Not a Gentleman (North and South Fanfic)

Chapter Ten: The License

John opened his eyes to see Mr. Hale's daughter emerging from her bedroom, collar fastened, face damp and free of the evidence of her grief. Clearly she was frightened of the potential news that awaited her. John took her arm in his own in a small effort to bolster her courage.

They found Dr. Donaldson next door, next to an unconscious Mr. Hale. "I have given him a sleeping draught," the physician said quietly, as Margaret knelt next to the bed and grasped her father's limp hand. "Mr. Thornton, would you care to continue this conversation elsewhere?"

"Without Miss Hale? But she is his only daughter." John's forehead creased as he considered the doctor's words.

The doctor stepped into the hallway. John followed, closing the door behind him.

"I am concerned about Miss Hale's mental hygiene. A stress of this magnitude is likely to cause the fragile edifice of her psyche to come crashing down."

"And why would that be?" John was nonplussed.

The doctor sighed, as though it were self-evident. "She is of the weaker sex. It is well-known, and very much my experience that a woman's constitution cannot withstand the continued onslaught of such stresses."

"You have visited this house on many occasions and therefore know well that Miss Hale has been running this household these past months. She is more than capable of making decisions on on her father's behalf. Her strength is enormous." John pushed past the doctor and stepped back inside the room.

"Darling," he asked, "are you ready for Dr. Donaldson to brief us on your father's condition?"

"Not here," said the doctor. "There is a chance Mr. Hale may awaken, and even as he lies there he may be somewhat aware of our conversation. We should withdraw to another room. If you would ask your servant to return..."

The defiant look on Margaret's face informed John that she would not be collecting Dixon.

"I must see Mama," she said.

John therefore offered to locate Dixon himself. He found the red-faced woman in the tiny scullery, washing dishes, sobbing.

John rapped on the door frame to announce himself, and to give the woman a chance to collect herself. She turned away and dried her face on her apron before turning back to him with a supercilious glare.

"What are you wanting, then?"

John said nothing. Instead, he reached for a beaker he found on the draining board and poured from a pitcher of water. He regarded Dixon as he drained the cup, then set it back on the counter.

"I know you why you said what you did," he offered quietly, "although you do owe Margaret an apology."

"Oh, do you?" Dixon crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm sure you'll tell me."

"Two reasons. First and foremost, you resent Mr. Hale."

"I do not!"

"You do," John continued calmly. "It's clear to anyone who enters this household. You hate this place, and him for bringing your family here."

The lack of ready retort from the normally vituperative servant confirmed the veracity of his statement.

Instead, Dixon slopped soapy water into the beaker laid so unceremoniously into the sink and quickly washed it, her back to the overbearing manufacturer.

"And second?" she asked, finally.

"Clearly, you are overworked."

Dixon's shoulders sagged.