The distress of humiliation sent her sensibilities into disarray.
“I mustn’t stay here,” she said, this time more determined to rise.
“Oh no, no!” Fanny fluttered in a panic before catching sight of her mother, who was returning. “Mother, Miss Hale is trying to leave!”
The stern widow came quickly to the sofa. “Miss Hale, you are in no state to leave just yet. I’ve sent a boy to get the doctor. You must wait and let him examine you.”
“Here he comes now,” Jane announced, because she was looking out the window.
Margaret relented and lay down. Her head was reeling from the effort of sitting up.
“My goodness,” said Dr. Donaldson, as he strode to his patient. “I did not mean to send you off into danger when I sent you to get that water bed.”
“You sent her here?” Mrs. Thornton asked, her brow contracted in confusion.
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, taking a seat on the chair Jane brought over. He began checking his patient. “I told her she might borrow your water bed—for her mother.”
“My dear, you have taken quite a bump,” he said to Margaret. “But it looks worse than it truly is,” he announced. “Here now, sit up just a little to see how you’re feeling.”
She did so. After determining that she was not nauseous and could see clearly, Dr. Donaldson was satisfied that she would recover well and that she should rest but not sleep for several hours.
Mrs. Thornton was relieved. “There is a spare bedroom upstairs—“
“I cannot stay here,” Margaret repeated, a panic rising in her to get away.
“You must stay and rest as the doctor says,” Mrs. Thornton insisted with a matter-of-fact tone.
Margaret turned to Dr. Donaldson with desperation in her eyes. “You know I cannot stay here. I don’t wish to worry my mother. I believe I can walk home,” she said, standing up to prove it. The doctor steadied her wobbly stance.
“Certainly not,” Mrs. Thornton was adamant.
Dr. Donaldson spoke up. “I can help her get home in a cab. She’s right about her mother. It will do no good to trouble Mrs. Hale in her present state.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Thornton replied with great misgivings, although she was secretly glad to be rid of the girl. She had certainly stirred up great trouble for her son of late.
Margaret breathed deeply once seated in the cab, away from that house—away from all that suffocating reproach. The outside air helped to clear her head, although she wondered if what had happened was not just a horrible dream.
As she rode along, she could not stop thinking of those brief moments when she was pressed so closely against Mr.Thornton’s chest that she could feel his strong heartbeat. And when he had shouted—she did not know what he had said—the vibration of his voice pulsed through his chest and into her own body. He had smelled of wool and smoke.
His arm had pressed her closer. And she had never felt so safe.
Chapter twenty-seven
Mr. Thornton stared out the window, past the policeman whose words flowed over him. Had it all really happened? Mere minutes ago, the yard had been a scene of deadly peril and commotion. In that dusty spot over there—she had broken free from those half-crazed men and rushed into his arms. She had clung to him, her arms wrapped around him tightly.
In the pulsing fear of those moments, he had not wholly recognized the enormity of her embrace. He felt it now—relived it constantly—could think of nothing else. Her soft form had pressed willingly against him. His whole body now ached to feel her in his arms again.
“Mr. Thornton?” the police officer prompted, aware that the mill owner was distracted. He allowed it was understandable even a man like Mr. Thornton might be dazed from his brush with such a violent uprising. “I asked if you knew the names of the men who held Miss Hale captive?”
The Master shook his head, returning his attention to the matter at hand. “I’m not one to know the hands by name,” he answered, receiving a nod in return.
He would press charges against the aggressors who had the gall to treat her ill—if they could be named. Anger and the touch of fear rose in him every time he thought of what might have happened to her.
In her fear, she had rushed to him—tohim—for protection. She would find no safer place. He would give his very life to keep her safe.
It took tremendous self-control to remain where he was when every fiber of his being wanted to rush back home to Miss Hale, to be certain she was recovering well. But he must finish his business with the police and take himself to check on his Irish, who were still cowering from the threat of the mob.
He forced himself to talk calmly but firmly with the poor frightened Irish, telling them they would be safe now. He sent for Father Grady to help. Many of the women were crying to be sent back, and he had half a mind to do so. Perhaps causing this riot would be their true usefulness to him, despite all the trouble and cost of bringing them. For now, the strike would surely be over. They had shown themselves to be animals, and could no longer sway public opinion.
