"It's Mr. Hale."
Three small words had unraveled the day.
John laid Margaret on the worn settee that took up much of the space in the tiny parlor of her home. He observed her carefully and observed that her face was bloodless, her skin moist and cool. John knelt by her, fanning her with a newspaper he found nearby, supplicating her back to consciousness.
"Dixon! Some water, please," he called, but quickly realized the servant was nowhere nearby. The portly woman was probably waiting on one of the two invalids of the house, and did not hear him. John hesitated, and wondered if he should leave Margaret's side. It would not be good for her to awaken on her own, not after the news she had just received.
John waited, instead, and after glancing over his shoulder to be sure the resident Gorgon was not present, he took the liberty of unhooking the lace collar fastened high around Margaret's neck. His love breathed more easily after that, and the color quickly began to return to her.
Her dark lashes fluttered and blue-green eyes, so soft and grave soon focused on him. But John quickly noticed that the light returned to her eyes by their afternoon pic-nic was now extinguished.
"Papa!" Margaret sat up directly, but John did not allow her to rise from the small couch, cognizant as he was of the likelihood of dizziness. Instead, he took one small hand in his own as he soothed her.
"Tell me he will not die. John, please." Margaret's eyes welled with tears, and John wished that he could own her burden. He joined her on the settee, and took her into his arms, but found that she did not continue to cry. She calmed herself swiftly, as she must have done so often within the walls of this home. Soon her countenance appeared almost placid, apart from the tell-tale trembling of her lower lip.
"We must hear from Dr. Donaldson," she said after a few moments. "But first I must wash my face. Papa must not see me like this. If he is awake." Her hand covered her mouth and she turned away from him as she attempted again to master her emotions.
Dixon entered the room and John stood.
"The doctor says he would like to speak to you, as you're the man of the house, so to speak." Dixon was an irritable sort, but even John could see she was more put out than usual. She'd answered the door in a state of distress, to be sure, but now she seemed downright angry. At what, John had no idea, but Dixon soon elaborated as she began to complain under her breath as she puttered about the room tidying up the small odds and ends of the day's business.
"You'd think that man would have the common decency to wait until his wife were well to get ill. But no. The selfishness, as though I have time to take care of both-"
"Dixon!" Margaret's eyes were wide with disbelief, her expression livid. "How dare you speak of my father in such a way!" She shook in anger as she continued. "You forget yourself. You are not just my mother's companion. You serve this family. This entire family. Should you wish to continue, you will say no more."
"Miss Margaret-"
"No more! You will stay out of my sight. John, let us go upstairs to see my father." Margaret lifted her chin and rustled past the obstreperous servant.
Margaret climbed the stairs quickly, and John fell behind her. She did not sway, or hesitate, he noticed: her anger had fully resolved any lingering faintness she might have felt. At the landing, she hurried into what John realized must be her bedroom. He did not follow, nor even peer inside the room as the circumstances had purged him of any immediate need to know the décor of Margaret's most intimate retreat. His friend—Margaret's father- was ill, and might be dying. John closed his eyes as he said a quick prayer for the man he'd known for such a short time, who'd nonetheless influenced him so greatly. Their lessons had soon become the highlight of each week, and not only for the opportunity to spend time in the company of his daughter. Richard Hale had quickly taken the place of the father he'd lost, the father with whom John had never been able to have a single conversation of substance. Even as a fourteen year old, the young John Thornton had noticed the great mismatch in personalities between himself and his father. In high spirits George Thornton had no time for philosophy. Nay, he had no time for anything but gambling. And in his cups, things were worse. But Mr. Hale had a spirit that complemented John's own. His quiet, contemplative nature drew out John's inquisitive disposition. In truth, John owed Mr. Hales more than that man would ever understand. Education was more than disciplining the mind, as Mr. Hale had claimed. It had done so much more than that. It had freed him.
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.
"I will send a servant from my house at first light to assist you. I assume a maid-of-all-work would be most useful, rather than an upstairs girl?"
Dixon turned around, her eyes narrowed. "Why would you do this for me?"
"Margaret needs you to take care of her mother. She will need to take care of her father, assuming he survives. That leaves no one to do the household chores."
"Thank you, Mr. Thornton."
"You will apologize to her."
"Of course I will. I don't need you to tell me that!" Dixon's face reddened immediately, and a work-roughened hand flew to her mouth. "I am sorry. I did not mean to say that. I owe you my respect. And you will have it. I promise."
"You are wanted upstairs, by Mr. Hale's side." John chose to ignore the outburst. If Margaret could do so for so many years, so could he. Clearly there was more to this woman than met the eye, although presently he could not see what these traits might be.
"Mama was sleeping," Margaret said, when she and Dr. Donaldson joined John in the parlor.
Dr. Donaldson nodded. "Your Dixon informed me that Mrs. Hale was not doing so well this afternoon. She gave her a dose of laudanum just before your father took ill."
"So she does not know?" Margaret asked, worry writ across her fine features.
"I am afraid not." The doctor opened his satchel and rummaged within it.
"What happened to Papa?"
"Your servant heard a thud and found him lying supine on the study floor. She helped him sit up, and he began to clutch his arm and complain of a weight on his chest."
"What is wrong with him? Dr. Donaldson-" Margaret grasped John's hand as she spoke, "is my father dying?"
"We will have to wait and see, Miss Hale. We will watch him carefully, won't we? Cases such as this are somewhat rare. Your father's symptoms are consistent with a disease called angina pectoris. It is a condition where the heart does not get enough blood."
"But he has not been bled recently. Papa has not been cut, or ill."
"No, Miss Hale," the doctor said with an indulgent smile, "I mean that his heart is not working efficiently. However, I must ask, has your father ever suffered from the gout?"
"The gout? Like Mr. Bell? No, he does not eat such a rich diet. He has never complained of gouty pains."
"There are some that think angina pectoris is due to the gout spreading to the heart. But if your father has never had the gout, this would not make much sense." The physician made a note in the small, leather-bound notebook John had seen before.
"What is the treatment?" John asked.
"He must rest, and regain his strength. I recommend brandy and hot water to improve the circulation, a snifter three times a day. You may have noticed the mustard plaster on Mr. Hale's chest. Those should continue to aid respiration, as well as massage of his limbs to help his blood flow." He wrote in his notebook as he spoke, then tore out the page and handed it to John. "But you should also know there is some evidence that this disease is exacerbated by excessive emotion. In fact, there are those that would say strong passions are the immediate cause of the loss of blood flow to the heart."
"You are saying that father's worry over Mama has caused his illness?"
The doctor nodded. "Possibly."
"But we cannot take away this worry. So how will we mitigate the illness, then?" Margaret's voice rose in agitation, and she began to twist the diamond and carnelian ring she wore on her third finger.
"We cannot," Dr. Donaldson replied. "But it is likely all of the damage that could be done has been done. There is that." Dr. Donaldson placed his notebook inside his satchel and buckled the bag shut.
"I will see you out," said John. He collected the physician's hat and cane from the hallway stand, and spoke quietly to the man. "Please send the bill to Marlborough Mills. Our households will be joined soon enough."
The doctor nodded and was on his way.
John returned to the parlor to find Margaret pacing the cramped room, weaving a circuitous path amongst its furnishings.
"I should have been with him today," she began. The impervious facade she had shown to Dixon and the doctor crumbled now that they were alone.
He was at her side immediately, embracing her. "Don't say that. You do not know what this day would have brought otherwise."
"I was not there! I should have been." Her head bowed, and her forehead bumped against his chest.
"Do you regret the time we spent together today?" John asked, fearing the answer.
"It was selfish of me. My mother needs me. I knew that, and yet I left. But my father needed me, too. And I should have known that."
"How, Margaret? Are you omniscient? Are you alone among humans in not needing some time to yourself and some joy in your life?" He placed a finger under her chin and lifted it upwards until their eyes met. "Do not berate yourself. You are a good daughter. No one would claim otherwise. Even my mother thinks so."
Margaret's body shook with a silent laugh, although it was clear that she was on the verge of tears. "Really? Your mother?" She nestled herself against his lanky frame and her wrapped his arms tightly around her.
"But how will I take care of both of them? How can I?"
"Margaret."
"With Papa ill, there is no money, and I were to find work, there would be no one to take care of Papa."
"Margaret-"
"It is just not possible."
"You act as though you are all alone. But my darling, you are not alone. Do you not see that?"
"We are not married, John. They are not your burden."
"But we will be married. And they are."
Margaret shook her head. "But this may be a sign saying that it is wrong to do so. Like the raven."
"The raven?" John's stepped back from her, and gazed at her intently. Maybe Dr. Donaldson was not wrong. Perhaps the stress of two ill parents was simply too much for Margaret to bear.
"Yes, the raven we saw today," Margaret continued. "That cawed at us and dropped a feather. It flew directly in our path. And I picked up the feather." She pointed the bouquet of wildflowers John had laid upon the occasional table. The dark feather stood out among the pastel blooms like a streak of machine oil, sullying them.
"The raven," John repeated incredulously. "A blighted black bird? There are millions of those! You are not making sense, Margaret." John rubbed the small vertical crease between his eyebrows as he willed himself patience.
Again she twisted the ring on her finger. "The raven portends death. It may be a sign that Papa will die tonight."
"No, it portended that there was carrion in the neighborhood of the pic-nic. A rat, perhaps. Or a skunk. I'm sure we would have smelled it, if we'd stopped to investigate. Margaret, look at me. Do not think of him dying tonight. Do not. Your fancy will bring you nothing but worry and sadness." She unnested herself from her cozy lair and John saw that once again she'd begun to cry.
"Do you love me?" John drew her to him again and murmured in her ear.
She nodded.
"And you know that I love you? More than anything?"
Again she nodded.
"I know that you are frightened. I do not want you to be alone with your fear tonight. Margaret, I would marry you this day, if I could, so that I might be by your side this night."
"You would?" her tearful smile was heart rending. "Papa will likely not see us marry. I so wanted him to. I cannot tell you how much I love him."
"I know, Margaret. You are your father's daughter. It is most evident."
"But you would marry me today, if you could?"
He guessed her thoughts. "You know that a special license is only for the peerage. Or by dispensation. But I am certain we would not qualify-" Margaret interrupted his explanation, as eager as she was to solve their conundrum.
"Yes, but with a regular license we could still marry tomorrow morning, here at the house. At Papa's beside."
John remained calm. "You are not of age, Margaret, and therefore cannot apply for the license yourself. It would need to be your mother or father who did so."
"But you could apply."
"If I were Church of England, yes."
Margaret looked at him questioningly. "I did not realize you were a dissenter."
John stepped away from her and drew himself up to his full height. "My family is Presbyterian. Is that a problem?"
"Papa is also a dissenter. That is why we came to Milton." Margaret laid her hand on his arm reassuringly. "How could it be a problem, John? I simply did not know."
"Although there is far more religious tolerance than a twenty five years ago, ones faith does make a difference in matters of marriage. Dissenters and Catholics must wait a week after applying for a license. And of course, the cost is more. But if you would like to marry a week from today, I will go to the Superintendent Registrar immediately." John consulted his pocket watch. "There is time. It is not yet four o'clock."
"Then we can be married next Wednesday morning?" Margaret asked. "If I tell Papa this, perhaps he can cling to life."
John sighed. "You forget the quarter sessions. It is possible that they will run through Friday. In summer they often do."
"Saturday, then." Margaret smiled through her tears. "I once said that a perfect wedding day for me would be the most simple affair, that it take place on a sunny morning, that I would wear my favorite dress and simply walk to the church. This will not be much different, will it?"
John said nothing, taking the opportunity to kiss his love gently instead.
These were not passionate kisses, not at first. Their intent was to warm, and heal. He kissed each tear away, and erased the trails made by those allowed to journey the soft planes and valleys of her face. The touch of his lips against hers was feather light, and held no urgency. There was no need for it do so.
"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he breathed.
"I think I know, for I feel the same."
John's lips journeyed to her neck, which arched back readily, but as passion began to overtake him he realized that in ten days time such delectations, however pleasurable, would simply be the start of his lovemaking.
He pulled away from her.
"I must go, if I am to obtain that license before the close of business."
Margaret nodded.
"Would it be acceptable for me to come by quite early tomorrow to check on your and Mr. Hale?"
"Of course. I will be waiting." Margaret threw her arms around him and kissed him once, twice, over and over. "I do not want you to go."
But John did, as it was some distance to the registrar's office.
He was back at home, however, within an hour and a half, having visited not only that office, and Outwood Station to send a hastily worded telegram, but also the meeting house, whose minister was more than happy to called upon to officiate at the wedding of one of his congregation's most upstanding members.
The smell of his favorite dinner reminded him of how long it had been since his luncheon with Margaret, and he handed off the emptied hamper to Stokes with a frown.
His mother and Fanny were already seated in the dining room, although the meal had not yet been served. He was late, as usual, and they had not stood on ceremony. Of the two, it was only his mother who noticed his mood, however.
"John," said she, "what is wrong?"
"It has been a very long and trying day," John replied, taking the liberty of removing his frock coat, now that he was among family.
"Your pic-nic with Miss Hale did not go well?" Fanny asked with a smirk. "I would have thought even she would be impressed with the barouche you brought round. Is it true that it belongs to Watson?"
John stared steadily at his sister for a moment, realizing that indeed she and Watson would be a fortunate match. She the mercenary and he the vault would get along splendidly. John shook his head and turned away without a word to his sibling.
"The pic-nic went well, Mother. Cook did an excellent job, of course, and Miss Hale was most pleased. We went to St. Catherine's, which was much unchanged. It was a lovely, perfect afternoon."
"What, then, John? Something has happened."
"Upon our return, we learned that Mr. Hale had fallen ill." John did not speak for several minutes as he collected his emotions. His mother leaned forward, silently urging him to continue.
"That family should put Dr. Donaldson on retainer! One wonders how they can afford him!"
"Hush, Fanny!" Hannah Thornton shot a glare at her daughter as she rose from her seat to kneel near her son's side. "Does he live, John? Will he live?"
John nodded. "He was resting when I left. But Dr. Donaldson had no prognosis to provide. Margaret is beside herself with worry."
"Understandably so." Hannah directed her attention to her daughter. "Fanny, will you ask Cook to hold dinner for a half hour? And then leave us, please. John and I need to speak privately."
Fanny looked from her mother to brother with her jaw set in anger. "You never include me," she said tightly. "Everything is private between you two. That is fine. Have your conversation. Have the evening. I will have Cook send a plate to my room." She left the room in a huff, sliding the pocket doors shut behind her so violently that they bounced open again.
Hannah stood and closed the doors properly, returning to John's side again before she spoke.
"Do you think it is likely that Margaret will return to London with her mother?"
John's shoulders sagged. "That was my immediate fear. But Margaret hoped we might marry tomorrow. Which, of course, is not possible." He pulled a paper from his pocket, and showed his mother the license, filled in with his name, Margaret's and other pertinent details. "We will marry in ten days. That is the soonest I could manage between regulations and magistrate's duties."
"Ten days is not much time to plan, John."
"Margaret does not want a big wedding. She is not a person of extravagant tastes. She will be happy to be married by her father's bedside. In fact, this is what she has requested."
"But it is not her requests that are paramount here, John. We have your standing in the community to consider."
"Mother." John gazed at the Thornton matriarch in amazement. "You would consider propriety at a time like this?"
"We must. The mill is just getting back on its feet, and is a long way from showing a profit. You cannot be seen to be cutting corners. A wedding of some substance is in order."
"The Hales cannot afford to host a wedding breakfast of any size, let alone of the magnitude you are suggesting. Nor are they in any state to travel to a meeting house."
"Obviously we would pay for the breakfast, and all other necessaries."
"I do not think they would agree. Margaret wants a small wedding."
"Her mother feels differently."
"I do not think her mother has a feel for their financial situation. It would not suffer Mr. Hale the humiliation."
Hannah ignored her son's protests. "A britzka could be hired for the Hales if it were necessary. And as for the meeting house, aren't Miss Hale and her vicar father Church of England? I hardly would have thought she would agree to be married in a lowly meeting house such as ours."
"Mr. Hale is a dissenter. It is why he left the church, mother."
Hannah was chastened. "Mrs. Hale said it was a matter of conscience, but I did not believe her. " She considered how fragile that woman was the last time they had met. "Perhaps for the Hales' sake it would be better to have both the ceremony and the breakfast here at the house. It would be much easier on the two of them."
"About that, Mother." John rested his hand on his mother's. "This is difficult to ask, but I must."
"What is it, John?" Her son did not often ask her permission in this way, and the look in his eyes indicated that his question was of great importance. She told herself that whatever his request might be, she would grant it, as surely it would grant him happiness. And happiness he surely deserved.
"I have sent a telegram to Mr. Bell, to ask him to come to Margaret's side, as I will not be available to her for much of this next week."
"And?" Hannah shrugged one shoulder. This was a matter of no consequence, as far as she was concerned. Mr. Bell was a gadfly, nothing more. Each year he turned up uninvited to her masters' dinner with a clear mission to stir up trouble, and a smile that brightened each time he succeeded in irritating. But that was a gentleman's game, and in the end such games made no difference to the balance sheet. It therefore mattered to Hannah not one whit whether Mr. Bell remained cloistered in Oxford or buzzed about Milton like a fly drawn to offal.
"When he gets here, I will request that he allow us to make certain renovations to the mill house."
"Renovations," Hannah echoed.
"The Hales cannot stay in Crampton after Margaret and I are wed."
"Her parents will lodge...here?" Hannah made the ready inference from her son's words. She closed her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure. Would it not be enough to be removed from her role as mistress of the household? She would already be shunted to a siding, like a disused rail car. But with the girl's parents present, how much further would her role diminish? She might as well be a guest in her own home.
Her son's sonorous voice interrupted her thoughts. "There is no other way, Mother. There will be more expense in maintaining two separate households than in bringing them here. And this way, Margaret's attentions will be undivided."
"I see." That was the crux of the matter, Hannah realized- Margaret's attentions. Her son was right. The girl would spend every moment of her waking hours by her parents' side until they passed. That was no way to begin a marriage.
Hannah swallowed her pride.
"If you will allow me to plan this wedding to my satisfaction, I will welcome the elder Hales into our home."
"Thank you, Mother. I knew you would." John hugged his mother tightly, and kissed her forehead.
The elder Thornton smiled a rare smile. "Ten days is not long to plan a wedding, son."
"Perhaps Fanny can help you?" John directed his gaze toward the ceiling, as he remembered his sister's earlier words.
"Perish the thought." Hannah rolled her eyes. She would find something for Fanny to do, but it would be insignificant and time-consuming enough to keep her daughter out from underfoot. The wedding favors, perhaps.
It would be hard enough to plan the wedding with the Hale women, as the older one was likely to reminisce impractically about days of yore as a "fine lady", while the younger was likely to be so practical as to be an obstacle to any progress.
Nonetheless, in just ten days time, Hannah Thornton's first-born son would have a wedding commensurate to his stature. His mother would make sure of this. Milton would know that their best was being married.
Author's notes.
This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but this was the most appropriate stopping place. Obviously, the next chapter is a very important one. :)
Thank you again to everyone who has taken the time to review. It truly makes a difference to me- each one puts a huge smile on my face!- and they help me commit to putting out a chapter each week.
About Mr. Hale's illness: Although today heart disease is a leading cause of death for both men and women, in the early Victorian era it was quite rare. Diet and activity levels were different then, and there was much more infectious disease, so the chances of a long life that was rich and sedentary enough to result in heart disease was pretty slim. It did occur, however, particularly in those who were more sedentary, like scholars. To find out what terminology was used in this era (the term heart attack was not used then, although clearly that is what Mr. Hale had) and how doctors thought about heart disease I referred to A Short History of Cardiology by P. R. Fleming and the paper Angina Pectoris and the Arnolds: Emotions and Heart Disease in the Nineteenth Century, by F.B Alberti. Both of these sources discuss the idea that many doctors thought that strong passions (not diet, lack of exercise, genetic issues, etc., as we know today) were the cause of heart disease. Dr. Donaldson is echoing this view, but at the same time bringing in some of the newer knowledge that was coming to light, for instance, that when hearts of people with angina were examined after death, issues were seen with arteries that supply blood to the heart. The treatment Dr. Donaldson recommends is what was traditionally used to improve circulation and heart function.
About the marriage license and John's dissenting: The book The Etiquette of Courtship and Matrimony: with a complete guide to the forms of a wedding (1852) gives the details regarding the different types of licenses in this era, and how a person's religion affected their availability. The reason I have written John as a Presbyterian is because his mother has the multi-volume set of Matthew Henry's Bible Commentaries on the dining room sideboard. Henry was a dissenter and founded a Presbyterian church, so it would make sense that Hannah and family are not Anglicans. When John mentions there being more religious tolerance act than 25 years prior, he is referring to the 1753 Marriage Act. This act stated that only marriages performed by Anglican ministers were legal. It wasn't until 1823 the act was repealed, allowing dissenting ministers, Catholic priests and Jews to perform weddings.
About the britzka: this is a type of carriage that was very large, and in some ways could almost be considered a motor home, as it could be set up to allow passengers to lie flat inside. It could therefore be used for night travel or to transport invalids.
Please read the next chapters on fanfiction dot net. There is not enough traffic here to warrant continuing, sadly. I have the same name there, and the story is under North and South the book, not the movie. Thanks!