Not a Gentleman (North and South Fanfic)

Chapter Four: The Wolf

Margaret awoke about two hours later to a parched throat and the greatest hunger she had ever experienced. It had been a good twenty-four hours since she'd eaten, she realized, a span of time in which she'd never gone without food before. She quieted her thoughts for a moment, allowing herself to fully experience the twin sensations of thirst and hunger, and then considered that the hunger pangs she felt were insignificant compared to those experienced by the Boucher children. How spoiled was she that twenty-four hours was the longest fast of her life! And how those poor children were still suffering, particularly the youngest, who had no words to express their pain. They had gone for weeks subsisting on little more than porridge that was more water than oatmeal. Hopefully the mill would be back in operation soon, so that their father could retake his place at the loom. She would need to ask Mr. Thornton about him.

Margaret turned her head and noticed that Mrs. Thornton was no longer seated in the wing chair next to the bed. The parlor maid, Jane, had taken her place and was peering at Margaret will rapt fascination. She blushed and looked away as soon as Margaret engaged her eyes with her own.

Margaret carefully sat up in the bed, and smiled slightly in relief as she realized that the sudden movement had not set the room spinning. She noted, too, that she could also see clearly once again, and that the bright morning light did not sting.

"Jane," she asked softly. "Could you direct me to my clothes? I would very much like to get dressed."

"Miss Margaret," Jane whispered, "that won't be possible just yet. The master is sleeping, and the mistress has asked that we not awaken him."

Margaret turned and realized that to her left, sprawled in a most uncomfortable-looking position was Mr. Thornton, fast asleep in the under-sized, straight-backed chair in which he had sat all night. His upper back was slumped against the slats and his head was tilted back to rest against the wall, his mouth slightly open. His legs, so long and gangly, jutted out at odd angles, like those of a stork perched on a chimney. She had never seen him looking so relaxed, she realized. This was despite the fact that he was still fully dressed in the clothes he had worn yesterday. His cravat was still tightly wound around his neck, his waistcoat- splotched with her own blood, Margaret realized with dismay- was still fully fastened, and his frock coat still covered the whole of the ensemble. There was blood on the portions of the shirt cuffs visible to her, which caused Margaret to wonder exactly how much she'd spilled the day before. She touched a hand gingerly to the plaster just above her temple. Surely head wounds did not bleed that much. Then, her second wound reminded itself of her presence. Her arm hurt frightfully. She touched it experimentally and immediately regretted such a stupid decision. It felt as though it was on fire.

What was it Mr. Thornton had said? That the doctor had introduced salt water into her for some reason, and then had prohibited her from imbibing. Surely this also explained the Sahara-like conditions in her mouth. She would need to ask Dr. Donaldson to explain the reasons for his actions- it annoyed her to have only a few pieces of a puzzle.

"Could I have some water?" she implored Jane as quietly as possible.

The girl blushed as she shook her head in an emphatic no. "I am sorry, miss. The mistress says it is not allowed. But the doctor will be here soon, I think. Mayhap you could try to sleep until then."

"No, I think not. Could you fetch me a hairbrush, please? And would it be possible for me to, well, I need to use-" Margaret looked at Jane and then at Mr. Thornton, not willing to talk of private bodily functions in front of him, even if he were sleeping.

"Oh, of course, miss. Here is a robe the mistress left for you to wear. Come with me, please."

"But surely I could get dressed while I am up?"