't I?"
"Master you do not understand!" Nicholas exclaimed, seeming desperate.
"Did you mean what you said then?" John asked, voice hard.
"What I said when?" Nicholas asked.
"That day you were angry with me. When you said you could not watch her suffer because my pride was too wounded to do the right thing."
To John, it almost felt like the world rested in this one moment, balanced precariously on whatever answer Nicholas gave him. Women were only forced to marry for two reasons: either the parent wanted to secure the wealth of the proposed groom, or their reputation had been compromised by the proposed groom. From what little his memory gave him...he could not have compromised her. He could not be such a person. That could not be who he was, what he was beneath everything. He could not be such a man of dishonor, to defile and take what he wanted with such utter disregard of the wants of another, without consideration of the consequences. How could he be such a man? He loved Margaret without understanding why. Was it simply that he had forced his love upon her, without giving any regard to her own affection?
"Yes." Nicholas said, resigned. "I meant every word I said that day."
"Then I really did destroy her." John replied, finality coating his voice. Even then he knew it would destroy her. Margaret had told him it only mattered for him to remember why he loved her. His mother told him he would have to find out for himself if she loved him in return. This must be the reason why. He ruined her reputation, and forced a marriage between them that she did not desire. In his memories, he heard his mother telling Margaret that she had disgraced John, but it could only be the reverse.
"No Master," Nicholas implored. "You do not understand the whole story, you do not know how much time has passed between these events."
"How long have we been married?" John asked, self-loathing pouring off him like a bitter waterfall. Nicholas paused, thinking hard.
"Just over a year now." He answered softly. "I had forgotten. You were still dead to the world."
"Just over a year now and no children?" Nicholas stared at him looking horrified.
"Surely if it was a marriage of such love, we would have managed to produce a child by now." Nicholas' horrified expression only grew, and John could not fathom why he felt so. He chuckled bitterly. "Margaret told me we had a 'complicated relationship, and an even more complicated past'. I suppose this is what she meant."
"Master you have no idea what you are speaking of!" Nicholas' raised voice drew him quickly from his rather morbid train of thought. His eyes caught Nicholas', which were hard and fiery, and realized that whatever patience Nicholas had, was snapped clean through. "You see a piece, and single solitary piece of the puzzle that is your past, and assume you know what the completed picture looks like! You cannot know all of what happened between you based off of one memory! By God, man! A complicated past?! That's putting it lightly! You have no clue, no clue, what you both have gone through. Do you even remember what happened before I spoke to you? Do you remember why she was placed in a position where she had no choice but to marry you?" John shook his head, feeling far too dejected to be guilty at the moment.
"The only person who can answer those questions is Margaret." Nicholas continued, taking a ragged breath. "You cannot answer them on your own, and I swear to you now-" he stepped forward and pointed harshly in John's direction. "-if you continue to try...you will destroy her. She has given everything for you. She has done more for you than you can possibly fathom, and you should thank God every day that she bears your last name! You say you love her? Then damn well prove it, and ask her these things yourself!" John stared at him unseeing as his words pierced home. So lost in thought he was, that he did not see Nicholas sigh before donning his hat and quitting the room. He sat in silence for an unknown length, hating himself for being so rash.
He had not wanted his memories back as badly as he did in that moment. While he desperately searched for answers within himself to the point of an intense throbbing, he was almost afraid of what he would find out. More specifically, what he would find out about himself. He had felt so certain of his own character until this moment, that he was a good and honorable man. Now however, he did not know, and it felt as though the entire world had tipped. As though he were an unknowing participant in a play, and the curtain raised to expose the fictional aspect of what made him John Thornton.
There was nothing else for it. He would have no choice but to make Margaret tell him of how they came to be together. Of what their 'complicated past' entailed. He would finally understand.