Jack Marshland was sitting in his lodgings in Manchester. After a long day's work at the infirmary there was nothing better than having some whiskey and sitting by the fire. His mind was elsewhere as his eyes bore into the red-orange flames. He was brought out of his reverie by a knock at the door. A housekeeper entered with a letter that he took, giving the elderly woman a nod and smile in gratitude. He saw that it was a letter in Miss Mary Smith's hand. He opened it hurriedly, a smile gracing his lips. He was rather surprised at its length. Miss Smith's letters were usually a few pages long, but this one was shorter and the handwriting seemed rushed and perhaps even distressed. He read:
I do not pretend to understand the nature of friendship between men, Dr. Marshland, but surely in its better points, it resembles that between women.
Jack's frown deepened at these first few lines; it wasn't her style to start a letter in such a way. There were no witty remarks, no teasing, and no news on some captivating incident that had recently occurred in Cranford; very strange. He read on.
Where then was your loyalty to Dr. Harrison? Where was your kindness and respect, and where now is your compassion? His career is ruined, his reputation savaged and his courtship annihilated, all by your wilfully mischievous hand.
His blood ran cold; was this the aftermath of his ill-advised Valentine's Day joke? He ran a hand through his hair as he read on. He could tell that Miss Smith had written in distemper; almost anger, not in her usual friendly, elegant hand.
I urge you, sir, to apply your wits to the resolution of this disaster as adroitly as you did the manufacture of it. You may yet salvage your connection with Dr. Harrison, but I fear my regard for you will not recover.
Mary Smith
He soaked up the words on the page as a sponge would spilled water. He grew more and more shocked and ashamed. Good God! Had his joke really gone as far as that? For Miss Mary Smith to write it, it must be true. He had to go back. He had to go make things right. He promptly folded up the letter and put it in his shirt pocket, grabbed his coat and called for his horse to be saddled immediately.
He galloped out into the night, Miss Smith's words circling his mind constantly. The guilt that was piercing through his mind and body could not be described. Had his ridiculous prank gone so far as to destroy Frank's career in Cranford and his courtship with the lovely Miss Hutton?
You've really done it this time, Jack he thought, you just don't know when to draw the line do you? He could just slap himself.
And then there was Miss Smith...Miss Mary Smith; the last line of her letter really bore into his soul. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't expected her opinion to matter so much to him. But now, feeling that he had lost her good opinion filled him with despair. He recalled a conversation he had with Frank, months back when Jack came to Cranford for Christmas. It was then that he had first met them all. When he first clapped eyes on Miss Mary Smith, she intrigued him. Her sharp eyes were a subject of interest to him the whole night and he sought a seat beside her constantly. He also remembered asking Frank about her a few weeks later and saying I'm not in love with her, or like to be… at the time he had thought the words fair; he admired Miss Smith in what he thought was a detached, casual way. He certainly had no designs on her, having neither the means nor the inclination to marry. But it would seem that Jack's feelings changed in spite of himself. The idea of her thinking ill of him struck a chord deep in his heart that he didn't know was there. Losing the esteem and affection of someone he had come to truly respect and, he was realising, love, was something he couldn't bear.
He travelled through the night and he reached the outskirts of Cranford in the early hours of the next morning. He could see Lady Ludlow's' grand estate. He just needed to go over the bridge and he would be in Cranford. He spurred his horse on. When he finally got over the bridge, his eyes looked into the rushing water of the river, still trying to wrap his head around how it could all have gone so wrong. He then recognized the reflection of the young lady who had been on his mind for nearly the whole ride from Manchester. He called out to her,
'Miss Smith!' she turned her head in the most elegant way that made his heart flutter. Her facial expression however filled him with guilt once more, for it wasn't her usual smile and bright eyes that had captivated him so, her look was sullen, even cold.
'Dr. Marshland, I've been wandering if we'd be seeing you…' her voice rang with disapproval. Jack looked down and sighed; it was just the reception he deserved. But a part of him had hoped that Miss Smith would be at least a little glad to see him. He dismounted and took the horse to a nearby post and tied him there, never taking his eyes off Miss Smith's form. He then slowly made his way to where she was sitting at the bank of the river and sat beside her. Her eyes had not left the running waters. Could she not even look at him? Jack wanted to make amends; he wanted them to be friends if they could not be anything more, but now being faced with the cold, stern looks of Miss Smith, his courage deserted him.
'Miss Smith…I hardly know where to begin.' She still would not look at him. 'Words cannot justly express how sorry I am. I had no notion that my stupid prank should be taken-' but she cut him off,
'Sir, you need not justify yourself to me. What you must do is go to Dr. Harrison and make your apologies to him, for it is he who needs them now.' Was it his imagination or had her voice softened a little? No matter, she was right of course. An apology and an explanation was the least he owed Frank. With new conviction, he stood and held out his hand for her, for he intended to make amends with her as well, whatever it took. She looked at his outstretched hand, and then into his eyes for the first time. Jack detected curiosity in them, even a little uncertainty. Regardless, she took it and she lifted herself up. Then she went to take it away, but he held on tight, and, after untying his horse, they started walking down the lane.
They walked in silence for a while. All Jack could really concentrate on was the feel of her hand in his. It really did feel like there was no more proper place for his hand to be than held in hers. He wondered if she could feel it too. Or did her dislike of him prevent her from even contemplating any tender feelings for him; had she ever even had any? Oh, he must tear himself away from his thoughts. He brought his mind back to the issue at hand.
'What a mess! And what must you all think of me? I truly meant no ill will to Frank, he is my dearest friend. I only meant a little joke. I am ashamed that it should do so much damage. I can scarcely believe that it has...'
'But Dr. Marshland, what did you expect would happen? Did you really truly think, after seeing the way Caroline Tompkinson was behaving towards your friend, that it would just be forgotten, that she wouldn't take it seriously!'
'You are right. At the time, however, I believe I thought what a good joke it would be and that surely others would think so. I never thought that such a thing would cause Frank such hardship, otherwise I never would have done it!' He hoped she would believe this at least. She did. Mary Smith, at heart, was a charitable creature, and though she was disposed to think very ill of Dr. Marshland at present, she could see that he did seem to truly repent. This endeared him to her once more, if only slightly. She was sensible by nature, however, and could not understand how a man as intelligent as Dr. Marshland could not see the mischief that could be brought about by such an act as his. Seeing him now though, as he was, windswept, sleep deprived, for he must have been riding all night to arrive in Cranford at this hour of the morning, she could at least concede that he was a good man at heart and wanted to do right by his friend.
After a few more moments of silence, Jack ventured to ask, 'Do you know if Frank will be at home?'
'Where else would he be?' Her question puzzled him
'Well wouldn't he be trying to make amends, with Miss Hutton perhaps?' Mary shook her head, and he saw sadness in her eyes.
'The poor man hasn't been able to walk out of his house without someone sneering at him.' More guilt; Jack shook his head, chiding himself once more. Frank was the last person in England to deserve this sort of treatment. Mary continued, 'besides, he is not welcome at the rectory, not only for the obvious reason…' Jack stopped and looked into her eyes. Seeing that there were tears in them he took her by the shoulders and asked,
'Good God, what is it? Mary, tell me what's wrong?' He cared not that the use of her Christian name was too intimate. All he could think of is what could bring such a strong creature as Miss Smith to tears.
'Sophie…she…she has the typhoid fever.' She said and looked up at him desperately. Jack's eyes widened. He took her by the hand once more, held onto the reigns of the horse and walked as fast as possible to Frank's house. He knocked the door and waited for a response. When it did not come he knocked again. Nothing.
'For pity sake, Frank will you open the door?' he called through the mail slit 'I'm really sorry about the valentines, I only did it for a joke.' He looked back at Mary, who nodded, encouraging him to go on, 'I know you're in there! Listen Frank, I'm with Miss Smith; she says Sophie Hutton has the typhoid fever!' He could hear Frank inside, great worry in his voice. Then he asked if he had been sent for to which Jack replied, 'Dr. Morgan is attending her; I'm going to the George to hire myself a bed. If you want to speak to me, that's where I will be.' He knew that Frank was no longer listening to him. Still bent down, he looked back at Miss Smith. Jack did not begrudge him for it; had he been in Frank's shoes, and the woman he loved was dangerously ill, he would do anything in his power to help her. He then returned his gaze to the shut front door. He sighed. He hoped that Frank would at least let him help him through this horrible business. He felt a hand on his soldier, and looked up at Mary. He wondered if she knew the effects of such a small gesture. How grateful he was for it. He stood and she handed him the reigns of his horse. He took them and gave her a silent thank you with a smile, which he was happy to see, she returned. He watched as she curtsied to him and then started walking in the opposite directions, towards the Jenkins' House.
He turned in the direction of the George, got himself a bed and stabled his horse. He then sat down in the little sitting room there. He was too restless though to sit and wait, and he knew that, considering everything, it was unlikely that Frank would come to him any time soon. He was resolved to return to Frank's as soon as possible, but he needed to first visit Miss Caroline Tompkinson and exonerate his friend in her eyes, as well as make his apologies and excuses to the Reverend Hutton. Perhaps then he would consent to have Frank at the Rectory to help Miss Hutton in any way he could. Frank was an excellent physician after all, Jack knew, and if anyone had a chance in saving her, it was him.