Notes:
Life was tough for the past two months. I struggled a lot mentally. I was almost about to give up on this work, but I just couldn't. Now, I finished writing the entire story though. I will have to do lots of editing but at least its a first draft. On a happier note, I have just joined as a teacher in my school! It's going great, and I can already say that I am becoming a quick favorite of my students! Hehe.
This chapter is mostly fluff.
"I am Mr. Thornton, master of Marlborough Mills."
Margaret stood dumbfounded.
She had assumed that people in trade would be past their prime, but to see a young man in such grave authority of a vast enterprise wasn't expected. Not at all. Plus, when she had seen him before violently behaving with a worker, she had also noticed his shirt smudged with grease.
Mr. Thornton was equally stunned at the whole fiasco of the day. For someone who had always been in total authority of everything that happened in the mill, this was practically the first time he was questioned by someone. His anger was inevitably provoked when he saw Boucher skulk in the mill with a pipe. The entire mill and the people inside would have been marred to death in no time had even the slightest spark settled on a tiny cotton dust. He dashed as fast as he could to stop any mishap and also bring the dunce to his senses. He didn't expect the young woman standing aside and a part of him wished that she didn't see this terrible scuffle. She had faced him boldly as no one ever did before but her face was also laced with fright, fearing if he would be violent with her as well. Before he could know who exactly she was, he was informed by the overseer that Miss Hale was waiting for him in his office waiting to collect some keys.
Could it be her? Or did I hear Mr. Wallace's words wrong? It might be Mr. Hale. He thought, as he hurried to collect his coat and walked towards his office. But he was wrong.
On seeing her brushing a boll of cotton on her cheeks stirred something deeply in him that he couldn't word it properly.
She collected herself and answered.
"I am Margaret Hale, daughter of Richard Hale. I have come to get the keys to the property at Crampton."
Her defiant manner told him that the scene before was fresh in her mind, obviously. It was quite unusual for women to meddle in such businesses, but her interference in the matter told Mr. Thornton that she had the caliber to be in charge of issues solely by herself. She looked a proper gentlelady and had he known, he would have ensured to enlist better properties. The one at Crampton was average with fewer rooms than the others.
"Crampton? Did you and your father check the other properties? The one in Allenbury Street and the one at…"
"I saw them. I became aware that repairs were made on your suggestion, but I didn't find them suitable." She pointed out starkly.
Mr. Thornton looked at her, not with censure but with a confused look.
"Very well."
He went towards the chest of drawers, opened the second one and fetched the keys, handing it out to her.
"I have an important meeting at the moment. Would you mind if I send my overseer to assist you?"
Margaret sensed that this man was probably used to handing over matters unconcerned to him in the hands of his employees. But a moment later, she realized that he was genuinely busy and agreed to his suggestion.
"I hope the one at Crampton meets your expectations, Miss Hale."
"I hope so, Mr. Thornton. Thank you."
She meekly put back the boll of cotton on the table, wore her hat and walked away with Mr. Wallace.
...
After inspecting the house at Crampton, Margaret was satisfied. It had few and less spacious rooms than the ones she inspected before. She realized that this must be the reason why the mill master must have suggested the other homes. But either way, she liked that it was located far from the mills, in an average quiet street, near to the market. The wallpapers were too intense, but she told herself that changing the wallpaper was not important at the moment but shifting to a house as soon as possible. Mr. Wallace also informed her that the rent was thirty pounds a year. In some time, it was arranged that her father would inspect the house as well.
"I really believe that one will suit us, papa? Don't you think? Yes, it's smaller than the ones we have been accustomed to but it's comfortable." Margaret told her father.
"You feel that way? Then I must say I agree too. It's also close to the Lyceum. But the wallpapers! Such ostentatious tastes!"
"I thought the same too. I would much rather prefer sage green wallpaper with light yellow and pink flowers on it. But that can wait, papa."
"I am afraid we will have to put up with these obnoxious ones, Margaret. Mr. Wallace tells me that Mr. Donkin, the landlord who is out of town, has informed strictly to not undergo any changes at all."
Margaret's face fell to hear that. But what was a wallpaper worth their troubles when compared to their transition to this miserable town of tradesmen, amidst violence and quarrels?