Chapter Text
"Sadly we must bid our farewells to the crisp Scottish air, Margaret. We will soon be choking on Milton soot once again."
Margaret Hale smiled at her godfather's wryly mournful tone. She glanced across the train compartment at Mr. Bell, who was staring out at the passing scenery with a slightly wistful expression. "I shall not mind. I will be glad to see Milton again."
Indeed, Margaret was surprised at how much she was looking forward to revisiting Milton's smoky skies. She had not returned to the city since the death of her father, since the terrible day Aunt Shaw had bundled her up and whisked her away to London. For three months Margaret had languished in her aunt's home, feeling suffocated, unable to breathe. Though well meaning, her aunt and cousin had allowed her little freedom, insisting she stringently follow all the strictest proprieties. They certainly did not allow her to wander through London streets as she had been accustomed to, as though she were some common washer woman… Endlessly her aunt had disparaged the filthy city of Milton that had instilled in Margaret such coarse habits, while Edith carried on about how splendid it would be if Margaret were to marry Henry Lennox. Only her status in mourning had allowed Margaret some reprieve.
Never had Margaret been more thankful to see Mr. Bell as the day he had swooped into Harley Street and offered to take her away. Eagerly had she grasped his lifeline, happily placing herself into her godfather's care. For the last year he had been a most devoted companion and guardian as they traveled the continent—Paris, Vienna, even a visit to Cadiz—and finally Edinburgh, where Mr. Bell had spent the summer months receiving treatment from the most advanced physicians in Europe. And now, a last visit to Milton to tie up his business affairs, before they would set out on their longest voyage yet.
"I cannot imagine why, my dear. You certainly could have had little joy in that place. Nor was it any benefit to your poor mother. If only I had not suggested the move to your father…" His eyes took on an uncharacteristic sadness. "No, I'm afraid Milton is a city filled only with regrets." After a long sigh, he glanced at Margaret, seeming to shake himself from his melancholy. "Come, come, no more of that. Let us talk of brighter things, of our future. The warm sun of Buenos Aires. Fresh ocean breezes. An abundance of exotic tropical fruit. And plenty of handsome Argentinian men ready to fall madly in love with you." Mr. Bell grinned and gave her a playful wink.
Margaret blushed and returned a slight smile, but turned away, not wishing to encourage his teasing. Not on that topic, at least. She knew he cared only for her happiness whenever he mischievously commented on the eligible status of some man or another, or observed the way some would-be suitor fell over himself to try to win Margaret's favor. Most recently had been his physician in Edinburgh, an attractive, intelligent, and kind man whose medical advice had given Mr. Bell hope for many more healthy years yet. Dr. Robertson held progressive and egalitarian ideals, and had shared with Margaret his ambitions to bring modern healthcare to all people, not just the wealthy who were able to pay for his specialized treatment. Margaret had greatly enjoyed the company of the good doctor, and found nothing lacking in him. And so she had been unable to adequately answer Mr. Bell when he had questioned why she had not encouraged the doctor's interest. She could never admit the reason resided in this dirty, smoky city that her godfather so reviled.
"So, we must suffer through a short visit to Milton. We will be quite comfortable at the Clarendon, do not worry. The accommodations are the best in town, and they serve the most delicious pastries. Last time I was there, they had such delectable custard tarts…" He sighed dreamily. "While in Milton I will finalize all my affairs, see my lawyers and bankers, and then we will be on to London and across the sea. I assume you will wish to call on your aunt and cousin while we are in London?"
"Yes, I think I should, as I do not know when I should see them again." She knew Aunt Shaw and Edith would be unhappy for Margaret to be taking such a long journey, but she was of age and they could not prevent her. Ultimately she knew they wanted the best for her. Her relatives were not foremost on her mind at the moment, however. "Will we, do you think, visit Marlborough Mills while we are in Milton?"
"Visit the mill?" Mr. Bell frowned. "I see no reason why that should be necessary. My lawyer is managing all my business affairs most adequately. We have no need to go ourselves."
She bit her lip. "Do you not think we should personally see how it is faring? We have not visited since you made your investment."
He sighed, then gave a little shrug. "I suppose, if it matters that much to you, Margaret. Although I would hardly call it my investment. It was entirely your idea, after all."
Margaret tried not to blush. She was fairly certain her godfather had not guessed the reason she had urged him to invest in Marlborough Mills last year when they had heard the mill was about to close. "Well, it was your money."
"Which is now repaying me with a sizable interest, thanks to you. I should have you advise me in all my financial matters." Mr. Bell smiled fondly at her. "And after all, it will all be yours when I am gone."
"Which will be a long time from now. You know Dr. Robertson expects you to make a full recovery in a warm climate."
"I will not argue with you, my dear. I know how stubborn you can be."
"Indeed." Margaret grinned with a false cheerfulness before turning back to the window. She felt a strange mixture of anticipation and dread as she watched the skies darken the closer they came to Milton.
John Thornton sighed, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the ledgers before him. Business was good; the numbers showed healthy profits again this month. Indeed, the mill had thrived since Mr. Bell's unexpected investment the previous year. John had no cause for complaint. And yet… somehow he no longer gained much satisfaction from his endeavors. Instead, it all left him feeling… hollow.
He knew full well the reason for his ambivalence, though he strove not to let it… or rather, her… occupy his thoughts. All the meaning in his life had vanished when she had, the day he had watched Margaret Hale ride away from him, without looking back. How many times had he wished for a second chance, to do things differently. A chance to show her what she meant to him…
But duty remained, as always. His mother and his workers depended on him. And so he continued on, ensuring Marlborough Mills continued to succeed. Work and duty, that was all that was left for John Thornton.
Despite himself, his thoughts lingered on the woman he could never fully banish from his mind. After her aunt had taken her back to London, he had expected he would soon hear of Margaret's marriage. To that Henry Lennox fellow, perhaps, or the unknown man from the station. He had been shocked when Higgins told him she was instead traveling Europe with Mr. Bell. More recently Higgins had related that they were staying in Scotland, where her godfather was receiving medical treatment. He wondered why Margaret would choose to give up London society to serve as a companion to an elderly man. But Margaret had always been unconventional, with a mind of her own. He hoped she was able to find joy wherever she was. She had seen far too much sorrow during her time in Milton.
John did not bother to look up when a knock sounded at the door. He called out permission to enter as he rubbed the back of his neck. He expected to hear the rough tones of his foreman, and started when instead a cultured, sardonic voice called his name.
"Thornton. Hard at work as ever. I tell you, Margaret, I do not believe the man ever rests."
John stood so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. He whipped around to see Mr. Bell regarding him with a droll expression, and beyond him… Margaret Hale.
John stared for a moment, too stunned for speech. Margaret gave him a quick, almost shy glance, before her gaze fell away, her cheeks becoming rather pink. Her beauty stole his breath, so long had he been left with only his memory of her. She looked well, he thought. So much more so than his last glimpse of her, pale and thin, wracked with grief… But was she happy? He could not tell. He hoped so. More than that he could not ask.
"Well, Thornton, you look surprised to see us. As well you might. I had no intention of disturbing you, but Margaret thought we should look in on you while we are in Milton. She takes a great interest in Marlborough Mills, you know."
John's eyes had not left Margaret. Her blush seemed to become more pronounced, and her hand brushed at a strand of hair on her forehead. "We both take interest in the mill, of course."
The sentiment surprised him at first. But then, Margaret had always had a deep concern for the people the mill employed. "Higgins has done well for himself. He is one of my finest workers."
She looked up at him then, a smile spreading across her face. "I am so glad. We just spoke with him, out in the yard."
If only she had ever smiled like that for John. "I am certain he was happy to see you."
"Yes, I had not written that we would be coming. I will be sure to visit him and Mary while we are here."
Margaret's smile faded a bit; she seemed not to know what else to say. John dragged his gaze to the man beside her. Mr. Bell was staring at him with a curious expression.
"Bell, I have not had a chance to thank you in person for your investment. I have worked hard to put it to good use; I hope you have been pleased with the result."
"Oh, no doubt. I am being rewarded handsomely. Although really, I had little to do with it, Thornton, you should be thanking—"
"How is your sister?" Margaret interrupted.
John blinked at her sudden change of topic. "Fanny is well. She has two little girls now. A few months old. Twins."
"Oh, that is wonderful." Margaret's expression softened. "She must be very happy."
"I believe so. She and Watson seem to rub along well together."
"I would love to see her, and the babies. Perhaps I can call on her before we leave Milton."
Before we leave Milton. John felt an odd sense of panic. The idea of Margaret, who had just arrived, leaving again… "How long do you plan to remain?"
"Only a few days, perhaps a week. Just wrapping up some business with my solicitors. Then a fortnight in London." Mr. Bell glanced fondly at his goddaughter. "Margaret must do some shopping before we set sail for Argentina."
"Argentina?"
John's shocked gaze moved back to Margaret. Her eyes flitted away again.
"Yes, my doctor has recommended a warm climate to recover my health. And I have always dreamed of seeing South America. After all, a man should pursue his dreams while he has the chance."
"But, surely—" John felt as though all the air had suddenly vanished from the room. "Do you mean—you are both going?" He knew he sounded like a fool. "How—how long?"
"Yes, Margaret will accompany me. It will be a grand adventure, will it not, my dear? We may stay for six months, or a year—or perhaps permanently if some handsome Argentinian gentleman catches Margaret's eye. I rather think the odds are in favor of that, actually. Unless she decides to return to Edinburgh. She made quite an impression on my physician there. And he was a rather dashing young man as well, would you not say, my dear? What do you think, Thornton? Care to make a wager?"
John turned away, striding to the window. To know Margaret would soon be so far across the ocean, half a world away… Why should it bother him so much? He had not seen her since she had left Milton, after all, so this would be no different. It should not matter; she was gone from him forever. She had never been his.
"I wish you a safe journey."
"Thank you, Thornton. Well, as I said, we are just here to check on the mill, mostly for Margaret's sake. I have been well pleased with the earnings and my solicitors tell me all is in order. Is there anything in particular you wished to see, my dear?"
"No, no, I—" Margaret sounded suddenly embarrassed. "I am sure all is as it should be."
"You are free to examine anything in the mill." John knew his voice sounded cold. He could not help it; he was fighting to keep his composure. She would be sailing across the ocean… possibly never to return…
"Well, my dear, what do you say—"
Mr. Bell went silent as the office door opened. John turned to see his mother enter the room.
"John, you received a message from—" She cut off when her eyes landed on Margaret. Her steps halted in surprise. "Miss Hale. I did not know you were in Milton."
"Mrs. Thornton." Margaret gave her a polite smile. "It is good to see you. Yes, we just arrived yesterday."
"We…" Mrs. Thornton seemed to realize there was someone else in the room. Her gaze moved to Mr. Bell, who had been standing near the door. Their eyes met, and both became as still as statues.
"Mother, Miss Hale and Mr. Bell came to see the mill while they are in Milton. You are aware, of course, of Bell's investment."
Mrs. Thornton's gaze fell away. "Yes, of course…" She looked oddly pale. "If you'll excuse me, I… I am needed at the house." She turned abruptly and walked quickly out the door.
John had no time to consider his mother's odd behavior before Mr. Bell's sharp tone interrupted his thoughts. "Yes, we've taken up enough of your time, Thornton. Come, Margaret. We have much to do." Before John quite knew what had happened, Mr. Bell had hastened Margaret out of the office. She sent John a last parting glance, before disappearing from his life, perhaps forever.
John sighed and collapsed into his chair, dropping his head onto his hands. Why did it feel as though he had lost Margaret Hale all over again…
Margaret threw off the covers in frustration. It was no use; she could not sleep. Her mind could not rest, not after seeing him… The man who had dominated far too many of her thoughts for so long. She had imagined so many times what she might say to him if she saw him again—what words she could say to somehow clear up their many misunderstandings, to restore his former good opinion of her. And today, when faced with him in the flesh, she had barely been able to speak, or even meet his eye.
And oh, how coldly he had regarded her… But why would he not? He had told her very clearly that his foolish passion for her was over. And yet, today, she thought that she had sensed some emotion deep underneath… rage, no doubt. Anger at her rejection. A rejection she had come to sorely regret.
And soon she would be traveling across the sea, not knowing when she might return. She did know for certain, however, that Mr. Bell's playful fantasy of Margaret marrying a handsome Argentinian would never come to pass. There was only one man she could ever marry, and he was lost to her forever.
She pushed herself to her feet. Perhaps she would read to find some better occupation for her mind. She had noticed some books in the small sitting room of the hotel suite she shared with Mr. Bell. She would see if there was anything interesting on the shelves. Or even something quite tedious—perhaps that would help to dull her restless thoughts and allow her some rest.
Margaret wrapped her dressing gown around herself before stepping out of her bedroom. She walked quietly to the bookshelves on the other side of the sitting room, not wishing to wake her godfather. The small selection was mostly made up of a few volumes of poetry, although she was pleased to find a Dickens novel she had once read. She pulled it from the shelf and was making her way back to her room when the sound of shattering glass halted her in her tracks.
"Mr. Bell?" Margaret called out in alarm. No reply came, although she heard some scuffling sounds coming from his room.
Dropping her book, she rushed to his door. "Mr. Bell!" She knocked frantically. This time she heard a low moan. Now becoming truly frightened, Margaret pushed open the door. Inside, she found her godfather holding a glass, staring down confusedly at the fragments of what must have been a large brandy decanter. He shook his head, then regarded the glass in his hand, as if he couldn't determine how it came to be there.
And then she realized—Mr. Bell was completely, thoroughly inebriated.
Margaret stared at him in shock. Never before had she seen her godfather intoxicated. Indeed, he prided himself on keeping his wits about him when others around him overindulged. They would frequently become the target of his biting humor. Why on earth would he drink so heavily now…
Margaret stepped closer to him. "Mr. Bell?" She spoke softly, reaching out to remove the glass from his hand.
Mr. Bell jumped a little, noticing her presence for the first time. "Margaret?" He watched her set the glass on the table, and didn't protest as she gently guided him to sit on the bed. "Yes, Margaret. Such a good girl." He seemed to be speaking to himself, not to her.
"You must get some rest, Mr. Bell. Please lie down."
Suddenly his eyes filled with tears. He shook his head. "Oh, Margaret. It was all my fault."
"It is of no concern. I will clean up the broken glass."
"It was my fault." He repeated himself, not seeming to hear her. "She blamed me… as she should."
She? Margaret realized her godfather was not referring to the shattered decanter. "Who blamed you? What was your fault?"
Mr. Bell shook his head again, a tear trickling down his cheek. "She was right… I chose them over her… she was right…"
He seemed to collapse into himself, hunching forward as sobs wracked his form. Margaret wrapped an arm around his shoulders, offering what feeble comfort she could. "There, there…" What on earth was troubling him? She felt helpless to console him, or even know what to do.
Slowly the tears ceased, and Mr. Bell's head leaned heavily on her shoulder. Gently she eased him down onto the pillow. He was out now, having finally succumbed to a drunken sleep.
Bemusedly Margaret watched his chest rise and fall, making sure he would not wake again. She could not imagine what Mr. Bell had been raving about, or what might have induced him to drink himself into such a state. He had seemed a bit distant today, she realized, not talking much at dinner. In fact he had been rather quiet ever since their visit to Marlborough Mills this afternoon. Was his health becoming more troublesome? Perhaps they should consider returning to Edinburgh again.
Margaret turned away, bending down to carefully gather up the wet glass shards on the floor. She did not want to call for a maid at this hour. She gingerly placed the largest pieces in a pile, then decided she should find a cloth or handkerchief so that she did not cut herself. Glancing around the room, her eye fell on the pages of a letter lying open on the nearby table.
Some instinct kept her gaze on the discarded missive, something about it capturing her attention. The paper appeared a little yellow and weathered, with what she judged to be feminine handwriting. A new suspicion entered her mind. If Mr. Bell had overindulged because he was upset by something, perhaps this letter might hold a clue.
She turned to glance back at Mr. Bell on the bed. He was lightly snoring now, assuredly asleep. Margaret's conscience warred within her. She should not invade his privacy. And yet, she reasoned, as his companion and sometimes caretaker, should she not be aware of any concern that would put Mr. Bell in such a state?
After a few moments of hesitation, she reached out to carefully gather up the pages, and quietly stepped out of the room. She ignored a twinge of guilt as she closed the door softly behind her. She returned to her own bedroom and took a seat at her small writing table, and began to read.
Several minutes later, she gaped at the letter before her in utter bewilderment. Never could she have dreamed…
As the words swam before her, she felt a new sympathy for the godfather she had come to care for so deeply, who had become more of a parent to her in some ways than her own had been. To know that he had once loved so passionately, that he had experienced such heartbreak… Somehow she had never imagined Mr. Bell as a young lover. As an Oxford Fellow, he would not have been permitted to marry, but it had never occurred to her that he ever had minded the restriction. How long he must have suffered, unable to be with the one person his heart yearned for.
Margaret knew well the pain of a lost love… decisions made and regretted, the longing for what might have been.
But what a shock. Who would have ever guessed the identity of the woman Mr. Bell had loved and lost…
If only there was something Margaret could do to ease his pain. His love must still burn bright, if it could bring him to such a broken state so many years later. She wondered if his love was unrequited, or if his former lover also regretted her choices. She did not sound indifferent to him in the letter, but it had been written so long ago. If only lovers could have a second chance, when they realized what they had lost.
But… Margaret nearly gasped as the thought entered her mind. What if they could—if they had a little help…
And suddenly an idea was blossoming, as she imagined what could happen, the joy she might bring to two people that she suspected were separated only by pride and misunderstandings. But how would it be possible…
And then it came to her, with a wave of anxiety that nearly made her stomach turn. For yes, there might be a way, but she would not be able to do it alone. She would require the help of one man. And oh, what she would have to ask that man to do…
He would hate her.
She could never request such a thing of him. And yet… Margaret thought again of her beloved godfather, who had cared for her like a daughter, who would do anything for her.
She would do this for him, even if it made John Thornton hate her more than he already did. She would do it for Mr. Bell's happiness.
Even if it meant sacrificing her own.