Hey, I know this was a bit later than planned, my bad, but I wanted to hang out with my hubby on Valentine's Day, especially since he has been so supportive of my writing. Thanks a million for all the very kind, detailed and encouraging comments on the previous chapter, hugely appreciated! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. I have genuinely been up all night editing it, it's now 7:45am where I am. It has been a long journey, but we are finally almost home.

I've had a couple of comments about the pacing of my dialogue scenes wondering why they are so drawn-out, in other words, slow. That is a fair question. The simple answer is that I like experimenting with different styles, and I wanted to try working with a script-like feel in this story, so that readers can hopefully feel like they're in the room with the characters. Also, with this conversation in particular, because Mrs Hale is so timid out-with her family and Mr Thornton is so private, then this conversation was naturally going to take time to build up, so the pace felt realistic to me. I don't know if my dialogue style in this story works or not, we all have our own opinions, but it's just an experiment.

Lastly, I've published an article about fanfiction during Covid19, so if you want to read it, then you can access it via my Twitter or FB.


CHAPTER 28:

NO MORE MISUNDERSTANDINGS

PART 3 OF 3

Mrs Hale clasped a hand to her heart.

She felt her pulse quicken as she listened to its relentless thrum, knowing all too well that soon, too soon, the beat of that steady drum would stop, call it a day, and she would cease to be no more.

It was a harrowing reality.

That is why this, here, now, this very conversation, that is why it was so critical.

Hearts, you see, they should never be taken for granted, because once broken, they cannot be mended, they cannot be made whole again, no matter what people may say.

Mrs Hale felt her energies waning and her weakening body begin to sag against the pillows, but she could not stop now, not when she was so close, not when Margaret would be home in twelve minutes and she and Mr Thornton would be reunited for better or for worse.

Mrs Hale peered at the persecuted man in front of her, a man who despite his innate strength of character, body, and conscience, found himself in such a wretched prison of despair.

The poor, silly boy.

John hung his head in shame.

Mrs Hale shook hers. It really was terribly simple. 'You were scared,' she said softly.

After a pause, John nodded, his head hardly moving, weighed down by the warren of merciless thoughts that dwelt in his mind as unwelcome tenants.

'But it was not because you were scared that she would say no,' Mrs Hale guessed.

John's gaze slowly lifted to meet hers, and she saw the wretchedness that hounded him, writhing inside him like a demon, trapped, a spawning leech of self-loathing that he could not rid himself of. John did not need to say anything, his silence spoke a thousand words, each one a vicious slur on his character. He was staggered at how often Mrs Hale hit the nail squarely on the head. John was feeling guilty for having initially written her off as being an insipid and withering woman of little consequence, when in fact, her astuteness was abundant.

'Oh, Mr Thornton,' Mrs Hale sighed sympathetically, a snivel tingling her dainty nose. 'You were scared that Margaret would say yes.'

My-oh-my! It was incredible. Just to think, a man could have everything and still feel that he was nothing. He could be rich, healthy, industrious, the world his oyster, yet he could still feel utterly worthless when he laid his heart at the feet of the woman he worshipped.

Mrs Hale ran her fingers along the spine of her Bible, glancing at the chapter that lay open before her. She smiled. God was good! He had given her the encouragement and guidance she needed, and this divine passage of scripture now afforded her the courage and conviction she required to continue with the conclusion of this most decisive and delicate conversation.

Mrs Hale found that her throat had dried, the spittle in her mouth no doubt being sucked into the air as she had gasped and gaped at Mr Thornton mere moments before. She really must caution herself against any further impropriety, the mother now beginning to appreciate from whom her daughter had inherited her indecorous traits. After swallowing thickly, she licked her reedy lips before venturing to speculate what lay at the heart of Mr Thornton's insecurity, the reason why he had failed to tell Margaret the truth, which was that he had passionately wanted her, no, needed her, from the moment he had met her. She now knew why Mr Thornton had stayed away all this time, why he had not confessed to Margaret that with an unrelenting and unrivalled devotion, that he had loved her, that he did love her, and that he would continue to love her until the day he died.

'If she said yes and you married, you were scared that Margaret would find you wanting. And then, no matter how desperately you tried, you could not make your wife happy,' Mrs Hale whispered, her soul weeping for him. 'You believed that you would spend the rest of your life fervently and faithfully loving a woman who would never, and who could never, love you in return.'

Sand filtered through the hourglass of time as the two people in the room came to terms with this devastating revelation, the uncompromising tempo of the tick-tock of the clock the only sound that penetrated the silence that stifled the atmosphere.

'Yes,' John admitted at last, his voice as quiet as can be, his forehead resting on his strong arm, which still reclined on the mantel. 'At first, I was simply afraid that she would not want to know me. The thing is…I have no idea of what a man is supposed to say to a woman, of what he should do when he feels drawn to her as I did to Miss Hale. I read constantly, but the books I study teach me about tangible matters, facts, figures, but nothing as unquantifiable as feelings. I am a dull dog, you see. I can talk endlessly about commerce and the law, but if you ask me to conceive, manufacture if you will, sweet words by which to woo a young lady, then I have nothing in my repertoire. I am inexperienced and unqualified in the art of courting, meaning that I felt horribly incompetent every time I was around Miss Hale, a state of ineptitude that I was not accustomed to,' John scorned, scratching the bristles of his jaw, a shadow of dark hair forming there.

'It drove me mad with frustration. I believe it was that irritation, that taunting impression of failure that made me so irascible, so ready to quarrel with her at every turn. I was never displeased with her; how could I be when Miss Hale was, is, so lovely in every way? No, I was riled by my own shortcomings, I was angry with myself for being so pathetic. Where I only ever wished to admire your daughter, to praise her, I found myself chastising and critiquing her, but not because of any fault on her part, but because of my own accursed inadequacy in the face of her perfection! She unravels me,' John laughed privately. 'Her inherent majesty is darned infuriating in its magnificence.'

As John spoke, he noticed a framed picture sitting prominently on a small writing desk. Leaning nearer to inspect the miniature, he spied that it was an oil-painting, nothing extravagant, merely a modest portrait. Nonetheless, it was the most charming piece of art he had ever seen, and it thrilled him, his heart tingling as it pulled him closer. The subject was a young woman, a girl really, a blossoming beauty. She sat in a luscious green field surrounded by vibrant wildflowers, the skirts of her pale-pink dress billowing around her, making her look like a petal herself. She was petite, poised, pleasing on the eye, incredibly darling. Her chestnut curls flowed long and free, spilling over her porcelain shoulders, which peeked out coyly from the sleeves of her feminine gown. With twinkling eyes, she smiled warmly up at him, and in return, John smiled back.

Reaching out a tentative finger, one which itched to touch her, John tenderly caressed her blushing cheek. Good God! ─ what he would give to have that picture. For a split second, John contemplated stealing it, but then he thought better of his thieving foolishness, he was a magistrate after all. But Lord save him, John knew that he would willingly sell his soul to the Devil to have that angel smile at him like that, once, just once.

John wondered what he would have been doing in his life when this was being painted. He guessed that it was around four years ago, give or take, so that would make him roughly twenty-six. He would have been at the mill, working, striving to build his business, obsessing over profit and loss, supply and demand, import and export, inflation and tax. It was unbelievable! How could he have been fixated with such meaningless matters when she, this sweet creature was only eight hours away by train, sitting on the grass, laughing, smiling, his glorious girl? Even although he had only known her for seven short months, John could hardly recall his world before Margaret Hale, and now that he knew she existed, if he lost her completely, it would be like all the joy had been ripped from his life. He would never know purpose nor pleasure again; he would only know excruciating pain in their parting as she was torn from him forever.

John tried to discern the name of the artist which had been scrawled sloppily in the corner of the composition. What was that it said? John scrunched up his eyes. Fre…no, never mind, he could not make out the rest.

Wrenching his eyes from the mesmerising portrait, John continued with his homily, his baritone timbre husky. 'She is so magnificent!' he breathed, the whisper leaving his lips in reverence. 'And I was, am, so uninteresting and underwhelming in contrast. How could I possibly sustain her interest, her respect, or her affection for five minutes, let alone throughout fifty years of marriage? I had this image of her laughing at me if I even tried to so much as compliment her appearance or attributes. I thought that she would tell me that she did not like me, that she found my interest in her offensive. It turns out that I was right,' he scoffed derisively, a scowl troubling his features.

'But if I stayed quiet, then there was still hope. It…it sounds ludicrous, but it was like a fantasy, this idea that Miss Hale could still say yes, that there was a chance she might want me just as much as I craved her,' John admitted tautly, his teeth skimming his knuckles which he had raised to his chin. 'But I knew that if I asked her, then the spell of delusion and desire would be broken, and I would have to face the reality of her disregard,' he agonised.

Mrs Hale nodded in understanding. Oh dear! The course of true love never did run smooth.

'But you are right,' John assented. 'My fears soon changed and curdled into something far uglier. It was one thing having her reject me as Miss Hale, but…as my wife…I could not stand to disappoint her. To have her wake up every day and regret the ring on her finger. To feel her recoil at my touch. To see her eyes look past me, hollow with hopelessness. To hear her wince every time her name was coupled with my own,' John went on, his face contorted with misery at the thought of such a discontented union.

'To want to devote myself to her in every conceivable way, but for her to despise me. No, I could not do that to her or to myself. I just…I didn't want to let go of that hope,' John explained lamely, suddenly feeling more pitiful than ever. 'So yes, you are right, I was scared that if Miss Hale were ever to say yes and become my wife, then I would inevitably ruin her life. I would resign her to an existence where she was loved, so very much, but in turn, she would find herself incarcerated in a contract of companionship in which she could never learn to love me in return. And now that I have asked her, I have done just that, my hope is gone, and I was right to be fretful, for I have let Miss Hale down already in so many ways,' John concluded, dropping into his chair in defeat.

Mrs Hale's heart bled for him. It did not sound ridiculous, not one bit.

'You should have told her,' Mrs Hale advised gently. 'I sympathise with your fears, Mr Thornton, truly I do, but nonetheless, you should have told Margaret how you felt long ago.'

'I know,' was all John said in reply, his bleary eyes staring off into the distance, most likely to that idyllic Helstone meadow many miles away. There, he could see a man sitting in his shirt and waistcoat, a stray stem of grass in his hand, which he used to trace a tickling path along someone's neck, a woman who wore a pink dress and lay in his sturdy arms. Wrapped in each other's intimate embrace, the couple smiled contentedly at each other, their noses rubbing, their lips brushing, the sun shining down on them, kissing their skin.

'I wish I had!' he sniffed, the sheen of tears wetting his orbs. 'She still would have said no, but I would have done the right thing by her in being honest. At least then, she would not have been able to reproach me. Miss Hale could not have misinterpreted my proposal as being motivated by obligation; she would have known that my feelings were sincere. If I had not squandered her good opinion before, then there is no doubt that I have forfeited it now. After all that I have done, Miss Hale will not wish to become my Mrs Thornton, of that I am certain,' he predicted pessimistically.

Mrs Hale stretched out a hand and patted his with heartfelt compassion, the simple gesture speaking for itself.

Scuffing his feet on the floor in self-consciousness, John mumbled: 'I got her a ring.'

Mrs Hale's face lit up.

'A ring?' she cooed.

John nodded and reached into his breast pocket. Retrieving the small blue-velvet box, he stroked it between his fingers tenderly. It looked rather funny, his large digits effortlessly encircling something so tiny. With the air of a small child showing someone his most prized possession, John passed it to Mrs Hale.

On opening the case, the mother's heart melted. 'It is perfect,' she applauded, her words floating out of her in hushed awe. After looking at her companion for permission, she took the ring out of the box with delicate care. Mrs Hale studied the simple gold band with its solitary sapphire and modest spattering of pearls and diamonds, each stone winking at her in the flickering candlelight. It was at that moment, as the sickly woman glanced at her own rings, that she had a thought, an inspiration…but never mind that now, such sentiments could wait for another day.

In response to her compliment, John coloured, pleased as punch that she approved. If Mrs Hale liked it, then hopefully that would mean somebody else might just too, the very person whose slender finger he had dreamed of placing it on. 'I saw it and I just knew that it was the right ring for her,' John grinned, although, he would not be admitting to his trip to Helstone, not just yet. There was only one person he wished to talk to about that. He had a yellow rose for her, preserved in a book, and the mill master privately fantasised about combing his fingers through her silken hair and placing the flower behind her ear, before gently kissing her lobe.

'I would have looked for something with yellow, I know it is her favourite colour, but the blue…well, it made me think of her eyes. And the shape, the style…the design was unusual yet elegant…just like her,' John blushed, appreciating that he knew nothing about jewellery, only hoping that his taste was to Margaret's liking. The ring was for her after all, not him.

'Hmm, yes,' Mrs Hale replied inattentively, still examining the bauble. 'How do you know Margaret's favourite colour is yellow? Did she tell you?' she asked absently, thinking that of all the things Margaret and Mr Thornton might have spoken about during their brief acquaintance, her preferred colour seemed unlikely in its arbitrariness.

John coughed. 'Oh! I don't recall. I think ─ emm ─ well ─ ehh ─,' he stuttered, trying frantically not to let slip about his recurrent dreams. Mrs Hale may have been supportive thus far, but John had a feeling that confessing to romanticising about Margaret waking up in his bed each morning whilst still a maiden would be a step too far in the direction of inexcusable impropriety.

However, as Mrs Hale paused and pondered, it was her who saved John from his babbling explanation. 'You purchased this before you had even asked her? Was that wise?'

'No!' John jeered, shoving his hands in his pockets. 'But it is of no matter. It made no difference then, and it makes no difference now. Miss Hale is the only woman I have ever wanted to marry and the only woman I will ever consider making my wife. That ring is hers whether she wants it or not,' he decreed matter-of-factly, nodding towards the trinket resting in Mrs Hale's hands as if to signify that the family should keep it.

Well, that changed everything, thought Mrs Hale. There was now no question that the mill master had fully intended to ask Margaret to marry him after all. It had nothing to do with that tiresome riot. Goodness! The mother could not wait until her daughter heard this romantic admission from Mr Thornton's own lips. All she could think of now was the idea of him sliding the ring onto Margaret's finger. How thrilling! The mother wondered how Mr Thornton would proffer his proposal. Would he stand? Sit? Kneel? What words would he employ? There were so many engaging, (pun intended), options to choose from. She only hoped that he remained sweet and sensitive in his manner, not reverting to his typically stern self, no ─ no, that would not do at all. However, Mrs Hale knew one thing for sure, she jolly well hoped he would stop dithering and get on with it, preferably asking Margaret for her hand before the night was out.

There was an interval of stillness between them as they both silently admired the ring, each imagining it resting on Margaret's pretty hand, the symbolic band witnessing so many wonderful moments in her life. They each envisioned Margaret adorning it the day she married, the day she gave birth to her first babe, the days she herself watched her own children walk down the aisle, each of them self-assured in their understanding of love, having grown up with parents who personified it every day of their marriage.

Then, after a while, John quietly enquired: 'You…you said that Miss Hale regretted what she said…when I tried to ask her to marry me.'

Mrs Hale closed the box and handed it back to John. Taking a deep breath, she gazed at him kindly. 'You have to understand that Margaret has endured a great deal in recent months, Mr Thornton. Her cousin, who was like a sister to her married, meaning that her closest companion now had a new life, a new role as a wife and mother, something which Margaret cannot yet quite comprehend herself. She then left London, the place that had been her home for most of her life, and a family who she was arguably closer to than her father and I. Our daughter then came back to Helstone, a stable home that she adored, thinking that she was finally settled. But as soon as Margaret felt secure, her father announced that we were moving, pulling the rug out from under her feet. He took us to a new city, far away, a town that was different to anything she has ever known, and where the customs and expectations were foreign to a girl who has really seen very little of the world. Margaret has had to contend with considerable change, and I, for one, am proud of how well she has coped given the complex circumstances.'

John listened attentively to everything that Mrs Hale said. It was all true, and yet, he had not fully appreciated the great weight that Margaret had carried on her young shoulders these past few months. God! – she was incredible!

'And amidst all this chaotic uncertainty, she met a man who stirred feelings in her that she had never experienced before,' Mrs Hale went on, noticing the way John's ears pricked. 'What you need to understand about Margaret, Mr Thornton, is that she is not like other young women. She has not been taught how to encourage or accept a man's attentions. For all her poise and pride, she is in fact terribly innocent. Margaret's aloofness and animosity towards you, it was not born of hostility, but because she was deeply confused and at odds with herself,' the mother explained, keen that John should fathom the motivation behind Margaret's mask of antipathy.

John absorbed this. Yes, had Margaret not said it herself? "I am sorry…to be so blunt…I have not learnt how to...how to refuse. How to respond when a man talks to me as you just have."

John felt a spasm of guilt scrunch his abdomen, aggravating the muscles there. Oh, Margaret! Sweetheart! How he had wronged her!

'For the first time in her life, she met a man who stoked strange feelings within her, feelings that she did not recognise. And yes, let us be honest, Margaret had warned herself that she should not like you. A man who is in trade, a man who intimidates his workers, a man who is not driven by compassion but by commerce. You were like nobody she had ever met before. Margaret could not understand what she felt for you or why she did. So, when you asked her to join you in matrimony, to give herself to you so wholly as your wife, she was overwhelmed. And, in her panic, she rebelled. But not against you, Mr Thornton, no, it was against herself, because she was frightened,' Mrs Hale described. 'No, she was not frightened of you,' the mother clarified, discerning the concerned look on his face. 'No, Margaret was frightened of acknowledging what you had come to mean to her. And now…well, now she thinks you do not love her.'

John's head snapped up, and he felt his heart constrict as if a fist were clenching it tightly. 'How can she think that?!' he cried. 'After everything that has passed between us? Surely, she must know how I feel! How could Mar ─ Miss Hale think she does not matter to me?!'

Fixing him with a grim gaze, Mrs Hale decided to be blunt. 'Because you told her so.'

John gulped.

Maintaining her unsmiling expression, Mrs Hale persisted with her admonishment. 'You told my daughter that she means nothing to you, that you were relieved that she had said no to your offer, and that you would not be renewing your attentions.'

John flinched as if burnt, his mind screaming out at the recollection of his atrocious lies. 'I know,' he whispered.

'That was despicable!' she rebuked; her tone pitiless. 'You should be ashamed!'

'Do you not think I know that?!' John nipped, his head drooped like a dog who had been flicked on the nose and punished. 'Believe me when I say that I will never forgive myself!'

Mrs Hale clicked her teeth. 'But you did not mean it?'

'No!' he breathed, horrified that she could think he had. 'Of course not!'

John could not bear it. Is this what Margaret had been thinking? His poor darling! He had assumed that his sentiments may have offended her or that his tone had shaken her, he could understand that. But he had not considered for a moment that she had taken his words to heart. He assumed that she, clever creature that she was, would have seen right through his charade of indifference. God! – he was a fiend!

Mrs Hale continued to study him. 'But you said it because of the letter?'

'Yes,' he sighed, rubbing at his brow. That damned letter!

She nodded. 'You were hurt. You were jealous. You were heartbroken.'

'Yes.'

'Then you need to tell Margaret the truth. You owe her that much.'

John shook his head despondently. Oh! ─ how he wished he could speak with Margaret! He felt his legs shake uncontrollably, desperate for him to soar from his chair and disappear from the room, so that he could search the house from top to bottom until he found her. But no, it was no use, it was not that simple. 'She will not want to hear it,' he groaned.

Mrs Hale tilted her head. 'Why?'

John let out a scornful growl. 'I have abused her trust. I shouted at her. I lied to her. I scared her. I made her cry,' he went on, counting his crimes on his hand. 'If that list is not enough, then I can go on and on. No, she will not want to see me. I cannot ask her to speak with me, to listen to my inadequate apologies. It is not fair on her,' he determined, folding his arms across his broad chest. 'If a man had treated my daughter so indefensibly, then I would horsewhip him,' he muttered.

'Well, yes, I shall certainly bear that punitive possibility in mind, sir,' Mrs Hale joked, if not a tad curtly, for she was not ready to forgive him so easily. 'But yes, it is indeed conceivable that Margaret will refuse to grant you an audience,' Mrs Hale agreed judiciously. 'But then again…I did not have you down as a coward, Mr Thornton.'

John bristled at this and scowled. 'I am not!' he snarled.

'Really?' Mrs Hale puffed, raising her eyebrows. 'Faint heart, Mr Thornton, faint heart. If you truly love her, then you will tell her how you feel. Ask her again,' she advised.

John sat forward in his chair and stared at Mrs Hale; his face etched with uncertainty. He studied her as if she were a painting he was trying to interpret. 'Do you really give me your blessing to ask your only daughter to marry me?' he asked disbelievingly. 'After all I have done? After all I have said? After all my mistakes?'

Mrs Hale did not need to consider her verdict. 'Yes,' she answered with complete simplicity. 'Mr Thornton, you have made mistakes, but you are not a bad man,' she settled. 'You are not wicked; you are simply human. We all let ourselves down at times. All I need to know is that you will never truly hurt her. I could not give my precious Margaret away to a man who would cause her to suffer. I know men have such rights in marriage,' she said sadly, 'but no woman deserves that, least of all my gentle girl.'

'Hurt her?!' John repeated as if the very notion were foreign to him, his own voice strangled. 'Never!' he protested most vehemently. 'I would never lay a violent finger on your daughter!'

Mrs Hale sucked her teeth. 'You have a temper,' she reminded him frankly, not prepared to mince her words on this grave matter.

John was taken aback. 'Aye, I do!' he conceded readily. 'But do you know why I love Miss Hale? It is because she challenges me. She makes me want to be a better man. Nobody has ever made me feel like she does, not in all my life. She keeps me on my toes. When I am with her, I feel calmer, more content, more compassionate. I know that she can help teach me how to overcome my temper. I cannot lie, I will not pretend that we will never argue or that I will never be difficult. Disputes are inevitable between two such strong-willed people who do not like to back down. I imagine that she will frequently consider me tenacious to the point of distraction. It would be a falsehood to pretend otherwise. But I know that I do not want my temper to ruin my tenderness for her, and if I have to work at it every day for the rest of my life, then so be it!' he vowed passionately. 'Besides, I have recently decided that I shall never use my fists again to express my displeasure, not for anything. I do this for her, you understand, because I cannot bear her disappointment in me.'

Even although she kept a sober countenance, Mrs Hale was enjoying the master's speech immensely, for she had noted a key shift in his phrasing. Where before Mr Thornton's wording had shown that he considered the prospect of marriage to Margaret as a mere farfetched fantasy, he now kept saying, "will," to describe their future life together. As far as Mrs Hale was concerned, this telling use of terminology implied that in his mind, Mr Thornton was finally beginning to accept the possibility that he in fact might, just might, be able to take Margaret as his lawfully wedded wife.

However, unfortunately, John was not so encouraged. No, on the contrary, he was devastated! First, Mrs Hale had warned him against betraying her daughter, but now he was being warned against brutality as well? It was too much for his sense of honour to suffer.

Thinking back on his nauseating conversation with old Mr Whitehall, John said with absolute certainty: 'I would do ─ no, I will do everything in my power to safeguard your daughter's welfare, to look after her when you are gone, whether she is my wife or not. But I assure you, Miss Hale does not need protected from me, not now, not ever!'

Mrs Hale listened to this and nodded. 'That is fair,' she resolved. 'That is honest. And Margaret is not perfect herself, nobody is. Lord in Heaven knows she has a temper of her own!' Mrs Hale sighed, thinking back on all the slammed doors, stomped foots, and sulks that her daughter had been the source of over the years.

'I agree, Mr Thornton, I do not believe that your outburst over the letter was a sign of malice. I think you were most likely overwrought by the demands that burden you and, in that instant, you probably felt all of your hopes had been trampled. You lashed out in the heat of the moment; it happens. I do not condone your fit of temper, but I do understand it,' she decreed. 'I do not think you are a cruel man, Mr Thornton, but I will say that if Margaret's family were ever to discover that she had been mistreated, then they would not hesitate to remove her from her husband's home,' she cautioned, thinking on how Fred would react if he ever learnt that a man had harmed a hair on his sister's head. He would sail back to England at once, in defiance of his exile to whisk Margaret away, noose or no noose threatening his neck.

'I should expect no less!' John replied without a qualm.

If truth be told, then Mrs Hale was not genuinely concerned that Mr Thornton would misuse her daughter in any way. Indeed, for if that had been the case, then she, a loving mother, would not have countenanced supporting their union for a moment. However, after spending many years as a parson's wife, she could not count the number of women who had turned up on her doorstep, tears streaming down their faces, each bruised either inside or out by the viciousness of their husbands. Mrs Hale had found that in many cases it was young women, women who had married a man who seemed gentle and generous on first acquaintance, but now that she was legally his, behind closed doors, in the place of pretty promises of love everlasting, she found herself the victim of unspeakable acts of violence. With no laws to protect her, she remained her husband's prisoner that he could abuse as he pleased.

No, Mrs Hale did not believe that Mr Thornton was such a man, but one could never know, and he was clearly an extremely powerful specimen when it came to both his physique and personality. All the same, despite her trust in the integrity of his honour, Mrs Hale felt it her solemn duty to remind Mr Thornton that such atrocities would not be tolerated when it came to Margaret Hale.

Mrs Hale was roused from her thoughts as she heard her guest enquire: 'Mrs Hale, I have to know: where is your daughter tonight? And your husband for that matter? I have been here for near enough an hour and we have not heard or seen another soul since I entered this room.' John's eyes flitted to the door, a mixture of longing and trepidation gleaming in them.

Mrs Hale turned to him; her eyes dazed with sleepiness, the trials of the day taking their toll on her. 'Oh, they are out. My husband is at a literary lecture, and Margaret, she is visiting a new-born baby,' Mrs Hale responded truthfully.

However, thinking on this, Mrs Hale impulsively decided to broach another topic. 'She will want children. Will you?' It was a forward question, she knew, but then again, forthrightness had been the underlying tone of this entire interview thus far. What was more, Mrs Hale refused to apologise for seeking happiness for her daughter, not when she had such little time left to offer Margaret her guidance and support.

John had been distracted at first, preoccupied in picturing his lovely Margaret holding a baby with jet-black hair in her arms, whilst also being depressed that she was not even in the house, so there was now no chance that he would be able to see or speak to her this night. Nonetheless, on heeding Mrs Hale's words, John startled, shocked by the directness of her intimate question.

'Of course!' he reacted without hesitation. 'I had never really thought about children before I met Miss Hale. But now, I find myself often thinking about the family we could have had,' he admitted, more to himself than to his companion.

Mrs Hale was grateful for Mr Thornton's enthusiastic response. She knew that Margaret wished to have her own family. She smiled, what a natural mother her daughter would make. Still, Mrs Hale was certainly well-acquainted enough with the marriage bed to know that men and women had little say over if and when they conceived a child, especially if their union was passionate and regular. Nevertheless, she also knew that some husbands denied their wives' the right to have a family. Indeed, she thought of her poor sister Shaw, who had once confided that her own husband, a man disinterested in children, had permitted her Edith, but after that, his attentions had been fleeting and carefully arranged in such a way that they would not be blessed with a second babe. No, Mrs Hale could not abide such a fate for Margaret, but listening to Mr Thornton, she felt confident that he would be an affectionate husband, and, in time, a father, and the picture in her mind of her daughter cradling her own baby in her arms only seemed to grow in clarity.

In fact, what Mrs Hale did not know, was that by the end of the year, Margaret really would have her own little one, a darling daughter no less. The sweet cherub would have her mother's hair and nose, and her father's eyes and chin, a real beauty, the apple of her parent's eye. But sadly, for Mrs Hale, she would never meet her precious granddaughter, nor the other fourteen of her grandchildren that Fred and Margaret would welcome into the world after she had departed it. Perhaps it was better she did not know, for such a divination would have tugged her between two opposing poles of gladness and grief, the strain of which would have been too much for her heart to bear.

However, Mrs Hale was stirred from her thoughts as she distantly heard Mr Thornton unexpectedly announce: 'I cannot leave Milton.'

Mrs Hale blinked, unsure of the relevance of his statement. 'Leave Milton? I had not thought you would be leaving. Why should you?'

'Miss Hale will not want to live here. She abhors Milton,' he moaned. 'I have seen where she gre ─,' John halted his tongue yet again. He was about to say that he had seen where she had grown up, to confess that he had visited that little corner of paradise. He almost said that he worried that after being born and raised in such a charming and peaceful haven, that she would not wish to live in a harsh outpost like Milton, the murky underbelly of industrial England.

However, John soon amended his case. 'I have thought about this often. I could acquire a house away from the mill and possibly move to the nearby countryside if it pleased her. But as much as I would relocate if she wanted it, I would need to go back and forth, and I would hate to be separated from her or our children like that. No, I would need to spend most of my time here, in Milton. It is my life and livelihood. And if I am truthful, I do not think I would be the same man without it.'

'Goodness!' Mrs Hale tittered. 'You have thought a great deal about it.'

'Well, yes,' John granted. 'Her happiness is my constant consideration, my foremost priority.'

Mrs Hale chuckled to herself. 'As the book of Ecclesiastes says: The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. Yes, perhaps Margaret is not used to Milton, but that does not mean that she cannot learn to feel at home here. Believe me, Mr Thornton, I know what it is like to marry a man who lives in a world that is different to everything I have ever known. But if you love someone and truly wish to spend your life with them, then trust me, you will follow them to the ends of the earth,' she advocated.

Then, as an afterthought, she tallied: 'Besides, she likes your house.'

John thought he might need to clean out his ears. 'What?' he gasped, gawking like an idiot. 'Miss Hale said that?'

'Yes, I asked her once. She has been to your house, you see, and I have not. I was curious. I asked her what she thought of it.'

'And what did she say?' he interrogated, a tad too eagerly.

Mrs Hale chortled. 'Margaret said that she liked it,' she encouraged, amused by the astonished look spilling across his face. 'She offered various compliments if I remember correctly. I recall asking her if she found the noise of the mill rowdy or disturbing, but to my surprise she said no.'

'No?!' John spat out, now certain that his hearing was faulty. It must be the result of working for so many years alongside boisterous machines.

'Indeed. She said that she found being able to watch the busy life of the mill from your windows quite exhilarating. I think the word she used was, "fascinating," when describing it all. In fact, Margaret even went as far as to say that she wished she could sit and study the comings and goings of the mill yard for hours. As a matter of fact, I half recollect her mentioning something about observing you, if I am not mistaken,' Mrs Hale casually threw in, once again entertained by his staggered expression.

'She said that you, "caught her eye," I think. I believe she described you as, "impressive,' as you went about your business. To be sure, Mr Thornton, I rather think that you will find that Margaret considers your world of cotton and commerce riveting rather than repellent. I do say, your esteemed mill has a master, so why not give it a mistress too?' Mrs Hale giggled.

John was rendered speechless. Could it be that she…could Margaret be happy…here…in Milton…at Marlborough Mills…with him?

'Oh, and she said she liked the jade green wallpaper and gold edging, whatever that means,' Mrs Hale added as she picked at a straggly fingernail, unsure of whether the comment was relevant or not.

John glanced up and gaped. Jade green wallpaper? Gold edging? But the only room in the house that had that was…John choked. No! How? It could not be!...

…Could it?

Stealing a quick peek at her bedside clock, Mrs Hale stifled a gasp. Goodness! – six minutes! So, thinking on her final area of concern, she spluttered: 'She will need to be herself.'

John was lost in his musings, still engrossed with imagining his house filled with his and Margaret's family. He envisioned the delight of waking up beside a sleepy Margaret every morning, his beloved wife soft and sweet as she yawned and stretched to greet the day. He thought of her sitting by his side at the breakfast table, their fingers brushing as they passed the butter and coffee pot. Their smiles, their blushes, their kisses. If she was as beautiful first thing in the day as he pictured her in his dreams, then he wondered how on earth he was ever supposed to tear his eyes from her. Then, as he left for the mill, John would turn and Margaret would reach up onto her tiptoes to kiss him a fond farewell, but as their lips touched, they would feel a knocking of limbs moving about between them. Grinning, both husband and wife would peer down to see their brood of Thornton pups, all running about, as merry as can be.

But on hearing his hostess's question, John turned to offer her his fleeting attention. 'What do you mean?'

Mrs Hale's face grew graver than it had been all evening. 'You and I both know that Margaret is...well, she is Margaret. She is wilful. She is opinionated. She is abrupt. She does not care a fig for convention. She will not dangle herself on your arm at parties like an ornament and smile and nod like a doll. She will respect you. She will support you. She will devote herself to you. But no matter what, she will always be Margaret,' Mrs Hale counselled.

'She is a rare bird and many a husband would wish to strip Margaret of her independent ways, to clip her wings. It is all very well saying you appreciate her now, Mr Thornton, but I assure you, marriage is not easy. When it comes down to it, most men do not like to be challenged, especially by their wives. It is one thing to admire Margaret from a far, but if you marry her, could you really allow her to be herself without restraint? To have her own points of view? Her own feelings? Her own pursuits? Would you sanction these freedoms, even if they utterly opposed your own interests?' Would you let her carry on with her friendship with factory workers? To continue her charitable endeavours? Tell me, sir, will my dear daughter still be allowed to be herself when she becomes Margaret Thornton?'

With trembling lips, Mrs Hale confessed her greatest fear. 'I beg you, Mr Thornton, do not ever clip her wings!'

Mrs Hale shivered, and a flood of tears began to roll down her cheeks, the droplets dripping onto the pages of her open Bible.

This time, it was John's turn to take Mrs Hale's hand. In that instant, his heart was overcome by a need to reassure this ailing lady, the mother of the woman he loved more than anything, that all would be well. Mrs Hale was relying on him; she was putting Margaret's happiness in his hands, and she needed to trust that he would look after her precious daughter after she was long gone.

Clasping her hand in his, she sniffed as she felt the warmth of his masculine grasp enveloping her cold fingers. Caressing her knobbly knuckles with his thumb, John smiled. 'Now then, why on earth would I wish to change her?' he soothed. 'If I did, then she would not be my Margaret.'

Mrs Hale gasped for air. Her soul sang with joy at hearing Mr Thornton speak her daughter's name for the first time tonight. And with God as her witness, it had never sounded so well.

Patting Mrs Hale's hand, John concluded: 'I would not want her any other way.'

Mrs Hale was mollified, and she dabbed her eyes yet again.

'But Mrs Hale,' John said cautiously, 'I cannot believe that she cares for me. Even if there is not another man, even if she regrets what she said when I asked for her hand, even if she could settle in Milton, I have hurt her beyond reparation. That letter she sent me, or rather, the letter Mr Hale sent, asking me to stay away, it spoke of a woman who wants nothing more to do with me.'

'Oh, tosh! You need not fret about that, young man!' Mrs Hale dismissed, flapping her handkerchief like a white flag of peace. 'She did not mean a word of it! No, Margaret was just overwhelmed by everything that had happened. What with you bawling at her and saying you did not care for her, followed by Margaret's realisation that she loves you, then seeing you with Miss Latimer, it was all too much for her inexperienced heart to cope with. Margaret did not ask you to stay away because she does not want to see you. Indeed, orchestrating her separation from you must have cut her to pieces and taken great courage,' she expounded, gently shaking his arm.

'No, Mr Thornton, Margaret asked you to stay away because the idea of seeing you and thinking she was nothing to you was all too painful for the poor lamb. She could not bear to pour you tea and listen to you talk about your life, knowing that she would never have a part in it. Can you imagine how you would feel being expected to see Margaret week after week, hearing about her husband and children, being informed of her blissful happiness, all the while knowing that it is not your ring on her finger or your babe in her belly? How would that make you feel?' she pushed.

'It would kill me!' John said frankly, a menacing frown on his face.

'My point exactly! It would be torture! No, dear boy, that letter about your lessons means nothing. Margaret had just had her heart broken, by you, she was not thinking straight under the strain of her grief.'

John nodded. Yes, that made sense. He could understand that. God! He had been obsessing for days about calling to see her and apologising for all that he had said and done. If only he had! If only he had not been intercepted and impeded by that damned note from Mr Hale! If it had not been for that infernal message, he would have been none the wiser, and John would have come to Margaret by now, thrown himself at her feet, and declared his love for her. Whether it was true that she cared for him or not, and he could hardly credit such a heavenly outcome, then at least he could have spared both him and her the turmoil of the past few days.

As John was thinking on this, Mrs Hale's ears pricked like a rabbit. Luckily for the mother, her hearing was excellent, and as she sat in her bed, she perceived the distant thud of the front door closing and her heart quickened. In a hurried and harassed voice, Mrs Hale turned to her guest. 'Then I ask you one more time, Mr Thornton…do you care for my daughter? And do you wish her to be your wife?'

'Yes,' John affirmed without hesitation, perplexed by the animated twinkle in her eyes.

'Then you must tell her so!' she said decisively. 'No more misunderstandings, Mr Thornton, no more!' she insisted, moving her hands in a way that indicated that a line was being drawn in the sand. 'The time for arguing, obstinacy, and false impressions is over. It is time for apologies, concessions, and openness. You have been wrong, Mr Thornton, so very wrong. You have let yourself be ruled by doubt and have permitted your insecurities to cloud your judgement, preventing you from seeing what was right in front of you all along, which is that Margaret does love you, and deep down, she always has!'

Mrs Hale heard the muffled tread of footsteps on the stairs, and they were too light to be Dixon's or Mr Hale's.

'You are a logical man, Mr Thornton. Then I bid you look at the facts before you. Margaret shielded you from danger at the riot. Margaret was distressed about her harsh words to you after she refused you. Margaret kept your gloves. Margaret was different with you two nights ago when you came to tea. Margaret was worried about whether you would find her pretty. Margaret accepted your gift of flowers gladly. Margaret baked you your favourite biscuits. Margaret tended to your hand most tenderly. Margaret told you that things could be different if you applied to her again. Margaret stayed in your arms on the stairs. Margaret offered to spend more time with you. Margaret was devastated by your verdict of indifference. Margaret was envious of your supposed attachment to another woman. Margaret has cried over you. She has, sir, made it abundantly clear that she loves you, so for pity sake! – enough! You are hers, Mr Thornton, so please, let her be yours in return!' Mrs Hale pleaded, her voice rising into a crescendo.

Mrs Hale heard the faint sound of humming, a song that she had once sung to her children in the nursery.

'Did the poet not say it himself? "Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move his aides, Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love."'

Mrs Hale heard a floorboard creak at the top of the landing.

'No more misunderstandings, Mr Thornton, you must tell her how you feel!'

'But will she be willing to listen to me?' John asked, his hearing not so finely tuned.

'I think that she will,' Mrs Hale encouraged. 'But that is not what you should be asking yourself. No, Mr Thornton, all you should ask yourself is: do you truly love Margaret?' she questioned once more, the sound of silken shoes coming from down the corridor, getting closer and closer.

'Yes! Of course I do! You know I do!' he muttered, not nearly loud enough for anyone other than Mrs Hale to overhear.

'What was that?' Mrs Hale pressed, her heart racing as she discerned the whine of the doorknob turning. 'I did not quite catch that. Old age, it comes to us all I'm afraid, my hearing was not what it once was. What did you say?'

'I love your daughter,' John repeated in a low mumble, his eyebrows knitted in scepticism at her idiosyncratic behaviour.

'Come again?!' Mrs Hale harangued, the hinges groaning as the door creaked open. 'Louder, Mr Thornton, I could not quite hear you.'

'What?! How often do I need to say it?' he carped.

But as Mrs Hale leaned in towards him, her hand theatrically placed at her ear as if to indicate her most sudden and unfathomable loss of hearing, John's thinning patience finally snapped. Soaring to his feet and with a booming voice, he declared:

'I LOVE MARGARET!'

At that moment, a strange sort of impish grin spread across Mrs Hale's face. It was crossed between a smile and a smirk, a simper perhaps. John could not understand it at first, his narrowed eyes watching her warily. But then, as he saw her gaze dart behind him, John suddenly stiffened.

Oh, help!

Veering slowly, ever so slowly, John spun round.

Oh, God!

It was as he had suspected.

They were not alone.

Standing behind him was a woman.

A woman who he would recognise anywhere.

She was frozen in place, framed by the partially opened door. Her parted lips quivering, her cheeks blushing, her glossy hair falling loosely down past her shoulders and cascading over a most enthralling dress of blue and white ─ she was a vision! She simply stood there, remained there, her chest heaving, her wide eyes fixed on him.

John could not breathe.

Bewitched, the two of them simply stared at each other for what could have been hours.

John let his eyes slowly travel over her figure from head to toe. God save him! ─ she had never looked so enchanting.

However, it was not him nor her that would break the suffocating silence that swamped them. No, it was Mrs Hale, Cupid's assistant, who had just fired her final arrow.

'Ah, Margaret, there you are, at last.'

With her gaze flitting between the awestruck lovers, Mrs Hale announced with a playful sparkle in her eyes:

'Do come in, my dear, Mr Thornton and I were just talking about you.'