POLES APART

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm back! I'm so dreadfully sorry that it has taken me this long to post again but I hope that it will prove to be worth the wait!

Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review, follow and favorite! I am very proud of this story so far and I am so pleased that you all seem to be enjoying it as much as I am!

Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Margaret, who had just begun to feel more like her old self, was once again plunged into the dark abyss of depression; and this time she had no will power to claw her way out. The cold grey days which followed on the heels of the seemingly ceaseless night which Margaret's life had become was simply a physical prolonging of her mental and emotional torture.

Thornton, as was his custom, would get up even before the servants and generally spend all of his time occupied with business at the mill. Breakfast; the usual morning purgatory for Margaret, meant dining alone with Hannah Thornton. Mrs. Thornton's demeanor had certainly softened in recent weeks as the great lady had begun to recognize traits in Margaret which she herself possessed. She admired Margaret's tenacity and inner strength, and though still hurt by Margaret's rejection of her son, (caused more by jealousy than she would ever care to admit), her diminished animosity towards the poor girl was evidenced by the gentle and friendly manner shown towards Margaret. She still seemed cross and grave and proud and judgmental, though recently she had tried to punctuate her conversations with forced smiles and what, to Margaret, seemed like empty flattery. The morning after her fight with Thornton had been a true test of Margaret's self-control; though admittedly she hadn't even the strength to swat a fly, let alone start an argument with a dragon!

"I hope you slept well Ms Hale? The wind was rather fierce but I am sure that the warmth of your bed must have been invitation enough to find sweet repose last night. In fact, I am sure I need not even inquire, for your face seems to glow with renewed vigour this morning. Even your eyes seem fresh and bright." Hannah smiled awkwardly as she said this, trying to coax a smile in turn out of Margaret; but as the sweet talk was in fact a blatant lie, and as Margaret had not only never felt or looked worse, her endeavors went unrewarded.

"I slept fine Thank you Mrs. Thornton," was the only reply she was to receive; and it was offered in deadened accents with Margaret's eyes never leaving the cup of untouched coffee before her on the table. It was all she could do not to end up in a flood of tears.

Mrs. Thornton had never truly understood Ms Hale, but now suddenly she was at a complete loss. It was subtle, she knew, but it really had seemed to her that Margaret was beginning to regain some of her old energy in the past days, and yet this particular morning it was as if Margaret had reverted back to how she had been after her father's passing. Though, in truth, Mrs. Thornton no longer Hated Margaret as she had, she also could not for the life of her understand what her son saw in the girl to infatuate him so.

Shortly after breakfast a servant brought in the morning post. As Hannah sorted through it she came across an envelope directed in the neat flowing writing of what could only be a well schooled lady of quality, addressed to Ms Hale. Mrs. Thornton felt her prayers had finally been answered! The letter had to be from the Aunt at long last. She immediately extricated it from the pile and hastily carried it over to the window seat where Margaret had ensconced herself, hoping that this at least would not fail to raise the young girl's spirits.

"Why look Ms Hale, a letter! Surely it must be from your Aunt at long last," She said as she handed the letter to Margaret. She immediately returned to the heap of other unopened correspondence but her attention was solely focused upon Ms Hale to try and read her reaction to the missive currently gripped in her finger tips. Had she been privy to its contents, however; she would not have handed it over to Margaret with such enthusiasm.

Margaret had detected the note of impatience and yet eagerness in Mrs. Thornton's tone. She knew that Hannah had been keenly awaiting the day when Margaret would be collected by her Aunt and taken far way from Milton, (and her son). Up until the previous night Margaret had not been as eager to hear from her Aunt as Mrs. Thornton had obviously been, but now, given her current state of mind, she opened the seal with trembling fingers – her last hope was to be carried away from this place and all her broken dreams.

Naples; Italy

My dear Margaret,

How awful for you, to lose both mother and father in such close succession! I am sure I could not bear it were I in your shoes. I am truly saddened by the letter I received from Mr. Bell. It was such a shock to me that I couldn't get out of bed the whole day yesterday after reading it; to which my dear maid Pritchard could attest, for despite all her coaxing and threats, she was forced to concede defeat and leave me to my despair behind the drawn blinds of my chamber.

I am so relieved to know that Mr. Bell has been there to help you my dear. I had contemplated writing to Henry Lennox to beg his assistance but I believe from a letter which Edith had sent me a week or two ago, that he has become engaged and probably has his hands full with wedding matters. Thankfully, I do not believe his services will be necessary in the end, as from what I could gather from his letter, Mr. Bell seems a truly amiable gentleman and I feel sure that he will manage everything for you splendidly. For this I am doubly grateful, not only in knowing that you have such a reliable gentleman to help you manage in this difficult time but also in knowing that he has had the foresight to make alternate arrangements for your care in my absence.

Sadly, I will not be in a position to return to England very soon my dear niece. I do most sincerely wish I could return to your side as soon as may be but as I am travelling in the company of Lady Blakeley and her son, it would not be at all seemly were I to abscond from all our upcoming engagements. They have gone out of their way to cater to my every comfort and had just two days ago arranged for our journey to be extended so that we may travel back to France via Austria! Of all things, (and as I have mentioned to you on more than one occasion), I have always dreamed of travelling to Austria. On top of which, from what I read in the English papers which were brought in to me this morning, the weather across the channel has become decidedly foul and a crossing now would most certainly kill me, for you know how I detest the water in general. Why, it took nearly a whole week of waiting for calmer waters before I would even venture to put my foot on the vessel that was to take us to Calais. Thankfully, Lord Blakeley was very understanding and patient as he too refuses to travel on anything other than flat calm. To be sure I do not know how my dear Edith managed a voyage all the way to Greece, and that on the high seas!

I am so very sorry that I cannot be there to hold your hand my dearest Margaret but I know that between Mr. Bell and the ever faithful and redoubtable Dixon, you could not be in safer hands!

Do give my warmest regards to Mr. Bell when next you see him and thank him most kindly for all his consideration. Please also extend my sincerest regards to Mrs. Thornton, whom Mr. Bell assures me is one of the most respected Ladies in Milton, and tell her that I am most grateful for the generosity and kindness which she has shown towards my only niece.

I shall endeavor to write again as soon as I may have more news regarding our return.

Your loving Aunt Shaw.

This somewhat vacuous letter was not at all what Margaret had been hoping to receive. She was not a person who liked to wallow in self pity but she had been in such desperate need of comforting words that the letter's disappointing contents had fallen hard on her aching heart. It had indeed seemed of late as if all she did was wallow in her own misery and after her fall out with Thornton she was beginning to feel as if she was drowning in it. She regretted more than ever that she had burnt the letter that Frederick had sent her. It was short and though written without the knowledge of all the dreadful things that had befallen Margaret since his departure, it was warm and hopeful. Even the gentle slope of his hand writing, the familiarity of it, was a comfort to her; but she had grown so accustomed to protecting him at all costs that she had burnt his letter (as she had done with countless others before it, not truly trusting that miles of water and land could be safe guard enough to shield Frederick from those who hunted him). She had never once given any thought to the possibility of the comfort which it may have given her, most especially considering the emotional quagmire in which she now found herself and the desperate need she now had for any comfort and love she could garner, however slight or insignificant.

And what Mr. Bell had said in his letter to her Aunt when describing Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, Margaret could only guess at. Mr. Bell, always glib, must have been incredibly flattering and overly enthusiastic in his description of the mill owner and his mother, to elicit such a warm response from her notoriously snobbish relation. He, no doubt, perjured himself greatly. The thought of the type of flowery language which he must have used may even have coaxed a smile from Margaret had her mind not been so lost in her dark thoughts. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and gently rubbed her fingers against the soft warm leather of the glove which resided there. It comforted her.

That fateful night at Outwood …if only she had gone with Frederick…

The days that followed the awful quarrel in Mr. Thornton's office merged into icy grey interminable weeks. Thornton appeared to resume his tireless and ceaseless toil at the mill, only now he tried to avoid the house altogether, not even coming home for dinner anymore.

Mrs. Thornton had noticed her son's absence from the house. Not only had he been avoiding mealtimes but she had begun inspecting his bedroom in the mornings and discovered that most nights he did not return from the mill at all. After subtly interrogating the servants she learnt that he would slip back into the house in the early pre-dawn hours; change his clothes, wash and shave his face and then head back over to his office.

She knew that the stress of the mill's imminent closure was weighing hard on her son but she had never before known him to be so reclusive and obsessive with his work. On the occasions that she had taken a walk through the factory, he had been conspicuously absent; an odd occurrence for one who was supposedly spending every waking moment trying to salvage what little he could, and yet when she went through to his office he was either shut-up behind closed doors – not to be disturbed, or on many occasions he would pass her by, claiming that he was too busy to talk.

Several times when she had come to call, he had not been there at all. On these occasions, after seeking out his overseer, she would be told that he was in the employee mess having tea with the hands. The first time she was thus informed, she assumed that Williams' must either have misunderstood her, or else that he had been drinking. She couldn't credit such an absurdity! But on the second occasion that she had been told that her son, John Thornton – Master of Marlborough Mills, was to found huddled in one of the outbuildings consorting with his employees – the same merciless hooligans who several months previously would not have cared were he to drop down dead, she could not discredit it so easily. She demanded to be taken to this make shift kitchen to see the truth of these ridiculous claims for herself.

Upon entering the little shed that had been set up as the kitchen for the hands she was met with a wall of stony silence. Every spoon or cup or mouth was suspended midway through its action upon observing the grand dame (which several of the workers not so fondly referred to as the black dragon); descend upon them with all the magnificence her stiff black skirts and her disapproving scowl could conjure up.

"John?" she enquired bewilderedly after she observed him sitting at one of the rickety tables, spoon clutched in his hand as he ate with gusto whatever the kitchen had served up that day. This day it appeared to be some unidentifiable steaming brown slop; or at least so it appeared to Mrs. Thornton who could not hide the curl of her nose. Despite the sea of faces, he was instantly recognizable. His crisp white shirt seemed to glow amidst the faded grey and brown wool favoured by the hands, though like them he had rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his waistcoat.

On hearing the disapproval and disbelief expressed by his mother in that one small word, he looked up at her somewhat guiltily. The sight of her displeasure acted like a bucket of ice water being thrown over his head; with a leaden sigh and an air of dejection he placed his spoon in his bowl and with a heavy scraping of wood he pushed the bench backwards and finally stood up. He moved listlessly through the clusters of tables and preceded his mother out the door into the weak winter sunshine, knowing that he would no longer be able to avoid this conversation.

She didn't say anything more, but continued to follow him to his office.

Once there he held the door open for her and once she was inside closed it again, leaning his back against it as added precaution against interruption. His face was pale, and the fatalistic expression he wore on his brow and which clouded his eyes, almost made Hannah Thornton want to wrap her son up in her arms and soothe his cares away as she had done on countless occasions when was a young boy. She restrained herself however; he was no longer a boy but a grown man, if he had troubles they would be beyond the aid of a mothers caress; she would have to help him solve his problems like a man.

"John, what is wrong? You avoid the mill, you avoid the house, yet you eat with your employees – the lowly ungrateful wretches who but months ago would sooner have stoned you than supped with you!" she asked angrily, bitterness and hurt etched across her face.

"There is no way to salvage it Mother. We maybe have until the end of next month, but then I shall be forced to close it," he whispered as he hung his head in dejection and defeat.

"We knew it would be a possibility. It is not the end of the world John, we have overcome hardship before - you and I, and we shall do so again. At least Fanny is taken care of…" she finished lamely, feeling all the pain and loss that he felt, yet she sensed there was more he was not telling her. She walked over to where he stood slumped against the door and gently lifted his chin up so that she could look into his eyes. "What is it my son, what burden weighs so on you? What pain clouds your eyes that you would hide them from me? And don't tell me it is the mill, for I know you too well John, to not know when you are purposely trying to deceive me!"

Thornton didn't answer immediately, nor did he open his eyes. He knew his mother need only take one glance at those mirrors to his soul to know everything that was in his heart and he wasn't sure if he could tell her yet. He wasn't ashamed, but he knew that what he felt would cause her pain, something he had spent his whole life trying to avoid – causing her any more pain than she had already suffered.

After several deep breaths he realized that he would have to tell her, however hard it would be for her to accept. If she truly loved him – as he knew she did – she would have to accept it as the truth.

"I am not afraid of failure. I do not wish to disappoint you but I know that your love for me will not waiver not matter how bad things may become."

He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she merely cradled his face in her hands and with her eyes she urged him to continue.

"But no matter how hard I try Mother; your love is no longer enough. I'm sorry if that pains you but it is the truth. I have fought with this demon for months, and up until Mr. Hales passing I thought I was winning the battle…"

She pulled her hands from his face and grunted in frustration as she turned her back on him.

"Oh, if only that girl's relatives could have taken her away immediately, you would have John," she whispered dejectedly as she shut her eyes to hide her pain.

"No Mother, I was only fooling myself. If anything, those weeks of self imposed denial, made me hunger for her love even more, and the realization that that love would never be forthcoming has been like a poison, polluting my very soul! I have now become so sickened with the truth of her indifference and her preference for another that I can barely force myself to perform even the most minor of tasks. And throughout all of the struggles with the mill the only thought that plagues me day in and day out is how disgusted she will be with me when she finds out through my failure the mill shall close and all the workers shall lose the only means they have of supporting their families. The shame and ache burns through me like a fever that I have no way of cooling save for one way - a balm which shall forever be denied me."

He once again dropped his chin at this revelation, and clasped his head in his desperate hands as if trying to rid his mind of the demons that haunted it by ripping them out with his bare fists. In a defeated and almost demented murmur he begged; "Help me mother! How shall I ever overcome this?"

"I cannot understand your choice John and I certainly never shall; I hope only for your sake that her stay here is short-lived. It will not be easy to forget her but if you are not forced to see her every day it will get easier over time. I know she had a letter this morning from Mr. Bell. He is to visit here tomorrow. From the little bit that I could discover, the letter which she received last week from her Aunt was to inform her that this Grand Lady," she sneered facetiously, "would be extending her stay on the continent and was in no hurry to return to England, even to come to the rescue of her only niece! Let's hope Bell has other more fruitful plans and that they entail carrying her away from this place for good."

"Don't say that Mother, not after you have been so kind towards her. She cannot help the way she feels…"

Stung by his ready defense of the girl who was the cause of his suffering, she spun around on her heal to face him, her blue eyes flashing.

"Why do think I have been so kind to her John? I did it because I knew it would please you; that you would be glad to know that Miss Hale was not alone and isolated in her grief. But I cannot like her John. I cannot like someone who does not like you. And especially someone who has gone to such lengths to drag her own name, and all those associated with it, through the mud with her indecorous exploits! Do not tell me that that too is beyond her control!"

Her words cut through the room like steel, ripping at his heart. He knew she wouldn't say such things if she had any inkling of how much it pained him to hear it.

"Mother, please!" he pleaded. "I cannot talk of it any more. My heart is weak and my body tired. I shall spend the next few weeks tying up the loose ends and when Mr. Bell comes tomorrow I shall tell him of my plans and inform him that he shall have to find a new tenant. But I shall not tell him that we can no longer care for Margaret. Despite her feelings and her mistakes she does not deserve such treatment. We promised to look after her until such time as her family returned to England and I shall not renege on my word." Of his whole wearied speech the last words were spoken with such finality that Hannah Thornton knew better than to argue the point.

Thornton slowly moved away from the door now, and instead slumped down in the high-backed chair behind his desk. With his elbows on the desk, he rested his temple against the palms of his hands before continuing.

"How has Miss Hale been doing of late? Was she pleased to receive a letter from Mr. Bell?" he asked, not daring to look up.

Resignedly his mother answered him, attempting to sound a lot more caring than she truly felt at this precise moment; "She has been almost as bad as you John. I had thought that she was beginning to improve, but suddenly it just seemed to worsen. She hardly speaks above two words; she doesn't hear half of what I say to her and spends most of the day staring out the window overlooking the mill. I believe from Jane that she has often heard her crying in her chamber, but Jane can't be sure for her maid – Dixon, I believe – seems to prowl the corridor in front of her mistress's room chasing away all who dare linger there overlong. I could never understand that girl. I will at least allow her that much – she has always been so strong in light of everything she has had to endure, I can't understand what would cause her to sink into such a depression now when it seemed as though she had been doing so much better?"

"It is my fault," answered Thornton simply, not yet daring to look at his mother.

"How could this be your fault John?"

"We quarreled, and she left my office in tears," he admitted dejectedly.

"Quarreled? When? She has hardly left the house in weeks, yet you say she was in your office?"

"It happened a week or two ago, though I can still hear her sobs as if it were yesterday."

His mother continued to stare at him, a deep furrow between her brows, but otherwise she remained silent.

"It was late at night and she came to talk with me in my office…" he said, calling to mind the dreamlike image of her as she had entered his office that night, with snowflakes trapped in her dark curls and the thin shawl she wore draped carelessly across her shoulders.

"At night? On her own? John! How could you have allowed it?" interrupted Mrs. Thornton.

"I am fully aware of the impropriety of my actions mother…" was all he could say before she interrupted him again.

"And what of her actions, or will you attempt to defend her now again as you always have done?"

"She may have exhibited poor judgment but I should have been the one to insist that she return to the house. I did not do so however. I am long past the point of understanding or fighting against the hold she has over me. The simple truth is that I could not let her go from me when I finally had her so near, though I wish to God I had sent her back, after what transpired."

"Dear Lord John, you had better tell me all," demanded his mother.

"We quarreled mother, that is all. She had come here, ready to apologise and to explain her actions that night at the station and instead of hearing her out and judging her fairly, I told her I did not wish to hear her excuses. I told her that what she did was her own concern and I neither cared nor needed any explanation from her. I was unnecessarily cruel. I couldn't help myself. The idea of her confirming my worst nightmares was too painful to accept and in my jealous rage I lashed out at her, reducing her to tears like the bully I am. You should be ashamed of me mother – God knows I am."

"Well, it was not your finest moment by any means, but it is done, and done for the best. Her spirits are low now but with any luck, Mr. Bell will be able to cheer her up soon enough and hopefully the unpleasant encounter will help to hasten her departure. And before you bite my head off, I do not simply want to see the back of her for my sake, but now with the mill closing we shall have to find other accommodation; and promise or not we shall not be able to take her with us."

"That shall not be for another month at least mother, but you are right about one thing, with any luck, Mr. Bell brings fresh news, hopefully of her Aunts imminent return, and she shall soon be beyond the misery that Milton and Marlborough mills has brought her."

"And hopefully far beyond the reach to cause you anymore misery and suffering," quipped Mrs. Thornton waspishly.

"Her hold on me is immeasurable and infinite mother. I fear the pain I feel shall only grow stronger with each mile that separates her from me."

Mrs. Thornton had no words of comfort for her son. She could merely watch impotently as the boy she had raised into such a strong dependable man seemed to crumble before her. She realized then in that moment, what she would never have admitted to before; and that was that she would forgive Margaret any transgression, she would welcome her and love her like her own flesh, if only she could make her love her son the way she knew he deserved to be loved!