Foolish Passions: A North & South Variation

Chapter 7: Rumours

John leant forward, scrubbing his face with his hands as the train pulled into greater Milton. The journey from York had left him feeling sluggish and cramped, in spite of the extra room his first class ticket afforded him. He needed to move, to stretch his legs, and to avail himself of some fresh air in the hopes of dispelling the day's frustrations. His meetings had been fruitless, more jumping through hoops with bankers attempting, so far as his innate candour would permit, to entice them with promises of quality and financial return if they would only ensure their clients paid their bills on time and procure some more custom.

He knew the carriage would be waiting for him at Milton station. Mother had certainly seen to that. But the thought of spending anymore time folded up in another close compartment repelled his already weary mind. As the train approached Outwood, one stop before Milton proper, he rose to his feet and gathered his few things. He would be glad of the walk.

He made his way to the train door, and leaned against the door frame. At least, he thought to himself, the day's struggles had kept his mind fully engaged. In amongst his meetings and mediations there had been very few thoughts of her. Not one, in fact.

He bore down on his heels to steady himself as the train shuddered into the station. No, there had been no thought of her bright evening smile. None of her pert reproaches during the day. None of the gentle care she lavished on her father, and the workers she esteemed so highly. None of the havoc both her presence and absence wrought on his soul in equal measure.

He would have to call at Crampton tomorrow evening at the very latest, to see how his friend and tutor was bearing up under the cruel weight of his wife's passing. He had seen very little of them since his ill-fated attempt at wooing her, and her bitter words of rejection still echoed through the cavern of his lovesick heart. In the weeks following his spectacular failure, Mrs Hale's health had taken a turn for the worst, until John had abruptly been informed that his generous baskets of fruit and dainties were no longer required. It had only been a few days, but as he had yet to call at Crampton, the reality of the bitter loss the two Hales dearest to him had suffered had not yet fully registered in his own mind.

In his male pride he still clung to the fantasy that he could somehow be the one she would turn to in her hour of need. Armed with his great love and compassion he would swoop in and gather his beloved into himself, to offer her the solace he believed she could only find in the comfort of his warm embrace. He would be ferocious in his protection of her, willing to risk anything to ensure no harm befell her whilst she was nestled there. And yet he knew it could not be so. She did not want him, she would not have him, and so he must let her alone to wallow in her grief until she succeeded, by way of her great fortitude and virtue, in pulling herself out of that grey mire of despair. John sighed. Despite all their misfortune, both his own and hers, he could not help the small thrill at the thought of seeing her, the best and most beautiful woman of his acquaintance, again.

John shook the painful memories from his mind, a wry smile toying with his lips as he chastised himself silently. Even thinking about not thinking about her conjured her up in his mind's eye. Why, he could almost see her... Clothed in the night, her face round and pale like the moon in all its full beauty. Her features exquisite, but her expression as tight as ever it had been of late. The deep, grey pools of her eyes filled with apprehension as she glanced about nervously. Her head bent comfortably towards the gentleman as he wrapped his arm in a gesture of familiar intimacy around her shapely shoulders... wait...what?

John's mouth fell open as the train dragged past Miss Hale and her companion clinging to each other on the platform. It pulled to a stop at the furthest end of the station. He stumbled down the steps, eyes wide and incredulous. Was it she? He must be mistaken, he thought, as he wove his way past a few other passengers disembarking the London-bound train. It could not have been her, for why would Miss Hale be at Outwood Station, in the dead of night, just days after her mother's passing, on the arm of some unknown young man? It didn't make any sense.