POLES APART

A/N: I'm so sorry for leaving you all for such a long time. Thank you for all the kind words of encouragement and I can assure you that though the updates may be few and far between I have no intention of abandoning this story.

I hope you enjoy this next instalment!

Thanks again!

Chapter 9:

When Mary had walked through the door only a few short moments later she was taken aback at the faces that stared at her through the gloaming, but the tale soon being told she didn't have much time to revel in their society or to share in the good cheer as she was soon after requested by Mr Thornton to accompany Margaret back towards the main street so that she might hire a chair to take her home.

Margaret capitulated rather meekly to this somewhat solemn decree when it was issued. Thornton, his mind and heart on other more pressing matters had not noticed anything untoward in her rather amenable behaviour but the sharp eyes of Nicholas Higgins had not missed it.

Margaret knew that she had tested Mr Thornton enough for one day. She had wanted to punish him for his callous and cruel treatment of her that night at the mill but she didn't really want to hurt him. She knew that with all he had so lately had to endure his patience was worn thin and his pride low.

He had, in point of fact, agreed to her every whim. They had of course agued first, but now that she looked back on it she realized that throughout the course of their relatively short acquaintance this was always the case. They would each argue tooth and nail that they were in the right but in the end he would do whatever would make her happy.

He had not only shown his kindness towards her and her family by sending fruit for her dying mother or by keeping her father company when his spirits where worn so low after her mother's passing; but when she had asked him to address the rioters that fateful day, he had done so at his own peril. He had also saved her reputation and unknowingly the fate of her brother when he had quashed the inquest into that man's death at the station; and he had even taken on Nicholas Higgins, a firebrand he had always believed to be his arch enemy and not only befriended him but even allowed him to make suggestions for the better running of the mill and better treatment of the hands. And finally, despite all his wounded pride and possibly even his broken heart he had taken Margaret into his home when she had been abandoned by all those who were supposed to care for her.

She had realized the true worth of the man many weeks if not months ago, but now as it always is when one is governed by pride, this acknowledgement came too late. She knew that he would not have her. She had even, in part, reconciled herself to that fact, but if only he could forgive her. If only she could in some way repay his kindness to her. If only in some way she could aid him in his hour of need.

Well, she would continue in her mission to do just that, but in the interim she would at least try not to tease him too much. She would save her energy for the important causes and she would let him win the small battles that were all in all of small consequence.

Nicholas could see the spark of love kindling in Miss Margaret's hazel eyes while all these thoughts ruminated in her mind, but he would leave the two of them to recognize that spark for themselves… though he hoped they would make quick about it, for he feared that otherwise he would be called on to play mediator again before too long – a task he relished almost as much as having to look after all of children on his own!

Xxx

The days following their tentative truce passed in calm and were to Margaret unalloyed by argument or pain. It had seemed to her so long since she could honestly say that she had enjoyed herself, that the carefree and pleasurable feeling that seemed to pervade her soul seemed almost alien to her. Though her first few days of honest work were trying and somewhat nerve-wracking she had still been unable to refrain from smiling whenever the conversation in the evenings lulled to a silence.

Mrs. Thornton had not been feeling very well, having caught a slight chill, but determined not to leave her son and Ms Hale alone had sat up with them in the evening. She had been quick to notice the change in Margaret. Her cheeks seemed rosier and her eyes brighter. And she had noticed the becoming smile that crept onto Margaret's face when she thought no one was looking.

She was glad that Margaret's spirits seemed so much improved but she wished with all her heart that the girl would not smile so. Ms Hale was an attractive young girl in the worst of circumstances but when she smiled; especially such an innocent all encompassing warm-hearted smile, then it would seem to Mrs Thornton's keen eye that she had the ability to halt armies in their tracks. She had noticed how often her son cast his eyes in Margaret's direction on these evenings. She had also noticed the gleam of desire in those azure orbs when they were trained upon their target! No, she would suffer through her cold in the draughty sitting room, but abandon her post as chaperon she would most certainly not do!

During this time Thornton had also taken on some of his new duties, though admittedly with less enthusiasm and relish than Margaret had hers. But he did not know how to do a job half-heartedly; it was do a thing properly or don't do it at all, and though his pride may have been bruised by the failure of his mill he was not so proud as to be afraid of honest hard labour to support his family.

It was strange that he thought of Margaret as part of his family, but that is precisely how he did view her. It had been almost three months since she had arrived on his doorstep, but for the generosity of Mr Bell - destitute and alone; and in that time his resolve had vacillated between wishing her relatives would return to England to claim her and yearning that they would instead decide that it was too much bother and rather leave her in Milton with him.

But with the passing of time he had begun to hope that maybe the latter was true. He knew that Margaret did receive the odd letter from her Aunt or Cousin but as yet nothing had been related to either his mother or himself of their imminent return or of Margaret's imminent departure.

He had however had a letter one morning from Mr Bell. It had been terse and perfunctory and other than a few inane pleasantries which Thornton skipped over simply meant to inform Thornton that he would be making a turn in at the mill the following evening and would appreciate a few moments of private conversation. Thornton had believed that it must have something to do with the new tenant at the mill and only hoped that Mr Bell had not changed his mind about allowing them to remain in the house. He did not worry for himself but he dreaded the thought of causing his mother more pain or shame; and as for Margaret, he would not be surprised if such a move wouldn't cause her to decide to take on a second position simply to help pay the rent. Just the thought made him shudder.

But in the end, Thornton was very much mistaken, for Bell had quite another purpose in mind.

"Having had a few disagreements with you about what was best for Margaret and having to tip-toe around your Pride Thornton, I must say I was rather surprised to learn that although you were too proud and stubborn to accept my aid in caring for Margaret, you seemed to have no qualms in setting her to care for herself. Or perhaps the reports I have had have been erroneous?" enquired Bell, eyeing Thornton languidly over the brim of his glass that following evening as the two gentlemen sat in Thornton's study after dinner, lazily yet guardedly relaxing before the fire. His tone was not hostile or aggressive but he had been greatly disturbed by what he had been told and though he would not credit the truth of it until he had heard it from Thornton's own lips he also knew that the best way to get the truth out of John Thornton was to get him angry. When he was riled he was less guarded in his emotion and his language - the Sphinx had studied the Master well.

"My Pride?" asked Thornton ironically. "Yes, should I still possess such a thing I would indeed be wounded by the current state of affairs; but as I do not - thanks in part to my straightened circumstances but more to the fact that ever since entering my house it has seemed to be Ms Hales sole mission in life to destroy 'my pride' - I thankfully do not suffer at all anymore." Thornton had been daydreaming, wondering what Ms Hale was doing at that precise moment; and as his thoughts had been so pleasantly engaged he had failed to take the bait which Bell had so graciously offered him.

Bell could not hide the slight curl that twisted about his lips. To see a man of John Thornton's mien be brought down by someone as fair and genteel as his little god-daughter filled Mr Bell with barely disguised mirth.

"Indeed? Well then dear Margaret is to be congratulated I see; Pride is an unnecessary encumbrance my dear sir, you shall fair much better off without it. But of course you have carefully avoided answering my question," said Bell, slowly crossing his legs as he continued to eye Thornton who stood regally beside the fireplace.

"I do not believe you asked one sir, except to inquire as to whether the reports you have received about my pride being overcome where indeed true, and I believe I have answered that question," replied Thornton indifferently. With the Mill now being closed and a lot of the stresses which John had been labouring under these last few months now thankfully removed from his list of cares, he found sparks of his old character returning. Of course it had helped that in the last week or so he and Margaret had seemed to reach a sort of unspoken truce, and during this cessation of hostilities they found not only a mutual understanding but had even begun to cultivate a renewed friendship.

Mrs Thornton who had been labouring under her cold but still determined not to abandon her post as chaperone, was dreadfully miserable and due to her sore throat most nights was barely able to utter more than a few frivolous common places. The course of their usual evenings conversation therefore was left solely to Margaret and Thornton to direct and though haltingly at first, it gradually began to pick up momentum as the two of them grew more accustomed to each other; and the uneasy peace that existed began to become more the rule rather than the exception.

Thornton began to realize that the best part of his day was when he was able to return home in the evenings and have a few hours in which to spend in Margaret's company. This pleasure had had a marked impact on his demeanour and many who knew him could hardly countenance it, but they were so pleased by his more cheerful disposition that they daren't mention it lest by raising the issue they may inadvertently cause the beast to awaken.

For once, Bell was the one left wrong-footed. He truly had not expected such a calm retort from Thornton and though he was at no loss to figure out why this change had occurred in his character he was certainly at a loss as to how best to proceed. He was, in point of fact, still very perplexed by the report he had received and eager to get the truth out of Thornton so that he may know how best to act. He decided that perhaps the best way forward was simply to state his case openly.

"In that case you must allow me to apologize for my glaring omission! I meant of course, to enquire as to the truth of the rumours I have heard about Margaret seeking employment in a shop." His tone was direct but Thornton did not miss the underlying sarcasm of Bell's 'apology'.

"Well in that case allow me to put you out of your misery sir - they are very much correct."

Bell didn't answer but a small furrow formed between his eyes as he continued to stare at Thornton, waiting for him expound. But Thornton, finally reconciled to Margaret's state of employment, was in the mood to play a little cat and mouse of his own and as such remained silent, simply sipping his wine nonchalantly as Bell continued to examine him.

"And?" enquired Bell eventually, the rarely aggravated gentleman showing a touch of annoyance at being played at his own game.

"And?" retorted Thornton enigmatically.

"And you have done nothing to thwart it?" added Bell somewhat disbelievingly.

"Though it may certainly look that way sir, allow me to assure you that short of locking your goddaughter in the basement, bound by chains to the wall, I have tried everything in my power to prevent it. But as you were the one to warn me of her intractability when first you placed her in my care, I should think that you would know better than anyone, that Margaret will not allow herself to be a burden to others and will also brook no argument in the case."

Bell's consternation morphed into a smile and he sniggered at the memory of that particular conversation with Thornton, though at the time he would not have believed even Margaret to be so brash as to seek employment in order to contribute her share towards the additional expenses.

"Did you fail to mention to her that she need only apply to me for money and I should provide it for her?"

"I believe her exact words were something along the lines of 'I would rather do an honest day's hard labour than beg for money, even from someone as kind hearted as Mr. Bell'. It would appear that your charity was not welcomed in that quarter sir," remarked Thornton, a gleeful sneer curling the corner of his mouth.

"Be that as it may Thornton I will not believe that you were not able to dissuade her or in fact forbid her from following such a degrading course of action!"

"For a man who professes to know so much about Miss Margaret Hale it would appear that you in fact know nothing at all! I would sooner have abandoned myself to the depravation of the workhouse before I allowed Margaret to do a single days labour but what plans you or I may have for that 'finely bred young lady' it would seem that she has a mind and will of her own.

"She is working as a shop assistant for the local dressmaker, though not ideal, it is certainly preferable to becoming a house maid or even a serving wench at the local public house! Yes dear sir, you may well raise your eyebrows at that pronouncement'' declared Thornton somewhat solemnly as he saw Bells eyes widen in astonishment at this declaration. "All of these options had occurred to Miss Hale and a few others besides, but thankfully my mother's timely intervention prevented any of them from becoming the most preferred option. In the end 'assistant dressmaker' certainly seemed the lesser of all the other evils."

This speech seemed to take all the wind out of Bells sails, and clasping his glass of claret he sunk back into his wingback chair and stared at the flames licking their way up the sides of the fireplace.

"Ms Hale was adamant that she was eager to contribute to the running of the house and she expressly forbade me from making any application to you on her behalf. I swore to her that I would not go behind her back and I kept my word! Of course the question does beg: who did inform on Margaret to you?"

"If you must know I received a letter from Dixon, Margaret's maid. She informed me of Margaret's new position, and none too pleased was she with the development I might add!"

"The old maid? I should have known!" declared Thornton, the obviousness of the proclamation hitting him with force. "She is worse than a lioness with her cub, and with Margaret's recent heartaches she has become a veritable harpy, all in the quest to spare Margaret any pain or suffering.

"Though admirable, she forgets that there are those amongst us that desire the same thing for Margaret, but if there is a way to force my will on someone as stubborn as Ms Hale then I have yet to discern it, and unlike Dixon I refuse to go behind her back."

Thornton, up until now had been relatively calm in his dealings with Mr Bell, but he was ashamed at his weakness in allowing Margaret to ruin her reputation the way she had. Thinking of what he had allowed to transpire filled him with self-loathing and he wished that Bell would leave him now to his own black thoughts. He was however, in part grateful to the old servant for having reported Margaret and himself to Bell for chastisement. Perhaps her interference would at least have the desired effect and as cowardly as it was, at least if the truth were ever to be discovered by Margaret he would in all honesty be able to declare that he had no hand in it.

At the same time that this conversation was taking place below stairs in Thornton's study another discussion was taking place upstairs in Miss Margaret's boudoir.

Margaret sat on the edge of the stool by her dresser while Dixon gently removed the pins from her hair. She hated being fussed over like some fine lady but Dixon had been adamant. She had even resorted to a fit of the vapours when Margaret, on previous occasions, had tried to turn her out of the room, claiming that she was perfectly able to undress herself.

Eventually, unable to bear with the histrionics, Margaret had capitulated. It was now Dixons custom to sit her little mistress down at the dresser every night before bed and gently brush out Margaret's long russet curls.

This night however, Dixon seemed somewhat agitated and more than a little distracted. Margaret had had to bite her lip several times as Dixon had unceremoniously yanked the brush through a particularly stubborn knot, causing Margaret's head to whip back uncomfortably and her eyes to water with the sharp pain of it; but to all this and more the maid seemed wholly oblivious.

After several such eye watering tugs Margaret turned around on the stool and gently removed the brush from the older ladies hands.

"What is it Dixon? You are not yourself tonight?" asked Margaret gently. She had known Dixon her whole life and knew that if there was one thing Dixon couldn't resist it was regaling others, with no small amount of tragedy and drama, with the desperate retellings of her inner most passions and tumults.

"Oh Miss Margaret, it is this place, this life…we should not have been so cast aside! It is all your fathers fault, God rest his soul; but why did he have to move us to this God-Forsaken place when he did?" lamented the poor creature before Margaret.

Margaret had heard this particular lament so often out of Dixons lips that it was no longer even offensive to her. Instead she gently took her hands in her own and rubbing over the calloused fingers in her grasp tried to sooth her.

"Oh Dixon, it is pointless troubling yourself with that old argument. Whatever the reason, what's done is done, and cannot now be undone. We shall have to make do with what we have.

"We are not so very badly off after all you know."

"Yes, no thanks to that 'so called gentleman' sitting down stairs. I'll tell you something Miss Margaret, there's not one man in ten thousand that I'd trust with anything more valuable than a chipped tea cup! That fine Mr Bell, who was supposed to rescue us and see to it that we were taken care of, instead abandons us to this life of strife and you to a life of toil! Look at your hands Miss Margaret!" she finally said aghast, as she held the articles in question up to the light so that Margaret could get a good view of them.

Margaret didn't bother to look but instead gently pulled them out of Dixons desperate grasp. The tips of her fingers stinging as the bandages which Mrs Thornton had helped tie around them shifted with the movement.

Margaret knew what Dixon was referring to of course. Ever since she had started working at the dressmakers shop her hands had had to endure an endless barrage of pin and needle pricks. The result was that the tips of Margaret's fingers almost never ceased bleeding and she had even slashed a chink of flesh from the inside of her hand whilst cutting a yard of fabric and not giving the task her full attention. Mrs Pratley had scolded her no end for staining the cloth with blood and had sent her straight home to bind the wound lest it result in further damages to the merchandise.

Knowing what Dixons reaction would be she had slipped into the house unnoticed and stolen away to the parlour where she knew she would find Mrs Thornton. True enough, when she had gently pushed the door open, there sat Mrs Thornton in the watery afternoon sunshine that filtered in though the grimy windows. (Ever since Mr Thornton had had to retrench certain of the house staff, some of the household chores had fallen behind – the washing of the numerous windows was one of the many. And in Milton, the smoky sooty air would blacken the windows in a few days.)

Mrs Thornton had seemed oblivious however, a fact that had vastly surprised Margaret as she had always thought of the old Dragon as a bit of a perfectionist puffed up with her own pride; however Hannah Thornton's thoughts were somewhat pre-occupied these days to worry about grimy windows.

When Mrs Thornton had heard the door open and had looked up from her work she was really shocked to see Margaret standing before her at that hour of the day.

"And now? What has happened Ms Hale? Why are you not at work?"

"Mrs Pratley has sent me home."

"Surely not!" exclaimed Mrs Thornton in dismay. Despite her earlier protestations about Margaret embarking on a career in dressmaking she had actually been very proud of Margaret for her determination and on the steady improvements she was making in her needle work; and the thought that Margaret had been dismissed after all the poor girls efforts had struck Mrs Thornton as vastly unfair.

"Oh no, not for good," corrected Margaret, after she saw the look of dismay cross the older ladies face. "I have done myself an injury and angered Mrs Pratley by staining the cloth. She has sent me home to bandage my hand and then I must return again. I daren't ask Dixon to do it for she will attempt to have me carted off to bed believing my hand to be in very real danger of falling off!"

As Mrs Thornton had no doubt that this would very likely be the outcome of such an application she didn't argue but instead had held out her own hands in a mute supplication for Margaret to present the wound for her inspection.

"It is rather deep, which is why it is bleeding so much," commented Mrs Thornton very matter-of-factly. "I have a powder upstairs in my room which will stop the bleeding."

With these words she had hastened away and with a speed unexpected of some one of her age and especially attired in so many layers of crinoline beneath her ample skirts, she had returned with two small vials and several strips of cotton cloth.

The one vial had contained a white powdery substance which Mrs Thornton had sprinkled on liberally before binding up the hand. The second had apparently contained smelling salts incase Margaret either felt faint from the sight of the blood or from the pain, but thankfully that bottle had not been necessary.

Once the main wound had been bound up Mrs Thornton had continued to bind up the tips of Margaret's fingers that were red raw and bleeding in some areas. As Margaret had watched Mrs Thornton perform this gentle and caring task she found it difficult to fathom that this woman before her, who but a few short months ago took no pains to disguise the fact that she was most eager to see the back of Margaret was now caring for her as a mother might for her own daughter.

Margaret was not so naive as to believe that all the old animosity shown towards her by Mrs Thornton had entirely disappeared but she had begun to feel a certain amount of warmth and even friendship from Hannah; and in the absence of her own mother or any other friend, she found she welcomed the feeling.

Of course, even though Margaret had been able to return to work that afternoon, she was not able to hide her wounds from the two people she would most wish to. Dixon had immediately spotted the bandages when Margret had returned home that evening and after a fair tussle in the attempt to force Ms Margaret to remove them to display the full extent of the damage, she had had to be satisfied with muttering whispered oaths under her breath about how God was punishing them.

And of course, despite every effort, it was not possible for Margaret to eat her dinner that night without exhibiting her slashed and beaten hands to those around the table. Mr Thornton's eyes had immediately gravitated to them as she awkwardly manoeuvred her knife and fork, and the grunt and huff of breath that escaped him was enough for Margaret to know that he was less than pleased. She had then had to endure an entire evening of Mr Thornton expounding on the hazards and degradations which she was exposed to each day and the unsuitability and needlessness of this sacrifice.

By the end of that evenings dinner, Margaret had not heard above two in ten of the words he was rattling off and had eventually pleaded exhaustion in order to escape to the sanctuary of her bedchamber; only to then be assailed by Dixon again.

Margaret still sat at the dresser lost in these thoughts and reminiscences as Dixon had expounded on her loathing of the entire male sex in general, when her interest was suddenly attracted by Dixon's mention of Mr Thornton's name with no small amount of venom.

"I will not hear you speak in that way about Mr Thornton Dixon, and so I warn you!" expostulated Margret, white hot wrath flashing across her tired face. "You wish to berate him for his lack of manners and decorum, for his inability to provide for us – us, who are nothing to him, and for whom he has already done so much, more even than my own flesh – and yet you expect me to sit here and listen to you abuse him in that manner? I shan't Dixon! If, after all that Mr Thornton has done for me - nay for us, you can only berate and criticize him, spewing forth such vile insults as you have just uttered, then you are welcome to leave this house and my employ immediately!"

Dixon could see that she had over stepped the mark and had set up her little mistresses hackles; but she wasn't overly concerned by this, what worried her more was the sudden and intense fury that Ms Margaret exhibited in defence of Mr Thornton. Though Dixon could not stand men in general and had never felt that particular emotion in relation to any one of that sex she knew the signs, and it was her humble opinion that Margaret was in very great danger of falling in love with this lowly tradesman.

In an immediate effort to restore peace, Dixon had swallowed hard and apologized. She had even confessed her gratitude towards Mr and Mrs Thornton for their kindness and generosity, but despite all of these things, inwardly she still felt that Milton and now most especially Marlborough Mills was no place for a lady, especially not Ms Margaret Hale!

This thought made her even more relieved that she had taken the drastic step of writing to Mr Bell, though knowing the uselessness of men she didn't hold out much hope of his intervention. She would however wait and see what fruits would come to bare from that evenings meeting with Mr Thornton. Should Mr Bell fail to force his point or should he be won round by the nefarious and conniving Mr Thornton then she knew she would have no other choice than to write to Lady Shaw. Unlike the letter that Mr Bell and Margaret herself had written to that fine lady, Dixon would be sure not to sugar-coat their straightened circumstances. In fact she would be sure to emphasize the degrading and lowly class of people which Margaret now had to associate with and felt sure that with a few well placed words she would succeed in causing that lady's hasty return to England.