WARNING! This chapter contains some confronting events that may be sensitive to some. So please, only continue at your own discretion. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy another chapter. I'm sorry for the delay as I've been busy with uni work. Unfortunately my degree is online so no break from that.
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Henry stood stoically by the window and watched the people passing by on the street below. How happy they looked, and how oblivious to the things that would cause others such immense pain and regret. He felt envy as well as distain as he downed the last of his drink and moved to pour himself another.
The desk before him was a mess of papers, some pertaining to his task, others were the letters that he had treasured so privately. He picked up one such letter and skimmed over the writing, a bitter smile spreading across his face as his eyes fell on the initials S.K neatly written at the bottom.
He reached for the bottle of fine whisky and instead of pouring it, he drank directly from the bottle. After weeks and weeks of trying to rectify his mistake, it was too late. His one chance at true happiness in life was gone, snuffed out by the very thing that threatened to snuff his life out as well.
With gritted teeth, he turned his head to the small fireplace that had died down to embers and rose from his chair, gathering up the papers on his desk and throwing them unceremoniously onto the fire.
As the heat ignited the papers and the evidence of his love burnt away, Henry took another deep swig from the bottle and sat it back down on the desk. The increased light in the room illuminated the amber liquid within the bottle and he thought it quite beautiful at that moment.
He snatched up the bottle once more and brought it to his lips again, this time taking in the liquid until there wasn't a drop left. Before the alcohol could take over his mind, he pulled out another piece of paper and scrawled down a hasty letter to his wife.
His dear Margaret. She did not deserve what he had given her. He had not missed the longing in her eyes when she gazed upon Mr Thornton and he knew that the man cared for her. He only wished that he had never thought of marrying, and further still that he had never thought of Margaret as a willing candidate.
He poured his feelings into the letter and folded it roughly before placing it into his pocket. He then wrenched up the draw and looked down at his final answer. The answer he had kept a secret for months, but never used.
He carefully took it out of the draw and draped it over his shoulder, quickly blowing out the candles as he left the room.
He made it to the bridge only a short walk away from his practice and scanned the streets, so as to make sure no one would see him. Once he was certain of his isolation, he took the rope from off his shoulder and attached it to the strong steel of the bridge. He made sure the knot was firm and even in his inebriated state, he was certain of its strength.
Using the steel beams as support, he climbed up to the railing and placed the loop of the rope about his neck. With everything in place, he stepped from the railing.
The jolting pain was excruciating, and while it was his body's natural instinct to fight for life, he closed his eyes and tried his best to resist it. After some time, the pain died away with his body's fight for air and he slipped away into darkness.
Xxx
Margaret and the Captain were silent for the policeman's explanation, both too shocked to speak. They were led to the mortuary, where they were shown without a shadow of a doubt, that Henry Lennox was no longer among the living.
Margaret was numb with the overload of emotions that all threatened to spill out all at once and she could see the same look reflected back at her in Captain Lennox's eyes.
'Oh Henry,' she whispered, reaching forward to close the glassy eyes that stared without seeing.
'This was found on his body, Miss,' the officer handed her a slightly scrunched letter with Margaret Hale written across it in rough writing so very unlike Henry. 'I know you'll likely want your privacy, but I do need to know if that letter indicates without a doubt that this was or was not a suicide'.
Margaret nodded and carefully unfolded the letter.
Dearest Margaret,
I do not know how to write this letter. It is only with a good deal of whisky that I even have the courage. I am very thankful that despite our situation, you have still been so very good to me. I do not deserve the kindness you offer without question.
A little over a year ago, a young man came to work as an assistant under one of my colleagues. You may have heard me mention a Mr Samuel King at some stage or another. He died some days ago. They found him hanging from the rafters in his father's house. I cannot begin to explain everything to you, just know that where you have found passion, I too had found it.
I implore that you not waste your time mourning me, as I do not. I was not meant for this world just as you were not meant for me. Be happy my dear Margaret. Everything I have is yours, such as it is. Take it and go. Go to Spain, or Helstone or Milton. Go my dear Margaret and know that I cared for you. Perhaps not as a husband should, but as a dear friend. We are both free now.
Henry
As she finished reading, the emotions she had held back were released and a sob escaped her mouth. Captain Lennox took her into his arms and the two embraced as brother and sister comforting one another.
The policeman watched on in silence, standing a respectful distance away from the pair of them.
'He did it,' she murmured to the officer. 'I have no doubt'.
The officer nodded and moved around the table to carefully cover Henry once more with the sheet. Margaret's face was wet with tears and she could feel the tears of Captain Lennox cascading down into her hair from above.
In that moment, time was at a standstill. Margaret did not think of her parents or even of Mr Thornton and the friends she'd left in Milton. She thought only of Henry and how he must have suffered.
Xxx
They had the funeral two days later and Henry was buried in the cemetery with the rest of his family graves. Margaret visited the space every day for that first week, leaving flowers and talking to Henry. Everyone gave her space for this time, for which she was very grateful. On the seventh day, she walked to the cemetery with two roses. She placed one on Henry's grave and after a bit of investigation, she found the grave of the man Henry had mentioned in his letter.
'I did not know you, but I am sorry,' she murmured as she gently placed the rose on the grave. She observed the dates on the stone and sighed. He had been younger than she was when he died. A life with so much potential gone so soon.
A little way away, she saw a lady who could not be too much older than herself placing a small bouquet of wildflowers on a grave. She did not mean to stare, but when the lady turned, their eyes met.
'Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude'.
'You're not intruding,' the young blonde approached with a smile, skirts swishing behind her. 'I use this time to remember, not to mourn'.
'How long…?'
The lady looked back towards the grave and then back at Margaret. 'Three years, though it feels like longer. He was my husband'.
'Oh'.
The lady's eyes drifted down to the grave before Margaret and then back again. 'Who was he?'
'Oh,' Margaret shifted a little, 'I did not know him. He meant a lot to a friend of mine, so I thought I should come to him at the same time'.
'That's very kind of you,' the lady smiled warmly, and the light shone brightly in her vibrant blue eyes. 'But do not come here to mourn. Although you miss your friend, I'm sure they would want you to be happy'.
'You do not mourn him any longer?' asked Margaret.
The lady shook her head. 'Of course, I miss his company, but I do not mourn. My husband and I take this walk every week and he waits for me while I visit,' she nodded to a man standing by the entrance to the cemetery, looking out across the park.
'Forgive me for my questioning, but does he not find it strange?'
'No,' she shook her head. 'He understands the importance of remembrance and he knows that my love is not only for the dead'.
'And you're happy?'
'Very,' she smiled warmly again, and Margaret could not help but reciprocate.
The lady bid her a good day and walked off to re-join her husband. Margaret starred after them for some time before she turned to look out in the direction of Henry's grave. She pulled the letter out of her purse and looked down once more at the message Henry had written to her. He told her to go. To go out and find what would make her happy. Milton came to her mind, but she knew it would be highly improper to go there without waiting some time. What would she say if she did? It was not such a simple thing to explain.
She decided to wait some time before making any big plans when it came to her future. With the combined wealth of Mr Bell and Henry's assets, she had more than the means to live a most lavish life if she wished to. She turned her nose up at the thought as she made her way back in the direction of the Shaw house.
Xxx
Mr Thornton hardly listened to the gentlemen as they prattled on about business. His thoughts were too occupied on his own business issues and the impending closure of Marlborough mills. Hamper was a little smug at his expense and it bothered John to no end that he was wasting time in the company of such people.
Still, his mother had bid him go. If not for his own sake, but for the possibility of coming to some sort of deal with another master. John knew coming into the gathering that he did not trust I single one of them enough to form a partnership of any kind. They were cruel, selfish men who only thought about the money they made, not the quality of the product they produced nor the wellbeing of their workers.
'Did any of you hear about that chap from London?' Slickson asked suddenly and John frowned, only half following what was being said.
'What was that?' Hamper asked over the hubbub.
'That chap from London, Mr Lennox, or whatever his name was,' Slickson answered again. 'A friend of mine from London reckoned he killed himself'.
'Oh, come off it,' Hamper laughed, 'you haven't got any friends'.
'What did you say?' John asked suddenly and Slickson started at being addressed so suddenly when John had scarce said two words all night.
'That lawyer, Henry Lennox,' Slickson elaborated. 'I heard he killed himself last Friday. They found him hanging from a bridge in London'.
'He killed himself,' John repeated in wonderment.
'Didn't seem the type to me,' Hamper responded with a shrug. 'He seemed like a very contented chap'.
'Well I haven't heard much more about it,' Slickson cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. 'Though he did say that it was fairly likely that Mr Lennox wasn't very faithful'.
'What, with a wife like her?' Hamper scoffed. 'I doubt he'd find any prettier, even with his income'.
Several of the men chuckled then and different conversations continued around the table. John sat back in his chair, not hearing a word more of what was spoken. He wanted to be far away from those men. He wanted to leave that instant and run to the train station. He wanted to be with Margaret.
Once the party had disbanded for the night, John was glad that no one walked the same direction as he did. As his shoes pounded the path, he lost himself in the whirlwind of thoughts that flashed through his mind. Could it really be true? Was he a monster for feeling the slightest twinge of hope? Not that he hoped for Mr Lennox to be dead, but he did have hope that Margaret would in the future be in a position to be with him.
Before he knew where his feet had taken him, he found himself standing opposite the dark and dormant house that the Hales had occupied not so long ago. He stared up at the dark windows, wishing to see her beautiful face looking down at him, but he saw only darkness. He thought of the situation he was facing, and his heart sank. Margaret would never want him now. Not now that his position in life was precarious and she had inherited such wealth. No, he could not hope for that. All he could hope for was perhaps the pleasure of seeing her again someday.
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So there you have it. Now, I don't know how much you all know about the time period, but according to the sources I've found, there's some pretty interesting, but inconvenient information surrounding divorce and widows in the time. For example, the first divorces of legal nature were only a handful of years after the year North and South was set. So being true to the time, there was no possibility of divorce. I found this infuriating for some time while I was deliberating what to do, but this was my answer from early on. Do let me know what you thought. The rating of this story is now being changed to accommodate this chapter in particular.
