The girl raised her head, clutching her faded shawl close about her. A look of confusion melted into a measure of amazement as she recognized the lady speaking to her.
“If you remember me, I’m Margaret Hale,” the newcomer to Milton said, a little out of breath from her haste.
“Yes, I remember,” Bessy returned. A man twice her age, wearing the loose-fitting clothes and cap of a working man, sidled up and took her arm. “This is my father,” she explained.
“Hello, I’m Margaret Hale. I met your daughter a few weeks ago at Marlborough Mills. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” she said, directing her apology to the girl.
“The name’s Nicholas Higgins,” the man replied. “This is Bessy.” Father and daughter exchanged a knowing glance. “Yo’ must be the newcomer who took a tour through Thornton’s mill. Bess told me as much.”
“I am new to Milton, yes. Do you also work at Marlborough Mills?” Margaret asked.
“Father works at Hamper’s. And so happens today is to be my last day at Thornton’s. Father’s worried about my health and says I’m too sick to work anymore,” Bessy said.
“Oh, but you will recover, surely,” Margaret returned hopefully.
Bessy shook her head. “There’s too much fluff in me lungs,” she said and began coughing as if to verify this assessment. Her father laid a gentle hand on her back until she stopped her coughing.
“Please, if you’ll tell me where you live, I could visit you,” Margaret pleaded.
Mr. Higgins cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “For what purpose? To drop your pity upon us and give my daughter false hope?”
“I meant no disrespect. I thought I might bring a basket—“
“We care for our own here,” he interrupted.
Bessy glanced at her father with cautious pleading.
“We live two doors north of the Goulden Dragon, in the Princeton district,” he conceded. “And whereabouts doyoulive?“ he asked with a rebellious twist of a smile.
“Why, we live at the end of Stoughton Road in Crampton,” Margaret replied, a little taken aback at his boldness.
“I’ll not ask to visit yo’, but yo’ may come visit my Bess if yo’ like,” he answered.
Bessy gave Margaret a hopeful look as her father took her arm and led them towards their home.
Perplexed, Margaret watched them for a moment before turning to follow the path toward her own home.
A few days later, Margaret wound her way through the dingy and cluttered alleyways that constituted the byways of the Princeton District. She had learned since her meeting with Bessy and Mr. Higgins that this area of Milton was where many of the mill workers lived.
Children in ragged clothing, some with bare feet, crouched against walls and over sodden alleys to play jacks or marbles. Others with long faces were washing laundry. A small girl with a dirt-streaked face held her hand out expectantly as Margaret approached her. Margaret hesitated, calculating that to offer a coin would cause a rush of requests.
She hurried past, saddened by the sight. Aunt Shaw would be appalled to know Margaret walked into such areas of town alone. Edith would have been horrified.
The Goulden Dragon was a squalled pub, marked only by a painted image on a wooden sign. Counting the doors from the pub, she knocked on the door she hoped was Bessy’s. Another girl of about the same age as Bessy, this one with darker hair and a bigger frame, answered.
“I’m sorry, I was looking for Bessy Higgins?” Margaret inquired.
The girl said nothing, only bowed her head in deference and held the door open for Margaret to step in.
“Yo’ve come! Father said yo’ wouldn’t,” Bessy declared, rising from a straw mattress on a simple wooden frame placed near the kitchen.
Through the darkness inside the dwelling, Margaret saw Bessy’s face alight with wonder.
“I brought a few gifts. I hope it will not offend,” Margaret said, setting a basket on a table near the open hearth.
“Don’t mind Father. His mind is full of the battle set between men of means and those with little,” Bessy said as the other girl began taking the items out of the basket and storing them.
“This here is my sister Mary. She doesn’t talk much, but she’s a good lass,” Bessy said.
