The Error of Judgement

by Ikuko

Chapter 10

The Lawyer from Oxford

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Yay! I finished. Thnk you for sticking around and waiting for the long time for the last chapters. And huge thanks to my new and very efficient beta Yunsi, who came through on a moment's notice. As to the unbelievably thorough, encouraging and patient editor Liz – you already know how great she is, there is no words to express my gratitude.

Monday's first morning light crept through the curtained window of the bedroom. Thornton's habit of many years woke him up early; something in the depth of his sleepy mind was calling out for the start of the new workday of the new week as usual. Gradually, as his mind awoke, he recalled the grimness of his situation, the impending closure of the mill and of all his old life. As if in accord with his mood, the feeble ray of sun faded out, obstructed by some passing cloud. Margaret shifted and mumbled something in her sleep, and he was almost sure he heard his own name. The covers had slipped off her white shoulder, and he reached to touch it, if only to feel if it was chilled. It was indeed slightly cool, giving him an excuse to cover it with his own hand. In another moment Margaret stirred again, and he eagerly watched her face for that small morning pleasure he came to love in these few days: her lovely, sleepy eyes did not want to shake off the sleep right away, one always opened just a moment before the other, giving her an adorable child-like look in this soft quiet moment. It was his small private treasure, which no ruin could touch.

Last night's dread was still hovering in the dining room during their breakfast, as a little stagnant pool of silence. Margaret, pale but determined, was making a valiant attempt to be as cheerful as possible. She expressed her pleasure that her personal things were either being packed in Crampton, or not yet quite unpacked here, so that she was at liberty to help Mrs. Thornton as much as she could. She pointed out that she knew from her own experience how much time the moving of a household needed in practical terms. If they were indeed to vacate the house in fortnight, there was very little time to prepare for moving.

The older Mrs. Thornton did not appear to appreciate the efforts of her daughter-in-law. She still had some difficulty recognizing her as a proper member of the household. Thornton saw that Margaret's efforts missed the mark widely: perhaps, cheerful encouragement was the best way of supporting her mild and retiring parents, but it would do no good here. It baffled older the Mrs. Thornton, who was new to the idea that someone might care about her mood and comfort. She disdained the niceties intended to soften the situation and much preferred starkly frank acceptance of any blows that fate could throuw her way. Yet, she did not rebuke Margaret; instead, she strove to shake off her own listless gloom and assume her usual brisk and business-like manner.

Indeed, the morning was proving as busy as they anticipated. Much needed to be done right away. The trunks and crates had to be acquired and less essential decorations were to be packed away in straw or sorted for the future sale. At least in this Margaret found herself useful and appreciated. Before Thornton finished his tea, both women were deep in the planning of work ahead. He paused, looking at them, the two whom he loved the most, striving busily at the work he never wished them to do in their lives. Not again. Alas, it was not the first time that either of them had to demolish their entire existence with their own hands because of the mistakes of the men in their lives. His mother had done it after Father's death, and Margaret, he knew in his heart, was the pillar of strength of her family when her own father chose to leave his parish. Both had to stand strong, unsupported, against the blows of fate, and save what they could of their families. And now it was happening again. Uncomplainingly, they joined forces for the sake of sparing him the full weight of his own failures.

The place was already beginning to get that unlived in and dilapidated look of a household in the process of packing. Both Mrs. Thorntons resolutely avoided mentioning any grief, though he knew perfectly well that they felt it as much as he did. Yet he could hardly afford to stay idle and dwell on his misfortunes. He had to pull his own weight in the sorrowful work of dismantling his lifetime gains all by himself. There still were open bales of cotton to dispose in whatever production he could keep before the doors would close at the end of the week, the mill's inventory to complete, machines and office furniture to sell. Much financial and legal business needs to be taken care of s soon as possible.

Most of the morning passed in a haze of sad bustle. Thornton was working in his study at home, trying not to think that he has yet to pack everything there, too. He always liked his study, with its window overlooking the mill yard and catching the morning sun just over the mill roof. Today the sunshine was capricious, dense little clouds glided at intervals over the disc of the sun. Thornton did not want to close the curtain to soften the sunshine, and his study was alternatively blazing with the bright light or plunged into cool, shadow less grayness. Thornton finished his letter to the cotton supplier, sealed it and put it on top of the small pile of similar missives. He pulled toward himself a fresh piece of paper and concentrated on the lease particulars. After a few more minutes of diligent work he heard a hesitant knock at the door. He cried "come in", a little vexed at the interruption.

The door of the study opened a fraction and Margaret slid in with a small apologetic smile. He looked up, glad at her casual presence there. She crossed to the bookshelves to reach for the small and pitifully light box that contained all of her father's papers. She had brought it here only two days before, like a sailor salvaging his few belongings from the sinking ship, only to have her new home shipwrecked again in such a short time.

Thornton watched her moving silently around the study with a strange content. What loss or ruin were there as long as her presence lit his life? He always believed that the security of fortune was needed for him to feel happy. He doubted this now.

She turned back to him, hands full with all the items she gathered. Her face was composed, but white and as precisely set as one of a marble statue carved by some great master of ancient times.

"I talked to Martha..." she started haltingly. "She said that she would not leave just now, if it is all right with us. She wants to help without any pay. And I don't think she can afford it with her mother being poorly now."

"She must not. Yes, she is very devoted to Mother, but there is no need for this. We will still have enough to move to the new place in comfort, and retain at least two domestics. I quite believe we will be able to keep her with the same wage as before."

"I think the cook might have a place in mind, though she certainly would like to stay... too..."

"Margaret, you do not have to do all this. Do you want me to dismiss her?"

"Oh, no, I can do it. Only... Mary came and said she will also help us, at least while we move. She does not want any pay either. She is eager to help, even though she is mortally afraid of Mrs. Thornton."

"Why, I almost forgot: her father – Nicolas - gave me a list of workers who will come to work for me as soon as I can start my mills again." He watched her face to see if this would bring up her smile. It did, if a little wane:

"Indeed? They do have good hearts. Are they convinced that it will happen soon?"

"So they believe. They probably have a wager, too." Thornton said, trying to keep the smile on her face from escaping.

"A wager?" the surprise seemed to drive the worry out of her eyes for a moment, to Thornton's gratification.

"Yes, apparently, the masters provide this sort of entertainment for the workers. Do you know they had a wager about when we would marry?"

"They did? How could they possibly know? We ourselves did not know until now!"

"They are not blind or stupid, as Mr. Higgins kindly explained to me. He won two pounds, I understand."

"He did?" she asked quietly, "I am glad then. Well, we can only hope that the wisdom of democratic vote is correct again. Vox populi, vox Dei."

"Yes. I wish I could see how such thing could happen. But I appreciate the gesture anyway. Are you done making lists for packing?"

"Oh, no. I am not very useful in this, as I do not know the household well enough. Your mother was very patient with me, but she was well satisfied when I told her that I will take over writing notes to everyone in town who might expect such civility. I only came because I need to write to Father's old acquaintances. I have neglected my duties so far."

She turned away and looked out of the window, her proud profile momentarily outlined by the ray of the flighty morning sun. He came to her from behind and gathered her in his arms, with all the awkward boxes she was holding. She shifted the papers out of the danger of being crumpled and sank back into her natural home of his embrace. They stood silently, content in their close proximity, his cheek to her temple, looking out in the busy mill yard. If this was his ruin, it was not so bad. Loss of money, house, and power did not appear as catastrophic as he would have thought only a week ago. He was feeling happier now than he ever was in the height of his power, when he was living a life without hope or fear, guided only by the need and want of others. Now - Oh, now he felt at peace, and content. He had found his own desires and had learned to savour every moment he lived. What did he care about his failure as a manufacturer if he won the love and trust of this woman, whose devotion for him did not waver for a moment despite of all his troubles!

Was this his new temptation? To stay like this for the rest of his life, with her in his arms, her smell making every breath he took an exquisite pleasure – can he have any new motive to inspire him in his work? Was he to sink in the happiness, become idle? Would he ever be able to start over? Or would this strange content disarm him, teach him to accept a modest place in life, without opulence and grander? Can he overcome his desire to simply savour his happiness, and keep struggling on to provide his family with all that they deserve? And if he were to succumb to this temptation, would he eventually regret not being the man he used to be, the master and the businessman?

They stood silently for a while, looking intently out of the window at the bustle of the mill yard. It was going through the last convulsions of a dying mill. Some of the machines were stopped already, and parts of the shell of the building were standing idle and empty, but the yard was still full of busy workers loading the completed orders on the carts.

There was another timid knock at the door. Thornton shook his head in annoyance, and cried out a curt "yes" to who ever needed entrance to his study. The door opened a fraction, and Martha's face appeared in the crack.

"Sir, ma'am, there is a man at the door; he wants to speak to you, to you, Mrs. Thornton. He had come to Crampton house first, and was directed to Marlborough Mills. He is name is Dennis, Mr. Dennis of Oxford, an attorney." She waved a white card in her hand a little randomly. "He said he came about the will. Should I let him in?"

Margaret stirred in John's arms as she heard that. Releasing her reluctantly, Thornton told Martha to bring the man to his study. He hoped, mostly for Margaret's sake, that there was a small chance of recovery some of the losses, but it was very strange that an attorney would come all this way from Oxford on the business concerning such a measly inheritance. Mr. Hale had very little indeed. The eighty five or even one hundred and seventy pounds a year which was the most his wife could receive from her poor father, certainly did not justify such ceremony. A letter, with enclosed documents, would have been quite sufficient. If the man came all this way, something else must have been the matter, and Thornton was not a man to expect anything good at this particular moment.

Yet Margaret was convinced that the Oxford attorney must have brought the illusive will of her father, the one that they could not find so far. Thornton smiled and shook his head, to Margaret's vexation.

"Oh, John, you of little faith! You remember how we spoke just the other day about a lawyer who would just walk through the door, bringing the will? Well, he did, exactly as you said it would be, just in time to save us!"

Thornton's reply was prevented by the steps outside of the door, as Martha announced their visitor. Mr. Dennis was a short, balding, sanguine man with intelligent pale eyes.

"My dear madam, I am so glad to have finally found you. I hope you are in good health," he said in a surprisingly high voice.

"Yes, thank you."

"Am I having a pleasure to address Miss Margaret Hale, the daughter of the late Reverend Richard Hale (I am very sorry, I am sure), formerly of Helstone?"

"Yes. Or, rather, I was. I no longer bear that name. Permit me to introduce you to my husband. Mr. John Thornton."

"Please to meet you, sir, Dennis, Thomas Dennis, of Oxford. But this changes everything! You are married! Forgive me, it is quite unexpected. Would you take it as an offence if I may ask for any legal document for this purpose? This does quite change things and one cannot be too conscientious."

"Why... certainly," muttered an astonished Margaret who looked to her husband for support. He walked to his bureau to retrieve the marriage certificate.

The man examined the papers carefully, holding them close to his snub nose, and nodding occasionally as he followed the details.

"My dear lady! You have married last Thursday! I do congratulate you. However, since you are not yet one and twenty, I have a pleasure to tell you that I need not trouble you any further. Your husband necessarily becomes the side with whom I must deal. I am glad to say that Mr. Thornton and I can spare you the burden of legal details and paperwork."

Margaret was taken aback with this dismissal, and appeared not to know whether to laugh or to get insulted.

"My wife will stay, if she wishes so," cut in Thornton, amused despite himself. Mr. Dennis blinked at him owlishly:

"But as her husband you are the sole beneficiary of any will concerning her!"

"Yet it is not compromising your duties in any particulars if she does stay. She has a perfect right to hear the will that concerns her."

"If you insist. I would like to register your desire to conduct the business in this way."

"Certainly. In fact, if you do not mind I shall invite my attorney who is now just next door?" The attorney blinked, frowning, but did not object. Thornton rang a bell, and Martha re-appeared in a few moments.

"Martha, please send for Mr. Kelly from the mill office."

"Um… Sir, forgive me, Mr. Kelly is not in the mill office, he is waiting for you in the dining room. He wants you to sign some documents or other."

"Well, all for the best. Call him in, then."

Martha curtsied and disappeared from the study. The silence stretched out in the room with the two men studying each other carefully. Fortunately, in no time at all Martha announced a tall, slightly hunched man who had been Thornton's lawyer for many years.

"Ah, Mr. Kelly, thank you for joining us. We will address your documents a little later, at the moment we need you in your professional capacity for a new matter. Mr. Dennis, this is your colleague and my legal adviser, Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly. Mr. Dennis was so kind as to come all the way from Oxford to deliver a will concerning Mrs. John Thornton. Would you be so kind as to assist Mr. Dennis in his task?"

Mr. Kelly's small beady eyes moved from one face to another, without showing any emotion, though his glance became somewhat sharper at the mention of a will. He nodded curtly.

"Mr. Dennis, "continued Thornton, feeling obliged to dispel the earlier awkwardness, "we are certainly glad you came today. We could not discover Mr. Hale's will and my wife has been quite distressed about it."

"Mr. Hale's will? I am sorry, I know nothing about it."

Thornton and Margaret exchanged a quick glance.

"What will are you talking about, then?"

"Why, the will of Mr. Bell, of course. He charged me to prepare and sign it in his very last days."

"Mr. Bell is dead?" cried Margaret hoarsely.

"Yes, my dear lady, I am sorry, did you not receive the letter from his doctor? Mr. Bell fell unconscious the very evening after making his will and expired before the next sunrise. He was buried on Friday, so I took upon myself to come in person, to insure that the last will of my client is served in the most expedited way."

"Mr. Bell is dead!" Repeated Margaret, still quite shocked.

"Yes, it was mentioned in the letter that he was very weak," mused Thornton, "yet he died so soon!"

Margaret's eyes filled with tears and she struggled to hold them back. John stepped forward as to shield her behind him from the two men of the law.

"Will you excuse us for a moment? I am sure Mr. Kelly will be more than happy assist you with your task."

Kelly spared him another one of his sharp impassive glances; neither of the attorneys offered any objections, however. Thornton gave a perfunctory nod at the complaisant attorney and pulled Margaret out of the room, as the two men of law bent their heads over the papers spread upon the bureau.

No matter how grave was the financial situation; the shock of another loss was likely more than Margaret could bear at the moment. John gently held her to him. She leaned into his support gratefully, pressing her face to his shoulder, but restrained her grief and shock. The good doctor was right, she was remarkably strong indeed.

"Margaret?" John asked in a little while, "Did you know him well? Mr. Bell, I mean?"

Margaret just stood there for a moment in troubled contemplation. The curve of her mouth had changed as she had distractedly bitten the inner side of her bottom lip in her attempt to remember everything she could about Mr. Bell.

"No, not well. You were probably closer to him than I ever was. I knew him to be my godfather, and Father had always read to me the parts of his letters where he asked to be remembered by me. Yes, and an occasional Christmas present, I was so looking forward every year for a little package from Oxford when I was just a young girl."

She impatiently brushed away the unbidden tear, "He was very kind to me the last time he came, just after Mother passed away. He treated me with almost paternal affection. I remembered very little of him from before that. As far as I am aware, the last time I saw him when I was eight, it was the same summer when Frederick had gone on that wretched voyage. Now that I think of it, he was indeed very fond of us both, though I was too young to fully appreciate his kindness then. I only saw a gruff old man whose jests I did not understand."

"Did he ever mention that he was going to leave you something?"

"No, I certainly did not expect it. He was my godfather, though, and as far as I know he did not have any other family, and this is probably why he decided to mention me in his will. However big or small is this portion, I will be always grateful to him. Oh, why did he have to go, too! You see... there are too many deaths. The closest friends and the near strangers. Mother and Father, Bessy and unhappy Boucher, and his poor wife. I have not known half as many deaths in my whole life as I have seen in the last year. And now this last straw, Mr Bell, so kind, so learned, so eccentric, such a friend of my father..." she was trembling slightly, not so much in weakness but rather as a string under too much tension.

John did not know what to say. He stroked her hair, whispering to her a broken mixture of words of his love and words from the scripture of resignation and eternal consolation, until the sound of movement of the chairs in the study reminded them that they are needed back in the study. Their duties once again, as so often in the last few days, required them to postpone any mutual comfort and solace. They returned to find the two attorneys prepared for the disclosure of the will.

"Ah, yes, are we ready for the reading?" asked Mr. Dennis jovially.

"Yes. I have to say, it was kind of Mr. Bell to leave something to his god daughter, even if it is a mere token."

Mr. Dennis raised his scarce eyebrows and cleared his throat.

"This is the Last will and Testament..." he started in a voice more suitable for a court-room rather than a small study; and as he read the will, the young couple's astonishment grew with every sentence he uttered. The vast property in Milton, house in Oxford, accounts in the banks, shares in various business ventures... Mr. Dennis stumbled in his reading several times, mispronouncing unfamiliar places. The size of the inheritance was stunning. They came to realize that entire fortune of Mr. Bell was left to Margaret. She was too shocked to express emotion at that moment.

She opened her lips as if wishing to speak, but did not utter a word. Thornton took her hand and pressed it warmly. She tried again. "I am quite surprised... I had never expected that it will be so much, nor to be the only heir... There is my brother; he is his godson too... He only knew me when I was so little..." she uttered tonelessly.

"I must say, I was there when Mr. Bell dictated his will, there is no doubt that he wished you to be his only heir," said Mr. Dennis.

"It was kind of him, and it pains me to think that it was his death that brought us this fortune," stammered Margaret.

"Well, well, I do hope that you will find a comfort in your grief. Forgive me for troubling you with such matters in this delicate time, but I would like to complete the legal issues as soon as possible, I do wish to get on the afternoon train to Oxford."

Margaret nodded distractedly, her eyes on Thornton's face, some thought working its way to her lips…

"John!" She gasped, "The mills are saved! But is there enough time to stop the closure?"

Thornton could not answer just then. His heart was swelling with a sudden hope he was afraid to trust, and fighting against a tide of hot shame. It was not one torrent of shame, but many, assaulting him from everywhere; the shame of being once again saved by Margaret's generous love, the shame of benefiting by the death of an old friend. The shame of being so elated at the chance of keeping his life's work – only a few hours after avowing to himself to be content with a modest position of employee. And yet, and yet, Margaret was right, the mills were saved!

She continued to frown slightly, "But is there enough time? How long would it take to come into full rights of inheritance?"

Mr. Dennis assured them that between him and Mr. Kelly they should be able to complete the legalities in no time at all. He was sure that his sadly departed client would like Mr. Thornton to come into his rights as soon as possible.

"Surely he meant Mrs. Thornton?" asked Thornton a little testily.

"Um, yes, of course, though he did mention after dictating the will that 'Thornton will be glad of this little nest egg'. Of course I had no idea what he meant at that time."

"He mentioned my name?"

"Yes, certainly, I suppose he had expected the marriage,"

"He did?"

"I believe so; why else would he say something like that? Was it supposed to be a surprise for him?"

"No... But looks like the entire world knew about it and neglected to tell us."

Margaret smiled weakly at that. He looked at her thoughtfully. He was so humbled and stunned by the magnitude of the fortune his wife brought to him, he hesitated to explore the new avenues of opportunity that opened in front of him. Not in the lest because he was feeling undeserving of it, deep inside understanding that this tremendous fortune was not his, but belonged to Margaret, Margaret, who according to the law had no say in how it was managed. It was not right.

"This inheritance...The money...' He said haltingly, "Can it be settled on my wife? It is her inheritance, after all."

"The entire fortune? It would be quite irregular. A respectable sum, perhaps, as to ensure some independence in any unforeseen circumstances, but not all the assets, surely."

"My dear, I think Mr. Dennis is quite right. You certainly need the land ownership and enough funds to run business. You promised to accept it."

"Did I? As far as I remember I only agreed to use your father's money if or when you receive that portion. Not Mr. Bell's. It is yours, will be settled on you to use as you wish."

"Well, it is a lot of money. I certainly would wish to invest it in a promising business so that it will bring some profit." she said musingly

"Yes." said Thornton seriously, "That is exactly what I want, for you to be mistress of your own money and invest it as you see fit."

"And you will not tell me where? You would not ask on behalf of Marlborough Mills?"

"No, though of course Marlborough mills would be glad of investment."

"But you would not ask for it? Not even if I chose to invest it in Mr. Watson's speculation?"

"It is your money."

"You think I wouldn't do that?"

"Yes. I think you wouldn't."

"You know me so well."

"Yes, I do. I do know you well. And no, my vanity does not deceive me: it's not for my sake that I think you will invest in Marlborough Mills. As much as it would flatter me, it would be for the sake of all the people for whom you care. All those you would not want to lose their livelihoods."

"You are right of course, but you are the one I care for the most. I want the money to be useful. I want it to work for us and the people of the mills. I want to invest it with the best businessman I know, with an impeccable reputation."

"A loan, then," said Thornton, addressing to the two lawyers who were listening intently, Mr. Dennis in disbelief, Mr. Kelly restrained excitement. "And no less that ten thousand settled on my wife, probably the bonds that you mentioned," he turned to Margaret in the same brisk manner he was accustomed talking to his peers: "It is a good, solid investment; I do not think that it is wise to sell it. And even then settlement money can still be used, but it will be yours all the same. It is all yours."

The four of them spent an hour or two, making the arrangements, debating clauses and discussing the allocation of the funds for the greatest benefit. Dennis seemed quite astonished at the manner in which the young couple were using in speaking about money; without shyness or hesitation, in a plain, practical, almost mercenary manner. He did not say anything about it but by and by seemed to accept that he was dealing with two partners and not a man and his wife who was permitted to be present for her comfort.

By the time they finished signing all the papers, it was time for luncheon. Mr. Kelly went to see Williams as soon as all his papers were properly signed. Dennis was invited to take some refreshments, but he declined, saying that he was to return to Oxford with the next train in order to be back in time for dinner with his family.

They said their farewells and saw him to the door. As the door closed behind their unexpected visitor they without a word moved to embrace, holding each other, seeking in their very closeness for the answers that this change meant to them.

"This morning, when you came to my study, I thought... I thought that you were all that was left in my life, and was astonished to find myself content. I was expecting to live a humble life, earning the living for my family as an employee of another, without the responsibility of a manufacturer. And this new life seemed attractive: serene, happy with you, to become a man so different from what I was all my life, and I even wondered if that was – me. Now... I do not know how to feel yet."

Margaret came closer to him, putting her arms around his neck, knowing full well what this pose meant to him ever since that unfortunate riot day, and looked deep into his eyes.

"No." she said firmly, "That man of whom you were thinking, the man who is tied to the skirts of his wife, who has no life's ambition and who does no good to himself and others – I do not know him. I fell in love with a trader. With this stubborn, driven, honest and enterprising trader, a Master in the best sense that is possible on this Earth for one mortal man to be a Master of another. There are many admirable men who can lead a modest, unassuming life, and do many good things in their path. You are not one of them. You carry the torch that guides others, and you must not drop it. Many people depend on you being exactly what you are: your workers need their good and fair Master, other traders need the best example in the industry, your mother and I, and we both need you as you, as the strong man you always were."

At this moment they realized that Mrs. Thornton has not yet been told about any of this, and so far was unaware of the great change in their fortune. With some embarrassment for keeping her waiting and worrying for several unnecessary hours, they hurried to the dining room to rectify the situation.

Mrs. Thornton rose from her usual chair to greet them, her stern face taut and closed to keep her own worries from troubling her son.

"John! Luncheon will be brought momentarily. The carts are not yet back from Crampton, and I admit, I postponed talking to the servants about dismissal before all would be gathered. Did you write to Mr. Bell about the rent on the house?"

"Mother... It has all changed. I am sorry you were left ignorant for so long. I should have found a moment to tell you. There is no need to dismiss the servants or write to Mr. Bell – well, never again, I am sorry to say."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Thornton severe brow contracted in confusion

"I do apologise. Mother, so many things happened in the last few hours, it is hard to explain everything in one breath. Margaret? No, I will try to explain myself. Yes... Mr. Bell. No, I did not write. I am afraid, I will never do now. You remember the last letter from Mr. Bell? How poorly he was?"

"Yes, of course."

"He has passed away."

"When?"

"Last week. We just learned about it."

"No! Mr. Bell is dead?"

"I am afraid so."

"But what now? What about the rent agreement?"

"I was coming to that, I apologize for confusing you. Mr. Bell had appointed Margaret as his only heiress. A lawyer from Oxford came this morning to read his will. The old gentleman left everything to his goddaughter."

Hannah Thornton's eyes rounded in astonishment, travelling from Margaret's face to her son's; struggling to understand the news in full.

"Sole heiress? But it must be thousands!"

"The inheritance is more than just money, though yes, there is nearly forty thousand. And the land in town and outside of it, and the mill itself, and this house, and some other property in Milton and Oxford."

"It cannot be... Margaret? You have inherited all that?"

The younger woman came to her side, her mild, serious eyes attesting to the truth of the communication. "Yes, Mrs. Thornton, in fact, as I am married and not yet of age, my husband has inherited everything in my name."

"Only in trust, Margaret. Only in trust. My pride can give in only so far."

Margaret smiled at him almost indulgently, both pleased and proud. She did not have time to reply before the older Mrs. Thornton, who seemed to be still at shock at the news, cut in tremulously:

"John... Margaret... I can hardly believe it... everything? We are not ruined?"

"Yes, Mother, the mills will not close now. All will be well." But his mother was still wrestling with some questions in her mind. She turned to her daughter in law, and asked bluntly:

"Margaret, do you still want to invest your inheritance in my son's mills?" Margaret suppressed a smile, seeing that the older woman is genuinely perturbed.

"To my husband's mills, certainly. I would not wish all the suffering that a closure will cause. I wish as much that the mills would continue to run as John does."

"Then he is still a master? We're not to give up the house?" Mrs. Thornton repeated, in a desperate need to reassure herself of the reality of it.

"No, Mother, we now own the house, we do not need to move ever again, unless we want to. And now we own both the mill and the house. I will not be the master, I will be the owner," Thornton said, an almost childish wonder creeping in his voice, as he pronounced his new status.

"Owner..." Mrs. Thornton marvelled aloud, and it looked like years of care were melting away from her stern face. "I never dared to dream you would become an owner... But" she said, as a new fear occurred to her scrupulously honest mind, "wouldn't Margaret want to sell it all and move back south? It is her inheritance, after all."

"No, Mrs. Thornton," said Margaret, blushing crimson. "Milton is my home. I do not wish to go away and would not think of John abandoning his mills. They will run again, better than ever before."

"Yes..." thought Thornton aloud, "They will run again. Not at full capacity, though, and not for long. It is easier to shut down than to reopen. We were running at half capacity for the last few weeks, and today two more rooms were shut down. To reopen them, we need time and people, and not the least, new orders. Luckily, I have not yet completed the sale of the machinery, and a very good thing it is, the new ones I so recently purchased that drove me into debt have not yet been properly installed! But some of the sales – I gave my word already. Most of the cotton in the large warehouse will go to Brown as I promised him two days ago. He is an honest man. He offered me a fair price when he knew he could have squeezed me as hard as he wished. I will not go back on my word to him."

"No, I can see that. So the mill has to close anyway?"

"Not quite. There is still enough of the last shipment to run the muslin order – I did not yet have the time to cancel it, I was going to send a letter to Graham this morning, and now I am glad I never did it. But in three weeks or so we will have to stop. Now we can afford it, even benefit from it. The new machines will be at long last moved in the weaving room, and the new wheel installed. I am quite sure that most of the experienced workers we can keep occupied during this time: we will need as many hands for refitting as for the regular run. I expect it will be quite busy in a few weeks. And for me – I will have a very busy few days with all the papers and orders. And then..." He looked at Margaret, thoughtfully, as a new idea came into his mind.

"We will need many new orders. I tried to drum up some in Havre a fortnight ago, and was not successful, mainly because I did not have resources and capacity for what the clients had in mind. But now... I think I can approach one or two of them for a profitable agreement. As soon as Graham's order is set in works, I will go to the continent, probably travelling further than Havre. Margaret? We never thought about a honeymoon, and a business travel would not likely qualify as one, but would you like to come with me? I was thinking to extend it a little south, maybe as far as Cadiz? I am sure some of our new cambrics that the new machines are capable of producing might do very well over there."

"My dear, you are planning for the pleasures that our new fortunes will bring before we have even received the first penny," said Margaret, but John could see how pleased she was with this idea.

"You are right, of course. We need to stop all sales of the cotton and machines that we can as soon as possible, and take care of the debts. It is not too late... Latimer said I have until today. I will go see him right away. We may have suddenly become rich, but our pockets are just as empty as they were this morning."

He walked out of the front door in to the clamour of the mill yard, and had to shade his eyes with his hand from the sudden brightness of the April sun. The clouds of the morning almost cleared and the harsh sun rays flooded the yard with merciless, joyful abundance, showing to the world every crack, every blemish and every courageous blade of grass that somehow managed to grow between paving stones of the busy street. Thornton moved guided by a long habit, unconsciously threading his way to the bank. He had to admit t himself, that he was shocked. Perhaps this windfall was the proverbial last straw. Margaret! He always knew that she had a power to change his life, but he never imagined anything like this. After weeks of anticipating a disaster, - loss of a friend, - Margaret! She came into his life and made him happier than ever before. And when he lost his money, his position, - and once again, she made him richer than he ever dreamed. So many things happened in so few days, few men would not be shaken by such a storm.

He was no stranger to either luxury or poverty. He never knew any want before he was sixteen, when his father died, when he was torn from the school to become the only support of the family. For years they lived in most abject poverty that had worn his mother with care and took the life of his infant sister, born only weeks after her father died. He had to work out of town as a drapers assistant, saving every penny to pay his father's debts, to restore the family name and eventually, after a brilliant career from clerk to partner, finally to become a master himself. But his rise did not last. He spent the last six years on building his fortune, only to see it crumble. Mr. Bell asked him once, "When are you planning to live?" He did not understand the question then. The only happiness he ever wanted for himself was Margaret. She healed his soul, she taught him the joy of life and now – she brought him wealth and position greater than he could earn himself.

Thornton shook off his reverie to notice the streets and buildings he was passing. Once again he was struck by a thought that many of those now belonged to him, leased, certainly, but still his. Bell's father was a squire, not rich then, but he owned a large piece of rather unproductive land on the bank of the river, with a small sleepy town of Milton just at the border of his property. When cotton manufacturing boomed in Milton, other land owners greedily rushed to make fortunes on real estate speculations. Suddenly there were many fools who were prepared to pay exorbitant prices for the land. Yet later on those fools made fortunes and became the most respected owners of the mills. Others, who hadn't managed to buy the land in time, could only lease land and buildings, like Thornton did himself, or move into further and further suburbs. But Bell never sold an inch of his land and now owned what was more than half of Milton proper. The estate itself happened to be remarkably well situated, right by the roads to Liverpool, London and Manchester, close to the railroad and river. And now it was all his. Thornton moved his eyes from building to building, wanting to touch them to believe their reality, feeling the rush of exhilaration akin to the one he experienced when he walked in his mill for the very first time.

People passed him, glancing furtively and then hiding their eyes. The rumours about Bell's inheritance had not yet spread. So far Williams and Kelly were the only two men outside of the house who knew about the change in his fortune, and they were not the type of men to wag their tongues. To the people in the street he was still the one who had fallen, an object of compassion at the best, for those who could spare it. Greetings were noticeably curter, bows shallower. Thornton took a deep breath and grinned happily.

He ran up the granite steps of the bank entrance with new vigour. The jittery happiness was beginning to seep into his heart. The weight he was carrying on his shoulders all this time was miraculously lifted and the world unfurled bright and untroubled in front of him.

The banker was waiting for him. For once, Thornton found that he did not have any words to introduce the subject. It was his habit to mentally prepare for every business meeting, thinking ahead of every interview, so that the main points of the business would be clear in his own mind and could be introduced to his fellow businessmen as concisely as possible. But now his mind was blissfully blank. Where could he possibly start?

Latimer seemed to feel awkward at the prolonged silence that filled the space between himself and his client. He was not a cruel man, and wished to show some consideration to someone who was, to all he knew, bankrupt.

"Thornton, I spoke to Slickson this morning, he wanted to buy some of your new mulls that are still in the warehouse. Are you interested?" He said, breaking the silence.

"Thank you, no. I will not be selling any machinery."

"Have you got another buyer? Slickson wants to pay upfront, before you even close the mill."

"There has been some change in plans, Mr. Latimer, I am not closing the mill." said Thornton, still trying to find words for the news.

"Look, Thornton, I understand your difficulty. I would love to extend the loan, but the timing is wrong. All the dividends and rent payments are due this week. I myself was supposed to pay Bell more than twenty pounds for the rent on this building," he said with the air of being put upon. "And now he is dead. Who knows what will happen to all the renters and debtors? After Bell's death and with the change of hands of most Milton properties and bank accounts we can expect inspections every day. Whenever the new heirs come into ownership, they would want all their money on the table."

"I have."

"Pardon?"

"I have walked in. I am, in fact, the new owner. Mr. Bell left all his possessions to his goddaughter, my wife," said Thornton, striving to keep his voice impassive. Mr. Latimer blinked twice, struggling to understand what he was hearing.

"You… your wife… heirs of Mr. Bell? All of his possessions?"

"Yes. My attorney is finalizing the details of the inheritance as we speak. I will not have any difficulty meeting my obligations; therefore there will be no reason to close the doors of the mill.

Did you say you owe me over twenty pounds?" Thornton permitted himself a tight smile.

Mr. Latimer made an admirable effort to change his facial expression from the scowl at the insolvent debtor to the welcoming smile greeting his new richest client. But Thornton looked away, over the head of the banker; beyond the panes of the window, toward the smokestacks of Milton – somewhere just below the tallest ones, in the house that was now their own, Margaret was waiting for him.

And over the din of the voices in the street, the hearts of the mills were beating on.

The End

Ha. Its done. It took a much longer time than I anticipated, and without help of incredible Liz and cheering on of many commenters I would have never finished art all. Al too often when the real life made me forget all about this story, some new reader would pop up and say something nice, and this would make me ashamed of myself and kick my butt on the gear. Thank you all. Also, if any among you are selfless, literate and slightly masochistic people who would not mind helping out with beta reading (and ease the burden that Liz bears so uncomplainingly despite the demands of her life), I would appreciate that a lot, juts PM me, please.