John's head ached horribly and there was a ringing in his ears. He wanted to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. Attempting to move, he found it quite painful, so instead, he screwed his eyes shut and remained still. Slowly, it seemed, his hearing returned to him, and he became aware of voices nearby.
"Is she dead?" asked a familiar voice – that was, Fanny.
"No, Miss Fanny, she's breathing but she looks very bad," and that was the maid, Jane. Where was his mother?
"Oh, where is mother?" he heard Fanny ask, as if she had read his thoughts. "We need a doctor."
"She had to get through rioters. She were the only one of us brave enough to go," Jane explained. The strikers, yes. John was beginning to remember what happened.
After a pause, the maid added in a whisper, "Did you see, Miss?"
"What?" inquired Fanny with curiosity.
"Miss Hale!" Jane exclaimed, eagerly, "What happened down below. Did you not see Miss Hale clinging to the master?"
Yes, it all came rushing back to John now: the riot, his Irish workers, stepping out on the porch, Miss Hale, the rock striking her head, the blood, falling with her in his arms and hitting his head.
"No!" replied Fanny in shock, "Did all the servants see?"
"We had a good enough view from top window," said Jane by way of reply.
"Mama was sure she set her mind on John. This proves it!" said Fanny, deliciously devouring this morsel of gossip.
John had always frowned upon this favorite pastime of his sister's - now, at the expense of his virtuous and maidenly Margaret. Desiring to put an end to this slander, he began to stir and push himself upright.
"Oh, quick, Jane! Fetch some water!" ordered Fanny. John had yet to pry his eyes open. "There, there ... Miss Hale! You lie quietly," comforted his sister. But why did she call him Miss Hale? His hearing must not be working right yet. Fanny continued, "Mother's gone for the doctor. He will be here soon!"
John opened his mouth to protest and said, "I don't need a doctor," but his voice sounded oddly high pitched. That blow to his head must have really messed him up. With his head in his hands, he finally attempted to open his eyes. What was he wearing? Who had changed him out of his clothes? And into… a dressing gown? No, it was too long and puffy – a woman's dress? He was utterly confused. Feeling this was all wrong he squeezed his eyes shut again and said with the exasperation of a lost child, "Oh, I justwant to go home."
"No, you can't!" squeaked Fanny emphatically. John wondered for a moment why his sister would say such a thing in their own house. Wasn't he already home? At that moment he heard footsteps and Fanny declared, "Oh Mother, thank goodness you're back! Miss Hale …"
Mrs. Thornton cut her off, "Is she worse?"
Miss Hale! Worse! Good God, he must do something. His eyes sprang open, and he tried to get up, but the doctor was there in front of him and, with a strong hand on his shoulder, he pushed John back down onto the sofa, intent upon ministering to him.
John, frustrated that the doctor would not go to Margaret first, wherever she was, protested vehemently, "No I'm quite well. I want to go." There was that high pitched voice again.
The doctor was already probing the wound on his left temple. Wait, didn't he hit the back of his head? John lifted a hand to feel back there but the only thing he found was a pile of hair, stuck with a dozen or so hair pins. What?
"Mm, looks worse than it is," Donaldson declared, "You've had quite a blow, young lady. You better rest here a while."
Young lady?! What was going on here?
John looked at his hands – they were Margaret's hands! He felt his face – it was soft, no whiskers just beginning to grow again, completely smooth, smoother than he could shave it! He went to run his hands through his hair, but they got stuck – the chignon! The dress, it was what Margaret was wearing today! His voice! How could this happen? Was he now – Margaret!? This was unfathomable! His mind began to spin. His eyes darted about the room but the faces he saw there, the doctor, the maid, his sister, his mother, held no answers. He began to feel sick and quite dizzy. Then all went black.
Donaldson was quick with the smelling salts and brought the patient back around in no time. As John sat slowly back up, he took an inventory of himself once more, purposely avoiding certain attributes, and determined that he was indeed trapped inside Margaret's body. Trying to think while everyone else fussed over him, John came to the conclusion that if he had taken over her body, Margaret was likely stuck in his.
"Where is – Mr. Thornton?" It felt odd to ask about himself. "What happened to - him?"
His mother gave an irritated look and answered, "He also sustained a blow to the head. I had him taken to his room."
"I must see her - him!" John declared, slowly getting to his feet. Everyone was looking at him strangely so, maintaining his cover as Margaret Hale, he added, "I wish to apologize and see how he is."
"That will not be necessary," insisted his mother, "my son is strong. The doctor will be attending him shortly."
"But I must speak to him," John implored, desperately wishing to call her 'mother' and assert his right as head of the household.
His mother's eyes darted around as if searching for something. When her thoughts seemed to finally wrest upon it, she said, "Won't your mother be worried about you, Miss Hale? I've ordered Williams to load up the water mattress. He can drive you out to Crampton with it. If you leave now, she probably won't even realize you were delayed." Turning to the doctor she asserted, "A carriage should suffice for her safe transport home. Do you concur, doctor?"
During this speech the mistress of the house had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and was ushering him to the door.
"I suppose," Donaldson replied, "It would certainly not be wise to upset the mother, in her condition."
"But Mr. Thornton…," protested John.
"I'm sure he will be fine," said his mother, "I will give him your message."
It certainly felt to John, as though his mother was trying desperately to get rid of Miss Hale and it angered him that she would interfere in this manner. However, this was a matter to be dealt with at another time.
Giving in to his mother's insistence, he allowed Williams to help him into the carriage. At least he would have the drive to figure out how to handle being Margaret in her own home.
….oOo….
Margaret's head was throbbing with pain. She let out an extraordinarily low groan as she rolled over onto her back. The sheets rustled and her nose was suddenly filled with the smell of – Mr. Thornton?! She sat bolt upright. That was a bad idea, for presently she felt so lightheaded that she had to fall back again onto the pillows.
Slowly opening her eyes, squinting against the bright light, Margaret took in her surroundings. Where was she?
The room was definitely a bedroom, but it wasn't a guest room. This bedroom belonged to somebody. The color and décor were distinctly masculine. On the washstand she saw men's grooming paraphernalia. There was a frock coat hanging on the armoire and a pair of large boots on the floor. Lying on the bedside table was a rather familiar looking copy of Plato's Republic. Margaret gasped at the realization and jumped back as if it were a snake, causing her head to throb even more. She was in Mr. Thornton's room! Oh, this was scandalous! Who would have brought her here, there must be some grievous mistake.
She shut her eyes willing the room and its contents to go away and tried to remember what had happened. If she was in Marlborough House, how did she get here? Oh, yes, she came here to borrow the water mattress for her mother. Her mother! Oh, she chastised herself, she mustn't think of her mother now. She had to figure out what happened first.
Thinking back, she remembered entering the house, Fanny, Mrs. Thornton, the rioters, Mr. Thornton, fearing for his life, rushing out to save him, and then all went black. The men with the rocks! She must have been hit with a rock.
Feeling her head for the injury, Margaret found a large lump on the back of her head that was still very tender to the touch. Unfortunately, she also found, to her great dismay, that her long hair had been cut off. She wondered why that was necessary as there did not seem to be any bleeding.
Margaret began to cry. She was not prone to vanity, but she had always been rather proud of her long thick tresses. Pushing away the blankets and drawing her knees to her chest to indulge in the comfort of the childish position, Margaret was horrified to find that instead of the skirts of her light blue dress, she was wearing a pair of men's black trousers. Oh, the scandalous mortification! Not only had she been brought to Mr. Thornton's bedroom, but someone had changed her out of her own clothes and put her into his! Why could they not have used one of Fanny's dressing gowns?
Margaret let her head fall onto her knees, placing her hands on her head. She slowly ran her hands down her face, and she was met with yet another horrible shock. Her cheeks were no longer soft and smooth but – scruffy. Just like her father's face when, in her girlhood, she would kiss him goodnight. She jumped out of the bed as fast as her dizzy head would let her and walked with wavering steps to the looking glass. Thankful for the convenient placement of the washstand next to the mirror, for Margaret was in desperate need of something with which to steady herself when she saw in the looking glass none other than Mr. Thornton!
She was able to gain command of her foreign limbs long enough to make it back to the bed.
How could this be!? It seemed that her mind, her self-awareness, her very soul, had been transferred into the body of Mr. Thornton! Where was her own body? Her mind began to race in all different directions. She must get ahold of herself. Surely someone would come to check on her soon and they would rightly assume, by all outward appearances, that she was Mr. Thornton. She had to think of how she would comport herself.
There it was - the inevitable knock on the door. Before she could decide how to answer, the door opened, and Mrs. Thornton put her head in.
"John?" she inquired and seeing him sitting up she stepped into the room, beckoning someone to follow her. "You're awake, Thank goodness!"
Dr. Donaldson stepped in next and walked toward John on the bed. "Let's have a look at that head of yours," he said.
Margaret silently submitted to the examination though she was anxious to find out what happened to her body. If she didn't return to Crampton soon her mother would worry and that might be fatal. But she couldn't return like this – oh what was to be done!
The doctor checked her eyes, declared all to be well (little did he know), and asked her how she felt.
Assuming he meant bodily, not emotionally, she endeavored to answer as she thought Mr. Thornton might. Affecting her best impression of the local dialect, she said, "A bit of a 'eadache but I'll be fine. I need to get back to the mill," consummate worker that she knew him to be. Then she added, because she knew he would probably care enough to ask, and she certainly wanted to know, "Where is Miss Hale?"
"You canna go back to work today, John," his mother implored. Her sentiment was echoed by the doctor and his mother assured him that the Irish workers were fine and well taken care of, "I ordered dinner for them from the Goulden Dragon, and Father Patrick from the Catholic Church is with them now."
"Thank you, mother," Margaret said although it was hard for her to use that fond appellation on the old dragon. "Where is Miss Hale? What has happened to her?" she insisted.
The doctor answered him since Mrs. Thornton seemed reluctant to do so. "She sustained a gash to her left temple and has lost some blood, but she is otherwise unharmed."
Margaret was relieved to hear that her body was still in working order. It took her a moment however to realize that her first question had not been answered, so she asked it again. "Where is Miss Hale?"
"She has gone home," Mrs. Thornton answered this time.
"Gone home? That is not possible," she said incredulously.
"Really, John, she was quite well," insisted the older woman.
"Mother," Margaret winced again at the use of the title, "she took a terrible blow. What were you thinking of, letting her go home?"
"Everything was done properly," she replied defensively. "Dr. Donaldson was called," she gestured to the man himself, "In fact, I went for him myself. As no one else seemed to have a mind to go."
"Thank you, mother," replied Margaret, realizing that any more protests were useless. "The streets were dangerous," she recalled.
"I sent her home in the carriage, with Mr. Williams to see she reaches home safely. The streets are still very noisy," Mrs. Thornton said.
"Very well," Margaret replied dejectedly. She had hoped to speak to Mr. Thornton and try to get this whole mess straightened out.
Seeing the gloom on her son's face, Mrs. Thornton felt compelled to further explanation, "You know her mother is unwell. The woman must not be alarmed in her state. If she hears of this ..."
Margaret nodded in understanding, glad at least that her own mother should be put at ease.
Mrs. Thornton left with the doctor to see him out.
Margaret sat back down on the bed to collect her thoughts.
She had to talk to Mr. Thornton. How was she to go to Crampton and speak to him? She got up and started pacing around the room. Surprise struck her once again when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was John Thornton! "Well, then," she said to herself, "being John Thornton has its privileges!" As a man, and the head of his household, he certainly could come and go as he pleased.
Margaret slipped on the huge size twelve boots and slipped into the frock coat. Grabbing the top hat, she left the room.
She started to descend the stairs daintily, as a lady should, but then remembered that she was no longer a lady. A smile spread across her face as she remembered many a race with her brother down the stairs of the Helstone parsonage. Now free of societal strictures, Margaret indulged herself and jogged down the long staircase in a decidedly unladylike manner.
Passing the drawing room, she heard Mrs. Thornton's voice call out to her, "John, where are you going?"
Margaret stepped back into the doorway and replied matter of factly, "To see if Miss Hale is well."
"I sent her home in a carriage," the older woman protested, "Everything was done properly."
She approached Margaret with uncharacterisic desperation in her eyes, "John! I'm asking you not to go."
Margaret did not understand. She stood there staring at the woman.
"I know what you will have to say to her. You could hardly do otherwise," Mrs. Thornton said.
"What do you mean?" asked a befuddled Margaret.
Laying a hand upon her son's arm, she patiently explained, "I mean you are bound in honor. She has shown her feelings for all the world to see!"
"H-Her feelings?" stuttered Margaret in disbelief.
"She rushed out in front of an angry mob and saved you from danger! Or are you telling me I imagined that? You think none of the servants saw? You think it's not become the tittle tattle of Milton?" she asked.
"I did sa– ," Margaret paused to correct her statement. "She did save me," she conceded, but wishing to diffuse the woman's expectations for her son, she added, "But, I daren't believe such a woman could care for me."
"Don't be so foolish," Mrs. Thornton chided, "What more proof do you need? That she should act in such a shameless way." It was obvious Mrs. Thornton did not approve of Margaret but felt her son was obligated to make an offer.
"No!" she cried. Margaret was taken aback. She had no idea that her actions would be interpreted in this way.
Mrs. Thornton went on, "I'm sure she will take you from me. That's why I didn't want you to go to see her today. I wanted one last evening being the first in your affections, for tomorrow you will be lost to me." Tears were gathering in the old woman's eyes as she looked up at her son and Margaret felt pity for her. She thought she was going to lose her son. Little did she know she had already lost him.
"I know she doesn't care for me," Margaret stated with conviction. "But I cannot remain silent, I must talk to her."
"Don't be afraid, John," his mother stated reassuringly, "She has admitted it to the world. I might even learn to like her for it. It must have taken a great deal to overcome her pride." Mrs. Thornton seemed to enjoy the thought of Margaret being taken down a notch or two.
Margaret sighed in acquiescence and promised she would not go tonight. She retired to her - Mr. Thornton's – room, with the excuse that her head still didn't feel quite right.
Removing the coat and boots once more, and avoiding the removal of anything else, Margaret slipped scandalously under the sheets. Closing her eyes, she thought to herself that maybe she would wake in the morning and find this had all been a terrible dream.