Once again, thanks to a wonderful beta soccer4fc, and editor extraordinaire LittleBeth, this chapter is possible.

I generally avoid bringing in OC without absolute need, but in this case it is not an OC, it is a historical figure. All I changed is his name, and even that only a bit, everything else mentioned is a matter of historical record. Coincidences were just too numerous and tempting to resist.

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The Error of Judgment

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Part 5.

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The Bishop.

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He shut the front door after himself and leaned on it. The events of the day crowded his head, each more stupendous than another. He needed time to think, and now was not the time. This day was not over yet.

Through the thin walls of the lightly built house he could hear the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing and guessed that Martha had returned from the grocer. He could go now. Margaret was no longer alone. Just as soon as he heard her voice one more time, he would go.

Instead he heard Martha's voice. 'Miss, oh, Miss! Poor miss; you will get yourself sick crying so!'

He could not hear her weeping, but could see it in his mind all the same. She put on a brave face in front of him, not as a disguise – she did not have to disguise anymore – but to avoid burdening him with her grief any further. He should not stay and listen; she needed her privacy to grieve. No matter how much he wanted to hold and comfort her, he should let her be, at least for now.

His heart bleeding in compassion and guilt, he made himself walk away. There were things he still needed to do. St. Catherine was consecrated today already; Mr. Lynn would not stay in town for long.

Mr. Lynn… most people now would not call him by that name anymore, but for Mr. Thornton the name signified greater respect than all the titles and shining honours that came later. Their history went a while back, since the day his Father insisted that young John go to his own old school. There was a disagreement between his parents about that. Mother looked with disdain at the useless, fancy education that Rugby school would give to her son. To her, no greater honour existed than dedicated, competent work as a cotton manufacturer. Yet Father was firm. He himself was not one from Milton. He was of a good family, with excellent education, and when he married Mother his own family was disappointed. Yet he embraced the life in Milton and did his best to follow his chosen path. However, when it came to his firstborn, it all changed. Father hoped that his son would become a gentleman and scholar. Despite the resistance from his wife he sent John to a school for gentlemen, useless for the future in trade, the school he himself remembered fondly, though it was two counties away. Mother yielded, and did not complain as long as Father lived. Mr. Thornton had not understood the depth of her resentment until she took him from the school after his Father death.

The school itself was a different world from Milton. Things he was taught and things other boys did or talked about were as foreign to him as some distant country. He struggled at first, but then help came from his teacher, then simply Mr. Lynn, or Reverend Lynn on more formal occasions. Mr. Lynn was able to break through the surly crust of the boy from the North and discovered the bright young man inside. Mr. Lynn was a newcomer to the school himself, and the new teacher and new student formed a bond of sorts. As years went by, the relationship between the teacher and the pupil grew almost into a friendship, the two of them spending many hours in discussions. Small in frame and not terribly impressive at first glance, Mr. Lynn was one of the most brilliant minds in the country, a fiery speaker and innovator. Young John respected and admired him greatly.

Their paths parted when Father died. Young John was taken from school to provide for his mother and sister and Reverend Lynn was elected a rector of King Edward's school the very same year. They had not seen or spoken to each other for a long time. But several years ago, when Reverend Lynn rose to the highest honours and was enthroned as a bishop of the newly created Manchester diocese, they met again. First it was quite by accident; Thornton attended a Sunday service on his visit to Manchester and almost ran into the slight black clad man who exclaimed his name in surprise. Later, they met by design, as the need for the new church was growing more dire and many dealings with the head of the diocese were undertaken by the magistrates of Milton.

And now he was in town, and John depended on him for the task at hand. Certainly, there were other ways of speeding up a marriage. He could have written to the archdeacon, for example, and gotten the license within a week or so, but he was not sure that he could wait a week. Margaret's aunt was looming over his future like a dark cloud.

Margaret would not be of age for many months yet, and she had no other relatives in England. If her aunt wished it she could become her legal guardian, take Margaret with her to London, and forbid him from seeing her there, much less permit them to marry. Some things Margaret said convinced him that Aunt Shaw was a lady of means and a notable feature of London society; she disdained everything about the North and for her to be involved in trade or manufacture was an indelible stain. There was little doubt that she would not approve of the marriage and that she had power to interfere, at least until Margaret turned twenty one.

That he was not sure he could wait that long was beside the point: he tasted the Lotus, there was no going back for him. But there was another thought that made his chest contract in horror: a possibility, however slight, that Margaret might be carrying his child already. The thought of that made any delay impossible! If Margaret were taken away, precious time would be lost. Even if the aunt was reasonable enough to let them marry, the delay would be a disgrace for Margaret. But what if she was sent to a distant village and their child was born in shame and secrecy, sent nameless and friendless to some orphanage? No! He needed the help of Mr. Lynn before such a catastrophe could come to his loved ones.

At the turnpike he hesitated. Should he go to St. Catherine, in a suburb two miles away, or should he return to Milton? He consulted his watch and decided against walking to Carlton. It was late, the sun was already setting. No doubt there was no one left in the new church but the new parson.

St. Catherine was a long-needed church in the suburb. People walked all the way to Milton for Sunday service, and poor Mr. Tully, the vicar there, was hard pressed to care for his overlarge parish. The old village church that had existed there fell into a decrepit state long before the cotton industry came to town, and the parish was abolished. But the success of the cotton mills had repopulated the area, turning a rural village into a bustling suburb of Milton. It took long for the need to be addressed, but finally funds were found for the restoration of the old church and the parish and today the newly opened building was consecrated. Thornton winced in discomfort; he was supposed to be present, as one of the contributors. But it was too late. The Bishop would not stay there, as Mr. Tully would insist on hospitality in Milton, arguing that the new parsonage was yet to be made properly comfortable. Thus, Milton parsonage was Thornton's new destination.

He arrived at the parsonage house when it was already quite dark. The parsonage was lit brighter than he ever remembered it, Mr. Tully sparing no sign of hospitality he could show to his illustrious guest. Thornton hesitated a moment before ringing the bell, not sure how he should explain his visit. A harassed servant opened the door, and he passed his card for Mr. Tully and the Bishop. He had to wait long enough to worry that he would not be admitted at all, but at last he was invited in. Mr. Tully was in good spirits, but Thornton could see the jealous look he gave him at the joyful greeting he received from His Excellency.

'John, my boy! I was wondering why you did not come. One would expect you to be among those who were honoured today. I believe that you did more for St Catherine's restoration than any other man. The new vicar thinks the world of you. You are too modest in your ways. But I am glad you came now.'

'Your Excellency…' he started.

'Nonsense, John. I've had enough ceremony today…' He paused, apparently taking in Thornton's signs of deep mourning. 'Your mother is well?' he asked carefully.

'Yes, Sir. Thank you. She is in excellent health. I am grieving for a good friend.' He looked momentarily at Mr. Tully. 'I got a letter just this morning. Mr. Hale has passed away on Friday in Oxford.'

'Mr. Hale dead?' Kindly Mr. Tully was visibly upset. 'What will become of his daughter?'

'Mr Hale? I knew a Hale once. He used to be a curate of Helstone.' The bishop seemed alarmed.

'The very same. He came here when he resigned his position in Helstone. He was my friend and tutor. Did you know him?'

'I did.' said the Bishop sadly. 'I was in school with him. He was three or four years older; we first became friends when he assisted me with some school tormentors of mine. I was always scrawny, you know, and Hale, though not very beefy himself, came to my aid. Later we found that we had many interests in common. He had a superb mind and great love of the Classics. Later, when he went to Oxford, and I to Cambridge, the rivalry between colleges could not affect our friendship. It was a shame that a man like that had to stagnate in that small parish for so long. I doubt his knowledge was appreciated there.'

'I was there,' the Bishop gave him a penetrating look, but Thornton went on, 'people remember him fondly. The new parson is having a difficult time trying to fill his shoes. But the people there are poor and uneducated; they never knew what kind of man he truly was.'

'I am sorry to hear that. I suppose the last year was hard on him.'

'It was. They were suffering most cruelly. His wife died within months of their moving here. It was a cruel year for him and his family.'

'I knew about his spiritual struggles. The Bishop of Hampshire wrote to me, knowing that we used to be close. He tried to advise him gently, but poor Hale was too troubled by his doubts.' He nodded sorrowfully. 'I wish I could have talked to him then. But it was too late already'.

Mr. Tully was somewhat uncomfortable with such a degree of compassion for a Dissenter from such high a prelate, but he was a kind man and a generous host. He noticed that the conversation was a bit strained between his two guests and astutely guessed that they needed to discuss things privately. He magnanimously offered the Bishop and Mr. Thornton to have a seat in more comfortable chairs in his study while he went and arranged for some tea.

Thornton appreciated the old vicar's delicacy, and gladly consented. But now, seated alone across from his old teacher, he was at loss of how to approach the subject. The Bishop, seeing his difficulty, kindly tried to encourage him.

'I hope your mills are doing as well as can be expected?' He asked.

'I am doing what I can. I was put quite behind by the strike that took place last September'.

'Oh, yes. I have heard of that. Rumors said that there were riots, and that a woman was killed by the mobs.'

'No! Not killed, thank goodness, but injured, yes.'

'To think that Englishmen could behave in such a savage, unchristian way! And to a woman, too! How did the poor thing even came to be a victim of such brutality? Was it an accident?'

'No. Sir, this is the reason I wanted to talk to you today. That woman… she came out of safety to shield another with her own body when she saw that the rioters were about to throw stones. It was Miss Margaret Hale, daughter of Mr. Hale.'

'Indeed?' The bishop looked at him in astonishment. 'A remarkable woman. Whom was she protecting?'

'Me.'

The Bishop looked sharply at him but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

'Sir. I came to ask you to issue a marriage license for Miss Hale and me.'

'Why now? Why right after the death of her father?'

'She is left without family or support in this world.'

'Yes. But why haven't you married before now? Why hadn't I get the glad news from you in September, then?' Thornton could not quite meet the sharp eyes of his old teacher. He said, resolutely looking at his hands:

'I had not spoken of my feelings to her before the riot. I didn't believe she could have cared for me. What she did then… I admit, gave me hope and courage. But by then the town was full of malicious rumors, blaming her for impropriety and mercenary reasons. They were not rich. People can be very cruel.'

'I can imagine,' prompted the Bishop.

'She did not believe me then. She thought that I only spoke to protect her reputation and character.' The unnecessary fire in the study's grate was making his face very hot.

'She refused you, after protecting you with her life?'

'Yes.' He still could not take his eyes from his hands, which seemed strangely large and awkward to him now.

'But now you ask me for a license?' the Bishop asked in a deceptively mild tone.

'We have resolved the misunderstandings we had.'

He knew better than to look directly at his old teacher. He remembered the power of those eyes that saw right in your soul and pulled everything you were hiding out on the open. He came for a license, not for a confession. He resolutely waited through the pregnant pause and was relieved to hear Bishop's resigned sigh.

'When do you wish to get married?' The Bishop's voice was suddenly brisk and business-like.

'As soon as we can. That is why I came to you directly, as you were in town, instead of writing to the Archdeacon.' Thornton did his best not to sound too relieved.

'Where do you want to be married? You know with a standard license I need to put a church or a parish where at least one of you reside.'

'Crampton, I suppose,' said Thornton, a bit surprised. 'It is her parish.'

'Reverend Molson?'

'Yes, I believe so.'

'And your parish is here, with Reverend Tully?'

'Yes, but it is two miles from her home.'

'John,' said the Bishop. Thornton finally looked him in the face. 'John, listen to me. You want to marry, and you have a perfect right to do so. More so, I know you well enough to believe that if you have set your mind on something firmly enough to start acting on it, you will not turn back. All I can do is to help you marry when and where you wish – or refuse to, which would not stop you, as I well know' he added, hearing breath hissing through Thornton's teeth. 'But indulge your old teacher. I cared for you as a pupil, and I was a friend of Hale all that long time ago. To me you are not merely another couple who wishes to marry in a hurry. You are telling me things about this woman that are incredible, hardly believable. I have to surmise that either you have found a rarest gem among women, or that you are completely blinded by love.' He looked at the Thornton's face and firmly set lips. 'Or both.'

'Yet it is true. I wish you knew her,' said Thornton, braving the thoughtful, intent gaze of his old teacher.

'This is what I am asking you for. I want to talk to her first. I feel responsible for my friend's child and for my best pupil. I will issue you the license, but for this church. I promised Mr. Tully to conduct a special morning service tomorrow before I leave, but bring this young lady to the church after that, at about eleven o'clock. I would like to talk to her. If you are right, I will marry you myself.'

'It would be an honour, Sir' said Thornton, quite astonished.

'I will wait for you tomorrow morning, then.'

Thornton got up, and grasped the outstretched hand of the Bishop gratefully. He left despite Mr. Tully's objections pressing him to take some tea with them. He had one more trying conversation ahead of him.

He walked home, lightheaded with exhaustion. Mother was waiting for him in the dining room, as was her habit of many years. She looked at him questioningly, but did not say anything at first. Instead, she called Jane to bring some dinner she saved for him in the kitchen. Despite his tiredness, he felt thankful for that. Mother watched him carefully as he ate.

'John?' she asked at last. 'How is Miss Hale?'

He put his fork down. 'As well as can be expected,' he said after a pause.

'What will she do, how will she live? Will she go to her relatives in London? I must say, little as I liked her, I feel sorry for the poor girl.'

'Mother. Please. Do not talk about her like that.'

'I did not say anything against her. She is well enough. But I do not need to like her,' she said stubbornly. He shook his head.

'I wish you would try, Mother. She agreed to marry me.' He paused but drove on, intent to say what was necessary. 'We will be married tomorrow, most likely.'

His mother looked at him in avid disbelief. But at the sight of his tired, humorless face her eyes widened, and she sat straight, with her shoulders rigid and hands clasped.

'Tomorrow? Why? How is it even possible?!'

'I talked to the Bishop.'

'That was why you went to her this morning?'

'No! You know very well that Mr. Bell asked me to relate the death of her father and console her.'

'And you consoled her so well that you need to marry her tomorrow,' Mrs. Thornton said viciously.

'Mother!' He did not have the strength to deny the truth of it. It was a coarse way to put it, but he knew his mother. The trust they had between them did not require any fancy talking.

He knew that behind her bitterness she already accepted his marriage as an inevitable fact when she asked:

'Where will you marry?'

'Here, at our church. The Bishop wanted to talk to her first.'

'He did not trust you?' she asked, sardonically.

'He did. You know he cares. He knew Mr. Hale, too. He asked to come at eleven tomorrow morning'.

'I am not sure why you are doing it, though I know how long you have loved her. It does not make me happy that this penniless girl has finally accepted you only when she had nowhere else to go. But what is done is done. One good thing to be said is that your wedding will cost almost nothing compared to Fanny's.'

She thought for a moment, and then asked somewhat hotly, 'What about her beau at the station? Did it fall apart so now she is taking what she can?'

'Mother, you do not know her. I did not either, not until today. She loves me. She's never loved another.' He once again was awed at the enormity and certainty of this knowledge. 'That man at the station, he was her brother.'

Mrs. Thornton looked at him in astonishment.

'Her brother? What kind of nonsense is it? Why did we never hear of him?'

Thornton got up and walked to his study, where he reached for the old navy list from the upper shelf. He brought the book, bristling with the bookmarks for the merchant Navy ships, back to the dining room and leafed through it, until he found what he was looking for. He offered the open book to his mother.

She held it in her outstretched hands, trying to discern the small print with her aging sight. The story of the ship Orion and the disgraced Lieutenant Hale stood harshly and irrevocably on the page.

'Mutiny…' She said at last. 'Death sentence. Do you know where he is now?'

'I understand he lives in Spain.'

'He came then to see his dying mother?'

'Yes. They kept it secret, but apparently Leonards recognized him that night when he was leaving.'

'It was her brother, and yet she did not say anything in her justification when I accused her to her face of the improper behavior.'

'I do not imagine she would. You were right in one respect. She is indeed proud. But she is also noble and loyal to those she loves. She would not put her brother in danger even to save her own reputation.'

'I am surprised. And yet, if I can believe it about any woman, I would believe it about her. She has the pride and courage for that. But, oh John, she caused you so much pain! How am I to forgive her your sufferings?'

'Mother, most of that pain was caused by my own foolishness and jealousy. She attempted to talk to me and I did not listen. How she forgave me for that I will never know.'

Mrs. Thornton put her hand on his shoulder and searched his face.

'John… you look dead on your feet. You should rest. It is getting late. And tomorrow… bring her here... after. I will make sure we have a small luncheon.'

He smiled sadly at her fastidious stance, but had no strength left to argue. He said what needed to be said, and was glad she did not pose a stronger opposition. It took him considerable effort to get up to his room and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.