Shadow in the North

Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Firebrand

Mr Hale was seeing a young pupil to his study, when he saw Margaret take up her bonnet in anticipation of a walk.

'Oh! my good girl!' smiled he, looking upon his daughter fondly. 'You go to see Mrs Boucher?'

'I do, Papa. I shall return before you have finished your lessons for the day.'

'Indeed! Mr Thornton is taking tea with us this evening; do not be late,' enthused Mr Hale, just as Margaret coloured. Isabel had informed Margaret that she had confided in Mr Thornton about the happenings at Outwood station, and that he apportioned to Margaret no blame, but she had not seen the gentleman since that anxious evening spent in his presence, having managed to avoid him when he had called round for his previous two lessons. Still, the glimmer in her father's eyes, the vibrancy of his complexion and the pleasant intonation of his voice, made clear to Margaret, that Mr Thornton's visit was most welcome to her father, and he had been so low of late, that she forced herself to muster a smile and a promise that she would not tarry home.

Upon arriving at the Boucher's, Margaret found that Mrs Boucher was very ill - a true illness which looked to smite one down, and not merely a fancied ailment. A practical and kindly neighbour was sitting with the invalid, having seen to the children by sending them off to neighbouring houses; three of which were now with Mary Higgins. Nicholas, himself, had gone for the doctor, and although the doctor had not yet arrived to form his pronouncement, it was clear to all about the house, that Mrs Boucher was dying.

It was during this tense wait, that Mr Thornton wound his way through those dank and gloomy lanes of Princeton. He was no stranger to such poverty, and had many a time seen worse, when attending to his business as a magistrate, but still, his heart could not harden to those dreary faces; the sightless eyes of children who could not see the world for suffering; no beacon of hope upon the horizon, but merely another day of hunger and uncertainty, with each rising of the sun. The deeper he trod into the melee of ramshackle houses, the greater responsibility he felt for the workers' plight. Never before had he come this way - seen these sights - upon mill business. Always had he trod this route in the capacity of the magistrate; assessing glances, accepting the natural way of things, so that he may form impartial judgements. Now here, wending his way past lines strung up across the lanes, drying damp and tattered rags of clothing, he saw the life of his workers beyond his mills. He saw the starving faces, and the ones to whom the likes of Hamper sought to deny relief. He was not a pious man, but held within his heart a deep religion, and passionate man that he was, he could not be unmoved. No! thought he, I shall give the man work so that he may feed the children. I have opened up the infirmary to help them; I do my part and that is more than many others. He straightened his spine and held his head high, walking proudly through the rugged lanes of Princeton, yet for all his determination, and for all that he told himself he did a good thing, still the poverty struck him, and saddened that soft place within his heart.

He reached Francis Street, and after seeking directions, made for the Higgins home. There he found Nicholas Higgins sat about the house table, making a penny spin for three young children; all grubby faced and ragged-clothed, but with eager, excited eyes. Mr Thornton knocked hesitantly upon the open door, and Higgins looked sharply round.

'Master!' cried Higgins in surprise. Never had he known of a Master to come to the likes of Princeton.

'Are these your children?' asked Mr Thornton, frowning.

'Th' eldest - my Mary, ay. The three little 'uns belong t' th' family I spoke o'. Th' wife is sick an' likely dying. I called for th' doctor but 'e 'as not come.'

'You are waiting on a doctor?'

'Ay. When yo've not much brass t' pay 'em wi', they dun come none too sharpish,' replied the surly weaver.