Shadow in the North

Chapter Thirty-Two - A Constant Heart

Now Thursday came and Mr Thornton sat grim at breakfast, both dreading Isabel's arrival at the infirmary, and longing for it, just so that he might look upon her. He had risen early the previous day, and worked through tea and late into the night, so that he might not have to think of her, but still, she had invaded his dreams, and in those precious moments of repose, he clung to the memory of his lips on hers, and thought her the loveliest creature he had ever beheld. Then he awakened, and the sharp tongue of jealousy had flicked at him cruelly, telling him that for all she was lovely, she was not a lady, and certainly not his. He did not know if he should love her or hate her, but love her, he must, for he could not purge her from his heart; not for all he hated what she had done.

He was jealous and disappointed; he felt sorely used, suspecting that she had some long-standing attachment to Mr Bell, and that whilst tempted by him - younger man that he was - he had never been her true object. He thought - unkindly - that she must have lied when she claimed not to have loved any but he (and he knew she was capable of lying!) and for that, he hated her all the more.

If she had only told him that she was promised to another, or that she cared for him, but was not free to love him, he would have rallied against that bitter sting of disappointment, and rid himself of her spectre, but her words - carelessly spoken, he thought - had given him hope, but her embrace, her tenderness with Mr Bell, her admission of lost virtue - dashed those hopes to dust, and left a harrowed, broken man of him. The realisation of this weakness frustrated him, and he determined to be indifferent; to meet her with that cold and firm apathy, with which he spoke to any other worker at his mill. He would greet Dr Lyndhurst and make himself obliging, but to spite her; just to show her how little she could affect him. He would not let her see his hurt, nor would his mother know of how ill-used he had allowed himself to be. He rose abruptly from the table, his breakfast untouched.

'You are leaving already, John?' asked Mrs Thornton, aghast. Her son had always a large appetite, and any disinterest in food troubled her greatly.

'I have a busy morning, Mother, and much work to see to. Dr Lyndhurst shall come at half past eleven to tour the infirmary, and I must make up for the time that shall be lost.' Mrs Thornton grumbled at the reference to the infirmary - the allusion to that wretched girl - and cursed the southern doctor's gall at pressing upon her son, such an inconvenient request.

'So like these southern gentleman types!' mused Mrs Thornton, sipping at her tea. 'They are do-gooders who impose themselves upon others. No doubt he shall try to convert us to his way of thinking and declare that the whole scheme ought to be run for free.'

'He is a compassionate man, certainly, Mother. But I do not think him very charitable. I think he charges his patients quite handsomely.'

'And just as well,' said Mrs Thornton, rising. 'I can't abide anyone who would work for free.'

The hour neared eleven, and Mr Thornton saw Isabel cross the mill yard and collect the key to the infirmary from Williams. He thought to go to her; to try and speak to her a little about their heated exchange that evening at Crampton, but he could not apologise to her again; not after seeing her with Mr Bell. He prevaricated, and before he could rectify his inertia, bedraggled workers slipped past his office window, and made their way over to the infirmary. Mr Thornton was still sat there at his desk, staring blankly at his books, when there came a knock at the office door, and Dr Lyndhurst was shown in.

'Good morning, Mr Thornton.'

'Doctor,' came Mr Thornton's tight-lipped reply.

'I see that the infirmary is open. Mr Bell tells me he has made a donation towards some new equipment. That should prove useful if there is ever a serious injury to one of the workers; I expect limbs can be lost, can they not?'