New Beginnings

Margaret was woken by a conglomerate of unfamiliar, loud noises. There was cluttering and clanking, the rattling of carriages, and the yelling of men, somewhere outside the window. Blinking wearily, it took her a moment to come to her senses. Something felt wrong. The bed was different, her surroundings seemed strange.

Slowly, Margaret dragged herself up into a sitting position, and when her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she was instantly hit by a pang of despair.

She remembered now.

She was not at her home in Crampton any longer – this was her home now, and those noises she heard were wafting up from the busy courtyard, just outside her window, where it seemed that a new order of raw cotton had just arrived to be unloaded, while somewhere in the distance, a big steam engine had started its daily routine of powering hundreds of weaving looms.

Slowly, all the events of yesterday came back to her, and she groaned inwardly as she recalled the scene she had made of herself, sobbing all over Mr Thornton, showing him exactly how distraught she really was.

She could not let anything like this happen again. She could not let him see her weakness. Margaret would have to be strong now, and learn to adjust to this situation – however miserable it might be.

With an air of determination, she rose from the bed, and started preparing for the day. She rang the bell for Jane who helped her dress and do her hair, and then offered to bring her breakfast to her room. Margaret readily agreed, since this would delay her having to face anyone else in the house for a few moments longer.

She was not feeling very hungry, but managed to nibble on a piece of toast with butter and forced down some eggs and ham.

By the time she had finished eating, it was almost ten o'clock, and she knew that she would have to go and face her mother-in-law, for the longer she kept the woman waiting, the fouler Mrs Thornton's mood was sure to become.


As she walked down the hallway, she could hear the distant clinking of a piano, accompanied by a strange howling noise, which made Margaret flinch. It appeared that Fanny Thornton was practising some sheet music, but apparently, her talent did not match her self-confidence.

She found Mrs Thornton in the upstairs sitting room, busy with some needlework.

"It is about time you joined us", the older woman told her in a tone of distinct disapproval, as her eyes wandered over to the clock on the mantlepiece in a not very subtle way.

"I hope last night was not too exhausting for you." There was a pause, during which Mrs Thronton's eyes bore into Margaret's. "But then again-", she added, knowingly, "maybe not."

Margaret felt her cheeks burn like fire, as her nails dug into the skin of her palms.

How did she know? Had Mr Thornton told her? How could he betray her like this, after having proposed their restraint from any nightly activities himself?

She opened her mouth to form a reply, but Mrs Thornton was already speaking again, unwilling to give her a chance to defend herself.

"We rise early in this household. There is work to be done. My son is a very busy man, he is at his office long before his workers arrive, and returns home late in the evening. There is no idleness here. You will be expected to share the running of the household with me, and the sooner you learn about your duties, the better for all of us."

"Mr Thornton told me to rest today", Margaret forced out weakly. "I don't usually sleep this long."

Mrs Thornton raised her eyebrows at this. Forcing down her anger at that dreadful woman, Margaret stood tall and said: "You may inform me on any matters concerning the running of the household. If you so desire, we can start momentarily."

For the fraction of a second, she thought that she saw something like surprise flicker across Mrs Thornton's features, but then her face was quickly composed back into her usual stern look. "Very well", she stated, dropping her needlework into the small basket on the side table, and rising from her seat.

"If you will sit down, I will bring the household books, so we can go over them together. We will decide which tasks will be suitable for you to undertake. Later, I will summon the house staff, to present you as their new mistress."

The next three hours were spent learning the ins and outs of the household. As the family kept servants for almost all daily tasks, the mistress's main role was to observe and instruct them, make decisions such as planning the menus for dinner, ordering whatever was needed in the house, and checking that the work was done properly.

Margaret was not unfamiliar with those tasks, however, this was a bigger house than Crampton or even their country parish in Helstone, and there were more servants to supervise.

During her explanations, Mrs Thornton's tone and expression rarely ever changed from her stern, chilly exterior, making Margaret wish that it would be over soon, so she could flee from the woman's company. How she was to endure spending every day in the same house with her, she did not know.

When she was finally released by her mother-in-law, it was already late in the afternoon and Margaret decided that she would use the time before dinner to call on her parents, and see how her mother was doing. She was a bit worried that the events of the day before might have overexerted the sick woman.

Indeed, Mrs Hale was not too well. She looked pale and tired, but gave her daughter a wide smile when Margaret settled herself in a chair beside her, and spent the next hour discussing the whole of the wedding ceremony, pointing out the details of the table decorations and wondering where Mrs Hamper had got her dress, for it had surely been spectacular.

Margaret nodded attentively and forced a smile here and there, without saying much herself.

"It is a pity indeed that Mr Thornton is so busy, for you should have had a proper honeymoon", her mother eventually mused tiredly. "You could have gone to Italy or Greece, it would have been ideal during this time of year."

"I would not have wanted to leave at a time like this", Margaret told her. "Not when you are – not feeling well."

Mrs Hale breathed a sad little sigh. "I do not wish for you to worry about me, child. You have got a new life now, and so many things to do, I'm sure."

She leaned forward slightly and fixed her daughter with a weary but inquisitive look. "You are alright, are you not, Margaret? Your husband has treated you well?"

Margaret swallowed, suspecting what her mother was referring to, and not knowing what to say.

"He – he has been very kind", she replied truthfully.

Mrs Hale looked relieved. "Oh, I am glad to hear it. I know these – ", she paused, "- matters can be overwhelming at first, but Mr Thornton strikes me as an attentive man."

For some reason, Margaret could not take any more.

"I need to go now, mamma. It is late, and I will be expected to be back at Marlborough Mills for dinner."

"Of course, my dear. It was nice of you to come by, so soon after your wedding. I had not expected your visit today, but I am glad you came, all the same."


While Margaret had done her best to survive her first day as a married woman, John had been brooding over his millwork for nearly twelve hours, without much of a break.

He had been up even earlier than usual. Despite feeling exhausted from the exertions of the day before, his mind had been unable to let him rest, and he found that working was the only efficient way to numb out the painful thoughts that had threatened to overtake him.

Since he had entered his office, shortly before seven in the morning, he had written various business letters, placed orders, and updated his accounting books. The strike had hit the mill harder than he would have wished. They were way behind with the orders and if they did not manage to catch up quickly, things looked rather bleak.

He sighed, dropping his quill and leaning back in his chair. The clock on the wall showed that it was after six. He would be expected at the mill house to have dinner in a little over an hour, and he did not feel ready to face his wife.

Last night had been his wedding night, and it had been nothing like he had pictured it.

His was to be a marriage without physical closeness, and he would resign himself to the fact. He did not think that there was any way she would ever warm to him enough to accept ministrations of this kind from him and he would rather die than overstep his bounds.

However, it did not stop the longing, the dull ache he felt whenever he thought of her. The brief moment, the night before, when she had been pressed against him, crying into his chest, had left his body yearning for more.

He had wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to lose himself in her in a sensual way, and he had hated himself for it.

If only she could come to care for him a little bit. Even if she could not love him as he loved her, he wished she could at least develop a certain fondness for him, as one maybe would for a close relation.

He sighed once more and turned off the gas lamp on his desk. Grabbing his coat, he locked the door to his office behind him, and started making his way across the courtyard toward his home.


"…heard what the servants were talking of, John. That your wife spent her wedding night alone, in her own bedroom. Do you have any idea how this will reflect on both of you?"

"I do not care for the opinions of some silly young maids, mother. Let them talk."

Margaret stopped dead in her tracks, as she caught the snippet of conversation. She had been on her way back to her room, to dress for dinner, and had passed the door of the sitting room, which was slightly ajar.

"Well, maybe you should", Mrs Thornton said now. "For they surely won't keep it to themselves."

There was a small sigh. "Mother, this is something between Margaret and myself. It is no one else's concern and I explicitly forbid you to speak to her about it."

"You cannot pretend that it does not bother you, son. How long will you keep this up? This whole affair has been her own doing. She has got herself into this situation, and now you are the one to bear it quietly?"

"Mother!"

He had not raised his voice, but there was something in his tone that allowed for no further argument.

"I do not wish for you to speak of my wife in this way. We have been married for less than a day. She has enough to get accustomed to at the moment, without any further pressure."

"She is a stubborn young woman, John. Don't think that she will come to you willingly. How is she supposed to bear you children?"

"Do you not think that it is a bit early to think of such things?" He sounded annoyed now. "It is not like I have a title to bequeath, and you can marry off Fanny if you so desire to have grandchildren. I'm sure she would be eager, and you would find a suitable husband for her."

There was an audible hiss from Mrs Thornton. "Very well, John, I shall not speak of it any longer, for I can see that you have talked yourself into stubbornness. However, I daresay you are much too smitten with that girl for your own good. If you are not careful, she will keep you on a short leash, and have you bow to her every wish in no time."

"This is enough." His voice was harsh now. "This conversation will lead nowhere. All I ask of you is to treat my wife with courtesy and respect. I do not wish for you to quarrel. I shall go now and change for dinner."

"Since when do you change clothes for dinner?", Mrs Thornton asked suspiciously.

"I fixed two looms today, mother. I smell of machine oil."

Margaret heard him approach the door with a few quick strides and jumped to life, full of panic.

Her room was too far away to reach it, before he could see her, so she made a dash for the next door, which led to the music room. Fortunately, it was unoccupied. Fanny had finished her piano practice some time ago – much to the relief of the rest of the household.

A mere second after Margaret had darted into the room, she heard the door of the sitting room open, and then he walked down the hallway, towards his bedroom. She held her breath, until she heard the shutting of a door.

With her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage, Margaret leaned against the wall. Her emotions were in such turmoil that she could hardly make sense of it. What an insufferable woman, to speak of her in this way.

She felt hot tears of anger sting her eyes at the thought of it. And Mr Thornton – his conduct had unsettled her almost as much as that of his mother, for she could not make much sense of it.

If his demeanour last night had bewildered her, it was nothing compared to how his words to his mother had confused her. She could not fathom why he had come to her defence like this. There certainly had been no obligation for him to do so. Margaret had neglected her wifely duties, she was aware of that fact.

It made her feel terrible. She knew that she could not bear to go through with what was asked of her, yet at the same time, she felt like she had failed her husband, and had broken the vows she had made at the church only yesterday. She hated herself for being so weak, for being torn between fear and shame like this.

She knew that he would have had every right to slander her for refusing him.

But had she refused?

The offer to not make use of his rights had come from him, and him alone.

Margaret bit her lip.

'Because he could see it in my eyes! He knew that I was not a willing bride.'

Still, he could have ignored that fact. He could have taken what was his and spared no thought for her feelings. Many a man would have done just that, she was sure of it. If she was honest with herself, she had expected it of him.

She had come to know him as a ruthless and unscrupulous mill master. Someone who had hit a man in the face in front of her, had ridiculed her during his mother's dinner party for taking baskets to the starving children of Princeton, and had imported Irish workers without sparing a thought for his own desperate, starving men, who had had their jobs taken away by his actions.

When she had married him, Margaret had been prepared for his unfeelingness and his temper. She had steeled herself, determined to not show any weakness. And then, suddenly, there was compassion in him, benevolence even, and she did not know what to make of it.

She realized that she felt gratitude towards him – both, for his actions last night and the way he had so unexpectedly spoken up against his mother in her defence. There was even a sense of something like admiration inside her, as she thought of it.

But at the same time, his current behaviour strongly contradicted everything she had thought she knew about him, and now it almost felt like she did not know him at all.

As much as she had despised the man she had taken him for, up until now, there had been a certain amount of security in knowing what she had got into. Now, he seemed wholly unpredictable to her.

Was his current conduct some façade he had put up, to lure her in? Would he drop it eventually, to go back to his stern and merciless self? What did he expect from her? Was he only sparing her for the moment, and would make demands of her later on?

And what had his mother meant by saying that he was smitten with her? He certainly could not be! They had never got on well. Their views on many topics were so far apart, that it seemed impossible to ever find any common ground.

No, he certainly could not like her in any way. Mrs Thornton must have been mistaken. Or maybe she had just said those things to provoke him.

The ringing of the dinner bell rudely tore Margaret out of her thoughts, and she realized that she was still wearing her overcoat and bonnet, and had not washed and changed. Praying that she would not run into any other occupant of the house, she quickly rushed to her room.


Somehow, she managed to be only a few minutes late for dinner. Slightly out of breath, and with flushed cheeks, she slid into the room and, mumbling an apology, made straight for the empty chair near Mr Thornton, where the table had been set for her.

She saw Mrs Thornton furrow her brow in displeasure. Fanny threw her a quick condescending glance, before turning to her mother and starting to rant loudly about needing to visit the drapers, for she had no dresses in the colours, which were fashionable this season.

While the young woman managed to engross her mother in a meaningless conversation, and the butler started serving the soup, Mr Thornton turned to Margaret and, bowing his head slightly towards her as if to not draw the attention of the other two, asked in a low voice: "I hope you were able to settle in?"

Margaret picked up her spoon with a nod. "Thank you. Your mother has kindly instructed me about the household, and I was able to visit my family this afternoon."

He inquired after Mrs Hale's health, and they spoke about her family for a few minutes. He then mentioned one of his recent philosophical discussions with her father and asked her opinion on it. The conversation flowed with surprising ease, and Margaret found, once again, that he was not unpleasant to talk to.

When the main course was served, Mrs Thornton inserted herself into the conversation by inquiring about the business of the mill, and Mr Thornton told her that two large orders had shipped today, and that another one was due for tomorrow, that he was to meet a potential investor at the end of the week, and that the price of raw cotton had, inconveniently, gone up once more.

After they had finished dinner, and started rising from their seats, Mr Thornton turned towards Margaret.

"Would you mind joining me in my study for a bit? I have something I would like to show you."

She followed him out of the dining room, and through the entrance hall, to a door on the left, which she had never opened before. It lead into a room with dark wood panelling, a writing desk and two comfortable-looking, cushioned chairs in front of a small fireplace.

The walls on each side of the room were taken up in their entirety by bookshelves, filled with countless volumes of various sizes. They reached all the way from the floor to the ceiling, it had to be hundreds of them.

For a moment Margaret could only stare, as she let her gaze wander over their spines, intrigued. She noticed him looking at her from the side.

"I like reading", he confessed. "Although I suppose you gathered as much from my visits to your father."

She took a step forward, carefully running her fingertips over some of the books in front of her. From what she could tell there were many on philosophy, similar to the ones her father owned, and at least equally as many on economics, which was to be expected, she supposed.

But then, there were also some volumes of poetry, as well as novels, amongst which she found "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame", "Confessions of a Thug", "David Copperfield" and even a copy of "Wuthering Heights".

"Have you read this?", she asked him, pulling the book out of the shelf and holding it up for him. "I have indeed", he confessed, stepping closer to look down at the book. "A dreadful tale. I don't know how anyone could find it romantic." Margaret felt her lips curl into a slight smile – the first one in weeks, she felt.

"You did not enjoy it?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I found it captivating, I did, but not in a pleasant way. This Heathcliff is a rather sinister fellow. I would not want to meet the likes of him in a back alley after dark."

At this, Margaret actually had to chuckle. "Some would say that maybe he was misunderstood", she told him.

"And what do you think?" He turned towards her fully, looking straight at her.

Margaret pondered his question for a moment. He was now standing rather close and it was making her slightly uncomfortable.

"I have not fully made up my mind", she decided eventually. "I think him quite an interesting character in any case. It is sad, surely, for both Heathcliff and Cathy to end up with spouses they could not truly love."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, a sudden palpable tension seemed to spread across the room. It was only then, that she realized the gravity of her words.

They both stood for a long moment, unmoving, then – very slowly – she lifted her head to look up at him. His expression was unreadable. A moment later, she saw him straighten himself up slightly, his countenance quickly changing into one of utter indifference.

"I wanted to show you this, because I thought you might be interested in some of these books. You may come in here whenever you like, to read. If you are looking for something particular, and cannot find it here, you may order any book you wish."

Once more, she wondered at him. No matter his other faults, it truly seemed like he was determined to do everything he could, to make this situation more bearable for her. She could only hope his behaviour would not change, once he realized that it would not make her more willing towards him.

"Mr Thornton?", she started awkwardly.

He dropped his gaze at this, and released a small breath through his nose. "Will you not call me by my Christian name, Margaret?", he asked in a resigned voice.

She bit her lip.

"I – I'm sorry", she murmured then, self-consciously.

"I don't feel comfortable calling you that." She saw a strange look cross his face for a second. It almost looked like pain, and she quickly added: "Just yet."

He nodded silently, before looking up at her once more. "You wanted to say something?"

"Yes."

She took a deep breath, determined to say what was on her mind: "I wanted to ask what you expect from me. From this marriage, I mean?"

He turned to walk over to the window and look out for a moment, pondering something, then, he slowly turned back to face her.

"I am hoping that the two of us might develop some sort of companionship. I know it is all one can ask for in a case such as ours."

He held her gaze.

"If you can find it in yourself, I would like for you to trust me. To not hesitate to ask for my help, if you need anything I can assist you with. I wish for us to be able to speak openly with each other. I know, we have not always got along well, but please believe me when I say, that I do have your best interest in mind."

He looked at her with such an earnest expression that Margaret could not help but feel touched by his words.

It was the third time in less than twenty-four hours that she felt gratitude towards him, and she realized that she was willing to give them a chance at amity, even if it was all that would ever be between them.

"I think I would like that", she told him in a soft voice.

She saw a small smile cross his face, as he stood before her. He smiled rarely, and she noticed that it changed his features into something much gentler and more approachable.

He held out his hand to her. "Companionship then?"

"Companionship", she agreed and willingly took his hand to seal the deal.

They stood like this for a moment, her hand in his, while the only sound that could be heard, was the light ticking of the clock on the wall.

Then, he pulled back his hand and turned, looking away in a somewhat awkward manner.

"I shall head over to my office for another hour or two. There are things I need to finish off before tomorrow."

He made his way over to the door.

"You may stay in here for as long as you wish, or come back any time. Neither my mother nor Fanny use this room, and I'm only here in the evenings, when I'm not working, so whenever you long for some peace and quiet, you are likely to find it here."

Margaret did not know whether his offer was a coincidence, or if he had realized how much she wished for some safe place to retreat to in this unfamiliar house, with those people whose company she did not desire.

"Thank you", she muttered, puzzled.

He was at the door, but briefly glanced back at her. "I will see you tomorrow evening, I suppose. Have a good night, Margaret."

"Good night", she muttered, but he was already gone.


John moved across the entrance hall in a few determined strides.

He had to get out of the house.

He had already sat in his office all day, but he was sure, he would find something to do there, something to take his mind off her.

He had not planned on leaving this abruptly. In fact, he had hoped that they could have talked some more, but then he had not been able to take it.

Standing so close to her, with her hand in his, had threatened to overwhelm him. He could not let her see the emotional turmoil he was in, he could not give himself away. Not ever.

She was going through enough as it was, and he was not going to add to her sorrows.

He sank down into his chair and lit the lamp with a sigh, picking up his quill and starting to go through his accounts once more.

It would be a long night.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Notes:

I actually had to bring in Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights" in this, because to me, Heathcliff is kind of a charicature of the man Margaret believes John to be at this point in the story. She dislikes him, but gradually feels that maybe she just does not understand him properly. If you read their conversation with that in mind, it's full of double meanings.