Chapter 10

On the next day, just as the Hales were all gathered in the sitting room with Mr Bell, who had come by to call on them, two things arrived for them from Mr Thornton.

One was a note for Mr. Hale, informing him that his pupil would be unable to come to their lesson the following week, claiming he was too busy with the aftermath of the strike. The second thing was a basket full of fruit for Mrs. Hale, who received it with much pleasure. "And a card, written in his own hand", she exclaimed in wonder. "He has always been most civil and thoughtful. But I wouldn't have thought he would have had the time. He's had so much trouble with the rioting."

With that, she broke into another coughing fit, which prompted her husband to quickly rush to her side with a worried expression on his face. However, not knowing what to do, he just crouched down in front of her and awkwardly placed his hand upon her upper arm.

Mr. Bell watched the entire scene thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he wondered aloud: "I saw Thornton in the street yesterday. He didn't seem quite so in control as usual. He seemed very distracted. I thought he might have been visiting, he was just nearby." He threw a glance in Margaret's direction, who was staring intently at the book in her lap. She had not read a single line for the entirety of the conversation. Her face was pale and her hands shook visibly, which did not escape Mr. Bell's keen eye, but he made no further comment.

Mr. Hale turned to her now, questioningly. "Margaret?" She could not take it any longer. "Excuse me", she muttered under her breath, got up and fled from the room, leaving both Hales to stare after her in confusion and Mr. Bell with a small, suspicious smirk.

"Has it ever occurred to you that there might be something between Thornton and your daughter?", he asked quietly after Margaret was out of earshot. "Good lord, no. Certainly not!", Mr. Hale called out. Then he halted for moment, obviously in thought. "Well…", he started eventually. "I suppose it's possible on his side, but for Margaret it's quite out of the question. She never liked him, poor fellow. I pray he doesn't get his hopes up."

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Once upstairs, in her bedroom, Margaret dropped into the chair by her window, trembling. She had not slept a wink last night. Since the moment, Mr. Thornton had left, she had been in the worst sort of daze imaginable.

The entire scene played out in her head over and over again, every word, every look burning into her with a dull sting. After he had gone, she had noticed the pair of black leather gloves lying on the side table, and without even knowing what she was doing, she had picked them up and just held onto them, almost clinging to them in despair.

She did not know how long she had stood there, unable to form a coherent thought. In fact, even until now, a day later, she had yet been unable to do so. She had spent the whole rest of the afternoon in her room, only coming down for a brief dinner, during which she had been silent and avoided her father's gaze (her mother had stayed in her room, in low spirits once again).

Later she had been engulfed by a sleepless night of tossing and turning. She had put the gloves into the drawer of her nightstand, feeling a strange sense of guilt for having them in her care, when Mr. Thornton was out there somewhere, without them. She wondered where he was now and what he was thinking.

Surely, he could not really have cared as much, could he? But then, the image of that look on his face forced its way into her memory once again and she buried her face in her hands. How? How could he care for her? She had given him no reason for hope, whatsoever.

There was simply no way Margaret would ever be able to accept such a man. It pained her to have caused him such obvious heartbreak, for she was not a person who would ever deliberately hurt another, but what had he expected her to do?

And why, oh why was she unable to get him out of her head now? She was exhausted from thinking about him without even a minute's disruption for the past 24 hours. Once more, Margaret prayed that somehow, miraculously, she would be spared from ever crossing paths with Thornton again.

This time, however, it was for an entirely different reason than the first time around. Back then, she had been afraid to once again encounter a ruthless and cruel man who would attack and beat people to a pulp for his own sick pleasure. This time, she was afraid of once again seeing his eyes so tormented and knowing she, herself, had been the cause of it.

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Margaret managed to survive six full days without encountering Mr. Thornton. He had not come to her father's lesson, and Margaret had a feeling that he would not for at least some time. She did feel bad about it for her father's sake, for she felt like he had been bereft of one of the very few people whom he, despite their yet brief acquaintance, considered a friend in this city. For some odd reason, the two men had just seemed to have taken an instant liking to each other.

Margaret went to see Bessy Higgins almost every day now. Bessy's health had taken a turn for the worse. She was very weak and barely able to get out of bed. Margaret would sit at her bedside and read to her. She brought baskets with bread and fruit in hopes of providing the ill with something nourishing.

She knew that Nicholas Higgins was not fond of charity, he was a proud man like all northerners Margaret had met so far. But even he did not dare decline her presents for his daughter, as he was aware that Bessy was on the verge of death.

On the seventh day after the dreadful scene in the Hale's sitting room, Margaret ran out of luck. She was, once again, on her way back to Crampton from a visit to Princeton, clutching her now empty basket, when she heard the familiar voice of Mr. Bell, calling her from nearby.

She lifted her eyes and saw him standing on the other side of the street, accompanied by Mr. Latimer and Ann, who was waving at her cheerfully, and also – to Margaret's greatest dismay – by Mr. Thornton.

Mr. Bell waved her to join them and, with her heart dropping down into her stomach, she made her way over to them. As she drew closer, she could see Thornton tipping his hat at her politely, but his eyes did not meet hers. "Well, look at this! What luck, two of the prettiest girls in Milton", Bell cheered.

"It's so good to see you again, Margaret", Ann reached out both hands to shake hers joyfully and quickly started telling her about her visit to the draper's just moments before. Margaret barely heard a word. She did not dare look sideways at Mr. Thornton, who was standing there stiffly, like a marble statue. She felt his gaze upon her, but could not lift her head to meet his eyes. She could immediately tell that something about him was different.

Even though they did not exchange a word, she could sense an unbreachable distance between them, like he had built an invisible wall around himself. It was a strangely cold feeling – one she had never sensed from him, even in their early days, when she had held nothing but contempt for him. It was only now, that she realized, that he had always seemed approachable to her, even if she had not wanted him to be. He had always looked at her, listened to what she had said, he had…cared.

It was something that appeared to be missing now, and with a pang, Margaret realized that she was unprepared for the strange emptiness it evoked in her. "Now, where are you off to, my dear?" she heard Mr. Bell ask when Ann drew a breath, after having ranted on about dresses and shawls for the last minute. "Nowhere", she replied automatically.

Bell smirked at her. "Oh, that's alright, you can have your little secrets", he stated and then turned to Thornton. "All young women must have their secrets, isn't that one of the joys of life?", he asked him. Thornton raised his eyes to meet Bell's. He seemed positively annoyed at the man's statement. "I wouldn't know", he replied curtly, tipped his hat at Bell and, after throwing a quick, very chilly glance in Margaret's direction, he left the whole party standing there and quickly strode away from them, without looking back.

For a moment Bell looked after him, apparently puzzled. "Oh well", he shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like someone's not in the best mood today. No wonder, with all the trouble with the strikers as of late, don't you think Latimer?" With that, he drew Mr. Latimer into another conversation. Margaret's gaze had dropped to the ground, Ann had watched the entire scene in bewilderment.

Now, she stepped closer to her friend. "Margaret, what was that just now?", she whispered curiously. Margaret did not look up. "I do not know what you mean", she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, come now, what happened between the two of you? I am not blind. I know the way he looked at you the other day, at the ball. And how he acted towards you just now. Don't tell me I am imagining this."

That was enough, she could take no more. First Mr. Bell, with his typical scornful behaviour and now Ann. "I don't know what you are talking about, Ann. Now if you'll excuse me, my mother is waiting for me." She nodded at Ann and the men, spun around on her heels and dashed away as fast as her feet would carry her.

It was only after she had turned the next two corners, that she stopped and tried to catch her breath. She had dreaded this. And it had turned out worse than she had imagined.

Margaret had been afraid of how he would act whenever their paths crossed again, afraid of how she was to face him, what to say to him. The reality of it was much more unsettling than her imagination. She had imagined him to be angry or offended, or embarrassed, and he had probably been all of the above. But she had not been prepared for this feeling of strange, chilly numbness.

Was this how it was going between the two of them from now on? Would he just not look at her anymore and flee from her company? As she walked down the street, images started flooding her mind. The way he had looked at her only a few days ago at the Latimer's ball, how he had held her as they had danced, how his eyes had never left hers as he had listened intently to the tales she had told of her childhood home.

She once again saw him lying there on that settee, unconscious, his skin flushed hot against her hand as she had touched him, his hand holding on to her arm, as she had attempted to get up, his glossy eyes searching hers, as he had whispered only one word: "Stay".

Margaret felt a strange shiver run down her spine at the thought of it, and suddenly she felt tears pricking her eyes once more, as if she had not shed enough of those over the past days. She had never considered him likable. If she was honest, she had not given the exact nature of their relationship much thought at all. She knew that she had stopped hating him some time ago, after she had realized that she had been wrong about him.

But even after that, the closest definition of what they had been was probably a strange, antagonistic sort of friendship, if one could even call it the latter. They had been thrown into each other's paths repeatedly by circumstance, and after a while, he had somehow become an integral part of her life in Milton. Maybe it was the fact, that she still only knew a handful of people here, and even if she had never desired Mr. Thornton's company, she had grown accustomed to the fact that he would make regular appearances.

She knew now, that she had not feared those encounters as much as she had initially thought. Especially in the past few weeks, she had, in fact, come to almost look forward to them. She did not regret turning him down, of course. He was not the sort of man she would ever consider marrying.

But there was something Margaret had come to realize during this past week: There was this part of her, somewhere deep down, which – in a peculiar way – cared for him. Not like she cared about Edith or the Lennox's or any of her friends from Helstone or London. What she felt for him did not feel like friendship. It was more like a very subtle, silent agreement between the two of them, that they would look out for each other.

Or at least, that was what it had been until recently, and once more Margaret wished she could go back in time and somehow prevent all of it from ever happening.

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Mrs. Hale was having one of her better days. She had managed to leave her bed and was propped up in a chair in the sitting room, reading some mail from her sister in London, as Margaret entered the room.

"Your aunt has invited us to the great exhibition", her mother smiled weakly. "Oh, I do so wish I could go, but I know that I should not. But you could go, Margaret. It sounds so exciting! With bears and elephants and exotic people, and inventions from all over the empire."

"I can't go to London. Not when you're…not until I know you're feeling better", Margaret replied weakly.

"Yes, but if you went, you could tell me all about it and maybe bring me something back and that would give me something to look forward to."

Margaret placed some books on the shelf, trying not to look over at the older woman. "I'll think about it." There was a pause.

After a while, Mrs. Hale asked in a quiet voice: "You have written to Frederick, haven't you?" Margaret turned and knew that her mother could read the answer on her face. "Now that I think about it, I'm afraid of him coming", Mrs Hale murmured. "In case he should be taken, after all of these years that he's kept away and lived safely."

Margaret sat down next to her mother and took her hand, trying to reassure her."There is a risk. But we will be careful. I'm sure Dixon will keep the door like a dragon. If we were still in Helstone, people would know who he was. They would remember him, while here in Milton, nobody knows or cares for us to notice what we do."

Mrs. Hale seemed to give that some thought. Eventually, she gave a small and rather sad smile. "I suppose there's some virtue in being uprooted and friendless."

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Margaret did decide to accept aunt Shaw's offer to visit them in London for the great exhibition. It had been many months since she had seen Edith, and despite their regular exchange of letters, she missed her cousin dearly. She also knew that her going would give her mother joy and lastly, she supposed that a change of scenery would do her some good after everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

Maybe London would be a welcome distraction from her gloomy thoughts and worries. Having settled everything with her aunt, Captain Lennox, Edith's husband, was sent to Milton a few days later to escort her down to London.

Edith was beside herself with joy upon seeing her cousin and spent hours telling Margaret everything about their time in Corfu. The first evening was spent dining together with the Lennox's. It was the first time Margaret had seen Henry since his proposal to her in Helstone, after which he had left in a hurry, and she was glad that he met her with calm politeness.

On the next morning, the family made their way to Hyde Park for their first day at the great exhibition. They only had a few days to see as much as they could, because, ignoring Edith's desperate attempts to make her stay longer, Margaret had insisted that she had to return home to her mother by the end of the week. She could not leave her alone longer than this, given her constitution. And it had been a couple of weeks since she had sent her letter to Frederick, so if he was to make an appearance in Milton, it would hopefully be rather soon, and she did not want to miss his arrival.

When they exited the carriage at Hyde Park, Margaret just stood and stared at the enormous glass building, towering high above them. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, yes, it seemed out of this world. The crystal palace was considered the epitome of modern architecture, and she could see why. She had read that the palace held 990,000 square feet of exhibition space, which housed over 14,000 exhibitors from around the world.

It was so vast, that they could barely decide where to head first. Captain Lennox was fascinated by a huge hydraulic press, which was used in the building of bridges. There was also a grand pipe organ designed by one Henry Willis, which featured beautiful designs. Margaret was captivated by the exotic collections from all over the world. Exhibits from America, India, France, Italy, Greece and many, many more.

"I suppose it's only right that we have invited people from all over the empire, even if some of the exhibits are a little exotic", aunt Shaw commented, as they were walking past some glass cabinets which held treasures from various countries. "I think it's wonderful", Margaret said dreamily. "Seems as though all the world is here for us to see."

"I was impressed by the machinery", Captain Lennox mused, as he and Henry walked over to them from the industry section. "I have to say, I never realized the power and the money to be made from cotton." He turned to Henry. "Maybe we should go into cotton?" Henry smirked at his brother mockingly. "I should think it takes a deal more energy than you have, Maxwell. Now, we don't need heavy machinery to make money in London, nor do we need to suffer the northern climate, do we Miss Hale? I ask the expert amongst us."

Margaret did not like Henry's tone one bit. She didn't know what exactly he was trying to imply, but it almost seemed like he was poking fun at Milton. She realized that, had he done so a year ago, she would likely have joined him in making light of northern tradesmen, but, as absurd as it had seemed to her when she had first arrived in Milton, the city was her home now. Somehow, she had developed a certain fondness for the honest ways and hard work the northerners put into everything they did.

She remembered something Mr. Thornton had once said: "I'd rather be toiling here, success or failure, than leading a dull, prosperous life in the south, with their slow, careless days of ease." She had been furious with him for that statement back then. Now, she looked around herself at the fine ladies and gentlemen, strolling around the crystal palace. Many of them had inherited their fortune and had never lifted a finger in their life, their greatest worry being the decision of which dress to pick out for their next dinner party.

At that moment his words started making an odd kind of sense to her and she realized how shallow she had been. Margaret noticed that Henry was still looking at her expectantly, apparently waiting for her response to his last statement. "It's true", she said simply. "The air is not so clean in Milton."

With that, she turned and walked away from her companions, suddenly needing to put some distance between herself and them. As she neared the industry section, her ears suddenly picked up a familiar voice.

"You're all here to see this fine machinery. Technologically we're the envy of the world." Margaret stopped in disbelief at the dark timbre of the voice and the thick northern accent. Her eyes flew to the small group of people, who were standing nearby and her heart skipped a beat. It was him.

He was standing there amongst some gentlemen, who were looking up at him in what appeared to be fascination. In his black frock coat, which he wore over a dark grey vest and burgundy tie, Mr Thornton looked stunningly handsome. He had crossed his hands in front of his chest casually and gave off an air of confidence, as he was speaking to the men about the industry.

Anyone who saw him would have recognized instantly that he knew what he was talking about, that he was an authority in this field and this was recognized by his listeners, who were hanging on his every word in silent admiration.

"If only there was a mechanism to enable us all to live together. To take advantage of the great benefits that come from industry. But that will be for future generations. We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique but we cannot stop man from behaving as he always has."

Margaret felt herself being drawn closer to the conversation, unable to take her eyes off him for even a split second. It felt as if, within a few seconds, she had completely fallen under some peculiar spell.

She felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth at his last words, as she was filled with an odd feeling of pride for him. "Don't you think we can bring about an end to strikes?", one of his listeners inquired. "Not in my lifetime", Thornton answered calmly. "But with time and patience, we might try to bleed them of their bitterness."

His eyes roamed the crowd, which had gathered around him, and then his gaze met hers. For a split second, he stared at her, perplexed. It was the first time they had looked each other in the face since that dreadful day, and Margaret felt her heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

He opened his mouth again to speak. "Miss Hale here knows the depths we men in Milton have fallen to." His voice was collected, but there was a coldness in it. "How we masters only strive to grind our workers into the ground." She felt her face flush with embarrassment, as the other men turned to look at her. "I certainly do not think that", she uttered in a weak voice. "As Mr. Thornton could tell you, if he knew me at all."

She turned, trying to fight her tears, but before she could walk away, he was suddenly next to her. "I've presumed to know you once before and have been mistaken", he told her in a low voice. The other men had turned back around, picking up their conversation without him. She could not meet his eyes. What could he mean? Was it that he had presumed that she would return his feelings? She had never given him any reason to.

A little voice in the back of her head reminded her that she had practically thrown herself at him the day before his proposal to protect him from the strikers, only to nurse him afterwards, when he had been hurt. Both of that had been done out of what she had considered a necessity at the time, and she knew that she would do the same again. But if he had thought that this was a declaration of some deeper feeling, he had been mistaken indeed, she thought, crestfallen.

It was at this moment that Henry Lennox appeared next to them. "Henry!", Margaret exclaimed, suddenly torn out of her dark musings. "D-do you know Mr. Thornton?"

The two men looked at each other and Margaret could tell instantly that something between them had gone very wrong the second they had laid eyes on each other. They both stood tall, staring each other down in a menacing kind of way.

"Mr. Thornton", Henry's voice was rather chilly. "All the way from Milton." Thornton nodded at him briefly, his eyes never leaving his. A small smirk appeared on Henry's face. "My brother is interested in dabbling in cotton", he informed the other in the same mocking tone he had used before when referring to Milton.

Margaret was unable to move. She had a feeling that this conversation was not going to end well. Thornton held his gaze, his face stern. "I'm not sure I'm the one to speak to", he replied coldly. "I'm not sure I'd know how to dabble."

Henry did not seem to know what to say to that, so he forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. Margaret prayed that the earth would open up beneath her to swallow her whole. Unable to lift her eyes from the ground, she felt her entire body flush with hot embarrassment.

"I must go. You may enjoy the machinery like an exhibit in the zoo, I have to go and live with it. I must get back to Milton today", she heard Thornton say, as he was turning away from them, but Henry was not finished. "Give our regards to the Hales", he said with a sneer. Thornton halted in his tracks. "You must tell them how the London break is suiting Miss Hale."

Margaret's eyes flew up to Henry in shocked disbelief. It was not Henry's words, it was the so plainly provocative tone in his voice that gave her an instant feeling of unease. "Don't you think, Thornton? Doesn't Miss Hale look well?" If looks could kill, Henry would have dropped dead that very instant. Thornton did not blink once as his eyes bore into those of the other man, before turning. "Good day", was all he muttered, before stepping away from them.

"Tell mother, I'll be home soon! With so much to tell her!", Margaret called after him in despair, trying to convey through her voice how horrified and sorry she was for her companion's behaviour. He halted for a moment, at her words. Then, without turning to her, he strode off.

"Who was that? Is it anyone we should know?", Margaret heard her aunt's loud voice behind her and was sure Mr. Thornton was not far away enough yet to have missed it. There was an overbearing tone in her voice that flooded Margaret with shame. She had been aware that her aunt did not consider tradesmen and manufacturers to be their equals, of course. Margaret herself had looked down upon them for a long time, she silently admitted with a sting.

But she had never been in a situation before where someone she…cared about…was at the receiving end of such behaviour, and it made her furious.

It was then that Margaret noticed Mr. Latimer, who had stepped closer to her, tipping his hat. "Poor Thornton", he commented. "I tempted him down here to try to raise finance for Marlborough mills. Now he's had to face all kinds of inquiries. Starry-eyed Londoners, who think they only have to snap their fingers to make a fortune in cotton."

This time Henry had the dignity to look somewhat embarrassed. But he caught himself quickly. "I would hardly have thought a manufacturer would have appreciated a show like this."

Something snapped inside Margaret. The statement was the last straw. "No, you are wrong!", she addressed him coldly. "I have heard him talk often with my father. He is very interested in the world. Really, I know him to be."

Margaret barely spoke to the others for the rest of their outing at the crystal palace and she was glad when it was time for them to return home. Dinner was a quiet affair, and she soon retired to her room.

Margaret felt horrible. She felt as if she had caught a glimpse of herself today. Or rather, the person she had been, she mused. Was this how she had treated Mr. Thornton when they had first met? She knew that she had not considered him of equal standing to her family, and looking back now, she was sure that these feelings had shown in her actions.

"I am well aware that – in your eyes at least – I'm not a gentleman." His words came back at her full force. She had certainly left him in no doubt about that, she thought mortified.

"You think that because you are rich and my father is in reduced circumstances, you can have me for your possession. I suppose I should expect no less from someone in trade!"

Margaret buried her face in her hands as her own words came back to her now, only to be quickly swept away by another scene, which forced itself into her mind: "I did not know a man in your position would have much time for reading."

She groaned, jumping up from where she had been sitting on her bed. She started pacing the room frantically, recalling how she had challenged him over his reading habits, wanting to expose gaps in his knowledge, trying – however unsuccessfully – to prove to her father how unrefined and uneducated the mill owner was.

How had he ever voluntarily spoken to her again after that, she wondered. And not only that – he had cared for her. Enough to make her an offer of marriage, which she had not simply turned down, but had done so in a way that was beyond insulting and hurtful, and she knew that he had every right to never speak to her again.

The light was fading in front of her window, as Margaret sat, motionless, and stared off into the distance. She longed to go back to Milton, to see if her mother and Bessy were alright.

And above all, she longed to get away from Harley Street, for she knew now, that she did not belong here anymore. She would rather spend the rest of her life in a dusty, cotton manufacturing, industrial town, than amongst people like Henry Lennox, who arrogantly looked down upon someone, who was three times the man he was himself.

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NOTES:

The great exhibition took place in London from May 1st to October 15th 1851. It was organized by Prince Albert, the husband of Queen Victoria, and was the first in a series of world fairs, which became quite popular in the 19th century. The information on the crystal palace and the exhibits mentioned in the story are all genuine.

I absolutely adore the scene of the great exhibition in the mini-series - I consider it one of Sandy Welch's greater strokes of genius. For me, the scene is really a turning point in how Margaret views John, realizing through her family's behaviour her own initial prejudice against him. (I think Daniela Denby-Ashe portrayed this beautifully through her facial expressions). From the first time I saw it, I longed to write out those thoughts, which I imagined must have gone through Margaret's head at that moment.