The first few paragraphs of this chapter were actually added as pure fan service ;) To whoever commented on the last chapter on , suggesting it - this one is for you ;)

Also, let's address some pressing social issues of the time, which should not be ignored in a story set in the Industrial Revolution.

Disclaimer: This story is an attempt at portraying these characters, including their opinions and values, as true to their time period as possible. Since this was about 170 years ago, some opinions expressed in the story are to be considered outdated and do not necessarily reflect my personal opinions (namely John's thoughts on sex workers and people unable to financially provide for themselves).

Chapter 6

Breakfast, the next morning, was a rather quiet affair. If aunt Shaw had indeed overheard their boisterous nightly activities, she knew better than to show any indication of it. Once or twice, Margaret did see the older woman throwing odd glances at herself and John, when she believed herself unobserved, but they vanished quickly from her countenance, and Margaret tried to convince herself that she had imagined them.

John appeared perfectly calm and collected - a picture of innocence, but the corners of his mouth tugged up ever so slightly whenever he caught his wife's gaze, in a strangely smug way that made Margaret want to slap him.

But at least Margaret's words from the night before seemed to have had the desired effect, for her aunt refrained from making any more offensive remarks during her stay at Marlborough Mills.

The next three days were passed with walks to the graveyard, to visit Mrs. Hale's grave, a tour through the mill for Captain Lennox, and some dinners, which could almost be called delightful, as her aunt kept rather quiet while Edith and Captain Lennox told them about their time in Corfu, their life in London and all they had planned for their current trip to Scotland.

On the last evening before their departure, Mrs. Shaw sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the large sitting room, silently observing her niece and the man she had, against her family's wishes, chosen as her husband. Margaret was rocking little Sholto in her lap, while the baby was making cheerful gurgling sounds. She watched Thornton reach out a finger to the child and as the boy grasped it and held onto it, a small but genuine smile spread across the young man's face.

For a brief moment her niece looked up at him and when their eyes met, there was such love in his gaze as well as hers, that the older woman was left in no doubt as to the truth of what Margaret had told her about the earnestness of his proposal.

Shortly thereafter, Edith rose from her chair to take Sholto to the nurse, and Margaret accompanied her. The rest of the party took this as a hint to also retire, with Captain Lennox walking out of the room first, to look for his wife, leaving Mrs. Shaw and John to stay behind at the door.

John courteously nodded at the older woman, stepping back, to let her leave the room first, but she made no move to walk out, as she looked at him with an earnest expression on her face.

For a moment, they just stood in silence, then she opened her mouth to speak, and he was surprised to hear a certain softness in her voice that had not been there, whenever she had curtly addressed him in the past few days. "It appears, you are very fond of my niece." It was a statement, not a question.

He was unsure how to reply. "I am indeed ma'am", he said eventually.

"I need to apologize for doubting your motives", Mrs. Shaw confessed, holding his gaze. "Over the past days, I have come to realize that your conduct towards Margaret has been very honourable. I must thank you for everything you have done for her."

He was taken aback by her words and had to take a moment to catch himself. "There is nothing I would not do for her", he answered truthfully.

She did not quite smile, but he thought he could see her eyes soften a bit.

"I thank you for your hospitality. I hope our company did not cause too much trouble. If you are ever in London, please do call on us."

At a loss for words, all he could do was give her a small smile.

"I bid you good night, Mr. Thornton." "Good night, ma'am."

She turned, and a moment later, she was gone, leaving him standing there, slightly stunned. It seemed that they had somehow managed to end this visit on a more pleasant note than he had expected.

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After the Lennox's and aunt Shaw's departure, things quickly returned to their usual routine at the mill. During the day, Margaret would go about her household duties. She had discovered a tiny backyard behind the mill house, nothing more than a few yards of blank soil, which led down to the canal, and had started making plans for a little garden. It would not be big, not anything special, but maybe she would be able to plant one or two rose bushes, if the climate in Milton permitted it. It was certainly worth a try, she decided, and it would give her something to occupy her time with, while John was busy at the mill.

As the new mistress of Marlborough Mills she was also aware that she was expected to hold a dinner sometime soon, if only to prove to Milton society that, after what they had been through with the mill, they were financially secure enough to host one. It was one of those social obligations, that neither of them was particularly fond of. John had never given grand dinners at the house. But now, that he was married, this was an entirely different matter, and they knew that certain rules of society needed to be met.

So a date was set, invitations were issued, music and decorations were arranged and Margaret sat together with the kitchen staff to plan a proper meal for the occasion. It all took a lot of time and nerves, and Margaret could not wait for it all to be over.

On the day of the dinner, Margaret left the house in the late morning, to post a few letters, when she came across the gaunt figure of a man who was hunched against the wall at the mill gates. He seemed rather old, with greying hair and a crooked back, and he was so thin that his patched-up clothes seemed several sizes too big for him. He had wrapped his arms around himself, his shoulders shaking.

Concerned at this image of misery, Margaret carefully stepped closer to him. "Excuse me?" The man jerked slightly, startled, and turned his face to hers, and she saw that it was wet with tears. "Can I help you?", she inquired softly, afraid that she might scare him. She saw his lips tremble as he hugged himself even tighter, shaking his head. "No", he rumbled hoarsely, "no one can 'elp me anymore."

"Pray, what is the matter?", she insisted, bravely but carefully placing a hand on his upper arm. "Please, is there nothing I can do to help?" He looked at her for a few seconds, before emitting a painful sob. "Ye is the lady of master, ain't ye?" She nodded quietly. "Well, ain't nothing ye can do for me then. For 'e dismissed me just this mornin'. Left me t' starve. Ain't no place I can go now."

Margaret's eyes widened with shock. John, dismissed him? But why? There certainly had to be a reason. She knew he had to dismiss workers sometimes – she vividly remembered Stevens, who had lit a pipe inside the weaving room, endangering the lives of hundreds of workers. But what had this poor old fellow done to deserve this fate?

"Did he give you a reason?" "Aye. I'm too old 'e said. Or rather 'is overseer did. Said I ain't good for nothin' anymore. I'm too slow, holding up production. I ain't got any family, no one to take care o' me. And now I've got no income", he cried, obviously in despair.

Margaret could not believe it. John certainly would not do such a thing, now would he? Not without a valid reason. "I will speak to my husband", she told him firmly. "I am sure there must be a misunderstanding." "Ain't no misunderstanding, m'lady, I'm sure of it", the old man muttered, casting his eyes down to the ground. "'e made it quite clear."

"What is your name?", she asked. "Name's Jacob. Jacob Digby." "And where do you live?" "Horrocks Lane in Princeton. At least that's where I live now – I won't be able to pay rent from next week on, I reckon. Will be th' work'ouse then."

Margaret awkwardly patted his arm, trying to console him, but knew not how. She hastily reached into her purse and took out a handful of coins. "Take these for now, Jacob. Go home, get yourself something to eat. I will talk to my husband."

He stared at her in disbelief, but took the money with a trembling hand. "M'lady, can ye mean it?", he asked incredulously. "Every word. Now go. I will be sure to find you. I will see what I can do." He took her hand in both of his, holding on to it for a moment, in tears. "I thank ye! I thank ye! Dear Lord, ye must be sent straight from t' heavens!" He shook her hand one more time for good measure, before hastily making his way down the street, until he disappeared around the corner and was out of sight.

Margaret released a shaky breath and turned around on her heels, heading straight to the office on the other side of the mill yard.

John was in the process of composing a business letter to a new investor, when the door of his office was flung open without warning, and his wife stomped in, slightly red in the face, as if she had been running, her breath coming in heavy pants. "I need to speak to you. Now." There was something in the tone of her voice, that made it clear she was not to take no for an answer.

Slightly startled, he motioned for her to take a seat across from him, and she immediately slammed the door shut and sat down, her face an image of stern determination. "Dear God, Margaret, what is the matter?", he asked, concerned now.

"John, does the name Jacob Digby mean anything to you?" He could only stare at her, baffled. "Dearest, I have no idea who you are speaking of." "You don't? Are you certain? He is one of your workers. Or rather used to be. Williams dismissed him this morning because he was too old to work, or so he told him."

She saw recognition dawn on her husband's face. "Yes, I recall him dismissing one of the workers who was hindering production regularly with his tardiness." She gaped at him wide-eyed. "John! That man must be almost seventy years old! He does not have a family to support him! You just took away his only source of income, condemning him to a life in the workhouse! You cannot be serious?!"

There was a fire in her eyes and voice which, he had to admit, was quite intimidating. He should have known that such a thing would happen sooner or later. Margaret's sense of righteousness was something he had always admired, but it was bound to clash with his handling of the mill at some point or other.

He put his quill aside and held up his hands in an attempt to soothe her. "Margaret, what was I supposed to do? Production is already delayed, there are several big orders to be fulfilled, and this man has been costing us time for a while now. I had him moved to a different section of the mill twice, giving him easier work, but he is too old even for the less physically demanding tasks."

She jumped out of her chair, her mouth hanging open in disbelief as she stared down at him with an expression of anger and incredulity. "So, you are telling me", she panted angrily, "that you are letting an old man die in the workhouse so you can get your cotton cloth finished on time?"

It was his turn to grow annoyed now. He rose from his chair and put his hands flat on the desk in front of him, holding her gaze with a stern expression. "What would you have me do, Margaret? Pay all of Princeton's old and sick? I do not run a charitable institution! This man is not my responsibility!"

She could not believe he would say such a thing. "I had thought YOU of all people should know what it is like to be down on your luck!", she shot at him. Her words aggravated him even further. "You are right about that!", he told her, in a slightly raised voice. "That is WHY I consider myself a bit more qualified to view these things in a rational manner than you are."

She gasped at his words, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt at his outburst. "So, you are calling me naïve?", she uttered, her voice trembling, as were her hands. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself.

"No, Margaret", he sighed, trying to keep his voice steady. "All I am saying is, that it is the way of the world. I cannot keep on a man, who is not doing the work I pay him for, whatever the reason. Do you know how many people have to give up their work every year for age and sickness? If I keep paying every single one of them, I will be out of business in a matter of weeks."

Margaret was in utter despair now. She hated the fact that – on a sensible level – his words rang true to her. She had never consciously considered the fact that people would eventually get too old or sick to work, and that there was no security other than family who could provide for them. But at the same time, she could not get that look of forlornness in the old man's eyes out of her mind, realizing what fate awaited him and knowing that her husband's action – however rational it may have been from his point of view – had been the direct cause of it.

"But what about compassion, John?", she cried. "What about benevolence?" He turned away from her, unable to bear her looking at him any longer, as he felt himself grow angrier by the second. "Don't do this, Margaret", he snapped at her. "You know as well as I do, that I cannot afford such notions! Bring the man one of your blasted baskets, if you wish. Bestow on him whatever charity you desire! But leave me out of it!"

His words hit her with such painful force, that it knocked the breath right out of her. "Are you mocking me?", she whispered, as her eyes burned with unshed tears. He spun around to her, opening his mouth to say something, but she had turned on her heels and stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind her with a loud bang.

He sank into his chair weakly, wiping his right hand over his face with a sigh. So, this was it: Their first quarrel as husband and wife. It had been bound to happen eventually, and what else could it have been than the working conditions of the mill, he thought bitterly. It had, after all, always been the one thing they had disagreed on, right from the beginning of their acquaintance.

Her obvious disappointment in him stung, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was simply no other way to run the mill. That man had had all of his life to make provisions for his old age. Why had he not saved up for it? Of course, he knew that Margaret would disagree with him there too. She would come up with excuses, telling him that the poor fellow was down on his luck, that maybe he had lost all his family and friends, that he had lived hand to mouth all his life.

He knew it was not right to judge others by his own standards, he was aware of the fact that not everyone possessed the strength and determination to drag themselves out of the gutter as he had. For all he knew, he had probably just been lucky to be taken in as a draper's assistant, and later an overseer at Marlborough Mills, but still…he had seen those people in Princeton, throwing away what little money they had on drink and whores, spending every last penny on useless self-indulgences, in an attempt to numb themselves to the harsh reality of life.

It was understandable, but still, he could not help but condemn it. How was it that a man of almost seventy years, who had worked the majority of his adult life, had not managed to put aside a few pence every week for his dotage? And why was he, John, to be held responsible for it now?

He longed to run after her, to take her hand, make her look at him and try to explain himself, but he knew it was to no avail. He had hurt her with his words, and already he wished he could take them back, not having meant them in the way they had come across.

"Oh Margaret", he muttered under his breath, reaching for his quill to try and finish that blasted letter he had been writing (as if he would be able to concentrate now, after their fight). "If only I could make you understand."

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A few hours later, Margaret stood in front of the large mirror in the dressing room, trying desperately not to let her anxiety and inner turmoil show on her face. The dress she had chosen for the dinner looked beautiful, Jane had done her hair brilliantly, with countless tiny pearls glinting in her dark curls. She looked nice, there was no denying it. If only she had felt anything but distress this evening.

She had dreaded this dinner for weeks. She was not keen at all on Milton society (or any society for that matter), especially not when she was right in the middle of it, with all their eyes on her. She knew they would observe everything keenly: the food, the decorations, the rooms, her dress, her manners and whatnot, their sole purpose being to find fault, so they could slander her.

This would have been enough to upset her, as it was, but now, with the way things had gone between her and John today, it was so much worse. She had not seen her husband since she had stormed out of his office, hours before. She could not tell exactly whether she was angry or sad or disappointed, or all of the above. All she knew was that she missed him already, and not having him as her emotional support on an evening like this dramatically increased her despair.

She had been so certain that he would be there with her tonight, that he would stand by her, and give her strength, but now she was not even sure how to face him. Was he still angry with her? Was she still angry with him? She loved him with all her heart, and yet his mocking remark about her baskets had stung deeply and while his dismissal of that old man might have been considered a reasonable business decision, the fact that he had the heart to go through with such a thing scared her. And now she was standing here, feeling hopelessly alone.

"Mrs. Thornton?" Jane's head appeared at the door. "It is time t' come down, the guests will be arrivin' shortly." Margaret quickly looked herself over one more time and drew a deep breath. She could do this. She would survive this evening, with or without John's help.

Resolutely, she turned around and stomped out of the room, like a woman on a mission.

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By and by, the guests arrived. First came Mr. and Mrs. Hamper, closely followed by Browns and Slicksons. After they had paid their respects to Margaret and had accepted some refreshments, the men quickly ventured into business talk, while the women sat together and exchanged their opinions about the fashionable colours of the season.

Margaret was glad when the Latimers arrived. Ann greeted her warmly and quickly drew her into some light conversation. Margaret had called on her a week before, but Ann herself had not yet had the time to return her call and have a look at the newly refurbished mill house, and she was quick to admire everything Margaret had done to the rooms.

"I have only been here once before, when father, mother and I dined with Mr. Thornton. That was before I went to Switzerland and I remember the rooms being a bit gloomy and sparsely decorated", she recalled. "I like them much better now. You have truly outdone yourself, Margaret. It looks very comfortable." Margaret forced a smile and thanked her friend for the compliment.

"But where is your husband?", Ann inquired, looking about the room. "He must be here any minute", Margaret was quick to assure her. "He has been very busy as of late, he was probably detained at the office." "Do you see much of him at all, my dear?", Ann asked, concerned. "I do hope this marriage is everything you had wished it would be?" "Oh yes, we are very happy", Margaret replied, putting on a brave front, and hoping that Ann would not see through it. It was the truth after all. Apart from their quarrel today, they did live in perfect harmony.

It was at that moment, that the door opened and John entered the room. She sensed him before she saw him, it was a strange connection they seemed to share. Immediately her eyes darted over to him, and a second later his gaze fell on her. For a moment, everything around them seemed to stop as they looked at each other. He was so handsome in his dark frock coat and elegant burgundy waistcoat and tie. It was one of her favourite colours on him.

Part of her wanted to run over to him, kiss him hard, press him against the wall and rip his clothes off. Another part of her was scared of what he would say and do. There was this side of him that she loved so dearly, more than anything else in this world. And then there was the other side she did not always understand, the one whose actions she often found it hard to cope with. This sensitive, loving man and the hardened mill master were two sides of the same coin.

He held her gaze for a few seconds, before giving her the tiniest of nods and she felt her heart give a little flutter, for she knew that, even though things were not entirely settled between them, he would not let her down tonight. She saw Mr. Watson approach him and shake his hand, before starting a conversation, and quickly turned her attention back to Ann, who had started rambling about some musical performance she had seen the other day.

When John finally managed to free himself from the other mill masters and approached her, she sensed all eyes in the room on them. It was their first public appearance as a married couple, and they were both aware that it was of absolute necessity for them to appear happy and in perfect harmony.

He reached for her hand and gently brought it to his mouth. She felt his warm breath on her skin for a moment, before his lips touched hers. How was it that even after almost three months of marriage he could still make her skin tingle with the slightest touch?

"Forgive me for being so late", he whispered to her. "A loom broke. We had to fix it and I forgot the time." "You are here now, that is all that matters", she told him in a quiet voice, her eyes searching his for reassurance.

He bowed his head closer to her, so only she could hear him. "I am sorry about earlier today. We will talk later?" She sighed inwardly with relief and nodded, taking his arm to be led to the dinner table.

The dinner seemed to go on for hours. After they had finished eating, the ladies went into the sitting room, leaving the men to drink and converse. Margaret tried to remain engaged in conversation as best as she could. To her delight, Mrs. Eldon was with the party and when all the other ladies were occupied, she managed to catch Margaret by the window, where they were unheard. "My dear, are you alright? You seem a bit preoccupied this evening."

Margaret swallowed. She had always liked Mrs. Eldon, and the older woman seemed to have a way of reading her that no one else possessed. "It is only that I have been pondering the fate of a worker who was dismissed today due to old age", she told the woman honestly, knowing that her trust would not be betrayed.

Mrs. Eldon raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What is it you have been pondering exactly?"

So, Margaret told her about Jacob Digby and her worries about what might become of him now. "There must be something to be done", she whispered at the end. "He was in such despair." Mrs. Eldon gave her a smile, patting her hand affectionately. "Oh Mrs. Thornton, you are such an idealistic young woman. I have always admired how you would try to help these unfortunate people."

The older woman fell silent for a moment, thinking. "What if you established a charitable trust?", she then suggested. "To raise finances for people like this man? I am sure there could be ways to help. And there are plenty of ladies here in Milton whose husbands are financially secure, and who are looking for opportunities to bestow their charity on others and make themselves useful in any way. It would certainly relieve the boredom one is occasionally faced with."

Margaret could only stare at her. The thought had never occurred to her, but now that Mrs. Eldon had voiced it, it seemed like a brilliant idea. It was not unusual for women of good standing to dedicate their leisure time to philanthropy, if only to give themselves an air of importance. In her heart, Margaret had always deplored such conduct, as it struck her as dishonest, but she had to admit that in some cases, the end did justify the means.

"Give yourself some time to consider it", Mrs. Eldon suggested. "Should you ever decide to enter into such pursuits, do not hesitate to contact me, as I would be most willing to accommodate you."

Margaret felt a wide smile spread across her face, as she took the older woman's hand in both of hers and shook it gratefully. "Indeed, I will, Mrs. Eldon. It does seem a splendid idea. Maybe we can think of some scheme."

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It was almost midnight when the last guests finally left, and Margaret was able to go up to their rooms to ready herself for bed.

She was already in her nightgown, sitting on the edge of the bed, when John entered, loosening his cravat as he walked.

He acknowledged her with a look, but said nothing as he shrugged out of his frock coat and walked over to the dressing room. Margaret lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin with a sigh. She felt the mattress cave in as he lay down next to her in the faint light of the bedside candle.

They lay like this, in silence, for a moment. Neither of them knowing what to say or even sure where they stood with each other. "It was a long night", he muttered eventually, looking up at the canopy above them. "I am glad it is over", she agreed.

He turned his head to face her. "Margaret – about today", he started, a bit uncertainly. "I need to apologize for what I said to you. The comment about the baskets was uncalled for. I was angry, but I did not intend to hurt you."

She turned to her side, her cheek resting on her arm, as she tried to make out his face in the dim light. "I know. I am sorry too. I don't like quarreling with you. It's just – I sometimes find it hard to cope with this side of you, John. The master's side. I know you have to make these decisions. I could not, if I were you, and – knowing that kind heart of yours you try to keep hidden so often – I find it hard to believe that you can. It is like you become a different person. Someone who does not care."

He seemed to ponder her words for a minute, before he replied: "I think I just cannot afford to give it too much thought, Margaret", he confessed. "Hundreds of livelihoods depend on the mill. It is my duty to act in the best interest of the majority. I cannot neglect the greater good for an individual."

He carefully reached out his hand to her, as if almost afraid she would flinch from his touch. She did not, and he gently pulled a strand of hair behind her ear before tracing his hand down her cheek in a featherlight caress. "Do you think I don't know what it means to be condemned to the workhouse?", he breathed, his eyes boring into hers. "I almost died in there a few times myself. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. I was a child then. I did not have the means to fend for myself. But these men, Margaret, however much they may be down on their luck, they had all their life to earn their keep. How can it be that someone who does not have a family to provide for, cannot put aside a few shillings a week to prepare for bad times?"

She was unsure of how to respond. "We don't know anything about the man, John. Maybe he just recently lost his family. Maybe he had debts to repay. We cannot judge him, not knowing anything about his situation."

"No, we cannot", he agreed. "But we should not automatically assume that he was entirely a victim of circumstance. I am sure you know by know how people in the north value their independence. But with it comes a certain responsibility. I won't tell my workers how to spend their money, but I cannot be held responsible when – for whatever reason – all of it is gone."

She nodded with a sigh, reaching her own hand out to him now and letting her finger trace his chest through his nightshirt. "I know John. I am aware of all of this, but I cannot help myself. I cannot get that man's look out of my head, and it makes me feel guilty to enjoy a six-course meal, in our grand dining room, with everyone who is anyone in this town, while this poor fellow sits in some small, dark room in Princeton, fearing that he might lose even that in a few days."

"Oh Margaret", he murmured, moving towards her, their bodies almost touching now. "My beautiful, idealistic woman. No one can know the pureness of your soul." He stroked her face once more, drawing a small sigh from her lips at the touch.

"Sometimes I am so afraid of breaking you", he confessed with a slight tremor in his voice. "I have learned the hard way to not let my decisions be guided by sentiment. I cannot afford to. But it pains me to see you hurt, knowing that I have been the cause of it, and unable to change what it is my duty to do."

Silence. Then: "John?" "Hm?" "I talked to Mrs. Eldon today. You know, Mrs. Latimer's sister." "Yes?" "She suggested that I could start a charitable trust to support people like Jacob. People who cannot earn their own keep for age or sickness and have no one to support them."

He said nothing for a few moments. "And what do you have in mind?", he then inquired, and she felt as if a heavy weight had just lifted from her chest at the genuinely interested tone in his voice. Had he disapproved of the idea, he would have said so directly.

"I am not sure yet. I will need to come up with a plan. But John – you would not mind if I did such a thing?"

"Why would I?", he asked softly. "I meant what I said today, Margaret, even if it came out the wrong way and you took my words for mockery. I do not mind you bestowing charity on anyone. It is your money, and you may decide freely how to spend it. I must however inform you of the fact, that it will not be possible to help every single individual in this town", he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

She chuckled. "I am aware of that, John. But that does not mean one should not try their best." She carefully reached out to him and wrapped her arms around him with a sigh. "Does that mean we are done quarreling?"

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "I think so", he whispered. "I can't promise that we will never have different opinions again when it comes to these things, but I don't want to fight, Margaret." "I don't either", she agreed. "I don't want these things between us. I love you too much for that."

He pulled her to him, as his lips found hers, and all her worries melted away in a wave of pleasure.

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NOTES:

All the street names used in both parts of "From the Ashes" are actual street names, which existed in Victorian Manchester. The streets in Princeton are taken from the Manchester "Red Bank area", one of the biggest and most notorious slums of the 1850s.

The only street in the story that did not actually exist in Manchester is "Tenter Street", which was mentioned in the first part. This is a homage to the TV series "Ripper Street", set in London, White Chapel, where one of the main protagonists, Susan Hart, owns a brothel on Tenter Street. (It's a gory series, but if you don't faint at the sight of blood - as I do, lol - do check it out for the high historical accuracy and amazing character arcs.)