Shadow in the North

Chapter Forty-Four - Heart and Lungs

'The Bouchers!' gasped Margaret, who could think of nothing but the certain deaths of both Nicholas Higgins and Mr Thornton. 'And Mary! Oh, poor Mary. She lost her mother young, and just last year, her dearest Bessy. But Nicholas; to lose him too; it is too much!'

'Do you need to return home, my love?' asked Dr Lyndhurst, solicitously. He would have dearly liked to return her to their quiet home, and the calming words of her father, but he could not leave whilst he was needed, and would have to entrust his young wife to Dixon's care, which he was loath to do.

'No; I stay with you. Isabel was kept away and now her husband is lost; I'll not let the same be done to me!' said Margaret, defiantly, and with an air of haughtiness.

'I am going nowhere; I shall take no risks.'

'Oh, but Mr Thornton did! He would run in for Higgins - how could he not! - but for Isabel to lose him! Whatever will she do?' cried Margaret, as her tears finally began to fall.

'I do not think Isabel has lost him, my darling,' whispered Dr Lyndhurst, in consternation, for there came a growing murmur of awed voices, as the tall, black figure of Mr Thornton - his pale skin, now dark with soot - stumbled from that smoking shed; a sea of confounded faces parting about him, so that he might walk by - carrying over his shoulder, the limp form of Higgins.

'Lowe! I'll have Lowe!' cried Mr Thornton, as he made towards Margaret and Dr Lyndhurst. But that firm commanding voice was lost, and drowned out by hot smoke, cloying to throat and lungs, making his cry merely a whisper, as his knees threatened to buckle under Higgins' weight.

'Thornton!' And Dr Lyndhurst leapt forward, and slid Higgins from Mr Thornton's shoulder, as Dr Lowe set to work examining the blackened weaver. Mr Thornton slumped to his knees, and braced himself upon his palms, as he panted and gasped for clean air. His body shuddered and his expression was grim, such that Margaret was almost afraid to approach him. But he clutched at his chest and winced in pain, making himself appear so unfamiliarly vulnerable.

'Water, Mr Thornton; you need water,' urged Margaret, softly, placing a cup into his hands. He slowly sat up on his haunches, and sipped at the cup with trembling hands, as he gazed sightlessly before him; coughing intermittently.

'Higgins' hands are burnt - he tried to lift a rafter to get to the lad, but it was too late, and the lad could not be saved,' rasped Mr Thornton, tonelessly.

'Dr Lowe is seeing to him now,' encouraged Margaret.

'Find Donaldson,' said Mr Thornton, distractedly; his voice so weak and reedy, that Margaret had to lean close to hear him. 'Lowe is good - very good - but I'll have no less than Donaldson for Higgins.'

Now Dr Lyndhurst was of the same mind; only the very best would do for Higgins. But the very best, thought he, was shut up in a room at Marlborough Mills, and so no sooner had Higgins been passed over into Dr Lowe's care, than he had taken himself off to Marlborough Mills, to claim that lady's help. He thanked God that Mr Thornton was not above living on the mill site, for right in the middle of the mill district (as Marlborough Mills was), it was little more than a three minute run for the doctor.

'Mrs Thornton,' said he, striding past her and up the stairs to the family's private rooms, 'I'll have the key to Mr Thornton's room and I'll have it now.'

'Dr Lyndhurst. Whatever is the meaning of -'

'Higgins is hurt; gravely hurt. John risked his life to save him. You would not have that risk be all for naught?' Mrs Thornton's eyes widened, and she fumbled in her skirts for her bundle of house keys; at length finding the key to her son's room.