by Nancy Klein
“I do not want your thanks.” He spoke in the rudest tone she had ever heard him employ. She shrank back, but he continued in a low, seething voice. “I did not do it for you. Do you have any idea of the risk you took, being so indiscreet? You have refused to entertain my questions, and have you no explanation for your behavior that night at the station. Surely you must be aware of what is being said about you throughout the town—how everyone is talking of your indiscretion. You can only imagine what I think.”
Meg gaped at him. Her mind went blank for a moment, and she had no idea how to reply to such an attack upon her character. His eyes roamed over her face, as if daring her to tell him the truth. The explanation leaped to her lips, but she had a sudden image of Fred being led off in shackles, and the words died on her lips. Mr. Hale had received no word from his son, and was in extreme anxiety over his safety. She could not tell Mr. Thornton the truth, and she would not lie again.
Bowing her head, she said softly, “It is not what you think, I—my—the secret is not mine, it is another’s. I cannot tell it without harming him.” She looked directly at Mr. Thornton. “I would give the world to be able to tell you, but I cannot. It is not my place to tell.”
His face hardened. “I have not the slightest wish to pry into your secrets. My only concern is as your father’s friend. You must realize that any foolish passion I may have felt for you is now at an end.” Turning on his heel, he took the stairs two at a time, as if he could not be out of her company quickly enough. In truth, one look at her strained, repentant face made him long to gather her into his arms and tell her that all would be well. He forced himself to leave the room before he threw all principles to the wind and told her it didn’t matter, he loved her and forgave her no matter what she had done. But his pride would not let him; he was determined to overcome this overwhelming passion he felt for her, a passion he knew was not reciprocated. His mother had been urging him to offer for Miss Laurence; perhaps it was time to do so.
Chapter 15. Alice’s Evidence
Following her shattering encounter with Mr. Thornton, Meg retreated to the kitchen where she attempted to calm her spirits by cleaning the scullery. She wanted nothing more than to remain out of sight until Mr. Thornton finished his lesson and left. He had made it very clear he had no wish to deal with her, and she was determined to honor his wish. She felt hot with shame that he thought so poorly of her, but a small spirit of rebellion rose in her as well. She heard his sharp words over and over again: the risk you took being so indiscreet…you can only imagine what I think… any foolish passion I may have felt for you is now at an end.
If he believes the worst, she thought in a flash of anger, then little I say or do—beyond betraying Fred’s confidence—will satisfy him. She would try to put her own foolish passion aside and get on with her life—whatever that meant. She had agonized far too much over this incident; it was time to consider what she should do next.
Meg had accomplished what she had been sent to Milton to do, as far as she knew. Mr. Thornton had survived the riot, as had Nicholas Higgins and the other rioters. The only fatalities (besides Mrs. Hale who had been beyond recovery when Meg arrived) had been Bessy and the Bouchers. Her friend’s illness had progressed too far for any treatment to stem the tide; and Doctor Donaldson had told her that Mrs. Boucher was so extremely ill that she would not have survived, strike or no strike. Boucher had low spirits as a result of the strike and the shunning he had endured from the union members; upon his wife’s death, he lost the desire to live. Meg did not know what she could have done to prolong his life either.
Although her mission had succeeded, Meg felt more tied to Milton than ever. She had become attached to her work at the clinic, and grown to be close friends with Doctor Donaldson, Nicholas, and Mary. Above all, she could not leave Mr. Hale. He was lost without his wife and son, and clung to Meg with a pathetic bewilderment. For her part, she helped him with his books and studies, and made him walk with her on the hillsides above Milton to take in the air. On the days he had students in for lessons, Meg would slip away to the clinic for several hours; however, she did not stay long for her father fretted if she were gone any extended amount of time.
The morning after her disturbing encounter with Mr. Thornton, Meg was tidying her father’s study when Mr. Hale came in with a letter in his hand and a relieved expression upon his face. “It is from Fred—he is safe in Cadiz!”
Meg dropped the book she held and with a cry of gratitude rushed into her father’s open arms. They stood in each other’s embrace for a moment, until Dixon came bustling in, having heard Meg’s cry and fearing the worst. When Meg blurted out the news, the faithful servant began to cry. In a choked voice, she exclaimed, “It is high time we had good news! I believe I should make all of us a cup of tea!” With that determined proclamation, she departed to prepare the tea tray.
Mr. Hale looked thoughtfully at Meg. He urged her to take a seat before the fire and took her lax hands into his own. “My dear, have you done anything to vex Mr. Thornton?”
An expression of guilt crossed Meg’s features and she nodded, unable to speak.
“I thought as much. He has not been to the house as much as he was wont, and has asked if we could hold our lessons at his office at Marlborough Mills.” Mr. Hale looked thoughtful. “I believed that he had grown to care for you, but something has happened to change that, has it not?”
Meg told him the entire sequence of events, starting with the riot, his proposal, and her refusal. She described the scene at the train station and what Mr. Thornton believed, of Leonards’ death and Meg’s role in that death, of Inspector Watson’s visit and of Mr. Thornton’s closure of the case. Mr. Hale listened carefully, saying nothing. When she finished, he offered her his handkerchief and sat back, deep in thought. “My dear child, what you have had to endure. Why did you not tell me about the train station?”
“Mother had just died—I could not bring myself to burden you with more troubles.” She gazed up at him. “Do you think I should go to Mr. Thornton and tell him that Fred was my brother?”
Mr. Hale shook his head. “No. Although Fred may be safe in Cadiz, we should not make this general knowledge. If it was known that Fred had been here, we might be called to account. I would think that Mr. Thornton, as a magistrate, would have to report this incident.”
“He did not open the inquiry into Leonards’ death,” Meg pointed out in mild rebellion.
“True, but Leonards was a scoundrel and a drunk, according to talk in Milton, and his death was accidental no matter the extenuating circumstances. Fred is a mutineer wanted by the Royal Navy, with a large sum on his head. It is a very different situation.”
They sat in a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts until her father spoke once more. “So, Mr. Thornton asked you to marry him, and you turned him down. I am very sorry that any action of yours wounded him, but as long as you did what your heart told you to do, Margaret, and treated him with honesty and respect, you have nothing for which to reproach yourself.” He stood and kissed her with tender solace before leaving the room.
But I did not tell him the truth, Meg thought desperately. I told him what I had to tell him so that I might leave Milton. No matter that I’ve managed to break my own heart over this whole episode. Margaret Hale, where are you? Are you living in my time—does Gran think that you are me? Or did you disappear?
Her father retreated to his study with his papers and books, his spirits so raised by the news of his son’s safety that Meg felt she could spend an afternoon at the clinic in good conscience. She had sadly neglected her nursing over the past several months, but Doctor Donaldson understood that her father must come first. Once Mr. Hale adjusted to his new circumstances and began to feel easier by himself, Meg could return to her former schedule at the clinic.
“Dixon,” Meg called up the stairs as she buttoned her coat, “I am going to the clinic, and from there to see Nicholas and Mary. I will be home in time f
or supper.”
Dixon came puffing down the stairs. “If you are going to visit Mary, would you take her some groceries? I know the family is having a hard time making ends meet, what with all of the Boucher children to feed. I bought a few things for them when I went to market.” She disappeared down the steps to the kitchen and reappeared with a good-sized basket.
“How kind of you, Dixon,” Meg exclaimed as she hooked the basket over her arm. “I daresay I should have thought of bringing food.”
“And haven’t you had enough to worry about, with that nasty inspector?” Dixon retorted. “Go, and give Mary my best.”
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Doctor Donaldson stood in the doorway of an examining room, watching with amusement Meg’s sad attempt to sew a large tear in one of the bed sheets. “I hope no one ever sees you sew like that. They would know in an instant that you are not a woman from this time period. No mother would let her daughter come out of pinafores if she could not sew a neater stitch than that.”
Exasperated, Meg stuck the threaded needle into the sheet and threw the fabric onto the chair beside her. “I don’t know how women of this period stand it. So much idleness! Their hours are filled with silly activities—they have nothing to fill their minds or their hands besides overseeing servants and drinking tea until it comes out of their ears. If it weren’t for my work in this clinic, I would retreat to the attic twice a day to scream.”
“Have you given any thought to going back in time?”
“It is all I think about lately. I do not know what else I am supposed to do in Milton.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I worry about Gran and what she must think. The hospital has probably given my position to someone else, and as for medical school—I am certain they believe I have changed my mind. I did so want to be a doctor….” Her voice trailed off longingly.
“Why can’t you be a doctor now? It is true that it would be more difficult, but I find it hard to believe that the world has changed so much in sixty years that it would not be just as difficult for you to attempt in your own time.”
“What do you mean, her own time?” Meg and Doctor Donaldson started as Mr. Thornton walked slowly into the examining room. He always manages to appear at the most inopportune times, Meg thought with a tinge of fear. How much did he hear?
“Mr. Thornton, how are you?” Doctor Donaldson moved swiftly forward to greet his visitor. “What can I do for you today?”
“My sister asked me to pick up powders that you prescribed for her. She said that you had promised something to help with her headaches.”
“So I did,” the doctor agreed. “Wait one moment, and I will package several doses for you.” He stepped from the room, leaving Meg alone with Mr. Thornton.
“What did he mean by ‘your own time’?” Mr. Thornton asked again, curiosity overcoming reserve. As he entered the clinic, he had heard Meg’s clear voice wafting down the hallway, and had walked stealthily down the corridor, the better to hear what she was telling Doctor Donaldson. He thought that she might confide the truth concerning that night at the Outwood Station. Instead, he had overheard Dr. Donaldson’s strange remark.
Meg searched her mind frantically for some rational reply. “He meant that I often feel as though I don’t belong in this place or time. Everything that I do seems to shock or offend the good people of Milton. I told Doctor Donaldson that I would like to study to be a doctor, but that seems an insupportable goal for a woman.”
Mr. Thornton looked taken aback. “Why would a gentlewoman want to be a doctor?”
Meg replied abruptly, “Because I must do something, and my talents lie that way. I cannot be a decorative young woman like Fanny, or a lady of refinement and womanly arts like Miss Laurence. I must have some work to give my hours and days purpose. I want to use the gifts I have been given to help others, not attend tea parties or dances. It is precisely that attitude that makes me appear so much out of kilter.” She slumped against the back of her chair. “None of my skills are particularly maidenly.”
Mr. Thornton stared at her. In truth, Fanny had not asked him to retrieve her powders; she had been in the process of asking a housemaid to do so when Mr. Thornton had overheard and offered to step around to the clinic. He had felt an overwhelming urge to see Miss Hale again, given his strange dream the previous night. In his dream, he had come home late from the mill after another discouraging review of the ledgers. Business had suffered because of the strike, and orders from customers had not rebounded as he had hoped.
His footsteps were heavy as he entered his house and mounted the stairs to the parlor, where he knew his Mother awaited him. He could see her silhouette from behind, seated on the settee. But when he moved around to face her, it was not his mother he found but Miss Hale.
She was reading a book, and had her feet pulled up under her in a beguiling position. She looked up at him in pleased surprise and set the book aside, a dazzling smile lighting her face. “You are home at last!” she exclaimed, springing up to embrace and kiss him softly. His arms seemed to rise of their own volition and clasp her to him; he felt her soft curves against him, and the weight of her head as it came to rest upon his shoulder.
“I had begun to despair of you, and thought you were planning to spend the night in your office!” she teased him, and unthinkingly he pulled her closer, and pressed his lips ardently to hers once more.
After a few sweet moments, she stepped out of his arms and moved toward the sideboard. She glanced over her shoulder as she poured a glass of port. “I have put the evening paper in your chair, and I will go tell Cook to set dinner back a half an hour so you may have time to read the paper before dinner.”
He swallowed and said, “Miss Hale, what brings you here? Are you visiting us this evening?”
She laughed at him as a perplexed line formed between her eyes. “Are you funning me, John? You know very well that I live here.”
“Live here?” he asked dazedly.
“Yes, live here!” she repeated in an impatient voice. “Where else would you expect your wife to live?”
He had awoken with a start, and felt immediate regret to leave such a wondrous fantasy. Lying in bed, he could still feel the warmth of her body pressed against his and the sweet intoxication of her kiss. It was this memory that had brought him to the clinic. Looking at her now, as she leaned back in her chair, he felt a wave of desire pass through him, and longed to pull her into his arms as he had in his dream. This spurt of desire was quickly followed by cold fury that, in spite of all he knew of her, she could trick him with her winsome manners. Angry with himself for his weakness and determined to quash it, he replied in a sharper tone than he intended. “Yes, you do seem to lack the accomplishments of a gentlewoman, Miss Hale. I strongly doubt whether you will ever fit in here. Perhaps it was a mistake for your family to come to Milton—God knows I have regretted that you ever came.”
No sooner were the words spoken than he wished them unsaid as he watched shock and sorrow transform her features. She pushed convulsively away from her chair and moved swiftly to the doorway. “It is time for me to go, Doctor Donaldson, but I shall come again tomorrow.” Her voice shook with repressed emotion. She snatched her coat from a hook on the door, and retrieved her basket. Without looking at Mr. Thornton, she said in a toneless voice, “Good day.” He thought he saw tears in her eyes as she moved past him. He stood silently, unable to reply, and cursed himself for his unkindness.
As he stepped into the hallway, he saw her struggling to don her coat. Before he could step forward to help her, she jammed her arms through both sleeves, snatched the door open, and whisked through, slamming it behind her. The sound echoed throughout the clinic.
“What did you say to upset Miss Hale, Mr. Thornton?” Doctor Donaldson asked in a quiet voice. Turning around, Mr. Thornton saw that the doctor stood behind him, a grim expression on his face. “That girl has been through hell. She has lost her mother and the Higgins girl, managed the burial of three acquaintances
in Princeton, and dealt with the victims of a fire, all in the space of several months. She does not need your resentment; she needs your understanding and friendship. Did she not do everything she could to save you from the rioters at your mill?”
Mr. Thornton felt a deep sense of shame wash through him. “Yes, she did.”
Doctor Donaldson pinned him with a sharp gaze. “You have known her over a year now, Mr. Thornton. Ask yourself this: could this same woman have acted as you believe she did that night at the train station? Or could there be another explanation behind her actions?” He handed Mr. Thornton the packets of headache powders and returned to his office.
Mr. Thornton stood motionless, deep in uneasy thought. Miss Hale had been untruthful, he knew, but she had attempted to explain the rationale behind her untruthfulness. Rather than attempting to understand her, he had refused to give credence to her explanation. He knew that if he had been entrusted with a confidence, he would have moved heaven and earth to keep that confidence as proof of his word. Why could he not attribute the same honorable motives to her? He deeply regretted his speech.
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Meg’s walk from the clinic to the Princeton area did little to calm her. She wondered why Mr. Thornton’s words had upset her to the degree that they had. He was pigheaded and stubborn, and it was no surprise that he thought the worst of her. Why should she care? In truth, though, she did care; it wounded her deeply to think that he believed she was of questionable morals and dishonest to boot.
When she reached the Higgins’ residence, she rapped smartly on the door. Nicholas answered and broke into a weary smile at the sight of her. “Well, Meg, I am glad to see you. Do come in.” He held the door wide and ushered her into the room. Mary looked up and smiled from the bed where she read a story to the youngest Boucher children. Tommy sat at the table, struggling through his primer.