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Mr. Bell’s face contorted in utter confusion. “And what has Thornton to do with this?”
She twisted and pulled the handkerchief in her hands. “He was the magistrate looking into Leonards’ death. He died later, you see—albeit from some terrible condition within him already.”
Mr. Bell studied her drooping posture and downcast gaze with growing suspicion of the true ailment.
“I did not tell you all,” she began, keeping her focus on her hands. “Mr. Thornton was at the station that night. Well, rather, he happened by on horseback as Frederick and I were waiting for the train—before Leonards confronted Frederick.” She looked up at her godfather to see his brow still furrowed.
“Mr. Thornton saw me there…at the station,” she explained. “But I told the police I was not there.”
“Ah! I see…” Mr. Bell exclaimed with a nod, finally comprehending.
“I doubt I shall ever see Mr. Thornton again… and it troubles me to imagine what he must think of me.”
Mr. Bell shook his head at her dramatic statement, ever more certain of the nature of her distress.
“Perhaps you could explain why I lied…the next time you see him…?” she asked hopefully.
“And once I’ve explained the circumstances to him, you can forget ever crossing paths with him and start your life anew,” he suggested with vigor, clasping his hands together.
Her face fell, and she became quiet. “Yes, I suppose,” she answered in a weak voice, her expression devoid of any vibrancy of life.
“Then I shall carry out my duty in that regard, so there is nothing left for you to concern yourself about. Now then, is that all? Or must I also tell Mrs. Thornton that you request to know the pattern of her draperies?”
Margaret laughed merrily at his jest. “Or the name of her dressmaker!” she added.
He grinned, pleased to have broken through her dreariness. Standing up, he offered her his arm again to continue their walk.
Returning to the inn that afternoon, they ate another meal of strawberries and cream with some fresh brown bread before packing their bags to return to London.
Mrs. Purvis gave Margaret an affectionate goodbye. “You must come and visit again, dear,” she said, handing her a sack of sundry baked goods for their journey home.
The travelers were mostly silent as the train carried them toward the city, each absorbed in pondering the unrelenting passage of time and its inevitable changes with a strain of melancholy.
Once they arrived at Harley Street, Edith insisted Mr. Bell should stay with them again that evening, but he declined, proclaiming himself a cantankerous old codger who was accustomed to a solitary existence.
At their parting in the mirrored foyer, Margaret clung to her godfather with a fervor that warmed his soul. As she released him, he studied her face, struck by the hopeless desperation etched upon it, as of one resigned to an ill-fated future.
He wished her goodbye, making promises he wasn’t certain he would keep, but God bless this angel in her distress! His heart twisted to see her suffering.
As the cab jerked forward and rumbled to the station, Mr. Bell could not forget those last moments with Margaret. Her sadness haunted him. All the details of her anxious confession of guilt swept over him again.
By the time he stepped out of the cab at the bustling station, he knew what he must do. He grabbed his portmanteau and headed straight for the ticketmaster. Instead of heading home to Oxford, he would go to Milton—to try to settle things for her once and for all.
Mr. Bell stared at the soot-stained sky as the train approached Milton. It always amazed him every time he approached his native town to see how much the rise of factory-building over the decades had altered what was once little more than a busy village with orchards
Was all this change for the better, he often wondered, or was he merely an old curmudgeon who dwelled in the past? The crowded tenements, the smoke and strife that manufacturing brought had no appeal for him. He could scarcely wish for Margaret to live in such a place permanently. But it was something only she could decide.
The long ride north had given him plenty of time to consider the far-reaching effects of what he was up to. It amused him to play a part in this romantic drama. Nothing would please him more than to satisfy a curiosity that he had harbored long before. He had once asked Hale if he had noticed a tendresse between Thornton and his daughter. But Richard had dismissed it out of hand.
Now here he was on a mission to discover if there truly was a love affair between this unlikely pair—mill master and union sympathizer. The more he thought about it, the more his fascination with the idea grew and received his approval.
There was a fire in Margaret that was slowly dying in her perfectly pleasant surroundings. He couldn't stand the notion of her becoming little more than her cousin's nursemaid. Margaret needed something to fight for, something to energize her with a higher purpose. He believed Thornton admired the girl for her gumption and would keep her fire alight. Perhaps that was the very thing the town needed.
He chuckled to himself at the thought of Mrs. Thornton—the old stick in the mud—having a daughter-in-law as unmanageable and full of spunk as Margaret.
Well, well. He should not get ahead of himself in his imagination. There was no certainty in dealing with lovers’ emotions. And he had not yet determined for certain whether Thornton had feelings for Margaret. This is what he must find out, for if that confirmed bachelor did indeed care for his goddaughter, he believed she would accept him as her husband.
Mr. Bell made his way to the Clarendon Hotel. His limbs were weary and his stomach was empty. What he needed right now was a good dinner and a comfortable bed. All this weary travelling had made him crotchety. It would not do any good to speak to Thornton today. Tomorrow was soon enough.
