Ok, Mrs Thornton's turn now. This turned out more difficult than expected -- the lady is not to be trifled with. ;) I am not sure this chapter is finished/complete, but I have to move on coz the story is not going to wait for me. I am publishing as it is, waiting for your thoughts and comments. Brace yourselves. LOL

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It was a hot August afternoon in Milton and the air was thick and humid. The scorching sun had baked the dust into parched red cakes. The tall, imposing woman, in a solemn black dress, turned the corner of Marlborough Street with a measured, determined step. The street was pleasantly calm, the sky unusually blue, but the absence of movement and smoke weighed on her like a sentence. Mrs Thornton was not a woman to rue the past; but as she faced the long empty street, she rued the future. Her poor boy! The toils and exertions of the last nineteen years have come to naught. Long arduous years stretched ahead, standing menacingly between him and his rightful place. John Thornton of Milton will be again, she doubted not, her belief in him unassailable, but it will be a trying and treacherous path. How much more suffering is there for him in this world!? She had no thought of herself for she was a simple extension of her son, the only support he had left; the only one he ever had. She and her son were the two halves of one whole, tough as a nut. His fortunes were her fortunes; his life - her life.

She reached the mill at the end of the street. There was no lodge-keeper now, so she pushed the heavy door herself and walked into the yard. It was as if time stood still – bales of cotton, carts, wooden crates, scattered, deserted, engulfed in an eerie silence. Her ears ached for the clank of the machines, the roar of the steam-engine. The mill was her pride and joy, the source of her son's wealth and success, and its present sordid state aggrieved her excessively. As she crossed the yard, something – was it the heavy air? the portend emptiness? the deafening silence? – brought back the memory of the strike two years ago, the start of the present troubles, and the day of the riot. That silly girl and her airs and graces! And to think that he had to go to her, that she'd know of his misfortunes! How she would triumph!

The thought of Margaret's relish was too much for Mrs Thornton. She picked up her step and headed for the house at the opposite end of the yard. Most of the servants were gone; she retained only a cook and a maid, and obtained good positions for the rest elsewhere. The cool air inside made the imposing building feel cavernous and ghoulish. She walked slowly to the drawing-room and her eyes swept mournfully over the palatial furniture, the rich carpets, the alabaster ornaments – she'll have to organize a sale soon, and look for a smaller house. John said they will not be short of comforts, and the good Lord knows the two of them did not need much, but the indignity of it all provoked her greatly. Mrs Thornton's breast filled with helpless rage at the injustice of it all. It was just as well that Fanny was settled – she couldn't bear Fanny now. Mrs Thornton loved her daughter, but she did not feel her; the girl was too much like her father – impulsive, emotional, with weak senses. Fanny was too little to remember the misery after her father's failure; John had to bear it all, and he did bear it without a grumble; a good son he was, and a fine man. And yet again, he'll have to bear it all and her daughter was spared. Fanny lived an idle and careless life; what has she done to deserve her comfort and situation? John would be 35 in a summer or two, he should be settling down, become a husband, a father… Who would have him now? Who would share a life with a penniless man?

Mrs Thornton entered the dining-room and sate dejectedly in her chair. If only John had bought into Watson's scheme – it would have never come to this; his position would have been redeemed and no one would have known. In his place, she would have risked it all. But her son was strong-willed. He was determined not to repeat his father's mistake. She hailed him for it, for they can hold their heads high. There are no debts to pay, no shame to cleanse. And yet, it was a cold comfort! She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was so very tired.

The sound of the mill gate opening interrupted her slumber – John was home at last. It was almost dark and she hurried to light some candles. She picked up her worsted-work, struggling not to give in to the dread that filled her entire being. Any minute now he would come in with the confirmation that it was all over.

She heard him bolt the door and climb the stairs. Something in the way he walked, his pace, jolted her senses – his step was light and confident. What did this mean? She saw the smile on his face as he entered the room; he looked younger, walked taller, exuded energy. It was her son of old. A silent greeting passed between them. She was confounded by his countenance and managed only a curt 'Well?' and one of her enquiring looks.

'Good news, mother.' He smiled and approached to kiss her. 'The mill is safe. I have a loan, on very favourable conditions, that will enable us to resume work immediately. We'll be soon recovered.'

'How?' Mrs Thornton's voice betrayed both hope and incredulity. 'Who?'

'Miss Hale has extended us the money.'

'Miss Hale?'

'Yes. I met Miss Hale to give up the lease. She offered us a loan. I was as surprised as you are now, mother. I discussed the details with her lawyer, Mr Lennox, and we have reached a very favourable agreement. Marlborought Mills will flourish in no time.'

Mrs Thornton sunk back in her chair. For a while she did not move, did not look at her son. Her mind was racing. What was the meaning of this? A loan would save her son, would redeem him, but to think that he'd have to own all to her! Oh, it's unbearable, unbearable! – Why would she not just go away? What is she about, this girl? Is she trying to lure him back into – surely she can't – he can't – can he? Mrs Thornton tried to push the thought away. She looked at her son searchingly, and at length asked carefully, her voice cracked and uneven:

'Is that all you have to tell me, John?'

'No, that's not all' said her son gently, kneeling by her char and smiling softly. Mrs Thornton leaned back, her body rigid with some unknown great dread. Her eyes dilated a little; her hand grasped the chair for support and her mind bent on what he was going to say. His voice came awash with tender regard and affection:

'She loves me, mother! She cares for me!'

The words hit Mrs Thornton squarely in the chest, compressing her lungs, squeezing every last breath out of her. Her heart convulsed and shattered into million pieces, each an angry jagged blade.

'Can you love her, dearest mother, like you love me?'

She looked at him, but could not see him; her face barren, frozen in the wastelands of her destitution. She has finally taken him away me!

'What are you saying, John?' Her voice was cold and expressionless.

'I love her. I am going to marry her. I ask your blessing.'

'Marry her?' The words jolted Mrs Thornton out of her despair. Oh, no! She will not give him up; she will fight for her son. The image of Margaret came in Mrs Thornton's mind and fed her rage.

'That woman! No, John, it will not do. Marry a tainted woman! Have you lost your senses?'

Tainted! The word jabbed him, his eyes flared, his voice came low and raspy.

'She's not tainted, mother. It was her brother at the station, not a lover.'

'What brother? Humph! That's what she's told you, he? What son would skulk away while his mother lay dead and unburied? I do not believe it, John.'

'Mother, do not dare!' John stood up abruptly, his figure swelled with fury.

'Nay, John! You can be angry with me. But I cannot stand aside silent when my son, my John, throws himself at a fanciful and whimsical girl. She seems to think your reason went up with the last smoke.'

'Mother, I will not have Margaret spoken of in that manner. I cannot tell you particulars, I chose not to tell them, but I know she is pure.'

'You ask me to love her like a daughter and yet you choose not to explain her behaviour. You ask a lot.'

'I choose not to speak of it, because, as a magistrate, I better not speak of it.'

'What say you now?' Mrs Thornton's anger gave way to fear. 'What have you gotten yourself into?'

'I have not gotten myself into anything. However, I will tell you is this: The brother was a sailor and a mutineer. That is why never mention him. He visited Mrs Hale -- for she felt her end was near and she wanted to see him one last time. He came in secret and had to leave before the funeral for fear of being recognised by this Leonards man, Betsy's fiance. It was the brother with whom Margaret was seen at the station. Different parts of this story have been independently confirmed by two people. As a man, I am satisfied there is nothing inappropriatein Margaret's behaviour. But as I am also a magistrate, I already know too much. I shall say nothing more on the subject.'

'But what if it gets out?'

'I do not see how it can get out. Fortunately, noone in Milton knows of a brother, except me and Nicholas Higgins who however doesn't now about the mutiny. The only person who could do damage is Leonards and he is dead.'

'But what if he has told Betsy?'

'I don't think he did or we would have heard of it by now.'

At length Mrs Thornton said with great sadness:

'Son John, think again. Do not let gratitude blind you. We can find the money elsewhere. She changed her mind once, she can change it again. I shall not bear to see you scorned again. I will not have you pay that price. '

'Oh, mother, you know not how I love her. I barely know myself. This beating heart in my chest is dead without her. I am grateful to her because she makes me feel alive and young again.'

'But what would people say? Here is John Thornton, who married for money, a woman who has been seen late at night with another man. They will drag your name through the mud! And you won't be able to defend yourself, if this brother is not to be spoken of.'

'I do not care what people say.'

'But you should, if not for your sake, for hers. Her name will be the tittle-tattle of Milton.'

'Be easy, mother. It was long ago, not many people will remember.'

'Humph! The Porters would, you can count on it.'

'Ah, yes, the Porters. Maybe we can ask Fan to put in a good word for us there. She seems to be in their good books.' He laughed softly. 'Do not worry, mother. I'll think of something. Come, let's have something to eat. I have not eaten today and I don't think you have either. There is so much I have to tell you. I have great plans for the mill and I need my mother's wise words.'

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