The following was inspired by the BBC's Cranford, which was adapted from Cranford, Mr. Harrison's Confessions, and My Lady Ludlow, all by Elizabeth Gaskell. I have no connection to either the BBC or Mrs. Gaskell, and have taken all manner of liberties with the canon.

Chapter 8: Journeys Within and Without

A soft rain had been falling that morning when Harry Gregson had risen and gone to the cowshed. His life had fallen into a pattern of such routine, one that exhausted his body but left him alone with his thoughts. During the workday little snatches of verse or prose, the precious words that he'd read and learned under Mr. Carter's tutelage, sometimes drifted through his mind, and he tried to envision the printed pages again. Dreaming thus allowed him such freedom as could be had while he was in Lady Ludlow's service, working to support his family.

Today his mind was drawn in a different direction, though, towards the wider world, for he knew Mr. Carter was set to depart for London and would surely come and see him first. As Harry waited for his friend's arrival, he couldn't help wishing that he could join Mr. Carter in the coach, then the train to London, and leave Hanbury behind.

Somebody whistled from the doorway of the shed, pulling Harry out of his daydreams. Mr. Beckett was outside, grinning as though he'd thought up this meeting himself, and there was Mr. Carter at his side, looking much as he had done, in breeches, shirt, waistcoat, and coat. This time, though, he was wearing just one boot and needed a pair of crutches to help him stand.

"Come now, Harry, don't look at me that way," Mr. Carter said. "I shall be walking with ease the next time you see me, you know."

Harry managed a smile. "Here at Hanbury, yes, sir. But I'd rather see you do it in London."

"You would, at that. You'd have Mr. Beckett pack you in a trunk, wouldn't you, if it meant you could come along with us."

"I'd like very much to see London, sir."

"And so you shall, Harry, when you're a man and can do what you will. But for now you must stay here like a good lad. When I get back, I can tell you all about London, and we shall have even more books to read, too."

"I'd like that."

"Good. Now look after yourself, Harry, and I'll see you very soon."

"Mr. Carter –"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I hope the doctors in London are very clever, and I hope they're very good."

Beckett could have sworn he saw tears in Carter's eyes. "Oh, they're the cleverest in the world, Harry, the cleverest in the world."

Laurentia Galindo had never minded a soft summer rain on the Hanbury estate. Everything was so wonderfully green, so blissfully peaceful. But here in town, where she had her rooms and her millinery shop, a rainy day, even one in late summer, made the streets mud and the atmosphere bleak.

If it had been an ordinary day, Miss Galindo might have remained inside, perhaps lingering over a cup of tea, then spending the daylight hours crafting caps and bonnets. But on this day Mr. Carter would be going to London, and Lady Ludlow had been most insistent that she and Miss Galindo would see him off on his journey.

She'd come alone to the spot where Lady Ludlow waited in her carriage, Mr. Carter at her side. There was Anthony Beckett too, ready to accompany Mr. Carter all the way to London. She thought she detected a sense of excitement in Anthony, and he caught her eye and gave a hint of a smile – as endearing as it was impudent.

Mr. Carter was looking much as he had before, though that illusion was destroyed when he had to rise out of the carriage and manage, with crutches and some assistance from Anthony, to step into the muddy street. He bowed to Lady Ludlow, as well as he could.

But there was no haughtiness in her ladyship this morning, for all that she was surrounded by people in her employ. She leaned forward to address her estate manager.

"Write to me of your progress, Mr. Carter, and of course if there is any need that should arise, do not hesitate to apply to me."

"Thank you, my lady. I am sure all shall be well."

"And you shall be in our thoughts and prayers." Perhaps it was then that her ladyship softly uttered the word "Godspeed" – Miss Galindo saw her lips move, but couldn't quite hear what was said – before settling back into the carriage

Miss Galindo then stepped nearer to the two men and thought she saw Anthony place a gentle hand on Mr. Carter's shoulder, turning him in her direction.

"Mr. Carter."

"Miss Galindo." He nodded, smiled slightly.

"Well, if the opinions of Dr. Harrison and Dr. Marshland are any indication, you should be wandering straight into the path of medical progress itself. I am sure you will find that interesting, and I pray you will find it useful."

"I am certain you are correct in both regards, Miss Galindo."

She reached out her hand to him, and he clasped it for a heartbeat.

"Godspeed, Mr. Carter." And then: "Come back safely to us."

It was going to be a long and tiring journey, but Mr. Carter detected a touch of boyish excitement in Beckett at the prospect of going to London. He'd have been enthusiastic himself, had he not been consumed by doubts about what would befall him once they arrived and he kept the appointments Frank Harrison and Jack Marshland had arranged.

Beyond that, there were all the conundrums he would have to solve when he came home to Hanbury, whatever happened to him in London.

The trouble had begun, he decided, when Lady Ludlow had thwarted his plan to make a clerk of Harry Gregson. If he was to employ additional staff, she implied, he'd have someone of her own choosing, not this poacher's boy. And so Lady Ludlow had personally escorted Laurentia Galindo into his office one day.

"I have brought a helpmeet for you," her ladyship had announced, just as though she were God introducing the first woman to the first man.

The analogy had been apt, and not a little unsettling. Mr. Carter's Eden had gained a new inhabitant, indeed, its first woman, and at Lady Ludlow's will, not his own. With that came an end to peace.

She'd practiced an odd blend of provocation and diplomacy, his Miss Galindo. On the one hand, she'd very nearly suggested Mr. Carter's notions of universal education were insufficiently progressive, that if he was going to instruct the Harry Gregsons of the world, he must also remember the ladies. On other hand, however, she'd proven blessedly intuitive, able to read Mr. Carter's moods and wishes as easily as any account ledger. And she'd had an education superior to his – that he had to admit, though it brought him shame – and knew how to get along at Hanbury and in workaday Cranford as well. How was it that she belonged properly to neither of those places, and yet always knew what to say in every circumstance?

He'd marveled too at the speed with which she had befriended Harry, who, in another time, would never have even entered her world. For Harry's part, his response to Miss Galindo had rested somewhere between impudent familiarity and open adoration.

Well, Mr. Carter could not be so easily bought off with a few smiles and kind words, even if Harry could.

But here Mr. Carter smiled ruefully. Perhaps Harry's was the better way; at least there was an honesty and innocence to it. Mr. Carter, on the other hand, found his very conscience under assault at the acknowledgement that Miss Galindo's presence had reminded him he was a man like any other -- and not a particularly high-minded one, at that. Had she been docile, dull, and dutiful, he would have felt at ease, or at least indifferent. But no, she must tease him, turn those eyes boldly on him with each pronouncement she made, each question she posed. She had vexed him, challenged him, and he couldn't escape the suspicion that she knew precisely the effect she was having on him.

He closed his eyes and could see her face still, the curve of her chin, the arch of her brows. Strange, wasn't it, that he had thought her rather plain when first they met. Perhaps it was the color and cut of her clothing, or the chaste simplicity with which she dressed her hair. But when she smiled – at Harry, of course, and not at him -- those bewitching dimples appeared, and there was sweetness in her expression that he'd have given anything to see again.

So he had made an effort to be kinder to her, and she had responded, and a truce seemed to be at hand. That was, of course, before Lady Ludlow had drawn an unwitting Miss Galindo into her plan to mortgage Hanbury Court. They'd gone behind his back, both of them, and he turned on the one in sorrow and the other in fury.

But then he had gone to Miss Galindo, visited her in her shop, in her home. They had even then approached each other warily – he with his good intentions, his unfailing need to do the right thing, and she with her wit, her matchless skill in saying the right thing. She had told him just what he needed to hear, that she had acted in obedience to Lady Ludlow and in ignorance of her scheme. And she had accepted his unspoken apology, delivered through a bouquet of flowers and not by words, and they had begun yet again. Things ought to have taken their natural course from there, but…

Mr. Carter sighed to himself here, drawing a glance from Beckett, who had been gazing out the window. Beckett displayed just the trace of a smile, then turned again to his watching, as Mr. Carter returned to his thoughts.

Then had come the day of the explosion, and he'd taken Miss Galindo into his confidence. Should he die of his injuries, he told her, then his estate would go to assist both Harry and Lady Ludlow – to provide the one an education, to save the other from the humiliation and insecurity of that mortgage.

But he had lived, albeit in this maimed, wretched state, and now, however fine his plans had been, all of them – Lady Ludlow, Harry, Miss Galindo – remained trapped in their former roles.

It had been so much simpler, he thought, when he was the stern but fair Edward Carter, master in his own office, advocate and mentor to Harry Gregson. Things ought to have run smoothly from there. But the women, and perhaps fate itself, had had other ideas.

Then again, what chance had there ever been that things would unfold as he had imagined? He had dreamed before, hoped before, and seen what had happened. His wife had died, leaving him alone. His fortune had been earned, but at such a cost. And now even the estate at Hanbury, which he had nurtured for so long, stood in jeopardy, thanks to that damnable Septimus and the power he wielded over his mother.

It exhausted Mr. Carter to think of all this. Fortunately, this journey would force him to concentrate on the business of making himself whole again, or at least as whole as could be managed. And if he could deal with the limitations of his body, then perhaps too the questions within his heart might somehow prove conquerable.

To be continued...