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North & South: A Continutation	By : gallygaskins Category: M through R > North and South (BBC) > North and South (BBC) Views: 11128 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Elizabeth Gaskell's or the 2004 BBC adaptation of North and South and I make no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4 – A welcome home.

In a black fit of fury Mrs Thornton swept through the house, down the stairs and to the front door opening it just as John and Margaret reached it. Her face became much sterner as their united step backwards opened up the vista to one of them holding hands. “What exactly is the meaning of this, John?” She asked venomously, her eyes dark and wild.

“Mother, I’ll explain everything once we’re inside.”

“I want to know now, John. Before that woman steps one foot over the threshold of my house.”

“Our house, mother, and ‘that woman’ as you call her, is set to become my wife.”

“I shall not hear of it.”

“Just because you will not hear of it does not mean it will not happen. Let’s go inside, please. The storm is coming in.”

“You mean for her to stay here?”

“Of course, where else is she likely to stay.”

“Such impropriety.”

“Mother!”

“No, John, she is right,” Margaret began, squeezing the hand of his that she still had a hold of. “Take me back down to town, I will find myself some lodgings.”

His soft loving gaze fell upon her, “Margaret, we talked about this. Besides you have nothing with you, a fine fiancé I would be if I left you in lodgings with only that small bag.” He returned his attention to his mother. “Margaret is staying. I don’t much care for any protests you may have but this woman, this angel has saved me, saved us, so be thankful for it.” He pulled at Margaret’s hand, stepping into the hall and ushering Margaret up the stairs to the dowdy living quarters. “Batten the door and the windows, the storm is near.” He suggested to the maid who stood dumbstruck at the entrance to the scullery, before he too climbed the stairs.

His mother followed quickly, “Jane, what are you doing still stood there. You heard John, get to work.” The poor maid curtseyed and went about her task. Mrs Thornton rushed into the living room. “Why am I to be grateful? Why am I to share my home with this wretched woman?” She pointed sedately at Margaret who now stood by the window in her own favourite position.

“Because Margaret wants to invest her money in the mill.”

Fanny looked around the room not knowing where to rest her eyes first, the tension between all parties evident as she looked from one face to the next. “You should not have needed it at all if you’d followed Watson’s lead.”

“Will you stop going on, Fanny,” John shouted. “I was not prepared to follow in father’s footsteps and lose everything.”

“Which you did anyway, John.” Fanny remarked in a sing song fashion, making her point evident.

“If I may be allowed to say something,” Margaret began, moving away from the window and positioning herself next to John, “Fanny, I too would have done as John did, to risk so much money on a venture, that wasn’t certain to succeed, would have been too catastrophic an idea to comprehend.”

“But you did. You made money out of that speculation.”

“Only as a result of Mr Bell’s stake, had he not taken part then I would not have gained by way of it. Your brother did what he thought was best for the factory. It was either risk money in a scheme that could have failed or keep the factory going as long as he could, keeping all of those employees in work for as long as he could also, trying to get back on top of the manufacturing that had been lost as a result of the strike in order to keep his family. I don’t believe that you would be so discourteous toward your brother had Watson and even I lost money by way of that speculation.”

“No, I don’t suppose I would.” Fanny stammered, Margaret’s words hitting home as she realised that Watson could have lost everything had the speculation gone badly. “I’m sorry, John. I was always led to believe that it wouldn’t fail.”

“Fanny, don’t worry yourself. Just never mention it again.”

“So, Miss Hale,” Mrs Thornton began, as she sat quietly brooding, “how exactly do you wish to invest?”

“That is none of your concern, mother.”

“Why? I just want to know what kind of hold she will have over my son.”

“Only the kind of hold that a wife has over her husband,” Margaret bristled. “I may not be your idea of the perfect life partner for your son, Mrs Thornton, but I assure you that I have only done what I did out of love and respect for him.”

“Love? You don’t have the first idea of what love is?”

“I know exactly what it is to be in love and believe that the love that had once been registered in my favour had been lost to me. I went to London believing the man I loved never wanted to be reminded of me. And as soon as I learnt that that man was in serious trouble the only thing I could think of doing was coming straight back to Milton and offer him as much help and support as I could offer him. At first it was only as a business proposition, until I realised that that man still loved me and wanted me. And when he asked me to marry him …”

“He asked you?” Mrs Thornton spat out incredulously.

“Yes, mother. I asked her again.” John quietly said, a smile creeping over his features, “and she accepted me, broken as I am.”

“But would she have accepted you had her position not been quite so favourable, I wonder?”

“Of course, my answer would have been exactly the same. I have no need for this wealth that Mr Bell has bestowed upon me but at least I can put it to some use to help my family, in which I would include both you and Fanny, and help out my friends, like Nicholas, Mary and all of the Boucher children that Nicholas has taken on as his own.”

“I can not say that I understand your motives, Miss Hale? Especially when you were so decided against John, at one point.”

“I was at first, I will not deny it. When he asked for my hand the first time I thought it was because he wanted to own me, possess me, like an ornament. I never realised that he ever felt true love for me, not until after he stepped in to help me out of a predicament that I found myself in. When I thanked John he told me he did it for my father as his friend and not for me. That’s when I believed I’d lost him, forever.”

“And what predicament did you find yourself in, as if I don’t know? Wandering around Outwood station at all hours with another man in tow.”

“That man was my brother.”

“Margaret, you really do not have to say anything else,” John cooed, he could tell that his mother’s words where getting to her.

“No, I must.” She turned from John to his mother, “Mrs Thornton, I have not carried on in such an immodest manner with any man at any time in my life as you seem to think I have. I had not seen my brother for many years and when mama fell ill, I wrote to Fred begging him to come home to see her. I knew that his return would put him in mortal danger so his coming to Milton and subsequent departure when he left, were done undercover of nightfall. It was the best way. When John saw us, I was embracing him. I knew I may never see him again and wished our last moments together to be something we would both remember. It was just unfortunate that a man we both knew from Helstone had moved up to Milton in search of work and, knowing there was a large reward on my brother’s head, tried to capture Fred for the money.

“I was questioned by the police, another person had seen me departing the station and, as such, I could have been considered a witness or party to Leonard’s death. John intercepted, quashing the need for an inquest and so allowing my ‘behaviour’ not to be questioned any longer. I thanked him for his help with the matter, but he told me he’d done it for my father. I have an awful lot to thank him for.”

John placed his hands on her shoulders, her back still toward him. He bent his head toward her ear but allowed the gathered party to hear him as he spoke to her, “you have nothing to thank me for. I told you that I had done it for your father, I had. But I had done it for you also. I was still very much in love with you and I couldn’t bear to think that people were thinking ill of you. Only I was allowed to do that.” He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “What do you think now mother?” He asked of her.

“I don’t yet know. I am yet to be convinced that this woman is here because she loves you, John.”

“I knew that it would be difficult,” Margaret began, “convincing you of my affection toward your son. I don’t much care if you ever take to me, but I will never see you go hungry, without clothing or shelter or without John’s love toward you. You and I will live under the same roof and if you choose never to speak to me or spend anytime with me, then I shall not despise you for it. And when John and I are blessed with children, I will never stop them seeing their grandmamma just because she still hates their mother. I just make you one promise; I will look after your son, love him for all eternity and never keep him from you.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I think I would like to lie down,” she turned to John, he nodded, “can you show me to my room?”

“Of course, little one.” He took hold of her hand once more, threading his way back out of the room and up the next set of stairs to a further floor above. He stopped outside of a door halfway along the landing. “Only the very best guest bedroom for my love,” he whispered, opening the door and walking with her into the surprisingly bright room. “If you want anything, just call for me. And later on, if you need me, my room is next door,” he pointed toward his room. “It’ll be our room soon,” he encouraged. “Now, I’ll go and have a word with Jane, see if she can’t find you something to wear in bed and anything else a young lady might need, seeing as I’m not really up on what women require.” He walked back to the door, his hand on the door knob.

“John?” Margaret asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He walked back into the room. “I’m sorry, for speaking so wilfully to your mother.”

He stepped toward her, crouching before her, taking her hands in his as he steadied himself. His dark eyes smouldered looking into her cool blue orbs, a distressed picture upon her face. “She’ll get over it and it was nothing more than she deserved. Had you not said it, I would’ve been forced too. I know she does it because she wants what’s best for me, but she hasn’t seen the real you yet. I’m convinced that she’ll love you as much as me before long, then I’ll be fighting with her so that I can spend some time with my beloved.”

“Thank you.” Margaret leant toward him, pressing her lips to his.

He responded in kind, his passion for her being rekindled as he stood, folding her into his arms. “I love you, Margaret and nothing my mother says will ever take that away.”

“I love you too, John. I just want this household to be happy.”

“It will be. I have no doubt about that. Now I best go before I get a lecture about spending too much time in your room with you, as you cast spells about me in order to keep me from my mother.” He grinned, watching a smile break across her lips. Reluctantly, he let her go and walked back to the door, “if I don’t see you before, sleep well, my angel.”

She watched him remove himself from her room. She sat on the bed once more and picked up her small bag. She pulled out the book that she had carried in it and leafed through the pages trying to find the yellow rose that John had given her that very afternoon. Her fingers stroked over the petals as she drew the bloom to her face and sniffed the perfume, its sweet nectar enveloped her senses as she lay back onto the bed. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep only waking when her body felt revived.

She sat up, inspecting the room, a small fire had been lit and on the chair next to the fireplace were placed some bed clothing. She changed as quickly as she could with no maid to help her undress. She sat in front of the mirror on the dressing table and began to methodically pull out the pins that held her tresses in place. Once that task had been completed she picked up the brush and gently pulled the bristles continuously through the long strands until she was satisfied that she had employed the brush long enough. A ribbon had been hung over the mirror and after she had plaited her hair behind her she tied the ribbon around the end of her now twined hair.

She made her way back to the bed and delved under the covers, tucking them around herself in order to keep warm during the stormy night that she could hear going on outside on the other side of the thick curtained window to her room. Thoughts passed over the events of the day, everything had been full of hope and excitement toward her and John’s impending union until they’d reached this place, this factory that she now owned and Mrs Thornton obviously speculated that Margaret would hoof them out of as an act of attrition against the Northerner’s. “If only you could speculate on me, Mrs Thornton,” Margaret said into the void of the room, “you’d see that I would be a well calculated risk and that I would never do anything to hurt any of you.”

She felt above her head with her hand, allowing the palm to rest against the flock paper. She knew that it was the connecting wall between hers and John’s room and with the house in quiet she believed that he was on the other side, lying in his bed and sleeping. “Sweet dreams, my love,” she whispered, hoping that his heart would hear her and return the gesture.

.oOo.

John hadn’t been surprised when Margaret hadn’t come down for anything to eat, when he’d left her she had seemed a little out of sorts and when Jane had returned from her room he had caught her to ask how his bride-to-be had been. When Jane had replied that she had found her asleep he didn’t dwell on it too much. A lot had happened to both of them since their fortunate chance meeting, when he had stepped out of the carriage of his north bound train to discover she was stood on the station watching him with her bright eyes, quite taken aback by his own being there. And now, thankfully, they were sharing the same space and the same air.

He only longed for his mother to share his enthusiasm for Margaret, to understand what it was that she did to him when she looked at him with her bright blue eyes and gentle smile, tiny ringlets of wispy hair softening her features further. She was beautiful and she was his.

Dinner had been a quiet affair, as quiet as it had been since he had returned from Margaret’s room. Fanny had gone home and his mother had just sat, watching the clock, allowing the minutes to tick by without being very conscious of it. He’d picked up a much loved volume of Plato that Margaret had given him when she had first gone to London. He had treasured her gift and the books had been his constant companion whilst she had been away from him. They’d served as a reminder and now they were his comfort knowing that Margaret would never be that far away from him again.

His mother had turned in a little after eight that evening and he followed just a little later; making sure that the house was locked up tight before retiring to his room. He stopped outside Margaret’s room briefly wondering if she was asleep or awake before continuing the few steps to his own room, opening the door and going in. He noticed that Jane had brought up his discarded items of clothing from earlier and they now hung over the screen. He pulled off what was left of his clothing, hanging them with the other items over the screen and picked up his nightshirt, pulling it over his head and frame.

He began thinking about what it would be like to share this room with his wife, would she want to share it even? It was of fairly masculine taste and Margaret might not feel that comfortable in it. He hoped she would, it was one of the largest and they would easily be able to share, if that was something else she wished to do. He hoped she would want that too, to share his bed with him every night. He so wanted to fall asleep with her every night and wake up to her beautiful face every morning.

He crouched by the fire, picking up the poker and pushing it into the glowing embers, turning over the wood so that new flames would kindle. He sat back on the floor, his back resting against the bed as he looked over toward the dressing table. He closed his eyes to the scene, imagining Margaret there brushing her hair as she lazily watched what she was doing in the mirror. He felt it must be summer as she was wearing a nightdress that had no sleeves, the neckline reaching out over her shoulders leaving a great proportion of her neck and collarbone exposed.

He moved over toward her, bending down to sweep her hair away from over her back and kiss the curve where her neck and shoulder met. He watched her close her eyes to the sensation as he sat down next to her and began covering her silky smooth skin with his mouth. She turned herself toward him, smiling as he continued to assault her body as well as her senses with his generous caresses. “Oh, Margaret,” he breathed out, opening his eyes as she vanished from his minds eye. “That is not going to help me sleep well tonight.”

He stood up; crawling in between the covers, hoping that the day she was with him in his bed was not too far away. “I wish we could marry tomorrow but I know the best we can hope for is a month, I will speak to you about it tomorrow, Margaret.” He laid back, his head hitting the pillow and his eyes closing once more to sweet images of Margaret lying in his bed with him, allowing him to love her. “Sweet dreams, my love,” he heard her say, before rewarding her with his own response. “Sweet dreams, Margaret, my angel.”
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North & South: A Continutation