Hey there, it's time for a new chapter and this one will have its main focus on John/Margaret :)

Have fun!

Chapter 3

John Thornton made his way through the dark streets in silence, his thoughts miles away. He was on his way back to Marlborough mills from a meeting with Hamper and Slickson, which was still occupying his mind.

The pending strike had made all mill masters quite uneasy. They simply could not afford any delays in production at this time, when the price of raw cotton kept going up and orders had to be completed quickly, to be able to keep up with the rising demand.

John had invested a considerable amount of money into brand new, efficient machinery a few months before, which would easily place Marlborough mills at the top of all of Milton's factories. It had always been his aim to set his mill apart from others by the unprecedented quality of his products, and he had been successful in making a name for himself in all of England and even beyond.

However, it had taken a bank loan for these investments to be made, and with the money still caught up in the machinery, John would likely be hit harder by the strike than most of his competitors. He had to tread very carefully, weigh his options, for one misstep bore the risk of placing him in a dire situation.

Those were the things he was still pondering, when he heard a muffled cry from somewhere nearby. It was a woman's voice, coming from an alley to his right: "Help!"

John stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes, trying to make out any sign of movement in the darkness. He recognized the alley as one leading down to Princeton, an area he usually tried to avoid entering at all costs. There were no street lamps in this part of the city, and with the sun having gone down about an hour ago, it was hard to see much.

"Who is there?", John called. There was no immediate answer, but his ears caught a ruffling sound a few yards further down, followed by the threatening growl of a man's voice.

It took John only a few seconds to race down the stone steps into the alleyway. He scanned the scene as best as he could in the dark, recognizing two men, cornering what appeared to be a young woman, who had sunken to the ground near the brick wall on the side of the street.

Without so much as a concrete plan, John was behind them in a few quick strides. He grabbed the man closer to the lady, and yanked him away from her, causing the offender to stumble back and tumble to the ground. The second man sprung forward, attempting to attack, but John was quicker. He grabbed him by his upper arms and pushed him into the nearby wall, his face only mere inches from the man's. The wretch was reeking of booze and kicked his legs, trying to free himself, when his gaze fixed on John's and recognition dawned on his face with terror.

"M-Mr. Thornton!" he mumbled in utter shock. John tried to control the anger, which was coursing through his body. He fought the urge to strangle the man, took a step back, without releasing the other's arms, and then shoved him away forcefully, as if not wanting to get his hands dirty with the touch of him.

The first man had risen from the ground, but made no attempt at an attack – like his companion, he had recognized the figure in front of him as the powerful mill owner, who also happened to be one of the city's magistrates. For a moment they all stood, panting, staring at each other. Then both attackers came alive and dashed away into the darkness within seconds.

John put his hands to his knees, trying to catch his breath for a moment. He looked over at the woman. She was still hunched against the wall, visibly shaking. As he called out to her, she stirred. Thank God, she was conscious.

He approached her carefully, afraid that he might scare her even further, and saw her look up at him. She appeared desperate and dishevelled, and as she put her small, icy hand in his when he held it out to assist her, John felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him.

It quickly became apparent that she was hurt, unable to stand on her own, so he bent down to help her and it was in that moment that she turned her face to him and he froze.

He knew her. She was the woman who had stormed into his factory last month when he had dismissed Stevens – Miss Hale. Since that day, he had not been able to shake off the image of her fearful eyes, that filled him with mortification every time he thought of it.

And now there she was before him, her bonnet on the ground, her face wet with tears, her lips parted slightly. A strand of her hair had come loose from its pin and was dangling down the side of her face and he swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to reach out his hand and tug it behind her ear. He could sense the very moment she recognized him: Her eyes widened, a look of utter horror crossing her face, and his heart dropped, full of shame.

She was afraid of him.

Margaret could not breathe. The nightmare she had hoped to wake from, seemed to have taken the worst turn possible. Of all the people who could have come to her aid in this city, it had to be the one person she had prayed to never see again.

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but it could have been only seconds. "Miss Hale?" he asked incredulously. She could not help but wonder how he even remembered her name. He had not seemed to pay any attention when she had called it out to him back then.

"Miss Hale, what on earth are you doing here, unchaperoned? This is not a safe area." There was something about his voice that unnerved her immediately. It sounded quiet, concerned even, and it was such a stark contrast to when she had encountered him at the mill, that it threw her completely off balance. The man she had seen that day, had been wholly incapable of feelings such a thing as concern, and she did not believe him now either, she realized with a pang. It had to be a disguise.

"Does your family know you are here?", she heard him ask. Margaret forced her mouth open. It took every ounce of her strength to form a reply: "I – I was visiting a friend", she croaked weakly.

There was a short pause. "A friend? In Princeton?" He sounded consternated. She made no further reply. She saw him bend down to pick up something in the dark and a moment later he held out her bonnet to her, which she took with a trembling hand. "Miss Hale, we need to get you out of here as quickly as possible. I am afraid, as you are not able to walk, I shall have to carry you."

Even though the rational part of her mind told her that there was no other option, Margaret felt positively horrified at the prospect. She could not possibly - it was a most improper thing to do with any man, let alone a ruthless mill master who took pleasure in beating his workers. But it was to no avail; she knew that there was no way her ankle would support her weight.

Her breath caught when she felt him draw closer, his arm coming around her back, the other one moving under the pits of her knees. "Can you place your arm around my neck?" She felt his words as much as she heard them, the top of her head now almost touching the side of his face. She had never been this close to a man before. She could hear the sound of his breathing near her ear and her nose picked up his scent, a mixture of clean cotton, soap a faint trace of bay rum. (It was not what she had expected, having thought that a smell of sweat, cigar smoke, and brandy would have been more likely for a cotton mill master.) Margaret felt her entire body go stiff at his closeness, her muscles clenching almost painfully.

He was not moving and she realized he was still waiting for her to put her arm around him, so he could hold her securely. She held her breath and did as he had told her, trying to touch as little of him as possible, her arm as rigid as the rest of her, her other hand still clinging to the crushed bonnet she was holding.

She felt herself being lifted off the ground and then the side of her body was pressing against his, as he carried her up the stone steps and out of the alley. The street lamps in the main street had been lit, spreading a faint orange glow. "You live in Crampton now, I presume?" he asked close to her ear, to which she gave a curt nod.

John hesitated, thinking for a moment. Crampton was about a three-mile walk across town, the direct route there leading through some of the more well-lit streets. There was no way he could carry her all that way with such a high likelihood of being seen. He would risk ruining the young woman's reputation for good if she was caught out after dark in his arms, even if it was due to injury – evil tongues would not care much for such details.

"Miss Hale, I will take you to Marlborough mills", he stated with a tone in his voice, which allowed for no objection. "It is less than a mile from here, and we can use my coach to take you back to Crampton from there, without drawing any unnecessary attention." Without waiting for a reply, he resumed walking, deliberately steering clear of the well-lit main streets, taking detours through the back alleys. Having spent all his life in Milton, he could walk the city with his eyes closed and easily found the safest route to take.

Neither of them said a word. Margaret had turned her head away from him, her breathing shallow, her lips pressed into a tight line. It was clear to him that she was wishing to be anywhere but near him, and he could hardly blame her after their dreadful first encounter. All he could do for her now was to try and get this over with as quickly as possible. He hated making her uncomfortable, and he highly doubted that in the current situation, there was anything he could say or do to lessen her anxiety.

It did not help that the further he walked, the more he became aware of how close she was, her delicate body pressing up against his. He fought to keep his breathing even and focussed on setting one foot in front of the other.

She did not know how long he had been walking – it might have been years for all she could tell, when he passed through a big gate. She looked up to find herself back in the mill yard she had tried so hard to erase from her mind. Where was he going to take her?

He walked across the yard, passing the factory building, and turned towards a big, dark brick house. It had large windows and a wooden front porch. Thornton carried her up the steps and opened the front door with one hand, balancing her body against him with the other, and a moment later she found herself in an entrance hall, lit by oil lamps. It was elegant, but very dark and scarcely decorated. All of it appeared rather cold and lifeless. A grand staircase, which was about the width of their entire sitting room at Crampton, led to the upper floor.

Thornton turned to his right and carried her through an open door into a small sitting room. A fire was crackling in the fireplace and there were a few chairs, a small table in the far corner, and a large settee. He walked over and carefully placed her upon it. When he finally drew back, Margaret felt relief wash over her at having escaped his unwanted touch.

"Your family must be worried for you, Miss Hale, it is quite late. I will go out to arrange for the coach immediately. I will send in a servant to help you freshen up while you wait. Please let me know if there is anything more, I can assist you with." He spoke in that strange soft voice again and Margaret forced herself to look up into his face. "I thank you, sir. I am very much obliged to you", she croaked out.

She felt weak and numb and she longed to go home, but she would not grant him the satisfaction of seeing her any more frightened and vulnerable than he already had. He nodded curtly and turned to leave the room.

Shortly thereafter the door opened again and in walked a young servant in a dark dress and apron. She placed a tray on the small table next to the settee, curtsied, and left instantly. There was a bowl filled with water, a flannel, and a bar of soap. Next to it lay a small hand mirror. As she caught her reflection in it, Margaret was startled at her own state of dishevelment. Her face was smeared with dirt and tears and a strand of hair had come loose. She blushed at the thought of Mr. Thornton having seen her like this. She could not possibly face her parents in this state.

Quickly she took the flannel, dipped it into the bowl, and started wiping at her face, trying to clean herself up as best as she could. She rearranged her hair, not entirely satisfied with the result, but unable to do much about it without having to take down all her pins and start from scratch, which was not an option.

While she was waiting for Mr. Thornton's return, Margaret let her eyes roam around in an attempt to keep her mind off her throbbing ankle. Like the entrance hall, the room was dark. There were no flowers, no decorations, everything seemed spartan and even though it was very clean, she could not imagine that it was used much.

She wondered if this was Mr. Thornton's home. Was anyone else living here? Was he married? He probably was – a man of his standing surely had a wife, a marriage of convenience, no doubt. Margaret could not picture anyone willingly agreeing to marry such a man. He appeared wealthy enough, which, she knew, was considered by some women to be a sufficient substitute for a man's lack of character. Many a woman she had known in London had married simply for material matters, but Margaret herself could not imagine ever spending her life with someone like Thornton. She was sure that if he was the last man in the world, she would gladly die an old maiden.

Margaret had always considered herself to be a rather gentle soul, with a big heart and a deep understanding of others. It was unlike her to think so badly of another person, especially a man who had just rescued her from…something unspeakable. She was grateful for that, but at the same time, she wished with all her heart that her saviour had been anyone but him, for she could not bring herself to trust him.

She was certain that no man, who was truly of good character, could have acted towards another the way he had. Therefore, his conduct tonight had to be some sort of facade. He was all politeness and the way he carried himself, the way he spoke to her, would have suggested him to be a gentleman, which – Margaret knew – he was not.

She was torn from her thoughts at the sound of the door opening. "Miss Hale, I hope you are feeling a bit better?" Thornton inquired. "I thank you, sir. Please, can I go home now? I'm sure my parents must be worried." He nodded and stepped closer and bent down to her, and Margaret quickly braced herself for what was to come.

Once again, she was lifted up in his arms, silently cursing her ankle, which forced her into this intimate position with him once more. They quickly reached the carriage, which was waiting in the mill yard. A porter opened the door and Thornton stepped up and carefully placed Margaret inside, before sitting down himself on the bench opposite from her.

"Mr. Thornton, I'm sure it is unnecessary to accompany me any further", she spoke before she could stop herself and quickly added: "You have done enough for me this evening. I am sure the porter can assist me once we reach Crampton. I would not want to trespass on your time any longer." His brow furrowed slightly. "I sincerely apologize if this is considered improper, Miss Hale, but you are injured and I intend to make sure you get home safely. I daresay you have been through enough trouble tonight."

The carriage moved out of the mill yard and up the dark main road towards Crampton. For the majority of the journey, not a word was spoken between them. Margaret had no strength to converse, while Thornton's mind was also preoccupied. A couple of times it seemed like he was about to say something to her, but then he changed his mind at the last moment.

They had almost reached her home, when Margaret suddenly turned her face to him. "Mr. Thornton, please, you must not tell my parents about what took place back in that alley." The thought had suddenly occurred to her, worrying her greatly. "My mother is of ill health and must not be upset unnecessarily. Please – let us agree that I had just stumbled on some steps and was not able to get back up, so you assisted me."

He regarded her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I assure you of my discretion, Miss Hale," he said then and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. "However, I must ask you to take better care in the future", he said earnestly. "Strolling about Princeton is highly improper, not to mention dangerous for a young lady such as yourself. It is one of the worst areas of Milton. I must insist you will not venture into such places again."

Margaret looked at him, stunned. There was something in the tone of his voice and the way he spoke, that she did not like at all. Was he patronizing her? He did not know her, what right did he have to tell her where she was to walk? Margaret felt anger rise within her. She had always despised men who considered themselves above women and wanted to command them as they pleased. She felt as if she had just caught a glimpse of who he truly was behind that mask of a gentleman, he was wearing tonight. It almost came as a relief to her – she had been right in her judgment of his character after all.

When Margaret answered, she had to force her voice to appear calm. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Thornton, however, I am not willing to make any such promise to you." It was his turn to look stunned. "I beg your pardon?" "I have friends in Princeton whom I will continue to see", she told him bluntly.

John was at a complete loss for words. He had never heard a woman speak like this. She could not seriously still consider going back to that place after what had happened to her tonight. It seemed stubborn, childish, and downright foolish. She had only been in Milton for a little over a month and had already befriended people in Princeton, of all places? How had she even gotten there in the first place? He could not imagine her parents approving of this and thought it likely that they had no idea.

"Miss Hale," he started, carefully weighing his words. "I cannot imagine what sort of friends you could have there. Anyone living in such a place can hardly be considered suitable company for a young woman of your standing." There was a dangerous fire burning behind her eyes now and as she spoke her voice was icy. "I am not surprised you would take pleasure in looking down upon those people. To you, they are good enough for slaving their lives away in your cotton mill, while the wages you pay them will keep them in that wretched place forever!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself, but she could not bring herself to regret them.

The coach came to a halt. Mr. Thornton's eyes bore into hers dangerously for a moment, his lips were parted slightly, his face an image of fury. She was sure he would start yelling at her and quickly braced herself. Then – to her surprise – he dropped his gaze and, without another word, he pushed open the door of the carriage. She let out a gasp when – without warning – she was pulled into his arms once more and he quickly carried her up the steps to the front door of her home, balancing her against him again to ring the doorbell.

In a matter of seconds, Margaret could hear quick steps on the stairs inside, like someone was practically flying down the steps, and a moment later Dixon's face appeared.

"Oh, dear lord!", the housemaid exclaimed, clapping her hands together in what seemed to be despair. "Miss Margaret! I was just about to run to the police station and report you as missing. Where on earth have you been?!"

It was only now, that Dixon took in the full picture before her, and the colour drained from her face, as she saw her young mistress in the arms of a man she had never seen before.

"What happened?!" "I am fine, Dixon", Margaret tried to soothe her. "I stumbled and fell and I must have sprained my ankle. Mr. Thornton here has been kind enough to assist me and escort me home in his carriage."

Dixon stared at Thornton with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief. Then, realizing he was not going to let Margaret go, she quickly stepped back to let them enter and started climbing up the stairs. Thornton followed her, trying to navigate the narrow staircase without breaking either Margaret's or his own neck.

Both Maria and Richard Hale jumped to their feet immediately as they entered. "Oh Margaret!", her mother called out in a faint voice, pressing both hands to her chest. "My dear, what happened? We were worried sick!" She seemed to be at the brink of tears once again.

Thornton placed Margaret on the settee near the fireplace, as she quickly repeated her story of the sprained ankle. Dixon had dashed down into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water and a bandage to put on Margaret's now rather swollen ankle, but she dared not start attending to her as long as Mr. Thornton was still present.

Mr. Hale had turned to the young man. "I am greatly indebted to you, Mr.-" he paused. "John Thornton" came the reply. Mr. Hale paused for a moment, considering the name, then recognition dawned on his face. "Thornton? You would not happen to be Mr. Bell's tenant, who I corresponded with, regarding the properties?" "Indeed, sir, I am. I run Marlborough mills."

"A cotton mill", Mr. Hale exclaimed excitedly. "You see, Mr. Thornton, I am highly interested in the process of cotton manufacturing. I understand little of it, but I have tried to read up on it. I am fascinated by how the industry has changed our world in the past few years with its grand inventions."

Mrs. Hale had sunken into a chair weakly, her gaze continuously wandering over to Margaret, as if to make sure she was indeed alive and well. Margaret looked from her father to Mr. Thornton to find the latter looking slightly pleased with Mr. Hale's outburst. "The industry is fascinating indeed", he agreed, before looking over at Margaret, who quickly averted her gaze so as not to meet his eyes.

"I beg you will excuse me. It is rather late and Miss Hale needs to rest", Thornton said. "Will you permit me to send my doctor over tomorrow morning, to make sure that ankle is alright?" "That would be most kind of you", Mrs. Hale chimed in, rising from her chair.

Thornton bowed his head and turned to leave, but before he was out of the room, Mr. Hale called after him: "Oh, Mr. Thornton! Would you maybe accept my invitation to dine with us next week? Our lives are humble, but we have managed to employ a rather skilled cook, and I would greatly enjoy talking to you about the work you do. Maybe I will be able to learn some new things."

Thornton turned to look at Mr. Hale, then bowed his head politely. "I thank you for your invitation, it would be my pleasure." A delighted smile spread across Mr. Hale's features. "Wonderful! I will send you a note to settle the definitive date."

As they heard the front door close after Mr. Thornton, Mrs. Hale exclaimed: "What a delightful young man!" "Indeed", her husband readily agreed. "I am very much looking forward to talking to him more." Margaret, who was now tended to by Dixon, said nothing. She longed to be able to go up to her room, close the door and be alone with her thoughts.

What a dreadful day this had been. She wished she could just wipe it all from her memory. And now, to make matters even worse, her father had taken an interest in Mr. Thornton, and Margaret knew he would not rest until he had been fully acquainted with the man.

Mr. Hale had always enjoyed socializing and surrounding himself with people he could philosophize with. Margaret knew that since they had arrived in Milton, he had greatly missed talking to people with a similar intellect to his own, and apparently, he hoped to find someone like this in Thornton.

Margaret highly doubted that the mill master would be able to keep up a pleasing conversation for very long. He might be able to answer her father's questions regarding the manufacturing of cotton, but she was sure he was not as well-versed in other topics, papa considered to be intellectually stimulating. She doubted that Thornton was well-read, and he likely had not seen much of the world outside of Milton. After all, he was not a gentleman.

Margaret was quite certain that her father would come to realize this fact very soon. But even if he did, she thought with much dismay, there was no way she could escape this acquaintance now.

Notes:

It seems that Margaret is still anything but pleased about John's existence. Don't judge her too harshly, though. she has been through a lot.

I like the idea of her believing that John is just pretending to be a good man, and her conviction that she is the only person to see through his act. Such notions can prove hard to overcome, and I kind of like playing with the psychological aspects of that situation.

Feel free to leave feedback, I would love to hear your opinions :)

Tom