First published on AO3
The only reason for Time is so that everything doesn't happen at once
– Albert Einstein
Margaret turned from a dreamy contemplation of a full-size stuffed elephant and its jewelled howdah to see her cousin Edith, blonde curls bouncing around her ears, hurrying towards her through the crowds. Not unusually for Edith, she was in a great state of excitement -
"Margaret! Oh Margaret! Forget these dreary things - " Edith dismissed with a wave of her hand the pillars hung with fine shawls in jewel colours, the rich Indian silk carpets suspended from a pole, the rainbow canopies and tapestries and paintings, "I have found the most remarkable exhibit in the entirety of the Great Exhibition!"
Margaret linked arms with her excitable, bubbly cousin, "Do tell me."
"There's a pavilion – close beside the living tree, behind the crystal fountain – and in it, there's a Time Traveller, who has come from the future..! A time traveller, Margaret! Oh Margaret, he knows all about us and what's going to happen in our lives!"
"That sounds wonderful indeed," laughed Margaret. "Does he know what we will have for dinner tomorrow? I could not make my mind up what to tell Dixon to buy."
"I knew you would doubt me!" Edith made a little pouty face, "You're so suspicious all the time, Margaret... but he really is from the future, and he has told me what mine will be!"
"Is it a nice future, Edith dear? What did he tell you?"
Edith's eyes became wide and solemn as she recounted in awe, "He told me the name of my second-born child."
"Astonishing - ! how lovely that you are to have another! And what a surprise that you will!" Margaret's eyes dwelt fondly on her cousin, who adored her handsome husband, "And now he has told you the name you will most definitely use it, and thus you will know for sure that this man was from the future..." but her cousin looked blank at this teasing so Margaret carried on, "and what is the name?"
Edith's eyes hazed over shiftily as she looked past Margaret and spoke carefully. "Ankhesenamun."
"Ankhe. ..Ankhese.."
"I love it already!" Edith cried defensively, "and it will go so well with 'Sholto'. Sholto and his little sister Ankhese – oh figs, I've forgotten it already, well I will write it down and practice." She seized her cousin's hand and pulled her towards the pavilion. "You MUST go in and consult the Time Traveller, Margaret! You must!"
Margaret entered the gap between drapes and her eyes took a moment to adjust. The pavilion was lit inside by one oil lamp, and there was also a strange, strong light glowing from a rectangular frame the Time Traveller was holding. It was all very mysterious but vastly exciting. Not any stranger than the many other odd treasures at the Exhibition - the tornado predictor powered by 24 leeches, for example, which she and Edith and Aunt Shaw had hurried past.
The Time Traveller himself was a young man, reddish of hair, unkempt, dressed in very odd clothes. A white shirt not so different from Mr Thornton's (do not think of that man) but on his legs some immodestly tight blue trousers, and, on his feet, fat white shoes, tied up with little bows.
"Welcome!" he said, not moving from his seat, those white feet propped up on a stool, and in his fingers the lighted frame which he seemed reluctant to take his eyes off or put down, scanning it from side to side and moving a forefinger rapidly on the surface.
Margaret moved nearer to have a look at what so captivated his attention – he whipped it round so she could see nothing at all.
"What can I do for you, love?" he amiably asked.
"My cousin Edith tells me you know the future... "
"Know the future! I'll say I do! I live in it," he enthused. "Which means, I also know the past... some of it anyway... long as it comes up on Wiki, or the National Land Registry, or Hatched, Matched and Dispatched... that's the General Records Office to you - "
"You might as well be speaking in the language of another country," Margaret frowned. "I have not understood half of those words."
He opined sonorously, "'The future is a foreign country. We do things differently there,'" then snapped back into his normal voice, "saw that on Twitter once, wicked innit? So how are you liking the Great Exhibition?"
"It's wonderful...all these treasures - this wonderful building -"
"Shame it's going to burn down, yeah?" he observed cheerfully.
"Soon?"
"Oh, sorry luv... not, in the next, like, hour! I wouldn't come back in November - that's all I'll say!" he dropped her a big exaggerated wink. "But ok, tell me, what's your question for the Time Traveller? I can only take one, Fair Usage and all that..."
"What is your name?" she asked.
"That's your question?!"
"No – no! I just like to know to whom I'm talking, that is all."
"Ah ok. I go by... Ozymandias..." seeing her look, he added, "you know, I met a traveller from an antique land and all that."
"But you said you were from the future, so how does that -"
"It doesn't quite fit I know," he said, a bit huffily, "but I liked it. So tell me your question, come on, you're rambling on a bit and I've got my Wordle to do."
Margaret drew nearer and said, "I want to know..." she blushed and looked down... "If I will marry?"
"OK, let's have a look-see - full name? date of birth... ? Helstone – with an E? ... ahah! gotcha!" tapped away on his picture for a few seconds and then delivered his answer –
"Yes."
She waited expectantly.
"Oh, you want his name! Well I don't know, strictly speaking that's two questions..." he said doubtfully, "Is there a big queue out there?"
Margaret peeked through the drapes, did a double-take, wrenched them quickly closed and turned back to him - "No?" she said.
"Well, OK then ... the way this works... I can't directly tell you the name... but you can ask me questions and I'll go Warm! or, Cold! that sort of thing – and be clever with your questions, because if you haven't got it by twenty that's your lot."
"My cousin Edith guessed her way to Ankhesenamun in twenty turns?"
"It's different with baby names. Different rules."
Margaret took a deep breath. "Is he handsome?" her face glowed as she leaned forwards, looking dreamy and romantic.
The Time Traveller tapped a few times on his device, curving a hand up secretively and surveyed the result, head on one side. "Hmmm... not bad... looks a bit like that dwarf in The Hobbit – "
"A dwarf?"
"No honestly, I know it sounds – but he's well popular with women and quite a lot of blokes too – they must think he's fit – "
Margaret craned to look, desperate to see! "Describe him - "
"Black hair - big nose..."
"My husband has a big nose?"
"Well – yeah – it is big – man, it's a biggun – but I think it works ok with the rest of the face... an' it could be good news... you know what they say about a man with a big nose..." he dropped her what could only be described as a lewd wink.
Margaret stared at him coldly. "WHAT do they say about a man with a big nose?"
"Well you know... that he's got...ooh, whoops, I forgot - Victorians innit! Erm.. 'Big nose, big... feet!' that's what they say."
Margaret stared very directly at the Time Traveller. "So I'm marrying a blackhaired dwarf with a big nose and big feet."
"Ah, I'm not sure I've got this across quite - "
" I think you're making it up!"
"No – honest to god – I'm looking at him right here! Look – here's a photo of the two of you together – " his forefinger sketched a few lines on the screen, as he hummed a little tune to himself, and then, triumphantly, he turned the device to show her.
Margaret stared. Certainly that was Margaret herself – and quite a flattering angle! dreamy-eyed, leaning on a train window, looking directly out of the screen at herself here looking back in. She looked happy and in love, the way she had at fourteen when her piano teacher Mr Antrobus had looked deep into her eyes and admired her 'fine arpeggios' and she had daydreamed about him for weeks, even though he was very old, probably at least 40. Behind her, leaning over her quite intimately, possibly with his arm possessively around her shoulders, was... someone. She stared avidly – her husband-to-be had a kitten nose, a full white beard, and a big red bow on his head, hiding nearly all his hair.
"But I can't see his face!"
"'I've filtered it out," the TT told her sternly, "obviously it wouldn't do to show you his actual face."
"But why not?"
"Risk of temporal anomalies, innit? –" seeing her eyes flicker shiftily – "that's meddling to you, love – can't go meddling with Time, you know! If I show you his face, what's to stop you going out there now and telling him it's all settled, you've seen the future and he's your husband and let's get on that train right now and skip all the bit with the flower and – well yeah now I'm doing it meself."
"Out there? Is he here? Here at the Great Exhibition?" a dreadful suspicion was forming in her mind.
"He is!" the Time Traveller nodded enthusiastically.
"Is his name... Henry?" she closed her eyes and clenched her fingers tight, praying...
"Nope! Not Henry! .. but..." his brow crinkled..." try a different king?"
Well that was a relief! She'd never felt entirely comfortable with Henry, something about him gave her a bit of what she didn't know was one day to be called The Ick. Margaret started at the beginning: she was best at Normans owing to having learned the list by rote from the beginning, adding five on a week - "Wiilliam? ummmm, William again – Henry – no, we said not Henry... Edward?... I'm a trifle hazy on the middle bit – I think there was a Richard, like my Papa? Not Richard? How about George - ?" she was receiving a lugubrious shake of the head at each guess, and then she subsided despairing, "I've run out of kings."
"Maybe not a king then," said the Time Traveller doubtfully, "My history's a bit crap to be honest – sounds a bit odd for a time traveller I know but – "
"Well, if that's all you're going to tell me... I'm going to go out there and look for my husband – he should be easy to spot, what with the big red bow on his head and all," Margaret said huffily.
"Oh, you're off? Can you give me a good review?"
"A good review?"
"Awww, look, I know it's not gone quite how you hoped, but – here, how's this. Wait. I'll throw in a bit extra. Look, you're going to love this. This is fun! These are study notes - random essay quotes about... your husband... from the 6th Form, St Mary's Academy for Girls: "Mr TJ is - "
"Ah!" Margaret pounced, "are those his actual initials?"
"Of course not – I'm not an idiot you know – just plucked two letters completely at random," he said loftily, then cleared his throat and began to read: "Mr T – erm actually that would be Mr J of course – Mr J is supercilious, bad-tempered, haughty, arrogant, difficult – "
"He sounds absolutely awful," Margaret was in a bit of a temper herself by now, "An ugly bad-tempered difficult dwarf with a bow in his hair and a big nose. That's it – I'm not marrying him, and if that upsets the temporal meddliness, I don't care one bit!"
"There's some better stuff," the TT wheedled, his finger madly passing from side to side on his device, "TJ is also loyal, devoted, passionate, intelligent, brave, hard-working, sensitive – "
She had been about to swish out haughtily, but was brought up short - "Passionate?"
"- his love for Margaret is enduring and powerful. He falls in love with her beauty, but he admires her spirit too. He is completely bowled over by the strength of his feelings for her... once he has fallen in love with her his heart never wavers, she will always be his true love, the only woman he will ever love, even when she cruelly – ah. I'm gonna stop meself right there."
"Well, that's sounding a bit better," she said, mollified. "So if I can just get past the bad temper and the ugliness and the general unpleasantness, it could work out?"
"General consensus is... this will be the happiest marriage two people could ever have. Their love is everlasting; it is absolute, and perfect. She will never find a truer heart than his or be more dearly loved - I'm still reading off St Mary's," he paused to explain. "That's why it's a bit OTT – sort of almost cringy - even a bit VOM? but you know, schoolgirls... anyhow, take it or leave it."
"Is there any more?" Margaret felt fully invested now; he couldn't be making all this up, surely! She only understood one word in five, and it was so much more sophisticated than the Fortune Telling Fish she and Edith got at Christmas once which had merely managed a Yes or No or Maybe and sometimes all three at once, or counting your prune stones at dinner – rich man, poor man, beggar man... Now that was a thought!
She leaned forward . "Is he.. ummm... well set-up?" knowing the question was indelicate, which was why she had almost whispered it and blushed, looking anywhere but at the TT's face.
The TT looked blank. Ran a hand through his hair, bewildered - "What the what now? Are you asking me about his...well you know, the size of his – because a few minutes ago you didn't seem -"
"Yes, yes," Margaret nodded eagerly, "I know it sounds a little indelicate, and these things are not normally spoken of, but as I haven't one myself, I need a husband with a reasonably sized – why are you looking at me like that?"
The Time Traveller stared. He hit his blue-clad knee with the flat of his hand, threw back his head and bellowed, as Margaret looked on with astonishment. "Hahaha! I very near put me foot in it there and no mistake! I thought you were talking about – well, never mind, and I couldn't have told you the answer anyway, though I hear it's a question frequently asked on reddit/RA – but anyway, you mean... has he got more than a couple of ha'pennies to rub together, so to speak - now I come to think of it, that wasn't the best choice of words neither, but you mean, is it rich sod in a five-bed detached, or poor bugger in a basement flat." Looking at her blank face, he elaborated, "Is he rich. Or is he poor. Right?"
"Yes," she blushed again. "That's it..."
"Well the answer to that is... he's rich... now. Man, is he rich! He's let's have 15 silk cravats each in a slightly different shade of maroon rich. And he will be rich again... but there's going to be a bit of a blip in the middle," he sucked in his breath making a whistling sound, shaking his head. "Ooh yes. A bit of a blip's understating it to be honest. Oh man! The poor guy! Ouch! But it's all going to work out, because – ah. I better not say any more. Temporal anomalies."
At this point the ever-lengthening queue outside reached the limit of its patience and the drapes were wrenched open and someone called in "Pray, will you be much longer? There are quite a few of us here bound for the 2:15 out of Paddington – "
"Ok that's it, that's your lot, just before you go, I've got to ask you this, I have to ask everyone, it's part of my self-assessment - how many stars would you rate your Time Traveller Experience today?"
"Oh I don't know," Margaret said, "two hundred? fifteen?"
"Let's call it the full five then," the TT nodded, very pleased, tapped his frame ***** and waved her out.
Margaret wandered out of the pavilion in a bit of a daze. She was looking desperately for Edith to share her strange experience, but the first familiar face she saw was... Mr Thornton's, in his fine dark- grey waistcoat, maroon silk cravat and black coat, coming towards her at a fast pace.
It could not be avoided, it was too late to pretend they hadn't seen one another. He stopped. She stopped. It was very awkward. He appeared to force himself to walk on, giving her a little nod of emotionless acknowledgement as he went to pass –
"Oh, Mr Thornton!" she said, "Stop and speak with me a moment, if you would be so kind? I – well – you know about the world, don't you? Science and – errrr temporal anemones?"
"A little," he said stiffly, "More than you, I don't doubt."
He was always so rude!
Her head drooped. "I have a question, that is all. But perhaps you are leaving," she said in a little, unsure voice.
He pulled out his pocket-watch and consulted it. "I've some time before the train back to Milton; but I left there before breakfast this morning and was heading for the refreshment room." He was looking at her askance, narrowed eyes shielded by half-closed lids; it was only an hour since they had had a snappy public bickering after his speech to investors, and then her family had been nasty to him, he probably wasn't feeling particularly friendly towards her at this moment...
But still he said, in a deeper, quieter tone, "Perhaps you would care for some refreshment also, Miss Hale?"
She assented, pleased, and walked quietly by his side until they reached a smaller room off the side of the Great Hall, marble-floored, dotted with ferns and tea tables, with a long platform of urns and china plates piled high with cakes and sandwiches. She took her place at an empty table in a corner and watched his black head bob through the crowd - a tall man, she didn't lose sight of him - and then he was returning, with a tray of teas and cakes.
He didn't speak until he was seated, placing a fine china cup of tea and slices of fruit cake in front of them both.
"So what is this burning question, Miss Hale?" Dark-blue eyes looked directly into hers. "Temporal anomalies, I think you said, or at least, meant to say."
She drank some of her tea – she hadn't realised how ready she was for some refreshment! leaned forward and looked eagerly into his face.
"Do you believe in Time Travel? Can there be such a thing?"
He drank tea and considered. At least he wasn't laughing. "You mean, can people travel into the future? Or into the past? Could we return to the time when Milton was all green fields, just for a look at the peasants working where Marlborough Mill now stands? No... I don't really think such a thing could be possible. Congratulations," he added, wryly, "you have actually raised one of the few topics I know no more about than you."
Arrogant man! But he was offering her the plate of cake and helping her to a knife, and he wore a neutral expression, not friendly, but not hostile.
"Why do you ask?" He ate his cake in neat quick forkfuls, whereas she had to swallow a dainty mouthful of hers before she spoke, in great fear of spitting crumbs over him.
"In the Great Hall, there is a pavilion of blue silk with a strange man inside... and he purports to be a Time Traveller."
Mr Thornton's lip performed a haughty curl. "A trickster, then."
"No, he... well it's difficult to explain... I mean, for example, he told my cousin Edith that her second child is going to have a ridiculous name, but now she is bent on giving the child that very name, because she believes the future shows she did give it that name, but if she did, she only did because the Time Traveller said she had... can you see why I'm a little confused about that, Mr Thornton? " she watched the twists and turns of that track across his expressive face and hurried on before he could reply, "but he did seem very genuine. He had something with him – a device – that emitted light and... showed pictures."
Mr Thornton's cake was all gone. He must have been hungry. He laid down his fork. "A kaleidoscope. Did you not have one as a child, Miss Hale? - a clever little device - works by the polarization of light by successive reflections between plates of glass."
"Well I did, yes..." she said doubtfully, "but his didn't really look like I remember them." She risked a glance at Mr Thornton, suddenly wondering what sort of a child he had been. A roguish scamp with a shock of black hair and blue eyes? Or a serious, haunted little boy with shadows under his eyes and too much to bear... the thought made her suddenly sad.
"Did you own one?"
"Mine was not that kind of childhood, Miss Hale," he said shortly, "but I bought one for Fanny one year as she wanted one so badly."
"That was kind of you," she smiled at him unexpectedly.
"She broke it quite soon. Or traded it for ribbons, I forget. Well, my answer to your question is No, I don't think Time Travel can exist, Miss Hale. And now, if you will excuse me, I should go – "
"Oh don't go, Mr Thornton! I have so many more questions," and slowly he sat back down again, his eyes on her face, curious. "This device he had – it seemed to have... messages on it. He asked it things... with his fingers – and it answered him in... words. He was reading out words."
"Like a ouija board? More trickery, I'm afraid, Miss Hale."
"No, not like that at all!"
Understanding suddenly informed his every feature. " I think I know now," he said. "Here at this very exhibition is something called a 'facsimile machine', I watched its inventor demonstrate it not half an hour ago."
"I saw that too," Margaret said, "but the Time Traveller's was much more.. impressive. You see Mr Thornton, what I'm thinking is – " she risked a look at his face – "Oh dear, you will laugh at my silly ideas – "
"I won't laugh at you," he said seriously.
Margaret suddenly realised she had been looking at him a tad too long; they seemed to have got lost for a moment there – just looking at one another. She had almost been counting his eyelashes, which were long, silky and dark and moved slightly with his breathing. She gave herself a little mental shake. "I was just wondering, Mr Thornton – I know we haven't invented a time machine yet – but... what if in the future they invent one? Then a Time Traveller could come back to this time? That would work, wouldn't it?"
"That's not silly at all, Miss Hale," he considered, head on one side. "But that still doesn't mean this person in the pavilion is a time traveller, does it? Couldn't any person set up in a tent and declare they were whatever they liked? What did he say that so convinced you?"
"Well – " Margaret hesitated – "it was more that the things he was saying – were so insane – and sort of ...complicated... it didn't seem at all the sort of thing one would make up if one were posing as a Time Traveller who can genuinely answer questions, do you see what I mean?"
"In fact, I do."
"I mean, Edith and I went to a gypsy on the Common once when Aunt Shaw had gone out for a bridge afternoon – we wanted to ask– well all the sorts of questions foolish young girls ask, you know, picture two Fannies together, Mr Thornton – and the answers were completely vague – 'he will be a rich, tall, dark, handsome man' – that sort of thing. Obvious nonsense. Hardly worth the penny we paid."
"I can't imagine what sort of question it would be to elicit such an answer," Mr Thornton said, without a smile, and yet Margaret felt somehow he was smiling a little inside at the thought of two young girls entering a gypsy tent and breathlessly asking her to read in her Ball a description of their future husbands –
"So what, then, was your question today? Of our Great Exhibition Time Traveller?"
Margaret blushed and moved in her seat and ate a bite of cake to give herself time to think. But when the last crumb had gone down, he was still waiting patiently, so she looked beyond him and said quickly, "Well it was the same question, as a matter of fact."
He frowned, the points of his brows moving in fast and complex expression of his feelings about that – given their history, she presumed it was still a raw thing for him to be reminded of. "You asked a Time Traveller for a description of your future husband?"
"Well - yes."
"You could have asked him what are the glorious advances in industry by his time. What politics and education look like in his world. What we have to look forward to and what to dread. Instead you asked – "
Now she was definitely squirming in her seat. "I know, I know it sounds silly to you. What you have to understand, Mr Thornton, is that it is... something of a preoccupation for a young woman. She has so much to fear – an unkind husband, no husband at all! – and so much to look forward to – a deep and mutual attraction and love – " she stopped, heartily embarrassed, but although this must be painful for him to bear, with her stark rejection of just a few weeks hence, his expression did not change.
"And did he have an answer for you?"
"Yes! Yes he did. I am to marry, and to be very happy, with a man who loves me dearly..."
"How pleasing for you. And," he said softly, darkly, "what is the name of the lucky gentleman?"
"Oh he didn't tell me that! He said he couldn't possibly! Something to do with meddling in the temporal - " she leaned forward confidingly, "He did say, however, that my husband to be is right here at the Great Exhibition – !"
"Then I think I know," he sneered. "This is no mystery at all, Miss Hale." Now he was glowering, simmering with fine temper.
She said hurriedly, "No, his name is not Henry, if that's what you're thinking. I asked him specifically and he was very certain of that!"
Imperceptibly his tight face relaxed. "Did he, then, give you any further information?"
"Oh yes, a good deal! He even showed me an image on his device – it was me, with this person, a gentleman, sitting beside me – on a train. We were - " she blushed and looked down – "we were obviously very much in love." She added, looking, unbeknownst to her, misty and dreamy, "My eyes were all misty...and dreamy ... as if I had too much happiness to bear."
"Well then, what mystery could there be? If you have seen his picture?" that look of glowering unhappiness was back.
"I couldn't see the man's face, only that he has a big, white, bushy beard down to his chest. He did tell me... my husband has a king's name. But I went through them all one by one, every single one, although I couldn't quite remember them all, and none was right – "
"Well I know them all... tell me which you did not mention, and then the mystery is a little closer to being solved – " he rattled them all off speedily, "William, William, Henry, Stephen, Henry, Richard, – " ending with, "...William. The fourth. (And now Victoria, of course.)" He looked her straight in the eye. "So, Miss Hale, which did you miss out?"
She looked down at her plate. She swallowed, "John," she whispered.
She had ordered and implored herself to say it with no inflection whatsoever, but somehow it had come out ringing with meaning, absolutely ringing with it, clear and loud as Big Ben's bell at dawn, and her eyes shining bright and urgent as lighthouses.
He took in a deep breath. She toyed with the crumbs on her plate, stirring them about with her fork. He nodded slowly. "I see. Well," he added, "it is a common enough name... there are probably fifteen hundred Johns here today... from smocked peasants up from Gloucestershire to Lords and Earls and members of Parliament. "
"He did give me the man's initials. Well, he said they weren't the man's initials, but the manner of his delivery – well, it reminded me of Dixon when I ask her if she has seen my best petticoat, and she says, 'the one with the tiny white frills?' and I say 'yes' and she says 'I haven't then', and I just know she has scorched it with the iron and hidden it at the back of the drawer, do you know what I mean, Mr Thornton?"
"What were the initials, Miss Hale?"
"Mr TJ – " oh dear lord, this was all getting very strange now.
He was watching her very hard, with eyes narrowed and intense, " I see. And was there more about this forthcoming husband?"
"Well, he described his personality - supercilious, bad tempered, haughty, arrogant, diffi - you know what, this really is sounding awfully much like you, Mr Thornton, isn't it?"
She couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any more. There actually was an elephant in the room, which they had also been successfully ignoring, but this one between them was just getting too big and obvious and right in their faces – the John moment had been so awkward!
"Is that how you see me?" she fancied he looked sad, but it passed quickly, as did all fleeting glimpses of his feelings.
"Well – " she dodged the question, "It's a point of view, isn't it? Anyway, those weren't my impressions – they were from... history essays written by schoolgirls of the future – it wasn't all bad," she hastened to assure him, "apparently he – my husband - is also brave, loyal, intelligent, wise, and – and – " she finished softly, looking right into his face, "I will never find a truer heart than his."
He was staring, and then he quite violently pushed his chair back and stood up: "Where is this Time Traveller?"
"In the silk pavilion behind the Crystal Fountain – "
"Wait there."
She waited, watching him pacing off energetically through the crowds. A maid brought her another cup of tea. She waved aside the offer of a shortbread biscuit, her stomach was performing strangely as it was, churning fruitcake round and around. She wondered if to avail herself of the facilities, for which one paid one penny, but couldn't risk not being here when he came back. With whatever news he had for her – good or bad.
The only thing was, she had now lost sight of what was good and what was bad. Which outcome did she actually want?
She didn't have long to wait. There he was, near the entrance, inches above everyone else, eyes hard and dark, getting closer and closer. He really was a very handsome man in his fine smart clothes, there was no doubt about that. Not at all the hairy big-footed troll as described by the Time Traveller, so he absolutely, definitely, could not be ... but –
When he took his seat again she found herself staring intently at his nose.
"Can you turn to one side for a moment, Mr Thornton?"
He looked at her in haughty impatience, but obliged just long enough for her to take in that he did have a rather impressively sized –
-which she had never noticed before as an individual feature, it fitting in so harmoniously with the rest of his face.
"We had better go outside," he said, without preamble. He took hold of her arm to help her to her feet, which was the first time she could ever remember him touching her since they had stood on the steps of Marlborough House, arguing bitterly while pushing each other out of the way of deadly flying rocks. Did it mean something that he felt he could take hold of her so proprietarily after his visit to Ozymandias?
He kept hold of her all the way, finding their path through the crowds. She passed Edith at one point and turned her head back to see Edith looking after them, her mouth a round O of surprise. Margaret made a 'goodness knows?!' expression and then she was being whisked through the glass and iron foyer out onto the grass of the park.
Mr Thornton found them a bench and they sat down together. Margaret noticed he was clasping and unclasping his hands; which was odd, because when she looked down, she found she was doing the exact same thing.
"You were hardly gone any time at all. It seemed to take me ages to get a single useful word out of him! How were you in and out so fast?"
"Did you try picking him up by the throat and pinning him to the pavilion wall?" Mr Thornton asked shortly.
"No, of course I didn't – ah. I see. Well, don't keep me waiting, Mr Thornton!" she said anxiously, "what did he say?" adding, with a little mischief despite her finger-wringing agony, "No doubt you began with.. 'what are the glorious advances in industry of the future, what is there to look forward to and what to dread...'.. did you not?"
"Apparently... the woman who is to be my wife is at the Great Exhibition today," he began, expressionlessly.
Margaret nodded, go on, go on! "Well... there are a great many people here today... hardly surprising... that your wife and my husband would both be here - ?"
And yet it was rather surprising.
"He said of her," Mr Thornton said slowly, hands now spread on his black-clad thighs, "that she is the most beautiful woman in Milton - at least in my eyes. She is spirited, and unafraid. She will temper my melancholy and bitterness with her own sweetness, her kindness and her charm; and she will take away my sadness with her love for me. Apparently," he looked downwards, "astonishing though it sounds, she will love me with all her heart - forever." He looked distant, entranced for a moment, as if such a future had been thought out of his reach, not even considered a possibility until now, when he had been given a magical hope of happiness.
"I'm glad for you," Margaret said weakly, "she sounds lovely; and did he give you her name?"
He looked at Margaret then, imperious and haughty, his chin lifted. "He told me she has a queen's name," and watched Margaret's lips move as she silently, frowningly, dredged the names of the five queens of England – Mary, Elizabeth, Mary, Anne –
She looked up at him, pale as a camellia flower – "Oh Mr Thornton! Now I know! You are to marry Anne Latimer! I'm so happy for you!" and she burst, most unexpectedly, into noisy tears.
Mr Thornton watched her with astonishment, utterly surprised by this turn of events. He reached out a tentative hand of comfort – withdrew it. Finally he unfurled a large clean handkerchief from an inner pocket and held it out to her. She snatched it and buried her eyes and nose in it.
It was warm from his body and it smelt wonderful from being so close to him.
"I don't know why you have come to that conclusion, Miss Hale," he said gently. "We shall come to why you mind so much in a moment..."
From what he could make out through her sobs and snuffles, queens, sob, Anne, sob, Anne! sob, Anne Latimer! he could see some incoherent misunderstanding was taking place; he hurried to put it right:
"He didn't say sovereign queen, Miss Hale, that is, reigning queen... you've forgotten all the queen consorts and the queen mothers, all of whom bear the title of Queen..."
Her face reappeared from his handkerchief, pale, with wet lashes and cheeks.
He frowned. "Did you actually do any history at school, Miss Hale?"
"Edith and I found History very boring," she sniffed, mopping herself. "We used to write notes to one another in History and twang the plaits of the silly girls who sat in front, whom we did not like one bit."
"Fascinatin'..." he mused on this insight into little girls at school.
"Tell me, Mr Thornton – " she whispered, lifting a piteous, wet little face to his. "Which queen's name caught your attention?"
He evaded the question – "First let me tell you I have seen a picture of this woman who is going to love me so dearly – " he said the words with a kind of happy pride, his eyes dwelling on the unexpected future in which he was going to be cared for, loved and wanted –
"Does she have... a silly curl right at the front of her brow?" Margaret sniffed miserably, "A big bonnet, thick lips, and an ugly beige dress?"
His eye dwelt on her, softly, fondly. "I couldn't see her hair. She had a bulldog's face. No bonnet - on her head she had a pair of rabbit ears. Interestingly," he added, "like your husband, she too had a big white bushy beard."
"She sounds awful," Margaret 's voice wobbled, on the brink of tears again, "Oh I'm sorry, Mr Thornton! If she is to be your wife, I should not have been so rude! But... a face like a bulldog?"
"I didn't say like a bulldog. I said she had a bulldog's face. Do you not recall how your husband appeared to you, Miss Hale?"
Understanding dawned – "Oh! You mean the Traveller had hidden her face, behind a series of unattractive props?"
"And after a little encouragement – " Mr Thornton flexed his fingers reflectively – "he gave me her initials – "
She gazed at him, agog. "What were they?" in a tremulous voice.
He cleared his throat. "XX. Miss XX."
"XX?!" This was so not what she had been expecting. Or, if she was honest, hoping for...
"That is known as learning on the job, Miss Hale."
"As for her name," he continued softly, "I thought you might be waiting for this name in particular, perhaps... Did you never hear of Margaret of Anjou?" and when she lifted her face to his, she found his beautified by a tender smile, the like of which she had never seen before, softening all his severe features and lighting his eyes with love, and his hand was gently taking hold of hers and caressing it so sweetly with his thumb.
"Oh Mr Thornton," she whispered, "can it really be? It is – isn't it?" and his lips pressed warmly to hers, unexpectedly soft and sweet, his hand coming up to cup her face, stroke her hair, draw her close to him, wrapping her in all his love and protection.
"It's the truth," he murmured to her, "There is no truer heart than mine."
She was clinging to the lapels of his coat, trying to draw his face back to hers; she wanted to be kissed again, even though it did not work well with talking, of which she also had a lot to do –
She murmured against his mouth, "We love each other, Mr Thornton. How did that happen?"
"I have loved you almost since I first saw you."
"I think I must have done too," Margaret mused happily, rewriting Time at a stroke; afterwards, years afterwards when they would tell the story, it had become 'I loved him from the first moment I saw him at the Mill, looking down so haughty and arrogant over all... our eyes met ..."
"... and I looked down and saw this beautiful woman, the like of which I had never before seen, and I ran down the Mill stairs and kissed her hand and asked her to marry me and she said..."
"'No! I do not like you at all!" they would chorus as one, and laugh immoderately, and John Thornton would reach down to tousle the dark heads of their little girls and boys, trustingly uplifted to hear the story of how mama and papa met, and he would add, looking at his wife with a love than which none could be truer,
"But, in Time, she changed her mind. ..."
END
