Author's Note: This takes place in a mix of the BBC and novel universe. The timeline for both are a little difficult to figure out, but it is after Mr. Thornton has taken on Higgins and before Mr. Hale's death. I'm sticking Christmas right in the middle of it. Writing in progress, and it will be finished before Christmas day! Please leave comments!
Chapter 1
With two gloved hands, Margaret clutched the Christmas basket she had carefully arranged for the Thorntons. She had spent much longer with Nicholas and Mary than she had anticipated, and now she feared she would be interrupting a late tea or early Christmas supper.
The large wooden gate to the mill was cracked opened, and the quiet of the yard unsettled her. It reminded her of the quiet during the strike, now several months ago. Marlborough Mills was closed on Christmas Day, allowing the workers to attend church and celebrate the day with their families. She had expressed her surprise when Higgins informed her the mill closes for Christmas. Mr. Thornton's visits to Crampton were now infrequent, and although he would cite his work as the reason, Margaret knew it had more to do with avoiding her. Mr. Thornton had not spoken to her in weeks, so she could not even inquire after the challenging times for Marlborough Mills.
To Margaret's surprise, the Thornton home was dark. She climbed the stairs slowly, conscious of the fact that the last time she had stood there was when she had thrown herself in the path of the workers to prevent harm coming to Mr. Thornton. It had ultimately cost her the tentative and tense acquaintance that her and Mr. Thornton had been cultivating. So much had changed since that day. Her mother was no longer with them. Mr. Thornton was no longer a consistent presence in her or her father's life. Bessy had passed. Higgins had been out of work until Mr. Thornton took him on. And Margaret herself lived with the persistent guilt of the lie she told to protect Frederick. It had cost her a great many things, and she mourned the loss of Mr. Thornton's good opinion. She wish the Thorntons would not think of her so ill. But there was little she was willing to do about it. She knocked loudly on their door.
In Helstone, the Hales would create Christmas baskets filled with an assortment of goods for their neighbors. Though they suffered the loss of Mrs. Hale, this year would be no different. Dixon was in no humor to create baskets for "these people," and Margaret had not pressed her. Dixon had taken Mrs. Hale's death hard. So Margaret took on the task. She assembled small baskets for Mr. Hale's pupils, the Higgins family, and of course, the Thorntons. Their friends were few.
Margaret had braved the light snowfall to make her afternoon deliveries. She had taken tea and warmed up with Higgins and Mary, enjoying the joy the Boucher children had in the nuts, oranges, and small trinkets she had included in their basket. She had lingered, in part due to the trepidation she felt in seeing Mr. Thornton.
And now that it was clear she may not find him at home, she did not feel any less anxious. Margaret waited patiently for a servant, but when the door remained staunchly closed to her, she descended the stairs again. It was odd the family was away. She would have to deliver the basket tomorrow.
Margaret was halfway through the yard when she glanced towards the mill. It was not an impossibility that Mr. Thornton was working on Christmas. In fact, it would be most like him, she thought with a smile. With determination, Margaret walked to the office.
She had never been inside the mill while it was quiet. The shuffling of her dark green skirt was loud in the cavernous space. The office door was open, and she saw Mr. Thornton's jacket on his chair and open ledgers on the table. Margaret hesitated. She could leave the basket at his desk, but that seemed cold and unfeeling. He may think she was avoiding him. She gathered her courage; she would look for him.
Margaret walked through the mill, passing rows and rows of quiet looms. She called out once for Mr. Thornton but received no reply. Still, she walked slowly through the mill, certain that he was somewhere.
She found herself in the far end of the mill, an area previously unknown to her, when she heard movement. A door was propped open ahead of her. The closer she walked towards it, the louder the sound became.
"Mr. Thornton?" she said quietly, peaking her head into the room. It was a small storage room, only a little larger than the entryway at Crampton. Crates of varying sizes made the space feel confined, and Mr. Thornton was leaning over a trunk, with his sleeves rolled up. The room had one window where scant sunlight, filtered through the gray winter sky, shone through. Mr. Thornton was lit by the small glow of a gas lamp beside him.
"Mr. Thornton?" Margaret asked again. She pulled on the heavy door to open it enough to allow her in. The weight of the door surprised her, and once she stepped in, it shut behind her. Mr. Thornton turned, clearly startled.
"Miss Hale," John said, his eyebrows raising at her presence. "Do what do I owe this visit?"
"I am sorry to disturb you Mr. Thornton. I came to deliver a basket," Margaret said sheepishly, wondering at herself for having searched almost the entirety of the mill. Her cheeks warmed slightly under his inquisitive gaze.
"A basket?" John repeated.
"Yes. For Christmas. A Christmas basket. No one answered at the house," she explained, extending the basket to him. He did not take it.
"Fanny and my mother are at Watson's. For a holiday supper. The servants have the evening off," John said.
"Ah," Margaret replied, nodding. The handle squeaked under her fingers as she fidgeted.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I didn't," Margaret said quickly, eager to fill the awkward silence between them. "Well, I decided to check the office as I thought perhaps you were working. And it was clear you were. I did not think I would have to come so far to find you though," she said quietly.
"You should not wander around the mill by yourself," John said sternly. The room was cold, he was barely an arm's length away, and she felt her discomfort keenly. She did not appreciate being scolded.
"I will keep that in mind in the future," Margaret said, forcing the basket into his hand. She nodded curtly and turned to leave.
"Thank you," John said quickly, as her hand touched the doorknob. "It is kind of you, to think of us today."
"You are welcome," Margaret said. She sounded haughtier than she would have liked, but his tone had annoyed her. He was always annoying her. She tried to push the door open, but it did not move. She turned the knob, but it did not turn.
John watched her before taking a few steps to reach the door.
"May I be of assistance?" he asked. Margaret looked at him askance. His smile was almost a smirk, and she resented having to ask him for help.
"Please," Margaret said, stepping aside. John exerted very little effort in his attempt to open the door. His brow furrowed when it did not give. Margaret watched curiously as he tried again, pushing against the door with his shoulder as he tried turning the stubborn knob.
"I think it is locked. Mr. Thornton, surely you must have the key?" Margaret inquired.
"Yes," John replied, reaching into his pocket. The keyring had only one key on it, and he stuck it into the lock, turning with confidence. Only the key did not turn.
"Mr. Thornton, you need to open the door," Margaret said, watching as his continued attempts failed.
"I am attempting to do just that," John replied through clenched teeth.
"Here, let me," Margaret said, moving to the door. John quickly moved to avoid standing closer than was proper to her. Margaret attempted to turn the key in the lock, but it would not move.
"Are you certain this is the right key?" she asked, trying to pull the key out of the lock to try it again. It did not come out. "I can't take it out," Margaret said, looking back to Mr. Thornton.
"Here," John said. He pulled at the key, but it would not move. He was still holding the basket in one hand, and he handed it back to Margaret to use both hands on the door.
For several minutes, John tried to turn the key, push the door open with brute force, and jiggle the doorknob. Margaret stepped to the side when he used what limited space he had between the crates and the door to get a running start at the door. On his last attempt, he rubbed his shoulder. Margaret was about to suggest that brute force would likely not do anything, when Mr. Thornton tried the key again. Then sound of the snap echoed.
"Oh—" Margaret exclaimed as Mr. Thornton held up one half of a key. The key had broken in the lock. He looked from the lock to the key, stunned. Margaret moved to the door, her skirt brushed against him, as she knelt to look in the keyhole.
"The piece of the key is in there," she confirmed. She used her fingers to try to get it out, but the keyhole was too small even for her dainty digits. In desperation, she rattled the knob again hoping that it would just open.
"Mr. Thornton, we need to get out," she said, keeping the panic from her voice as best as she could. She could not be locked in a storage room with Mr. Thornton for any amount of time. Every second that went by was a minute they would need to account for. If they were discovered, there would be few who would believe it was an accident, and even fewer who would believe nothing untoward had happened.
"What would you suggest, Miss Hale?" he replied evenly, one hand still holding the broken key, and the other coming up to cover his mouth automatically as he contemplated the options.
Margaret looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration, then up to the window pane was the light was coming from. It was high above them, and she could tell it was too high even for Mr. Thornton to reach when standing on a crate. Margaret then dropped to her knees, examining the lock.
"Do you have any tools with you?" she asked.
"No," came his reply.
"What were you doing in here then?" Margaret asked accusingly, as if the mere act of being in this storage room, no, his audacity of owning a mill with a storage room with an unreliable lock, was the reason she was now in this situation.
"I was…" he began, his hands diving into his pockets as he looked towards the trunk he had been examining.
"Oh never mind," Margaret said, lifting herself up from the floor to examine other parts of the door. "Your mother and Miss Thornton shall be back soon, and when they do not see you home, surely they will come look for you here as I did, and they are reasonable people who will understand the situation…" Margaret said, seeking confirmation for her assumptions.
"They were planning to stay late, for dinner. It is unlikely they will be home before ten. And then, they will have to notice I have not simply retired for the evening…" John said, a hint of apology in his voice when he trailed off, as the reality of their situation dawned on them both.
"But Mr. Thornton, it is not yet five," Margaret said in disbelief.
They both moved towards the door at once, their hands reaching the knob at the same time, hers above his. Together, they tried to turn it. Then Margaret banged on the door.
"Help!" she yelled.