.
.
But, oh, to get involved in the exchange
Of human emotions
Is ever so, ever so satisfying
And there's no map
And the compass
Wouldn't help at all
There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic
Björk - Human behaviour
.
.
.
Mr. Bell worried a lot about his young charge. She'd always been poised and polite, focussing on others instead of herself and content to take a backseat. During the trip to Spain Margaret didn't break habit. She fussed over him as he suffered from a particularly nasty cough, puked from seasickness and was generally in poor health. He understood her worry, having just lost both her parents, but he was annoyed that she clearly suffered and yet still decided to push her suffering to the side to assist him. There was no one looking after her anymore after all, she'd been forced to leave her maid Dixon at home. And had left the little poor servant girl behind as well, she'd cried a good deal when she'd come home from saying goodbye to the Higginses.
'Margaret, dear, I wish to talk to you about something.'
The girl looked at him with her big green worried eyes, nodding severely.
'Now I know you like to deal with your emotions in private, but I feel I must talk to you since I know your brother shall indulge you and you do not have parents left to give you advice. Do not think, because I have seen little of you, that I do not know you. You are overall calm and collected, but I have noticed you are suffering.'
She wished to protest but he raised his hand. She closed her mouth again, but it was still stuck in its petulant tilt.
'You try to supress it, perhaps even in private. You focus on an old man instead of yourself while you obviously have a lot to sort through and I am simply suffering a small illness. This will not do Margaret, dear girl. Do take the time to mourn. Your father has also done like you, pushing his emotional turmoil to the side for years until it became unbearable and only one solution remained.'
The girl looked visibly distraught, she had not yet compared her behaviour to that of her father.
'I wish for you to become happy again, Margaret. I don't know how life has been for you in Liverpool, but judging by the looks of your departure the city has accepted you, while I know there is a big difference in mindset and way of life between North and South. It is sad you had to be uprooted yet again and must now move cities for a fourth time within a year. However, change is inevitable and I do hope you won't let any mourning for your parents or Liverpool get into the way of adapting to life in Spain. The very nature of all things human lays in its instability: life constantly changes, feelings change, people change. You can either accept that change is a part of life, and survive the constant whirlwind of change, or be lost. Margaret, I want you to be happy. I want you to process everything and I want you to try and find joy again in your new setting. I'm not saying you should forget, you can move on though still treasure your memories. Do you understand? You are young dear girl. Try to laugh, find friends, do things you're not supposed to, fall in love, share your life. Don't suffer in silence, and don't carry your memories as a burden.'
The girl was visibly moved by Mr. Bell's speech. She laid her hand tenderly on his.
'Thank you, Mr. Bell. I truly appreciate it. Though I hope you won't be disappointed if I don't immediately show sign of a change.'
'To change is hard, dear girl.'
He could only guess what was happening in her mind right now.
'I'll leave you to your thoughts. I'm going to bed, perhaps some sleep shall restore my strength.'
Margaret remained behind on the dark deck, sorting through all her thoughts. Mr. Bell had successfully drawn her existential crisis to the forefront of her mind. Change, the very thing she had been unable to accept in her life. That inability had overshadowed almost her entire experience in Liverpool.
Unable to let Helstone go, she'd spent a long time loathing Liverpool and every way in which the city and its people differed from her old hometown.
Unable to let go of the idea she had of herself as a daughter and a maiden, she hadn't recognized love or accepted herself as someone who could one day marry. She'd never been able to envision herself as a lover.
And lastly, where her thoughts halted: she had been unable to transition into a new kind of relationship with Mr. Thornton.
She'd been starting to get better at letting go, but Mr. Bell was right. It was a problem of hers. A problem that had made it hard for her to get settled into Liverpool. It had also caused her a lot of trouble during her stay. Chances were she could very well carry it with her to Spain.
••••••
.
••••••
.
••••••
.
Mr. Bell and Margaret arrived safely in Cádiz. But after having lived in Liverpool and London, the city didn't feel as shocking to her as it once might have. It was a harbour town, something she was now quite used to. The diversity and the crowds didn't overwhelm her, and the city itself reminded her of London in some ways. Everywhere there stood beautiful historical buildings, the roads were old and monuments were present everywhere. She gazed at it all as she and Mr. Bell were escorted out of the city by her brother.
Their road lead them across a very long bridge which had been built in 1812. Anywhere Margaret looked she could see ships coming in from all directions: large frigates, small fishing boats and large merchant ships such as her friends from Liverpool possessed. The thought of Liverpool brought her some sadness just as she'd been enjoying the new city.
He apparently lived close to Cádiz but not in it, he'd simply picked up the letters at the post office all this time, it wasn't far removed from his work anyway. The address Margaret's family had been sending to, had been the address of the postal office. The office didn't consider this strange. He was far from the only man not wanting to be found in the city. He trusted his family completely, but he also trusted the English to be meddlesome and set on revenge, so he'd never given a fixed address, just in case the correspondence from the Hales was ever picked up.
The carriage they sat on was the carriage of the printing press firm he worked for. He and his wife's brothers were in charge of it, so they used the carriage after hours for their private use as well. Margaret's heart almost jumped out of her chest when the carriage halted in front of quite a large white house in a palm tree lane looking out over what was apparently the 'Ria de San Pedro' which translated to the river of Saint Peter. Margaret committed the word ria to memory for later use.
After living in London, and eight months of living in an encapsulated house only overlooking a grey street and the backs of other houses she was excited to strike up residence in a house facing an unlimited horizon, showing sky and sea as far as the eye could see. Something about the vastness of the horizon moved something in her heart, but before her feet could strike up root on the street her brother pushed her inside.
The ceiling was low and the interior of the house didn't quite reflect the neat outside, however it felt cool compared to the outdoor heat and looked cosy and comfortable.
A Helstone sitting room away from home, Margaret realized.
Her brother cried something in Spanish, with a light female voice responding back in Spanish. Frederick left to carry some more bags inside, and so she and Mr. Bell were alone when a woman dressed in a simple red dress with short sleeves. Margaret was surprised at the short sleeves during daytime, but the woman appeared to be quite comfortable with her dress.
'Are you his zistair?'
Margaret nodded and the woman smiled. She was indeed beautiful. Her red lips were red and large, and seemed to be constantly smiling, her thin black brows were curved in a manner that gave her a friendly appearance as well. Everything about her face seemed to be happy and pretty, and was altogether very different from Margaret's face which had a general air of reserve even when she wasn't aware of her expression.
'My zistair too. Room?'
The woman had obviously been learning to talk English for a while, but sentences were still something she struggled with, so she often resorted to keeping her talk as simple as possible. She understood more than she could say however, and seemed to get every answer Margaret gave to her questions.
Margaret had received a room on the frontside of the house, which would be warmer, but offered a lovely seaside view. Margaret didn't mind to pay such a small price for a room which had both a great view and a nice amount of space. Everything had been done to make Margaret feel welcome, even dinner had been an English pie instead of a traditional Spanish dish. Apparently her brother greatly appreciated the Spanish cuisine but had been trying to teach his wife some English dishes in case Margaret preferred the flavours from her homeland.
Mr. Bell bit back the pain and looked on in contentment as Margaret was reunited with her brother, and managed to smile more than she had during the entirety of the trip, even though the siblings spent a large part of the night reminiscing and mourning their parents. The next morning they were ambushed by Julia's brothers who came barging in through the back door. They were around her brother's age and lived right next door. It was only then that Margaret stepped into the garden and realized there was one garden for the three houses laying beside each other because each house was in the possession of Julia's family. Her brother had married for love, but he had married very well.
Julia took Margaret out to show her around town before it got too hot, and Mr. Bell remained behind since he wasn't strong enough to stand the heat and exercise. Margaret wasn't either at first, since the two women returned within a quarter hour so Margaret could change. The two layers of shifts, the corset and the heavy English fabric of her dress had made her burst a sweat within the first couple of minutes. Spain was as hot, or perhaps even hotter, than a crowded ballroom at midnight. Margaret felt quite naked walking around in a light shift and a white dress with midi sleeves after almost a year spent in a Northern climate.
On the street many other ladies still wore darker colours, some even wore spencers.
'The temperature is normal for ..' Julia pointed out a couple of women to make up for her lack of words. Margaret simply nodded. She enjoyed everything she saw, but the loss of her parents still weighed her down. Each step on Spanish soil was taken because of their deaths. They would never get to see their son again, laugh again. Though she knew they were probably looking down on them.
Margaret now knew where the church, the baker, a shopping street and a beach were located, before they returned home. Mr. Bell was pleased to see that, every now and then, his goddaughter was smiling.
Feeling his end was near, but knowing Margaret had felt bad about having been unable to say goodbye to her parents, he summoned her that evening. They gathered in a drawing room in private for their talk.
The girl couldn't stop her tears that night as Mr. Bell explained that he had given up hope of getting better, and had deliberately spent his last few weeks making sure his goddaughter would be happy and well off. It had been his duty as a godfather to look out for her, and had planned on doing so for a longer time, but he'd gotten ill so quickly he'd had to revise his plans and had instead prepared everything in such way that she would be settled for the rest of her life. He left her in possession of all his goods, money, as well as a list of names of people who she could contact that still owed him favours.
That night, the last remaining parental figure of Margaret died, and no amount of money could soften that blow.
Frederick and Julia talked, Margaret heard, most often in Spanish but sometimes in English as well. They were discussing her. One head of long thick black hair and another topped with short blond hair leaning closely towards each other, both their hands united on a belly which showed the first signs of swelling at four months of pregnancy. The image of a perfect happy young couple, if it wasn't for Margaret. They worried for her, and worst of all Margaret knew they worried.
But she couldn't bring herself to go on as she had before. Her sadness had been great when her mother fell ill, but she'd gone on to arrange the household and take care of her. When her mother died, she'd soldiered on for her father. After her father died she'd focussed on wrapping up all their business, but now she was left without purpose. The house didn't need cleaning, and there was no person to take care of. She had nothing going for her, nothing to focus on instead of the overwhelming months of pent up sadness and loss.
She couldn't focus on a book, couldn't bring herself to paint, she could barely bring herself to gaze out of the window, but the beautiful sights brought her tears instead of peace. Spain had meant to heal her, but everything got worse before it got better.
Her brother tried desperately to catch up, spending entire nights sitting in the garden or in the sitting room with his sister. But life in Liverpool was still a sensitive topic. Her parents were dead, and she shared them with her brother, but Liverpool was alive and hers. There her friends woke up and went about their day without her. There Mary and Fanny and Sir Aldridge were preparing their weddings, transcending into the next phase of their lives. Margaret's heart was too full, too sore. And he couldn't get it out of her.
His young wife, had been unsure how to approach her new sister-in-law. Her brother had talked about her in the most loving terms. Of course, his memories had been of her as a young girl while she was now a fully grown woman only two years younger than she herself. Yet Margaret appeared much older than her, her gaze was weary and distant, her shoulders proud even when she felt defeated, and nothing she herself delighted in could bring a smile to Margaret's cheeks.
Even on days she had felt down herself during her teenage years, and now during the bad days of pregnancy, she hadn't been able to refuse a good meal, but even the dishes Frederick had told her Margaret loved were barely touched. Whatever went on inside that head, it was beyond anything Julia was experienced with. But she could only watch her husband try and cry so much before she felt forced to undertake something, though she didn't know how or what.
After Frederick went to work, Julia approached the girl who'd been sitting in the drawing room, staring outside, another closed book on her lap.
'No reading?'
Margaret shook her head. She'd tried learning Spanish, she'd picked up a few words while listening, but she could never sit down to actually study. Nothing went in.
'Can't. I can't focus. Distracted', Margaret explained in the simplest of terms while pointing at her head in another attempt to bridge the language gap.
But that Julia understood. She couldn't count the number of times she hadn't been able to focus because her thoughts had been too full. She couldn't pay attention to anything her friends or family told her when she was looking at a beautiful sunset or starry sky. She couldn't focus on a book during the first months she was in love. But one thing helped.
She got an empty book, a quill and a pot of ink out of a drawer and set it on a table.
'Sometimes, things need to be out. After new things can come in.'
Margaret looked at the book in wonder.
'You suggest I write?'
'Diary. Story. Pintar. Create.'
Margaret remembered wondering whether she herself could create a story. She remembered she'd wondered whether she could write a story about her brother and publish it as a social critique. She hadn't been able to talk about Liverpool with her brother, but perhaps she could write about it
••••••
.
••••••
.
••••••
.
When her brother came home that evening, his wife surprised him with the news that Margaret hadn't left the drawing room since morning. Her brother feared his sister had sank even further, but when he entered the blue drawing room he was shocked to see his sister bent over a desk, writing at a fast pace, nearing the end of a book. She noticed him and threw him a self-conscious smile.
'No no, do continue, dinner won't be ready just yet. I just came eh- to collect a book, yes.'
When she came downstairs that evening, he seemed to notice the slightest difference in his sister.
After dinner she slipped upstairs again, and spent days and days in the drawing room, until one day she finally exited, her fingers cramping but her shoulders a good deal lighter.
Margaret's spiral towards numbness halted. The sadness continued unperturbed, but the despair had turned and transformed into something entirely else. Instead it was replaced with resolve and determination.
She didn't need any more deaths to realise how fleeting life was. Life was fleeting, and at least two of the people who died had said her in as much words that she had to have a full life. Now it was time for her to honour the dead by fulfilling their wishes, no matter how hard it was for her to move on. No matter how much she wished to wallow in bed. She would go on. She would live. She would persevere. She would be happy. She'd done it before, she could settle in a town and make it her home again. And this time, she wouldn't hide behind duty or any other excuse to avoid living.
Her mother had given in to self-pity and had wasted away in Helstone and Liverpool, forever having a sweeter memory of her life as a socialite despite living a more meaningful life with the man she loved.
Her father had suffered underneath silently carried burdens for decades before he finally confronted them.
Bessy had never been able to live a full life.
Mr. Bell had wished for Margaret to have a full life and to stop her self-destructive ways which until now she'd considered a proper and rational way of conduct.
She would learn from their mistakes and live the life they'd hoped she'd have.
••••••
.
••••••
.
••••••
.
Across the North Sea sat a man, his shoulders slumped because of the weight laying on top of them. They were strong shoulders, but the weight was enormous and he bore it all alone. No books, no friends, but his mother knew. Yes, she had become his confidante because he could no longer hide his affairs hoping for a happy ending to the year.
Yet, his business wasn't on his mind that evening, what had distracted him that particular evening was the news he'd heard during a dinner party. It had been Margaret's friend Miss Gallagher who'd delivered the news which was eating at him right now as he sat in his big armchair in front of the fireplace.
Apparently Spain was lovely. Margaret had spent almost an entire page of a letter talking about palm trees and buildings she'd seen. This was said by Sir Aldridge, who had received a letter from her as well. Margaret had given him details about the city planning and nature since she knew he took great interest in the topic.
Miss Gallagher in turn had laughed and declared she was relieved when she received her first letter from Margaret since her departure and that the tone was as light as one could expect. She was delighted that Margaret got along very well with her distant cousin and his wife, and had already taken in a stray cat which had kept on following her around. But that was not what had him so occupied. She'd also said Margaret could get along very well with the brothers of her cousin's wife who liked to play music for them at night, and she'd even visited town a couple of times to spend the evening dancing with everyone. After that notion the women had started giggling about dark and handsome Spaniards.
It was this which had caused him to retire and remain in his office with a glass of bourbon, something he rarely allowed himself to do. As he looked into the burning fire in front of him, he could almost imagine her in a pretty dress, being swept through the room by dark, slight, elegant handsome men. He imagined her smiling, one of her gentle but earnest smiles she'd occasionally treated him to but was more often directed at Miss Gallagher and Sir Edward.
He could just about imagine the effect her bright smile and green eyes, a rare trait in Spain he didn't doubt, had on the men. But they were doing well with their firm, had family connections, and were in his imagination just as handsome as the women had envisioned over dinner. In his mind they could not be more different from his rough, stern and strong built.
He took another sip, trying to burn away the fierce agony his jealousy brought forth. How he would lay his life at her feet for such a tender glance and fond attention!
The only times she'd been in his arms had been once for a dance, once during the failed raid, and once when she'd fallen off of a statue. He smiled humourlessly when he remembered how worked up he'd gotten over that dance and that embrace. He'd sought so much behind it, while if he'd been realistic for a couple of seconds, he would have known her movements hadn't had anything emotional to them. Her dances with Mr. Ball and Sir Edward had shown how she danced when she felt comfortable around someone.
Would she dance with those brothers like she had danced with him? Or would she dance with them the way she danced with Sir Edward, smiling and touching with confidence?
He knew he had never been so irritable as he was now, during his entire life. He felt inclined to give short answers and barked more than he spoke to everyone who approached him. He knew it was bad behaviour, and it hurt his pride that even his impeccable self-control was starting to slip. He promised himself that after this night he would reign it in.
Margaret may be lost to him, and she might find herself enamoured with the smooth Spanish charm of her extended family, but he would still strive to be a man worthy of her. He would never be like Sir Aldridge or like those Spanish brothers, but he would at least try to act in a way she'd approve of. He would never forget the genuine hope he'd felt when her eyes had grown soft in the Strabolgi's maze, or the way she'd looked at him when he'd caught her after she fell. That had been the only time he hadn't felt like he was unfit to love her.
He was more silent than usual at home; employing his evenings in a continual pace backwards and forwards. His mother however, was more worried than annoyed, and allowed her beloved son to continue his behavior if it gave him any kind of comfort.
••••••
.
••••••
.
••••••
.
'Well good evening, ladies. Ladies?'
Frederick Hale walked through an empty hall and sitting room, and found the fish merrily simmering on the stove in the kitchen. Nowhere he could find his wife or his sister. He was just on his way upstairs when he heard laughter.
Intrigued, he followed the sound towards the garden. There, his youngest brother-in-law was playing on his guitar as the ladies were painting the particularly beautiful sunset. Their conversation alternated between English and Spanish. He looked on quietly for a moment, glad that his sister was growing more active each day.
'Ah, there you all are. How was your day?'
'Oh, fine.'
'I took her to the beach today. By the way she looks at the waves I think it might just be a matter of time before I'll be able to tempt her to get into the sea. She received a letter from one of her friends as well and she didn't become glum. And her Spanish is improving too. She even managed to get the genders of most of the words right', his wife laughed in Spanish.
He gave his wife a kiss and rubbed her growing belly before greeting his sister.
'It looks beautiful Margaret, way better than the paintings mother forced me to smile and nod at when you were younger.'
'Frederick, I was a child! What an awful thing to say. Now I know I'm not good, but there's no need to say such truths to a child.'
'That's why I say it now. You've made wonderful progress.' She was still a good deal worse than his wife though. 'I do think Young Margaret would have survived though. You were shy but you never had any problem talking back when you thought anyone did you or someone else injustice.'
'It's a family trait', Margaret shrugged before returning to her painting.
'Margaret Hale, was that a joke? You? Why, I hadn't thought you capable of it.'
'Enough with these insults, your poor sister!' cried Manuel, jumping up and pushing his guitar into Frederick's hands.
'Had you talked to my sister that way, I would not have allowed you to marry her. Señorita, your brother is cruel. It is a miracle he managed to seduce my sister if this is how he talks to other women.'
'It is fine, Manuel.'
'No, no. Frederick. You do not call your sister both without skill and without humour in minutes. Apologize.'
Everyone was smiling, taking the whole affair light heartedly. 'I apologize, dearest Margaret, for offending and insulting you. You are still an amazing woman after all, and a far better child of your father than I ever was. I mock your art yet cannot paint myself, and I don't know half as much as you do.'
Margaret had the decency to blush, and was surprised at the statement. She'd always considered him the golden son of their home, her mother's favourite child. But she'd never realized, she'd been her father's favourite because she was a good deal more careful, pious, studious and temperate than her brother.
'Apologies accepted.' Margaret replied in Spanish.
'The food is ready, or rather, almost burning!' cried their housemaid. The second brother; Jaime, was quickly fetched and everyone went inside to eat.
After dinner, the brothers remained downstairs with Julia, as Margaret took Frederick upstairs to what had effectively become her drawing room.
'I know you've been wondering what I spent doing here all this time.'
Her brother, who had never learned to filter his words or pretend to be anything he wasn't because his behaviour was always tolerated and appreciated by all those around him, nodded.
'I admit, I kind of did wonder. Did it have something to do with those notebooks?'
'Julia suggested I should write, when my head is too full to read. It worked very therapeutic at first, but then it became addictive. And now I regularly find my fingers itching whenever an idea pops up in my head, or a memory. It helped me put my feelings into words, to analyse them, to interpret them. It was safer this way. The last year has been so much… so whenever my feelings became overwhelming, I pushed them back to focus. But in the safety of this room, now that everything's behind me, and I had all the time… Well.'
Margaret walked to her desk and ruffled through the books, procuring one and carrying it back to him.
'Lately, I've been transforming certain events into pieces I wouldn't mind others reading.'
'You mean books?'
'That sounds so serious, I don't dare say this is anything near as good. But you can have this one if you like, it's yours.'
'Mine?'
'You'll have to read it, Fred.'
And read he did. As a matter of fact, he couldn't put it down for the remainder of the night, and stormed into her room right before the break of dawn.
Margaret woke up, quickly pulling up her covers as she stared at the figure in the door in shock.
'Frederick?'
'You got quite a few things wrong about life on a ship, but damn Margaret, this… This is… Unbelievable. Would you mind if we publish this?'
'Publish?'
'Well, you changed names and situations more than enough. But the story, the adventure, the happy ending, the moral lessons, it's brilliant. Me and the family will do our best to do your words justice as we translate it into Spanish, though I want to publish it in English as well. Do you – do you approve?'
Margaret was too shocked to answer. She? A published author?
'Do you have more books?'
'I do, one. I'm still finishing up others. But I don't know if those are fit to …'
'I can't believe you've made me into such a hero while I just stood up for what was right once.. Well, once in a way worthy of any mention. And that was considered my worst crime at the same time. Are the other ones about sea-farers as well?'
'Actually…'
Thanks so much for reading everyone, I'm overjoyed with the response I've received to the last chapter. I deliberately didn't delve too deep into Margaret's head. I want her personal journey and thoughts to private, so that she is about as closed off to us as she is towards the other characters. She has kind of lost her purpose and voice, both in her own life and in this story, but we will start seeing more of her mind again in the next chapters. I really want Margaret to be better off in my story than in the original book, which was kind of bitter sweet in my mind. Also, I know this chapter went by very fast but I want to say that it spans from the middle of April to early July. The reason why it goes so fast is because Margaret spends a long time in her morose state, and it takes a long time for her to get to the point where she is at the ending of the chapter, but I didn't feel like drawing out that part since it isn't the focuss of my story.
Now a little challenge for you dear readers, I only have about six chapters to go (unless I'm going to split future chapters up, which could happen). Now I'm excited to perhaps hear some guesses. Now I won't tell, but it would endlessly amuse me :)
The music:
- Björk "Human Behaviour" for Margaret's part, I think upon listening it becomes clear why.
- Lykke Li "Possibility" (or: how to spot a former Twihard in 2020) for John's part. He's obviously dealing with serious business troubles, but he's also suffering his first heartbreak. A heartbreak that's currently being worsened because of jealousy. Now we know from the books that he was quite obsessed with Margaret's potential lover (which I've cut out because it didn't fit in with my story), so I made him show some bits of jealousy with Mr. Ball, Sir Edward and now with her brothers-in-law. His heart is really dying, the poor man needs some love and luck but he obviously isn't getting it. Ever since she left, his trouble has only grown. His last bit of happiness and hope did leave on that boat with her. 'All I gon' get, is gone with your step' and 'I fall when you leave' is quite literally what's happening to him.
- Govi "Noches en Andalucía": the song I imagine Manuel to be playing a version of.