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Chapter 12
Dolores had arrived in England in the middle of summer and had thrown herself into her new life. She spent her days with her new sister, joining her as a volunteer at the local school. One afternoon, the children had asked for a song, and Dolores had shown herself to have the most beautiful voice that Margaret had ever heard. She helped prepare meals and brought some of her favourite recipes over from Spain, to the delight of her new family who were enthralled by all the new flavours and smells. While she still sometimes pined for her native country and the family she had left behind, she was very well pleased with the new life she was building.
But now it was the middle of November, and Christmas was fast upon them. While Dolores and Margaret whiled away the days sewing and knitting all manner of clothes for the poor boxes, Fred spent his time overseeing some of Mr Bell's local properties, and co-ordinating teams to help repair houses and other buildings that had been damaged in a recent spate of storms. Milton also grew from strength to strength, and Margaret barely recognised him as the tiny sickly creature she had found all those months ago. He followed his new mother around like a shadow, chasing bits of string that she trailed around for him and happily gobbling up whatever scraps Dixon threw to him, as she also seemed very taken with him. When all these pursuits tired him out, he curled up to sleep either on Margaret's feet or on her lap, providing an excellent source of warmth as the winter chill began to set in. Being so far south, she knew the winter would be a lot milder than those in Milton, but there were still some very cold mornings.
Christmas preparations in Milton were also coming in a flurry of activity. Though work at the mill was lessened due to seasonal demand, John was still swamped in work making sure his household was prepared for Christmas and the dinner they would be hosting, as well as ensuring his workers were able to have something of a celebration. His mother was inclined to disagree with him, as she was still wary of the workers after the business with the strikes and the Irish workers. But John, who was rumoured to have a heart under his cold and stern exterior, believed that Christmas was the time to put the disagreements of the past year behind them and look to a prosperous new future. Life was too short to be spent in nursing animosity, he had once heard it said, and he was eager to put this year behind him. A celebration of sorts could go a good way to healing the breach between master and worker.
He was walking back toward the mill one morning, having run an errand to the post office, when a shout made him turn.
"Master, master!"
He recognised the voice and indeed, Higgins was standing on the other side of the street, waving him down. John walked over.
"Higgins, what can I do for you?"
The two men had developed an odd sense of camaraderie since he had agreed to employ Higgins, at Margaret's behest. A neutral party may even have called them friends. Higgins chuckled at his ever-forthright manner.
"It's Miss Margaret really. Since sh' were so generous as t' send the children those clothes – really, they 'ave been a godsend – the children have been beggin' me t' pu' money aside t' get some gifts for 'er. Well 'ere I am, no coin left t' send them nor any idea where sh' lives," Higgins realised the flaws in his plans as he stared down at the little bundle.
"Give them to me, I'll see them delivered," John replied, "What did you decide on?"
"Nothin' grand or th' like. The girls put some by for wool for a shawl. I tell 'em sh' won't need such a thing, being all way down south. Missus Jones up th' street 'elped 'em knit, coz Lord knows I'm no 'elp. The boys found some sticks and made this for 'er. Though' t'would be a way t' think of 'er father sometimes, or t' put on 'er tree. Sh' migh' 'ave one, sh' always were a righ' fine lady"
It was a small cross, made with two sticks woven together with a good quantity of string. One of them had nailed a hole through the top of it and stuck in a small loop of ribbon, to make it into a hanging ornament. They had even, albeit clumsily, managed to etch her initials MH into the middle. It was no expert craftsmanship but John knew that Margaret, with her kind heart and great fondness for the children, would treasure it as though it had come straight from the gold mines of the Americas.
He took the package from Higgins, promised to have it sent as soon as possible, and carried on back to the mill. However, he thought to check his pocket watch, and saw that it was only 9 o clock in the morning.
His feet were soon carrying him to the train station.
Sitting on the train, an entirely too sensible voice started nagging that he was about to arrive completely unannounced, with no necessities packed should he need to stay, and no accommodation arranged should he not be able to. All on the whim of a couple of tawdry little gifts. He pushed those thoughts out of his head and focussed on more pleasant thoughts. He would finally see the place that made Margaret the free spirit that she was. The fields she played in, the views she would have seen from her little bedroom. He would be able to see her again, hear her voice and hopefully her laughter. Would it intensify his want for her, or finally settle in his mind that it would be kinder to leave her alone?
By 12 o clock, he was stepping off the carriage and walking through the idyllic village that Fred oft described in his letters. He had somehow expected the place to still be quite warm, and so was surprised to be greeted by a neat layer of frost, and a chill that made him glad he had not discarded his coat. He consulted the piece of paper he kept by with their address on it and flagged a passer-by for directions. His strong Darkshire accent raised an eyebrow, but he was eventually pointed in the right direction. He found the correct house, and simply stood, staring down the path to the door. The bold impulse that had carried him this far now completely abandoned him. John Thornton, a man who had stood toe to toe with boys twice his size as a child, had brawled with men in the mill and who commanded a great presence in his town, was afraid to call on a lady. He paced nervously, occasionally throwing glances back at the house, summoning the wits to knock on and coherently explain his presence.
However, an angry shriek soon told him that he may have been standing there unexplained a little too long.
"Hey!"
John whirled at the sound but did not a glimpse at his accoster before he received a face full of what felt like a broom.
"Hey – what?!"
"Quién eres tú?! Hijo de la gran puta como es que se atreve venir aca molestarnos en nuestro hogar que vayas al diablo aca no hay nada pa' robar ven... tomate eso!"
This angry speech was punctuated with more blows to the head and torso. John, who neither spoke Spanish nor could get a good look at his attacker, could do nothing but wrap his arms around his head to attempt to protect himself.
"Vete a casa ahora. ¿Quieres que llame al agente?" EH, EH?!"
Meanwhile, Fred and Margaret were idling about inside. Margaret was darning a pair of thick winter stockings that Milton had ripped with his claws. Fred was pursuing that days' newspaper. Dolores had gone outside some time ago to sweep leaves around the house, yet now they both looked up as the sounds of her shouting angrily drifted back to the house. They both exchanged worried glances before bolting from their chairs to go and investigate. Fred beat Margaret to the door, and the sight that greeted him was equal parts bewildering and hilarious.
Dolores, who had always been fearsome to behold when she was enraged, was brandishing a broom, and cursing in fluent Spanish at none other than… John Thornton, who was now valiantly attempting to defend himself.
"I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU" he finally bellowed out of frustration. Dolores responded by waving the broom menacingly at him, but at least reverting to English.
"There is nothing to steal here! You go, go now! Or I will call constable!"
"I'm no thief!"
"What is in the package, eh?! Knife, to kill us all – or clippers to cut bolts?" Dolores hefted the broom up as if to rain more blows down on him, and Fred knew it was time to intervene.
"Dolores! Lower the broom!"
Both whirled at the sound of his voice, John lighting up in relief and Dolores in surprise. Margaret had now arrived to take the scene in and stared on in absolute bewilderment.
"I saw him here while I was sweeping leaves. He has been lurking like a vagrant, staring at the house!"
"Dolores, this is Mr Thornton, my friend and business associate. Who I am sure had a perfectly valid reason to be waiting outside? Mr Thornton, I believe you are acquainted with my wife, Dolores"
"Pleased to meet you," John muttered wryly to Dolores, who continued to glare at him suspiciously.
"Why don't we all come inside? It looks to rain soon," Fred suddenly interjected, peering at the sky. John gestured for Dolores to go ahead of him, but she still had not lost that intensely suspicious stare and seemed to prefer that he stay where she could see him, so he shrugged and carried on up the path.
Fred made a jovial show of shaking his hand and placing an arm around his shoulders to guide him into the house. He turned to chance a glance at Margaret, who looked quite surprised to see him. He merely hoped it was a pleasant surprise to her.
"Just curious. Why were you lurking outside?" Fred muttered to him once they were out of earshot of women. John mumbled some excuse about not being sure if he had the right address, which earned him a raised eyebrow.
John accidentally then kicked a ball of wool that had been left trailing on the floor and started when a small grey kitten darted out from under a nearby sideboard to chase it. Fred chuckled.
"Margaret's new little pet. Just don't be too offended when you find out what she named the beast"
They were currently in the entryway, which seemed small but wallpapered with a cheery floral pattern that made it seem larger. Fred guided the small party into the parlour, which was painted a light blue colour and well furnished with plush sofas and armchairs. Dolores went to fetch Dixon for some tea (and no doubt to fill her in on the gossip) while John and the remaining Hales seated themselves down.
"So, what does bring you to Helstone Mr Thornton?" Fred asked again.
"I brought some festive gifts," John finally mustered up the nerve to admit, "The Boucher children made some gifts for Miss Hale, and I thought these would do well for you and your wife"
Not wanting to seem rude by not arriving with a gift for Fred and Dolores, John had paused in London to find some passable offerings. For Fred, a large bottle of port he himself favoured, and some lengths of ribbon and lace for Dolores, to perhaps trim bonnets or dresses. He had also found a delicate little brooch for Margaret, to adorn the shawl the Boucher children had given her. It was silver, worked into the shape of a little rose.
"That sounds splendid, although I dare say you needn't have gone to the trouble. Shall we have a look Margaret?"
"I daresay we will Fred, but I must ask Mr Thornton, are you alright? Your temple looks rather red where Dolores struck you" Margaret had pulled herself together from the shock of John suddenly appearing on their doorstep and was determined to be a polite hostess.
"Nothing I did not deserve, lurking about as I was. I will be fine Miss Hale," John reassured her. Then, the little grey cat re appeared, leaping onto Margaret's lap, and peering at their new visitor curiously.
"Ah, I spied this little fellow earlier! Who might this be?" John asked her.
"Ah, this is err… Milton, Mr Thornton," Margaret replied sheepishly.
"Milton?"
"The colour of his fur. It reminded me of the smoke I would often see around Milton…" Margaret trailed off into silence, afraid she had given great offence. John merely gazed at the cat thoughtfully, who returned this look without blinking. It was touching that through all the pain and struggle, she still wished to have something around her that reminded of the place he called home, and it gave him no small amount of hope.
"Well, the colour does look much more becoming on him, and he probably smells a good deal better than the smoke that hangs around town," John replied with a small smile. Margaret almost sagged with relief that he was not cross with her.
"Well he does often smell like smoke from the fireplace, all the time he spends asleep in front of it!"
John then smiled broadly at that jest, and Margaret found it quite disarming.
Dolores, with Dixon hot on her heels, then bustled back in with a tray of tea and biscuits, setting it down on a little table by John. Margaret bade her to sit and rose to serve tea to everyone. Dolores turned to John.
"I apologise for striking you Mr Thornton. I can be a little too passionate in my anger. I hope I have not seriously harmed you," she told him.
"Nothing but my pride was harmed, do not worry yourself Mrs Hale," he immediately felt bad when both Fred and Margaret flinched at the use of this address. Dolores petted her husband's arm.
"No no, please call me Dolores. We do not sit on much formality here," she replied.
"Ah, my apologies. Thankyou Dolores"
Fred smiled reassuringly at his sister, and then clapped his hands jovially, wishing to lift the mood.
"I do not wish to sound an impertinent child John, but I believe you mentioned gifts?" he asked with an impish grin. Margaret rolled her eyes and Dolores swatted at his chest.
"Master Fred, you have not changed since you were a boy. Always trying to find your gifts and begging to open them early," Dixon reprimanded him. So, she was the same as ever she was.
John chuckled.
"They are here. These are yours Miss Hale, from the Boucher children. And these are for you, Fred, Dolores" he handed each package out, and was right in his assessment that Margaret was enraptured with her small offerings. She pulled out her pale blue shawl that the children had helped to make, and instantly switched it with the cream one she was currently wearing. John thought it complimented the blue of her eyes perfectly. She also became a little misty-eyed glancing at the little cross the boys made her and went to place it in a prominent position on their little mantlepiece. She tucked it into a little vase of flowers so that it was in no danger of falling off and becoming Milton's new chew toy.
"Ah, now doesn't this remind me of my navy days," Fred joked as he stared at the large bottle of port.
"Mind you do not have too much of that, husband. You snore something terrible when you have had too much drink," Dolores reminded him sternly, "Oh Mr. Thornton, these are wonderful!" she exclaimed as she looked over her lace and ribbons "I have been wanting to redecorate my church bonnet, but the fabric shop is so far away from here. I am only sorry we have nothing to give you!"
Just then, Margaret stood up sheepishly, and went to retrieve a few small packages from her sewing box.
"They are nothing grand, Mr Thornton. Your sister mentioned in her last visit that she and your mother were going to begin work on a quilt for the babe, and I knitted a few squares for them to add. And these… these are for you," she handed him a small bundle, which he unwrapped to find a set of three new cravats. One in his everyday black, one in handsome shade of deep blue and one in a shade of grey that was not too dissimilar from the colour of Milton's fur. The look on Fred's face suggested he had not known about this, but he grinned at his sister, nonetheless.
"Where would we be without you Migs? Always on hand to save the day"
Fred and Dolores went to put their gifts away, while Dixon went away grumbling that she may not have cooked enough to set an extra place for luncheon. This gave John and Margaret an unexpected moment of time alone.
"I am glad to see you looking much recovered, Miss Hale," John ventured. While she still seemed to err on the thin side, she did not look as gaunt as she did at their meeting in Harley Street. The shadows under her eyes were also much less pronounced, showing that she had finally been getting some uninterrupted sleep. While she still seemed tired and wan, John thought she was a picture of loveliness.
"I am glad to feel recovered Mr Thornton. It is a relief to not need anymore dresses taking in," Margaret replied with a smile.
"I am sure it is. Fanny is starting to need hers letting out to accommodate the babe and she is finding it most frustrating," John replied wryly, choosing to omit how his sister had wailed with the fear of forever losing her trim figure.
"I am sure she shall feel it was all worth it, when she is holding her child," Margaret replied thoughtfully.
Just then, Fred and Dolores returned.
"Well, the threat of rain seems to have passed over us. What say we take a walk through the village? Dixon will appreciate us being out from underfoot while she prepares the table for luncheon, and we really must show you the beauty of Helstone, John"
All declared this to be an agreeable plan and went to fetch coats and bonnets and scarves and hats. John offered Margaret his arm and had to fight off a buffoonish grin when she took it, thrilling at this smallest touch of her hand.
They walked along the road, Fred pointing out various landmarks, such as their father's church and his and Margaret's favourite spots to play as children, and John soaked it all in. For him, who had only ever known noise and bustle and smoke and grime, the silence and cleanliness were astonishing. Again, he asked himself, was he really going to try and beg Margaret to come away from all this, back to the filth and grime and poverty of Milton? He could take a lot of pride in his home, but one could not deny that it could be a grim place to grow up. Especially when compared to a place such as this.
The party was turning into the churchyard to go and have a look inside when Dolores suddenly whimpered and almost crumpled to the floor. Fred started in alarm and gathered her into his arms, while Margaret gasped. John clasped her hands to reassure her.
"Dolores, mi querida, what is the matter pet?"
She stirred and looked up at him.
"Forgive me Fred, I just suddenly went very dizzy. I'm sure I will be fine," she attempted to get up, but Fred held her fast.
"You seem very pale my darling. Come, let me escort you back to the house to rest," he replied in an unusually authoritative tone. He so very rarely attempted to command his wife that she did not have the heart, nor at this time the energy, to argue.
"Migsy, you will be alright to show John around for a while? I will get Dolores home and see about calling a doctor," Fred asked his sister.
"Of course. Is there anything we can do to help?" Margaret asked, her voice and face full of concern. It was Dolores who answered her.
"Do not worry sister, I will be quite alright, I just need rest. Keep our guest entertained. Forgive me Mr Thornton, I shall be recovered in no time"
"I hope you will recover well Dolores," John answered. He rushed to hold the gate for Fred as he bore Dolores back through it.
He made his way back to Margaret, who was wringing her hands.
"Oh, I hope she shall be alright. I hope she isn't sickening"
John had his suspicions but did not voice them in case he was wrong. He merely re offered his arm to Margaret, and they carried on up the path to the church.
"Forgive me, Mr Thornton, but may I go and say a quick prayer for Dolores? It will make me feel so much better," Margaret asked John.
"Of course, Miss Hale. Anything to bring you comfort from distress," he replied hastily. She turned pink at his last words, but merely walked away to kneel in one of the pews and drop her head over her clasped hands. John again cursed his loose tongue. He stood by and watched Margaret as she prayed, keeping an odd sort of vigil over her.
Some moments later she stood, crossed herself, and made her way back over to him.
"Thankyou. I remember saying my prayers in here with Fred when we were children, almost like it was yesterday," she smiled fondly as she looked about.
"I can almost vividly imagine your father giving sermons at that altar. This is a lovely church," John replied.
"It is indeed a beautiful church. Mama always talked so fondly of seeing me married in this church," she stared sadly at the floor, another dream she would never see realised.
"You still could be married here. Your mother would be with you, even if not in person," John replied softly. She lifted her head to look at him.
"I do not think so Mr Thornton, though you are truly kind to say so. It is unlikely I shall ever marry"
"Why do you think that?"
"I have been so unwell. No man wants a wife who is afraid of her own shadow. A wife who can barely take care of herself, let alone the children she must bear him. Who would take such a woman?"
Hang propriety, the moment for courage was here.
"I would"
Margaret could only stare at him agape.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Please hear me out. I once told you that any passion I had for you was over, but I was the worst kind of liar. I have thought of nothing but you ever since you left for London. I yearned to be your comfort when your mother and father passed. When I learned the truth of Fred, I wanted to follow him back to London and beg your forgiveness. Then we found out you were as ill as you were," John drew a deep breath, and continued. Margaret had not yet begged him to stop, or struck him, so he took it as encouragement "It gives me such joy to see you recovering as well as you are. Anything that makes you happy would bring me happiness. I would do anything to take care of you. A different house, somewhere where the air is clean. I'd take less hours at the mill and spend the days with you. I do not give a fig about children. I only care that I can be your husband. I know that may make me the worst sort of man, to beg you come away from this little patch of heaven, but I cannot conceal my feelings any longer. Merely give me hope, Miss Hale, and I will do whatever I can to make you comfortable and happy"
Margaret then began to weep quietly, and panic lined the pit of his stomach.
"My god. Forgive me Miss Hale. Forgive me," he murmured, his own voice beginning to tremble. She shook her head, which worried him further, until she looked up and he saw that she was smiling radiantly through her tears.
"You still have love for me?" She asked with a trembling voice, and a powerful wave of relief almost sent John crumbling to the floor.
"I never stopped loving you," he replied firmly. She choked on a fresh wave of tears.
"It was the worst feeling, to think you despised me. I so longed to tell you about Fred, but could not risk his safety or your position as magistrate"
"It does not matter anymore. Fred is a free man, it all worked out in the end"
She sniffled, and finally calmed.
"Please understand, Mr Thornton, I am not refusing you. But I do not feel ready to accept. Fred has been so good and caring to me. I do not feel ready to leave him. I know you say you do not care about children, but you will still need heirs. It is something you must still consider. It will be a large move to leave Helstone again. I do not think I could yet bear to be confined to summer visits and Christmas letters. I am not saying no, Mr Thornton, I am asking for time," she replied in a quavering voice.
"I cannot ask for fairer than that Miss Hale, and I thank you. If your brother is agreeable, may I write to you?"
"I am sure he will be agreeable Mr Thornton. Come, shall we finish this tour?"
"Please, I am eager to see more of your home Miss Hale"
"You may think it impertinent, but you may call me Margaret if you wish"
"Only if you will call me John"
"Very well. This way… John"
She took his arm again, and they made their way out of the church. She showed him the churchyard where she and Fred played as children, and the schoolroom where she volunteered with the girls. She however, forgot to tell John about the deceptively large puddles that developed on the country lanes, and so she ended up delivering a rather soggy mill master back to the house.
She was just about to usher him through to the kitchen, to the armchair by the fire, when Fred, who heard them come in, bounded down the stairs.
"Ah, there you both – gracious, Mr Thornton, are you alright?"
"I will be alright. I think I will sit by the fire a while"
"Yes, yes of course"
Margaret took him through to the kitchen and took his coat and hat to hang up. He had only fallen in up to his thighs, so he would be alright.
She went to re join Fred, who she now noticed was hopping from one foot to the other in a sort of nervous excitement.
"Is everything alright Fred? How is Dolores?"
"Huh? Oh yes, she is fine, fine. The doctor's been, she just needs to rest"
"Whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing serious my dear. She is… She is… with child," Fred finally admitted quietly, with a nervous smile. Margaret beamed and embraced her brother tightly.
"That is wonderful news Fred! Can I see her?"
"She will be down for dinner shortly; you can talk to her then. Let her rest a while longer my dear. Come, tell me what happened to Thornton"
"Of course, she will need plenty of rest. Oh, it is the silliest thing, I forgot to tell him about the enormous puddles that gather down Bale Lane"
"Oh, they are devious! I'll go fetch him a fresh pair of socks to use"
Margaret chuckled and went to sit by John in the kitchen. She chuckled to see that Milton had leapt into his lap and was joining in the efforts to dry him by stretching full out across his knees.
"He is a most wonderful lap warmer; I'll give him that," John joked, looking up at her.
"He is. Fred will be down shortly, he is fetching you some clean socks"
"I shall thank him for them. How is Dolores?"
"She is fine. She is with child, as a matter of fact. I shall be an Aunt"
"I offer congratulations to you all"
Fred bounded back down the stairs, and handed John the promised socks, before darting back upstairs to escort his wife down to dinner. Her mild protests were heard down the stairs (I am still capable of stairs Fred!)
John chuckled and toed off his shoes to change the socks. Dixon came bustling in to bring everyone to the table, and spied John's muddy shoes.
"Begging your pardon Mr Thornton, but you'll be kindly leaving your shoes by the fire. The carpets in the dining room have just been cleaned, and I shan't have more mud trekked over them"
Fred chuckled.
"I have some slippers you can borrow John, if you would take the ladies through to lunch?"
John proffered each arm to the ladies and took them through to the table.
Fred returned to the table with the slippers which were gratefully accepted and talk over the table was of John's impressions of Helstone and Fred and Dolores' plans for their child.
After an excellent repast, John checked his pocket watch, and saw he really ought to move quick to catch a train back to Milton. On his way to fetch his coat, he spied a sheet of blank writing paper on the sideboard and tore a segment off. Writing a quick missive, he tucked it inside the brooch box. Fred went down the path to hail him a cab, and Margaret waved him off at the door. He handed her the box when no one was looking, Dolores having gone back inside to seek out a cup of tea.
"I shall write to you soon," he murmured fervently, taking her fingers and pressing a chaste kiss to them.
"I will look forward to it. Thank you for agreeing to what I asked"
"Surely you know I would do anything for you?"
Margaret nodded, and clasped the hand he had kissed to her chest. A whinny of horses told them his cab was here, and he gave her one final bow and stole away. He shook Fred's hand and deposited himself in the coach.
Margaret and Fred stood together, waving him off.
"I say Migsy, I think a return visit will be in order after Christmas, what say you?"
"That would be most agreeable"
Sequestered in her room later, Margaret had a chance to open the box John had given her. She caught the little piece of paper and beamed at the pretty brooch he had given her. She turned her attention back to the paper and looked at the little note he had scribbled.
Thank you. For hope. JT
A/N: I think that was my longest chapter yet! I'm so glad we can get onto the more cheerful stuff. Let me know what you think!
Big thanks to ElizabethHades for all the help with this chapter, particularly with the Yorkshire and Spanish dialogue. And just for listening to all my ramblings.