How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  In any event, the house was highly suitable in terms of location, as it was within walking distance of most of Mr. Hale’s prospective pupils and the Lyceum, where he was to give his talks. However, the rent first mentioned by the landlord was more than Mr. Hale felt he could afford. He turned away in despair, but Meg sharply questioned the landlord on the amount of rent requested, given the fact that the house was somewhat shabby and in need of new papers and paint. The landlord was taken aback and argued his position vigorously, but Meg had watched Aunt Lily bargain from an early age, and had learned at the feet of a master. She pressed her case until the landlord, satisfied that the Hales would agree to a one-year residency, dropped the rental to an amount that the family could well afford. Once the terms were settled, Mr. Hale shook hands with the landlord, paid the first month’s rent, and made arrangements for them to move in the following week.

  “Margaret, you were quite masterful in your dealings,” Mr. Hale said in admiration, after the landlord had left them. “I have never heard you argue so eloquently before. I feared that we could not afford a suitably sized house in Milton, but I believe this house will fit our needs. I do hope that your mother approves,” he added. “However, I don’t see how we will fit all of our belongings.”

  Meg gazed about the parlor. “We should send Dixon over this afternoon. She will know best how to arrange the rooms and how we should get on.” At least, Meg hoped that she would. Moving toward the stairs, she gazed up. “I am of the opinion that you and Mother should take the two large bedrooms on the next landing. The small room behind the kitchen will suit Dixon, and I will take the attic for my bedroom.”

  Mr. Hale smiled and touched her cheek with affection. “You will set us all to rights, Margaret. Yes, let us send Dixon to view the house this afternoon. That way, you and she can plan the move without upsetting your mother.”

  As they returned to the hotel, Meg wondered if she would be required to make most of the decisions for this family. From conversations the previous evening and this morning, she recognized that Mr. Hale was a man of great intellect but little practicality, and Mrs. Hale appeared sickly and uninterested in housekeeping, professing that she wanted no part of finding or furnishing their new home in Milton. Meg also knew that while Dixon would be a great source of assistance and information, she could not make the larger day-to-day decisions; these would fall upon Meg.

  How strange to give a young girl so much responsibility, Meg mused, yet it was comparable to the freedoms that Meg enjoyed in her own time, given she worked outside of her home and came and went as she pleased at the boarding house. According to information Meg had learned this morning from Mrs. Hale’s nostalgic discussions of her daughter’s time in London, Margaret Hale was obviously a young gentlewoman who had been brought up in society, thanks to her aunt. Meg Armstrong, while raised to be a lady, was a working girl with distinct ideas of how to live her life and a strong streak of independence. From what Mr. Hale and Dixon had said so far, Meg thought that Margaret was somewhat spoiled and used to getting her own way. Meg was uneasy at the thought of playing the part of a grand lady, and hoped that she might not make too many mistakes or be chafed with boredom until she was able to return to her own time. It would be difficult enough not to be able to work every day at the profession she loved so well.

  Mrs. Hale was greatly relieved to hear that a house had been found, and Dixon readily agreed to visit the house in Crampton to determine what furniture would best suit the proportions of the house. Once that decision had been made, the family could send to Helstone for their belongings.

  Over the next week, Meg was a model of energy and efficiency, shouldering the burden for all decisions, given Mrs. Hale’s delicate health and Mr. Hale’s inability and downright unwillingness to deal with domestic matters. When Mrs. Hale expressed her dismay at the ugly papers in the new parlor, Meg went to the drapers and purchased papers with a charming floral pattern which she and Dixon proceeded to hang upon the walls. Mrs. Hale was irritated at the thought of her daughter, a young woman of breeding, hanging wall paper, but when Meg gently asked her whether she would prefer the old papers, she acquiesced.

  When the room was finished, the wood floors polished, and the draperies cleaned, ironed, and hung, Mrs. Hale was as satisfied as she could be with the room. Meg and Dixon tackled the house room by room, and by the time the furniture arrived from Helstone, all was as clean and attractive as the two women could contrive.

  As soon as their belongings arrived, Meg determined their placement and worked with Dixon to instruct the movers where to put each piece, examining every chair and desk and table for damage. She mopped floors, made beds, and waxed and polished furniture, all in a day’s work for someone who had constantly helped her aunt at the boarding house.

  Wrapped in a large apron with a mobcap on her head, Meg was an object of dismay for Mrs. Hale who hated to see her daughter doing the labor of a housemaid. Dixon, however, was greatly appreciative of all Meg’s efforts, realizing that otherwise she would have been burdened with all of the work.

  In less than a week, the house in Crampton was furnished and serviceable, and the family was able to settle in comfortably, thanks largely to Meg’s work. Her father and mother recognized her Herculean efforts, and marveled that the fine lady who had returned to them from London just a few short months ago was willing to roll up her sleeves and do what was required to settle her family into their home. Mrs. Hale was awed when her husband shared the story of Meg’s bargaining prowess in securing the rent, and wondered what had brought about such a change.

  During the days of bustle and activity leading to the move, Meg had made her own discoveries about her new family. She learned the reason behind the family’s removal from Helstone during an argument between Mr. Hale and his wife. The argument was precipitated by some gossip that Dixon had heard and immediately related to Mrs. Hale and Margaret. Mr. Hale confirmed that he could not reaffirm his belief in the Book of Common Prayer. “My conscience will not let me,” he explained to his mystified daughter and outraged wife. “I cannot swear publicly to doctrine of which I am no longer certain.”

  Mrs. Hale was furious and inconsolable. When Mr. Hale expressed hopes of establishing himself in Milton as a lecturer and tutor, she cut him off, contemptuously exclaiming, “These people do not want to learn. Money and smoke are what they eat and breathe.” She refused to speak to her husband for several days, and the atmosphere in the little house was quite tense.

  With the move completed and time upon her hands, Meg decided it was time for her to explore the streets of Milton. She had been too busy up to this point to seek out any news concerning the strike and ensuing riot, let alone the means to return to her time. If she could somehow enter the office of Marlborough Mills again and examine the mirror, she might determine if she could return. On the pretext of buying ribbons to rework a sadly out-of-date bonnet, she set off on her exploration.

  As she walked, Meg mulled over the events that had led her back in time. She knew that the mirror in the mill office, perhaps in combination with the leather gloves she had found, were responsible for her shift back to the Nineteenth Century. She had returned the gloves to Mr. Thornton without thinking, and needed some pretext to retrieve them in order to return from whence she came. She would purloin the gloves first and worry about the mirror afterward.

  However, all of this scheming was needless at this time, for she could not return to the future until she had accomplished the quest set before her. She must stop the riot and prevent the death of Mr. Thornton. After that, she would return to her time and resume her life.

  And what would that life be, she wondered hollowly? She had already been gone two weeks—what had happened in that time? Did Gran believe she had disappeared, much as the original Margaret Hale had disappeared?

  Meg stopped in her tracks. Had the original Margaret Hale disappeared through the mirror? She wondered where Margaret Hale had gone, but could think of no plausible answe
r.

  Accustomed to the spacious streets of London, Meg was taken aback by the cramped streets and alleyways of Milton. She would start up one street only to find it was a dead end; when attempting to retrace her steps, she found herself confounded by so many side streets and bends that she ended up in a completely different place. Late in the afternoon, she stopped to gaze into a storefront at fabrics when she saw the reflection of a woman across the street studying her. Turning about, she looked into the eyes of the fortune teller, Clothilde. The woman smiled and, turning away, melted into the crowd on the sidewalk.

  “Clothilde, wait!” Meg called, hurrying across the street. By the time she had dodged a carriage and any number of passers-by, the fortune teller had disappeared. Meg walked up and down the various streets in search of her, but found no trace. “What is she doing here?” Meg muttered to herself. Was she able to travel through time? And why was she watching her?

  Meg stopped to catch her breath on a flight of steps, and leaned against the wall to gaze at the gray skies and wet stones. Milton was a place where the sun never seemed to shine; the skies were either gray with smoke or dark with lowering clouds and rain. Little wonder Mrs. Hale’s spirits were so low and her health so problematic, she mused.

  At that moment, a factory whistle sounded, startling Meg. She pushed away from the wall, and tuned her ear to the growing din which she quickly made out to be feet tromping along pavement. The sound of footsteps grew louder, and moments later a throng of workers raced down the steps, threatening to knock Meg down in their eager descent. Pressing herself against the wall, Meg was jostled and bumped until she feared she would lose her footing. At one point, she lost her grip on her purse and it fell at her feet. Stooping to pick it up, she saw a grinning worker snatch it up and taunt her by swinging it in front of her face, pulling it back when she moved to retrieve it from his hand.

  “That is my purse,” Meg exclaimed in an imperious voice. “Give it to me at once!”

  The man looked startled, and hesitated. Before he could act, however, his arm was roughly clasped by another man who angrily demanded that the culprit return the purse to the young lady. With ill favor, the worker handed the purse back to Meg and hastened down the stairs.

  “Thank you,” Meg breathed. “I thought I might have to grapple with him to recover it.”

  The man smiled, and his expression lightened. He was not handsome; his face was too broad and blunt-featured to be called such, but there was something attractive in his swarthy expression, and his eyes had a shrewd and knowing look. Meg found herself returning his smile.

  “They won’t harm you, miss,” the man explained. “They just like a bonny face and yours is a picture.”

  Meg blushed, and changed the subject abruptly. “Is this Marlborough Mills,” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “No, miss, this mill is run by Hamper. Marlborough Mills is ‘cross town.” He added, “It’s best not to stand on the steps when the shift is over, if you have no wish to be trampled. Good day, miss.” Tipping his cap to her, he followed the rapidly dispersing crowd down the stairs and disappeared.

  She blew out a quick breath and decided to hail a carriage. She had experienced enough of strange sightings and crowds in Milton for one day.

  ********&********

  Meg entered the house in Crampton and quietly closed the door. She had promised Dixon to help with the ironing before tea, but craved a moment alone to collect her thoughts and tidy up after several hours on the dusty streets.

  Wending her way up the stairs, she passed her father’s study and heard his voice call out, “Margaret, is that you?”

  “Yes, Father,” she responded quietly.

  “Come in, come in,” he urged heartily, and opened the door for her to pass through. She glimpsed a tall man at the window, his back to her. “I would like you to meet my new friend and first proper pupil, Mr. Thornton.”

  Before her mind could register who the man who stood before her was, Mr. Thornton spun about, a haughty look on his face. Meg’s pleasant smile disappeared, and she gave Mr. Thornton a grave look.

  “Mr. Thornton and I were trying to decide whether to begin our studies with Plato or Aristotle,” Mr. Hale explained. “What do you think, Margaret?”

  Seeing Meg’s disapproving expression, Mr. Thornton interjected, “I believe your daughter and I have already met. I’m afraid that Miss Hale and I met under less than pleasant circumstances. I had to dismiss a worker for smoking in the sorting room.”

  Meg snorted. “Is that what you call it, a dismissal? I saw you beat a defenseless man.”

  “Margaret,” Mr. Hale exclaimed in dismay.

  Mr. Thornton looked steadily at Meg. “No, she’s right. I have a temper. Fire is a constant danger in my mill, and I must take disciplinary action when rules are broken concerning smoking in the workrooms.”

  Meg raised her chin and glared at him. “I saw you strike a poor, cowering wretch, and all for smoking a pipe? You are more than a head taller than he is and in a position of authority over him. You acted like a brute.”

  His eyes heated with temper. “When you’ve had to see three hundred corpses laid out on a Yorkshire hillside as I did, and many of them children, we will see how you feel about the situation. And that was an accidental flame. The whole mill was destroyed in twenty minutes, and folk burned beyond recognition.”

  Meg stared at him in horror. She had heard of the devastation of factory fires, and knew that many of the victims were women and children. She had treated countless numbers of burn victims during the Great War, and remembered clearly the terror of bombing raids, the smoke and sound and smell. She knew how grievous and painful burn injuries could be, and had seen many a man die of them. Her eyes darkened with grief at the thought of so many lives lost because of an accidental spark.

  She caught Mr. Thornton watching her. “I beg your pardon,” she said quietly. “I had no right to accuse you of being a brute. You obviously did what you thought was right, although I don’t agree with your means.”

  He stared at her for a moment, recollected himself, and turned to her father. “You will have dinner with us this week?” he inquired.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Hale responded quickly, relieved that the argument was over.

  Mr. Thornton nodded. “I will ask my mother to call upon you.”

  “That would be fine. We are always home, aren’t we, Margaret?” her father asserted, looking over at her with a hopeful glance.

  Meg pitied her father; he was obviously anxious to placate his important pupil, and she was determined to cause him no more anxiety. She nodded. “Yes, we are. We would be happy to receive your mother, Mr. Thornton.”

  Mr. Thornton gave her the barest inclination of his head, and extended his hand to Mr. Hale. Mr. Hale shook his hand enthusiastically and exclaimed, “I believe we will begin with the Plato rather than the Aristotle.”

  “What does Miss Hale think?” asked Mr. Thornton maliciously. He hoped to unsettle this remarkably prepossessed young woman who ripped up at him one moment and offered a sincere apology the next. She had him off balance and he wished to return the favor.

  Meg smiled. “I prefer Aristotle, but Father has a special fondness for Plato.”

  Mr. Thornton appeared surprised. “Do you read the classics, Miss Hale?”

  Mr. Hale beamed. “Indeed, Margaret can translate the classics, if she would but bestir herself to do so. Her Latin is better than her Greek, but she has improved since her stay in London. She has started transcribing my notes for me. If she continues to study, as I tell her often, she will be as adept in time as I am.”

  Meg felt relief once again that she could read Greek and Latin, and was able to perform this small office for her father; otherwise, she would be in terror of being called upon to perform and failing. Bless you, Mr. Campbell, she thought fervently, remembering her lessons in Latin and Greek from one of the elderly boarders. Lily had thought it a total waste of time for a woman to study the cla
ssics, and warned Meg that she would end up a bluestocking, but Meg enjoyed unlocking the secrets of these ancient languages.

  Her love of these languages had paid off handsomely at the hospital, as she was able to understand many of the terms used by the doctors and surgeons. They, in turn, appreciated her quickness and comprehension. She knew her ability to understand these languages would help when she began her study of anatomy and physiology as part of her medical training.

  Glancing at Mr. Thornton, Meg caught him observing her with a puzzled expression, as if he were attempting to decipher what use a gentlewoman had for classical languages. He thinks me a bluestocking, just as Aunt Lily warned me, Meg thought with amusement and smiled wryly at him.

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, Mr. Thornton abruptly wished her good day, and left the room, Mr. Hale trailing behind to see him to the door.

  To her dismay, Meg found that she was fascinated by the Master of Marlborough Mills. He was truly a puzzling man. At first glance, he appeared nothing more than a brutal overlord. However, his explanation of his actions was quite logical—if the man he had collared had caused a fire, how many lives would have been lost, not to mention livelihoods?

  No, Meg thought, he was justified in his actions, if a bit too overzealous. Furthermore, his willingness to read the classics showed a desire to improve his mind and expand his knowledge. Meg approved of self-made men; she had no patience for London gentlemen who spent their time at clubs or idle pursuits.

  Mr. Thornton was an interesting person, and well worth saving, she thought. She would do well to save the life of a man with so much power over so many lives. She believed that Mr. Thornton would use that power wisely and prudently.