Revelations

Everything was dark. And unbearably cold.

She did not know where she was. She could not move, or even open her eyes, for her eyelids felt heavy as lead. Her entire body ached, and she felt a strange shiver run through it, which would not seem to stop.

Sometimes, she could hear voices, but she could not make out their words. There was a female voice, and then a deeper one, a male voice. It seemed distantly familiar. She felt a warm touch on her hand, but could not move as much as a finger.

A little later, something cool was placed on her forehead. Someone was wiping her brow. The touch seemed gentle, caring. There was something about it that felt so right, like a strange connection with whoever was taking care of her. She tried to open her eyes, to see who it was, but felt herself slip back into nothingness.

The next time she rose to semi-consciousness, everything was silent. She felt alone, still shivering, as a small moan escaped her. She tried moving her head but barely managed. Her eyelids would still not move. Where was she? What had happened to her? She could scarcely remember anything.

"Margaret?", it was barely a whisper, somewhere near her.

Someone was moving about the room, and then she felt the mattress cave in slightly, as someone sat down near her.

"Margaret, can you hear me?"

There was a hand on her shoulder.

And then, suddenly, someone moved towards her in one swift movement, and she was enveloped by warmth. Her cheek came to rest against something solid, she could feel the thrumming of a heartbeat near her ear, erratic, as though whoever it belonged to was in panic.

Something about the sensation felt familiar.

A warm breath hit her face repeatedly, coming in quick gasps, and the arms which held her, trembled. It was a man, the man who had been with her before, taking care of her.

Then he started speaking, uttering the words between heavy pants, his voice thick with tears.

"Oh, dear God, I beg you, don't take her from me! I will do anything. Anything in this world, but please spare her! Take me instead, if you must, but not her."

And then…all at once…she recognized him.

'John'

It was him! He was here with her, holding her, whispering to her. It had been him who had taken care of her before, cooling her face, holding her hand.

'John!'

She tried to open her eyes, tried to speak, but she did not have the strength.

He was crying, shaking, she could sense his pain and agony coming off in waves. What on earth had happened?

His face was close to hers when she heard the next words: "Oh, Margaret, dearest, please, please stay with me! No one can know what you are to me. I love you! I have loved you for so long!"

He shuddered again, his arms tightening around her, as his tears wet her face.

"How I wish I could have told you. How I wanted to tell you that day, after the riot, when I came to offer you my hand, not out of any obligation, but because I loved you, with all my heart. And then, after your father had told me how you despised me, I could not. I could not do that to you. I could not let you enter into a marriage with a man whom you would fear, knowing of his affections, of his desire for you, when you could never return them!"

She could scarcely make sense of his words. Her mind felt worn out, straining to catch his meaning. All she had been able to grasp had been the word 'love'.

'He loves me!'

"You can never know how I longed for you. How much it hurt to be near you, and not be able to touch you. And then we grew closer, and it became worse. It became near unbearable, Margaret. Oh God, I wish I had been stronger. I wish I had not withdrawn from you like this. I should never have left you! I am so sorry, Margaret!"

'He loves me!'

'He loves me!'

'He- '

She felt her senses fade once more, as it all became too much.

'No! John!'

She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him.

'John, don't cry! I'm right here!'

She felt herself being shifted in his arms and then he was beside her, his body touching hers all the way down. She felt like she was drowning in him, his warmth, his scent, he was still shivering, as he clung to her.

"You must not go", she heard him whisper into her hair. "I could not survive if you did, Margaret. It would be the end of me. I cannot live without you. I – I cannot breathe without you!"

His last words hit her very core.

And despite being weak and only half-conscious, Margaret felt something she never had before. A deep, invisible connection, as though her soul was somehow touching his.

And without being able to utter a word or make her awareness known to him, it was at this moment, that Margaret knew what love was.

"Please come back to me!"

He sounded so exhausted, forcing out the words with the last bit of strength he possessed, and she longed for nothing more than to take this pain away from him. To touch him, to kiss him, to hold him close and never let him go again.

She felt his body go limb, his arms around her grow feeble, his crying abate, and his breathing start to even out.

Finally, with much effort, she managed to move her head a little, turning it to press her cheek against his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, as it gradually slowed down and became more regular.

'He loves me!"

How could this be?

She was incapable of thinking about it. All she could do was lie there with him. If only she could lie with him like this forever.


The first rays of sunlight fell through a small gap in the curtains, piercing through John's closed eyelids.

For a long moment, he did not know where he was or what had happened. Then, he felt something warm beside him, huddled up to him, pressing against his body.

Groggily, he lifted his head and blinked. The moment he looked down at her face, snuggled up against his chest, all the memories came rushing back to him.

She still looked weak, unmoving, but the flush of fever had disappeared from her cheeks, leaving them almost white.

"Margaret?", he whispered, slowly untangling himself from her to sit up and check on her, but before he could move too far, he felt a grip tightening on him, stopping him.

His eyes shot down to her face to see her eyelids move. Her lips opened, just a little, quivering.

"John!"

It was a barely audible whisper, but his heart stopped at the sound of it. With a sudden burst of hope, he bent down closer to her, searching her face intently for any sign of life.

"Margaret?"

For a moment her eyelids fluttered, and then she blinked up at him tiredly.

"Margaret, my God, you are awake!", he exclaimed, jolting up from the bed to call for his mother, call for the doctor, call for anyone who could tell him what to do, to make sure she was alright.

Once more, he was halted in his tracks, by her hands on his arms. "John", she breathed once more, now looking up at him through glassy eyes. "Don't go!"

The way she looked at him…it was all he could do not to break down crying once more. There was something in her eyes, weary as they were, that he had never seen before. Something that touched the very core of him.

He felt her pull at him weakly and let himself be drawn back towards her, until he was once more on the bed beside her. And then her arm came around him and her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He felt her breath against his skin, and his eyes drifted closed at the sensation.

"My God", he whispered to her, "you scared me to death. I thought I had lost you."

"I'm here", he heard her murmur in a low voice. "Stay with me, John. Please."

"Always!" He pulled her closer, basking in her warmth.


It was a little while later, that Mrs Thornton entered the room to check on Margaret. She stopped at the sight before her – her son laying there on his wife's bed, both of them entangled, with their arms wrapped around each other.

She instantly felt a wave of heat rush to her face, as she averted her eyes. "I take it, Margaret is feeling better?", she pressed out, as she fixed her gaze on the floor.

John slowly raised his head to look at his mother, his face a picture of tiredness, but also relief. Carefully he untangled himself from Margaret and got up from the bed, although not moving away too far, still holding on to her hand.

"Mother, please call for the doctor. The fever has broken."


Over the course of the next few days, Margaret gradually kept getting better. She was still very weak and had developed a heavy cough, but the fever was gone and did not return, and she was feeling stronger every day.

Soon, she could sit up in bed, propped up against the pillows and have some soup and tea. And a few days later, she managed to walk a few steps about the room.

She was tended to by Jane and Hannah Thornton, who was unexpectedly friendly with her and made sure she had everything she needed. Even Fanny had dropped by a few times, if only briefly, but Margaret still appreciated her making the effort.

John spent every waking moment he was not required at the mill by her side. He would sit with her and hold her hand as he told her of his day and tried to engage her in light conversation to try and keep her engaged and take her mind off too many gloomy thoughts.

Things at Crampton had been settled. The furniture and many personal belongings which were not needed anymore had been auctioned off under Dixon's close watch.

John had purchased some items for Margaret to keep, mainly books of her father and some little trinkets that had belonged to her mother, and she had barely found words to express her gratitude to him.

He had also offered Dixon a place at the mill house, which the housemaid had, somewhat begrudgingly, accepted. She was not too keen on working for the Thornton family, having never been fond of either of them, but she did not know where else to go but London, where she had family, but no place to work, and the thought of staying with Margaret did hold some appeal to her.

So Dixon had moved in with them, staying in a room in the servant's quarter of the house, which was quite comfortable, and tending to her young mistress once more.


One evening, a little over a week after she had first woken up, John came to her room after dinner, carrying a book. He pulled a chair near her bed and sat down. She noticed that he appeared a little tired, but when he looked up at her a smile crossed his face and she felt her heart give a little flutter at it.

"I have brought you something which I hoped might cheer you up a little", he told her, holding up the book for her to see the title.

"Emma by Jane Austen", she read aloud, as her eyes darted from the book to his face in surprise.

"You know it?", he asked.

"I have read it once, years ago and quite liked it", she remembered.

"I have not read it myself, but I have heard it is quite amusing", he pondered aloud, looking down at the book.

"Oh yes, it certainly is. I remember laughing heartily at some passages", she smiled as she watched him open the book.

"Would you care for me to read it to you?"

She gazed at him in astonishment. "You really would not mind? I think it is considered woman's literature. Would it not bore you?", she asked a bit uncertainly.

"I doubt it would, if it's enjoyable to you", he stated simply. "And I could certainly do with some laughs."

She carefully observed his face, once more noticing his weary look and felt almost guilty for taking up his time when he would probably have been better off retiring to bed early. But he would not do it, either way, she knew, and this was better than him brooding over his worrying accounting books for a few more hours, so she leaned back against her pillows and clasped her hands in her lap expectantly, as he started to read.

"Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her…"

She listened quietly, unable to take her eyes off him as he sat, leaning back in his chair, his eyes moving swiftly along the pages. She had always liked his voice, it had a beautiful, dark timbre. But she had never before noticed how much feeling could be found in it. At times she saw the corners of his mouth turn up and a little spark of amusement cross his face at certain passages and she felt her heart warm at the sight.

Her thoughts once again started drifting back to that night, when he had held her so close, and which had never been far from her mind since. That night, it seemed, everything had changed between them.

They both felt it, but their feelings were, as of yet, left unspoken.

Margaret had tried to convey her affection in small ways, a touch of her hand on his, a smile, the gentle tone in her voice when she asked about his day, but she had yet to say the words. She knew she should, and she could not tell for certain why she had not.

She told herself that she was waiting for the right moment.

Whenever they were together, briefly, during the day, they were either accompanied by his mother or a maid, and when he was alone with her, in the evenings, he seemed tired and worried about her, and Margaret herself still felt exhausted from her illness most of the time.

But if she was truly honest with herself, she had to admit, that this was not the real reason.

In truth, she was scared out of her wits. What she felt for him could only be called love, she was sure of it, but it was a feeling she had been wholly unfamiliar with, until just recently, and it overwhelmed her to a point where she could not seem to find the words to express it.

And if she dared, what would be the consequence?

It would change everything. It would be the end of their platonic companionship, something that, while it could not satisfy her anymore, still felt safe.

If they were to truly become husband and wife, in every sense, as had been intended for them from the start, what was to happen between them?

She had never felt so safe and loved as that night, when he had held her in his arms, and she longed more than anything to feel it again, and yet, it frightened her.

She knew very little of these things, of the intimacy between lovers. She did not know whether she was ready for it, whether she could ever go through with it. If she dared confess her feelings, what would he expect from her?

For all she knew, he likely still assumed that his desires were not returned by her, and she knew him well enough to be sure that he would hold back his own sentiments, as he had done for the past year.

The things he had told her that night, had been uttered in a desperate fit of passion when he had thought he was losing her and believed her unaware. Now, that he had regained control over his emotions, he would not repeat them.

Could it be true that he had loved her for such a long time?

She recalled their conversation that night, when she had asked him if he had ever been in love.

Could it be that the woman he had spoken of – the woman who had not returned his feelings – was in fact Margaret herself?

The thought had never once crossed her mind then, but now, looking back, she realized that it must have been the case. It had been there all along, in the way he had sometimes looked at her, and had cared for her in so many ways, always making sure she felt safe with him.

It was something she had not wanted to see, for she could not have born it. It was only now beginning to dawn on her how he must have struggled, and it made her keenly aware of the fact that, the longer she held in all that she felt, the more pain she was causing.

She knew, it was not fair to him. That she should relieve him of his suffering, but as much as she tried, the words would not come.

There had been moments when she had been about to confess everything, only to feel her breath leave her the moment she had opened her mouth to speak.

She could have cried, feeling that, after all he had done for her, she was failing him.

It was almost two hours later, when he closed the book, at the ending of a chapter, and raised his eyes to hers.

"It's late, you must be tired."

He put the novel down on her bedside table. "We can continue tomorrow if you like."

She nodded with a smile. "Thank you John. That would be lovely."

She saw him fumble with his hands for a moment in what appeared to be a nervous manner. "Margaret-" he started after a moment, looking at her a bit uncertainly. "There is something I need to speak to you about." "Yes?", she asked, curious.

"I spoke to Doctor Donaldson today", he started. "And he told me that in order for you to get well, you should consider a change of air, ideally somewhere by the sea to help your lungs recover properly."

Margaret could only stare at him. She had not expected anything like this.

"Go away?", she breathed after a moment.

"It would not be for too long", he told her hastily. "He said that three weeks would likely be sufficient. He proposed Heston, which is only about thirty miles from here. I have been there before, it's a lovely little village."

She felt her lips quiver, entirely unsure of how she should feel about this proposal. It was not the thought of leaving Milton for a few weeks - it was the thought of leaving…him, that suddenly terrified her.

To go away now, that they had started growing so close, and with her still having so many things she needed to say to him…she did not know whether she could bear it.

"D-do you want me to go?", she inquired after a while in a very low voice.

He released a trembling breath, looking down at his hands. "I don't want you to leave, Margaret. Especially not now, that you are still so weak. But I want what is best for you. I want you to be able to recover fully, and I have great faith in Doctor Donaldson's opinion. He is a good doctor and knows what he is doing."

She nodded slowly, recognizing that he was likely right. He leaned forward and tentatively covered her hand with his bigger one, his skin rough and warm against hers, making the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, very aware of his touch.

"Will you go, Margaret? I'm sure it would be for the best. I would escort you there and come to collect you after three weeks, to make sure your journey was safe. And I would ask Dixon to come with you and keep you company."

She turned the palm of her hand up to grasp his and gave it an affectionate squeeze, hoping to convey to him that she cared.

"I suppose it must be for the best", she decided with a sigh. "But I shall miss you, John."

At her use of his name, he looked up and there was something in his eyes she could not quite read.

"When would I be required to leave?"

"As soon as you're well enough to travel. Doctor Donaldson said you should start trying to leave your room and then maybe the house in the next few days."

"I shall try", she decided. "I do wish to get better soon. To be able to get out of the house once more."

He nodded, slowly rising from his chair and tentatively letting go of her hand.

"I will leave you to sleep now", he murmured. "It is quite late."

They bid each other good night, and after the door had closed behind him, Margaret lay awake for a long time, deep in thought. She knew that the doctor's advice was well-meant and he was probably right, but still she could not help but despise the very thought.


Within the next week, Margaret had started going on short walks, accompanied by Dixon who made sure her young mistress did not overexert herself. The doctor was pleased with her progress and concluded that, if her recovery kept progressing at this pace, she would be able to go to Heston within the following two weeks.

John was quick to arrange everything, making sure she would be able to stay at the most comfortable hotel he had been able to find. All of Margaret's objections, that he should not spend too much money on her, and that she would be fine, wherever she was to stay, were duly ignored.

They went there on a Sunday, taking the eleven-o clock train. Margaret, Dixon, and John as their escort. Of all three travellers, Dixon seemed the most enthusiastic, which was not saying much. The older woman did look forward to spending a few weeks by the seaside, although early April was not the time she herself would have chosen for such a journey, with the wind still being rather chilly. She doubted that it would be any good for Margaret.

As the train clunked out of the station Dixon could not help but throw a glance at the young couple sitting on the bench across from her. Margaret was still pale and looked rather downcast, and Thornton, although not recovering from a terrible illness, did not look much better for some reason.

She caught him glancing at his wife every few minutes with a strange gloomy look. They spoke little, mostly looking out of the window in silence, at the passing fields with their occasional little groups of trees or farmhouses.

They reached Heston in the early afternoon. The weather, luckily, was very fine that day, with clear skies and surprisingly few cold winds. "Would you care to go for a little walk down to the shore?", John inquired, after they had dropped their luggage at the hotel and had left Dixon to unpack and settle everything.

Margaret nodded and took his arm without hesitation to let him lead her outside of the hotel. He seemed to know the way, walking out of the town and down a narrow little path, through some jagged, grassy dunes, until the clear glistening water came into view.

They halted for a moment, Margaret having to catch her breath, and she was stunned at the beauty of what lay before her. "This is where you came with your parents as a child, is it not?", she asked him.

He nodded silently, gazing at the incoming waves with a far-off look in his eyes. "I haven't been back since-" He broke off, but he did not have to go on for her to know. She gave his arm a light squeeze. "Let's go look for some seashells, shall we?", she proposed gently, trying to pull him out of his thoughts.

They made their way along the sandy beach, occasionally bowing down to pick up a beautiful stone or shell. They were completely alone, as it was not yet the season for holidaymakers, and Margaret enjoyed the quiet, only punctured by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. It was so different from Milton that it seemed almost out of this world.

John had removed his coat, dangling it from one finger over his shoulder as he walked. He seemed relaxed and, she had to admit, stunningly handsome. There were so many things she longed to say to him.

'When all of this is over', she made a promise to herself. 'When I'm back home, in three weeks, I will speak to him.'

It would give her some time to reflect upon her feelings undisturbed. As hard as it felt to let him go back without her tonight, maybe a little distance would help her collect her thoughts.

The past year had been the hardest of her life. So many things had happened, starting with the riot at the mill, and their consequent marriage, the death of Bessy, and then, of both her parents. She could only pray that things would finally settle down, for she doubted she could take any more heartbreak.

"I shall keep these", she said, looking down at the handful of little shells she had collected. "To remind me of our beautiful walk."

She raised her gaze to his with a timid little smile and felt like she was drowning in his eyes, as he looked at her.

"I wish I could stay", he told her with a rather husky voice. "Or come back next Sunday, but I'm afraid my duties at the mill won't permit me to leave at the moment."

She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I shall miss you, John."

"I shall miss you too."

She wanted to tell him right then and there. If only she had had the courage to say these words.

"Will you write to me?", she asked instead. "I know we'll see each other soon, there will not be time for too many letters, but to give me something to look forward to?"

He nodded earnestly. "I will."

They walked back to the hotel as the sun was setting, and he stayed for supper, which they took in the small dining hall, before saying goodbye to Dixon and grabbing his top hat to head out to the station.

She went with him to the door and stepped out after him onto the now darkened street.

"Take care, John", she told him softly. She felt like crying.

"I'll see you soon", he murmured with a slight tremble in his voice.

Without thinking, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his chest. She could hear his breath hitch at the unexpected contact, but did not draw back, clinging to him for a wonderful moment.

She felt his arms wrap around her carefully, very lightly, almost as if afraid of crushing her, if he held her too tightly.

Then, he stepped back, turned, and was gone, without glancing back, and she knew that he had not wanted her to see the look on his face.

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NOTES:

I have a gut feeling that some of you might actually want to strangle me now for dragging this out even further, for heaven's sake xD

Don't we all wish Margaret would just pull herself together right now?!

But I WILL end their suffering soon, I promise! So don't kill me just yet!

This part of the story was a challenge to write. I had to toss half of the story out of the window and re-write it from scratch twice and I tried to put it back together into something sort of sensible :P I hope it's not too bad!