Apologies in advance: This chapter is a little low on John/Margaret (I'll make up for it very soon, I promise), but there were a few more things I needed to set up for HEA to work out properly ;)

Chapter 19

On the following morning, Margaret woke with a splitting headache. She felt weak and dizzy, and it took her over an hour to even get out of bed. Maybe the last few weeks had just been too much, and everything was starting to take a toll on her.

She managed to take a brief breakfast, but was not up to much more, so she knew she would once more be unable to go to Marlborough Mills, to see Mr. Thornton – not that she was any more ready to face him yet than she had been the day before, but she knew that she needed to let him know how grateful she was for the book collection.

She could not stay silent any longer. So, she dragged herself up enough to make some preparations, and then called for a messenger to send over a basket to Marlborough Mills. She knew it would have been the brave thing to face him in person, but after everything that had happened as of late, Margaret did not feel particularly brave anymore. Just beat down and exhausted.

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John looked up from his business letters at a knock on the door.

"Come in."

It was an errand boy, carrying a basket, which was covered with a white cloth. "T'is for you, sir." The master looked at the basket quizzically, mechanically reaching into his pocket to pay the boy.

"It's been taken care of", the lad told him, put his delivery down on the desk, and left with a small bow. John lifted the white cloth off the basket, to find some bread, ham and a bit of cheese wrapped in another piece of cloth, also some fruit, and a small tin, which contained ginger biscuits.

Then, there was a rectangular package, neatly wrapped in paper and bound with a piece of string. He slowly unwrapped it to find a book that looked very familiar. It was "The Republic" by Plato, which he had so often discussed with Mr. Hale. He carefully opened it up, to find a folded piece of paper stuck between the cover and the first page.

John quickly unfolded it, and his eyes widened slightly, when he realized whom it was from.

Mr. Thornton,

I cannot find the words to properly express the amount of gratitude I feel for your generous gift of my father's book collection.

You were right: It does mean a lot to me and will be a great comfort to me during this difficult time.

You were a very dear friend to my father and he often spoke of you with fondness and admiration.

Your company was a great comfort to him and always brought him so much joy.

I am well aware of everything you have done for my family over these past two years and I am highly indebted to you for all of it.

Please accept this basket as a small and clumsy attempt at conveying my thankfulness, even though I know that this can never be enough.

I know there is a lot of work at Marlborough Mills at the moment, but I beg you, do not forget to eat and get some rest, for I worry about your health.

I do hope that things will settle down at the mill soon, in a way that is satisfactory to you.

Sincerely yours

Margaret Hale

After he had read her words, John just sat there in silence for some minutes, basking in the warm feeling that was spreading through him. He could not believe she had done this.

It was just like that day on the graveyard, when he had found her flowers on his family's grave. Once again, he was torn between feeling delirious with joy, and a sense of utter sadness.

Joy, at the thought, that in some way she did seem to care for him, and sadness at the image that had been haunting his mind for the past few months: the image of her embracing that man in the darkness, at the station.

He absentmindedly grabbed an apple from the basket and bit into it, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. He could not remember the last time he had eaten. He folded her letter and carefully tucked it away in the breast pocket of his waistcoat, right over his heart.

How he wished he could go to her. To just see her, or even better, to hold her, pull her close and never let her go. How he wished she was his. He closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling as if the little piece of paper in his pocket was burning right through the fabric, warming his skin underneath.

"Oh Margaret", he whispered shakily. "How am I to bear this?"

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Mr. Bell arrived from Oxford a few days later, to go about some business affairs and visit his goddaughter. Margaret was delighted to see him, and even more delighted, when he proposed the idea of taking her on a trip to Helstone for a few days.

"Mr Bell, do you really mean it?", she uttered in excited disbelief. "Of course", he smiled widely. "I was sitting on the train, thinking of how we could amuse ourselves, and I got it into my head to visit the south, for I am sure it would be a wonderful diversion."

Margaret could not remember when she had last been so excited. She would see her old home again, after almost two years. Those beloved woods and meadows, the small river, where Fred and she had played as children, and the old parish that held so many fond memories.

Over the next two days, she could scarcely think of anything else. She had hastily packed some things, for they were to stay at the inn in Helstone for two nights, and on the following morning, they were on the train, leaving from Outward Station, going south.

The hours on the train passed mostly in silence, with Mr. Bell reading his newspaper, and Margaret looking out of the window. They passed through the rough landscape of the north with lush, green meadows and dark low-hanging clouds. There was a rare beauty in it, that seemed to draw her in, almost hypnotizing her, until eventually her chin rolled towards her chest and she fell into a slumber.

She woke a few hours later, as the train reached London. Here, they were to change to the train going down to Southampton. The sun shone brightly now, bathing the small woodlands and meadows they passed in its light.

It was late in the afternoon, when they finally arrived at Helstone, and made their way to the small inn. Margaret remembered the woman who worked there, Mrs. Perkis, and the woman, in turn, jumped up excitedly from her chair, when she recognized Margaret.

"Miss Hale, is it really you? I can't believe I would ever see you here again!", she exclaimed, taking both of Margaret's hands in hers.

They talked for a while about everything that had happened in the small village, since the Hale's had left. The new vicar was very different from Mr. Hale, Mrs. Perkis assured her. He had a large family with seven children and was very particular about caring for his flock, condemning any ungodly indulgences such as drinking, and he often scolded the men of Helstone when he caught them at the alehouse, having a pint.

"He is nothing like your dear father", the landlady told Margaret with some amount of regret, and inquired after her family. It was painful to have to tell her about the death of both her parents, as the shock was evident on the woman's face. Mr. Bell saw Margaret's predicament, and quickly joined the conversation, trying to steer the other woman's attention towards a more pleasant topic.

They had a small, but delicious dinner, and since it was rather late and the sun had already set, they decided to turn in early and start exploring the village and woods the next morning.

Margaret stood at the window of her room for a while, looking out over the blackened trees in the distance. All of this seemed so familiar, yet so foreign to her. She felt like she knew every tree, every little flower along the path, every house and every face, and still, it did not feel like home anymore.

Her family was not there, and she realized that, without them, this place would never be the same.

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On the following morning, Margaret and Mr. Bell took an early breakfast, and then went out on a walk through the woods. She still recalled every little path, every secret place, and showed him all her favourite views.

Much seemed the same as it had been when she had left, but then there were also things that had changed: A tree gone here and there, some new houses built in places that had been green, untouched meadows before. The old man, Isaak, Margaret had visited regularly with a basket, had died, his house had been torn down, leaving a big spot of brown soil, where new houses would surely be built soon.

Small changes, over the course of some years, but to Margaret, they were a stark contrast to what she had known and she felt herself mourn every tree, every stone that had been changed, like some lost friend, as a quiet sadness settled itself in her chest. Mr. Bell noticed her quietness and tried his best to cheer her up with some delightful conversation, and she was thankful to him for it.

Eventually, Margaret's old home came into view. She could instantly tell that it had been changed greatly. The yellow rose bushes she had loved so much, were gone, having made way for a big lawn, and the sight of it almost broke her heart.

At Mr. Bells' request, they rang the doorbell and were invited in by a thin woman in her late thirties, wearing a plain, greenish dress and white cap, who turned out to be the new vicar's wife. The vicar himself was a rather plump, balding, middle-aged man, who seemed fairly severe.

They were invited in for tea, but it was a very uncomfortable conversation. Margaret mentioned her sadness at the loss of the rose bushes, to which the vicar's wife replied that their seven children needed a place to play, for fresh air was the best way to prepare the minds for God.

They showed them some of the rooms. Margaret's old bedroom had been turned into a nursery and looked completely changed. When they finally left, Margaret did not look back.

She had been looking forward to this visit so much, only to find herself saddened and disappointed at what she had found.

Mr. Bell looked at her from the side. "I'm afraid this trip has not gone as I had wished, I'm sorry", he said eventually. Margaret shook her head with a small, woeful smile.

"When we first arrived in Milton", she spoke, "I was guilty of romanticizing the south. I have got to work hard now at not doing the opposite", she admitted, almost surprising herself with her own words.

He turned to look at her fully, raising one eyebrow. "You would not call Milton romantic in any way though, surely?", he inquired.

She pondered his words for a moment, and then answered: "I think I learnt something from this trip. I had expected it to be the paradise I knew as a child. But try as we might – happy as we were – we can't go back."

They had reached the church, and Mr. Bell led her to a small bench in front of it. "Margaret, there is something I need to talk to you about", he started. She sat, looking at him expectantly. "You know that before your father died, I had promised him to look after you." "You have", she told him with a reassuring smile, but he continued:

"Now, I have often thought how very depressing it would be, if one was to leave one's fortune to people who are waiting around, hoping you would die off. So, I intend to sign over the bulk of my money and properties to you now."

She stared at him in utter shock, unable to speak for a few moments.

"Oh no, I can't", she ejaculated then, "I will not!"

"Yes, you will", he told her with a confident smirk. "I am going back to South America, where I shall live out the rest of my life in perfect peace and prosperity, knowing that you are putting my money to good use." "No, I could not! What about you?" Margaret was shaken to the core.

Bell looked down at his hands, his expression suddenly grave. "Well, it's something I've been trying to ignore. I went to London the other day, to see my doctor." He made a significant pause after that, and the look in his eyes told Margaret everything she needed to know.

Her heart dropped and her hands automatically reached out to grab his. She could not take this. Not Mr. Bell too, after she had lost her parents. He squeezed her hand affectionately. "Oh shh", he reassured her. "You must think of me, living the life under the Argentine skies. Not many men can plan their exit from this world in such a leisurely way."

Margaret felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, but he would not have any of it. "Come now, we must cheer up", he said, standing up and taking her arm in his. "It is almost time for dinner, and I am in very great need of good food."

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They returned to Milton the next evening, and within a few days, Mr. Bell had settled his affairs. He had signed over his fortune to his goddaughter, with the help of Mr. Latimer, whom he also appointed in taking care of all of Margaret's future business affairs.

Suddenly, she now owned not only a sum of close to eighteen thousand pounds, but also a good handful of properties in Milton, one of which – to her shock – turned out to be Marlborough Mills. This meant that Mr. Thornton was her tenant now, even if she was landlord in name only.

The following week, after everything had been settled, Mr. Bell was ready to leave Milton for good. It was a heart-breaking goodbye, but he wiped away her tears with his handkerchief, and reminded her once again to remember him as he were, and use his money to do some good.

As his carriage made its way down the street, Margaret stood at the window and looked after it, until it was out of sight.

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Mr. Latimer proved himself to be trustworthy and conscientious in all of Margaret's money affairs. Over the course of the following week, he took his time to explain to her all the details of her inheritance, and enlightening her on her options.

It was difficult for her at first, as Margaret had almost no understanding of financial affairs, but she was eager to learn. She knew that she wanted to use her money to help the people in Milton, but suspected that it would take a while for her to figure out how to go about this in the best way.

One morning, as they were all sitting down to breakfast, Mr. Latimer put down his morning paper to beam widely at Margaret.

"Miss Hale, I have some excellent news. You have made money" he told her solemnly. "What, since yesterday? While I slept?", she asked, puzzled.

"Money makes money", Latimer explained. "Mr Bell took part in a speculation with Watson, and it seems they have struck gold. Everyone who invested in the scheme may consider themselves quite fortunate – which also includes the majority of mill owners in Milton. Well, except John Thornton", he added gravely.

Margaret looked up from her toast. "Oh?", was all she could say. "Thornton would not have anything to do with it. Far too principled. But that might just have been his last straw. I am afraid you will soon be looking for a new tenant, Miss Hale."

His words were followed by silence. At loss for words, Margaret frantically started buttering her toast, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in her chest, which made it hard to breathe.

There was only one thought, repeating itself over and over in her mind: 'I cannot let that happen.' There had to be something she could do, now that she had the means, and she already owned the building.

She did not know anything about money affairs, but she knew that she needed to come up with a plan.

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NOTES:

I felt like including the trip to Helstone, because I think it symbolizes a lot, in regards to Margaret's emotional journey.

Her character arc has been such a pleasure to write. To me, she is just an extremely relatable character (as is John).