Chapter Twenty
Something smelled odd. Margaret's head was pounding and her arm felt as though a mountain of bricks had fallen atop it and crushed it. But what was that smell? She let her eyes remain closed as she slowly took inventory of the rest of her body. If only her head did not hurt so much, she might be able to think straight!
She attempted to open her right eye, but its lid was not cooperating. Her left eye worked and when she slowly opened it, she saw he dear father, sleeping in the chair next to the bed. His chin was resting on his chest, quietly snoring.
She moved slightly and immediately regretted it. Her head was so painful, tears sprung to her eyes. The room was dark, save for a lamp, burning low next to the bed. She closed her eye with a sigh. The last thing she remembered was pushing John out of the way as a man was loading a slingshot to shoot him.
Fanny and Mrs. Thornton were safe within the carriage, but she and John had not quite made it inside to safety. She was hit on the head by whatever had been aimed at John, and once hit, she fell forward, into John. They both collapsed just outside of the Thornton carriage, and that was the final thing she remembered from the Autumn Dinner.
Was she now at the Thornton's home? She popped open her eyes again and looked around as much as she could without moving her head. She tried to lift her right arm to touch the side of her face, but realized her arm was tied against her chest to prevent any movement. Was it broken? Her head hurt so much she did not even realize any other pain she experiencing.
The smell suddenly made sense. Laudanum or morphine. Some sort of pain medication to help her with her head and arm. Someone had seen to her care. John, if he was not hurt, would have brought her to his house where Dr. Donaldson must have seen to her injuries.
Shifting to get comfortable, she must have made just enough noise to wake her dear father.
"Margaret!" He stood quickly and rushed the few feet to the bed. He sat on the very edge. "Oh, my dear, dear girl." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I am so pleased to see your eyes open."
"One eye." She cleared her dry throat. "I cannot lift my arm to feel the right side of my head. I tried to use my left arm, but that was too painful." She sighed.
"You were hit in the head by rocks. Dr. Donaldson has been here and placed seven stitches in your head. Your right eye is very swollen. Somehow, you also broke your arm in the fall."
"Is John well?" She feared what her fall on top of him might have done.
"I am not certain. He has not returned home yet."
He brought a glass of water up to her lips and helped get the liquid into her mouth without it getting her wet. "That is where we are then? The mill house?"
"Yes." He helped her with another sip. "John brought you here so his mother could see to your needs before the doctor could arrive. John sent the carriage to fetch me after he returned to the men's club to see the destruction and question whoever might have been involved."
John had sent for her father. With everything in chaos around him, he had still thought about her comfort.
"And my arm, Papa? How badly is it broken?"
He sighed and kissed her forehead again. "Growing up, you never got sick or injured. But, now that you have, you did it quite thoroughly." He chuckled. "I should not laugh." He shook his head. "Your arm is broken in two places, your wrist and forearm. John believes it got caught under his body when the two of you fell. At least that is what Mrs. Thornton told me."
"I remember none of that." She closed her eyes again. I suppose stitching will be out of the question for a bit of time. Did Dr. Donaldson say how long it would take my arm to heal?"
"He did not. I did not press him for too much information, though, he was quite exhausted after seeing to people harmed by the fire."
"It was the scariest thing I have ever experienced. I knew people in Milton were looking to start a strike, but no one expected them to physically injure anyone?"
"I cannot say," he said. "I am just glad John saw to your safety after you were injured. He should have got you in the carriage before you were hit."
"Do not be critical of him, Papa. Everyone was under attack." She closed her eye and sighed. She searched her memory, knowing there was something she had to tell John.
"Are you in pain? Is that why you are frowning?"
"I am in pain," she agreed. "However, I am frowning because I feel as if there was something I had to tell John. I thought it was important, and that was why I grabbed his arm in the first place. Then, I saw the man with the slingshot…" She went stiff. Her eye popped open. "Oh, Papa. Oh no!"
"What is it, child?"
"It was Frederick with the slingshot and rocks. Oh, my goodness, Papa. Freddy called my name, and I turned in that direction. He realized what he had done as soon as the rock left the sling and luckily, I pushed John forward, or he would have been hit fully on the side of his head."
"Dr. Donaldson told me that based on the force of the rocks, John might have died. You may have saved John's life." He caressed the side of her face. "You are certain it was Freddy?"
She nodded and then winced. "Every time, I move my head a sharp pain goes through my head."
"Dr. Donaldson left some medicine for pain."
He moved from the bed, back to the chair he had been sitting on. The medicine bottles were on the table next to it. He lifted and opened one of the bottles and brought it to the bed, along with a spoon.
"Can you sit up?"
"I can try."
Deliberately, slowly, she leaned up on her left elbow, just barely enough to have her head off the pillow. As soon as she was settled, her father spooned the foul-smelling liquid into her mouth.
"Ugh."
"One more."
"Wait just a moment." She closed her eye as if that would make it easier to swallow. It did not.
He helped her take a sip of water. "Ready?"
"Yes."
He spooned the second dose into her mouth and once she swallowed, she rested her head back on the fluffy pillow.
"What shall we do, Papa?" She knew she would fall asleep quickly after the medicine kicked in. "We must tell John that Freddy is here. Why is he here?"
With a huge sigh, her papa said, "Mr. Bell told me Fred contacted him for a place to live. Bell suggested that he stay safely in Spain, but Fred did not want to. He wanted to come home."
"Is that why we are here instead of at Cambridge or somewhere you could teach young adults? Did Mr. Bell suggest Milton because he had sent Freddy here?"
He shook his head. "I did not want to be at a university. I never asked what Bell decided to do after Fred contacted him. I was too worried I would not like the answer. I knew that if he was back in England I would always worry for his safety."
"I understand." She closed her eye. "What time is it?"
"Nearly two in the morning. You were out for about six hours."
She yawned. "Are Mrs. Thornton and Fanny well?"
"Yes, they were safely in the carriage."
"Oh, yes, that is correct. I do remember that. John and I were almost inside, too. I'm falling asleep again, Papa. Do you wish to lie down next to me? The bed is definitely large enough."
"Are you certain it will not jostle you and cause pain?"
"No, Papa, it will give me comfort to have you next to me. I might be twenty years old, but sometimes I still need you."
He climbed in next to her and shuffled the covers. "Is this alright?"
"Yes. Is this one of their guestrooms?"
"I believe so. It is large, and not too far from the staircase. I understand John carried you from the carriage all the way up here."
She chuckled and then moaned in pain. "I suppose he is used to hefting big bales of raw cotton. I wonder how much heavier than I am?"
"Not much, my dear. When I arrived, they already had you in a nightgown. I imagine it was easier for Donaldson to set your arm."
"Oh dear, my dress," she cried. "I spent so much time on that."
"You can fix it. All that matters is you will heal and be up on your feet soon." Her papa set a pillow behind her back for support on her arm and shoulder. "Mrs. Thornton said she will not allow you to leave until she is satisfied you are well. She is not a woman I would choose to cross swords with. Close your eye, and let your head rest. I will be here when you awaken."
"And what about Freddy?"
"We must tell John. My son had a choice, and he made the wrong one. It breaks my heart that he is going to face the imminent punishment, but it must be so."
"What if we do not tell John?" she whispered.
"We have to, Margaret. I cannot and will not be complicit in his wrongdoings. Nor will you."
She did start to cry then. She was quiet as the tears rolled from her eyes. Freddy did not intend to hurt her, but he wanted to kill John, and all the men who were at the party. Thank the Lord he did not succeed. She did not have the emotional strength to ask her father if anyone else was seriously hurt, but she prayed everyone was able to escape without harm.
John dragged himself up the stairs of the mill house. It was nearly four in the morning and he was just now arriving home. The building which held the men's club appeared to be a complete loss, but at least the fire brigade had been able to stop the spread of the fire to surrounding buildings. If the arsonists had attacked Marlborough Mills it would be a huge loss. With all the cotton bales and finished yardage, it was like a wick waiting to be lit.
He stopped outside the room where he had placed Margaret's limp body hours earlier. Had that been eight hours ago? He wanted to go to her, but he did not. If something had been amiss, his mother would have remained awake waiting for him. Donaldson had likely helped Margaret and once he had a few hours of sleep, he would be up and checking on her.
He had gone to the mill office to ensure all was safe there. Pleased nothing was amiss, he left a note for Williams explaining he would be in later than usual and when he arrived, he wanted to have a meeting with all the workers. He told Williams not to start the looms after the lunch break.
He did not want to lecture his workers. After the attack the night before, and the threat of a strike this evening, he had to. None of the men arrested and behind bars were on the Marlborough Mills payroll. That was incredibly reassuring. He did not want to believe any of his employees would be so cruel and dangerous, interested in ruining their town.
His room was three doors down the hall from where Margaret slept. Donaldson came to the jail after he took care of Margaret. The doctor assured John that Margaret would heal, but she had a broken arm and stitches. He wondered what would have happened had she not pushed him out of the way. Those rocks were surely meant for him, not her. She may have saved his life, and the guilt he was feeling was horrible. Until he actually saw her, knew she would be well, he would continue to have a stomach tied in knots.
His clothing smelled like smoke. His whole body probably smelled like smoke. That fire was intense, and even though he was across the street from the building, he had still felt the heat. It was horrible, perhaps one of the worst experiences he had ever had. Once the sun was up, he would be interested to see just how bad the damage was. The building was old, one of the very first built on New Street as Milton was developing.
He pulled off his clothes and put them in a pile as far away from his bed as he could. He still smelled like smoke. Even though he wanted to wash away the stench, he was too tired. He pulled on his nightshirt and crawled into bed, knowing he would be making more work for the maids. The smoke would not be easy to remove from his clothes or the bedding. He literally fell into bed, but his mind would not slow down. He was relieved he got his mother and sister to safety, and if we had only a few more moments, he and Margaret would have been equally safe. Donaldson said Mr. Hale was unsettled, but not angry. Mr. Hale had trusted him with his precious daughter and what had happened? She had ended up getting hurt and not even making it home.
He wondered if Margaret had woken up yet. She was soundly passed out when he carried her into the bedroom next to Fanny's. He was thrilled to have her in his arms, but he wished it was for pleasure, instead of her being hurt and likely in horrible pain.
He sighed deeply and then closed his eyes. He said a few quick prayers that God had been there to protect the people he loved most, and thanked Him for allowing all his friends and colleagues to escape without any serious injury.
Tomorrow would be another long day. He was not certain how to avoid his employees from striking. It was expected that the hands at all the other large mills, Slickson's and Hamper's specifically, would strike at five. Could he convince his people to stick it out with him, or would they follow suit?
It was almost eleven when John finally emerged from his room the following morning. He had taken a bath and been able to remove most of the smoke scent from his body. Fresh clothing helped, but the memory would not be as easy to rid from his mind.
Before going down to eat, he paused outside the room he had placed Margaret in the night before. He leaned his ear up against the door, knowing that if he heard even the smallest sound, he would knock and hopefully be allowed inside. His Margaret was hurt and it was likely his fault. He wished he had been able to better cushion her in their tumble.
Jane had brought him the morning paper along with coffee as the footmen were bringing water up for his bath. She said that Margaret would wake for a little while at a time, but would soon fall back asleep once she took pain medication.
When he heard no movement or sound from inside, he pulled away from the door and moved toward the stairs. She may have just had another dose of pain medication. He wanted more than anything to go in to see Margaret, but he did not want to awaken her. She needed sleep to heal.
Guilt continued to eat at him. Before he finally fell asleep, he reviewed in his mind again and again what he could have done differently to keep her safe. They could have run into the carriage as Fanny had, but his attention had been divided between getting the ladies to safety and the fiery crumbling building behind them.
He entered the dining room where his mother and Fanny were already seated for lunch. As usual, he kissed his mother's cheek and made his way to the other side of the table.
"You still smell like smoke," she said, looking at him with concern.
"It was horrible. It was even worse than the fires I saw at the mill in Yorkshire."
"Is the building completely gone?" Fanny asked.
"I have not seen it in the light. I came home just after four this morning. It looked quite serious. The top floor was gone by then. I am furious, but thankful you both were safe."
"Margaret was badly hurt, John," his mother said. "I was glad when her father arrived and even more relieved when Dr. Donaldson came. I did not know what to do for her."
"She broke her arm, John!" Fanny said. "The whole side of her face is ugly and disfigured. So swollen and bruised." Fanny made a disgusted face.
"Fanny, that could have been you." He used his stern voice. "Margaret will heal. I feel very guilty that she was injured. Do not be critical of her appearance, it will only make the situation worse."
Just as the maids began to serve their lunch, Mr. Hale appeared at the door of the dining room. He looked apprehensive and definitely tired. John stood and welcomed him into the room to share their meal.
"How is she?" John asked.
Mr. Hale nodded. "She was awake on and off all night. She was awake for about an hour this morning. She has pain, but not as great as last night."
"Did you have the opportunity to sleep?" his mother asked Mr. Hale.
He nodded. "I crawled in next to Margaret." He chuckled. "It reminded me of when she was tiny and would have nightmares. More often than not Maria and I would find her curled into a ball at the foot of our bed. She eventually outgrew it, or perhaps she no longer fit between our feet."
Although that was a very sweet memory of Margaret as a child, John wanted to know, "Is she better?"
Mr. Hale nodded and wiped the corner of his mouth before answering. "Jane came to sit with her so I might come and eat. I expect it will be difficult for her, with her right arm broken. It is her dominant hand, so I doubt she will be doing much sewing. I hope I have enough books to occupy her time."
His mother put her fork down and said, "She can still come to the sewing group, Mr. Hale. She is always welcome."
"Thank you. I am certain she will be glad to know that." Mr. Hale sighed. "I cannot quite believe you were all attacked."
"Nor can I," John answered. "We have never even been threatened at the men's club. On occasion one of the mill masters might receive a threat, but they have never followed through."
"Until now," his mother said.
"Mother, I would like you to come with me to the mill. I left Williams a message last night that I would have a meeting with all the employees after lunch break. I would like you to be there with me."
She nodded. She always supported him, no matter what he tried, she was there to give advice and backing.
"What will you say to them?" Fanny asked.
He avoided sharing much about his business with Fanny. She was not intentionally loose-lipped but keeping a secret was not one of her talents. She did like gossip, but business talk would likely be of little interest to her. It was not chit-chatting her female friends would eat up. However, now that she was courting one of his competitor's sons, he was more cautious about what he said in front of her.
"Well, Fanny, fortunately, none of the men locked up at the jail are employed by me. I was very relieved that my employees appear to have not taken part in the riot. Threat of a strike is looming on the horizon, and I would like to avert that at Marlborough Mills if possible."
She frowned. "Do you think you will convince them? The Slicksons say there is no way to prevent a shutdown."
"I hold out great hope my people will be reasonable." John turned to Mr. Hale. "I would like to see Margaret this evening. I do not want to disturb her now, but will you tell her I am worried about her? I will see her when I am done at the mill."
Mr. Hale frowned. "She will not want you to see her just yet, John. Her face is quite swollen and bruised. She is not a vain girl, but she would not want you, in particular, to see her in her current condition."
"I offered her my looking glass," Fanny said. "She did not wish to see herself."
"I suppose not," Mr. Hale said. "Miss Thornton, Margaret is quite thankful you lent her some night clothes. She is disappointed that her dress had to be cut in order to get her arm through the sleeve so Donaldson could set it. I assured her she could fix it one day or remake it. That seemed to appease her, but she slipped back to sleep so I am not certain how she will feel about it when she wakes again. She did work very hard to make that gown."
"She looked very lovely last night. I do believe she would have been chosen as Autumn Queen. Either she or Fanny."
"Autumn Queen?" Mr. Hale asked.
"Yes, people vote for the man and woman who most represent the season," his mother explained. "The color of her dress was spectacular and the way she designed it was unique. Fanny's dress was also quite well done."
Mr. Hale rested his back fully against the chair. "Do not all the men wear the same formal evening garb?"
"For the most part, yes, but the waistcoat and sometimes the cravats are unique," John answered. "Are you ready to go, Mother?"
She nodded, and when she stood the men did as well. Fanny was still sipping on her tea. Last night had been quite a shock to all of them.
Mr. Hale rested a hand on John's shoulder as he followed him out of the room. "Mr. Thornton, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time before you go to the mill?"
"Of course," John said. "Mother you can wait or go ahead."
"I will meet you there, son." She nodded to Mr. Hale before she began to descend the staircase which led to the front door.
John walked into his mother's formal drawing room and closed the door behind Mr. Hale. Whatever he wanted to tell John was none of Fanny's business.
"This is very difficult for me to tell you, but I must," Mr. Hale began without delay. "Did you hear someone call out for Margaret before she fell into you?"
He thought back to the incident. It had happened so fast that he could not be sure if he heard anything other than people screaming.
"I afraid I cannot recall. Why?"
"It seems before the rocks were hurled toward you, my son, Frederick, called out to Margaret. She turned, saw him, and pushed you out of the way."
"Frederick?" Damn it, he was here in Milton! "Is she certain?"
Mr. Hale nodded. "Last year, Mr. Bell said Fred contacted him. Fred wanted to return to England and with Bell's contacts, he hoped there would be a place he could safely hide. I never asked if Mr. Bell followed through with Fred's request, I honestly did not wish to know. I knew if Fred came back to England, he would be put to death, and it was far easier to imagine him on a warm beach in Spain."
He paused, thinking of what Mr. Hale had just told him. "No one named Frederick was arrested last night, but I would imagine he is using an alias. He was aiming for me, of course, not Margaret." He paced a bit before finally saying, "I will think about how we should proceed. I may need you to come to the jail and see if one of them is Fred."
"And then what?"
John realized it would not make sense for Mr. Hale to come and look at the prisoners. It would look suspicious as he was not at the dinner the night before.
"Actually, it is Margaret who should come." He frowned. He did not want her to be exposed to the prisoners. "Since she was injured, it would be logical to have her identify the attacker. You would have no reason to know any of the prisoners."
"Yes, you do have a point." Mr. Hale agreed.
"Since learning about your son and his… situation I have wished, many times, I was not a magistrate. I feel caught in the middle. I do not want to order his death, but I fear there may come a time when I have no choice."
Mr. Hale nodded, indicating he was aware of what the future held for his son. How could Margaret marry him if he had to order her brother killed for his mutinous actions? Why had the man not just remained in Spain?
"I must go for now. Please tell Margaret I wish to see her this evening. I do not care what she looks like, I simply wish to be certain she is receiving the best of care and let her know I am sorry this has happened." And that I love her.
Mr. Hale grinned. "I will tell her. However, she may not allow your visit. You must know by now she is stubborn once her mind is made up."
"As am I." John smiled. "Make yourself at home. If you need to leave, just allow one of the maids to know, and they will call the carriage." He clapped Mr. Hale on the shoulder and left him in the drawing room.
At the front door, he shrugged into his coat and walked through the front door, into a chilly, windy Autumn afternoon. The mill yard was quiet as it usually was during the mid-day break. In only ten minutes or so, the bell would sound, calling his employees back to work. He had not yet decided exactly how to address his workers. He did know what needed to be said, and once he began, he knew he would get his thoughts out correctly. Or so he hoped.
His mother was sitting in his office, looking through samples of the latest cotton Marlborough Mills had produced. It was all quite fine, but one of the looms seemed to be pulling strands more than the others. He did not know if it was the operator of the loom or the loom itself. He had just noticed the flaws yesterday and hoped to address it yet this afternoon.
She held up the samples. "I trust you have looked at these already?"
He nodded. "I was going to ask you if the woman I have on that loom is capable or if the machine was causing the error. I am not certain how she could not catch the problem before it got to the finishing."
The samples were each numbered and each one matched one of the looms.
"Loom seven is Louise. Were the samples like this last week?"
He shook his head, no.
"She is very good, John. She has been here quite some time. I believe you will find one of the teeth on the reed is warped or perhaps missing altogether, rather than Louise be at fault."
He smiled for the first time since the dinner the night before. "You always impress me, mother. I do hope is just a tooth. That is an easy and inexpensive fix."
As she tossed the samples back on his desk, the bell tolled, calling his people back to work. From his vantage point, above the floor of the weaving shed, he watched people file in. No one went to their stations, but rather gathered around the raised platform at the front of the shed. That was where he usually addressed the workers, and he would do so again now.
"Shall we?" he asked his mother.
Her face was grave as she stood. He allowed her to walk ahead of him from the office, down the stairs, and then up the three that led to the top of the platform. He would wait until everyone settled down. Williams appeared in the hallway and John waved him to join them on the platform.
Once the second bell rang, he held up his hand for silence. People quieted almost immediately and directed their attention from their co-workers to him. He swallowed. He really did not like the eyes of so many to be fixated upon him. He glanced at his mother, who nodded, and then at Williams who did the same.
"Good afternoon," he started. The room was quiet so he did not need to raise his voice. "By now, all of you have likely heard of the trouble on New Street last evening." Heads began to nod and quiet murmurs spread through the shed. "I wish to thank all of you for not involving yourselves in such a harmful plot. Many people were injured, and of course, a building was destroyed. Although the men's club occupies only the top floor, there are businesses on the lower two. Those businesses will have nowhere to operate. Their employees are now without employment. Mr. Williams has assured me that all my employees checked in as usual this morning, and for that, I am thankful to all of you. It not only because it means you are not in prison as so many others are, but also that you are uninjured."
"I 'erd yer lady got 'ert." A voice from the throng called up to them.
John's jaw tightened. "I escorted Miss Margaret Hale to the dinner last evening, and yes, she was hit in the head by a large rock, and fell in such a way she broke her arm. She is recovering under the care of Dr. Donaldson."
He did not want to talk about Margaret and his personal business. "Other questions about last night?"
People looked at each other, but no one spoke up.
"The second thing I must speak with you about is the planned strike that workers in other mills are plotting to begin today at five." He glanced up at the large clock. Only four hours from now! "I would like to state my case against such an action, if I may? As most of you are aware, I offer wages seven percent higher than the other mills in town. Because of that, I only hire the very best of the best. That is what I consider all of you to be. I will remind you that at Christmas, you all receive a small raise and another one in June. Without your labor, I could not efficiently operate. Without me, you would not have employment. If you choose to withhold your labor from Marlborough Mills, I am quite certain someone from Hamper's or Slickson's mill would be lined up to take your place. You will never receive higher pay than what I offer. I cannot increase wages any higher than what I already pay you."
He waited to see if anyone would yell out, but they remained silent, staring at him.
"I asked Mr. Williams not to turn on the machines this afternoon, so I could address you. I will say this. If you do intend to strike, please leave now, so I may find others to fill your position before tomorrow. Many of you have worked many years at Marlborough Mills, some even before I was able to purchase the works. There is not one of you who I would like to watch leave us. I you intend to continue working for me, please stay. If the workers at the other mills strike, there will be more need for cotton from us, and if that happens, I will need to work extra shifts and will be able to offer you better wages, because Marlborough Mills will be selling products when the other mills are down. Ultimately, it is your choice, but I invite you to think hard before you decide to leave. You will not be rehired."
He nodded to Williams, and asked him to start up the steam engine and thus, the machines. He stepped down off the platform and waded through the sea of workers, to loom number seven, in hopes of fixing whatever it was pulling on the fabric, making uneven lines. Business was far from usual today, but if he could concentrate on fixing the machine, he might be able to set aside his worry about Margaret and the possible worker's strike.