A/N: Yes, almost everything in this chapter is exactly the same as it was on the first go around. But you need to read it for the ending, or else you're not going to understand the next chapter really at all. Sorry for the confusion!
-Coldie Voldie
Chapter Thirty
Margaret slept badly that night. Her head throbbed and her eyes burned. Her voice was hoarse, and her stomach was uneasy. But above all else, her chest ached and her mind raced.
What was she to do? How could she possibly fix this situation? They were destitute; they could not pay Dr. Donaldson, John would surely die without Dr. Donaldson, and without John, Margaret and Hannah would have to work very hard just to keep off the streets. True, Margaret could call upon her Aunt for help; but she very much doubted that Hannah's pride would allow her to leave Milton for any reason, and Margaret's dignity would not allow her to abandon her mother-in-law. Her heart would not allow her to leave her husband. They would remain in Milton, that much was certain. What was less certain of was how they would survive.
She felt somewhat responsible for Hannah, not that she would ever speak such words to her aloud. She did not doubt that it would seem offensive. However, John's words from a lifetime before haunted her every thought as she tried to sleep: "Now I am able to keep my mother in such comfort as her age requires…" . These were the words that plagued her with the crushing sense of responsibility towards Hannah. John had given up every personal desire to raise his family out of the gutter. To prevent his mother from ever having to work again, to keep his sister from ever knowing what it was to work for survival. Everything he was and wanted to be had all vanished in the blaze. Despite what anyone told her, she knew their marriage had caused part of their problems, and she felt entirely responsible for adding to the strain. Although in fairness it appeared that something would have eventually happened regardless of the fire. John had closed his ledger out with a negative balance after all.
How could she accomplish this? They had one hundred pounds to their name, none of which could be accessed because of the Police. Not unless John miraculously woke the following morning. All the workers, their families, and children would all be without work now and there was nothing that could be done about it. She could not make money out of nothing, and Mr. Bell had mysteriously vanished before she had the opportunity to speak to him about his property. She had none of his business contact information; no lawyers, secretaries, no bankers. She had no idea how she would even reach him if she did write. South America was an awfully long way away.
Margaret wished she was more of an optimist. She had been at one time; perhaps the eight months of solitude had robbed her of that as well. It seemed almost as if it had taken every aspect of her character that she prided herself in, and twisted it until it was no longer recognizable as what it once had been. She had never been bitter, caustic, or a pessimist. She was once lively, hopeful, and could find joy in nearly any task. As desperately as she wished she could go back to being that way, she knew she could not. She learned every day, just how far the consequences of her various actions over the past two years ran. For God's sake, she had apparently driven her husband to insanity. The bitter irony of the situation was not lost on her. She only wished that John had not suffered because if it.
There was no denying he had suffered. He had loved her far longer, possibly far deeper than she loved him; and she did love him. With every fiber of her being she loved that man. She only realized it too late. She ought to have told him the very moment she discovered it, on their wedding day. That moment, where she had first stepped into his house as Margaret Thornton. Where they had shortly afterwards gotten into a fight and she-she shuddered at the memory-had hit him.
"…Why did you marry me?" He asked her. She married him because she loved him. Even when he proposed the very first time she had been in love with him, only too naïve to see it for what it was.
'Because I love you.' She could pretend she actually had said it. She could picture the image in her head, and envisioned how those simple words could have changed the last eight months for them as she finally drifted off into sleep.
My Dearest Margaret:
I know that by the time this letter reaches you I will be gone. I cannot relay to you in words the depth of my regret for not confiding in you personally, despite that I have been planning this speech for many weeks now. I confess that the timing never seemed to fit; but I soon realized that the timing would most likely never be fitting for such news as I have. So now I will take the cowards path my dear, and tell you from afar:
I am dying. Please do try not to distress yourself too much over the news. It is after all the natural progression of life, and in my case it is completely unavoidable. Again I offer you my deepest regret for not delivering this news to you in person. My original plan was to have you and your husband join your father and myself at Oxford, where I would then explain the situation. When your father died, I admit the invitation I extended to you at his funeral was motivated by the selfish desire to say what I had to say. I can honestly say now that I am glad you did not accept it. When I finalized my remaining affairs, I decided to travel to Milton (for many reasons) and be finished with my wretched news. Alas things had only worsened for you by that time, and I could not bring myself to make it worse.
And so with a heavy heart my dear, I left you without a word. Had there been more time for me on this earth, I gladly would have stayed to assist you in any manner possible. Unfortunately I do not have the luxury of such things at the moment, and I shudder to think of the shock you would have suffered upon finding my cold corpse on a chilly Milton morning with no prior warning. That is something I do not wish for you to ever experience.
I will close in saying this: I have transferred all of my property and money to you. Everything I was, is now yours, including Marlborough Mills; as is the money that I'm certain it will require to repair it. I established a special account bearing both yours and Johns names with Mr. Latimer before I left. That cousin of yours was very helpful in arranging for the property to be transferred to you without your knowledge or presence. In fact, he will most likely forward said paperwork to you with this very letter. All you are required to do is sign the papers where indicated, and send them back.
Accept my life's work Margaret; for my sake if nothing else. Should the very worst become of Mr. Thornton, I could not leave you to destitution, not when I could do something about it. You have my house in Oxford, all my other properties, and the means to comfortably live out the rest of your days. Take advantage of it Margaret. Do not concern yourself for me; I have more than enough money to enjoy the rest of my days under the Argentine skies.
In closing my dearest, loveliest Margaret, I will say only that it has brought me great joy to have known you as well as I have. You have a beautiful soul, and remind me daily that there are times when men forget that not all pleasure is obtained through the fruits of hard labor. Sometimes it comes from watching the way another's eyes seem to light up from within when you unknowingly bring joy to them. Do not give up hope yet my dear, things will look up. It may take time, it may be hard, but things will always look up.
All my remaining love,
Adam Bell
Margaret folded the letter gently, placing it on the table beside her with a deliberately forced calmness. A calmness that she did not in any form actually feel.
"When did you receive this?" She asked her brother-in-law quietly. Mr. Harry Watson had called on her unexpectedly early in the day. He mentioned nothing of the disturbing emotional breakdown Margaret had suffered only the night before, but came bearing "news that would surely be welcome." Personally Margaret was glad that he did not mention it, for surely he must have known of it. She did what she could to suppress the memory of it and simply move on. As was the case in most difficult things, it was far easier said than done.
"That cousin of yours-Lennox, I believe-he forwarded the papers to me. They arrived yesterday." Yesterday. To think, the entirety of the events of the previous day might have been avoided had she merely thought to call upon her brother-in-law for help. A stern man he was to be sure, but he had shown Margaret a great kindness in the days following the fire. She had misjudged him most cruelly when he first came to offer his help. "Allow me to offer my condolences, Mrs. Thornton." He said softly, and upon looking up at him Margaret realized that she had given him no reply. So he must know of the contents of Mr. Bell's letter.
"Margaret." She corrected. He looked at her quizzically. "We are family, and I would be pleased if you would call me Margaret. At least while Hannah is close-it does tend to get confusing." He nodded, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you." She added, hoping he understood that it was for so much more than his offer of condolences.
"What will you do now?" Watson asked, sighing heavily as he made his way to the sofa beside her.
"Nicholas and I-"
"Nicholas?" Watson interjected, looking at her sharply.
"Nicholas Higgins." Margaret replied coolly. "I've made him a business partner of sorts." Watson suddenly seemed to be choking on air.
"That Union leader?!" He exclaimed between coughs. "Margaret, are you out of your senses?"
"Nicholas is a respected worker and trusted friend." She replied firmly. "Not only a friend of me, but a greater friend of John's. I need his knowledge if I am to succeed in reestablishing the Mill."
"I suppose he came to you at just the right time then." Watson added suspiciously. "Pray tell, how much did he ask you to pay him?" Margaret bristled angrily at his words.
"I do not see why his pay is your business." She replied lowly. Watson sighed.
"Forgive me if I've offended you." He said. "I do not know Higgins personally; and you are in a period of great strain, both emotional and physical. I merely do not want anyone taking advantage of you."
"Thank you Harry." Margaret said, feeling rather guilty for letting her anger get the better of her. He inclined his head at her. "For the record, Nicholas has asked for no increase in pay. He says he will continue on workman's wages until John wakes, at which time he will discuss money matters with him." Watson's eyebrows were in very great danger of disappearing into his hairline.
"That is very…honorable of him." He conceded. There was a pause then, during which an awkwardness began to settle between them although Margaret did not know why.
"The original plan," Margaret said, uncertain of where to begin. "Was to rebuild the Mill with a few…improvements so to speak, and employ the workers to aid in the work so that they will not be completely without wages."
"Has the plan changed since then?"
"Well," Margaret began, looking somewhat sheepishly at her hands. "Yesterday we discovered that the Mill itself had a negative balance, and in John's personal account there was scarcely one hundred pounds. We had abandoned any hope of restoration."
"None of that matters now though, I daresay." Watson said, his smile now a little broader than before. "You have become quite wealthy overnight. And although I was rather upset when John refused to join me in the speculation, I now understand that it truly was too great a risk. I believe the worst of our troubles have truly passed Margaret. When do you plan to begin the restoration?"
"That might be some trouble for me." Margaret admitted, looking fiercely at the floor. She was still quite angry about the police suspecting her as the cause of the fire.
"How so?" He asked. Margaret remained silent for a few moments.
"It was brought to my attention yesterday," She said slowly, still determinedly looking at the floor. "That I am under official investigation by the Police. And while I remain under investigation I am not allowed access to any of our joint assets."
"What on earth for?!" Watson exclaimed.
"They seemed to be under the impression that I started the fire at the Mill as part of some backhanded plan to get rid of John, and claim his fortune as my own."
"That's the most ridiculous notion I have ever heard!" He replied. To her surprise, Margaret discovered that Watson actually appeared quite angry. Indeed he looked every bit the intimidating Master he was surely portrayed as. He stood abruptly and collected his things.
"Where are you going?" Margaret asked, nonplussed.
"To speak with the Magistrate." He said tersely. Margaret opened her mouth to interject (he had no reason to drag his own respectability down for her sake), but he cut her off before she was able. "Do not deter me. This duty now belongs to me as the head of the family, and as your brother." And with that he left her, shocked and completely at loss for words. Margaret had not realized until that moment how very much she missed having a brother. Even though it was only by law, she felt her respect for both her brother and her sister grow more than she had ever believed possible. She sat quietly in the sitting room for a while, allowing the news of the last hour to wash over her.
True to his word, Watson returned not an hour later, a full smile gracing his features.
"Margaret." He greeted, his tone extremely pleased.
"What has happened?" She asked curiously.
"I have spoken to the Magistrate over the case against you." He said, coming to stand before her. She stood and looked him at him directly. "I simply told him that at the time of the fire your husband had no money to his name, and no prospect of income. He agreed that it did not make much sense for a respectable woman to set fire to her husbands Mill in the hopes of killing him and taking his money when he had no more than one hundred pounds to claim as his own. You have been cleared, and have full access to the money left to you by Mr. Bell."
Margaret could scarcely believe this. She thanked her brother-in-law, and silently thanked Mr. Bell once more for everything he had done for her.
Her heart grieved for the loss of her Godfather. Mr. Bell had been nothing but kind and affectionate to her for longer than she could remember. What he had given her, what he had done for her in his last moments in England was greater than anything she could ever have asked him for. While she was saddened by the news of his loss, it seemed that she had grown somewhat numb to the shock of one's passing. Some people may have called it a lack of real affection, but Margaret was exceedingly glad of it. For her it meant that worst part of dealing with the death of a loved one was over, and she progress to thinking of Mr. Bell with fondness and accept his gift for what it was rather than being burdened by guilt. Hannah seemed to be of a similar frame of mind when Margaret presented her with the letter.
"I can not believe this." She said, shocked into sitting in the nearest seat which just so happened to be the stool in front of Margaret's vanity. She had found Hannah (although she had not even bothered to look anywhere else) in the room with John, diligently tending to his healing wounds, and helping Martha and Carter with changing the sheets. As if by design, Nicholas appeared in the doorway the moment Margaret began her tale, and she was able to relay the news to them both.
"I scarcely believe it myself!" Margaret said happily. Nicholas said nothing, but looked at the scene before him with nearly overpowering joy. It had many a long month since he had seen Margaret so happy, and it was rather infectious.
"I should chastise everyone," Hannah said slowly, eyes still glued to the letter. "Including myself for not being more sympathetic over the loss of Mr. Bell. But I cannot feel anything other relief at this news." Margaret beamed at her before crossing the room to her husband, gently brushing the hair away from his forehead.
"I can fix this John." She said, elation bubbling from within her and seeping into her voice. She bent over to place a lingering kiss on his cheekbone. "And when you wake we can run it together." Margaret felt, but paid no mind to the pitying stares of those behind her. They could pity her all they wanted; she was supremely happy in that moment, and nothing, not even the emotionless expression of her husband was going to change it.