Thank you for all you kind reviews! I hope you all enjoy this next installment!
Harley Street
Mrs Thornton,
Please accept my sincere thanks for the opportunity you have given me to explain the events surrounding my Mother's death. At the time I was very dismissive of you and I am extremely sorry for my words, but I hope my explanation helps you understand my rudeness, even if you cannot forgive my actions.
For you see, the man at the station is my brother. His name is Frederick, he joined the navy several years ago and was embroiled in a mutiny. Frederick has an extremely rigid sense of right and wrong and so could not stand by when the captain was abusing members of the crew.
Tensions became strained, but ultimately snapped, when a crew member died by throwing himself from the rigging to avoid punishment from the bosun, a man feared for his cruelty. Several times the man had nearly killed children by whipping them so brutally they could do nothing but lie still for weeks and hope to avoid infection.
The crew could no longer do nothing. They organised a mutiny. Frederick and a few others were able to convince the men that mercy should be shown, and so they set the captain and senior officers in a boat and left them instead of killing them. Unfortunately, the captain was found, and Fred and the other officers were charged with mutiny and desertion.
They have been hunted for years. Every man they have caught has been hung and so Fred has never returned to England. That is, until my mother's decline in health. She knew she was dying, Mrs Thornton. She begged me to write to him and ask him to return. She did not want to die without seeing her only son once more.
I did as she asked, for my brother is settled and doing rather well in Cadiz. In fact, he is very recently married. He came, and my mother died within days of his arrival. We decided it was better that Fred leave the country as soon as possible, for Dixon had met a man we used to know in Helstone, a Mr Leonards, who knew Fred and of the events of the mutiny. He was determined to collect the reward offered for Fred's capture.
I accompanied Fred to the station where Mr Thornton saw me embracing him, and where we were spotted by Leonards. There was a small scuffle, but Fred boarded the train and Leonards left the station. He was later found dead, and I'm sure Mr Thornton can tell you the rest if you do not know of the inquest.
I do deeply regret lying to the police officer, however, I had no idea if Fred was still in the country, and I could not bear it if I caused his death. I have little enough family as it is, losing Fred so soon after my mother would have broken me.
It pains me to know that I have acted wrongly, but I cannot regret any actions made to keep my brother alive. We have both been reckless, but I can only ask forgiveness for my behaviour to you and Mr Thornton. I could not place Mr Thornton in such a position when he is a magistrate. I could not ask him to choose between his duty and my brother's life. I have been unfair to him before, I could not do so again.
I must again thank you, Mrs Thornton, for the opportunity to explain myself. I have been wretched that some of the only friends my father had in Milton think badly of me, and I can only hope that this letter can do away with even the smallest amount of dislike. Thank you, again, and I hope that someday, I may somehow return to Milton and speak with you all properly as a friend.
Yours sincerely,
Margaret Hale.
Margaret was unsure that her letter would have any effect on the cold Hannah Thornton, for she had written immediately upon her arrival to London, late as it was. Tired and upset, she hardly knew what she had written, but was determined to have it sent out immediately first thing in the morning. Once it was in the hands of the servant who took the post, she was at a loss for what to do. She could not walk unaccompanied in London, neither could she visit understanding friends for she had none. Deep in mourning as she was, the people here would not look kindly on her for joining her aunt and cousin on their morning calls, no matter the despair and loneliness she felt.
She eventually wandered into what was called the library, despite the occupants of the house rarely making use of it the way it was intended. She was certain that most of the books were for show, as she had never seen her cousin read anything but the most frivolous novels, and her aunt nothing at all. There was, however, a wonderful family bible (again, Margaret was sure it was hardly ever utilised), and so she lifted it down from its lofty spot and settled on a comfortable chair by the window to read. She passed the next two hours in this manner before the rest of the household rose and she was summoned to breakfast.
Thus, began the days of monotony. Waking, eating when she was told, forcibly denying any diversions her aunt and cousin suggested (for neither of them had shown even the slightest attempts at mourning), and going to bed, but not sleeping until well into the early hours of the morning, no matter how tired she was.
The only bright part of her day was spending time with her wonderful nephew, and she often hid herself away in the nursery and dismissed his nurse to care for him herself. She delighted in his easy smiles and laughter and found she felt truly happy when in his company.
She did begin her walks again, even though she chafed under the company of a maid (who often could not keep up with her) and found that the more she walked, the more dissatisfied she came to be with London and its inhabitants. Her aunt claimed Milton to be a horrid, smoky place, but London was hardly any cleaner, and there was nowhere Margaret could walk to escape the smog like she could in Milton.
Her growing frustration notwithstanding, she could not abide losing the tiny amount of freedom granted by her walks, and so petitioned for a hale footman to accompany her instead. Her aunt was dubious at first (for why would she need to walk so far that a maid was not up to the task?), but eventually agreed, and so her walks became longer, and she was able to explore many of the nearby (and not so nearby) parks.
The first break in the interminable repetition of her new life came in the form of a letter from Mrs Thornton. She had not expected a reply, and after the first, and then the second week passed, she had quashed the sliver of hope that had existed and decided to move on. She must accept that the Thornton's could not forgive her and nothing she said could change that.
Having the letter did not assuage her fear immediately, for she did not have the privacy she desired until later that night in her room. The letter had been pressing at the back of her mind all that day, and despite her fear of an unfavourable answer, she was relieved to finally read it. Tearing open the seal with some impatience, she devoured the words within eagerly.
Marlborough Mill
Miss Hale,
I am sorry to hear of your family's struggles. While I agree that your behaviour at the time was worthy of reproof, I can only commend the lengths you have gone to, to keep your brother (and ultimately the rest of your family) safe. It shows a strength of character that I was unwilling to see before.
As I said at the time, your mother asked me to watch out for you, and even though you are no longer here and have female companionship again, please know that I am at your service should you require advice. I know what it is to build a life from nothing, Miss Hale. I understand doing everything within your power to keep your family safe.
I can only empathise with your situation, but please know that it will get better. The world seems a dark place now, but eventually you will find your way.
I am happy to keep up a correspondence if you are willing, and there are others here who would like to know you are well.
Yours,
Hannah Thornton
Margaret could hardly contain herself at this reply. While short, it said enough for her to know that Mrs Thornton believed her and absolved her of some of her wrong doing. And to commend her strength of character! Margaret was so joyful she could scarcely sit still. With her restless shifting, the candle she was reading by flickered, casting its light further down the letter. In the near darkness of the room, she had not noticed more writing at the very bottom of the page. Bringing it closer to the candle, she saw a single line in a different hand.
Thank you, Miss Hale. JT
She gasped in astonishment. Mr Thornton had written to her! Granted it was barely one line of script, but still, the very fact that he himself sought to respond to her had her smiling so wide her cheeks ached. Oh, certainly it was improper, but she found she could not care. She would take all the comfort she could get, and if it came in the form of a secret note then so be it.
She considered that maybe his mother had allowed him to actually read the letter himself and was filled with warmth. Mrs Thornton had certainly allowed him to add his thanks (from the way her stern exterior practically crumbled when Mr Thornton begged her with his eyes alone, she felt it may not have been particularly difficult for him the convince her), but she never imagined she would get a response like this! For him to thank her, after the abominable way she had treated him, surely must be a sign of forgiveness.
He had said he did not want to think badly of her. Perhaps her letter gave him a reason to think better of her, or perhaps he was just grateful to know why she had lied. But no, Mrs Thornton had written that others wanted to hear of her. Did she mean Mr Thornton? Maybe he had forgiven her. Maybe they could be friends! She longed to pen a response, but the hour was truly very late by now, and she could feel sleep pulling at her eyes. She blew out her candle and settled into bed, before sleeping deeply for the first time since arriving in London.
The next day she arose early, well rested and refreshed, and immediately set out the answer Mrs Thornton's letter. While she did not wish to make herself morbid with reminders of what she had lost, she felt that Mrs Thornton would be the one person to give her sensible advice. So far, her aunt and Edith had only made veiled insinuations to marriage to Henry Lennox, someone she had managed to avoid since her return. They had offered no sympathy, and as much as Margaret loved her cousin, she knew that Edith could be rather self-centred in her wishes.
Still, Mrs Thornton had offered, and Margaret was determined to make a friendship out of this correspondence. She did not have many friends and she refused to lose the ones she made in Milton. And so, she decided to open up to Mrs Thornton, despite not telling any of her relatives her struggles.
Harley Street
Mrs Thornton,
Words cannot express the gratitude I feel at your kind letter. I am almost overcome at your offer of advice, for I confess I am sorely in need of it, and I will not find it here. The only suggestions I receive from my family to lessen my grief are highly unsuitable for one in mourning.
In truth, I do not know how to manage my grief. I have found if I am not careful to control myself I am prone to fits of weeping over the smallest thing. My aunt informed me just yesterday that my father's books had been parcelled up for selling, and I was overcome. After my mother's death I was able to distract myself by caring for my father, but now he is gone, and I am here, I have no purpose. How do I live a life with no purpose?
The only times I feel my grief fade are when I take sole care of my nephew for a time, but that is not my duty, and once my aunt or cousin notice, they send the nurse in to reclaim him. Is it wrong for me to feel ungrateful?
They have taken me in, but I cannot help but strain against the restrictions placed on me. Several times now I have had to tell falsehoods to escape attending dinner parties. While pleading illness is not necessarily far from the truth (for I do feel somewhat unwell most days), I still feel that I am in the wrong. How do I weigh the respect for my father's mourning against the wishes of my only family?
I cannot go to them with my grief, but they do still try to make me happy. Is it my fault that they do not succeed? They tell me I am too stubborn, but I do not understand how. I beg of you to help me untangle these thoughts Mrs Thornton. I fear I am making everything worse than it needs to be.
Thank you ever so much for your reply.
Yours, with gratitude,
Margaret Hale
Letter sent, Margaret could only wait. She applied herself to the relentless tedium of her days, and while she refused to mope, she could not deny a certain lifelessness about her.
Four days after she sent her letter, the meeting she had been dreading for some time occurred. Somehow, she had managed to always be elsewhere when Henry Lennox called, and had cried off eating with the family with a headache whenever he had been invited.
Margaret could not deny perhaps indulging herself slightly there. While she often felt fatigued, it was only when they had company that she could not manage to stay downstairs to attend dinner. She had not necessarily been making a conscious effort to evade him, but she could not refute that she had been purposefully vague about her exact destination on her walks, for fear that Henry would follow her and find her alone.
At least this meeting meant she could use others in the room as a distraction. Her usual walk had been curtailed by a deluge of rain (she had hoped the rain was heavy enough to keep everyone at home) and had returned barely five minutes before Henry arrived. There would be no escaping him this time.
Seated in the sitting room, Margaret did her very best to be her usual self with Henry but found that it was far more difficult than she thought it would be. They had always been friends, but Margaret struggled to reconcile his manner of speaking so unfairly of her life in Milton. How could he know what it was like? All he had done was attempt to denigrate the place in front of Mr Thornton at the Great Exhibition. She was finding it rather demanding to not snap at him, more proof that her control over her emotions was lacking. When Edith joined his attempts at sympathy, Margaret knew she had to speak.
"I thank you both for your endeavours at comfort, however, you are both trying to comfort me for the wrong thing. I am not sad because I lived in Milton. Nor am I upset that it was a coarse city of industry. I miss my father. I would much rather hear the goodness of him than your opinions on a place neither of you have ever been to."
She knew she had been a little sharp at the end of her speech, but she found that she could no longer listen to Milton being insulted without taking offence.
"Oh Margaret!" Edith still could not seem to fathom that she wished to respect her mourning period. "Surely if you had not moved to Milton, Aunt would not have died. And if she was here then Mr Hale would be as well for surely, he died of a broken heart! You always said they loved each other dearly."
"Edith, my mother would have died regardless. Somethings can not be treated by sea air."
"But surely being in Milton did not help!"
"In many ways it did. Being a large city of commerce meant that there was always a variety of fresh fruit available for her to eat. In Helstone we did not get such a variety. We could only get what was produced locally. I know my original prejudice of the place may be tainting your view, but I assure you, it is not as bad as I once thought. It merely took some time to acclimate to it. Did I not hate London when I first came here, years ago? Milton is not so very different."
Edith was too shocked to reply. That Milton could be like London seemed to have stunned her into silence, a silence Margaret was happy for. Henry however, would not be dumbfounded by her views.
"Margaret, I'm sure Edith does not mean that it was Milton itself that caused so many problems. Perhaps being so far from her family is what had such a severe affect on you mother. In such a savage society, it cannot have been good for her."
Margaret found her annoyance growing once more. Henry spoke in a condescending manner, as if she or Edith were not able to understand their own thoughts and words. Her voice was like acid as she replied.
"I do not see how moving a few hundred miles north could have made much difference. Her family was not even in this country when we left Helstone. They did not attend the funeral. They did not support her husband or daughter when they were left alone without her. It was our friends in Milton that bore us through. I would thank you to stop speaking of the place that was truly a home to me. The society was no more savage than that of Helstone."
Henry tried to respond but she spoke over him. "What does it matter if men labour in fields or a factory? What does it matter that one man earns a living from teaching or another in manufacturing?" Now she had started, she could not stop. "You work for a living, Henry. Why is your profession so much better than that of the Masters? Do hundreds of men rely on your every decision? Do you have the power to ruin a man, to cast his family into the grip of poverty, in mere seconds? I will hear no more of the evils of Milton. Not from people who are ignorant of everything about it."
Her voice had grown louder as her emotion unlocked everything she had wished to say in the weeks she had been in London. No more could she tolerate her relations speaking the way they had. No more could she fight to keep her happy memories of Milton. She had grown far too much to ignore the importance it had in her life. As Margaret took in the astounded expressions of everyone in the room (she had attracted the attention of Mrs Shaw and Captain Lennox), she felt her defiance grow.
She would not let them preach to her how she should behave. They had no respect for her father. She would act in the manner she saw fit. And if that meant loud arguments about her home, then she would shout her opposition from the rooftops. She would not be cowed into silence by how they expected her to behave. Their behaviour was indecent in the face of her tragedy, and she would no longer allow it.
She rose stiffly, gave a regal nod, and swept from the room without asking to be excused. Alone, locked away in her room, Margaret stared blankly at the wall. Now her anger was abating, she was beginning to feel chagrined about how she had spoken. She could not regret her words, but they could have been spoken with greater delicacy. Margaret could not consider bringing herself to apologise, not in that moment at least, and her churning thoughts could not be released to anyone here.
Quite without thinking, Margaret found herself at her writing desk, detailing the argument and her resolve to Mrs Thornton. She hoped that lady would not mind a second letter so soon after her first, without waiting for a reply, but found that there was no one else she felt she could tell. No one here would understand. Mrs Thornton at least, could not berate her loyalty to Milton and its people.
Margaret had just finished sealing her letter when a knock sounded at her door. After a moments debate, she called out for them to enter, and a cautious looking Edith stepped in. While Margaret was determined to stick to her resolve of behaving as she felt was right, she could not help but feel a pang of guilt at Edith's wary expression. She did not wish to be at odds with her cousin (they were practically sisters) but she would stand firm when it came to defending Milton from her hypocrisy.
"You do not seem yourself, Margaret."
Margaret had seen Edith use this meek manner many times. Edith had never truly felt any consequences for wrong doing in all her life. All it took was a submissive tilt to her head and a cowed expression and she was let off. No. Margaret would not allow the same thing to happen. Edith had to understand that she could not always have her way.
"I am the way I have always been, Edith. You simply do not wish to see it."
Edith's eyes sparkled with tears.
"Do you wish so badly to not be with us?"
"That has not ever, at any point, been the topic of conversation, Edith. If you wish to take my refusal to listen to you insult my friends as a wish to not be here, that is all on you."
Edith was silent for a moment. The tears did not fall but sat threatening against her lashes.
"Do you blame us for not being there when Aunt died?"
Margaret sighed. She was particularly harsh when making that point, and she was beginning to feel the remorse at her conduct.
"It could not be helped, Edith. You are not at fault for being absent. As I said, you were not even in the country at the time, there was no way you could have been there. I am not upset at that. I am, however, upset that you always imply my father is at fault for her death by taking her to Milton. I will not hear you blame him anymore."
Edith's lips quivered at her tone, but she nodded and looked away.
"And I would appreciate you inform everyone else of that as well."
Edith stared at her, aghast.
"You cannot expect me to tell them all that!"
"Why not?" Margaret's voice was unforgiving. "You have thought nothing of my discomfort in asking you, several times I might add, to cease speaking the way you did. Why should I not behave the way you have?
"For weeks I have struggled to make myself heard above your selfish desires. I do not wish to go to dinner parties. I do not wish to attend balls. And I certainly do not wish to marry Henry Lennox! I will not become a piece in your game of domestic felicity. I will not be ordered about as if I have no ability to think for myself." Edith had truly started to cry now.
"I see you think me cruel, Edith, but you must see that you ask too much of me. I may be dependent on your goodness to live, but I will not depend on your judgement, when my own is what matters most." She refused to mention that she was actually depending on Mrs Thornton's judgement at this time. That would only make this situation more difficult. "I am sorry for how harsh I have been today, but I have tried for quite some time to ask you to be kinder. It is not fair for you to treat me this way. Especially not when I feel indebted to you for offering me your home."
Edith attempted to wipe away her tears. "I did not know that is how you felt, Margaret."
"You did not wish to listen."
"I think..." Edith paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I think you might be right. But I so want us to all be happy here, Margaret! Why could we not be one big, wonderful family?"
Margaret knew it was too soon to hope that Edith would leave off her wish of a union with Henry, even if she did seem to agree to her wishes regarding her father. With a wry smile (for her annoyance had faded with Edith attempting to listen for a change) she made her reply in a much more cheerful manner than she would have done half an hour ago.
"Oh Edith. Are we not already a big happy family? Henry is your brother in law and we are practically sisters! Why do Henry and I need to marry to make it complete?"
"It would be so perfect, Margaret! And you would not have to leave me then. I have missed you dreadfully you know."
"I have missed you as well, Edith. But I will not marry Henry. I care for him, but we are merely friends. Nothing more will come of it."
Edith pouted. "I know he would like something to come of it."
"Then you must stop encouraging him, Edith. I will not change my mind."
With a sigh, Edith agreed. "Yes, you are far too stubborn when you come to a decision. Very well, I will stop encouraging Henry. But you must come down to dinner tonight. No more hiding from our guests."
"I will be there, but only if you tell them what I have told you."
Brows furrowed. Edith agreed and left Margaret alone once more.
Looking back at the letter she had written, Margaret decided that Mrs Thornton did not need to know the details of such an outburst. She was almost ashamed that her first letter had such a tone of despondency to it, she could not bear sending one so full of anger. Margaret ripped the letter in half.
She hoped her conversation with Edith would pave the way to a less turbulent existence, even if she did not expect it to happen immediately. It would certainly help her roiling emotions if she was not called upon to constantly defend her friends from insult. She was no stranger to righteous anger, but experiencing it relentlessly was taking its toll, and she would prefer to return to her more placid state of being.
Centring her thoughts and preparing for dinner took her the rest of the afternoon, and so when she finally joined her family in the sitting room, it had been several hours since she had seen them. There was an almost tangible tension as she entered, not helped by the conversation coming to an abrupt stop as she appeared. The ever-affable Captain stepped into the breach and rescued her from the stares of her family.
"Margaret! Come, you must help me. You are far more observant than I and living in Milton means you probably know a great deal more than me. I need your opinion on cotton."
Joining him on the settee she gazed at him quizzically.
"Cotton?"
"Yes! I meant what I said at the Exhibition, you know. Cotton is the industry to invest in by my reckoning. What do you say? Should I be writing to the masters to ask after returns?"
"Perhaps. I must admit I do not know much of the market forces that surround cotton. Only what Mr Thornton has mentioned regarding his mill. I know he does some things differently, for he has debated his decisions with the other masters."
Henry joined the conversation by seating himself on the adjacent chair. "Were you often in conversation with Mr Thornton about his business, Margaret?" There was a distance in Henry's voice that made Margaret wary. What could he mean by it?
"He would sometimes discuss business matters with my father, but I often only spoke to him about his workers welfare." She turned back to the captain. "Did you know he is the only master in Milton to have fitted a wheel? He claims it is only sound business sense, but it is obvious he seeks to keep them as safe as possible."
"How does he claim it to be good sense?"
"Oh he says having healthier workers mean they live longer and bring their families to work there as well, meaning less training and mistakes, but honestly I cannot see that so many people drop dead of brown lung often enough for it to be a worthwhile investment. No, I refuse to believe his business was his only consideration."
The captain smiled at her. "We are not all such humanitarians as you, Margaret. Perhaps he really does only see it in business terms."
"All the other masters disagree with him. The see it as wasted money. They do not value the lives of their workers they way Mr Thornton does."
Just then the bell rang for dinner and Henry offered his arm to escort her before the captain could. Seated next to him at the table was awkward to begin with. Especially when he asked pointed questions about her relationship with Mr Thornton.
"I had not thought you were particularly close with the Thornton's. It would seem you have seen more of them than you let on."
"Perhaps it is merely that you never asked, Henry."
Henry clearly did not like that response and turned to speak to Mrs Shaw who was seated on his other side. Edith captured her attention and she could not regret the distraction. Listening to Edith chatter about this or that was far easier than parsing the intention behind Henry's questions. She felt he was implying something, but what, she did not know. Eventually Henry directed his conversation back at her, and his meaning became clear.
"I do believe you miss your Mr Thornton, Margaret. You have hardly spoken of anyone else in Milton, should we fear your imminent removal back to that place?"
Margaret was too shocked to do more than flush angrily. That he would say such a thing, in front of her family no less, was an obvious sign he did not forgive her outburst earlier in the afternoon. What was it about her that provoked men to rudeness at dinner? First Mr Thornton, now Henry. Well, she supposed Mr Thornton was justified in his anger - although not his manner of expressing it – but she could not understand Henry being so angry.
Everyone at the table had stopped speaking and turned to stare at her. With embarrassment written plainly across her features, Margaret attempted to answer him in a dignified manner, despite the mortification she felt.
"Of course I miss my friends, Mr Lennox. I think it only natural that I would wish to speak of them."
The tension in the room was almost choking. Her reply was icy, so much so that Edith had flinched away from her. Henry seemed unperturbed however, and obviously noticed her use of his surname.
"And yet you only seem to speak of one person in particular. Can you blame me for wondering?" He raised a mocking eyebrow.
The hours Margaret spent that afternoon calming her mind in readiness for this dinner were undone. Anger surged through her and her hands clenched around the cutlery she was holding. Her words were cutting.
"I only speak of one person because I do not wish to offend your delicate sensibilities by talking of my friends who work the looms. I should hate for you to feel like you had lowered yourself by conversing with someone who associates with common factory labourers. If Mr Thornton is not up to your exacting standards, how could I have spoken of the men and women who rely on him?"
Henry merely smirked. Margaret was infuriated. His superior manner nearly destroyed all the control she had over her emotions, and she felt it better to remove herself from the situation before she said something she would regret.
Standing, she excused herself, and hurried out the room. Collapsing against the wall in the hall she could hear the conversation start up again in the dining room.
"That was badly done, Henry." The usually jovial captain did not sound happy.
"Yes Henry! I told you what Margaret said. Did you not listen at all to me?"
At least she knew that Edith had tried to make things better for her.
"I merely think you should be discouraging any attachments to that place."
She could listen no longer. Running up the stairs to her room, she shut herself in before heavy tears started falling. She was still crying when Edith entered her room unannounced. Climbing up onto the bed to sit with her, Edith wrapped an arm around her and let her cry into her shoulder. Several minutes passed before Margaret's tears stopped, but eventually they did, and she sat up, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief from her bedside drawers.
Silence reigned for a few moments. Margaret felt awkward in her dishevelled state in front of Edith, but Edith seemed unbothered by her tears.
"I am sorry, Edith. I am out of sorts today."
"It is no matter, Margaret. But it is unlike you to get upset over something like this. I promise I did tell them all what you said. I can hardly understand what Henry was thinking.
"I confess I was rather shocked."
"He must not be himself," Edith mused.
Margaret frowned. "I do not understand what he meant by asking those questions."
Edith looked away from her. Guilt was plainly written on her face and Margaret's suspicions were raised.
"Edith, do you know what he meant?"
Edith sighed. "I believe he may be jealous."
"Jealous!" Margaret could not help exclaiming. "Of what?"
"I told you he wanted more than a friendship with you, Margaret. I think he is feeling threatened by your preference for Mr Thornton."
Margaret could not speak for shock. That Henry was jealous was one thing, but to presume she was attached to Mr Thornton was ludicrous! Gathering her wits, she spoke as coherently as she could.
"Mr Thornton? I cannot be blamed for speaking of his kindness when Henry talks of Milton like it is a country of barbarians. And really! Henry has no right to be jealous. I have made it clear we are to be friends and nothing more. His behaviour to me over an imagined competition makes me wonder if we can remain as friends."
"Oh Margaret. Please do stay friends with him! I am sure when he is thinking clearly he will be sorry."
"It will depend on his treatment of me after this, Edith." Edith eyes dropped from her. "I will not remain friends with someone willing to cause such upset over something that does not concern him."
Edith was looking at her strangely. Confusion was clear in her furrowed brow and downturned mouth. Her eyes were directed down where their skirts melded, and their joined hands rested.
"Margaret?"
"Yes, Edith, what is it? You seem distracted."
"We are very close aren't we, Margaret?"
"Yes of course, Edith. But why are you asking?"
"I told you all about my courtship with the captain. About everything I felt for him."
"Yes, you did." Margaret was bewildered by Edith's strange words.
"Would you do the same with me?"
"Yes of course, Edith. We are practically sisters."
"Then you will answer me truthfully?"
"I am always honest with you, Edith."
Edith nodded and took a deep breath.
"Are you in love with Mr Thornton?"
Of all the questions she expected, that was not one of them. In love with Mr Thornton! Why would she even think that? Her shock must have been obvious for Edith rushed to explain herself.
"You have spoken a great deal about him, Margaret. And Mother said you spoke with him for some time when you took your leave of him."
Speech was still impossible. The concept of her family believing her in love with Mr Thornton had thrown her completely. Still reeling from her emotional day, this was one more thing to disturb her already unbalanced mind.
"I…I do not understand why you would think so."
"Margaret." Edith lifted their joint hands. "You have his handkerchief."
And sure enough, the handkerchief she held bore the initials JT. It was no wonder Edith had suddenly begun this strange interrogation!
"No…No we are merely…merely friends, Edith."
Edith frowned. "But you kept his handkerchief."
"I did not mean to." Margaret despaired. "I forgot about it in the stress of the day."
"But why would he give you his handkerchief?" Edith seemed determined to make her point. "Surely you had your own."
"I was upset, Edith. I was not thinking clearly. He was merely trying to comfort me."
Edith stared at her, her puzzled expression making it clear that she was not accepting Margaret's explanation.
"When was this?"
"When we took our leave. He was so kind to me when I did not deserve it. I was overcome."
"How did he comfort you? I assume at this point you were alone."
Margaret blushed.
"Margaret? What did he do? That is a peculiar expression you have on your face, I have never seen it before."
Margaret tried turning away to hide her face, but Edith would not let her.
"Come now, Margaret, I know you too well for it to be something scandalous. You know all about my courtship with the captain, you will not shock me."
"Edith, I am not courting Mr Thornton. My actions would be far less indecent if I were."
"So, something did happen."
"I…He…" Margaret sighed in defeat. "He meant nothing by it. It was a simple embrace while I was crying, that is all."
"You embraced!" Edith did not seem shocked, but rather excited by it.
"Yes, but as I said, it meant nothing."
"Margaret do you think he embraces every upset lady he knows?"
Margaret recoiled slightly. "I do not like what you are implying."
"Oh, come now, Margaret! Is it wrong for me to assume that there may be something between you? You keep his handkerchief and admit he embraced you while you were upset. It seems to me that-"
"Please stop, Edith. Mr Thornton cannot care for me. I have done him wrong, Edith. What you say is impossible."
"Oh, Margaret it does not seem so very impossible to me. But how can you have done him wrong? Surely it is not so serious as all that."
"It is very serious, Edith. I have apologised but I know he did not think well of me. I hope I have changed his opinion but there is no hope for anything more."
Edith frowned. "Margaret, you sound as if you regret not having a chance with him."
Margaret finally managed to turn away. "I had my chance." She whispered dolefully.
"What was he to you?"
"He was a great friend of my father's."
"That is not what I am asking. I want to know what you think of him."
"He…" Could she tell Edith her true thoughts? She had spent so long alone, keeping her circling thoughts locked away, could Edith help her? "He is kind. He seemed a great rough fellow at first, and it true that he is not so refined as your friends here, but it becomes him. He has such an air of authority, it is impossible not to listen when he speaks. He is not forceful, but rather it is in his very manner of being.
"He is loyal to his family; indeed, he has worked so hard for them that he neglected his wish to learn until my father arrived in Milton. He was unerringly thoughtful when mother was ill. He knew we could not afford what we needed and saw that it was provided with out fanfare. He is a good man. I…I like him a great deal, Edith. I should be glad to call him a friend."
Edith gave her a strange smile. "It would seem Henry has a great deal to be jealous of."
Margaret stared at her, bewildered. Surely, she could not still be suggesting an attachment! But she was still smiling at her with a knowing look and Margaret knew nothing she said would discourage her.
"Perhaps, Margaret, you should tell me everything of your acquaintance with Mr Thornton. Then we may argue about his feelings, for you cannot debate with only half the information!"
Despite her misgivings, Margaret acquiesced. She told Edith everything. Their initial meeting, his actions in the mill, the riot, his proposal (Edith looked so gleeful that Margaret thought she might squeal and start clapping), Fred and the station, before explaining his dislike and distance since then. She also gave a more detailed account of his kindness when she took her leave. By the time Margaret had finished, Edith was beaming.
"Oh Margaret, it is so obvious! He loves you!"
"No Edith, he cannot."
"He certainly can!" Edith declared. "You have told me nothing that has made me change my mind. Did he not behave as Henry did just now at that dinner party you spoke of? He must have been jealous of Frederick!"
"But…" Margaret stopped. He had said he could not hate her even though he had tried. But no, he had declared his passion foolish and assured her it was no more. Why would he lie? Her eyes landed on Mrs Thornton's reply. Did she not hope he had forgiven her? Did he not imply that he wanted to think well of her? But surely a good opinion did not mean love.
"Margaret, I can see you thinking. What makes you think he does not love you?"
"He told me. He specifically said he did not."
"Oh posh, Margaret! A man scorned will say anything to wound. If he meant it, he would not have treated you the way he did when you left. No man is that good."
Margaret felt faint. She could not quash the sliver of hope that grew in her heart at Edith's words. She knew her cousin to be a romantic, fancying herself in and out of love before she met the captain, but she could not deny that some of her words were beginning to make sense in her churning thoughts. Could she allow herself to believe it? Was there a point? She lived in London now and had no cause to ever see him again. Nothing could come of it. That thought deflated her, so much that she sagged against the backboard of her bed.
"Margaret?"
"Oh Edith, do not taunt me with what could have been, had I behaved properly and treated him with the respect her deserved."
"But Margaret, he must care for you!"
"Please, Edith. It cannot be. When would I ever see him again? No, it is best I remember him as a friend and nothing more. I do not need yet another disappointment."
"Oh Margaret." Edith sounded just as wretched as she felt. "I am sorry. You deserve to be happy. I hoped having someone who cared for you like Mr Thornton seemed to would cheer you up. Now I fear I might have made it worse.
Margaret smiled bravely. "I will manage just as I always have in the face of loss. I have you now to help me. I am no longer so alone."
Edith pulled her into a tight hug. "You will always have me, Margaret. Even if you move far away, I will always want to know how my Margaret is faring."
A few tears leaked from Margaret's eyes to Edith's shoulder, but she pulled back with a small, genuine smile brightening her face, gladdened that someone here had offered her the comfort she needed.
Edith left her to return downstairs and Margaret rang for a maid to help her ready for bed. While in Milton it had been Dixon that would help her, she still found it hard to not be short with the servant after her return from clearing their Crampton home. So, Dixon had taken up the post of being Mrs Shaw's personal attendant as she had for her mother, and Margaret was free from self-righteous remarks.
After dismissing the maid, Margaret climbed under her covers and lay staring at the ceiling. She could do nothing but dwell on all her past interactions with Mr Thornton, tortured by the vision of what she could have had.
It was a long time before she slept.
A/N: I'll be honest, this chapter was supposed to go somewhere else. The majority of what I've written here was supposed to be a small filler scene that has spiralled into something much longer! Despite that, I hope you enjoy seeing Margaret interact with her cousin, and I hope Margaret's emotions make sense to you all. Once again I aim to bring the next update in about a months time. Thank you for reading!