Chapter Text
Richard Hale was dead.
Two days after his wife.
It was unspeakably cruel. Even his mother who was not what one would call the faint of heart had remarked that it was a terrible blow to their daughter. Hannah Thornton might never forgive Margaret for rejecting her son but even she would conclude that while the Lord works in mysterious ways there was something very cruel about robbing a girl as young as Margaret of her parents so soon after the other.
John had wanted to call. For all the burning hurt that still resided within his soul, his heart, his very presence of being, he had wanted to call upon Margaret as soon as the news had hit him. He had wanted to rush over there and take her in his arms and promise her that she would never be alone again, that she would have him no matter what. That his love for her was unending, he had given up trying to fight it and that if she wanted him in any capacity, friend, lover, business partner to help her with her father’s affairs then he would.
He tried not to think too much of the lover part of that. Such thoughts were unbecoming a gentleman, Margaret already despised him, she did not need to know how deeply his infatuation was. She did not need to know what he dreamed about on the darkest of the dark nights after all.
But his mother had said in the first weeks of mourning for two parents it would not do for him to go and instead she had taken herself. Without Fanny thank God. John loved his sister he really did but the truth of the matter was that Fanny made a song and dance out of everything and she would not stop with Margaret and John knew enough about grief to know that she would not want that.
His mother had gone out of a promise to Mrs Hale and out of genuine sympathy and John had been forced to sit on his hands and wait while she did. He was not good with waiting, had read and re-read the same page of the book for an hour before his mother had come home. Fanny had gone in search of her needlework and would be upstairs for a while and his mother came in dusting the snow off her outside boots and had called for a spot of tea and a brandy which John had been only too happy to provide.
“She’s not good” Mrs Hale said quietly. “I don’t like the girl John I won’t lie but she’s not good and that maid is about as much use as that end table. Apparently there is family coming down from London but they won’t be there until after the funeral because heaven forfend the daughter cancel her engagements to be here” she rolls her eyes and then…
“A part of me John is worried. I am wondering if I should invite her to stay here but then again—” she looks at him and then puts down her tea cup. “I don’t think that would be very helpful”
“Mother…if Miss Hale is in need of support at this time of need then she should be here. Grief is not for one to bare on ones own.” he said trying to remain calm. The thought of Margaret inside his home was too close to what he so desperately craved and yet not what he would get. There was no sweeping her up into his arms and making this home theirs. It would be the act of a friend, a kindness his mother, a woman close to her own mother would offer and besides…soon Adam Bell and the rest of her family would be upon them.
His mother sighed.
“Well…I shall sleep on it. I don’t want to go poking my nose in where it’s not wanted that’s for sure”
“I feel nothing for her anymore” he lied. “So if her being here puts your mind at rest then please do not hesitate on my account”
She looked at him and John felt very much so like he was a little boy once more and she had caught him lying about something. She looked at him with that little soft smile she gave him sometimes and then.
“I am going to bed” she said bending to kiss his forehead. “I bid you goodnight John. Don’t spent too much time working please? There’s going to be a storm tonight I fear and I don’t want you working yourself into the sickbed”
“Goodnight mother”
He could not promise to not to work himself sick.
But she did not have to know that.
He could not work he found that night. Unbidden the image kept coming back to what his mother had said. For his mother who was not what one would call of the faint of heart (ever) to say such things about a woman who she had made clear she disapproved of from the start was most concerning. If Margaret was truly struggling (and who could blame her in a place not her home having buried both of her parents with no time to grieve) then surely she would need support and help and comfort…
Oh God…that was a bad thought. Thinking of Margaret, of comforting her, of being whatever she wanted…it was like opening a box designed to heal and hurt all at the same time. He wanted to be her dearest friend and confident, wanted to be the person she turned to in this time of need.
But then again…she had her young man didn’t she? The one at the station who would no doubt be soon hastening to her side. God knows if it was John he wouldn’t be able to keep away even if he tried. Surely he would come to Margaret’s side and stand with her. John was not sure if even he could stand the idea of Margaret being courted by someone else under his own roof. Even he who would take loss of limb and life for Margaret Hale could not take that.
But for the chance to see her in the morning and in the evenings…to speak to her…to offer a distraction…Jesus Christ at this point he would offer his body...
No he would not do that…
Well…yes he would he thought staring up at his mother’s chandelier. He was a man and though he had been raised a gentleman and not a rouge he would admit here in the darkness of the living room that he would if she asked. He would throw away his reputation and his immortal soul to the side for once change with Margaret Hale. Only in the privacy of the darkest parts of his heart could he admit that but those dark parts of him where he was more man than gentle were for him and him alone.
Right now he thought as he titled his body sideways and his head hit a pillow on the little couch in the room, he wanted it to be just her and him. When he fell asleep down here tired of a full days hard work she would be the one prodding him awake gentle fingers running through his hair and telling him to come to bed in that soft southern voice of hers that haunted his dreams with soft smiles and softer words, promises of love that could never be his and…
BANG. BANG. BANG.
John started awake with a gasp.
Someone was knocking at the door.
He took one moment to run a hand through his hair and he reached for his pocket watch. It was not too late, just after eleven but the rain was lashing down around the house and the wind had picked up and it was dark in the house. His mother and sister were no doubt in bed by now and short of someone breaking into the house they would not stir from their rooms. He had fallen asleep in his shirt sleeves cravat loosened and he groaned as the knocking persisted feeling the uncomfortable position he had been in before pulling at his back and neck and side.
He really was getting too old to be sleeping in his clothes on the furniture he thought.
He managed to get to the door and opened it and—
It was that woman, the maid…Marg…Miss Hale’s maid, the one who made it very clear she did not like him and she did not like Milton. Dixon…she was standing there in the rain and John felt his heart leap into this throat because there was no way that this woman was here because to see him on a whim on what had to be the most miserable night of the year (and for a man living in the North that was saying something).
There was only one reason why she was still here.
Margaret.
“Mr Thornton Sir, it’s Miss Margaret”
OH GOD.
Images came to mind and none of them pleasant, an accident perhaps, her in so much despair that she had done something, taken up something and hurt herself though it may be a mortal sin, her young man coming back and hurting her…
Unbidden another image came to him of her needing him, maybe she just needed him.
And it did not matter John thought there and then, that she had rejected him leaving him adrift and hurt and broken and bleeding his heart smashed on her rug. It did not matter to him. If she wanted him then he was hers, if she wanted his arms to hold her as she cried, if she had woken up and wanted him by her side he would be there for however long she wanted him and—
“Mr Thornton?”
“What has happened?” he demanded hoping the interfering woman…Dixon…had not noticed his lack of proper attention.
“She’s…she’s…missing!”
John felt his knees go and this time he only did manage to catch himself on the door.
“Missing?”
“Missing” Dixon said wiping her face with her handkerchief. “Oh bless I didn’t even know until one of the girls told me…I was getting ready for bed I thought that she had come back hours ago and—”
“Dixon what do you mean missing?”
“She…she goes for a walk Sir, every afternoon and this time she didn’t come back!”
With this she wailed loudly and John cursed not caring that it was rude. Eyes narrowed at him as his language centred Dixon once more and whatever had driven her out on this night to him seemed to disappear.
“Well if that’s your response—”
“Has anyone gone looking for her?”
“Who Sir am I going to call at this time of night? Mr Bell is on his way here but it will be a couple of days at most and the Lennox’s will not be here for two weeks and If any harm has befouled my dear girl in this godforsaken town I don’t know what I will do with myself! She was not happy when she left insisted she needed to walk to the cemetery on her own and then that was the end of that and—”
“Cemetery?”
“She goes there for walks, not much else to do in this place if you ask me”
John resisted the urge to loose what was left of his already considerably short temper.
“Mrs Dixon please come inside, ring the bell and have one of the girls wake my mother, tell her what has happened, tell her I have gone to look for Miss Hale and that if neither of us are back by morning she must organise a search party” and then because she was clearly not moving he grabbed his coat and his hat and he was gone into the darkness.
His mother was going to kill him when she found out about this John was sure but he did not care, he could not care.
Margaret was out here, the rain was pelting down around him and it was a cold, cold night. And Margaret was out here.
Alone. Scared. Frightened. Vulnerable. Grieving.
Maybe even hurt.
At that thought so awful to him he felt his legs ago again and then he shook it off. The last thing Margaret needed was John having a fit of emotion when she needed him the most.
No…the self loathing could come later. The sense of shame and failure could come later.
What mattered was that he found her. And that she was alright.
Please, please be alright.
And with that he pushed forwards towards Milton Cemetery in the rain and the dark left alone with his thoughts.