Chapter 13
Frederick Hale arrived in Milton on a Saturday afternoon in mid-June.
He had informed Margaret of the time of his arrival, and Mr Thornton had given her the afternoon off, so she could pick up her brother at the train station.
Fred had booked a room at the Victoria Hotel and was travelling with a friend whom he had met in the Navy, a Robert Hall. He was Milton-born and would take this opportunity to visit his family.
Margaret stood on the platform at Outwood when the train clattered into the station, her heart beating rapidly with excitement.
It had been almost two years since she had last seen Fred, and so much had changed.
She had never imagined when they had last parted, that by the time she would be able to hold him in her arms again, they would be orphaned and far away from Helstone.
She spotted him the moment he dismounted the train. His eyes met hers across the steam-shrouded platform, and immediately a wide smile spread across his face. Mere seconds later, his arms were around her.
"Margaret, my Margaret, oh how I missed you!"
She felt tears of joy in her eyes as she clung to him, still unable to believe he was truly here. After a long moment he carefully pushed her back a little to look at her.
"Oh dear sister, you do look rather tired. What you must have gone through. I'm so sorry I was not here."
He sounded positively grief-stricken, so she rushed to reassure him that she was well-settled in Milton and far from unhappy.
He briefly introduced his friend to her, a rather tall fellow, around 30 years of age, who greeted her with a friendly smile and polite nod of his head, and insisted that they join him for tea the following day.
They took a ransom cab to Fred's hotel and, over a light luncheon, which they took in the tea room, brother and sister had much to say to each other.
There were many things they had not been able to express in letters, the shared pain at the loss of their father and childhood home so raw in both their hearts.
"And this place here, Margaret, is very different from Helstone. What a sooty, grey city, with people unlike all our friends in the south. I can scarcely imagine how you can bear it," Fred wondered aloud, worry clearly evident in his voice.
Margaret reached out a reassuring hand to cover his, which was resting on the table between them.
"No, Fred. It is not like that. Truly, it is not. I'll admit that initially, I thought living here would be dreadful, but once I grew accustomed to it, I realised that even here, there is beauty to be found. I am very fond of the girl I am trusted with. She brightens my every day with her joyfulness."
He looked down at their joined hands, uncertainly.
"And Thornton?" he asked eventually. "What is he like? He's a mill owner, and a dreadful fellow from what I read between the lines in your letters."
"Oh no, Fred, I do not think him dreadful!"
Margaret felt almost surprised at her own words.
"I may have thought so in the very beginning, but as I grew to know him better, my opinion of him changed."
Her free hand absentmindedly traced the rim of her teacup, while she considered her next words.
"He appears a bit gruff sometimes, and he does have a temper," she explained. "But I do not think him unkind."
"Do you feel safe with him?" Fred's eyes bore into hers, searching, daring her to tell him the truth.
"I do."
There was no question about it. Whatever had passed between her and Mr Thornton, there had never been a single moment where Margaret had not felt safe with him.
While she did not always approve of his methods, especially when it came to the treatment of his workers, she admired his honest ways and the sincerity of his conduct.
He was no man to tell lies or hide. He spoke his truth, plainly, even if he was aware that his words would not be received kindly.
She knew him to be honourable through and through, and on the rare occasions when she had been alone with him, there had not been a single moment where she had worried for her dignity.
Margaret was aware that this was something women in her position could not take for granted.
As her employer, he held a great amount of power over her – something a lesser man might have been tempted to use to his own advantage.
She knew she could trust that he would never abuse his position, and it was only now that she thought about it that Margaret fully realised her own fortune.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant conversation. Fred told her about his travels and about a wonderful girl named Dolores whom he had met during his time in Spain.
He seemed very fond of her, planned to go back to see her, and hoped to ask for her hand as soon as his obligations permitted him to do so.
..ooOoo..
Mr Thornton had kindly given Margaret Monday off, so the siblings had two full days to explore Milton and spend time with each other.
Since the weather was fine on Sunday, they spent the morning after church walking the rather quiet streets.
They looked into some shop windows, but neither of them cared much about what they saw; they were too busy talking for hours about anything and everything.
In the afternoon, they joined Fred's friend, Robert Hall, for tea.
The Hall family lived in a reasonably sized house on the outskirts of Milton, with a small back garden and neatly furnished rooms.
They sat in the drawing room, which was decorated in elegant light blue wallpapers, and the men spoke of their travels with the navy for a while.
Eventually, Mr Hall turned toward Margaret. "Now, Miss Hale, Fred tells me that you work for John Thornton at Marlborough Mills?"
"Indeed," she answered politely. "I work as a governess for Mr Thornton's daughter."
Hall nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, I remember. What a dreadful thing to lose his wife in such a way. Do tell me, Miss Hale, how is the family faring? Did the young Miss Thornton not marry recently? I think my mother mentioned it yesterday."
"Oh yes, she married John Watson. I think she is quite happy with her new position."
"What a lovely young woman she must be. She did turn out very well, from what I've heard, although I have not seen her myself in some years. It has been a while since I left Milton. I am fond of the place. I suppose you southerners would not understand how one could like a sooty industrial town such as this, but it is home to me."
Margaret could not help but smile at that. "I suppose Milton did grow on me too," she confessed. "It is very different from Hampshire, but I do admire the hard work and determined ways of its people."
"Now, determined is something which most certainly applies to Thornton," Hall chuckled. "I have rarely ever encountered a fellow more set upon raising himself out of a dreadful situation. Did you know, Miss Hale, Thornton and I went to school together briefly."
Margaret looked at him wide-eyed. She had not known.
Hall took a sip of his tea, with a somewhat far-off look, as though he was remembering something.
"Aye, I do remember John. A very bright boy. He was one of the most inquisitive scholars among us. Always had his nose stuck in some book. I am certain he had planned to go to university, but life had different things in store for him, I suppose."
He put down his cup and rubbed his chin.
"I remember when his father passed. Suicide. What dreadful news. The headmaster called John to his office to tell him. That afternoon, I went into our dorm room to retrieve my quills, and there he was – I vividly remember the picture – that boy, sitting on his bed, just staring at the blank wall like he was dreaming…"
"He did not even realise I was there, I think. I dared not say anything and quickly left the room. The next day, his mother came to summon him, and that was that. Just packed his things, and off he went in a carriage. That was the end of his dream of one day becoming an academic."
Margaret looked intently at her own cup. Mr Thornton had told her about his father, but hearing it now, she felt the gravity of what he must have gone through hit her even harder.
He had only been a boy. To lose his father like this, and not only that, to have all his dreams for the future ruined so unexpectedly in the mere blink of an eye, she wondered what it had done to him.
Fred was looking at Robert Hall with interest. He did not have any personal connection with the Thornton family and was therefore able to view this matter in a rather unemotional manner.
"I suppose he never went back to his studies?" he inquired.
"No, he did not have the opportunity. The family was ruined. His father's business had failed, and they were not able to repay his creditors. Thornton took work as a draper's assistant from what I remember…"
"He was as determined in his work as he was in his studies. Within a few years, they were able to pay off the debt, and eventually, he acquired Marlborough Mills. He is now one of the most successful businessmen in all of Milton. Quite an admirable thing, I would say."
"It is indeed," Fred confirmed, reaching for the plate of biscuits.
"The mother died a few years later, when the young Miss Thornton was still a girl," Hall continued.
"Sudden heart failure, I think they said, although it may have been grief. John sent his sister off to school, making sure she had a proper education. And he himself married Miss Latimer, the daughter of a very influential man here in Milton..."
"They made quite a beautiful couple, but sadly, it did not last. It all seems quite depressing, doesn't it? I haven't seen Thornton in some years, I hope he is faring as well as can be expected under the circumstances."
The conversation shifted to other topics, but Margaret found it difficult to concentrate on what the men were speaking of.
All she could think of was the picture Robert Hall had painted in her head, of a fourteen-year-old boy forced to grow up in an instant.
Her thoughts were still occupied with this matter when they left Hall an hour later to head back into Milton; and even during her dinner with Fred, it was never far from her mind.
..ooOoo..
They walked beneath the willow trees by the river, her arm in his, as the first warm summer breeze softly caressed her face and played with her hair.
The trees stood covered in lush green now, and the path was lined with tiny blue, yellow, and violet flowers, an unlikely sight in Milton.
The past two days had almost seemed like a dream to her.
For the first time in so long, Margaret felt like she belonged somewhere, that she still had a family, even if it was only for a few blissful hours until they would have to part again.
"I shall take the morning train at six o'clock back to London tomorrow," Fred murmured a bit downcast, violently pulling her out of her blissful musings.
She looked up at him with great sadness, her eyes fixed on his face, trying to take in every little detail and commit it to her memory forever.
She had known he could not stay long. But it still felt so cruel to say goodbye again so soon.
"I wish you could stay for a bit," she sighed, trying hard to force down her tears.
He looked positively unhappy at her statement. "Oh, dear Margaret, how I wish I could, but I fear it is not possible. We are due to set sail again in less than three weeks, and there are some things I still need to settle in London before I can see Dolores and ask her father for her hand."
"Will you bring her to England if she agrees to marry you?"
"I don't know as of yet, Margaret." He avoided her gaze. "I might. Or I might stay with her. But I shall see you, Margaret. You need to visit us in Cadiz. I will arrange everything for you to come, I promise."
Margaret tried hard not to let her disappointment show on her face. As happy as she felt for him, the thought of her beloved brother settling so far away was disheartening.
Even if Fred was rarely home, with his profession taking him all over the world, the thought that he did still call England his home – thst they still resided in the same country – had given Margaret some sort of comfort when she had felt that not much else was left.
Of course, there were her aunt and cousin in London, but she would rarely have the chance to see them.
It seemed like Milton would be her home for a good while, and she had to grow used to the fact that the people here were the ones she would have to rely on in times of need.
..ooOoo..
Fred dropped her off at Marlborough Mills later that night.
They stood inside the green gates for a long moment, unseen by any presumptuous passers-by, and he held her close as they both let their tears fall.
"How can I leave you here, dearest?" he choked out. "All alone in this gloomy place?"
She shook her head against his chest without looking up. "Do not fear for me, Fred. I am safe here. You need to take care of yourself."
"Write to me," he begged.
"I shall. As I have always done."
When she made her way across the courtyard and up the steps onto the wooden landing of Marlborough House, Margaret almost felt that it would have been better if he had not come.
Having seen him for such a short time, only to bear the pain of him leaving again, felt almost worse than not having seen him at all.
'No!' she scolded herself. They only had so much time on this earth. Every minute they were able to spend with each other was precious.
Slowly she pushed open the door to the entrance hall, only half aware of the tears streaming down her face. She had not felt this alone since the day they had buried her father.
Just as Margaret was about to reach the staircase, the sound of a door opening made her stop, and a moment later, she found herself face to face with Mr Thornton, who had just stepped out of his study.
At the sight of her, his expression immediately changed into one of concern.
"Miss Hale!"
Within two strides he stood before her, frantically searching her face with his eyes.
"Miss Hale, you are crying."
She quickly averted her eyes, nervously wiping a stray tear away with the back of her hand.
"It is nothing. I'm fine, I assure you."
"It's not nothing." It was a firm statement.
"You are in distress, I can clearly see it. Pray, tell me what happened?"
Margaret opened her mouth, but no words would come. She longed for the earth to open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. How embarrassing to make such a fool of herself in front of him, but she could not help it.
At once his hand was on her upper arm. Gentle, yet persistent.
"Come, Miss Hale."
Without another word, he ushered her toward his study, leaving the door ajar, to protect her dignity. She let it happen, suddenly too weak to struggle against anything.
He gently guided her to a chair near the fireplace, and she sat, awkwardly biting her lip to keep it from trembling and unable to look at him with her red and slightly puffy eyes.
Mr Thornton stood for a few seconds, unsure of himself, as he watched her sit there, head lowered, a picture of misery.
Eventually, he crouched down beside the chair and, without thinking, reached out to her.
The feeling of his hand touching her lower arm made Margaret's head snap up to look at him.
She was suddenly aware that he had never touched her before tonight, had never been this close to her.
She could feel his warmth through the fabric of her sleeve; it somehow felt oddly comforting.
His free hand reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a white cotton handkerchief, which he held out to her.
She accepted it with trembling fingers, quickly dabbing at her eyes. "T-thank you."
"Is this about your brother?" he inquired, knowing full well whom she had been with these past two days, and that the man was about to leave again.
After a moment, Margaret nodded silently. "I apologise," she whispered, once again wiping her cheeks with his handkerchief in an almost defiant manner.
"Don't!"
His grip on her arm tightened for a moment. "He is your only family?"
She shrugged her shoulders lightly. "There is my aunt and cousin in London. But I have not seen them in a long while, and I shall not anytime soon, I expect."
He nodded in understanding, and when he spoke again, his voice was strangely soft.
"You have lost a great deal as of late. You must miss your father dearly."
It was the way he spoke to her that broke her. A sob escaped her as the tears she had tried so hard to keep at bay started flowing freely.
"I – I'm sorry. I – don't know what – what's wrong with me."
"Shh, it's all right," he whispered, shaking his head in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"I – I just feel like I am all alone in the world sometimes," she whispered, suddenly not caring anymore that this was Mr Thornton, her employer, who should not be bothered with her personal affairs.
"With my father gone and my brother always so far away…I sometimes feel like there is no one I can turn to."
"Oh, but you can." His hand moved down her arm instinctively until it covered hers.
The sudden intimacy just about stunned her.
His skin against hers felt rough – the hand of a working man, and yet, there was an unexpected tenderness in his touch.
"You are very much loved here, Miss Hale."
A second later, he realised what he had said, and quickly rushed to add. "I mean, Emma – she is very fond of you."
He felt his face grow hot and prayed that she would not notice his embarrassment.
What was he doing here, touching her hand, talking to her like this? It was highly inappropriate.
He quickly drew back his hand and stood, stepping away from her and busying himself with a flask of brandy and glass on the nearby side table.
The moment his hand fell from hers Margaret felt oddly bereft. The memory of his touch still lingered on her skin in a strange way, and she did not know how to feel about it.
He held out a glass to her. "Drink this. It will calm your nerves."
Dutifully she took a small sip and immediately started coughing. The drink burned like fire down her throat. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, horrified.
"Drink up," he ordered her calmly. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get you drunk. You'll thank me later."
Trying to hide her disgust, she took another sip. It tasted horrible, but strangely enough, she felt like a comforting warmth was spreading through her entire body from her stomach up to her head, which suddenly felt a bit numb.
It was a feeling that was not unwelcome to her at this moment.
He stood in silence, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the mantelpiece as he watched her finish her glass in silence, before he reached out and took it from her.
"Better?"
"A little," she replied honestly.
He sat down in the chair across from her, looking at her intently.
"Miss Hale, I do hope you know that you shall always be under my protection. I am aware that this town is not what you voluntarily chose as your place of residence, and I suppose you must sometimes feel very lonely. Still, you are not alone here. I know we have not always got along too well, but you can turn to me anytime if you are in need of my help."
His words, reaching her through the slight daze of the brandy, almost made her tremble. It felt as if they were embracing her, warming her.
Encouraged, and maybe slightly loosened by the unfamiliar feeling the strong alcohol had caused, she replied:
"We are both of us lonely sometimes, are we not, Mr Thornton?"
His eyes shot to hers at that statement, and for a long moment, silence fell over the room.
"That may be so," he then said, surprising her with his honesty.
"We may just have to keep each other company, Miss Hale." A little smile – only for a second. It was something so uncommon for him.
He rose from his seat. "It's late. I reckon you were about to retire when you ran into me just now. I would not wish to keep you."
Dutifully, she stood, made her way over to the door, and politely bid him good night.
She was not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to have to leave him, but before she closed the door behind her, she dared to chance a brief glance back at him.
He was standing there, one hand on the backrest of the chair she had sat on only moments before, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped slightly, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on them.
Quickly she closed the door, unable to look at him any longer.
A while later, as she lay in her bed, she was overcome by a new surge of tears.
It took her a moment to realise that this time it was not Fred she was crying for, but that the source of her distress was a strange turmoil of emotions she could not quite distinguish or make sense of.
All she knew was that, strangely, Mr Thornton seemed to be at the very core of it all.