Okay everyone, this chapter basically marks the end of the canon storyline.

We'll cover one last major plot point, and then this story will start moving (mostly) in its own direction. Hope you'll have as much fun with this as I had writing it (although "fun" is probably not a very accurate word for this fic, but whatever lol)

Chapter 17

Autumn quickly turned into a frosty winter, which brought snow and seemed to freeze the particles of dust in the air.

During the cold months, the poor in Milton were even worse off, trying to scrape together enough money to afford firewood and keep their families warm. It was a bleak season, with grey skies and icy winds, and Margaret spent much time inside, doing needlework or reading, hoping that spring would come soon.

Whenever the storms would let up a bit, she would walk to the graveyard to visit her mother and Bessy…and also the Thornton family. Even though she had not known the three people, they had once been part of the life of a man whom she felt a strong connection with, and so her feet would automatically carry her to their resting place, every time she was there, making sure everything looked nice for them, in a way, doing it with him in mind as well.

It was one day at the end of January, when Margaret was sitting in a comfortable chair by the window of the Hale's sitting room, reading a book, when her father came in with a letter in his hand.

"That's from Mr. Bell. There is to be a reunion of all my Oxford friends", he told her with a tinge of excitement in his voice.

"This time you will accept his invitation?", she asked with a smile.

"I think I will", he mused, sitting down in a chair beside her. "I can give my pupils a holiday for a few weeks, and now that Thornton's stopped coming-" he trailed off with a sigh and was silent for a few moments, seemingly in thought.

"I'm worried about him", he finally admitted.

"Is Marlborough Mills really in danger?", Margaret inquired, thinking back to what Nicholas had told her last fall, but seeking reaffirmation from her father. As Mr. Hale was in contact with Mr. Bell, Thornton's landlord, she suspected that he would know of these things.

Mr. Hale looked her straight in the eye, with a grave expression. "Yes. I'm afraid it is."

It was a statement, so plain, that she was left in no doubt as to the seriousness of the situation, and she felt a painful knot form in her stomach at the thought of it.

"But it's his spirit I fear for", Mr. Hale continued.

"Now, he is a rather secretive man when it comes to his private affairs, but we have spoken of many things during our lessons, and from what I have gathered, he did have a rather rough upbringing..."

"He never mentioned any particulars, but I know that he struggled for years, after his father had passed, to build up what he has now. He raised himself from poverty. How much worse to be brought low a second time. I imagine he will feel it bitterly."

Margaret did not know what to say to that, so she remained silent, looking down at her hands in barely concealed dismay.

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Over the next few days, Mr. Hale prepared for his visit to Oxford. Margaret helped him pack, and when the day of his trip arrived, she stood outside their Crampton home, fixing his scarf with a smile.

They said their farewells as he stepped into the carriage, which was to bring him to Outward station, and she looked after it, until it turned a corner and was gone.

For the next few weeks, she would be alone with Dixon, so Margaret tried her best to keep herself occupied.

She went on some long walks up the hills around Milton, she continued her regular visits to Princeton, and also went to call on Ann Latimer more frequently, finding pleasure in her talks with her friend, and also with Mrs. Eldon, whom she was growing increasingly fond of.

About two weeks after Mr. Hale's departure, a letter arrived from him. In it, he told her of the wonderful time he had in Oxford, and of all the old friends he had met, whom he had not seen in decades.

I feel much younger than I have in years, my dear.

It almost feels as though I have come home.

Margaret stood by the window looking down at the letter with a smile, when she caught a movement down in the street, out of the corner of her eye, and, looking up, she saw none other than Mr. Bell stepping down onto the sidewalk from a carriage.

Margaret stared at him incredulously. He was supposed to be in Oxford with her father. What was he doing in Milton, apparently on his own?

Bell looked up at the window and saw Margaret there. There was a grave expression on his face, and she instantly knew that something was terribly wrong.

Bell raised his hand and took off his top hat, and his eyes told Margaret everything she needed to know.

It felt as if she had been dipped into a huge bucket of ice-cold water. Her whole body went numb and she felt as if an iron fist started clenching around her heart, squeezing all the air out of her body.

The whole room started spinning, and she could barely make it to the settee before she sank down in a faint.

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It had been an unexpected, but peaceful death. He had gone to bed one night, never to rise again. Maybe he had suffered a stroke in his sleep, or his heart had just sopped, they would never know.

Mr. Bell did all he could to console Margaret, who was shaken to the core. He had never seen her like this.

When her mother had died, she had been sad, but collected. It had been a necessity to be strong for her father, but now, that he was gone as well, there was no one left. She was all alone in the world.

Within less than two years, Margaret Hale had lost everything.

She had lost her home in Helstone, when they had moved to this northern industrial town, she had left all her friends and acquaintances behind, and now, she had lost both her parents over the course of only a few months. It was no surprise that her devastation knew no bounds.

To make matters worse, it would not do for her to stay alone at Crampton, a young woman alone in such a dark, bleak house with too many rooms for one. Being her legal guardian, Mr. Bell took it upon himself to start making arrangements for Margaret's future.

He had tried to contact her aunt in London, inquiring whether she could take Margaret in, but it turned out that the whole family was not in the country at present.

Both her aunt Shaw, as well as Edith and Captain Lennox with their little son, had left England and gone to the continent, touring Greece and Italy, and they were not expected home for a few more months at least, so other accommodations would have to be found.

Thankfully, Margaret's friend, Ann Latimer, stepped in as soon as she heard of Mr. Hale's death. She was eager to help and quickly persuaded her family to take in Margaret for the time being.

It was decided that Dixon would stay at Crampton until all things were settled, before joining her young mistress at the Latimer's home.

The furniture and all belongings, which were not needed anymore, were to be auctioned off, and Margaret was to relocate to her new home within the next few days.

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John Thornton stood at the entrance to the worker's canteen at Marlborough Mills, staring up at Nicholas Higgins in utter shock and disbelief.

"Mr. Hale…dead?"

"Aye. In his sleep. Poor fellow. He'd never recovered from his wife's death", Nicholas replied with a beat-down voice.

John was at a loss for words, as the world seemed to tilt strangely around him.

He felt dizzy, unable to control his emotions. Mr. Hale had been one of the very few people John had considered a friend. The older man had always been so open and interested in him and his opinions, had always listened to him and shared words of encouragement.

He had not been that old, and even though he had been tired more often as of late, there had been no sign of any illness that would tear him away from his loved ones so unexpectedly.

Maybe it had indeed been his wife's untimely death and the feeling that their moving to the north had played a part in it, that had diminished the man's will to live.

John felt a pang of guilt at the thought of not having visited the older man in almost three months, having used the mill as an excuse to stay away.

The truth was that he had not been ready to face Margaret Hale, and in doing so, he had let down his friend, leaving him alone in his grief after his wife's demise.

John felt like a terrible friend. He should have swallowed his pride and disappointment and done the right thing. But he had not, and now, there was no way to put it right.

And Margaret! How she had to be suffering now, all alone in the world.

John reached out his hand to grab the doorframe for support, his exhaustion, mixed with the lack of food he had eaten and the sudden blow of this horrifying news threatening to overwhelm him.

"Master!", he heard Nicholas say in a worried tone. "Master, come in. Sit down, have some food."

They sat in silence for a while, as John poked about his plate with his spoon.

"And Margaret? What of her?", he asked eventually. Nicholas did notice the master's unconscious use of her christian name, but knew better than to comment on it.

"She's goin' to be taken in by a friend's family for now, as 'er aunt is out of the country. Latimer, I think the name is. I reckon once her family arrives back in London, they will want to take 'er in, but for now, she'll have to remain in Milton for a little longer, which I 'ave to say, we are not too sad about. We would dearly miss her."

John nodded quietly, forcing himself to eat a little bit, and finding the food to be surprisingly delicious. If only there was something he could do for Margaret.

He knew all too well what she had to be going through right now, but there was no easy way to speak to her, now that he could not just go to Crampton with the excuse of visiting Mr. Hale.

He could not meet her alone to speak to her, however much he longed to.

The mere thought that she was sitting in this bleak house, surrounded by the memories of her parents, waiting to be moved to the Latimer's, broke his heart.

'Maybe', he thought painfully, 'maybe that lover of hers will marry her.'

But the man seemed to have disappeared as quickly as he had come. 'Bastard', John thought to himself, angrily chewing his food.

For a brief moment, he pondered the fact that all of this would have been different, had she accepted his proposal back then, but he pushed the thought away immediately.

Firstly, there was really no use in dwelling on these things, and secondly, with the way things were standing with the mill, he would not even be able to provide her with financial security now.

No, it was just as well that she had not accepted him. He would have let her down. She was better off without him, he told himself. The mill was going to fail, it was not a question of 'if' but rather of 'when' and he was glad that at least this was no concern of hers.

But oh, how he wished to hold her. To pull her into his arms, press his lips to her hair and tell her that he would always be there for her. To offer comfort to the woman who haunted his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night.

No matter what had passed between them in the past, he needed to come up with something to ease her pain.

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Margaret was in a daze. Her whole life had been turned upside down.

She was unable to pack her things. The thought of leaving this house, however much she had hated moving there at first, was devastating. This was where she held the last memories of her parents.

What was to happen to all their belongings? Auctioned away, scattered somewhere, where she would never see them again.

The most painful thing was the fact that she would have to part with most of her father's books. They had been so dear to him, and he had always read to Margaret from them as she was growing up.

And even in the last months, they had often shared their thoughts on some of them, during their evenings together in the sitting room, as she had kept him company. Giving away those books felt like losing her father all over again, and it was too much to bear.

Dixon outgrew herself in her care for the young mistress. She organized everything for the auction, packed Margaret's things, and still managed to do most of the household chores.

When the time came to relocate to the Latimer's, Margaret picked out a handful of books she wanted – no needed – to keep. Her father's old bible, some selected philosophical works he had loved, and the volume of Plato's "The Republic". She would give this one to Mr. Thornton whenever she was to see him the next time.

Ann Latimer came in a carriage to pick her up and keep her company on the way to her new home. The young woman had dropped her cheerfulness and met Margaret with honest sympathy, hugging her tightly and speaking in a low, earnest voice, as she expressed her heartfelt condolences and reassured her friend that she would want for nothing at her family's home, and was welcome there for as long as she chose to stay.

Margaret was moved by her friend's compassion and beyond grateful for everything the Latimers had done for her. They had always been on good terms, but she had not expected them to go out of their way like this to help her.

At her new home, Margaret was led into a very nice, bright room with subtle floral wallpapers and a big canopy bed, and was left to unpack her things.

In the evening, the family dined together, and all the Latimers, as well as Mrs. Eldon, attended to her with great thoughtfulness.

Within a few days, Margaret had settled into her new home as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

She was glad for the company of Ann and Mrs. Eldon, but also thankful that they did not force it on her, giving her time to stay in her room or go for walks, to be alone with her thoughts whenever she needed it.

They did not question where she went, knowing her well enough to know that she was a rather independent person and could take care of herself.

But during these first days, Margaret rarely left her room. She sat by the window for hours, holding her father's old bible, without reading it, as she just stared off into the distance, a bleak emptiness enveloping her entire being.

She had not known that one could feel this empty. It was almost as if she was dead inside, unable to form a coherent thought or pull herself up to do anything productive.

All she could think of was her father, who was now buried hundreds of miles away, in Oxford, far from his wife's last resting place.

Who would have thought that they would be separated in death like this, after having shared their life for over thirty years? How was she going to survive without her family? She did not know when she would see Fred again. It could be years.

She had been glad when she had received a letter from him a few months ago, informing her that he had arrived safely back home in Spain. He was married to Dolores now, and very happy, as far as she could tell.

Margaret had written a letter to him a few days ago, informing him of their father's passing. She knew he would be devastated. Now, the siblings were all that was left of their family, and they were forced to be apart forever by the cruelty of fate.

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The auction at Crampton took place the following week, on two consecutive days. Margaret could not bring herself to go there and see all of their belongings be lost to her forever.

But John Thornton went there, with a clear purpose in mind.

Sitting down in a chair in the front row, he quickly scanned the auction list, selecting various items in his mind. He bid almost relentlessly, a stern look of determination on his face, as he repeatedly lifted his card, until his competitors gave way.

One time, he was so concentrated on his task, that he did not realize that everyone else had dropped out, and lifted his card once more, outbidding himself, much to the amusement of the entire room.

After the auction was over, he made arrangements to have all the items packed in boxes and sent over to Miss Margaret Hale at the Latimer family residence.

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Margaret was stunned, when she was called into the drawing-room the next morning to find that five big wooden boxes had arrived for her.

Two messengers had just carried them in, as much to Mrs. Latimer's surprise, who was present in the room, as to Margaret's.

"Well, what on earth could this be?", Mrs. Latimer wondered. "And where should we put them? Go ahead and open them, Miss Hale. Let's see what they contain."

Margaret nodded and went to open the first box. As she lifted the lid, her eyes widened.

The box was filled to the brim with books – her father's books, she recognized immediately, as her heart began thumping wildly in her chest.

Quickly, she opened the rest of them to find what she was quite sure was his entire collection.

"But how-", she stuttered, as she lifted the lid of the last box.

There, on top of the books, lay a small envelope. She picked it up with trembling fingers, to find a note inside:

Miss Hale,

allow me to apologize for my forwardness in sending these books to you.

Knowing what this collection meant to your father and suspecting that it might, in turn, mean something to you, I could not stand by and watch it being scattered amongst different buyers.

Instead, I would like to return it to you in full, since I believe it to be rightfully yours, and therefore, I feel it is up to you to decide what to do with it.

Please consider this a small gesture in honour of a man who has been a great friend to me and whose memory I shall treasure forever.

Yours sincerely

J. Thornton

"Miss Hale, are you alright?" Mrs. Latimer asked worriedly.

The young woman had sunken down onto the nearest chair, her hands trembling and a silent tear making its way down her cheek.

Margaret could not speak for a moment, trying to get a hold of her own emotions.

Then she nodded slowly. "Just – overwhelmed", she muttered truthfully. Mrs. Latimer knew better than to pry into her, and waited patiently whether the young woman wanted to share the contents of the letter or not.

"They are from Mr. Thornton", Margaret stuttered eventually. "He – purchased them at the auction to keep the collection in one piece."

Mrs. Latimer looked at her with wide eyes. "Now that surely is a most noble gesture, Miss Hale", she marvelled, wondering to herself what could have persuaded a man like Thornton to make such generous gifts.

"Shall we have those boxes brought up to your room?" Margaret nodded, still holding on to the letter. She followed the two servants, as they brought up the boxes and instructed them to place them in a corner, near the window.

After they had left, she sat on her bed, once again reading the note she still held in her hands.

And then once more.

Over and over again her eyes moved along his words, her fingers gently sweeping over the letters as she did.

His handwriting was beautiful, and the fact that she was holding something he had written to her, personally, every word carefully chosen with only her in mind, felt almost intimate to her.

There were about fifty books. She was sure that he must have spent quite a great deal of money on them at the auction, and considering that he was having financial troubles himself…why had he done it?

She could not fathom his reasons. All she knew was that what he had done for her went far beyond any other gift she had ever received in her life.

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NOTES:

I know many of you have waited and wondered about certain things in this story for a long time.

It may interest you to know, that the answer to your prayers (at least some of them) is waiting just around the corner now.

So stay tuned, as some light will finally be shed on things in the next chapter ;)