Margaret was unable to go home after her visit to Marlborough Mills. She had too much on her mind, too much to consider. Instead, she went to Princeton to visit Bessie. The streets were lined with those begging with their hands out. Margaret gave what she could to each of them. It was not enough, it would never be enough. Things would not be right until Milton returned to work, but things seemed more hopless than ever in that regard.
The unrest on the streets seemed worse; the sound of crying babies echoed through the narrow alleyways and closely packed houses, the shouting and fighting of men ringing out alongside. It was not a good place to be; so much hunger, so much tension boiling beneath the surface.
The strike had gone on long enough, and it could not last much longer without death and misery spreading like plague.
Margaret's thoughts of the strike were interrupted frequently by the image of what had just happened in Mr Thornton's office. She had been wrapped around him in the most improper way imaginable, his hand on her bare leg beneath her skirts. Her heart raced at the memory; it was the worst thing she had ever done in her life. Yet it felt glorious, just for that moment.
"Bessie, I have done something terrible." Margaret blurted out as soon as Bessie opened the door. "Truly terrible."
"Oh, go on!" Bessie's eyebrows shot into her hair as she ushered Margaret inside. "Miss Margaret Hale, doin' sommat terrible! This I must hear. Better make it good, I've no time to waste."
She gestured for Margaret to sit at the small table in the middle of the room, and Margaret did so. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to gather herself for long enough to have a reasoned discussion with her friend.
"You must make me a promise that you will not tell anyone what I am about to say. It is - it is shameful."
"Are you alright, Margaret?" Bessie said, wide eyed and suddenly serious . "You're not in trouble are you?"
"No! Yes! No, not like that!" Margaret said, catching the horrified glance her friend gave to her midsection. "Promise me."
"I swear it, I swear! What have you done, girl?"
Bessie's face was a picture of concern, and Margaret felt a wave of shame. Why had she come here, to burden her sick friend with tales of her own immorality? What did she expect Bessie to say? Surely, if Bessie knew what Margaret had done she would no longer want to know her. For a woman to accost a man in such a wanton, brazen fashion.. Oh! Who would want to know a woman like that?
"The other night, at the Thornton's dinner party I- I-" Margaret could not say the words.
"C'mon, Margaret. What could have been so bad you've worked yourself into such a state?" Bessie chuckled. "You used the wrong fork? Slapped Mrs Thornton across the face? Made eyes at Mr Thornton?"
"You are not far wrong." Margaret said quietly. "Oh Bessie! I - I was in his study, looking at his books. I should not have been in there! He came in and - and-"
"What?" Bessie said, her eyes wide and hands clasped on her knees as she leaned closer. "C'mon, out with it."
"He kissed me." Margaret said, so quietly she was not quite sure she had said anything at all.
"He what?!" Bessie squealed, though her chest was far too weak for such exerition. She coughed heavily, falling forward to lean on the table with the effort of simply trying to breathe.
Margaret stood and rubbed at her friend's back as she often did, trying to ease her stuttering breaths. After a few moments, Bessie's breathing had calmed and she waved away Margaret's hand. She looked at her friend expectantly, waiting for Margaret to continue her tale.
"I shall not tell you the rest if that is your reaction." Margaret teased. Her own breath had turned shaky and uneven, her hands shaking in her lap as she sat back down.
"Oh there's more?!" Bessie asked. "Is this going to be what finishes me off?"
Margaret frowned; she did not like it when her friend spoke so easily of death.
"Do not speak like that! No - he came for his usual lesson with father last night, a few days earlier than we had anticipated. I think - I think that he came so that he could speak with me about what happened at the dinner party. Oh heaven forgive me I do not know what came over me Bessie! For I - I kissed him! Quite without invitation, I just sort of - lunged at him."
Bessie gasped, and grabbed Margaret's hands, as though she was afraid Margaret would flee Princeton before the tale was complete.
"No! Margaret Hale, you are quite the dark horse! Kissing a handsome man like Thornton in dark corners. Ooh, I am jealous!" Bessie tittered, spluttering as she laughed.
The laughter turned to vicious coughing. Her breath was coming in sharp, painful sounding wheezes. It saddened her greatly to hear her friend struggling so; another reminder of what this terrible place did to people. Bessie was good, and honest, and kind. She did not deserve this.
"Do not joke, Bessie!" Margaret said when she was satisfied that her friend was comfortable. "It is wrong. Terribly wrong. Women have lost their reputations for less."
"Not 'round here." Bessie shrugged. A mischevious smile spread over her face. "Folk are always having a cheeky kiss and a squeeze in the back alleys!"
"Elizabeth Higgins!" Margaret said in shock. "What are you saying?!"
"Not me! And not Mary neither, Father would have our hides! You're young, you're beautiful - what a shame to waste it."
"Bessie, I do believe you have gone quite mad." Margaret exhaled shakily. "Are you angry at me?"
"Why?"
"He is your enemy!"
Bessie shook her head, her eyes sliding closed. She looked exhausted, and Margaret felt a surge of guilt for burdening her with this secret.
"He's no enemy of mine, I doubt the man would know me from Eve. Father might not be best pleased, mind, if you end up marryin' a master. I've always thought Thornton the best of the lot of them, you know that. I knew you were sweet on him! I could see it in your eyes that day you were talking about him!"
"I do not know what is going on in my mind." Margaret buried her face in her hands. "I think him the most infuriating man I have ever known."
"That's always how it starts." Bessie said, though her smile was weary. "Gosh, all this excitement has quite worn me out."
"I'm sorry, I did not mean to tire you so. Can I make you a cup of tea? Boil some water for you to breathe, anything?"
"I'm alright. I just - I just need to sleep. I'm sorry for the poor company. Will you come again tomorrow? If you can tear yourself away from-"
The sound of the door unlatching stopped Bessie, and she pressed her lips closed.
"Miss Margaret." Nicholas removed his hat. "Didn't think we'd be seein' ye again after ye dined with the masters."
"Nicholas." Margaret nodded in greeting. "How are things?"
"Quiet. It's been goin' on too long now." He said. "Folk are gettin' restless. Somethin's in the air, an' I don't much like it."
"I am sorry. I do so wish things could be resolved. I was just leaving, please excuse me."
"You and me both, Miss. Take care, I'd walk ye home myself but I've got a meetin'. Bess, you well?"
"Aye, well enough Pa. Go on, you get to meetin'."
Margaret waited until Nicholas had left, before turning to Bessie.
"You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"Who have I to tell?!" Bessie laughed. She shook her head. "No, I won't. You can trust in me. But Margaret, would it really be such a bad thing to court him, to marry him? You better be quick, you know every fine girl has their eye on 'im."
Margaret scoffed at that. It had been made very clear to her, not only by Bessie but Mrs Thornton as well, that Mr Thornton had many a woman who would like to marry him. Margaret wondered why he was not married. He was thirty, eleven years her elder, and most men of his age were long married by then. She cleared her throat; she did not care to know the reasons Mr Thornton was not married, for she was not interested in marrying him.
"I don't know Bessie. I have never thought of marriage and I certainly did not think he would even be a consideration. Yet I have somehow become entangled with him, I cannot stop thinking of him. But I do not even like him!"
Bessie smirked. Though Margaret could see the fatigue in her friend's face, this scandalous tale seemed to have brightened her spirits a little. Indeed, she laughed as she spoke.
"Course you don't. I often find myself makin' eyes at folk I can't bear."
Margaret cast her eyes downward. Bessie had a point; why had she kissed this man so many times? She really did not know. It was frustrating and infuriating.
"The way I spoke to him when I saw him today-"
"You saw him today?"
"Yes. I - I had to return a book to him that he left behind last night."
"Did you indeed?" Bessie asked with a raised eyebrow. "What a forgetful man he is."
"Anyway," Margaret continued, hoping the flush on her face was not as strong as it felt "I spoke to him most rudely. I did not mean to, but oh! He just - there is something about him that makes me quite mad. I have never spoken to anyone so bluntly, yet it was as though I could not keep the words inside."
"Oh Margaret. Go home, have a think. I'll see you tomorrow. And promise me sommet, just for me?"
"Anything."
"Please don't hate yourself for it."
"I shall try. Sleep well, Bessie."
"Keep safe, Margaret. Funny little thing that you are."
Margaret walked home, barely paying any attention to her surroundings at all. These last two days had unsettled her greatly. Her mother's illness had shaken her, surely that was the reason why her mind was so unclear at the moment. That must be it; she was so consumed with worry for her mother that she was quite incapable of making decisions.
You allowed him to kiss you before you ever found out about your mother, the treacherous voice in her mind whispered.
"Miss Hale."
At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She gasped with surprise, jolted out of her thoughts. Mr Thornton watched her, a puzzled frown on his face. Her reaction, she realised, was bizarre. She was acting quite erractically, she really did need to calm down.
"Mr Thornton!"
"What are you doing down here? It isn't safe."
They were a little way from Princeton now, though near enough that beggars still sat on the odd street corner. She could ask him why he was here; surely with all that was going on, things were more dangerous for him than they were for her.
"I am perfectly safe. I was visiting my friend Bessie, as I do most days. I was just walking home."
"I'll walk you. I'm going that way anyway."
"It really isn't-"
"I need to ask a favour of you." He interrupted her.
"Oh?" Margaret frowned; what favour could he possibly want of her?
"Do not go to Princeton tomorrow."
"Why?"
"I'm askin' you, don't go." He said. "Please."
"Why?" Margaret repeated. "What's happening tomorrow? There is something you are not telling me."
His lips were tight, his eyes looking straight ahead. His shoulders hunched a little at her questioning, and Margaret had a grave sense of dread wash over her. Something was happening tomorrow, she was certain of it.
"Promise me you will not visit your friend tomorrow, that is all."
"I promise." Margaret frowned. "Mr Thornton, I really must apologise to you for the way I spoke to you in your office. It was rude. I am afraid I did not get much sleep at all last night and I am rather like a bear with a sore head when I am in such a mood."
"If your apology is anything like the one in my study, I think I should remind you we are in public." He said in a low voice.
She opened her mouth in shock that he would speak in such a way, until she caught sight of his face. He was trying not to laugh!
"You are mocking me, sir." She straightened her shoulders and walked a little faster. "I think I shall be quite fine getting home from here, thank you Mr Thornton."
He reached out, touching her elbow. She halted at the touch, looking up at him. He snatched his hand back, and resumed walking. She followed him.
"I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to mention it. Miss Hale, I want you to know - I want-"
"Ah, Margaret!" Mr Bell waved cheerily from the other side of the street. He crossed over to them, a broad smile on his face as he tipped his hat in greeting. "And Mr Thornton, how nice to see you're both getting along. Margaret, I was on my way to see your father. Might I escort you home?"
"Of course." Margaret smiled. "Thank you Mr Thornton, I shall let you get on with your day now."
"Aye, I've much to do. Good day, Miss Hale. Bell."
Margaret watched as Mr Thornton turned and walked back the way they had just come from. She frowned; how strange. Mr Bell took her arm, and she pulled her eyes away from Mr Thornton's retreating form.
"So, my dear, where have you been today? Off doing good?"
"Just to see my friend Bessie. She is not doing so well, her chest was very bad today, I did not stay for long." Margaret said.
She wondered what Mr Bell made of her unlikely friendship with a girl like Bessie. He had stayed silent on the matter at the dinner party, save for revealing that Bessie used to work at Marlborough Mills. Why had he done that, Margaret wondered? Was he set on antagonising Mr Thornton?
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that my dear. I suppose this blasted strike has done nothing to ease her suffering."
"Indeed. Oh Mr Bell, how can anyone stand to see such division in society?"
Mr Bell merely made a funny little noise, dismissing her concern outright. Margaret frowned; it felt as though nobody had much sympathy at all for the strikers. Yes, they had caused upheaval and perhaps a total strike was not the answer but - they were human beings, and they were suffering. Children were near death, and nobody seemed inclined to do anything much to stop it.
"Come, Margaret. There will always be the rich and the poor, that is just the way of things."
"But must the poor suffer so? The crying of the babies, Mr Bell, I hear it when I close my eyes. It is truly dreadful to know that they suffer so greatly when there is no difference to my own life. Things continue as they always have done, yet others near death."
"Do not upset yourself, my dear. You do what you can to help them, I am sure of it. Let us talk of nicer things. I did not know you and Mr Thornton were such good friends."
"We are not! I mean, he happened upon me walking home and offered to escort me. That is all."
"Well, that was certainly good of him, and now it is my honour to escort you the rest of the way."
Margaret scarcely heard the rest of Mr Bell's incessant chatter as they walked home. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of Bessie's words, Mr Thornton's warning - and the memory of his body pressed tight against hers.
That night, Margaret sat at her desk. She had written the letter to Frederick more than a dozen times, each copy lying discarded and crossed out in the hearth of the fireplace. It should have been a simple letter to write.
Mother is dying. We need you. Come home.
Each time she wrote about her mother's condition, tears fell unbidden from her eyes, smudging the ink and making it impossible to see. It was most frustrating; her mother did not need her tears, she needed this help in writing to Frederick. She should have posted the letter today, yet it was not ready. It would not do to delay it a moment longer.
Fred,
Mother is gravely ill and I know it would do her so much good to see you. Please, come home. I would not ask you if it was not truly urgent. Keep safe, but please make haste. It will take several weeks for this to reach you I know, but I fear there is not much time. Be careful.
Your sister,
Margaret
She addressed the envelope, imagining Frederick far away in Cadiz. He wrote to them quite often, though not often enough for Margaret. She could not get enough of his letters; she missed him most desperately, and the snatched tidbits of news he offered his family were never enough. Was he happy? A life in exile could not be an easy thing to bear, and she hoped that he had friends who gave him comfort. She could not stand to think of him lonely under the Spanish sky.
Tucking the envelope safely in the crook of her arm, Margaret made her way to bed. She placed the envelope beside her bed. Readying herself for bed, Margaret washed her face in the small basin by her window. Once she was clean, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
She raised a hand to her lips, touching them just once with her fingertip. She flushed red at the memory of Mr Thornton's lips on hers - too many times. It had happened far too often, and it would certainly not happen again. She had lost her mind, playing these foolish games with a man she did not care for. She certainly did not wish to marry him, yet she did not understand why she was drawn to him in such a wanton way. She shut her eyes.
No, she most definitely did not care for Mr Thornton.