Chapter Text
“Miss Hale!” Margaret was not listening, her mind closed in deep thought. The conversation around her was thriving and all the women were gossiping about one thing or the other, but no one has spoken to her. Not one of them paid her much attention, some, she noticed, even whispered to each other while glancing towards her. She did not mind them, though it hurt not to have anyone on her side. Though Fanny did sometimes cast a pitiful look towards her, it was in no way friendly and Mrs. Thornton scowled at her so much that she thought she would burn a hole through her. After her exchange with Mr. Thornton at the dinner table, it was not surprising that a woman so proud of her son was astonished by this young strange woman from the South who dared to look him in the eye and speak her mind. Margaret was not sure why she had to argue with Mr. Thornton in that (surely improper) way, but she could not help herself. Whenever she was around Mr. Thornton, words escaped her mouth before she could stop them and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Miss Hale!” Margaret looked up, startled. The deep voice that called her was unmistakable. She was looking into the blue piercing eyes of Mr. Thornton. The conversation around her kept on going, though a few of the women started to whisper and kept watching the two of them. “Mr. Thornton.” She answered and stood up from her chair. “Your father wishes to go; I think he has had enough of our mill talk.” He then lowered his voice and, while taking her towards the door, spoke with a hint of urgency: “I am afraid your father is not much of a drinker, Miss Hale, and it is past time that he goes home. I would hate it if he were to embarrass himself. He is a very clever and intelligent man and the gossip would do no good to him.”
Margaret was almost touched at Mr. Thornton’s thoughtfulness – to fetch her even after she had spoken to him in such an improper manner just a few hours previously was very generous of him. She nodded and turned around to the women and wished them goodbye. Only Mrs. Thornton stood up and wished her a good night and her mother a quick recovery, though there was no kindness in her words and not even a hint of friendliness in her eyes. Margaret thanked Mrs. Thornton for her words and for the dinner, which she accompanied by a compliment of the table arrangements and moved towards the door.
Her father was standing in the hallway, and though not drunk, Margaret though him very near it. Mr. Thornton helped Mr. Hale to the hallway, though now that Margaret saw her father walking, she was assured that he was not drunk at all – it was more a combination of one too many brandies with his fatigue. Margaret followed the men to the door, where Mr. Hale took his coat and hat from the servant while Margaret dressed in her coat. Mr. Thornton did not need to see them out, yet he stayed and watched them both. Margaret was unable to look back at him. As she took her father’s arm and she started to say her thanks to Mr. Thornton, her father froze. “Margaret! I am deeply sorry, how silly of me! I forgot my gloves in the parlor!” He exclaimed. “I can get them for you, Mr. Hale-“ “No, John, there really is no need. I am not yet so old as to forget how to get to the parlor and back…” Mr. Hale said in reply and shuffled back into the house, leaving Margaret outside with Mr. Thornton. John Thornton looked around himself uncomfortably, wondering at Mr. Hale for leaving the two alone, as Margaret nervously shivered.
“Are you cold, Miss Hale?” he asked her suddenly.
“No, not at all, Mr. Thornton,” she responded quietly.
They both stood there in the chilly evening, both looking at their feet or their hands. “I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Thornton…“ Margaret started, noticing the way he shook his head.
“No, indeed, Miss Hale, the apology should be all mine. As much as we disagree on this particular subject, you are entitled to your opinion.” John looked at her, wondering what she was thinking. She smiled shyly and looked him directly in the eyes.
“I may be entitled to it, and am surprised and glad you think that, but I still behaved most improperly and insulted you at your table. I will not apologize for my opinions, but I will for professing them in such a way as to make everyone uncomfortable and ruin your dinner party.”
“I would never ask you to apologize for your opinions. They are yours and they make you.. well, they make you Margaret Hale from Helstone. Without them, you could be any woman out of finishing school with a parasol. And about the dinner party – at least you kept the conversation at the table lively and the town gossipers satisfied. I for one would rather argue with you like that every time if it meant avoiding the usual polite conversation and small talk about the weather,” he said.
She looked at him, amused. “Now, Mr. Thornton, I believe you are teasing me. You would grow very tired of the disagreements and only wish for a conversation about the newest Italian dress or for Fanny to sit behind the piano and sing for a while,” she smiled and brushed her hair from her face.
“Oh, indeed, I do not think it would be as bad as that!” he chuckled, the broadest smile Margaret has yet seen on him residing on his face. “I… I rather like us disagreeing. It keeps my mind engaged. Though I must admit that I found a lot of sense in the things you said and even found myself agreeing in one,” he smiled weakly at her, noticing how close they were standing to each other.
“Impossible! The two of us agreeing?” she exclaimed before she could have stopped herself, realizing that she actually wanted to ask him in which particular matter he agreed. Mr. Thornton chuckled again and looked at her thoughtfully.
“What did you agree with me about?” she asked after a moment.
“You were right. It is indeed worthwhile to look at both sides of a question. Though I do not pretend to approve of the strikers – as a master, how could I? – I quite see what you mean. You are… Miss Hale, I find you very clever. And I admire your dedication for the things you believe in, however much I might disagree overall,” he dropped almost into a whisper. He sighed, then looked around him, deciding whether he should continue speaking.
“Miss Hale, I have been wondering… I know you probably find me arrogant, vulgar and repulsive-“ Her breath stopped, and she felt dizzy. She felt that this conversation has turned into an improper one amazingly fast. She only now realized how close they were – she could feel his breath on her face and see the emotion in his blue eyes as if they were speaking on their own. She realized they were stained with pain when he started speaking again and, though unable to explain it, she did not want him to feel like that. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand in hers and heard herself speak.
“I do not, Mr. Thornton, in fact-“
“John! I am sorry for making you wait so long for me, we really should be going, Margaret,” Mr. Hale’s voice resonated through the door that was left ajar. Margaret jumped up and pulled her hand from his, stepping away from him. “The gloves were in the library, though I do not even remember being there today! Is not that strange? Anyway, I must thank you, John, for inviting us tonight, I have enjoyed myself… You must thank your mother again for us, the party was splendidly prepared.”
“Aye, I will, of course. We are glad you could attend. I know you do not particularly approve of our northern society,” John said in his thick northern accent and glanced at Margaret, who drew a deep breath in order to say something, but her father spoke first.
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense. John, I hope you will be able to attend our next lesson on Tuesday?” Mr. Hale answered and looked for his pocket watch.
“Depends on the strikers and what they intend to do,” he cast a meaningful glance at Margaret, “but I believe I should be able to come.”
“Of course, of course. More Plato, I should think, for you are a natural!” Mr. Hale smiled. John smiled as well at the compliment, one of his small smiles that Margaret had started to notice.
“Well, we really must be going. Good night, John. Margaret, come along, so we can still catch your mother awake…” Mr. Hale proclaimed as he shook John’s hand.
“Good night Mr. Hale,” he answered.
“Good night Mr. Thornton,” said Margaret and shook his hand, feeling their fingers touch and a shiver went down her spine, as she thought of their joined hands.
“Good night Miss Hale,” his hand lingered and he stared into her eyes, his piercing blue mixing with hers. When he noticed her father standing with his back already towards them, his left hand sprung up and touched her face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Margaret shivered, though it was not because of the cold. As if her shudder awoke him, he brought his hand back away from her face rather abruptly and Margaret thought she could almost see a hint of blush on his face. She let go of his hand slowly, turned around, and took her father’s, walking with him slowly from the mill towards their home.
Her father started talking about one of the problems of the strike, discussing the psychological turmoil of the strikers and how history must have affected their behavior, yet Margaret found she could not listen. She could only think about her hand in John Thornton’s hand, his sudden confession, his piercing blue eyes, and his hand, though only briefly, on her face. Before turning the corner, Margaret looked back through the closing mill gate and could see his tall and dark figure looking after her. For some reason, though she did not know why, she could not keep from smiling.