A Misguided Mistake

Chapter Ten

Margaret closed the door and walked slowly up the stairs. Surely he would not think much of what had just happened - after all, hadn't she made her feelings for him quite clear not a week prior? When he had caught her in her lie, the hurt on his face was undeniable - and she had caused that. She did not wish to hurt him, nor lie to him at all. And yet she had, and with alarming ease.

"Who was that, my dear?"

Margaret sat back beside Frederick, a tight smile on her face as she tried to regain her composure.

"Mr Thornton, Father. He brought some fruit for Mother, and asked after her health."

"How kind." Her mother said softly. "Such a kind man."

"Mr Thornton?" Fred asked. "Who is he?"

"A mill owner. He is one of Father's pupils." Margaret said quickly, wishing to keep the explanation as short and unemotional as possible.

Margaret silently cursed herself; why had she said that there was no visitor? A woman near the end of her life had cause for visitors, so such a thing would arouse no suspicion. Instead, Margaret had acted more suspiciously by so strenuously denying it. What must he think?!

"What use does a mill owner have with Plato?" Fred asked, his nose wrinkling. "Such company you keep, Father! Tradesmen calling at the house at all hours."

"He is a good man." Margaret said hurriedly, her cheeks burning as she realised just how quickly she had leapt to John's defence. "You would like him if you could know him, I am sure of it."

"I am not sure I have ever heard you speak of John so kindly, my dear!" Her father chuckled. "I think our Margaret has given him quite the challenge on more than one occasion."

"Oh?"

"It is nothing." Margaret said firmly, taking a seat next to Fred. "I - I have found myself taking an interest in better understanding the people who are in the employ of the mills, and Mr Thornton and I do not see eye to eye on certain matters. That is all."

Fred frowned.

"What a strange life you lead here, sister."

Margaret stiffened, stung by his unintentional barb. She looked towards her mother, thankfully sleeping, and shrugged.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll help Dixon with the tea."

She left the room, glad to be alone for a moment. She smoothed down her hair , and took a deep breath. Mr Thornton did not matter now; nothing mattered except her mother. She grew weaker with every passing moment; even in the short time Margaret had been downstairs, she seemed to lose a little more of herself. How cruel death was, to suck life  away so slowly, forcing others to look on so very helplessly.

The day passed quietly; Fred and Margaret sat together by their mother's bedside while she slept. They spoke softly, but spent most of the time reading or consumed in their own thoughts. Their father drifted in and out, as well as Dixon, but nobody said anything much. They were all too aware that the end was coming - and coming soon.

Margaret thought, as she so often did, of Bessie. She had not had the luxury of a doctor, nor of a warm, clean house. She had not even had her family around her when she passed. She felt her throat tighten as she thought of her most dear friend, truly gone from this world forever. It did not feel real that  her mother would soon be gone too.

And yet that dreadful moment came far too quickly.

The next day, Margaret sat with Frederick in the drawing room, both of them snatching a rare chance to be alone together as Doctor Donaldson was in with their mother. It felt strange to be with her brother once more, as though things had momentarily returned to how they used to be before Fred left, before everything had changed forever.