Sooo, I'm down with COVID19 at the moment, which means that (during those times when I'm not asleep or feeling sick) I've got some time on my hands for editing.

Slight hint at adult content in this chapter (nothing too detailed or explicit, you'll have to wait some more for the good stuff ;))

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Chapter 15

Nicholas Higgins sat at the table in his tiny kitchen, listening to young Tommy Boucher, who was attempting to read a book he had been given by Margaret Hale. It was an early-reading practice with easy sentences for pupils who were just starting out, and Tommy was quite taken by it.

He was a smart boy with great ambitions and Nicholas could tell that he would have had the potential to go far – if only he had been born into different circumstances.

A knock at the front door made Nicholas look up. He was not expecting anyone, but maybe it was Miss Hale who was dropping by on one of her frequent visits. He stood up, leaving Tommy to his book and went to the door.

When he saw who was standing outside, he almost gasped in shock: It was none other than John Thornton, looking strangely out of place in this area of the city in his perfectly tailored clean black coat and tie.

Not knowing what to say or what to make of this, Nicholas quietly stepped aside to let him enter, glancing around the street quickly, to make sure nobody had seen a master enter his house before he firmly closed the door.

Thornton stood inside the gloomy room for a moment, letting his eyes roam over the sparse furniture until they fell on the three young children who were sitting quietly on the bed, playing with some makeshift dollies Mary had made for them out of old rags and the little blonde boy who was reading a book at the kitchen table.

"Are these your children?", Thornton asked. "No, but they are mine now."

Thornton gave a barely noticeable nod. "And these are the children you mentioned the other day?"

"You didn't believe me." It was a statement, not a question.

The master looked down for a moment, before meeting Nicholas' eyes. "I spoke to you in a way that I had no business to. I did not believe you. I could not have taken care of a man's such as Boucher's children", he confessed to Nicholas's utter surprise.

He had not expected a man like Thornton to admit fault or show any sentimental notion. He had no time to ponder this, because the man had resumed speaking: "I have made inquiries and I know now that you spoke the truth. I beg your pardon."

The worker grasped for words. "Well Boucher's dead and I am sorry, but that's the end of it."

Thornton's expression was earnest. "Will you take work with me, that's what I came here to ask."

Nicholas started pacing the room in silence for a few seconds. "You've called me impudent, a liar, a mischief-maker. But for the sake of these children do you think we could get along?", he asked.

"Well, it's not my proposal that we get on well together", Thornton replied with a tinge of amusement.

Higgins almost had to smile at that. "Work is work", he stated. "I'll come and what's more I'll thank you. And that is a good deal from me."

He saw the corners of Thornton's mouth twitch for a moment. The master reached out his hand. "And this is a good deal from me." Nicholas grabbed his hand and shook it.

"Now mind you, come sharp to your time. What times we have, we keep sharp", Thornton stated, and then, taking a step closer, his eyes boring into those of the union man, he continued with a tinge of menace in his voice: "And the first time I catch you using that brain of yours to make trouble, off you go. Now you know where you are."

Nicholas gave a tiny smirk. "Reckon I'll leave my brains at home then."

Thornton turned and walked back to the door. Before he left, he looked up at Higgins once more.

"Was Miss Hale the woman that told you to come to me?", he asked in a quiet voice, his eyes questioning. Nicholas did not respond, but John could read the answer in his eyes. "You might have said."

"And you'd have been a bit more civil?", Higgins replied with a small smile. He had suspected for a while that there was something between Miss Hale and the mill master and the look on the man's face seemed to confirm his suspicions.

Thornton did not make another reply, he stepped out onto the street and walked away, leaving Nicholas feeling slightly overwhelmed with everything that had just happened.

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John slowly made his way back through the streets of Princeton, his eyes downcast, unable to look into the faces of the people who had to scrape by in this hellhole.

He had not been down here for years and he now realized why he had avoided the place like the plaque. Every corner held memories for him, very few of them pleasant. This was the place he had fought so hard to leave behind, and being back here felt like he was being cast right into one of his nightmares.

John forced his breathing to calm and dared to glance up at the rows of houses once in a while. It was on one such occasion that he saw her – Margaret Hale.

She was wearing a brown dress and bonnet and a basket was dangling from her arm, as she made her way through the crowd, smiling at people, bowing her head at some of them from time to time, to be greeted with a smile.

She seemed to know her way around here and was obviously acquainted with quite a few of these people. The fact astonished him. He had known of- and frowned upon – the fact that she had friends in Princeton. But he had not expected such familiarity with the people there and how open and happy she seemed to walk amongst them, as if it came completely natural to her.

Maybe it was her being a clergyman's daughter, for he was sure she had taken it upon herself to care for those less fortunate in her old home in the south. There was something about the way she interacted with those who were looked down upon by many others of her social standing, that touched him.

He was still lost in these thoughts when she looked up and her eyes met his. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him incredulously. Then, she made her way across the street and towards him.

He fought the urge to turn and run, but forced himself to hold her gaze bravely. "Mr. Thornton?", she asked disbelievingly as she came to a halt in front of him. "What brings you down here? I never thought I would ever see you in Princeton."

"I've been to see Nicholas Higgins", he replied. "You may like to know that I have taken him on." He saw a wide smile spread across her features. "I'm glad of it!", she called out, overwhelmed.

"I did not know that it was you who urged him to come to me", he told her and saw her blush at his words.

"Would it have made you more or less likely to give him a job?", she asked quietly.

He thought about that for a moment. "I don't know. I will not withdraw it though, if that is what worries you." The colour drained from her face and she cast her eyes down to the ground. "I would not think you capable of that", she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have a better opinion of you, than you do of me at the moment, I feel."

It was then that they were interrupted by a voice that called out to them from nearby:

"John?"

Margaret saw Mr. Thornton start visibly and his head darted around to face a woman of about sixty years of age. Her face was slightly withered and marked by years of hardship in the slums of the city.

She wore an old, grey dress which was patched up in several places and her ashen hair was thinning. In her hands, she held a basket full of laundry she had just taken down from a nearby clothesline that stretched between two houses.

The woman was staring at them, almost as if in shock. She took a step towards them as if to get a better look. "Johnny Thornton, is it really you?", she asked.

Margaret's eyes darted from the woman to Mr. Thornton who looked as if someone had struck him right across the face. He stood, completely frozen and it seemed like, within a second, all the colour had drained from his face.

"Dear Lord, I thought I would never see you down 'ere again", the woman said with a sad smile. "You've done quite well for yerself from what I've 'erd."

Suddenly it seemed that Mr. Thornton had sprung back to life. He took several steps back, almost stumbling over some uneven cobblestones. "Excuse me!", he muttered, and with that, he spun around and bolted away from them.

Margaret stood in shock for a few seconds, before acting on instinct and darting after him.

It proved almost impossible to catch up with him, for he was practically running for his life. She followed him up the narrow alley, past all the people who were walking or standing there, going about their daily chores, and then up the stone steps which led out of Princeton onto the main road – the very spot, she realized, where he had saved her once.

"Mr. Thornton!", she called out to him as soon as they were back on the main street. He did not do her the favour of slowing down. "Mr. Thornton!", she cried out even louder, having now almost reached him.

He stopped, his breathing slightly heavier than usual, but did not turn to look at her. Margaret, for her part, was completely out of breath, almost close to fainting in her corset. She stepped in front of him, looking up into his face.

He was still white as a sheet and would not meet her eyes. Knowing full well that she was once again committing a crime on propriety, she reached out her hand and placed it on his arm, making him wince at the unexpected touch.

He let out a shaky breath. "What do you want from me, Miss Hale?", he asked weakly, still not looking at her. "I just want to make sure you are alright", she said in a soft voice that made his insides tingle. "You do not look well at the moment."

When he made no answer, she asked carefully: "You knew that woman?"

Mr. Thornton shrugged. "Just an acquaintance from a long time ago." He raised his eyes to hers now, and she could see something in them that almost looked like fear.

"Please do not ask me about it, Miss Hale", he murmured, almost pleadingly. "It is in the past and that's where it must remain. There are reasons why I avoid going to Princeton." He dropped his gaze and stepped away from her, letting her hand drop from his arm, and resumed walking.

Margaret fell into step beside him. A thousand questions raced through her mind all at once. Who was that woman? How did she know him? Know him well enough to call him "Johnny"?

But it was clear to her that he was in no humour to answer any of them, and she knew better than to confront him and risk hurting him in the process. God knew, she had caused enough harm to him in the past.

"There is no need to worry on my account, Mr. Thornton. I will not pry into you when it so obviously distresses you. You do not owe me any explanation."

"I thank you", he said honestly.

They walked in silence for a while, and as both their breathing slowly returned to its regular pattern she could sense a change in him, as if some invisible weight had been lifted off him by her not asking further questions. He seemed a bit more relaxed.

After a while he turned to her, his thoughts having taken another direction.

"Miss Hale, did you put flowers on my parent's grave?" He could not stop himself, he just had to know.

She blushed visibly. "I – I did", she admitted finally. "I hope you are not offended by it. I probably should not have done it without your permission. It's just that - I saw you standing there, after my mother's funeral and – when I went to bring flowers to my mother's grave, I – I just felt like putting some there."

Margaret felt embarrassed. She did not know why she had done it, really. All she knew was how he had stood there with this air of incredible loneliness about him and how the sight of it had gone right through her heart.

She cared about him deeply and since he had not accepted her gratitude for what he had done for her and Frederick, this had been a way to give back to him. She had not done it to get his attention. If she was honest, she had not thought through the consequences of her actions if he were to indeed find the flowers there.

"There is no need to apologize", he told her softly and she dared to look up at him once more. "I thought it very kind." She smiled tentatively. "I am glad you are not offended by it."

He gave her the tiniest of smiles then. So tiny, it was barely noticeable for someone who did not know him, but Margaret saw it all the same and it warmed her heart. She wished he would smile more often. She wished she had the power in herself to make him do it.

"I have to get back to Marlborough Mills now, Miss Hale", he said quietly, the timbre of his voice vibrating somewhere within her in a strange way. "I bid you good day." He nodded at her and turned to leave.

"Good day, Mr. Thornton." She stood, looking after him until he turned a corner and was out of her sight.

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That night Margaret lay awake, staring at the dark canopy above her, as she tried to bring her thoughts in order.

What a strange encounter with Mr. Thornton this had been today. She still wondered about the identity of the old woman who had recognized him. Where could she have known him from?

He had told Margaret that there was a reason he did not usually go to Princeton, but she could not fathom what it could be. She realized that there were many things she did not know about him. She had not known he had had a sister and still had no idea what had happened to her and his parents. Sometimes she wished she knew more. It was not solely out of curiosity – it was because she wished to understand him better.

This was a new and unfamiliar feeling to her. She wanted to know what he thought, how he felt. In fact, over the past days, she had often found herself wondering where he might be and what he was doing. Now, that she had finally admitted to herself that she did in fact hold very tender feelings for him, the thought of him excited and tormented her at the same time.

To think that there had been a time when his heart could have belonged to her and that she herself had destroyed those prospects through her ignorance was almost too much to endure. Margaret sighed and closed her eyes, trying to push those thoughts away and get some hours of much-needed sleep.

However, as she lay there in the dark, an array of memories started flooding her mind uninvitedly. She was once more standing there, in the rain at the graveyard, shivering, and he stepped closer to her, draping his coat over her, the warmth of his hands touching her shoulders for just a brief moment through the fabric, the scent of soap and bay rum filling her senses, as she looked up at him to see his wet hair clinging to his forehead.

She imagined what would have happened if she had reached up to her hand to brush it out of his face. What would it have felt like to touch him, to stand so close to him, to lean into him? Margaret's breathing quickened as a strange tingling sensation took hold of her body.

She desperately tried to concentrate on anything else, but found that she was unable to. He had invaded her mind and she could not escape him. There was another memory.

She was in his arms, being carried out of danger after she had been attacked by those two men in the alley. At the time she had wanted to be anywhere but near him, but the memory of his touch had been branded into her mind nonetheless, and as she revisited it now, her feelings about it were entirely different.

His strong arms, which had carried her so effortlessly, the way her body had been pressed against his lean one, the feeling of his warm breath against the side of her face and the sight of the stubble on his cheeks, as she had dared to lift her eyes for a few seconds – all those things that had repulsed her back then, suddenly had quite the opposite effect.

They excited her in a strange way. She relished them in her mind, trying to remember every detail, every small touch, every breath, every word he had spoken to her.

The memories were drawing her in, deeper, like a vortex – ineluctable and dangerous.

In her imagination she was once again in his arms, only this time she turned her head and pressed her lips to the side of his neck, feeling the faint stubble on his face. She imagined kissing him there, tenderly, conveying everything she felt for him, as she wrapped her arms around him.

The scene in her head developed a momentum of its own. In it, he bowed his head and found her lips with his. She felt his warm breath against her face as he drew her closer to him and she lost herself in his embrace and the feel of him.

Margaret gasped at the intense feeling surging through her. Her entire body suddenly felt strangely sensitive, her nightgown rubbed against her breasts almost painfully and there was an unfamiliar ache between her legs, in that place she had no name for.

As if on its own accord Margaret's hand slowly travelled downward until she touched that spot through her nightgown. She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed, her hips bucking involuntarily at the strange sensation.

Quickly she drew her hand away and bit her lip, as a wave of shame surged through her. She knew this was sinful and even in the darkness of her room, she felt her face burn with shame. She had never acted this wantonly before. This feeling inside her was incredibly strong. She did not know what it was, but it was like a dark temptation.

Her entire body had tensed up, wanting – needing more. More of what, she did not know. It was like she was suddenly craving some sort of relief, but she could not make sense of any of it.

All she knew was that it had been her thoughts of Mr. Thornton that had evoked all of this. He had done this to her. Margaret trembled as she rolled to her side and got up from the bed. She sneaked over to her washbasin, poured some cool water into the bowl and splashed it onto her face.

She forced her breathing to even out and with it, the strange feeling slowly started to subside. She walked over to her bedside table, pulled open the drawer and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves.

It was a long while later that she finally succumbed to restless sleep, her hands, still holding the gloves, pressed tightly to her chest.

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Nicholas Higgins started his work at Marlborough Mills the next day. He arrived at the mill sharply to his time and did his work thoroughly and responsibly. He would not give anyone reason to dismiss him. It was not in his nature.

Nicholas was a good worker and he was determined to prove it. Within a couple of days, he knew his way about the mill and had befriended some of the other hands. The wheel really helped with the air, he realized, and the pay was also better than at Hamper's.

He would have taken work anywhere to save Boucher's children from starving, but he realized that he could have done a lot worse. As the days passed, Nicholas started wondering more and more about his new master. He had always regarded Thornton with contempt, which was the natural way of things with Thornton being a master and him a union man.

He knew the man to be like a bulldog, never letting go of something he had set his mind to. He was strict with his workers, but Nicholas had to admit that he was also honest, which was something that could be said for few other mill owners. He did not play games with them like Slickson, Hamper and Watson did, he told them straightforwardly how things were and when he made a promise, he kept it.

He was also much younger than any of the other masters and still, Nicholas knew that he was very well respected because he was well-versed in his trade and knew what he was doing. He had made Marlborough Mills one of the most successful and well-known factories in all of Milton, which was an achievement even a union leader could not completely begrudge him.

But there was another thing Nicholas noticed early on: Marlborough Mills did not seem to be doing so well. They were way behind with the orders and there was no way they could make up for it anytime soon, no matter how much they worked.

The strike had really hit the mill hard and while hiring the Irish had been successful in breaking the strike, it had been a great expense which, in the long run, had been an additional factor to the financial problems Thornton was facing now.

It was in Nichola's second week at the mill, that he overheard a talk between Thornton and some other man – a posh fellow in a dark suit with long whiskers who was - as Nicholas had heard from other workers - a banker by the name of Latimer.

The two men were walking out of Thornton's office and across the mill yard, passing a cart behind which Nicholas was working, when he overheard some of their talk.

"Think about it Thornton, it's as safe as can be. Watson has got it all figured out. We will be certain to profit.", Latimer said. Thornton stopped right next to the cart and turned around to the other man, his eyes glowing with something that looked like anger to Nicholas.

"There is nothing certain about speculation", he spat out. "I will not risk the livelihoods of my men on some tomfool money scheme."

He took in a breath before adding in a calmer voice. "At the moment the payroll is safe and I will not risk it." Latimer looked right into Thornton's face earnestly. "Well, if matters carry on like this, you might not have anything left to risk." With that he put on his hat and headed towards the gates, exiting the mill.

Nicholas watched Thornton look after him for a moment, his face slightly pale. The master lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with a small sigh, before turning around and slowly walking back to his office. Nicholas looked after him in sheer disbelief, until the office door slammed shut behind him.

It seemed that he had indeed misjudged Thornton even more than he had thought. He was sure that no other master in all of Milton would have refused to participate in a speculation that could potentially make him a lot of money, for fear of injuring his others.

It was an absurd notion. And it was also the first time Nicholas Higgins looked at John Thornton through different eyes.

He started noticing other small things, he had not before. How Thornton would sometimes check on the looms himself to make sure everything was working in order, how he would even fix things here and there with his own hands like he obviously knew all the ins and outs of the machines, how he once noticed that some bales of raw cotton had fallen off a cart and quickly rolled up his shirtsleeves and helped with the unloading.

Nicholas especially noticed that Thornton seemed to be up and in his office every day when the workers arrived in the morning and stayed long past the working hours, after everyone had left.

He never saw the man eat or rest, apparently too preoccupied with trying to keep the mill running despite things looking so bleak financially.

'He is shouldering a lot' Nicholas thought to himself. 'And all on his own, it appears.'

Sometimes Nicholas would bring little Tommy to work with him. The boy was a good kid who never caused any trouble. He was too occupied with his books for that. While Nicholas was working, Tommy would often sit in the mill yard and practice his letters for hours with angelic patience.

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It was already dark outside and John was still brooding over his accounting books, the numbers blurring before his tired eyes. He put down the quill and pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh, when he heard the whistle outside, signalling the end of the workday for his hands.

John looked down at his pocket watch and then rose out of his chair to step over to the large window leading out into the mill yard. His eyes fell on the small form of Tommy Boucher who was sitting on the wooden landing, waiting for Nicholas Higgins to come and pick him up. His cap was pulled down into his forehead and he was reading a book, his little head bobbing rhythmically with the words he mumbled to himself.

The image stirred something inside John. It was like a distant memory flooding back into him, as he stood there unable to tear his gaze away from the child. For years John had tried to run from his past, pushing all the memories into some dark corner in the back of his mind, desperately trying to keep the door shut on them.

It was to no avail of course, as whenever he lay down to sleep his subconscious would creep up to torment him. His visit to Princeton had brought everything back once more and since then his mind had kept wandering back in regular patterns.

Seeing the tiny lad now as he sat there, so inquisitive and eager to learn, John felt as though he was looking at a mirror image of himself. He had been that boy once, desperate to rise above his station from a young age.

He remembered reading anything he had been able to get his hands on, staying up late at night, trying to accumulate as much knowledge as possible. The worst blow had been when he had been forced to leave school at age eleven to support his mother and sister after his father's death.

It had been thirteen-hour shifts at the mill and then at night, with his whole body aching and his eyes burning from tiredness, he had sat there with a book, trying to make up for the schooling he had been deprived of.

All those years of pushing away the past had put a distance between himself and the people who were still down there in the slums, living hand to mouth as he once had, he realized.

He had told himself that it was their own fault. That, if he had managed to drag himself out of the gutter, anyone could, if they just worked hard enough.

He had even despised those people for wasting their lives away like this without making an effort to get out of there. But if he was honest with himself, he knew that this was an over-simplification he had created in his head, to protect himself from his own demons in a desperate act of self-preservation.

He had risen above his fellow men and was now commanding them as a master, and he had – so he believed – done his best to be fair and honest with them. But had he? Had he really done all he could do for them? Had he provided the help he himself would have needed as a child?

An image of Margaret Hale popped into his mind, as she had walked through Princeton like it was the most natural thing to her, smiling at people, carrying a basket full of food and little treats for the children.

He could not recall ever having met another person who was so happy to just give, without wanting anything in return, like their happy faces were enough reward for her.

Until now, he had not understood why she did it – he had not dared to let his mind ponder on her reasons for fear of triggering his own memories. How he wished there had been someone like Margaret Hale when he had been a child.

Was there something to be done, he wondered. Something he could do for the Boucher boy?

John watched as the workers walked along the landing and out through the mill gates. Higgins arrived and patted the young lad's head, signalling that they were to leave. He took the boy's hand and they walked away together, Tommy still clutching his book tightly.

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A few evenings later, as Nicholas was leaving the factory building, he found Mr. Thornton sitting there on the wooden landing next to Tommy, helping him read. It was an odd image, the tall, powerful man in his impeccable dark suit, attentively leaning down towards the little boy in his shabby clothes and his dirty cap.

As Nicholas drew nearer, Thornton raised himself up and crossed his arms, looking at him suspiciously.

"Why are you so late? The shift finished an hour ago. What are you up to?"

"Work wasn't finished", Higgins swiftly defended himself. "We stayed 'til it was."

Thornton shook his head disapprovingly. "Can't pay over your time."

"See ye're working over your time", Nicholas retaliated.

The master did not make a reply, he just looked at him, as if gauging his intentions. Nicholas leaned against the landing next to Tommy.

"If ye go under, no one else'll take me on and no one'll put food in 'is mouth." He motioned towards the boy with his head.

"He's not had his supper tonight, he's been telling me", Thornton said, relaxing against the landing but still keeping his arms crossed.

"Some days there's good meat, other days nothing fit for a dog, even if ye've got money in yer pocket.", Higgins told him. "There's yer market forces in action for ye, Master."

Thornton stared off into the distance for a moment. "It's a pity you can't get up some scheme", he said then. "Buy food wholesale, cook for twenty instead of one. Then everybody would be able to afford a good meal a day. And he would have fit minds to do studying", he mused, looking down at the child.

"Careful", Higgins smirked at him. "Someone will report ye to master's union for that kind of talk."

He saw a small smile cross Thornton's lips. "If men eat well, they work well. And that would please masters too, unless they're idiots. Which some of them are", he added, which made Nicholas smirk to himself.

"We'd need somewhere to cook", he then pondered aloud. "There's an old outhouse out the back, not in any use as far as I can tell."

"You did bring your brains with you to work, didn't you", Thornton accused him, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I try to keep them hidden but I can't do without them altogether."

Thornton raised himself up from the landing and put his hands in his pockets. "You get some figures up and we'll see. No promise of mine."

With that he strode away from them, back towards his office, without looking back, leaving Nicholas, once again, to look after him in bewilderment.