But Margaret didn't meet John in Dover. That night, the night the ship went down, she boarded a small fishing vessel headed for the coast of France. There, shivering and alone, she was admitted into a church where the father and parishioners were working to make a place for the refugees. Mothers and wives, like her, huddled, and cried, their faces pale and their fingers trembling as they adjusted their shawls or strings on their babies bonnets.
They showed her to a bed, but she would not lay down. She could not cry, nor could she sleep. A queer feeling had begun in her stomach, something more than grief, and it was fast becoming overwhelming until, with a cry, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, panting and gasping for air. Her vision went black, then came back, and she felt a warm rush down her legs. Horrified, she called for help, but with the din of the ramshackle organization and the cries of bereaved mothers and children, her voice was drowned to a whisper.
Her sight began to go again, and she curled up, terrified, on the floor, black pool at her belly. She tried to blink, but on the third try, the world went dark and she screamed. A shape came close, and then she was gone.
She did not know when, but she eventually awoke, a wet cloth to her forehead and a kindly looking nurse shuffling around a tray of bread and eggs at her feet. When the woman noticed her, she smiled and took Margaret's hand.
"The worst is over now, love," she said in a heavily English voice, "You will go home soon, and all will be well."
"What happened?" Margaret asked stupidly, feeling dizzy and hungry, but otherwise fine.
"You had a miscarriage dear," the woman said with a compassionate pat on her hand. "You might not have known you were pregnant, it was such a wee thing."
"Pregnant?" Margaret replied, stunned, "how far? What happened?"
"No more than two months. It must have been the stress, I think. Your husband is well though, all the men are. They sent word that they were picked up and taken to some coastal village."
"How..." Margaret trailed off, "how long was I asleep?"
"Four days, love," the woman handed her a glass of water. She took it with greedy fingers. "There were no casualties, just a dog or somesuch."
"Oh," Margaret closed her eyes, feeling exhausted, "but I lost my baby."
"Yes," the woman replied in a sympathetic voice.
"I lost my baby," she repeated, her hands trembling, causing the water to spill. The woman took it from her and she covered her face in her hands, suddenly unable to control herself. She sobbed and leaned into her stomach, desperate to feel something, anything that would falsify the woman's claims, but, finding none, she sunk further into the sheets and felt her tears well up into her hands. Warm arms surrounded her, and the woman hugged her, letting her weep into her shoulder.
"Shh," she cooed, "you are well, your husband is well, shh."
When Margaret found her control again, the woman looked down at her and spoke. "I lost a child too once," she sighed, "he was much bigger than yours, mind, almost ready to be born, but I have other children now. It doesn't mean that I don't still love him, but you cannot grieve."
Margaret accepted this silently, without question from this kindly stranger, and nodded, drying her eyes with her sleeve.
"Will I ever be able to have another?" she asked tentatively—fearfully.
"Oh gracious yes," the woman smiled, "as many as you want. You will be alright, I know it because I was too." She stood, and feeling her departure keenly, Margaret called to her when she was at the door with the tray of food.
"Pray, what is your name?"
"Ivy Pembrook, dear," Ivy replied, bring the toast to Margaret's side. "You are Margaret Hale, as I understand."
"No, no," Margaret shook her head, "I'm Margaret Thornton. I must have had an old card."
"Yes, maybe," the woman's brow furrowed, "maybe."
Something was wrong, and Margaret's heart sped like a trapped bird.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, dear, nothing," Ivy replied, "only I do not remember a Thornton on the registrar. Perhaps I am mistaken."
"You must be," Margaret said rather loudly, her anxiety getting the better of her, "everyone was recovered?"
"Oh yes," Ivy's smile returned, "there is nothing to fear, Mrs Thornton. Forgive me, my memory is not what it used to be."
"Yes, that must be it," Margaret willed herself to believe.
Ivy left her then, and she stood, a little dizzy. She told John she would meet him in Dover, and she could see no reason to stay. She had lost the baby she never knew and she could not let John wait for her, fretting over her. She would not tell him about the baby, she decided, she would wait and if she got pregnant again she would mourn in secret. John needn't know.
With this thought, she adjusted her dress and pulled on her boots. Extremely weary of ships but unable to find any way around them, she asked for the ships roster and boarded the Dover Packet at noon. From there she sat on a bench, her nerves on fire. Several times she thought she saw his black hair, but when she squinted, she saw that it was only the sun in her eyes. A few men looked like him—similar in build and height, but never with his face.
Panic began to swell in her stomach and she felt her fingers go ice cold. She didn't know where he would be, so the only choice would be to wait or go to all the inns and taverns and ask after him. She chose the latter, and began walking from inn to inn, enquiring after him and giving the barmaids a detailed description of her lost husband. One, two, three, seven inns... she searched and asked, wept and pleaded, but no one had seen a black haired man wearing a gentleman's jacket and looking after his wife.
Defeated, she found a place overlooking the chilly, stinking pier, and clasped her hands in front of her, close to her chest. She would not leave her spot or perhaps she would miss him and from her place she had a vantage point of the ships and their passengers shuffling in and out of the many vessels that crowded for purchase on the slick grey warf.
Ships sailed in and out, lazy in the coastal air, going but never staying long. Some came in to deliver cargo. Other came to deliver people or animals for the colonies, but not one held John Thornton. A keen pain touched her chest, and she thought about the train ride in Helston. Perhaps fate would again shine on their love, but in the throes of fear she worried that it would not. Irrational fears began to flood her mind, and she imagined him, going down with the ship, never to see her again, or that he was captured by pirates and towed away to some African place.
Frozen to her seat by her thoughts, she missed the many people coming and going around her, away from her and towards, so much so that when she heard a faint voice in the distance she almost missed it. It sounded like John, and was coming from the tavern behind her. She swivelled around, that pure, forbidden hope rising almost intoxicatingly into her heart.
Standing, she went to the pub, but at the door she was stopped by a large man, his arms crossed resolutely across his chest.
"No women."
"Pardon?" Margaret asked, eyes hard.
"This is a gentleman's club, Miss."
"My husband might be in there," Margaret argued, "I need to see him."
"Believe me, darling," the man said with a short laugh, "you won't want to even live with him if he goes to a place like this."
"Please," Margaret peeked around his waist, only to see a busy bar and some exotic women traipsing around with next to nothing covering themselves.
"I'm sorry luv," the man replied.
"Oh," Margaret replied. She bit her lip, then, on an impulse, swerved around him and into the building. He tried to catch her but before he could she yelled out,
"John! Has anyone seen John Thornton?"
"I'll be John if you want," an ugly prostitute with thick red lips replied.
"I'm not sure how that's possible..." Margaret trailed off, just as the barman took her by the arm and dragged her back outside. As he was pulling her, she glanced over to the bar and saw a man walking across the way with his back to her. His black hair and dark coat looked familiar, but she was blocked for a second and he was gone.
"John!" she cried, "John, please, John!"
"Go home, woman," the barman shook his head, annoyed. "Your husband either isn't here or doesn't want to see you."
"You don't understand!" Margaret nearly shouted back, "I thought I heard him! Please!"
"Ah," the man replied, "alright. Go home." He clearly did not believe her and she was furious. With a huff she stomped off and found a place to stay. It was a small inn near the water and she stormed in with her hands deep within her pockets.
The innkeeper gave her an amused look when she saw the state of her newest patron, and, with a resolved stance, took out a key from a cubby on the wall.
"Its two pounds a night," the woman said, "washroom is behind the bar, and I have one room left. I assume its only you?"
"Yes," Margaret replied, torn down by the woman's harsh tone.
"Well then, I'll take half now and half in the morning."
Margaret dug into her pocket, and found she had just enough for a night and a train ticket back to Milton. Handing the coin to the woman with reluctant fingers, she was handed the key and shown to her room. It was dark, and the innkeeper handed her a lantern.
"Its a warm night," she said, "so fire will cost extra. Its a guinea per log."
"I see," Margaret replied, surveying her room. It was small and grey, with a thin mattress and flat pillow.
There was a pause, and the woman stared at Margaret expectantly.
"Well?" she asked.
"Well?" Margaret replied, confused.
"Do you want fire or not?"
"Oh, no," Margaret shook her head, "that will be alright. Thank you, Mrs...?"
"Its Miss, Miss Swilling," the woman replied.
"Alright, thank you then, Miss Swilling."
"As you like," Miss Swilling sighed, clearly tired with the chatter. "If you need anything, I will be down in the morning. Ring the bell if I'm not there."
The door closed and she was left alone. She glanced at the bed, and, with a sigh of her own, curled up on the hard slab and quickly fell asleep, exhaustion and grief causing her to be pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the morning she awoke stiff and uncomfortable and made her way down to the kitchen, key in hand. She had a plan this morning; she would go back to Milton and write wanted ads for him. He had to see those, or someone who knew him would.
She finished paying Miss Swilling and knocked into a man at the door. She was trying to move past him, her eyes downcast, but she only managed to knock, hip-first into him. He looked at her, and she stopped dead.
With a scream she threw her hands around his shoulders and kissed him as many times as she could; on the face, neck and hands.
"Maggie," he said, his voice quiet and relieved.
"Oh John," she replied, leaning back to look at him.
"Are you well?" he asked, stroking her cheek.
"John," she broke down sobbing into his chest, "I—I lost our baby." John seemed shocked for a moment, then gathered her in his arms and kissed her hair.
"Shh," he cooed, "it will be alright. You are well, and so am I. That's what matters."
She continued to cry into him for another minute, but when she had dried her eyes he mad a wan comment.
"So I suppose diamonds really aren't a girl's best friend?" she slapped him on the shoulder.
"No, you silly, you are."
"Want to go home?" He took her hand.
"Oh gosh yes," Margaret replied, "but never do that to me again."
"And you, my darling. When we get home we have to spend a good long time with the family. I never want to have any regrets."
Margaret kissed him again and, in a better mood than she had been in weeks, they walked out of the dark inn and into the bright sunlight.
AN: So I'm making this short, and I know this should be longer, but thank you for reviewing. If you are still interested, or want more, drop me a line and I might be able to pull off another chapter. Spoiler:* there's a baby in the future!* Haha, R&R