Margaret woke to the sound of light tapping on Mr. Thornton's bedroom door.
"Yes?" she called out in his groggy masculine voice.
With a nervous tremble in her voice, Jane, the amid, called through the closed door, "Missus tol' me t' wake ya, sir. She said t' tell ya tha' dinner would be served in a quarter o' an 'our."
"Thank you, Jane," Margaret kindly replied, "I'll be down shortly."
Margaret scrubbed her hands over her face, continually surprised to discover the roughness there. Rubbing her hands back and forth a few more times she smiled, enjoyed the feel of it. She rose and walked to the looking glass. Shaking her head, she wondered how and if this would ever end. It certainly never would if she didn't talk to the other party concerned.
Reaching for the ewer on the nearby washstand she poured some water and washed her hands and face. Combing Mr. Thornton's hair and straightening his clothes, she began to formulate her plan for the evening.
She knew her father would be out, for he was scheduled to give a lecture at the Lyceum Hall that night. Her mother usually went to sleep immediately following dinner. That would leave Margaret, er – John, alone, for Dixon would be busy about her chores. She was sure to get an uninterrupted audience with him.
Margaret descended the stairs with gusto once again and joined John's mother in the dining room.
"Fanny won't be joining us this evening," the woman told her son as he took his seat at the head of the table. "She had an invitation from Anne Latimer to dine with their family."
Margaret replied with an indifferent grunt, as she figured - well, more likely hoped - that Mr. Thornton would have upon receipt of that news.
"As much as I admonished Fanny not to, it is quite probable that she and her friend will gossip about you and Miss Hale. You know your sister can't hold her tongue." Then she said aside, but loud enough for her son to hear, "Why couldn't it have been Miss Latimer who threw her arms around you."
"Miss Latimer, indeed!" exclaimed Margaret indignantly, as she remembered the young lady she had met the night of the dinner party and the dark emotion she had felt then crept once more into her thoughts. Margaret had never identified that emotion before but now it was plain to her – it was jealousy. It made her sick to think of Miss Latimer in John's arms. It made her sick to think of anyone in John's arms except herself.
She startled at that thought. Was she falling in love with John Thornton?!
No, no, no, that could not be! She did not like him! She must just be feeling possessive of him because she presently did, in fact, possess him. But as she thought of all the reasons she had for hating him she realized those reasons no longer existed anymore.
Margaret had harbored an extreme dislike for Mr. Thornton before she even met him, because he was a tradesman. Tradesmen were only ever interested in buying and selling and turning a profit, or so she had been brought up by her aunt to believe. Then they used their nouveau riche status to try and insert themselves into high society amongst the long-established landed gentry. But really – was money all Mr. Thornton was interested in? Sure, he only made decisions that made good business sense, but she knew he gave the highest wages of all the mills in Milton. She also knew firsthand that he was interested in expanding his mind through his studies with her father, and through their philosophical discussions she knew he had a sound moral compass. Mr. Thornton was not some pretentious upstart looking to make a name for himself. He was a true gentleman.
Then came the first time she saw him. Her impression of him then had been that of a violent and harsh mill master. But now that she realized what destruction and devastation that wretch could have caused by smoking in the mill, she knew now that Mr. Thornton's actions were done out of a high level of concern for his employees.
He had also installed wheels in his sheds, at considerable expense to himself, to keep his employees healthier. He had even condescended to visit the Higgins', in her stead, where he met the 'union rabble rouser' and for all intents and purposes, offered him a job. Margaret realized that Mr. Thornton was truly a kind and just man.
Margaret had come to find that Mr. Thornton was not the man she had assumed he was and that her feelings for him were quite the opposite of what she had felt before. Dare she call it love?
"John?" his mother asked, "are you well? Your head…"
"I am fine," Margaret replied definitively, "Mother, I am going to Crampton this evening to see Mr. – Miss Hale."
His mother nodded solemnly and said, "I understand, you could not do otherwise." Wiping her mouth with her napkin and lowering it to her lap, she declared, "Ever since you met that woman, she has occupied your thoughts and wound her way into your heart."
Margaret looked at Mrs. Thornton in shock.
"Oh, you don't think a mother knows when her son is in love?" his dotting mother replied. "I have tried and tried to find you a good Milton girl, but it seemed your heart could not be snared until that beauty from the south arrived. She will take you from me and I will no longer be first on your affections. But alas, that is the way of the world." She glanced around the impeccable room, blinking the tears from her eyes. "Hereafter she will be mistress of this house. I must learn to accept that." She let out a heavy sigh and turned her attention back to her son. "It will be worth it though, to see you happy, John. Will a marriage between the two of you make you happy?"
Margaret was practically in tears at this revelation. Not only had she just realized she loved John Thornton but here was his mother telling her that the man in question loved her as well.
With her heart nearly bursting, Margaret answered the woman's question honestly - "Yes."
….oOo….
A pile of crumpled papers spilled from the table and on to the floor of Margaret Hale's bedroom. After patiently listening to Mrs. Hale lament the absence of her son, John had spent the rest of the afternoon bent over Margaret's writing desk. However, no matter how hard he tried, every letter he wrote looked like it came from Margaret's hand and while the sight of words from her made his heart leap for joy it was not the goal he was trying to achieve. No, he concluded, the letters he needed to write regarding her brother would have to wait until they could actually come from his own hand. It was the weight of a letter from John Thornton, 3rd Magistrate of Milton, that would get him the desired result and nothing less.
When he had first learned that the Hales had a son, he wondered why Mr. Hale hadn't told him. But that was easily explained by the magnanimity of the affair. It would be shameful to be known as having a traitor in the family. That may be part of the reason his beloved tutor decided to relocate his family to the North - to escape the shame of recognition.
In the past two days John had learned much about the burdens Miss Margaret Hale had to bear:
The Hales were not well off. In fact, they were quite poor. Reverend Hale's insistence on following his conscience was highly admirable but it had cost him dear: his parish, his living, his home in the south. And moving to the harsher climate of Northern England seemed to have catastrophically affected his wife's health.
Their reduced circumstances caused many hardships for the family, but Margaret seemed to have taken on the bulk of them. Her room was on the top floor and was freezing cold, her southern blankets far too thin for this northern clime. She bathed with cold water and although the Hale's had lived here over a year now, it looked like there had never been a fire in this room.
Margaret often groomed and dressed herself and helped out in the kitchen and around the house. John had even learned that Margaret, in an attempt to make light of the situation, referred to herself as 'Peggy the laundry maid' when she lowered herself to that level.
Just this morning the housekeeper had asked him if "Peggy the laundry maid would be so kind as to help iron the linens?" Of course John readily agreed. Throughout his time here he would eagerly do any task that was Margaret's. He wished to learn everything there was to know about the woman who stole his heart. He was thankful that this task was not unfamiliar to him as he occasionally had to iron fabrics when he worked in the draper's shop. In fact, Dixon marveled at her young mistress' improved skills.
Occupational interest had John examining Margaret's wardrobe. He found many of her gowns to be a bit threadbare at the elbows and cuffs. A few of her garments had been turned and all were at least a season old (a fact he only knew about since his sister continually prattled on about the latest fashions). As for footwear, well, she was certainly in need of some new walking boots.
On top of these physical privations Margaret's mother was severely ill. John was determined to talk with Dr. Donaldson (if he ever got out of this predicament) to see if there was anything he could do, but he was certain the woman did not have long for this world. Margaret would be devastated. She had lost her brother, her home, and soon she would lose her mother as well.
He knew Margaret's father, and dear as the old man was to him, John was well aware that his tutor was in denial about the condition of his wife and was acutely unaware of the deficiencies of his household. Margaret took on all this responsibility herself to insulate her father from any more pain and anxiety he already felt about uprooting his family and bringing them to this seemingly foreign land.
Margaret had mentioned her friend Bessy at his mother's dinner party. John was aware that Bessy Higgins had left his employ due to illness, but he did not know how bad it was until he visited her yesterday. He felt bad and even angry that no one of her own class had attempted to befriend the newcomer to Milton. Now, the one and only friend she did have was dying, and Margaret would be friendless once more.
Just today John found out that Margaret has a brother. A young man who was raised by his loving parents to be morally upstanding and to always protect and aid those in need. Who, in exercising that virtuous trait, was charged with mutiny and is currently on the run, unable to come home and visit his ailing mother without risking a court martial.
All of these things must weigh heavily on Miss Hale's shoulders as well as her heart. John admired her strength but did not want her to carry her burdens alone. After the incident at the mill, he would be expected to offer for her. However, he could see now that a marriage proposal would only add to all of her anxieties.
As he loaded the heap of discarded papers into the fireplace, John tried to think of what he might do instead. While possibilities ran through his mind, he heard a knock on the door below.
John had lit the papers and was using the poker to push the papers into the flames when Dixon opened the door very softly, and stole on tiptoe into the room.
"Mr. Thornton, Miss Margaret." Dixon explained, "He is in the drawing-room."
John dropped the poker and it fell, clattering on the hearthstones.
"Did she… ?" John backtracked, "Did he ask for me?"
"He asked for you, miss," Dixon replied, "and master is out."
"Very well, I will come," John said, quietly. But he lingered strangely.