Thanks to time4tea for her help with this.
Chapter two
He had to close his eyes, just for a moment. When he opened them she would be gone. She had to be, for her presence made no sense. Slowly his eyes flicked open again. He groaned, the woman was still there. She must be a vision or illusion conjured up by the acrid smoke that had consumed his body. Her soft, moss green eyes were full of concern. Who was she? What was she? Why did she strike fear into his heart?
His gaze moved from her face. Was it because of her strange clothes? His whole life had been spent working with cloth and he had never seen the like before. What kind of women wore trousers such as these? The fabric looked heavy, yet it was cut to fit tightly to her legs and hips; emphasizing the length, shape and curve. The stretchy material of her shirt, for it could not be called a blouse, caressed and moulded to her breasts, its neck line plunging in a v to the dusky valley between them. Such impropriety in Milton would surely cause a scandal.
No, it wouldn’t cause a scandal, he reminded himself, because it wasn’t real, she wasn’t real. It was then that he felt the gentle touch of her hand, as she pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. It seared through him, as if he had been burned by a red hot poker. What manner of illusion was she that he could feel her touch? He tried to move away, but all he succeeded in doing was coughing violently.
The woman’s face grew even graver and a worried frown creased her brow. She turned her head away and called for oxygen. How did you call for oxygen, he wondered. It was just in the air, wasn’t it? Within a few seconds she had turned back and was trying to place something strange over his mouth. What was it? He had never seen anything like it. It was clear like glass, but unlike glass it was neither hard nor cold. It seemed pliant and smooth with no hard edges. There was a strange odour about it that made him feel nauseous. It seemed to be attached to some sort of cylinder. which the woman was fiddling with. Above the chatter in the mill yard he could hear a strange hiss. Was it steam? Surely steam directly applied to his face would scold him. Confused and scared he struggled, and with what little strength he had he pushed the woman’s hand away.
“John, John, can you hear me? It’s just oxygen. Please try and keep it on, it will help you to breathe.”
Who was the presumptuous woman to call him John? Only his mother and Fanny called him John. Every other person in Milton called him Mr Thornton, Thornton or Master. Not to do so was an insult. Whoever she was, she cared little for the manners of polite society.
She placed the contraption against his nose again and once more he tried to push it away. Did she realise, he wondered, how trapped he felt beneath it? Maybe that was the idea. The object seemed to cover his whole face. He tried in vain to push her away, but he was weak from the effects of the fire and once more his body was racked by violent coughing.
“John, you have to listen to me. My name is MJ and I’m not trying to hurt you. The mask will help you breathe more easily. Trust me, it will make things better.” Slowly she placed the mask over his face. “Now, just breathe slowly in and out. Focus on me, John.”
Her voice puzzled him. She was certainly not from these parts, to be sure, but her soft quiet tone did soothe him. As the spasms from his coughing ceased, he realised that the strange contraption on his face was not burning him and so he relaxed slightly.
His mind was racing .Where was Williams; surely he should be here by now? He moved his head to look around and automatically wished he hadn’t. Several people were walking around, but he recognised none of them. Their clothing was as strange as the young woman’s who was helping him. Where were the workers? Why was the yard so different? It was strange, although the buildings were undoubtedly Marlborough Mill, both them and the yard was different. Something else was out of place as well. Dominating the yard was some huge red machine. He thought it had to be a vehicle of some kind, because it had wheels. He could not work out what they were made of, not wood nor iron but some material he had never seen before. If there had been a funnel he would have said it was a new steam engine, but what was its purpose? And what was it doing in his mill yard? He had certainly not ordered it.
