John crossed the parlor to find his mother standing by the windows, peering through the Venetian blinds into the cobblestoned courtyard below. It was eerily quiet outside, the splintered entrance gates the only remaining evidence of the riot that still jarred his senses. His mother's preternatural silence echoed this eerie scene below. It was a foreboding calm, he knew.
The son broached the most necessary topic carefully, as befit the worsening circumstances. "Miss Hale will need to stay here for the time being," he began.
"I am very much aware of that, John. Did I not see to her care myself?" John's mother responded tartly. "It is clear to see that she is in some peril, is she is not?" She shook her head, unable to contain herself. "The foolishness of that girl! My only consolation is that it must have taken some strength of spirit for that haughty girl to lower herself enough to admit her feelings for you." Then, seeing the immediate effect of her words on her son, she placed a consoling hand upon his arm. Mrs. Thornton did not apologize, however.
John cleared his throat and did his best to keep his voice level and free from emotion. He failed. "Mother, you must not speak in that way about Miss Hale. I do not imagine that she cares for me. My only concern is to do what I can for her in her time of need."
"But John! She has shown it- two hundred men have witnessed it!"
"She is young, and idealistic, Mother. She takes the side of the hands. I do not think things are as straightforward as they may seem. That display was for their benefit. The more I think on it, the more certain I am of it."
"She will be ruined unless you act. I consider you bound in honor."
"You know that I will do what is honorable, Mother. I already-"
"What, John?"
The younger Thornton adroitly changed the subject. "I have asked Dr. Donaldson to discuss the most appropriate form of treatment for Miss Hale. Her parents must not be involved."
"And why not?"
"I am afraid Miss Hale may not have been forthcoming with you about her mother's condition."
"That fine woman and her 'low spirits.' Is she too weak-willed to hear that her daughter is ill? Will she need the smelling salts?" Mrs. Thornton's upper lip curled.
"According to Dr. Donaldson, she will not be with us long. I think Miss Hale did not share this out of grief."
Mrs. Thornton's face blushed an uncharacteristic rose. "I am sorry, John. I have offended. And I see that I have misjudged someone you care about. Perhaps there is more to this Miss Hale than I have realized." She sat down on the nearby settee and reached for the fan her daughter had carelessly left behind. Her son joined her and spoke earnestly.
"There is more, Mother. I misrepresented the situation between myself and Miss Hale. I told Dr. Donaldson there was an understanding between us. This was in order for him to allow me to approve any medical treatments. I worried that her father would be unable to. With his wife ill and given their limited financial resources-" he opened his hands in near supplication.
His mother laughed, her sullen mood finally released. "John, Miss Hale has declared herself for all the world to see. You have done no wrong in your own declaration. Your words have relieved Mr. Hale of a tremendous burden and he will thank you for it, I am sure." She did not bring up their own monetary burdens, and how the girl's care might affect these. She had no worries in this regard. John had their finances under control and would see him right- she was sure of it.
John sighed in relief, and stood, unfolding his lanky frame from the petite and rather fussy furnishings. "Then I will go and attend to her. Please have the servants make up the room closest to mine so that I may keep watch over her. We will bring her up shortly, I think."
"We will do no such thing. I will not subject this family to even more gossip from servants. She will take the room closest to me."
"I will stay with her, mother." The look in his eyes brooked no objection.
The elder Thornton took her son's arm as she rose from the settee and drew herself up to her full five foot two inches. She squared her jaw, tilted her head back and stared him down.
"Very well. Then I will stay with you."
Dr. Donaldson turned to the black-clad Thorntons as they approached. They looked as grave as pall-bearers, he thought. But their outlook should not be so dark yet. There was a glimmer of hope. He was convinced of this.
"Has there been any improvement?" the younger Thornton asked.
A shake of the head was the response John dreaded. He watched as the doctor lit a candle and bent over the slight, unconscious woman who had protected him so fiercely not an hour earlier. The doctor gently lifted her eyelid and held the flame of the candle close enough to the eye that it would normally provoke a reflex. But the pupil did not restrict. "As I mentioned," the doctor explained, "this is thought to be evidence of swelling of the brain."
"And the treatment?" John asked quietly.
"Yes, the normal treatment is to watch and wait, but in such as case as this the prognosis is not good. If we do nothing it is not likely she will survive the night."
"You said there was another treatment." Impatience crept into the manufacturer's voice.
"Yes, it is completely experimental, mind you. And I should warn you that I am not a scientist. Not before today."
"But clearly you have a scientific mind." John noted the extreme pallor of Margaret's skin. She seemed worse than before, although the greenish cast of the light in the parlor made it hard to tell for sure. Was her breathing more shallow now, or was he simply imagining this? He closed his eyes for a moment and silently offered a quick prayer to whomever might be listening.
Please do not take her away from me. Not yet. I beg of you.
What was the doctor saying?
"I do keep up, yes. Our field is in dire need of advance and it is frustrating to apply practice that is based on tradition in some cases and superstition in others." The silver-haired man cleared his throat and laughed nervously. "I speak too frankly, perhaps. But there are some in our profession who see how fields such as yours have advanced tremendously through the application of reason and mathematics, and we would like to do the same to ours."
"That is an admirable goal, and one I am willing to support. Particularly as it seems to me one more likely to heal Margaret." John glanced at his mother as he said his love's name, but to her credit, his mother did not react.
"As for the plan of treatment. You see, a Dr. Latta found that-"
John tapped a polished boot impatiently on the parquet floor."You'll forgive me, Doctor, but I do not think there is time to educate me on the whys and wherefores of this treatment. I trust that you will do your job."
Mrs. Thornton harrumphed in agreement, then began to pace the length of the room, her skirts rustling in noisy frustration. She might not like this Miss Hale, but her son's happiness lay in the girl's survival.
"But I must tell you that it has never been done before," Dr. Donaldson continued. "I am merely speculating based on what has been done by others for other diseases."
"But the alternative is death, is it not?"
"It is."
"Then it is decided. Proceed."
"I do not have a laboratory. There is equipment I must procure. And I must visit an apothecary."
"A servant can run to the apothecary with a list you provide. And you forget, I run a mill. We dye fabric. I have a vast assortment of glassware used for developing dyeing methods, some of it unused. I can quite possibly obtain what you need, as well as a burner for heating, should you require it. And thanks to the strike, I have plenty of space for you to set up." John shook his head at the irony.
"Would you have a large spirit thermometer and gallon-sized glass flask and bung? And a glass rod for stirring? I think I have everything else I need in my satchel. I will need to run back home to find Dr. Latta's letter to the Lancet, of course."
John shrugged. "You do not ask for much. Mother, is Williams still around?" His mother nodded, glad to see her son take command of the situation. "Once Dr. Donaldson has made his list for the apothecary, despatch a servant, and have Williams take the doctor to Shed 3. They should be able to find what the doctor needs in the unopened crates there."
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While preparations were made, John carried Miss Hale up to the guest room already made up for her. To Hannah Thornton's consternation she was unable to talk her son out of this overt display of impropriety. Surely the girl could be carried just as easily by the doctor as by her son. But John insisted, and the look in his eyes told Hannah that he would have his way. However, the matriarch ensured that the servants were otherwise occupied as her son carried Miss Hale upstairs. Thus one source of tittle tattle was squashed, although more was sure to follow, no doubt.
Hannah had always known that someday she would be displaced in her son's affections, and she had always known it would hurt, but the reality was a much more savage and cruel pain than she could have predicted. She pushed it aside, however. There was too much to do. She found Fanny in the music room, sitting at the piano, indolently paging through sheet music.
"She's still here, Mother, isn't she? And she will marry John, won't she?"
Hannah did not have the time nor the inclination to humor her daughter this late in the afternoon of such a trying day. "Does it matter, Fanny?"
"Of course it matters, Mother! She thinks she is such an aristocrat, and so much better than us! But who is she really? She is not rich. Her house is tiny, and attached, and her clothes are so plain. She does not play, and I'll bet she cannot draw or paint. I am sure she is not half as accomplished as Miss Latimer, or even myself! Surely there are much better choices for a wife for John-"
"The real question, Fanny, is why do you care so much? He loves her, you know. Is that not enough?"
"He loves her? He told you this?" Fanny's eyes widened at the news. To think her taciturn brother was finally in love with such a person as Miss Margaret Hale, lately of London and much too good for Milton.
"I can see the signs." Hannah sighed. She was lost. But Fanny did not need to know that. "I will need a nightgown from you, preferably an old one as it is likely to be damaged. I do not know what Dr. Donaldson is planning but it is not likely to be pretty."
"I do not have any old nightgowns. I put those in the rag bag some time ago. I told Jane to burn them."
Hannah sighed anew at her daughter's wastefulness. She and John had done too good at job at insulating Fanny from the poverty of her youth. "Give me the least good one then."
Fanny simmered with resentment as she accompanied her mother back to her bedroom. She rooted through her bureau, finally pulling out a fine nainsook gown trimmed with Ayrshire whitework. "Here," she said, almost throwing it at her mother. "I'm sure the invalid Miss Hale will look stunning in this."
______________________
It was not appropriate for John to be in the room of this invalid, but he did not care. This might be their last few hours together and he would be damned before he let anyone take that away from him. That did not make it any less frightening to see Margaret lying atop the several towels that covered the bed. She was clad in white, and seemed almost corpse-like.
John marveled at her beauty. He'd never seen her hair down before, and had not realized it was so long, that it had such a curl to it, nor had he noticed the auburn highlights that glimmered here and there along its length. The gown she was wearing was something a man would not normally see until his wedding night and revealed parts of her form that encouraged urges that were wholly inappropriate given the current circumstances. No, he should not be here at all. John was surprised his mother had not put up more of a fuss. She must have read the distress in his eyes.
"Are we ready?" Dr. Donaldson asked. John glanced at the small table next to the bed, noting its oversized flask of liquid and also the array of sharp, steel tools that seemed more like instruments of torture than medical devices. The doctor was going to hurt her, he realized, and he would be a party to it. The slightest of tremors ran through his body.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked as calmly as he could.
"I do not know if she will regain consciousness when the fluids are introduced-"
"What exactly are you planning to do?" John could not hide the trepidation in his voice. He stood close to the edge of the narrow bed, close enough to feel the warmth of Margaret's body. It was unsettling.
"I was going to tell you this earlier, but you did not want to hear."
"My apologies. Please tell me now."
"I will introduce a quantity of brine into Miss Hale's bloodstream. To do this I must cut through the skin of her arm with this lancet," the doctor pointed to a sharp, ivory handled tool, "puncture her vein with this device, and hold it open with that." He pointed to two metal tubes, one with a sharp point and one completely hollow and open-ended. "Then I will introduce salt water with this syringe. I will need you, and Mrs. Thornton, if necessary, to hold down the patient."
"I am willing," Mrs. Thornton placed herself at the head of the bed, and smoothed the hair on Margaret's forehead.
Margaret responded to the stab of the lancet. Although she did not regain full consciousness she did begin to writhe, and a moan escaped her lips. John placed his arm across her upper arm and torso, and leaned into her, apologizing as he did so. He did not allow his body to respond to the fact that his flesh touched hers so in such an intimate manner, nor did he allow himself to consider exactly where his flesh touched her own.
Mrs. Thornton turned away from the sight of the blood flowing freely from Margaret's arm and onto her son, although she gripped Margaret's other hand firmly. She felt a weak grip in return.
The writhing intensified as the trocar and then the cannula were deployed, and reached a climax as the syringe was filled and emptied several times. Finally, the apparatus was disassembled, the blood staunched, and the bloodied towels stripped from the bed.
"That went more smoothly than I expected." Dr Donaldson murmured.
"Did it?" John looked at him, aghast. "She was in pain."
"Could you not have given her some laudanum?" Mrs. Thornton joined in.
"Not without risking further damage. As I said earlier, we simply do not understand enough about the brain. I could not risk further harm. I am sorry, but I did try to explain earlier to you what I had in mind. You would have had the chance for input then." Dr. Donaldson shook his head in wonder at the presumptuousness of these wealthy clients.
John looked at him sheepishly. "I suppose you had better explain now," he said by way of apology.
"Might I have a piece of celery or a carrot? And a-"
"I apologize for our lack of courtesy," Mrs. Thornton interjected. "I had not realized how late the hour had become. Surely we can provide a meal that is more substantial than vegetables."
"I am not hungry, Mrs. Thornton. Rather, I was hoping to demonstrate for you how this treatment will work. So, if you could get me a pitcher of water, a tumbler, a salt cellar and spoon and piece of celery or a carrot-?
The servant, Jane, was easy to find as she and the other household staff were gathered in the upstairs hall, eager to learn any news of this unusual treatment and this even more unusual house guest. Jane returned with alacrity to make up for her eavesdropping, burning cheeks as a signal of her repentance and heavy tray filled with the materials Dr. Donaldson had called for.
This prompted a burst of energy from the doctor. "In school, you may have learned of Mr. Robert Hooke's observation of the interior of plants?"
"Would you remind us please? I am sure I do not remember." As John had left school at fifteen, he had not had spent much time studying the sciences. What little he knew of chemistry he had learned on the job. He was certain he knew nothing of botany.
"Hooke discovered that the interior of plants are made of many box-like rooms he called cells. Excitingly, all living things seem to contain these little rooms, although their shape may differ."
"-and?" both Thorntons replied simultaneously, the significance of these little rooms equally lost on the pair.
"These cells contain a liquid substance with some type of matter dissolved inside it. This matter is trapped inside the cells, but the liquid- which undoubtedly is water- can move freely." The doctor poured a large amount of salt into the tumbler of water and stirred until it disappeared. "Now if I placed this piece of celery into this brine, something interesting will happen-"
"I can already tell you what will happen-" interrupted Mrs. Thornton with a dismissive wave. "I've salted cucumbers before for salad. Would this not be the same? The celery will go limp."
Dr. Donaldson thunked the celery into the tumbler without hiding his irritation. "Yes, Mrs. Thornton. That is precisely what will happen. But why? And what do you think would happen to the shape of these cells?"
John cottoned on quickly. "I would imagine it is because water is leaving the cells and moving into the container of brine. And perhaps they might grow somewhat smaller in size. But what on earth does this have to do with Margaret?"
The broadest of smiles graced Dr. Donaldson's face, fully erasing his previous annoyance with the pair. "Yes! Here is our conundrum. Miss Hale's brain has been swelling. But the skull is only so big. It cannot expand to accommodate an increase in the size of the brain. Damage will undoubtedly occur."
An epiphany lit John's face. "You are saying that salt water will shrink the swelling in Margaret's brain? That by surrounding her cells with this brine, water will leave her cells and enter the brine?" Dr. Donaldson nodded vigorously, impressed at his student's quick intelligence. "But why not have her drink the liquid rather than subjecting her to that-" John waved his hands toward the tray of bloodied instruments. He was without words to describe the scene he had beheld nor the pain Margaret had undoubtedly felt.
"It has been tried and it simply doesn't work. In the Edinburgh cholera epidemic of 1832, doctors realized patients were losing a great deal of body fluids and tried replacing them with salt water. Patients vomited any salt water they drank. I am sure the same would happen if we offered brine to Miss Hale."
So what you are describing has been done before?"
"Yes, but only to a certain extent. I was in Edinburgh during the outbreak, you know, and observed my colleague, Dr. Latta using salt water to replace body fluids during this same cholera epidemic with great success. His patients survived, when others' did not. I should tell you that I, however, have not, nor has anyone else in Milton replicated Latta's treatment. Backwards as we are in Milton, we have not been so unfortunate to be affected by cholera. And the treatment I devised is different in that the water is saltier in order to draw water out of the cells. So there is a chance that it may not work as I predict."
"It is, as you said, an experiment. I understand this."
"I will return in the morning for another treatment. But I will need a caretaker to collect data, overnight."
John settled into the slat-back chair to the right of the bed, leaving the larger wing chair for his mother. "I will do this, Dr. Donaldson."
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
"My mother will chaperone," John added quickly, schooling his face into a neutral expression. He had no use for propriety at a time like this, but for his mother's sake- and Margaret's- he would play along with society's conventions.
"Well then, in cases like these a patient may fall into a deep sleep, or coma, and not reawaken. It is imperative that you not allow Miss Hale to do more than drowse. I would ask that you try to wake her up each hour and check her eyes. Record any change you see in her pupils. If absolutely necessary, you may use sal ammoniac to rouse her, but please try tapping her hands or cheeks first, or even speaking loudly. I am not certain that smelling salts are the best course to take." Dr. Donaldson turned to the patient. "Miss Hale," he said loudly, striking her cheek smartly as he spoke her name, "do you hear me?"
Dr. Donaldson turned to John. "I should note that she may not be fully regain consciousness, nor may she be fully sensible if she should awaken. It is of course difficult for even a healthy person to remain awake for extended periods of time. So it is of no consequence if she seems to drowses off or does not seem quite herself. The main thing is that she not sleep deeply."
"I understand." John nodded, suddenly eager for the man to take his leave.
As there was little response from the patient, Dr, Donaldson rummaged in his satchel until he found a needle and pressed it into the fleshiest part of Margaret's palm. The patient began to stir almost instantaneously, and John began to anger just as quickly. He pushed Dr Donaldson away roughly. John would wake her with the tenderness she deserved.
"Miss Hale! Please come back to us!" John rubbed Margaret's hand briskly between his own and noted with some pride that her eyes began to flutter.
Dr. Donaldson wiped his instruments with a cloth, and queried his client. "Is there a place where I might wash these and store these until the morrow? I think I can leave Miss Hale in your care until then."
John ignored this tiresome man. Margaret was his own again.
And now, she was speaking to him.
"The light is so bright. It hurts. Oh, how my head hurts!"
"It will be okay, Miss Hale. I am here-" John extinguished the bright Argand lamp that had lit Dr. Donaldson's work. Still, the slanting late afternoon light fully illuminated the room. He jumped up to draw the curtains shut, but quickly returned to Margaret's side.
"Everything is so blurry. Papa, is that you?"
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Notes:
I hope that Margaret's treatment was not too gruesome nor the details not too onerous. The hypodermic syringe was invented 1 year after N and S was published, but I decided not to fudge by including it because, even though it was invented then, it was not publicized for another twenty years. As a result, there really is no way our Dr. Donaldson would have known about it. From what I understand of medical history, he would have been stuck with using the tools I described instead, with all the attendant risk of infection. Note that Dr. Latta is another historical figure. Note also, that this will probably be the last chapter with any medical references or science (osmosis!). While I intend to keep up the historical references, they will be taking other forms. :) Thank you again for reading this very long chapter! And note that there will be interaction between John and Margaret next chapter (finally) although you can probably tell I like writing from John's point of view. :)