Margaret was sure she would wear a hole in the floorboards soon enough. According to the clock on the mantel, it was half past four in the morning. The sun was rising, the parlour filled with shadowy light as she paced up and down, up and down.
The baby did not notice the time, nor did he care that his mother was sobbing just as hard as he was. She held him to her shaking chest, begging him to just stop crying.
"Please." She muttered, kissing the wild mop of dark hair that she loved so much. "Please, darling. Just stop crying. What do you want? I'm sorry. Please, little one. Just close your eyes and try to sleep. Sleep is nice. You'll like it, I promise. Shhh."
"I thought I heard noise."
Margaret jumped, and the baby wailed louder. She turned to see Hannah, still dressed in her night clothes, staring at her with folded arms. Though she had come to respect her mother in law a great deal, Margaret was certainly in no mood to be scolded for the disturbance.
"I'm sorry. I had hoped he would not wake the entire house with his wailing."
Hannah shook her head, walking across the room and standing in front of the pair. Margaret closed her eyes, unable to see the criticism that would surely be in her eyes. Oh, what a mess she had made of this.
"You did not wake me. The servants will be rising soon enough, John too. What's wrong?"
"He won't stop crying." Margaret said through her own tears. "Nothing helps. He is not hungry, nor dirty. Perhaps he is tired, but he will not sleep! What if he is ill? Hannah, what if he is sick? Should we send for the doctor?"
"Shh, shh. Give him to me."
Margaret nodded, gingerly placing the baby in Hannah's waiting arms. She ran a finger down the baby's face, his skin hot and angry beneath her touch.
"Please, just make it stop. I cannot take another moment."
The crying did not stop - it only intensified. The screaming seemed to pierce both her mind and her heart. It made her ache.
"I am a dreadful mother." Margaret sobbed. "I cannot soothe him. I should have listened to you, I should have engaged a proper nurse for him. I thought I could do this alone, but I cannot. Listen to him! His poor face is so red, his throat must be raw. I did this to him; I should be able to calm him, but I do not know how!"
"You've fed him?"
"A few moments ago. He stopped crying for a short while, but as soon as he'd finished.." Margaret waved her hand to indicate that the screaming had resumed.
"Go to bed." Hannah said, holding the baby up to her chest and rubbing his back. "When did you last sleep? You've not had a moment's rest all night I'll wager."
"Yesterday. I think. For an hour, two perhaps, before he began to cry again."
"Away with you. I will take care of him."
Margaret left the room, cursing herself as Arthur's cries faded away. What a dreadful person she was to leave her crying baby. She paused, half turning in place.
"Up you go." Hannah's voice startled her. "I will look after him. Sleep."
She turned to see her mother in law, cradling the baby with the greatest of care, staring up at her through narrowed eyes. Margaret knew she would not win this argument.
"Please, promise me that you will fetch me as soon as I am needed."
"I will. Go."
Guilt twisting in her stomach, Margaret made her way up to the bedroom. John would be awake soon. If he had managed to sleep at all it would be a miracle.
She opened the door as gently as she could, pushing it closed behind her so softly it barely made a sound. It was pointless, for as soon as she turned towards the bed, she saw John, eyes open and sitting up, waiting for her. His hair stuck up at odd angles, his face still soft from sleep. The sight of him calmed her, just for a moment.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I should have slept elsewhere." She sat down on the bed, facing the door. She could not stand to look at him, for she would surely see judgement for her failure in his eyes. "Your mother has the baby."
"Maggie, you must rest. Lie down."
"I can still hear him."
"I can't."
"What am I doing wrong, John? He will not settle. He cries all night. All day. He barely settles long enough to sleep; he must be exhausted."
"He's a baby. He's two months old. You've done nothing wrong. You've done all you can."
"I should be able to soothe him!" Margaret protested. "What sort of mother am I? He cries and he cries, he stops only when he falls asleep or eats. He sleeps only if he's being walked around, and even then it is not for long. I do not deserve to be a mother."
John rose from the bed behind her, kneeling behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She took his hands in hers, holding them tightly as she sobbed. He pressed kisses into her hair, hopelessly trying to calm her.
"Hey, hey. Don't cry. You're exhausted. Let Mother take care of him for now. Sleep. Tomorrow we'll send for doctor Donaldson to check he isn't ill - you, too. You don't look well."
"I am so tired." Margaret whispered. "So tired. Why won't he stop?"
"He's a baby." John repeated. "If we spend our time trying to understand him, we'll never get anything else done. Sleep, please."
Margaret nodded tearily, lying down on the bed. The crying echoed in her head, but as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.
When her eyes opened, she sat up with a start. She looked around, panic rising in her chest as she searched for her baby. Then, as her mind cleared from sleep, she remembered.
"Hannah?" Margaret called, climbing out of bed and searching for her nightgown. She pulled it on and tied the ribbon, smoothing her hair down as she opened the door. "Hannah?"
The house was silent - eerily so, for she had grown so used to hearing that high pitched wailing that it seemed entirely alien that such peace was possible.
The door opened, and Hannah cast an appraising eye. She was alone, her arms empty, and Margaret blinked in confusion.
"Good, you're awake. And looking much better, if I might say so?"
"Where's Arthur?!" Margaret asked in panic. "Is he well? I cannot hear him. He must be hungry by now, you should have woken me."
"He's with his father."
"Where?"
"In the mill."
"What?!"
"In his office. Don't worry, he has everything in hand."
Margaret could do nothing but; surely such a place was no place for a baby. The noise, the constant vibration from the machines, the clatter of carts and workmen - none of those things were good for a child.
"I must get dressed." Margaret said, returning to her room. "It is no place for a baby, Hannah! What is he thinking of?!"
"You need to rest. You'll sicken, dashing about like you are. Into bed with you."
"But.."
"Fine. Get dressed, and go and see what you're so concerned about. Feed him, then back to bed with you."
Around half an hour later, Margaret stepped out into the yard. She had not left the house since Arthur's birth; it felt strange to be outside amongst others, for she had been cocooned in a world that revolved only around her child.
As she made her way to her husband's office, she was stopped several times by workers offering their congratulations and good wishes for her health. She accepted each with a broad smile that felt almost painful in its insincerity, because she did not feel happy at all. She felt anxiety gnaw at her, every step only heightening her emotions.
When at last she reached the door to John's office, she paused. She could hear nothing from inside. Opening the door, she held her breath.
The sight that greeted her was most welcome indeed.
John sat at his desk, writing with one hand whilst the other cradled the baby. Arthur was awake, looking around the room with curious blue eyes. His gaze turned to her, and he let out a little snuffle that she imagined was a greeting.
"You shouldn't be up." John said, his eyes not lifting from his work. "Back to bed with you."
"He'll need feeding soon."
"Oh. Of course."
Margaret stared at the baby; she had never seen him so content, nor so alert. Arthur stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. It was rather strange.
"He isn't crying."
"No." John agreed, continuing his scribbling. "He isn't."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I think it's the noise." John offered by way of explanation. "I walked him all over the house, as soon as we stepped outside and heard the commotion of folk arriving for the day - he stopped. So I brought him in here. Not heard a peep from him since. Likes the hum of the machines, I think."
"How odd. Let me take him from you."
Margaret stood, arms outstretched. Her husband stayed still, making no move to hand the baby to her.
"I can keep him here for now."
"Your arm must be hurting."
He shrugged, letting out a little chuckle.
"It went numb about forty minutes ago."
"Perhaps we could put his cradle, or a box or some such thing, here for him, if he likes it so much." Margaret joked.
"Whatever you think best."
She blinked in surprise; she certainly had not expected him to agree to such a silly plan so readily. He did not seem the type to turn his office into a nursery.
"You would not mind?"
Still writing intently, he shrugged - seemingly finding her question irritating, for his face was set in a stern frown.
"If it means you rest and he stops screaming, I'd do near enough anything."
Guilt washed over her once more; she had failed in her task, shirking her responsibilities onto the shoulders of her husband. Heaven knew he had enough to contend with without her burdening him further.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Asking too much of you."
"He is my son." John set his pen on the desk, adjusting the bundle in the crook of his arm. He stared down at the baby with a tiny smile on his face, admiring their son with nothing but warmth and love. "He's part of me as he is you, and if this makes him happy - if it makes you happy - then so be it. I can think of worse things than to hold my son for a few hours if it means his mother can get some much needed rest."
"Thank you." Margaret said, her throat tightening as tears welled in her eyes once more. "Thank you for understanding."
"Feed him, then rest. I've nothing to do but paperwork, he can stay with me for the day."
"I'll ask for someone to bring his cradle over." Margaret said, taking the baby from him. "Your poor arm needs a rest."
And so, Arthur Thornton made himself comfortable in his father's office - sleeping soundly in the very mill he would one day inherit.