How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

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  “I was right and you were wrong!” Fanny Watson exclaimed in exultation. It was true, her brother thought as he sat motionless on the settee in the parlor, unable to meet his sister’s gloating gaze. Watson’s speculation was a brilliant success—and he was ruined. Fanny has the right to lord it over me, he thought with dull despair.

  “If you had thrown your lot in with Watson, you would have money to do as you wished. As it is, everyone is saying you are a failure, and will have to close the mill. Well? What do you have to say?” She came around the end of the settee to confront him.

  He did not answer her, but slumped forward and rested his head in his hands, a posture of defeat. Mrs. Thornton’s sharp voice cut through the silence. “Fanny, you have said quite enough. Leave us.”

  Confused by her brother’s quiet demeanor and stung by her mother’s icy anger, Fanny flounced from the room. Hannah Thornton laid a tentative hand on her son’s arm. “How bad is it?” she asked, her eyes focused on his face.

  “We have nothing. We will have to give up the house. Mother, I am sorry,”

  Mrs. Thornton scoffed. “I don’t care about the house—I care about you. We will start over again, John. You will recoup these losses, I know you will.”

  He gave a fleeting smile. “It’s just you and me again, Mother.” He turned and reached out to clasp her waiting hand. I am glad I did not ask Miss Hale to marry me, he thought. It makes things much simpler. I will not drag her down with me. But his heart longed for her as he thought of the comfort she would have been to him at such a time. How he longed to be able to tell her his troubles, to lay his aching head on her breast and feel her cool hands stroke his forehead as she whispered that all would come out all right, as long as they were together. He shut his eyes tightly at the pain of his loss—the loss of the mill was nothing to the loss of his love.

  After he and his mother concluded their discussion about what must be done to prepare for their removal from Marlborough Mills, Mr. Thornton stood. “I must go over to the office. We will need to do an inventory of the equipment and begin to reconcile the books.”

  “Oh, John, surely that can wait!” his mother exclaimed.

  “No time like the present, Mother. What else have I to do with my time?” He kissed her tenderly, and left the house.

  As he strode across the mill yard, Nicholas Higgins called out to the master. Mr. Thornton looked inquiringly him.

  “Master,” Nicholas asked in a hesitant voice, “Is it true? The mill will have to close?”

  Mr. Thornton sighed and thrust his hands into his pockets. “Yes, it is true. There is enough money to cover the hands’ wages for another week, but unless a miracle occurs, we will be forced to shut down.” He smiled ironically. “I’m Master no longer, Higgins.”

  Nicholas slumped against a cart, his expression one of gloom. “Then Meg wasn’t able to do it.”

  Mr. Thornton glanced up. “Does Miss Hale know of my situation?”

  “Yes, I told her I suspected that the mill were in trouble. She was very upset, Master. I know she spoke to Doctor Donaldson and Mr. Bell to see if they might provide a loan to help keep the mill open.”

  Heart racing, he asked, “Is Miss Hale to remain in Milton, Higgins?”

  “It appears she means to settle here, for now. I thought she might go to Spain, to join her brother, but that doesn’t seem likely.”

  Mr. Thornton was surprised that Higgins knew of the existence of this brother. “Has she spoken to you about her brother?”

  “No, but I knew he were over when the mother were dying,” Higgins explained hastily. “My Mary worked for them, you know, and she was let in on the secret when Mr. Fred was here. She told me, but I have not told a soul.”

  Mr. Thornton stood rooted in place, staring at Higgins. “Her brother was here when Mrs. Hale was dying?”

  “Yes, I believe Mary said he left town before her funeral. They were worried about his safety, the incident with the Navy, you know,” Higgins added in a quiet, confidential voice. His face clouded over. “But I suppose we should not discuss it, as Meg would not want it bandied about.”

  Mr. Thornton nodded stiffly. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he bid Nicholas a gruff good-day and walked rapidly from the courtyard toward the street. He felt as if his image of Miss Hale had been shattered, and the pieces were forming into an entirely different picture, one that he had wanted to believe all along.

  He stopped and stood in the street. “He was her brother,” he whispered, and a small, tender smile transformed his usually grave face. She had told him she was not wanton, and she had been true to her word. Love for her flooded through him and drove every thought of failure and bankruptcy from his mind. I must see her, I must speak with her! He set off immediately for Crampton, so intent on his purpose that he did not notice he wore neither jacket nor hat. He was oblivious to the stares of those around him as he strode through the streets of Milton.

  As he walked, he remembered her many small kindnesses, her warm heart, her care and compassion for others, her nonchalance concerning worldly goods. He recalled the comfort and beauty of her home, recognizing that she was the driving force behind these attributes. He thought of her keen intellect and wry humor, and her beauty of which she seemed to have little realization and even less care. Most of all, he remembered the way she had looked at him during the play in Oxford, when she had dropped her guard and let her love for him shine from her eyes. He was certain he had seen to the core of her soul that night, and what he had seen was her love for him. True, some reticence appeared to hold her back, but he would batter that reticence down. She will be mine, he thought exultantly, and will share in my fortune, good or bad. I can accomplish anything if I have her as my helpmate!

  His fortune—at the thought, he stumbled and stopped. He had nothing to offer her. He was a master no longer, and must rebuild his livelihood. But she is poor as well, his mind urged. She cares nothing for wealth or prestige—perhaps she will throw her lot in with mine, and we will build something new.

  When he reached the house in Crampton, he was deeply disappointed to find that Miss Hale was not at home. “She has gone to see Mary Higgins,” Dixon explained. “One of those Boucher children hurt his leg playing in the street, and Miss Meg wanted to check on him.” Dixon hesitated. “Mr. Bell is here—would you care to go up?”

  He did. Mr. Thornton followed her stout form up the steps to the Mr. Hale’s study, where he found Mr. Bell engrossed in a newspaper. Gazing over the top of the page, the older gentleman smiled at his visitor, and exclaimed as he lay the paper aside, “Thornton, what a surprise! I am glad to see you—I have a bit of business to conduct with you.”

  Mr. Thornton raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, so Mr. Bell continued. “Meg has told me about your financial difficulties, and I am prepared to extend you a loan for six months.” He smiled at the look of surprise on his visitor’s face. “She has written to me several times, asking that I do so, and since she wishes it so sincerely, and I am not the man to tell her nay, I have asked my lawyer to draw up an agreement and draft a check for you. She is the most redoubtable girl!”

  Mr. Thornton was speechless. She had done this for him! He was filled with gratitude and tender warmth. True, it rankled to receive assistance from his landlord, but now was not the time to stand on false pride. He must put his mill, his mother, and his workers first.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bell. You will not regret your kindness. I shall pay you back every penny.”

  Mr. Bell waved him off. “You shall pay Miss Hale back every penny,” he retorted. “I have not spoken with Meg, but I have made her my heir, and plan to settle a large portion of my estate on her.” He glanced down at his hands, steeling himself to share a confidence with his tenant. “My doctor tells me I do not have long to live. It is my intention to keep enough money to travel and live comfortably, and give the remainder to my goddaughter, to make loans to mills or rebuild slums or provide med
ical care to penniless urchins, should she so desire.” He added as an afterthought, “She is now owner of Marlborough Mills and your new landlord, but I pray you will not say anything about this, as I have not had a chance to tell her my news.”

  Mr. Thornton stood in stunned silence. Miss Hale an heiress—and his landlord! A coldness crept over him, as if clouds had blotted out the sunshine of his happy dream. He could not in good conscience offer for her, not while he was so beholden her; not while she had the chance to marry well or remain independent. What heiress would have anything to do with him? He had suspected that Miss Laurence would remove herself from his presence when she heard of his financial difficulties, and had felt profound relief when his prediction was proven true. Learning that Miss Hale was a wealthy woman disheartened him, grinding his hopes to dust. He must leave—he could not face Miss Hale now. It was time to retreat.

  He thrust out his hand to Mr. Bell. “I am sorry to hear of your illness. My best wishes for your travels—where did you say you will go?”

  “I didn’t,” replied Mr. Bell, softened by Mr. Thornton’s reaction to his impending demise. The master’s ashen countenance and gloomy demeanor showed a touching concern for his landlord. “I am going to South America, to see the wild parrots and the rain forest. It seems a pleasant place to live out my remaining days.” He smiled and clasped Mr. Thornton’s hand. “I will send those papers over later today—they should be ready this afternoon. Best of luck, Thornton—” He broke off, as if he remembered something. “Did you come here to speak to Miss Hale? May I give her a message for you?”

  Mr. Thornton thought of all he might say, and settled on a simple message. “Please tell her I know it was her brother.” Ignoring Mr. Bell’s puzzled look, he left the parlor.

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  Meg returned to Crampton at dusk, exhausted but satisfied. Tommy’s leg had been treated, after a nasty fall onto a spade some miscreant (according to Nicholas) had left in the alley behind their house. The blade had sliced deeply into the boy’s shin, and had required stitches. Nicholas had run around to the Goulden Dragon for a small tot of rum to give to the boy to calm him and ease the pain, while Meg cleaned the wound and prepared to stitch it. The rum had worked its magic, and Meg had swiftly closed the wound and bandaged it before Tommy could shed another tear.

  “He will be fine in a few days,” she had reassured Nicholas. “Remove the bandage tomorrow and make sure it is healing cleanly, then cover the wound with ointment and wrap it as I have showed you—I will leave you a few lengths of clean cloth. If the wound is red or swollen, bring him to the clinic immediately. Make sure you wash your hands before touching it.”

  “Lord, aren’t you one for the orders,” Nicholas had grumbled, but she could tell by his expression that he was relieved.

  As she entered the house, Dixon bustled down the hallway to meet her. “You are late, Miss Meg,” Dixon remonstrated. “I asked cook to push dinner back another hour.” Her face softened as she asked, “How is young Tommy?”

  Meg hung her bonnet on a peg near the mirror. “He is fine. I had to sew the wound closed, but it is clean and should heal well. It bled like the devil, and scared Nicholas witless.”

  Dixon snorted. “Wouldn’t take much for that, now, would it?” Before Meg could chide her, she added, “Mr. Bell is waiting for you in the study—he arrived just after you left.”

  Meg gave Dixon a reproving look. “And you did not send me word?”

  “He has been kept busy,” Dixon replied complacently. “I asked him if he would unpack and arrange your father’s books, and he has been at it this entire afternoon. Oh, I nearly forgot—Mr. Thornton called.”

  “Did he give a reason for his call?” she asked, her heart beating thickly.

  “No, miss. He spoke with Mr. Bell.”

  Meg thanked her and hurried up the stairs. Mr. Bell stood as she entered the room; he had been reading one of her father’s volumes of poetry. “Ah, Meg, how glad I am to see you, especially given that Dixon would not allow me to dine until you came home!” He held out his hands to her, and she clasped them affectionately and kissed his cheek.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Bell. I wish she had sent word—I would have come much sooner.”

  Mr. Bell waved her off. “Nonsense, I have been fine. Dixon found honest work for me to do, and I have had tea and Pope for solace.”

  She laughed, and seating herself next to him, inquired about his trip to Milton and their various acquaintances in Oxford. These pleasantries dispensed with, she remarked on Mr. Thornton’s visit.

  Mr. Bell looked at her with fond amusement. It was plain as day that she cared for Thornton. “He came in search of you, and I told him I would advance him money for the mill.”

  Meg leapt up from her seat and hugged him enthusiastically, so that he laughed in protest, “Do not strangle me, my dear—I thought you would be happy!”

  Her face glowed with pleasure. “I am! How kind of you, Mr. Bell! Thank you for doing this for him!”

  “I did it for you, my dear. I hope it tides him over until he can get back the mill back to profitability. By the way, he gave me a message for you. He said to tell you that he knows it was your brother.”

  Meg stared at him. “He knows it was my brother?” She repeated the words as if they were in an alien tongue.

  “Yes, that was what he said,” Mr. Bell replied.

  My brother, she thought in bewilderment until comprehension flooded over her. The train station! Mr. Thornton knew that the man at the train station had been Frederick! She closed her eyes in relief, and unconsciously clasped her hands at her waist. He knew, oh, he knew! He knew her heart was true. She leapt up from her seat as if she would go to him that instance, but a moment later was brought up short. This revelation made no difference—she could not stay in Milton, she must go back to her own time.

  Why else had Clothilde appeared in the street? Each time a decision loomed, Meg had seen her—when she first arrived in Milton and in the mill yard when the rioters threatened Mr. Thornton, Clothilde materialized. Her latest appearance could mean only one thing—it was time for Meg to go back. Her father was dead, Nicholas and his family were settled, and Mr. Thornton would marry Miss Laurence who would be a proper wife and mother, and an excellent hostess. With her assistance, Mr. Thornton would uphold his position as a leader in Milton society, with Mr. Laurence’s backing and Amy Laurence’s guiding hand.

  “Margaret.” Mr. Bell’s voice broke into her train of thought. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bell,” she replied. “I have been wool gathering—please repeat what you said.”

  “I have something of importance to tell you.” As baldly as possible, he described his illness and decision to go to South America. Meg was shocked. She questioned him at length about his illness, and urged him to see Doctor Donaldson.

  Mr. Bell held up his hand. “Enough, Meg—I have seen the best physicians in London, and they all agree that I am not long for this world. I have a year at most, and I intend to travel.” Seeing the grief on her expressive face, he reached over and covered her hand with his. “Do not mourn for me—I have enjoyed my life immensely, and the doctors promise I shall not have pain until the very end.” He lied, and looking into her eyes realized that she knew it. But she would not challenge him, for which he was grateful. “I have set aside enough money to tide me over comfortably until my death. The remainder of my estate I have settled on you.” He experienced immense satisfaction at her profound surprise. “You will be a wealthy woman, Margaret Hale, with money to do as you please.”

  She began to protest, but he cut her off. “No arguments. I am your godfather, and I promised your father I would care for you. You are now the landlord of Marlborough Mills. I told Mr. Thornton about this change today, when I told him that I would advance him the money he required.”

  Meg felt her heart sink. “What did he say?”

  “He seemed relieved and pleased when I told him
, and quite grateful to you for your advocacy.”

  Meg looked steadily at Mr. Bell. “You told him that it was my idea?”

  “Well, of course I did, my dear. I must say, he appeared rather touched. He was quite effusive. It wasn’t until later that he became grave and quiet.”

  Meg closed her eyes. “Did he become quiet after you told him I was his new landlord?”

  “Why, yes,” Mr. Bell responded thoughtfully, “and that you were my heiress.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bell,” Meg said in a despairing voice. “It would be difficult for a proud man like Mr. Thornton to accept a loan from anyone of his acquaintance; it would chafe to accept money from anyone. But to take money….”

  “From a young lady whom he admires would be abhorrent? Is that what you are trying to tell me?” Mr. Bell studied her with shrewd but kind eyes. “I am sorry, my dear, I did not think about how he might accept such news. He did appear stunned when I informed him you would be the new owner of Marlborough Mills, and he departed soon afterwards.”

  But not before telling me that he knew my brother was in Milton, she thought. I must speak with him. I owe him the truth before I leave—about everything.

  Chapter 20. The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill

  Once Meg determined it was time for her to leave Milton, her days became a blur of activity. She welcomed the mindless bustle because it kept her from dwelling on her sharp sense of impending loss. She would leave Milton and Mr. Thornton, never to return. Her longing and grief often threatened to bring her to her knees, but she would recall Mr. Laurence’s confidences to Mr. Bell that Miss Laurence was destined for Mr. Thornton—and remind herself that she was destined for another life. The dull ache never left her heart, but she was able to concentrate on the task before her.

  Mr. Bell remained in Milton but one day, and was soon bound for Oxford to pack his bags and prepare for his momentous trip. Meg accompanied him to the train station, and bade him farewell before he boarded the train, knowing they would never meet again. She thought she saw the shimmer of tears in his eyes as he left her, but his parting words were jaunty and made her laugh. He promised to write to her from South America, and while she nodded eagerly, she feared she would be gone before his first letter arrived.