First published on AO3. This was the second N&S story I wrote when I was very new to the fandom, and unbeknownst to me at the time, is a well-worn theme - So what if Margaret HAD looked back?
It is sweet rather than angsty, and, of course, has a HEA... I'll post it fairly quickly (just five chapters) as I love getting to the bit where we make them happy...
The click of the coach door closing made Margaret's eyes fly wide open, as if she had already been drifting into sleep. She had slept a great deal since Mr Bell had brought her the news; and even awake she felt strange and unreal. How little she had understood on that day when she had looked out, seen her godfather and smiled in welcome – only for that smile to turn to horrified understanding as he removed his hat, grave and heavy with sorrow. Her father was never coming home.
My Papa is dead.
She had no-one of her own now.
Her Aunt was looking out of the coach window with distaste. Whirling snow was concealing most of the misery of the place, but those grim walls pierced with hostile windows could be made out here and there, looming oppressively over the crude industrial yard.
"Oh! Such an awful place!" she had a handkerchief in her hand, ready to cloak her nose should any noisome Milton odours filter through. "It is quite the ugliest place in all England, I am sure. And that awful man! I could not wait to get away from him, I remember how he spoke so rudely to dear Henry at the Exhibition. I thought he seemed far too familiar with you, Margaret, and his mother – oh, my dear, what an unpleasant woman!"
These words pricked at Margaret and roused her to retort: "Mr Thornton is not an 'awful man', Aunt. Papa was very fond of him. If you knew him at all, you would know he does not deserve such a name. As for his mother, she is plain-speaking, to be sure, but that is the way in the North."
"I did not like them at all. Oh – the impertinence! He is watching us now from his front step – his face is so cold and stern and disapproving – as if he could stop you from leaving this dreadful place, which is not the environment for a young lady and never has been. I don't know what your father was thinking, to bring you and my poor dear sister here – "
"Mr Thornton is there?"
Her aunt leaned forward quickly and rapped on the partition. "Drive on!"
The carriage jerked and began to move forward, rolling out narrow channels in the snow.
"Wait," Margaret called suddenly. "Stop!"
Her voice was very determined, even fierce. Mrs Shaw's head snapped round - she stared at her quiet niece in surprise. The coach lurched to a halt; finding she could not see anything but snowflakes flattening quick and white against the glass, Margaret opened the carriage door and looked back - back at the forbidding house, back at Mr Thornton standing there, just as her aunt had described.
He looked cold, yes. Cold as if all warmth had fled him. Not disapproving, no, not stern - he looked devastated. He looked as if every spark of light had been drawn from him, leaving only darkness and tragedy.
You are leaving, then. You'll never come back?
"Oh what am I doing? I have been rushed into this!" Margaret cried. "Aunt Shaw, it is unreasonable to expect me to come back with you today and I will not. I have not been myself since Papa - I was not thinking straight."
"Margaret! What are you saying? Don't be ridiculous, child – "
"Aunt, I'm not a child," Margaret said. "I am nearly of age. I have unfinished business in Milton, and I can not leave today. "
Seeing the stubborn set of Margaret's chin, the unwavering, determined stare, Mrs Shaw sighed in irritation.
"It is beyond inconvenient, Margaret, to expect us to delay in this terrible place any longer. You are being very selfish, I am afraid."
"I have to do what is right for my own self," Margaret said. "There is no-one left to do it for me, though I thank you, Aunt, for meaning so well. I am not asking you to delay – in fact, I would be happy for you to return to London. I will follow you there when I am able to."
"Don't be silly, Margaret! You can't stay here – alone!" Mrs Shaw was horrified at the way the girl was acting, how strange and thoughtless and even rude, but then she remembered she had been so recently bereaved, orphaned in fact, and must be still in a state of shock and grief; Margaret had always been wilful, it was true, but never selfish.
"I have friends here," the girl steadily replied, "Mr Bell my godfather for one; and I will ask Mrs Thornton to take me into her charge – she made a promise to my mother, which she has assiduously kept. You may not have found her personality pleasing, but you cannot doubt her character." She was opening the carriage door and getting out, stepping onto perfect snow.
Mr Thornton was still there on the steps, a dark and frozen statue - a little crease of puzzlement forming between his narrowed eyes as he had watched the carriage come to a halt, and then, astonishingly, Margaret opening the door. Just as if she had heard him speak aloud – as if she had sensed his very thoughts, most desperately heartfelt, reaching out to bring her back to him.
Look back. Look back at me.
"Mr Thornton," she was calling, approaching him. "I must speak to you, there is something I have to say and I cannot leave before I do."
He had himself well under rule by now, despite the jolting of his heart, the foolish rush of his hopes, and merely inclined his head, saying quietly, "It is snowing hard, Miss Hale. Will you come inside to shelter, for a moment at least?"
Snowflakes were brightly patterning her coat, her gloves, her face, turning instantly there to water, unheeded as she continued, "My Aunt will not leave me unless she is sure I will be safe and among friends. Would you speak to your mother, and obtain that assurance? I beg you, Mr Thornton."
His forehead creased. "You don't need to beg me. I will speak to Mother, of course."
Oh Margaret! she looked so shadowy and sick. He looked past her to see the aunt, getting herself out of the carriage with many an exclamation of indignation and annoyance. "Mr Thornton!" she cried, walking towards them gingerly, "Please talk some sense into Margaret. She can NOT stay here, you must see that. It would not be proper at this time. She needs to be among family. She must come back to London with me, today."
But here was Margaret, standing in front of him, her eyes trustfully on his, so very sure he would fight on her side.
The Master in him came out to take charge. "Miss Hale – sit in here for a moment. You are so cold, and I am very afraid the snow will soak through your clothes." He opened the office door with his key and found a seat for her, nearest the stove. "I will come back, as soon as I can," he promised her. His eyes searched her face, her sweet, white, determined face; she seemed to be in a dream. He could make no sense of it.
The older woman was trying to follow them in, fussing and squawking. Thornton said to her, "If you would come inside the house, Mrs Shaw, and we will speak to my mother," answering her querulous interjections as he herded her up the steps; she would think him very rude and autocratic but he hardly cared, only Margaret mattered: "I am sure Miss Hale will soon want to come to London, but at the moment you'll not disagree she seems very distressed at the thought... let's see if we can't arrange something which will calm her for now, and leave you satisfied that she is safe and cared for."
-OO-
Thank God Fanny was not around... his mother greeted the return of Margaret's aunt with glacial surprise and cold courtesy.
"Mother," he came at once to the point, "Miss Hale wishes to stay a little longer in Milton after all, but naturally her Aunt must have the assurance of her being safe and under a woman's care... would you do that?"
For me, his eyes pleaded with her, do this thing for me...
His mother very formally assured Mrs Shaw that she need have no worry for Margaret in this house, that she had promised Margaret's mother that she would look after Margaret when called upon, had in fact been handed the responsibility as a personal charge from Mrs Hale, and would keep that promise. She did it in such a manner, so cold, so formal, so utterly unapproachable that all she had meant to say quite died on Mrs Shaw's lips, and she found herself a short time later in the carriage, leaving Milton alone; though when she reached London and the remonstrances of her daughter, of Captain Lennox and his brother Henry, she knew she had been quite wrong to do so and woefully regretted it .
-OO-
"Thank you, Mother," Thornton said, taking a deep breath.
"Don't be so quick to thank me. I'm already sorry for it," she said dryly. "I don't want the girl here! And don't think I don't know what's in your mind - you're going to renew your addresses to her, aren't you? I could see them tremblin' on your lips even when we were all sayin' our goodbyes!"
He tightened his hands over the back of a chair for a moment and leaned over it, looking down. "I don't know what I'll do, Mother," he said, quiet, deep. "I have no plans. I only know she's asked for my help, and I'll not refuse her."
"Oh, you'll not refuse her anything, I know that," Mrs Thornton said tartly. "That woman could ask for the moon in a net an' you'd be out there fishin'. You're still in love with her, aren't you, John? It's not much use denying it, you speak it with your eyes every time you look at the girl!"
His head came up then, he gave her a very cool look, one most men would have wavered at. "You know me best of course, Mother. I'm only sayin' – you needn't worry about my addressing Miss Hale again. She wouldn't take me before, she was very clear she did not want me, and I'll not put her through the distress of askin' her again-"
His mother completed the sentence for him – unless, of course, she's changed her mind! – but did not speak it. She sighed, heavy with foreboding. So close! She had so nearly seen the ties of this unsuitable, doomed attachment cut forever... to be sure... get her home as soon as possible...
"Go on then, go and see what's up with this young madam we've been saddled with for goodness knows how long. Oh, for one so sweet and who never does anything wrong - told to me by her own mother, a very reliable witness I'm sure! – doesn't she manage to cause trouble everywhere she goes! But yes, yes, just go, I'll have the maid make up a room for her meantime. The best room, of course," she ended sarcastically, "Nothing less will do for Miss Margaret Hale!" but he had gone, taking the stairs three at a time.
-OO-
Author's notes:
This story is a firm K and contains nothing explicit. A few mentions about my much longer story "A View Through Glass" made me realise it has vanished from view due to a rating change. Unless you subscribed to it, you'd need to change the default search filters to Ratings - All (ie to include M) to find it. Only if you want to read the Happy Ending of course. :)
Usual plea to look at my profile if you are interested in joining our forum, The Mill at Milton, for North and South discussion... it's going nicely but we are ALWAYS hungry for new members who just like to talk about N&S and John and Margaret and stories and episodes and characters and...