Mrs Thornton helped Margaret descend the steps of the mill. John followed them, silent and stalking. Margaret turned her head as she was helped into the carriage, catching sight of the coldest glare she had ever received. She turned her head away.
"Thank you, Mrs Thornton." Magaret mumbled as the carriage door was closed and the vehicle began to move.
Mrs Thornton sat to her right, looking at her with narrowed eyes. Margaret almost squirmed under her steely gaze, her hands clenching. John had certainly inherited his disposition from his mother.
"Miss Hale, as you know I do not mince my words. I will ask you a simple question and I expect a simple answer in return. What is going on between you and my son?"
"Excuse me?" Margaret asked, her breath catching.
She had not expected Mrs Thornton to be so straightforward in her interrogation; a mistake, perhaps, considering that Mrs Thornton was a very much a straightforward kind of woman.
"I've seen the way he looks at you. I've seen the way you look at him."
"I don't-"
Mrs Thornton interrupted her once more, clicking her tongue and folding her arms. Margaret was caught off guard; she certainly was not used to women speaking so plainly to one another. Another difference between the North and the South, one more to add to all of the others.
"Miss Hale, don't try and play the fool. Do you realise how inappropriate your behaviour was today?"
"What are you trying to accuse me of, Mrs Thornton?" Margaret asked, blinking at the sudden frankness. "I don't understand."
The carriage was too hot. Margaret felt as though she were being pushed down by some invisible force, her chest tight and her mind most cloudy indeed. The rocking of the vehicle on the rough streets did nothing to ease her discomfort.
"I think you sweet on my son. I think him similarly inclined to you."
Her heart pounded; what use was there in denying it? Though she was unsure of her own feelings, it had not been ten minutes since John had been on his knees confessing his love for her.
"Even if that were true, I do not see the need to discuss it-" Margaret began to speak, but she did not have a chance to finish before Mrs Thornton interrupted.
"Do not misunderstand my son's character, Miss Hale. You might think him hard or unfeeling, but I know otherwise. I have heard him speak of you incessantly, though I doubt he even realises he's doing it. His eyes light up whenever he sees you."
She felt her whole body heat with pure mortification. To hear that Mr Thornton spoke of her when she was not there was embarrassing enough, but to know that he did so to his mother! Margaret swallowed heavily. She did not know why knowing he spoke of her made her feel so - so ashamed, perhaps? Was he right? Had she been playing a game with his emotions? That had not been her intention, nor did she wish to cause him pain with her rejection. This whole situation had rapidly spiralled out of control, and Margaret felt utterly lost.
"I think-"
Mrs Thornton did not let her finish.
"If you're unsure of your feelings, as I suspect that you are from what I have seen today, do not give him any cause to hope you will change your mind. Not when his life is so fraught already. It would be cruel."
"My - my relationship with Mr Thornton is merely that he is my father's pupil." Margaret said.
"Then do not give him false hope." Mrs Thornton told her. "Do not embarrass him, Miss Hale. Do not put your own reputation at risk if you have no intention of marrying my son. I admit I have seen handshakes that have lingered too long, gazes that did not break soon enough. I want John to be happy. However, I must step in now that things have gone too far."
"You must think very little of me, to think me capable of embarrassing him or manipulating the situation to my advantage. You barely know me, Madam." Margaret said.
She knew it was not polite to speak to her elder in this way, yet there was nothing polite about this conversation. To be confronted in such a way in an enclosed space with no means of escape - it was nothing short of an ambush.
"I think it no great secret that I don't agree with some of the things you've seen fit to do in the short time you have been in Milton, Miss Hale. If marrying you will make my son happy, I will put aside my own opinions. What I will not do, Miss Hale, is allow you to play him for a fool."
Margaret had had quite enough of the Thorntons for one day. They spoke too bluntly, too freely. It enraged her, for she was unused to being questioned in such a way. She found it rude and boorish. Mrs Thornton was staring at her expectantly, yet Margaret was sure she did not know how to respond to such frankness.
For this woman to talk of marriage as though it were no more than a business arrangement! It was a bold assumption that Margaret would even wish to marry Mr Thornton, for as far as anyone knew they did not even like each other at all.
"I think I shall walk the rest of the way." Margaret said, though of course she could not. She was being petulant and was well aware of the fact, but she resented being spoken to in this manner.
"Do not be ridiculous. I'll not be accused by John of any wrongdoing, I am taking you home and delivering you to your parents. I'll not tell them what happened today, if that's what you're worried about. But, my girl, you need to think on your behaviour and your intentions towards my son. He is a good man, an honorable man."
Margaret did not wish to hear of Mr Thornton's honour. Indeed at this moment she had no wish to hear of Mr Thornton at all. She wanted to go home, to change her clothes and wash her face and forget that this miserable day had happened at all.
"I think I should like to end this conversation." Margaret stared out of the window. "I will not be spoken to in this way by anyone, Mrs Thornton. Least of all you."
"You'd do well to hold your tongue." Mrs Thornton said. "Look, we are almost there. I'll see you in but not speak with your parents if that is what you wish. You need to be more conscious of your conduct in future, especially in regards to my son. Any of the servants, or heaven forbid my own daughter, could have overheard your conversation today."
So Mrs Thornton had been listening! Margaret should not have been so surprised, yet she still felt as though the embarrassment would burn her alive.. It had been awful enough that there had been such unpleasantness with Mr Thornton, but to know that the scene had had an audience was utterly mortifying.
"Thank you for seeing me home." Margaret replied as the driver opened the door. "I am sorry if I have caused you inconvenience today, for it was truly not my intention."
Mrs Thornton held her gaze. Margaret did not flinch, nor did she look away. She would not be intimidated by Mrs Thornton, for she had done nothing to warrant it. It was not Margaret's fault this woman saw fit to interfere with her son's life. How apt that so many called this woman a dragon-her eyes held pure fire within them.
"You saved my son from a danger today, and I'll thank you for that. Those men would have torn him to pieces given half a chance. Rest, Miss Hale. You do not look yourself. Think about what I have said."
Margaret felt shame in her chest, as though she were caught in a vice. It crushed her, a squeezing kind of emptiness she could not describe.
"Good day, Mrs Thornton. Thank you, most sincerely, for your assistance."
"Are you sure you do not wish me to explain what happened today to your parents?"
"No! No, I don't want to worry my mother. She is not well." Margaret said, her hand tightening on the wood of the bench. "I would not like to cause her any alarm. Not when everything is right again."
"I'm sorry to hear it. I'll have a servant bring her the water mattress you wished to borrow, in hopes it might ease her suffering."
"Thank you. That is very kind." Margaret said. "We are most grateful to you."
"It is nothing. Now, are you sure you do not want me to speak with your father? Will they not wonder where you have been all day?"
"No. No, I wish to go inside with as little fuss as possible." Margaret took a shaky breath. "I really am sorry for causing so much trouble, Mrs Thornton."
"You're an impulsive sort, Miss Hale. Perhaps a little more thought would serve you well. Good day."
"Goodbye, Mrs Thornton. Thank you for your assistance." Margaret said once again, for it was all she could seem to muster.
The door opened and Margaret stepped out onto the street outside their home. She wondered if her father had seen the carriage, for he often looked out of the window at the street below just to pass the time. She fervently hoped that he had not, for there would only be questions that she did not want to answer.
Margaret opened the front door as quietly as she could, slipping inside and making it halfway up the stairs before her mother's voice rang out.
"Margaret? Is that you?"
Margaret paused by the door to the sitting room. She could not let her mother see her in her current state. Her dress was dusty, her skin apparently pale as she had been told many times by Mrs Thornton, and her hair was a terrible fright she was sure. No, she could not let her mother see her like this, for then there would only be endless questions and undue concern.
"Yes. I - I am sorry I am so late, I got waylaid. The streets are most dusty indeed, I must wash. And - and perhaps rest a while, for I have been walking some distance."
It felt difficult to speak, her mouth dry and her words confused. She knew if her mother saw her in this state, there would be no pretending that everything was well. It would devastate her mother to know that Margaret had succumbed to such an injury - and to know that she had acted so rashly in front of so many.
"Oh Margaret, you and your walks!" Her mother tittered. "Will you not come and kiss your Mama hello?"
Margaret's hand flew to the gash on her temple.
"Give me a little time, I look a fright!" Margaret said, trying desperately to conceal the panic in her voice. "I will be down soon."
Margaret rushed to her bedroom, closing the door and pressing her weight against it. Her heart hammered wildly, her head spinning with all that had happened. She felt as though she were being tossed about on the wild, open sea, her stomach churning.
She picked up her hand mirror, squinting in the dim light to try and see the cut. It had stopped bleeding long ago, and had been thoroughly cleaned by the doctor. It was rather small, once she had gotten a good look at it, and certainly less severe than all Fanny's hysteria had suggested. The area around it hurt to touch, and surely a bruise would bloom there in due course.
She picked up the cloth from the small washbasin that sat by the window, and poured some water from a jug. She washed her hands first, for they felt most gritty and unclean. Then, she soaked a cloth and wiped away the dried blood that was near her ear. As she rinsed the cloth, ribbons of red swirled into the water. Margaret watched them dance with one another until all the water was stained with the colour of her blood. She shook her head, wondering just why she was so transfixed by something so strange.
Looking in the mirror once more, she adjusted her hair so it covered the cut. There; practically good as new!
Though her injury was now covered, it would be a lie to say she felt well. There was a constant pain in her head, her thoughts clouded. She had been standing for too long and was rather dizzy. Her mouth felt strange too, as though her tongue had grown in size. Really, she felt rather wretched.
Margaret closed her eyes. As soon as her mind was dark, the image of Mr Thornton's face appeared and her eyes snapped open once more. She did not wish to see his face, even if it was only a figment of her own cruel imagination. It was all too confusing. Had anyone asked her opinion on the man a week ago, she would have said that he was not to her liking. Then why had she found herself pressed against him as though he were the most irresistible person who had ever lived? Why had he kissed her as she had never been kissed before, with such passion and tenderness? Why had she reciprocated in kind, her hands clinging to him with a desperation she did not recognise?
Why had his confession of love today made her blood run cold?