by Nancy Klein
She next met with Mr. Bell’s lawyer and requested that he draw up a will. He did not understand why such a young woman required a will, but once she explained that she was a single woman with no immediate family who wanted to ensure her wealth was used as she intended should anything happen to her, he thought her quite prudent. Mr. Bechtold reported to Meg that a check had been written and delivered to Mr. Thornton to stave off the closure of Marlborough Mills. Meg thanked him for his prompt handling of the matter, and proceeded to discompose him further by requesting a change of ownership for the deed to Marlborough Mills. She also asked that he act as her agent to procure several properties—the first being the house she occupied in Crampton, and the second a similar house in an adjacent neighborhood. The first house was to be deeded to a Mrs. Dixon, and the second to a Nicholas Higgins.
Although he was startled by such a peculiar request, Mr. Bechtold maintained his professional demeanor and promised Meg that these things would be taken care of within the week. Mr. Bell had always been eccentric, he thought, so why should his heir be any different? In any event, her wealth was sufficient to cover these expenditures without depleting all of her resources. He thought her stipulations for the money were odd, but it was her money and Mr. Bechtold was a firm believer that his clients should be allowed to dispose of their assets as they saw fit. Odd girl, he mused, but she seemed to have a good heart.
Meg spent several evenings with Nicholas, Mary, and the children, listening to stories from Nicholas on how the mill had been revitalized and business was thriving once more. “Thornton is working day and night—I swear, that man doesn’t sleep,” Nicholas declared, shaking his head in wonder. “He’s in his office when I arrive, and working when I leave at night. The men think he is made of iron.” Meg longed to ask how he looked, how he fared, anything to sustain her connection with him, but she could not bear for Nicholas to know how much it mattered to her and so she held her peace.
She studied Nicholas, Mary, and the children during these times, trying to imprint their features and voices in her memory so she could remember how they looked and recall their harsh Northern accents that had become so dear to her. She knew she would see Gran again, but never as this charming young woman. Gazing at Nicholas, she thought in bemusement that he was her adoptive great-grandfather. As she left one evening, she pulled Mary aside. “I don’t want to say anything to Nicholas or the children, but I am going to go on a journey shortly, and it may be a long time before I return.”
“I am sorry to hear that you will be leaving us—how much we shall miss you! Are you going to visit your brother?”
“Yes, I am going to Spain to stay with my brother for a while. I—I wanted to ask you….” She stopped and searched for the right words before she continued. “It might be some time before I return—it depends on whether my brother would want me to make my home with him. I wanted to tell you not to be surprised if—if I send someone to visit you in the future. I will never forget you, and will want to know how your family fares.”
Mary looked perplexed, but nodded. She impulsively hugged her friend, and tenderly kissed her cheek. “Should I tell Father you are going?”
Meg hesitated. “Wait a day or so, please. I do not want him fretting over my departure.” She squeezed her young friend’s hand and left.
Toward the end of the week, Meg spent a difficult morning with Doctor Donaldson. When she entered the clinic from her final visit to the lawyers, he took one look at her face and frowned. “You have decided to go back, haven’t you?” She nodded, incapable of speech, and he hung his head to gather his emotions. After several moments passed, he cleared his throat. “I am sorry to see you go, Meg. I had hoped you would change your mind and stay with us. We need you—Milton needs you.”
“Milton will do fine without me,” she said evenly. “I came here with a purpose, and that purpose is fulfilled. It is time for me to go.” She told him about seeing the fortune teller on the streets of Milton. “She appears whenever a decision must be made, to point me in the right direction. She at Marlborough Mills the day of the riot, and she appeared again when I was about to leave Milton with my aunt. That last appearance tells me it is time for me to leave.”
He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you certain that is what she means for you to do? You have made a life for yourself here. What about your friends? What about Mr. Thornton?”
“What about Mr. Thornton?” she replied, lifting her chin in defiance.
“You will not put me off, Meg. You love that man—anyone can see that, just as anyone can see that he loves you.”
She turned her back to the doctor, unwilling to have this conversation. “I am doing this because Mr. Thornton is better off without me.” When Doctor Donaldson made a scoffing noise, she wheeled about to face him. “He is—I know I am right about this! He needs someone like Miss Laurence, who is a proper lady and who will help him sustain his status in society.”
“With your wealth, you could help him just as well as Miss Laurence.”
“I’m not talking about money! She has breeding and connections to help him become all that he was born to be. I cannot do that—imagine, the wife of the Master of Marlborough Mills, working in a medical clinic, and assisting those same mill hands who struck against the mills. It would be the talk of the town, and it would shame him. I am too different—too modern to be the wife that he needs. He may think he loves me, but he will soon realize that Amy Laurence is the proper wife for him. In time, he will come to care for her, I know he will.” She spoke fiercely, as if she were convincing herself.
“Do you think a man as deeply in love with you as Thornton is will accept second best?” Doctor Donaldson scoffed.
Meg met his gaze with stubborn resolve. “He may care for me now, but I am not the woman for him. He is meant for Miss Laurence—I overheard Mr. Bell and her father discussing it. She will be the perfect wife—a model hostess who arranges dinner parties to help him circulate in the best circles of society. With Mr. Laurence’s assistance, Mr. Thornton will advance his mill to become the best in all of England. She will be the helpmate who will ensure the success of all that he has worked for his entire life.”
Doctor Donaldson sighed. “I can see it is useless to argue with you, obstinate young woman that you are. You are making a mistake, but you are not the only one who will have to live with the consequences.”
Meg smiled sadly. “I am well aware of that. Now, will you help me or not?”
“Of course, I will help you,” he replied in irritation. “What do you need me to do?”
Stripping off her gloves, she assumed a business-like stance. “I have instructed my lawyer to advance you £8,000 pounds so that you may open a clinic separate from your home, with everything you need to care for your patients.”
He stared at her —and she realized that for once he was speechless. With no small modicum of satisfaction, she continued, “I will not need this money in the future, although I have left additional funds in your name in case the real Margaret Hale ever returns to Milton. I am of the mind that she will not—she has been gone too long, I believe, but on the odd chance that she does, she must have something to live upon. I have divided the remainder of my inheritance, but I want the clinic to have a share of my money.”
His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Meg, are you certain?” At her eager nod, he exclaimed with wonder over such a gift. “How can I ever tell you what this means to me?”
“By putting the money to good use, as I know you will. I will look for the clinic when I return to the future, so make sure you do what you can to ensure its continuance. I want to find it still thriving in modern times.”
“Perhaps I shall call it The Time Traveler Health Clinic,” Doctor Donaldson said dryly, and they both laughed before she assumed a sober mien.
“I have several favors to ask you.” At his nod of agreement, she explained, “I want you to tell Dixon and Nicholas and Mary that I have decided to spend time
in London with my aunt before I go to my brother in Spain. After I have been gone a period of time—say, a year— tell the authorities that you have contacted my brother in Spain, and he does not know where I am—that he never saw me—and so you are reporting my disappearance. They will not find me and, after a time, will declare me dead. You must make certain that the authorities do this in order for my will to be enacted and my estate settled. I have named you executor—you must visit Mr. Bechtold and sign the paperwork as soon as you can. I am leaving it to you to execute the terms of my will—will you do that for me?”
“By God, you are pretty cold blooded about this, Meg.” Doctor Donaldson examined her with a critical eye. “Are you absolutely certain that I should do this?”
She did not respond. “I have purchased the house in which my family lived in Crampton—when I have gone, please give the deed to Dixon and tell her the house is my gift to her, along with an annuity. I have also purchased a house for Nicholas Higgins—please give him the deed as well.” She saw his brows lift, and hurried to complete her instructions. “Once I have been declared dead, the remainder of my estate is to be divided four ways. One portion is to be sent to my brother in Cadiz; I have left the address with the lawyer in a sealed envelope. I know you will be discrete. The second portion is to come to you to help sustain the clinic. The third portion is to go to Nicholas Higgins so that he may care for the Boucher children. The final portion is for Margaret Hale, should she return—if she does not, it will go to the clinic.”
Doctor Donaldson whistled. “You are quite the heiress. Have you no bequest for Mr. Thornton?”
She gazed steadily at him. “Yes, and I intend to present it to him before I go through the mirror.”
He startled. “Do you mean to leave today?”
Meg nodded. “I have had my luggage sent ahead to the station, and Dixon believes I am taking the train to London this evening. If you would not mind disposing of my luggage for me, I would be grateful.”
“You have thought of everything,” he replied dryly, “except how much we will miss you.”
He watched as she struggled to master her emotions. Raising brimming eyes to his, she said, “I will never forget you, and will remember you every day.” As she hugged him, he could feel her slender frame quaking, and knew she was not as complacent about her decision as she appeared.
“God bless you, my dear. I have said all that I will about your departure. I hope all of your dreams come true.” He placed a tender kiss upon her brow. “You had best go before you make this old fool cry.”
Gathering her reticule and gloves, she left the clinic, turning just once to raise her hand in farewell. With a slow step, Doctor Donaldson returned to his office, extracted the bottle of whiskey from his desk, and poured himself a generous portion. Raising the glass, he drank a silent toast.
********&********
Mr. Thornton sat in his office, jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up. He debated on whether he should light the lamp as dusk settled over the mill. Since receiving the funds promised him by Mr. Bell, he had spent most of his waking hours drafting plans to revitalize Marlborough Mills. The monies not only allowed him to remain open, but to extend his supply chain through new relationships, and to purchase additional machinery. He was full of plans to make Marlborough Mills the most productive mill in Milton. Yet, his plans lacked spark.
Something was missing, and he knew all too well what that something was. Success was not as sweet without the satisfaction of working for more than himself. When he had initially envisioned bringing the mill back to prosperity, he had imagined that Miss Hale would be by his side, approving his efforts and encouraging him in his schemes. He thought he would build something solid for their future together, but he had been wrong. She has changed my life, and I will never be the same, he thought in desperation. How can I feel she is part of me, as essential as my heartbeat, without her feeling the same?
He knew that Miss Hale was avoiding him. His heart was heavy at the thought that he had done something to offend her. Ever since the day she had worked in the lunchroom, she had spared no time for him. When he had stopped by the clinic, she was too busy with patients to speak to him. When he went to her home, she inevitably was out at a meeting with her lawyer or on some errand. He had even gone to visit Nicholas Higgins in the hopes of meeting her there, but he seemed destined to miss her. “Her thoughts seem miles away when she’s here,” Higgins had told him. “She has something weighing on her mind, no doubt.”
She was an heiress now. Why should she give me the time of day? Higgins speculated that, with her new-found wealth, she might return to London or go to her brother in Cadiz; she had hinted at it during her last visit, he told Mr. Thornton in a glum voice. Once gone, she would not return, Mr. Thornton supposed. She will go and I will never see her again, he thought, and felt a sense of desolation sweep over him. Before he had met her, he was satisfied with his life; his work, family, and acquaintances filled his days with a pleasant hum. Now, he knew how empty his life was. She filled his thoughts waking and dreaming; he was a better man because he had known her, and he wanted to accomplish more with his life. Never again would he be satisfied with just work. He propped both elbows on the desk and rested his head on one hand, weary and discouraged.
“You are tired.” His head snapped up and he found the object of his meditation standing in the doorway of his office, regarding him with a guarded smile. “May I come in?” she asked. “Am I interrupting anything of importance?” Not certain how to reply, he waved her inside.
“How is business?” she asked, seating herself in the chair across from his. She removed her gloves and hat as if she planned to stay for a while.
He pulled his scattered thoughts together. “Thanks to the loan from Mr. Bell, we have the funds to remain solvent for at least six months. By then, I hope to expand our supplier base and improve our productive output.” Fool, he thought bitterly, she does not wish to hear these boring details. “I know that you asked Mr. Bell to lend me the funds so that the hands would have work, and I thank you for it.”
The warm smile on her face smote his heart; her voice was crisp but her expression tender. “I am glad that Nicholas and the others have work…but I did not ask Mr. Bell for them—” She paused and met his wary eyes with her clear gaze. “Surely you know I did it for you.”
“Why?” he asked sharply, pushing the ledger aside.
“This mill means the world to you. I could not stand the thought of you no longer being Master of Marlborough Mills. You are a fair and just Master, the best in Milton, and it is only right that you have the means to run your mill.” Reaching inside the large reticule she carried, she pulled out a sheaf of papers and placed them on the desk before him.
“What is this?”
“It is my gift to you.”
Lifting his eyes to hers, he slowly reached across the desk and pulled the papers toward him. Unfolding them, he read the first page, stopped, and read it again. “It is the deed to Marlborough Mills.” he said in a strained tone.
“I know. Look at the last page.”
Trembling, he flipped to the final page. Raising stunned eyes to hers, he asked in a voice tight with emotion, “You are giving the mill to me?”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
“Why?” he asked in a rough whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“I am doing this because you deserve to own Marlborough Mills, not me. You are the rightful owner. I know of no better man to own this mill.”
He stared at the papers a moment longer before violently pushing them toward her. “I cannot accept it.”
“You can and you will,” she replied firmly, handing the papers back to him. “You must do so—otherwise, I will sign the mill over to Higgins.”
He laughed raggedly, struggling with the feeling of amazement that she would do such a thing for him. “I don’t understand, Miss Hale—”
“Meg.” Her eyes locked with his. “For
once, I would like to hear you say my name.”
He stared at her, his gaze dark with yearning. “Meg,” he said, and his deep voice was soft as velvet and languid as honey.
She felt a spear of pleasure pass through her. “You do not know how long I have waited for you to say my name.” Before he could reply, she continued, “As for the mill, I do not want to argue. Please tell me you will assume ownership and take it off of my hands.”
He smiled such a strange smile that it smote her heart. “I love you, you know.” He spoke in a conversational tone, as if he declared an irrefutable truth, such as night follows day or spring arrives on the heels of winter. Unable to stop, he continued urgently, “I have never loved a woman, but I do love you. I know you consider me your friend, so I will not disconcert you with my sentiments again. I have been on the brink of insolvency once more. I am a failure, and have no right to ask anyone to throw in their lot with mine.”
“You are not a failure,” she replied fiercely, and her savage defense delighted him. “Do not speak such nonsense again. You have suffered a set-back in your business, nothing more.”
She broke off, and before she could lose courage, added, “As for not caring for you….” Her heart thudded as she slowly pulled his gloves and handkerchief from her reticule.
His eyes widened as he recognized the items she held. “Those are my gloves,” he murmured in disbelief.
“Yes, they are.” Meg smiled wryly at him. “Do you remember that I wore them the first time you met me—I believe you thought I was trying to steal them.” He smiled in remembrance. “I returned them to you, but you left them behind the day I refused your proposal of marriage. I have kept them ever since.”