Once again thank you so much for each and every comment on this story! I cannot tell you how much I enjoy reading your opinions and interacting with my readers in this way. It makes the whole thing much more fun and some of your ideas and suggestions for the story are intriguing indeed! I might actually have to start writing variations of this story once it's completed, for I would love to explore some of them further!

But now, I need to warn you...and I mean REALLY need to warn you. You have to be very strong. I'm afraid this chapter may be a bit of a gut punch ? (even for my standards), so you better read it in a place where you can yell at whatever device you're reading this on ? (Don't be like me and start crying and screaming at AO3 while on public transport ?).

Guilt and Loss

Margaret did her best to settle into her new life. She quickly got into the routine of rising early and taking breakfast with Mrs Thornton. They spoke little, but managed to keep an air of civility.

Within the first week, she started taking over her share of the household duties. She would assist her mother-in-law in planning their meals and ordering everything they needed, she read through the housekeeping books once more, and made sure that the maids took proper care of everything.

She wrote the obligatory wedding cards to a list of acquaintances Mrs Thornton had provided. Most of them were the wives of other mill owners. Margaret dreaded writing to them, for she knew what was inevitable to follow next: They would all call upon her, and she would have to make polite conversation with those women she neither knew nor wished to know. But there was no way of getting around this rule of society.

Fanny was another person she had to get used to. So far, they had not seen too much of each other, with Fanny always either being out of the house to shop for drapery and trinkets, or spending time in her room, feeling exhausted and "in low spirits", as she called it. Whenever they did speak, Fanny came across as a mixture of naivety and vanity.

She had big dreams of travelling the world, but at the same time lacked the energy to even call on her friends in Milton, whom she asked to come over, and call on her instead.

She read every fashion magazine she could get her hands on, and constantly worried about her own appearance, spending a good amount of her brother's income on dresses, hats and jewellery of the latest fashion - which seemed to change every week.

In the afternoons, Margaret regularly visited her parents. Mr Thornton went to read with her father on Tuesdays, and Margaret had decided to accompany him there. They walked the two miles to Crampton together, and Margaret would sit with her mother, while the two men were in Mr Hale's study. Afterwards, they would take tea together and then walk back to the mill.

They did not speak much as they walked, and certainly nothing truly personal. She would mostly tell him of her household duties, while he talked of the orders, that had come in, and of Mr Latimer's idea to go down to London for the Great Exhibition, which was to be held in a few months, to look for potential investors.

When they had run out of topics to converse on, they walked in silence. John wished he could have spoken to her about more than banalities, but he dared not. He did not want to make her uncomfortable by forcing her to talk about any personal matters.


Near the end of her third week at Marlborough Mills, Margaret had grown accustomed to her new routines, enough to properly venture out on her walks again, and she decided that it was time to resume her visits to Bessy Higgins. She knew the girl would be waiting for her already, and as she was sickening, Margaret needed to see how her young friend was doing.

Having ordered the cook to put together a basket with bread, some ham and cheese, fresh fruit and biscuits, she was on her way down to the front door, when she heard Mrs Thornton call out to her from above.

Margaret stopped to look up at her mother-in-law, who was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at her.

"May I inquire where you are headed this morning?"

"I am on my way to see my friend Bessy. She is not well, and I wanted to call on her."

Mrs Thornton slowly made her way down the steps towards Margaret with a frown. "Is this the girl you mentioned during our dinner party? The daughter of this union leader, Higgins?"

Margaret looked at the older woman defiantly. "The very one."

"Then, I am afraid, I will have to forbid you to go see her", Mrs Thornton informed her in a chilly voice.

For a moment, Margaret could only stare at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You may not go and see that girl", Mrs Thornton repeated.

Margaret felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "I do not think you have the right to tell me where to go", she snapped.

"I daresay I can", the other woman replied matter-of-factly. She seemed beyond displeased now, as she fixed her daughter-in-law with a cold stare. "You are mistress of Marlborough Mills now. With this position, there come certain obligations. The wife of a mill master cannot be seen interacting with union men or their families. What would people say?"

Margaret took an angry step toward the other woman. She had had enough of her overbearing ways. "I do not care what other people say. Bessy is my friend. She is dying, and I need to see her!"

"You will not talk to me in this way", Mrs Thornton commanded, her voice now raised as well. She seemed rather dangerous, with a strange fire burning behind her eyes.

"I forbid it. And so will your husband."

"Mr Thornton never mentioned anything like this to me", Margaret ground out. "I will go and ask him myself, if you deem it necessary."

"You will do no such thing. My son is at work, and must not be disturbed. You can ask him tonight when he gets back. Until then, you will not go to this place."

Neither her look, nor the tone in her voice allowed for any argument. Margaret could hear her own heart thrumming in her head, as her blood pumped through her body in such anger, that she could barely breathe. Slowly, she turned and made her way back up the steps to her room. She locked the door behind herself and sank onto the nearest chair.

Both her hands hurt and she looked down to realize that she had unconsciously dug her nails into her palms, leaving red marks on her skin. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to bang her fists against the walls…but she just sat, staring off into the distance in an odd state of shock. The gall of that insufferable woman. How could she forbid Margaret where to go or who to see? She had no right!

Maybe Mr Thornton would advocate for her? He had done so before, but she doubted that he would be very pleased to see her go to Princeton, if his comments during the dinner party had been any indication.

She had dreaded this marriage for many reasons, but she had not even considered this. What if he wouild forbid her to see her friends? She felt as though an invisible fist was clenching around her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

She would be held captive in this house.

At that moment, all Margaret really wanted to do, was pack her things and leave. Go far away, where they would never find her.


She stood by the window, looking down into the courtyard and watched him step out of his office, to make his way back toward the house. The moment he disappeared from her view, as he entered the wooden landing in front of the door, she practically flew out of her room and down the stairs to the entrance hall.

Her husband looked up at her in surprise, as she came to a halt in front of him.

"I need to speak with you. It is urgent!", she told him, not noticing how pallid and tired he looked, in her agitation.

For a moment, he seemed taken aback, before nodding and wordlessly motioning toward his study.

She walked into the room and he followed her, closing the door behind them. "Margaret, what is the matter? You seem upset."

"Your mother forbids me to visit my friend Bessy Higgins", she blurted out immediately. "She told me that as your wife, I am not allowed to associate with her anymore."

He stood in silence for a moment, trying to process what she was telling him. Then recognition dawned on his face.

"Higgins?", he muttered. "Nicholas Higgin's daughter."

She only nodded.

Within seconds, she watched his face change into a chilly façade of annoyance. Gone was the man she had caught some glimpses of in the past few weeks, whenever he had spoken to her in this strange, soft tone of concern, replaced quickly by the very man, she had so dreaded to marry.

"I am afraid, Margaret, that my mother is right in this matter. I cannot permit you to walk through the Princeton district and entertain a connection with a known firebrand", he told her sternly. "Think of how it would reflect upon our family. You would be fraternizing with the enemy."

"The enemy?!", she called out in utter disbelief.

"You cannot be serious! All of you! The union and the masters – you all depend on each other, and yet, you create this war, which will only serve to bring both of you down! Don't you see?", she tried desperately. "She is a nineteen-year-old girl who is sick! How can she be the enemy? She is one of the few friends I have in Milton, and she is waiting for me! I cannot let her down."

John's thoughts were in turmoil. It had been a very long day. A big order had been cancelled, he had had to dismiss two workers for repeatedly starting fistfights in the middle of the weaving room, Mr Latimer had informed him, that his debt to the bank was currently above four hundred pounds, which he could not possibly repay, if he did not find investors quickly.

He had not slept well in the past weeks, worrying so much about Margaret, and trying to keep his mother from quarreling with her, all the while suppressing his own feelings to a point where it felt like a constant physical ache. All of this had left him overtired, and with a tension headache coming on.

And now this.

He did not know how to deal with it.

He did not want to take away her independence, it was what had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

But if she was seen associating with the likes of Higgins, it would be the talk of the town. It could damage his reputation to the point where he could possibly even lose investors over it. As much as he did not want to see her unhappy, it was not an option.

He shook his head firmly.

"Margaret, I am sorry, but I cannot let you go and see this girl."

He turned from her, needing to get away. He prayed she would not argue this further, for he was already feeling guilty and torn. It felt as though being cornered, with his back against the wall.

"You cannot make me stay here! You cannot force me!", Margaret practically yelled after him, forgetting herself for a moment, in her despair.

His restraint snapped, and he spun around to her, angrily.

"I can and I will! You will not go there! I forbid it!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and Margaret sank onto the chair by the fireplace, as tears started making their way down her cheeks, gradually overpowering her, until her body started shaking with barely withheld sobs.

So, this was it.

This was the real him.

She had known all along that his polite demeanour had been a façade.

She hated him!


Margaret did not join the others for dinner that day.

She asked Jane to tell Mrs Thornton that she was not hungry.

While the daylight outside her window gradually started to fade, she lay motionless on top of her bed covers, curled into a ball of misery, with her knees pulled towards her chest.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Jane's voice, telling her that Mr Thornton had sent up some dinner for her, but Margaret only repeated that she was not hungry and did not open the door.

It was very late, when she finally managed to cry herself to sleep.


In the days following their dreadful altercation, Margaret kept to her room most of the time.

Whenever she was forced into the company of other household members, she spoke only when it was deemed absolutely necessary and would not meet their eyes.

One time, it seemed that, in her own, quirky way, Fanny was starting to try to make conversation with her, apparently feeling a bit unsettled at the hostile air surrounding her new sister-in-law.

"You've never been to a concert in Milton, have you? You should go there sometime. I wish the concert hall was less crowded, but they have all of the best performances there."

She looked Margaret up and down for a moment.

"But you'd need a new dress if you were to go, you can't possibly be wearing your old clothes. They look rather dull, you know, and brown is not the fashionable colour now. You would need something bright blue or turquoise. But I'm sure you could find something that suits you, you're pretty enough."

Margaret fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I thank you, Fanny, should I ever feel the need to go there, I shall call upon you to assist me in picking out the most suitable attire."

The young girl smiled complacently, very oblivious to the sarcastic undertone in the statement.

Margaret went to see her mother every day, and stayed there even longer, than she had before, relishing every minute she was not confined to the mill house. She had not told her parents about her quarrel with her husband and mother-in-law, for she did not want to upset them.

When Mr Thornton went to see her father the following Tuesday, Margaret feigned a headache and told him to excuse her.

She did not go to Princeton, although she wished she could have just disobeyed her husband, and done what she felt to be the right thing. But she knew she would never hear the end of it.

Mr Thornton attempted to speak to her occasionally, but she had no desire to accommodate him and gave curt answers which ended the conversation immediately.

Whenever possible, she left the room, for good measure, leaving him standing there, defeated.

She would not disobey him, but she would show him the consequences of treating her in this way, and she would not give in. If he decided that he had to play the overbearing husband, she would gladly take up the role of the unwilling wife.

One morning, almost two weeks after their quarrel, Margaret was sitting at her writing desk by the window, composing a letter to her cousin Edith, when she heard a knock on the door.

"Mrs Thornton?"

Margaret huffed to herself at being addressed in this way.

"What is it?", she called out to Jane, who was standing outside the door.

"Mr Williams has come, ma'am, 'e says there is a girl at the gate, askin' for ye. A Mary Higgins. She says it's a matter of life and death."

Within two seconds Margaret was at the door. She threw it open and darted past the stunned housemaid, without even thinking of putting on her coat or bonnet. She rushed through the entrance hall, and then across the mill yard, to the green gates.

There stood Mary, wrapped in a pattered, grey shawl. Her hands were shaking, her cheeks wet with tears.

"Mary!", Margaret gasped in shock. "What happened?"

"It's Bessy", the girl cried. "I did not know what to do. I – I think she is dying! She has been askin' for ye!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Margaret took Mary by the arm and started walking down Marlborough Street with her, as fast as her legs would carry her.

"Take me to her, Mary. Let's not lose any time."


Bessy was lying in bed. Her face was ashen, her breathing heavy, punctured by heavy fits of coughing every few minutes.

When Margaret entered the room, she looked up at her, and a weary little smile spread across her face. She reached out her hand to her friend, who immediately sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and took it in both of hers.

Margaret felt like crying.

"Bessy", she whispered. "I'm so sorry I did not come sooner."

"I thought ye had forgotten me", the girl whispered, "now that ye're married to a master and all."

Margaret shook her head violently. "Never, Bessy! Never! I wanted to come, I-"

"I'm glad ye've come", Bessy sighed. "So I can see ye once more in this life."

They sat like this for over an hour, mostly quiet, except for Bessy's coughing fits. Eventually, the door opened and Nicholas stepped in. His gaze fell upon the three young women, and he stepped closer, a look of worry on his face.

"Ye came", he told Margaret with surprise, but also a tinge of accusation in his tone.

Margaret did not know what to reply, but there was no need, because Bessy started gasping for breath that very second, drawing the attention of everyone in the room towards her. Nicholas stepped closer and knelt on the floor, beside his daughter.

"Bessy", he ground out, as tears filled his eyes. "Bessy, don't leave me!"

Bessy struggled for breath for painful minutes, which seemed like an eternity. Then, eventually, her breathing became quieter. Her eyes darted about the room, finding those of her father, her sister and eventually those of Margaret.

"I'll be safe where I'm goin', I know", she whispered. "I'll be with mother." Her fingers tightened around Margaret's weakly. "I'm so glad you've come."

And then, no more word was spoken, as the girl's eyes drifted closed forever.

A long, heavy silence fell over the room. Neither of them was able to make sense of it all.

How could a person just dwindle away like this?

Breathing one minute and then – being completely still. Gone forever.


Margaret stepped into the entrance hall of the mill house in a daze.

She barely recognized where she was going, as her feet slowly carried her up the steps towards her room. She had not yet reached the top of the stairs, when she heard the sound of a door opening.

"Margaret?"

It was Mr Thornton, who had stepped out of the upstairs sitting room, pale in the face, looking down at her with his hand on the banister.

"Where have you been? It is after ten o clock at night! I was just about to head over to the police station and have them go out in search of you!" His voice sounded strained with worry.

She did not look at him and said no word, as she walked past him towards her door, but he was quicker. Within a few strides, he was in front of her.

"Margaret, pray, what is the matter?" His hand caught her upper arm, trying to make her look at him, and his eyes widened at the sight of her tear-stricken face.

"Let me go!", she growled, violently tugging her arm out of his grasp and pushing past him.

"Margaret!"

He stepped between her and the door once more, blocking her path.

"Please, talk to me! What happened? I was worried sick about you!"

She looked up at him through tearful eyes, and he almost flinched at the burning fire in her gaze. It was nothing short of hate.

"Step aside!", she told him firmly.

"Margaret, please!"

He was despairing now.

"You have not spoken to me in almost two weeks. Something has greatly distressed you. You are crying! Please, tell me what happened!"

"If you must know", she told him in a very low voice, without looking at him. "Bessy Higgins died today. Had not her sister come to the mill, to tell me, I never would have seen her alive again. She had been waiting for me for weeks, to come and visit. And I did not."

Her whole body shuddered, as more tears started streaming down her face.

"I let her down", she breathed. "You forced me to abandon my friend in her last days."

John stood in utter shock.

"Margaret-"

"Don't!"

She raised her hand to stop him, her face a picture of disgust.

"Step aside, Mr Thornton. I want to go to my room. Or am I forbid that too?"

He did step aside then, and she bolted through the door and slammed it closed behind her, turning the key in the lock.

John stood, completely aghast.

Her friend had died.

What had he done?

He had sworn to himself that he would not make her unhappy, and yet, he had gone and done just that. If she had disliked him before, she hated him now, he was sure of it. One look at her had been enough to convince him of that.

With a shaky breath, he leaned against the wall next to her door, lifting his hand to touch the cool wood separating him from her. He had been so caught up in trying to protect his reputation and credibility amongst the other mill owners, that he had let a girl die without being able to see her friend in the last days of her life. He had taken something from Margaret that he could never give her back.

John closed his eyes, as his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Why had he not taken her seriously? He had been aware that this Higgins girl was sick, but he had had no idea how serious her condition was - that she was truly dying.

'I ruined it', he realized with a pang. 'She will hate me forever now, and there is nothing I can do to set this right.'

That night, sleep would not come to John. He sat in a chair in his room, his head in his hands, as he, once more, listened to the muffled sounds coming from the bedroom next to him. Margaret was crying her heart out.

She was sobbing so painfully that every shaking breath she drew felt like an arrow straight through his heart.

TTTTTTTTTTTTT

Notes:

My God, this is some dark sh** :O

Really, I am SO sorry!

It's been a while since I drafted this, and I only realized afterward, when I started editing, how bad it really was!

I hope you are still somewhat mentally stable after reading it. This is probably a good moment to try and keep you from throwing this fic out of the window by telling you that circumstances will arise in the next chapters which will bring John and Margaret closer together and move their relationship forward quite a bit. You WILL get that HEA.

I am going away on vacation for a week tomorrow. Will do my best to keep updating during that time, but I won't have my laptop with me, so I can only edit on my ceelphone, which may take a while xD Trying hard though!

Feel free to roast me in the comments ;)