Hello! I hope you're all well and coping with the upheaval in the world right now. Once again, thank you so much for all your kind reviews! They have been a huge motivation these past weeks, enough that this chapter finished a week sooner than I thought it would be! I hope you all enjoy this next instalment.

Miss Hale

Please forgive me the impudence of writing directly to you. If I have overstepped, you may simply ignore this letter and tell my mother you would prefer an accounting from her. If, however, you are willing to accept my words, I would be honoured to give you the answers you seek.

I do indeed make use of the canal, but I do not use it to transport my finished goods. The trains are a much more expedient means to travel, especially to London, so we use them instead. The canal is used to transport coal barges from the pits outside Milton. It is much easier for a boat to move large amounts of coal than for horses to pull it on a wagon.

We will often use it when bringing in the raw cotton we need. I have many different suppliers. Some will use the canals as it is easy enough to transfer the cotton from the boats at the docks in Liverpool onto the canal, which then comes straight by us. The canal is reliable. As long as the barges are kept in good condition, we rarely have issues receiving our goods. Even in the worst weather, as long as the cotton makes it to Liverpool, it will reach us. Roads cannot be relied upon in the same manner. We do not, as yet, have roads that are usable all year round, and we find that material being transported by the road is likely to be late.

As to your admiration of the canals, I can only find myself agreeing with you. One hundred years ago, the thought of crossing the Pennines on a boat would have made you a candidate for Bedlam. Now it is merely a fact of life.

We have a vast network of canals connecting many of the major cities to each other. We are fortunate to have such a useful link to our suppliers and it is no wonder, when you think about it, that large cities have grown next to canals. They provide a fast, sure way to make our product.

As to the actual making, you have seen inside my mill. You have at least seen the weaving rooms and packages of raw cotton. We begin with the raw cotton. It needs separating and cleaning but because the workers are pulling the cotton apart it fills the air with fibres. I am sure you remember my response to the worker smoking in my mill. If he had dared smoke in the carding rooms, the risk of fire would have been far greater. It was an accidental fire in one these rooms that set a whole mill ablaze a few years ago. In barely a minute the whole carding room was lost. It took a little under half an hour for the rest of the mill to perish.

Once the cotton has been clean and straightened it is spun into yarn. We start with four thick spools of cotton that come from the carding machines. This yarn is as thick as maybe three or four of your fingers. It is then spun together to create the incredibly fine yarn that we use for weaving. It takes an amazing amount of power to spin the threads together, but it is a remarkably quick process to what it was one hundred years ago. We make it quite literally hundreds of times faster. What used to take a year to spin can now be done in a matter of days.

Once the yarn in spun we begin to weave. You have seen the looms, I am sure you can appreciate the power found in that one room alone. Once the cloth is done, it needs to be finished. Some mills send the material for bleaching. We have the ability to do that here. Once the cloth is white it will be sent to the customer. Some of our customers buy the whitened product direct from us. Some will use an intermediary to dye the cloth to whatever specification they require. Some mills, like Hampers, can dye their cloth certain colours themselves, but his range of colour is not extensive, and I find that I am able to haggle a better price with a dye factory than he due to my assurance of requiring their services.

This is what I would have shown you on a tour of my mill. If you have any questions you are welcome to write directly to me. If you place your letter inside one to my mother, she will give it to me. I am required to warn you, however, that she retains the right to read any letter we send. It was one of her conditions to agree to allow this (although I will say she is unlikely to demand to see my correspondence) in an attempt to ensure what we say is strictly business as I promised.

That being said, I do believe some conversation can be excused. It would not do to treat a business partner so coldly if you wish to create a good working relationship. So, and of course I mean this purely as a work colleague, how are you Miss Hale? I have read of your struggles, I dearly hope you are through the worst of it.

At the risk of adding to you burdens, your father is greatly missed here. Not only by myself. It seems he was valued rather highly by is other students; I have heard that some of the boys refused to settle for quite some time with their new tutors. Some of their father's are despairing that they ever will.

I must thank you again for giving me your father's Plato. I am grateful for the comfort it has brought me, knowing that I have something to remember him by. He was a great friend of mine and I miss our conversations. Rest assured he has not been forgotten. And neither has your mother. I visit her grave when I can, and I am not the only one. I have seen Higgins and his daughter there several times now. They ask after you frequently. I have told them you are well, but if you would like me to pass on something more specific I will gladly do so.

I will admit that I have assumed you will read this far, please forgive my presumption, and I do hope you will be willing to reply. Even if it is short (and of course business like, we cannot have my mother thinking we would dare speak of anything more interesting than the belt that snapped yesterday) I would be overjoyed to receive it.

If you have indeed read to this point, thank you, and I hope you have not been offended by my actions.

Yours,

John Thornton

Margaret was in shock. She collapsed backwards on her bed and stared in wonder at the ceiling. She had expected Mrs Thornton to tell her of the mill. And for her to allow Mr Thornton to write, much less actually send it for him hidden away in her letter - it beggared belief!

If it had been anyone else to do such a thing she would reject them out of hand. But Mrs Thornton! Surely, she would not allow it if she thought it wrong. Margaret admitted to herself that she had been wishing for the excuse to speak directly to Mr Thornton for some time now, and that he would take the chance to do so filled her with joy. She realised that she was smiling - far wider than she had done for quite a while.

Clutching the letter to her chest she let out a breathless laugh. Mr Thornton had written to her! Oh, it was improper, but she could not care. She scrambled up to her drawers and pulled out the first letter she had received from Mrs Thornton with Mr Thornton's thanks on the end of it. At the time she was determined to find comfort in it. Now, holding several pages of his words, Margaret was overwhelmed by how happy she was. She imagined Edith would find her quite silly, laughing over an accounting of the process of cotton manufacturing, but it did not stop the joy coursing through her.

She was certain he was joking at times throughout it, and the thought that he would make such an effort to be playful despite the serious tone of the rest made her laugh again. She could imagine him smiling at his mother as he assured her it was purely business.

But did she dare reply? She must certainly reply to Mrs Thornton, but could she take the chance and reply to Mr Thornton as well? If she did not, she might lose her only opportunity to do so. She must either pretend she had never received any such letter or respond in a way that hid her eagerness for his words while still offering the encouragement he needed to continue the correspondence.

In that moment she knew what she would do. Settling at her writing desk, she pulled her pen and paper close and considered her words. It took most of the morning, but eventually she was satisfied.

Harley St

Mrs Thornton,

Thank you for your letter. Please allow me to assure you that you have not gone too far. I will not waste the opportunity you have provided me, neither will I abuse the trust you given me. You are more than welcome to any correspondence I send, no matter what name it may be addressed to. It is the least I can do in the face of the kindness you have shown me.

Are you well, Mrs Thornton? I must admit that I occasionally feel stifled by the heaviness of the smog that sits over London. In Milton I could walk up into the hills and escape into cleaner air. Have you been up on those hills? I found the prospect fascinating. Milton looked so small from up there. Even from that distance it was clearly a busy city.

I find that London is busy in a different way. We are too far from the manufacturing districts to be caught up in the traffic from there, but the streets here heave with people all through the year. While we are not currently in the midst of the season there are less people about, but the streets are no less full. I struggle sometimes to remain heartened in the face of so many.

In Milton I knew when to avoid the streets and could escape to that nearby bit of country. Here I am forced to endlessly circle parks. In Helstone I was surrounded by constantly by green, but that colour feels very difficult to come by here (unless you consider that ghastly, unnatural colour that has become all the rage these past few years a suitable replacement) and I find I miss Milton for the chances I had to sit above the noise when I needed to.

Thank you, again, Mrs Thornton. I owe you a great deal.

Yours, with gratitude,

Margaret Hale

She tucked a second letter into the first.

Mr Thornton,

Thank you ever so much for your letter. It has been very informative. I do, however, have a few questions, if you do not mind answering?

I know I may seem silly to ask this, but I find myself confused by your ability to haggle with the dying company. If you are reliant on them, does that not mean that they are able to control the prices they set? Forgive my ignorance, but I assumed the power here would lie with the supplier of the goods. In the same vein, I would have thought that not being reliant on the business would give Hamper the opportunity to challenge them. If he does not need them, surely it is upon them do what they can to keep his custom? Have I misunderstood? I do not say this to be argumentative! Please do not think I doubt you. I merely wish to learn.

As for the canals, I find I am still more fascinated by them. Man made rivers large enough to provide such an essential service to the industry! I can still hardly comprehend the sheer size of these structures. Truth be told, I would dearly love to see the locks over the Pennine hills. The idea of sitting on a boat as you climb a mountain is so ridiculous it makes me laugh! And yet it is a reality!

Thank you for your explanation of the mill. I still feel regret that I never took the chance to see it properly while I was in Milton. Tell me, is the carding room as noisy as the weaving room? I have never heard so much noise in my life! The loudest thing we heard in Helstone was the occasional bout of thunder, and that did not rumble for hours like your mill does.

May I also ask about your preference for using the trains to transport your goods? I am aware that the canal system is not extensive enough to carry your product to the south, but surely it is far more expensive to pay for the trains to carry it? Do the risks of the roads truly outweigh the cost? I fear I should have listened far more closely to your discussions with my father. I would have a far greater understanding of this if I had.

I realise this is a very long letter, but I find that I still have much to say. Thank you, ever so much, for your kind words about my father. I do not think I thanked you properly for your actions when we took out leave. It was the only time I did not feel completely alone for quite a long while. I hope you do not hold my outburst that day against me. And I hope my explanation of my actions at the train station was enough to pardon me. I did not like that you thought ill of me. Can I hope that you think a little better of me? Enough for us to be good work colleagues perhaps?

I certainly hope I have been business like enough to be allowed to continue our correspondence. I know it is not done. If it were not for the respect I hold for your mother I would doubt the endeavour entirely. As it is your mother that has enabled this, I trust that all shall be well. Thank you for taking this chance. It means more to me than you can know.

It brings me great comfort to know that my mother is not forgotten. Please thank Nicholas and Mary for me. Tell them I am thinking of them and miss them. And I must also thank you for none of this would be possible without your help.

I feel I must close. I think this may be the longest letter I have ever written!

Thank you for you time, Mr Thornton. I am most grateful.

Your new business partner,

Margaret Hale

P.S. Perhaps we should discuss the snapped belt just in case we were not business like enough. I should hate to lose my new work colleague because we did not speak of terribly boring matters are great length.

Letters sealed away, Margaret had a brief moment of anxiety. What if her family caught her? Edith would most likely find it all very romantic. She did not believe her aunt would take it well should she find out, but her aunt was not particularly bothered about her affairs, so it was unlikely that it would ever come up. The captain would probably not think it his place to tell her off should he ever find out, and so Margaret felt she was safe from censure. As long as no servant observed her unusually weighty letter she would not receive notice. Reassured, Margaret sent out to have it posted and joined her family.

The first few days after she sent it off Margaret was almost jittery, despite her resolve that all would be well. She felt the same as she did when she was hiding Fred away from the world; unsettled and anxious. But as the days went on, and she heard no whispers from the servants, she allowed herself some release from the guilt that she carried for her secret.

She reaffirmed to herself that Mrs Thornton would not allow for anything too improper to happen (despite being convinced to somehow send the letter in the first place) and told herself to stop this moral struggle she had placed on herself. The letter was sent. She could not take it back, and she was unsure if she would, even if she could.

That night she came to a decision. She would tell Edith. Having at least one person know her secret (and hopefully not disapprove) would surely lessen her burden, and then she would not be constantly worried about being found out.

The next day she pulled Edith away from her daily duties (mainly lounging and thinking about what dinners she could plan) and asked to speak in private. Edith consented happily, glad that, even if Margaret was upset, she would willingly come to her. Margaret convinced her to walk out to the nearest park without a footman attending them where she could be sure of no hidden listening ears and prepared herself for the conversation.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Edith. I know my secrecy is strange."

"Not at all, Margaret. You know you can tell me anything in confidence. And I have found that even loyal servants can be tempted to listen in. I do not blame you for leaving the house."

Margaret sighed. She knew that she wanted to tell Edith, but she could not help but worry. Would she be disappointed in her? She would hate it if she was.

Edith reached out and took her hand. "Margaret, you look worried. Are you well?"

Suddenly, Margaret found the courage to bare all.

"Oh, Edith! I fear I may have done something very wrong, but I still wish to continue. I am never normally unsure of my actions but this time I cannot decide!"

"Margaret! Surely you can't have done something that bad! You never do anything wrong."

"I may have this time. I am so conflicted."

Edith squeezed the hand she held. "Come now, Margaret, please don't distress yourself. Tell me what you have done, and I will reassure you that you have done nothing that you can get in trouble for."

Margaret took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I have written a letter to Mr Thornton."

Shocked silence met her confession. She began babbling, her nerves forcing her to fill the quiet.

"It was only to ask about the canals and his mill. I do not want to be improper but I dearly wish to understand and who better than he to ask? Books do not explain everything in such a way that it is clear and I would never have allowed it if Mrs Thornton had not said she would be checking for mischief and-"

"Margaret!"

Margaret's rapid speech halted abruptly at Edith's call but she could hardly keep herself contained as she waited for Edith to speak.

"Margaret, did you say Mrs Thornton knows? Has allowed this?"

She bowed her head, feeling ashamed. "Yes. Mr Thornton assured me-"

"Mr Thornton has written you back?!"

Margaret looked closely at Edith. Far from the censure she feared, all she could see in Edith's face was excitement. She practically trembled with it as she waited for a reply.

"Mr Thornton wrote to me first."

Edith gasped. "Oh Margaret! He really wrote to you?"

"Yes. I admit I was shocked at first but he wrote all about what I wished to know. Oh, Edith, is it wrong for me to be happy about this? I know it is improper, but I dearly wish for it to continue! I have not heard of my friends in Milton for so long and he speaks so well of my father. I do not wish to lose his friendship."

Margaret stared down at her hands. If Edith was firmly against this she would certainly have to stop writing, no matter how much she longed for that connection. And what would Mr Thornton think? For her to encourage him and then so cruelly cut contact, it pained her more than she thought it would. Even the concept of Mr Thornton being unhappy, especially unhappy because of her, hurt her deeply. But she could not hide from Edith, and if she disapproved, it would be below her to be purposefully deceitful. Leaving her family in ignorance certainly felt a great deal better than having to hide from a knowledgeable Edith. Perhaps this outing was not for the best. She should not have –

"It is so romantic!"

Margaret blinked.

"Oh, Margaret! To think that he wishes to speak with you so much that he will allow his mother to read his private correspondence! He must be very much in love with you still."

She attempted to respond but could only stammer inarticulately.

"Do you have the letter?" Edith was eagerly tugging at her hands. "May I read it? Oh I wish I had had the opportunity for hidden letters." She sighed. "But then I suppose that would mean I would have been very far away from my dear Captain." She looked wistful for a moment before remembering her purpose. "Well, Margaret? Did you bring it out with you?"

Margaret nodded and pulled it out of her pocket. She still could not speak. Edith happily took it from her and opened it without so much as a by your leave and began reading. Margaret watched as her smile dropped into confusion. Edith glanced up at her.

"Canals?"

Margaret nearly laughed at her bewilderment. "I did say I had questions only he could answer. And Mrs Thornton made him promise he would only write about business."

"But surely he does not only speak of his mill!"

This time Margaret did laugh. "I am the one who asked. And you have not read the whole thing yet."

Edith raised an eyebrow at her, but continued to read nonetheless. When she finished she folded the letter and looked to Margaret as if to speak, before pulling the letter open again. Margaret stifled a giggle at the intensity in her expression and sat quietly until Edith had finished.

"He speaks well of your father."

"Yes. They were very good friends."

"And Aunt? Was she good friends with the Thorntons?"

"She was too unwell to really be able to go out and properly make new acquaintances. But she was very grateful to Mr Thornton for all his help." Margaret paused for a moment, considering. "And she must have respected Mrs Thornton a great deal for she asked her to look out for me after her death."

Edith was quiet for a moment. "I had not realised your family was quite as close as that. It seems rather silly of me now, after the way you spoke of them."

"It is not your fault. I imagine my earliest letters allowed for a much harsher picture than the one I eventually came to see."

Edith rallied herself. "Well, whatever I thought of him at one point, I must say I certainly like him now. He is surely still in love with you!"

"Edith!" Margaret blushed. "How can you think that?"

"Come now, Margaret. Why would he write to you in the first place if he did not care for you?"

"He cares for me only as my father's friend."

"Nonsense." Margaret was surprised by the normally placed Edith being so firm. "He certainly did not care for you as your father's friend when he proposed."

Margaret stammered, "My reputation-"

"Was unharmed. He did not need to ask you to marry him. His words made that clear."

"He was merely doing his duty."

Edith scoffed. "Utter tripe."

Margaret sat back in befuddlement. This was not how she had expected the conversation to go.

"Margaret," Edith softened, "I tell you this with the greatest love in the world, but you really are completely oblivious to men who want to marry you."

Margaret bit her lip. "I do seem to be making a habit of it, don't I?"

Edith gave her a wry look before they both collapsed into giggles. It took several minutes to compose themselves but eventually they were able to sit properly again.

"I feel quite silly, Edith. I was worried you would tell me to cut contact with the Thornton's for this."

"Of course not! This is all quite exciting. Have you replied?"

She nodded. "Yes, the same day it arrived. I refused to allow myself to consider the impropriety of writing to Mr Thornton and just did it."

"Did you speak more of canals?" Edith had an eyebrow raised. "Surely you spoke of something other than mills and cotton."

Margaret flushed. "I had more questions I wanted answering."

"Margaret! You have an opportunity to write to a man that loves you and you insist on writing about business?!"

"Mrs Thornton may read any letter she wishes."

"He said she would not."

"But we do not know that. What would she think of me if she caught me encouraging Mr Thornton? It took me long enough to earn her good opinion, I do not wish to throw it away."

"Do you want to encourage Mr Thornton?"

Margaret looked away, gazing out over the park. Did she want to encourage Mr Thornton? She wanted to be his friend, certainly. And she craved his good opinion, desired his respect. Did she want more than that?

"I do not know, Edith."

"But you are not set against him completely?"

She considered it. If he were – against all odds – to propose, would she reject him again?

"No. I am not set against him."

Edith clapped gleefully. "Oh Margaret! Do you love him? You like him a great deal and you obviously trust him to reveal Frederick's actions to him."

Margaret was becoming flustered. She could not rationalise her feelings for Mr Thornton. It was still difficult for her to perceive herself as someone who would be noticed by men in a way they admired and she struggled to reconcile that she was, indeed, admired. Henry's admiration she dismissed. She did not believe he could truly care for her the way she wished to be cared for by a husband.

She had pushed away from Mr Thornton's declaration of love, but now she tried to consider it in the spirit it was given. Could she receive his attentions and be happy? Did she want them?

"I do not know, Edith. I have never been in love. I would not know where to start."

"Oh Margaret, you are thinking too much! You are already friends with him, you like him immensely, do you really feel nothing more than friendship for him?"

"I am unsure. I would like his good opinion. I was wretched when I thought he hated me! But I respect him a great deal. He is an excellent man, Edith."

"Then is it so hard to imagine him as your husband?"

Margaret turned away, face red. "It is not so hard, no." She whispered.

Edith tugged on her hand. "Think on it, Margaret. He has done a lot for you and I firmly believe he cares for you. I would not want you to be caught out should be renew his offer."

"Edith…" Margaret could not help the worry that coloured her tone. "I do not want to hope for something that might not happen."

Edith embraced her. "It can be hard to love someone, I am not blind to other marriages. I know I had an easy courtship. But you are different, Margaret, you struggle with idleness. You would not be happy with an easy life the way I am. Fight for him."

"I cannot bear anymore disappointment. What if I lose him?"

"Then you move on. But Margaret, these are not the actions of a man who will allow himself to be lost. He could have accepted that you were in London and left it there. Instead, he finds a way to contact you and wants you to reply. You have already caught. Let him catch you."

Margaret hooked her arm through Edith's and laid her head on her shoulder.

"You seem far too wise lately, Edith. How can you see this so clearly?"

"Love makes fools of us all." She would not allow Margaret to protest the notion. "Consider what I have said. I think he will make you very happy."

Margaret sighed. "I do not deserve you, Edith."

"Nonsense. You need someone to tell you to stop thinking and simply feel. That is what I shall do until you admit that you are in love with Mr Thornton."

"Thank you, Edith," Margaret laughed, "I cannot imagine how much I would brood without you."

"A great deal, I would think." Edith said blithely. She jumped up and pulled Margaret to her feet. "Come, I am hungry. It is time for tea."

They wended their way back home and enjoyed their afternoon tea with Aunt Shaw and the Captain. Edith soon decided that she had not seen her son nearly as much as she would wish, and so Margaret and Edith climbed the stairs together, laughing about what games they could play with little Sholto. Upon reaching the landing a maid hurried towards them.

"Pardon me, Miss. This letter came for you this morning, but it had fallen under the table."

Margaret and Edith exchanged glances.

"Thank you, Millie. I would not have spotted it."

The maid curtsied and rushed off, leaving Margaret and Edith to stare at the letter in her hand.

"Well?"

Margaret startled. "What?"

"Who is it from?"

She could tell by the weight of the paper that this letter contained more than the usual amount of pages. She checked the seal.

"It is from the Thorntons."

Margaret flinched at Edith's squeal.

I'm sorry for once again leaving the chapter with a Thornton letter teased! I hope you liked this chapter, and don't worry, the next chapter will definitely have more than one letter from our favourite mill owner :) Once again, four-six weeks is my aim for the next instalment, but it does all depend on how busy work gets these next few weeks (I'm classed as a key worker, so no extra time for writing I'm afraid). Otherwise, keep safe, and let me know what you think of this chapter!