Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Norton looked down at the letter at his feet. It lay at his door, as if slipped inside through the threshold for him alone to find. No adress or the name of the addresser.

Coal soot smeared across the white envelope as he picked it up, but it wasn't the pristine look of it that caught his attention. Instead it was the red stamp in the middle. He stared at it for a long time, not moving an inch.

He was in the mines today, though the position of a prospector gave him opportunities to avoid that. Perhaps his eyes hadn't adjusted to the golden light of the sunset yet. He closed the door, placed the letter on the table and proceeded to take a bath. In the cold water, he squinted his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers and blinked enough times for them to hopefully work properly again.

When he walked out with a towel around his neck, he took the letter into his hand.

No, still the same stamp.

Even a man like him, someone stuck in the lowest ring that Pittsburgh had to offer, recognised it from the first glance. He hasn't been here for a long time either. It was the Nathaniels stamp, known by everyone all over America because that name owned half of all mining sites in the US and Lawrence Nathaniel was one of the richest men on this god forsaken land.

And for some reason, the stamp of that pig, was on the letter presumably meant for Norton.

He scoffed and tossed the letter aside, carrying on with putting on his shirt. Must be a mishap in the mail system. Or a joke from the other miners. He seemed to attract that kind of attention no matter where he was, whether in Scotland or here in America.

He buttoned up the shirt over his chest, slowly hiding the big scar on his left side. 

Would you, Norton Campbell, take me, Y/N Nathaniel, as your wife?

His fingers halted as goosebumps traveled all over his body. That was just ridiculous. As if you, that crazy lady who behaved like a commoner and wore clothes that weren't nearly luxurious enough to fit the person you claimed to be, was Y/N Nathaniel herself. She would've never even ended up in this hole by accident, let alone intentionally.

For him of all men, too.

He buttoned up more aggressively than before. He lit the last candle before sinking into his bed, feeling the old mattress dip below him and the wooden carcass groan under his weight. He felt heavier than the bolders that lay at the entrace of the mineshaft, and yet when he closed his eyes, of all things he could think of, he was thinking of the letter.

When and who shoved it under the threshold? No matter how mad you were, you were still a noble woman. You couldn't have that much free time to visit him at night, somehow fake the Nathaniel Stamp and then deliver the letter to his shack. 

He rolled over. Or it was an actual letter from Lawrence Nathaniel, just not meant for him. Again, someone made a huge mistake while delivering the mail. Another reason why he shouldn't touch it and better even just get rid of it. A man as powerful as Lawrence Nathaniel could shove Norton into jail with one single raise of his eyebrow.

Of course, he thought. The letter had no addresser because everyone recognised the stamp and no name to whom it should be delivered cause it was confidential. Eitherway, it couldn't be addressed to him.

He got up from his bed and tossed the letter into the trash bin. Tomorrow, on his way to work, he would throw it away completely.

He couldn't take the letter with him out of the shack. Not with those bastard miners lurking around.

Nicolas was one of them. An American man who made it his daily routine to pick fights with him. Something about Norton stealing the position of his brother, but Norton never cared enough to understand what the man always barked about. Still, there was a risk of him discovering the letter before he could throw it away. 

He gripped the envelope and threw it on the table with a groan. He took his hat—the hard metal thing with a candle stuck at the front, just in case he was sent down into the tunnels today—and walked out of the shack, slamming the door behind it. He walked back and locked it on a key.

For the whole day afterwards, as he helped the miners find the stars in the caves, his mind was clouded with images of you.

He couldn't call your behaviour similar to one of a brute. Matter of fact, it was simply quite similar to his own, but that was exactly the problem. Either you weren't properly educated in manners, or he was as elegant and gentle as a princess. In both cases, you couldn't be the daughter of that man.

When at the end of the day he was greeted by the same letter on his table, he grabbed it and almost tore it into two, but inventibly sank into his chair and let his heavy lids finally shut close. If he could, he would've tossed it into a fire and watched it burn.

Unfortunately, there was a smallest part of him that was curious.

Too much curiosity is trouble for everyone, he reminded himself and lifted the letter to his face. It was no longer pure white. Now it had a bunch of black smears all of it, finally looking like the fake letter he wanted it to be.

With a sigh, he proceeded to tear the envelope open. If it was addressed to someone else, he would just burry it tonight somewhere away from the shack. No one would link it to him and no one would cause him any troubles.

If it was addressed to him by you...

He shook his head. That wouldn't be the case in a hundred years.

He took the letter out, slowly unfolded it and was met by a handwriting he didn't recognise. He couldn't ignore it for long, so eventually his eyes flickered to the top.

I hope this letter finds you well. I'd like to continue our conversation from the other night…

Norton tossed the letter aside and rose from his seat, walking rounds in the shack. It was her. It was you. He tried to convince himself that that couldn't be but the stamp looked real, identical to the Nathaniel Stamp.

He slumped back down, dragged his rough hands over his face and continued reading.

Norton slowly leaned against the back of his chair. He turned the letter to see its back to make sure he didn't miss anything. That was... straight forward.

It was the 17th today. The sewer street was only twenty minutes away from the dormitories, but his work day ended precisely at eight in the afternoon, which meant that he would be late.

He didn't know why he was even thinking of it. He wasn't going. He might be a desprate man, but he wasn't mad. At least, not anymore. He wouldn't become a plaything to a rich ladie until she bored herself and tossed him aside.

Y/N Nathaniel too, of all people.

Jesus Christ, he shivered.

Sewer Street stood right between the city and the mining site. Not many people lived in that town. The rich wouldn't live near a mining site and the poor usually migrated to the city where they had a chance at finding a job, so truly it was a perfect spot to secretly meet someone.

You wore a dress of expensive fabric and fine stitching. You almost fought tooth and nail to wear the servant's clothes again. Those pants appeared in your dreams for a reason after all, but alas, Marisol had a point. You had to look like a Nathaniel, otherwise Norton wouldn't believe who you were.

Speaking of Marisol, she sat right next to you at a rounded table, staring off into the middle distance.

Through her you've got your hands on this little house, basically rented it for a night. Your first idea was to go to a coffee shop—that's where you'd usually meet someone—but obviously that was too public of a place. A night of this house didn't cost much, nothing compared to what you got from selling a few jewellery pieces.

Marisol wasn't happy about that either.

"So," you mused, "you're going to meet my future husband. Hopefully."

Marisol fidgeded with her skirt. Oh, when you told her of what you've done—of how you sneaked out at night and went off to meet a man in the privacy of his shack—she fainted on the spot. That before you even told her the reason you did all that.

Quite dramatic, if someone bothered asking you. You've seen people faint from shock only on TV shows, and only on the overly exaggerated ones too, but they clearly must be taken from real life. 

Her silence made your skin prickly.

"Y'know, he seems like a good man," you added, "at least from the answers he has given me. I mean, he isn't a racist or classist. And he's not a sexist. He respects women, I think... at least he believes women should have the right to make money."

You drummed your fingers against the wood. You knew that your plan was everything but flawless. You picked a random man, spoke with him for about ten minutes and decided to marry him. You didn't blame Marisol for her reaction. If someone else came to you with the same story as yours, you've looked at them as if they were mad.

"Please, say something," you muttered. "I'm already stressed, your silence isn't helping here..."

She sighed. "I'm thinking, My Lady."

"About what?"

"About what?!" She suddenly whipped her head to you "I'm about to meet the man you plan on marrying and I have no idea who he is! You're so young, you shouldn't be making such decisions!"

You bit your lower lip. You opened your mouth, but Marisol spoke before you got the chance to.

"The same thing happened with Mr. Adley. You were set on marrying him and him alone, and God knows he's—" she stopped and took a deep breath. "He’s not a good man, and wouldn't be a good husband, but at least he had the status and money to satisfy you, so forgive me for being taken aback by your current decision to marry a commoner."

"You said commoner like it's a slur—"

"And have you even thought of how your father might react?" The mention of him tensed the air between you two. 

You had a rough idea of how to survive his wrath, but an idea is all that it was. Despite not remembering how his said wrath looked, your whole body tensed up just at the thought of it.

"I'll deal with it." You said as calmly as you could. Marisol was clearly scared, the least you could do was look confident.

Her shoulders sank the smallest bit as she averted her eyes and looked back into the nothingness. The clock on the wall—with a beautiful wooden structure around it—read exactly eight in the afternoon. He should be here soon.

Ten minutes passed and you didn't think much of it.

The silence hung heavy between you and Marisol like a weighted blanket. This time, you let her be. Her opinion on the matter wouldn’t change what you knew you needed to do. 

Twenty minutes and you fidget with the plate buns on it, sitting in the middle of the table. You had Jackson buy something from a bakery. The best conversations happened while eating. Of course, there were too many for one person alone. You hoped Norton had an appetite. Would he have already eaten dinner by this hour? 

The silence hung on. 

Thirty minutes and you were pacing around the room, looking at all the assortment of things on the shelf in the corner. You picked up a little glass figure of a goose and rotated it in your hand. If he didn't show up, you'd have to move on and find another man. Couldn't be someone in the Pittsburgh Mine though. There had to be other mining sites around here, ones with men that lived as secluded as Norton did.

You’d have to sneak into your father’s office again, pilfer through his files at night and make beat fast decisions. You still weren’t sure who that other man was from that night—

The sudden knock on the door almost made you drop the glass goose.

Marisol rose, presumably to open the door, but you bested her at that as you rushed and whipped it open.

Norton looked at you with his eyes widened, his gaze traveling from your face and hairstyle to the fine dress that hugged you perfectly, as if custom made—because it was. You looked at him the same. He looked... different compared to two days ago. Less clean, to say the least. The black color on his face and clothes had to be the coal.

And he smelled. Bad. 

"You're late," you said instead, crinkling your nose. "You can't just keep a lady waiting like that."

"You chose the location and the time," he grumbled. "Didn't take my job into consideration or is the concept of employment unfamiliar to you?"

You stepped aside and let him in, ignoring the remark. Usually a sharp tongue was fun, unless targeted at you, of course. "Take a seat. We have things to discuss."

Norton took one step in before halting. Marisol's gaze was impossible to miss, eyes agape and mouth the slightest bit open, covered by her hand.

"What's wrong with her?" He nudged his chin at Marisol, though you suspected he knew the answer. You hadn’t really described Norton's appearance to her. In fact, you had actually avoided it. If she knew the man you wanted to marry was a man of color with a huge scar on his face, she might've locked you in your room.

You chuckled. "Oh, she's just..she's funny like that. Doesn't encounter men often, right? Marisol?"

Marisol blinked. "Right, of course. Forgive me, I'm still taken aback by... everything."

Everyone took a seat, and because you weren't the best at handling awkward silences, you reached for a bun and took a bite. "Eat, both of you. I didn't buy all this for decoration purposes."

Marisol hesitated, whereas Norton didn't. He ate well, that was for sure. You thought of handing these buns to him to take home.

"So, let's get to the questions—" you began but was interrupted by Norton’s outstretched hand, palm open. "Oh, right." You placed the two golden coins into his hand, as promised in the letter. "Well, then—"

"Let me stop you there." He pocketed the money away. "We'll skip that and get to my questions."

You frowned. "You're here to answer my questions, yours we'll discuss at the end. That's what I paid you for, remember?"

"No, you didn't," he pulled the letter from his pocket and pointed at the last section. "You paid me to show up, remember?"

"I meant both, obviously." You argued.

"Doesn't matter to me," he shrugged and took another bite. "I'm here, that's what you paid for. Now, I'll be asking, you'll be answering. Reversing the roles, basically. "

You glared at him, baffled at his audacity. He had no manners, and that meant something coming from someone like you.

"Alright, ask away." You forced a smile.

"What's this all about?" He asked, "is this an attempt at gaining attention from the press? Your daddy doesn't love you and this is a form of revenge?"

"I don't care about the press and I sure as hell don't care about my father," you grimaced, ignoring Marisol's little gasp. "I'm doing this to inherit the money that is rightfully mine. For that I need to marry."

"Marry a rich guy then," he pressed.

"Would you marry a rich guy?" His eyes widened in surprise. "If you were well off in life and now wanted to marry, would you choose a millionaire?"

He leaned back into the chair, regarding you carefully. "I wouldn't."

"Exactly—"

"But that's because I grew up poor and starving. Me and him are completely different, we'd clash like Calcite and Gypsum. What's your excuse?"

"I just don't want to marry some arrogant and heartless man," you shook your head. "I don't need an excuse for that."

"Still stupid," Norton frowned. "Why would you want to marry someone poor?"

"Someone like you might be more open to the ideas I have," you shrugged. "I need your help."

He snorted as if this whole thing was just an amusement to him. He came for the money and was only staying for the fun of it.

“So I somehow qualify for this little mission of yours?”

“It's not a little mission,” you said through clenched teeth. “And yes, you qualified. The questions I asked? The list with ten of them? Four that remain to be asked?”

He looked thoughtful. “So what? You were determining if I'd make a good husband?” He snorted.

“Eh, more like I was trying to see if you were a good person.” Technically all the most important questions have been asked. He wasn't passionate about anything you had brought up—you doubted he would jump into protesting for women's rights or racial justice—but neither was he against any of it.

“You think I'm a good person?” The question caught you by surprise, and so did the look in his eyes. The green of his irises stood out significantly in contrast with the coal soot on his face, loaded heavy with feelings and thoughts you couldn't read.

“I hope you are,” you muttered. “Wouldn't want to marry you otherwise. A bad person won't help me with my plans.”

He quickly wiped that expression off of his face and covered it with amusement.

"Help with what, Missy?" He asked condescendingly.

"I want to help the poor," you ignored his barked laugh and continued. "A rich man will never care for the ones below him, he will never go along with what I have planned."

"You've got to be kidding me—" he suddenly coughed into his arm. You didn't care a whole lot, but wondered if he was sick. Had to be, with the gruesome working conditions he and his fellow coal miners had.

"Listen, I really don't have time for this," you said. "I've asked nine men before you, and unlike you, they didn't pass the test. So yes, I'll admit it, I need you to help me, but if you're not willing to cooperate, then to hell with it, imma move on." You leaned against your chair. "I'm offering you a way out of poverty, and I'm certain that by now you know you'll never be able to get out of it on your own. No offense, but that's the truth.”

“I know that's the truth,” he clenched his jaw. “I don't need a kid lecturing me about it.”

You snorted. “Where am I a kid? We're practically the same age.”

“I'm twenty-eight,” he said.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “And I'm twenty-four.”

His face remained the same until he frowned in confusion, as if he didn't hear it right. He looked you up and down. “Twenty-four? She's twenty-four?” He turned to Marisol.

Marisol nodded as you scoffed. “I'm sorry, am I too old for you? You like your women seventeen of age?”

“Never said that,” he frowned, deeply offended.

“You just called me an old hag.”

“Never said that either,” he rolled his eyes. “I'm just surprised that a woman as… mature as you would be doing such childish things.”

“It's called being brave. I'm doing the things no one else will do because they're either scared or unwilling to waste their time with it.”

He tossed his hand in a dismissive manner. “Some things remain undone for a reason. I don't care what you're planning on but you're dragging everyone with you.”

“Into what, Norton?”

He worked his jaw. “You're as privileged and arrogant as every other rich fool out there, no matter how much you believe yourself to be better.”

You froze, feeling the blow of his words. You weren't oblivious on other's opinions of you. Since you've gotten here, everyone has been thinking of you as a bit odd for behaving unlike a typical rich lady or just not like the Y/N Nathaniel they remembered. Him comparing you to the people you wanted to distance yourself from left an impact.

“What will happen to your servant here when you fail with this madness?” He asked. “You'll be fine, Lawrence won't touch his kin, but her he'll punish. She'll lose her job and her reputation will be ruined. Guess what, Missy? She won't be able to find another position. Because of you.”

Your gaze remained on Norton, mostly because you were avoiding eye contact with Marisol. 

“Mr. Campbell, I appreciate you speaking up for me, but my position isn't where my concerns lie.” Marisol added gently, almost like trying to smooth the tension that was rapidly growing between you two.

“I might be privileged, but in no way am I arrogant,” you spat. “The hell you think I'm doing here?”

“Fooling around,” he didn't miss a beat. “You're bored. Life of endless comfort must be so tiring.”

You brought up your hands and dragged them over your face. You felt like any minute now you would jump over the table and strangle this man, so you tried to calm yourself the best way you knew.

You sighed, meeting his gaze. “You know what my privilege gives me? The chance of thinking of others. You don't have the luxury to care for anyone but yourself cause you're trying to survive and that's hard enough. I can look around and see the injustice of the world and choose to not ignore it.”

You watched Norton take it in. Again, nothing but a furrow of his brows.

“I'm trying to do everything that is in my power to help those who need it and if those results require a risky mission, I'll do it.” You leaned your arms against the table. “So you either take my offer seriously and possibly change your life and the life of others in ways that are impossible otherwise, or we both just part our ways."

For a moment Norton kept his mouth shut and his face carefully guarded. You couldn't tell what he was thinking but suspected he was analysing you in return. Either way, you kept your eyes locked with his, not backing down despite his naturally stern look.

He broke eye contact first by shifting his gaze to Marisol.

"What's wrong with her?" He asked.

Marisol blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Where the hell did she get these ideas? And was she neglected in education? Don't people like her have tutors to teach her how to behave?" 

"Look who's talking." You clicked your tongue.

"My Lady," Marisol lifted her hand "Mr. Campbell is right to be concerned..."

"'Wouldn't call it concern," he trailed off.

"Miss Nathaniel has experienced a terrible accident. It happened so suddenly, oh the tragedy..." Marisol made it sound as if you lost a few of your libs.

"A tragedy is a bit too far," you muttered. "I fell down some stairs, hit my head and lost my memories."

Norton frowned. "What?"

"Yeah, like I said, not a big deal," you nodded.

"Right so..." Norton mused, "you hit your head, clearly messed up everything up there and all this is just what? A side effect? You're acting crazy cause your brains got knocked around?"

"You both are just dramatic," you groaned, "I'm not acting crazy. I'm just acting like a person with no useless memories to blind their judgement. I woke up and realised things aren't as fair as they should be. I've got the chance to make a change, so here we are"

Norton glared at you like you've lost your mind, then rose from the table. "I'm leaving."

You slammed another golden in the middle of the table. "Sit down."

He looked up and down, his pride battling his need for the money. “Double it, and we can continue.”

“What do you think I am? A bank?” Still, you took out another golden coin and placed it on the table. Two more golden coins than planned, which made twenty dollars for his company alone. That didn't even include his cooperation.

He took those coins and sat back down.

"Good, now let's continue," you said as calmly as you could, "I'll summarise it. I need to strike a deal with you. I give you money and a life of luxury and comfort, you give me your signature on every document I'll put in front of you in the future. My husband being poor and a man of color will also act as a sort of rebellion against the rich, and since my plans of charity are ways of rebelling anyway, might as well start small. With you. Any questions?"

"Yeah, is your father murdering me a part of your plan?" Norton asked.

"He won't kill you, don't worry about that."

"He will very much kill me," Norton insisted. "You have a plan for that too?"

No, no I don't. "Yes, but that will stay a secret."

"Why?" He frowned.

"Cause we haven't made a deal yet," you answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My father is one of the richest, most powerful men on the American shores. I shouldn’t have to explain to you why I’m not handing out information on how to subvert him to you."

Norton drummed his fingers against the table, his eyes averted to the side. Again, you couldn't guess what he was thinking. He always looked either pissed or uninterested, maybe occasionally amused too. Too well guarded to read inside.

"If I agree, what will happen?" He met your eyes.

"We'll meet again and discuss the marriage contract," you explained. "We'll perfect it, then find a church and get married."

"What about Lawrence's blessing?" he said. "You won't be allowed to marry without it."

Shit, I forgot about that. "I've got in handled."

"You could kill me and take all the money after we marry."

"You think murdering men is a weekly activity to me?"

"Could be, I don't know."

"It could be," you agreed. "Wait and see what happens."

His shoulders tensed and the drumming of his fingers halted. Perhaps the offer was as enticing as it was dangerous, for you saw that familiar glint in his eyes. Unfortunately, before you could snatch on it and press further, it glimmered away.

He rose from his seat. "You're one mad woman, Missy. I've got enough problems as it is, I don't need more because your life is boring."

You rose as well, leaving Marisol the only one sitting, her eyes moving in a worrying manner between you two. "You can't be serious."

"Not only am I serious, I'm also leaving." He walked to the door.

"For heaven's sake, at least consider it!" You followed him. "I'm the one begging you to accept a life changing offer, do you know how rare that is? You don't actually believe you'll get out of shit hole on your own—"

He suddenly turned around and loomed over you like a threat, making you take a hesitant step back. "I stopped believing that years ago, but that doesn't give the damn right to talk down on my life like that. I don't care how rich or how self-righteous you think you are, you're no hero and I sure as hell don't need you saving me."

He glared down on you for long enough for the words to stick, then he turned around and walked out, slamming the door shut hard enough for the glass goose on the shelf to fall and break into pieces. You stood frozen in the middle of the room, unable to move as Marisol stood to clean up the shattered figurine.

You stared at the door. You never claimed to be a hero. You had the opportunity to help people—no matter how hard it was to achieve that opportunity first—and you wanted to use it. You were stuck in a timeline that wasn't yours, the least you could do was use what was given to you by this new life.

You sighed and turned back to the rounded table.

Most of the buns lay untouched. You've forgotten to give them to him.