A/N: A HUGE thanks to 4Fanci, who graciously offered to edit the story! 4Fanci, you are the best!

Enjoy!

Margaret Hale hated Milton the moment she saw it from the train carriage.

Margaret and her father were moving from pastoral Helstone in the South of England to industrial Milton in the North of England. They might as well have moved to another country as far as she was concerned.

Milton loomed over the horizon like an angry dark cloud. All she could see were hundreds of chimneys spewing black smoke into an already dark and sooty sky. As she watched the city from the train window, she thought the only way to capture it on paper would be to use layers upon layers upon layers of dark charcoal until the pristine white drawing paper faded entirely.

Her impression did not change when she entered the city. It was grimy and crowded. It was as if all the colours had been drained out and the only ones left were shades of grey. The people of Milton were as foreboding as the city. Most of the people she saw on the street were factory and mill workers. She saw very few people of her own class, except for Mr Andrew Webster who met them at the railway station to take them to their new house and hand over the keys. He worked for Mr Thornton, the man who was responsible for finding them the house and the owner of one of the largest cotton mills in Milton.

Mr Webster was brisk and efficient as he saw to their luggage and informed them that their furniture had arrived safely and had been kept in the house. He told her about the cook – "a most excellent woman" – and the maid – "an efficient girl" – that had been arranged for them. The final decision to retain them or not would of course be Margaret's. He left them at the door of their new house and made his farewell with a "Welcome to Milton" to Mr Hale and "We are not as lovely as the South but I hope Milton will grow on you" to her.

Grow on her, indeed!

Within a day, she felt as if the walls of her new house were closing in upon her. Their house was in a respectable district but the buildings were all tightly packed together. Considering that a wall was all that separated her from her neighbours, Margaret had a hard time not imagining who they were or what they were doing. It was most disconcerting. In Helstone, her closest neighbours lived a lush field away.

In the mornings, Margaret would wake up half-expecting to feel the sunlight on her face and then she would remember that she was in Milton. How her eyes and soul hungered for a spot of green grass or clear blue sky. Margaret busied herself setting up the new household. It saved her from thinking about Helstone and the life that she had left behind. Her life had undergone a great change - from the daughter of the Helstone parsonage to the daughter of a schoolteacher in an unknown city - but Margaret refused to complain aloud. After helplessly watching her father struggle with his doubts for years, she had fully supported his decision to quit the church. As dear as Helstone was to her, no consideration was more important than her father's happiness.

And so she threw herself into her new life, determined to make the best of their new situation.

When Margaret began moving the furniture to the proper rooms, she realised that the key-set that Mr Webster had given them did not include the keys to some of the rooms on the top floor and asked her father to speak with Mr Webster about it. But her father returned late that night and told her that he had forgotten about it completely.

Unlike his daughter, Mr Hale liked Milton almost immediately. On the morning after their arrival, Mr Hale went to the school where he was going to join as a teacher. The idea of educating young minds and introducing them to the works of Homer, Shakespeare and Plato excited him considerably. But his new job took up quite a lot of his time. He had much to do in the initial days of settling in at the school and had understandably forgotten his daughter's request to speak with Mr Webster.

The cook's room was one of the rooms that could not be opened and she had been complaining non-stop about having to sleep on the kitchen floor. The cook had finally issued an ultimatum: if she didn't get to sleep in her own bed tonight, she would resign from her post. There were other households in Milton that would give an excellent cook such as herself the comfort of a warm bed after a long and hard day. Margaret realised that the cook's threat was not an empty one. If she lost the cook within the first few days of living in Milton, no other cook would work for her.

Her father had left all the household matters to her so Margaret decided to not bother him further about it. She would get the keys herself. Margaret tied her bonnet, put on her coat and stepped out to meet Mr Webster at his office. She knew that it was not very proper for a young unmarried lady to go to a public office unchaperoned but she had to get the keys today if she wanted to keep her cook.

Mr Webster's office was on the ground floor of a newly constructed building. She was told to wait while he finished conducting business with an important customer. Margaret had to wait for almost twenty minutes. Finally, Mr Webster emerged from his office along with the customer. They shook hands and Mr Webster saw them to the door.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, Miss Hale. How can I be of assistance?" If he was surprised to see her in his office instead of her father, he hid it well.

"I came to ask about the keys to the rooms on the upper floor."

"I thought I handed over all the keys on the day of your arrival."

"Yes, the keys are all there but they don't fit some of the doors," Margaret explained.

Andrew thought about that for a moment and then remembered something: "Oh, I must have given you the old set. I am terribly sorry. You see Mr Thornton had the house inspected before you arrived and had asked for some of the locks to be changed. The new keyset must be in his office."

Margaret thought it rather odd that Mr Thornton would bother inspecting the house on their behalf. Her father had told her that he was a rather busy and important man.

"Could you please get me the new set?" Margaret asked.

"Mr Thornton is at the mill. I would go there myself but I need to be at the bank. Shall I send the keys later today?"

It would be too late to prepare the cook's bedroom by then. "I am afraid I need the keys as soon as possible. Shall I wait for you to return from the bank? How long will you be gone?"

Andrew looked at her with surprise. Miss Hale was proving to be a rather unusual girl.

"It would take me at least an hour, maybe more," he said.

"I can go to the mill and collect the keys from Mr Thornton," Margaret offered.

This he did not expect. "Miss Hale, a mill is no place for a lady. I am not sure Mr Thornton would appreciate it."

"But I must have the keys," she insisted. "Would you be so kind as to give me directions to the mill?"

Once Margaret's mind was made up, it was made up and Andrew realised that right away. He drew a map and explained the route as best as he could and watched her as she walked off in the direction of the mill. Thornton was in for a surprise, Andrew thought with a grin.

Margaret walked briskly, trying to avoid the curious stares of the people on the road. Milton was unlike any city she had ever seen or imagined. The streets were crowded, busy and noisy. Margaret put her head down and trudged on. It was either this or the prospect of having no cook.

When she finally reached the gates of Marlborough Mills, she stood there wondering how on earth she was supposed to find Mr Thornton in this place? The mill was a large complex with workers bustling about everywhere. She slowly walked inside the compound, trying to decide where to go and whom to approach. The workers didn't look like they were going to stop whatever it was that they were doing in order to help her. Margaret decided that the most logical place where Mr Thornton might be found would be inside the mill building. Nobody stopped her or took note of her so she simply walked into the largest building in the mill complex. It was a warehouse of some sort as it was piled high with heavy bales of cotton. Where now? she wondered, looking around for a door. From the far right side, she could hear people talking. She went towards the sound and sure enough, there was a door. Margaret thought about knocking but who was going to hear her in this noise? She pushed against the door with all her strength and stumbled into a blindingly white room.

It was a room full of cotton. More precisely, loose cotton piled into little hills. There were also workers, dozens of them, stuffing the cotton into sacks. Fluffs of cotton were floating in the air. Margaret walked inside, mesmerized by the unexpected beauty of the cotton wisps dancing in the air.

At the far end of the room, there was a set of stairs leading to a platform. Standing on the platform was a tall, dark man surveying the room below. Margaret stood arrested for a moment. There was something compelling about him that she couldn't pinpoint. He exuded power and authority as his eyes swept over the workers. She instinctively knew that this must be Mr Thornton. He was much younger than she had—

"Stephens!" the man suddenly roared.

At the same time, one of the workers, a pipe dangling from his mouth, began running towards the door. But Mr Thornton was fast. He swiftly climbed down the platform and caught the worker before he could run out of the door. He yanked him back by his collar into the room and proceeded to beat him.

All of this happened so suddenly that Margaret stood frozen in horror as Thornton rained vicious blows on the poor worker.

"I've warned you before! No smoking inside the mill!" Thornton said as he continued to beat Stephens.

The sound of his voice snapped Margaret back to reality.

"Stop!" Margaret cried out horrified. "Please stop!"

Thornton stopped mid-blow and turned on her with a ferocity that sent her stumbling back.

"Who are you?" Thornton demanded.

"I am Margaret Hale," Margaret answered. "I am the daughter of Mr Richard Hale. I came—"

Suddenly, Mr Webster showed up. He took one look at Stephen and then at Thornton and correctly guessed what had happened.

"Miss Hale, please," Andrew urged as he tried to steer her away from the scene.

"What is he going to do to him?" she asked, continuing to look back at Thornton.

Thornton had hauled up Stephens to his feet and was dragging him to the door. "Get out of here and don't come back!"

"No, no! I won't do it again. I have young children, they will starve," Stephen begged.

"Better they starve than burn to death!" Thornton said he shoved Stephens away.

Margaret couldn't believe her ears. She snatched her arm free from Mr Webster and went back. "How can you say that!" she demanded.

Thornton looked at her for a moment, momentarily surprised by the outrage on her face. "Get the woman out of here!" he commanded Andrew before storming past them.

"Miss Hale, please," Andrew grabbed her arm firmly this time, "You shouldn't be here."

Margaret allowed Mr Webster to lead her out of the building. She felt too stunned by what she had seen and her own swift anger. She had never witnessed violence or such fury before. Once outside, it took her a few moments to recover.

"I am sorry. You arrived at a bad time," Mr Webster offered apologetically.

Margaret remained silent, willing her breath to calm. Not wanting to talk about the incident, she asked, "You said it would take you a couple of hours at the bank."

"Yes, but right after you left I remembered I needed Mr Thornton's signature on the bank papers. I should have realised it earlier. You needn't have come here and witnessed that."

"I still don't have the keys," she said flatly.

"If you will wait here a minute, I will get them for you."

At her nod, Andrew went back inside.

Margaret looked at the mill building, still quite unable to believe what had just occurred. This was Mr Thornton! What sort of man would raise his hand at a weaker man? Or shout at children? And how was it that this sort of cruelty was acceptable? Why didn't any of the other workers protest or intervene?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Webster.

"Here are the keys," he handed them to her. "Please allow me to walk you home," he suggested.

Margaret looked at him with surprise, not sure what to make of his offer. "But don't you have to go to the bank?" she stalled.

"Yes, but as a gentleman, I cannot allow you to walk through the city unescorted a second time," Andrew said offering her his arm.

Margaret regarded the proffered arm. In London, such familiarity would not be welcome, but Mr Webster offered it with a friendly, kind smile. Margaret hesitantly accepted his arm, realising that there was no need to judge him harshly because of his employer. She took a final look at the mill, hoping she would never have anything to do with his employer ever again. She couldn't imagine her father caring or wanting to make the acquaintance of such a man as Mr Thornton. Comforted by the thought, Margaret walked away, determined to push the unpleasant encounter from her mind.

Thornton frowned as he watched Miss Hale and Andrew walk away. He stepped away from the window and sat at his desk. He looked at his knuckles, which were somewhat sore.

None of the workers would dare light a match inside the mill, but Stephens was an idiot. A dangerous idiot. God only knew what he did when Thornton was not at the mill. He should have thrown him out long ago. When Thornton had caught Stephen with the pipe, he had been so furious and so fearful that the damned fool might destroy his mill that before he knew it, he was tearing down the stairs determined to beat some sense into him.

That was why he did not see her. Not that he would have spared Stephen because a woman happened to be standing nearby. But he wished she had not been there. She couldn't be expected to understand the reason for his anger, yet he wished he had said something to her to explain just how dangerous Stephen's actions were.

He would have liked to forget Miss Hale and her outrage except, her father had invited him to their house tomorrow evening for tea.