Missing Mr Thornton

CHAPTER 21 - Tainted

Margaret blinked back the tears as she moved slowly around the tall bed. The sight that met her eyes made her take a sharp intake of breath. Blood trickled down his motionless face from a gash on his forehead. His waistcoat was ripped, his white shirt smattered with crimson clinging to his limp form. One of his arms was twisted underneath him at an ugly angle and his breathing was irregular and weak. Margaret knelt down beside his pendulous body and gently brushed some hair from his bloodstained head with her handkerchief. She lay his head in her lap and leant down to listen to his breathing as it became more ragged and sporadic. "John, what have you done?" She whispered quietly as she cradled Henry's bloodied head in her arms, a lone tear trickled down her pale cheek.

Margaret stayed with Henry until his already laboured breathing stilled. She didn't know how she ought to feel. A mixture of sadness, worry, guilt and hope seeped into her veins. Her body froze as the reality of the situation struck her. Henry was dead. Dead in her arms, in John's hotel room. Where was John? her frenzied mind began to go into overdrive as she was hit by a storm of questions. The one question that refused to leave her pulsing mind was where on earth John was. She stood up slowly, leaning on the bed for support as she felt Henry's lifeless body loll forwards from her lap. Margaret recoiled slightly at the sight of his dead body beneath her and she felt nausea wash over her. She brought her tired body onto the ruffled sheets of the bed and hugged her knees into her chest. Margaret sat, rocking herself backwards and forwards as rivers of tears flowed down her sunken cheeks. Her body convulsing, her cobalt dress washed with red stains.

Margaret sat in the same position, cradling her shuddering body, until she heard a knock at the door. Her body instantly became rigid, her posture straightened. Then the handle of the door began to slowly twist and Margaret sucked in her breath. She was paralysed, chained to the bed by imaginary manacles that fixed her in place. Her mouth went dry in horrified anticipation, her hands moistening as the door began to inch forward on creaking hinges. Her eyes widened with alarm and panic as they shifted from the opening door to the body concealed behind the bed and the stains of deep carmine imprinted on her. Her breathing stopped completely, as petrified, she awaited the arrival of the figure into the room she and the dead body of her husband were ensconced in.

John Thornton sat at his desk, his mind was reliving the wonderful few days he'd spent with Margaret at the cottage. A smile filtered onto his thin lips as his face tugged upwards in a way it never had until Margaret had entered his life. Margaret. His Margaret. His smile slowly dissipated as the heavy reality set in, she was not and would never be his Margaret. She was a married woman and she would stay a married woman for a long time to come. There came a thump on his oak door and he spun around to move towards the door, however, the visitor entered without a moments hesitation. A seething man walked purposefully into his room and made a bee line straight for Mr Thornton. The man was very familiar to John, yes, he knew that person well, he was Margaret's husband, Mr Lexon or someone or other. John reassessed the situation as the man, Lennox! That was it! Continued on his determined march towards his towering frame. From the look plastered to his face John could tell the man was angry, furious even, and that could only mean one thing. He knew. Somehow, he had found out about Margaret and him. But how? Who could have told him. His question was soon answered by the man himself.

"You!" He spat venomously at the tall dark figure in front of him, his vision clouded with pure hatred as he looked upon the man who had stolen his wife from under his nose. His hand trembled as he pointed a shaking finger at Thornton. "You sired my wife's baby, you bastard! My wife!" The words sunk into Thornton as he was hit with the revelation that Margaret was carrying his child. He would have felt more elated had he not been in the situation he was now faced with. The man before him, in a rush of madness and blind hatred, launched himself at the imposing figure of Mr Thornton, pushing him to the wall, knocking over an armchair in the process. "You will pay for this you swine from Hell!" His fists flew out at Thornton unrestrainedly, connecting with Thornton's jaw and nose. It took Thornton a moment to gather his sense before he too lifted his own arms to strike the man in front of him.

Both fuelled with equal hatred, Henry's at having his wife stolen by the man before him and John's at having the love of his life stolen by the man before him. Arms tore at each other wildly as the men battled it out in a blind fury for the woman they both wanted but could not have. In one final blow Thornton watched as Henry's smaller frame toppled helplessly to the hard floor. His flailing body caught on a small armoire behind the bed and tore at his forehead. A small cry escaped from his bleeding lips before he fell silent and his body slumped in a heap on the floor. The man was still breathing but only just. In horror of what he had just done, Thornton grabbed a large overcoat to cover his bloodied shirt and made his way dazedly out of his hotel and into the streets of London.

Thornton had been aimlessly wandering the alleys of London for some time now. He was trying to clear his head. The man wasn't dead, yet. How on earth was he going to get out of this mess? And now he knew Margaret was bearing his child, a morsel of joy filled him at the thought, however it was soon replaced by terror. She wouldn't want a murderer near her child, their child. Oh God what had he done? He spun on his heel and hastened back to his hotel room to clear up the mess he had left behind.

When he reached the hotel he kept his head down and hurried up the small flight of stairs to his floor. When he reached the room, as if subconsciously, he knocked before realising how ridiculous it was to knock before entering ones own room. Hesitantly he twisted the door handle and pushed open the door. He slowly stepped into the room and was met by the sight of Margaret, doe eyes wide, fear etched into her face as she sat upon his bed, knees drawn into her chest. He watched as the emotion in her eyes turned from fear to joy, to worry then to what seemed like hope. In two long strides he had reached her side. He scooped her into his arms as they sat on his bed. He stroked her hair gently as she started to cry again. She turned her ashen face to him and whispered, barely audibly, "He's dead John."

Hello readers,

I must apologise for how late this has been in coming! I have been so busy recently with GCSES but have finally finished them - yay! This is the penultimate chapter, quite sad to see this coming to an end but hope you enjoy this chapter! Your continued support means so much to me and I hope you enjoy reading this continuation/fanfic as much as I have enjoyed writing it for you! Sorry again for the wait.

Lots of love,

Milton Girl 

xxx