Becoming Mrs. Thornton: A Sequel to North and South

Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Becoming Mrs. Thornton – copyright Jill Hughey 2014

A bright, freezing morning greeted Margaret the next day. She had not slept well. The chill from the altercation in the cookhouse plagued her all night despite being wrapped in John’s robe and cocooned under several extra blankets.

After her normal breakfast from a tray in her room, she sought refuge again in her husband’s office downstairs. She scraped a layer of frost from the window to reveal the bustle of activity that caused the now familiar sounds in the yard. The workers’ exhalations puffed like steam from locomotives as they hurried across the cobbled pavement, some seeking the relative warmth of their workrooms, others, recognizable by layers of coats and scarves, kept outside by their duties.

Margaret turned away to attend to some business correspondence with Mr. Lennox before beginning a soothing letter to Aunt Shaw in which she declined the invitation to visit for The Season. She tried her best to address Aunt’s concerns that she would soon become a complete heathen if she did not return to the civilized social whirl of London for at least a few weeks each year.

An unusual thump distracted her from her task.

She looked at the wall shared with the drawing room, expecting to hear additional sounds that would indicate a maid was sweeping beneath furniture or cleaning the hearth. The resumption of the normal stifling stillness within the house should have reassured her, but did not.

She rose and continued to listen attentively as she sneaked across the rug. She poked her head into the hall, but could see nothing amiss. She tiptoed a few steps to peer into the next doorway. “Mrs. Thornton,” she cried when she saw the figure in a black gown sprawled inelegantly on the floor. She knelt down to grip one of her mother-in-law’s hands and patted the back briskly. “Mrs. Thornton,” she whispered, braced for the woman to rear up with a scathing retort, but there was no response. “Mrs. Thornton,” she pleaded.

She had seen the face of death on her own dear mama, so knew the woman still breathed, yet the dragon would not rouse to consciousness.

Margaret ran to ring the bell then rushed into the hall to call for Jane in a shrill voice that would shock Aunt Shaw to no end. By the time Jane and a maid careened into one another at the door, Margaret was again kneeling beside Mrs. Thornton. She stroked her cheek and begged with her to awaken while the servants wrung their hands together.

After another half minute, Margaret ordered them into action. “Jane, give me that pillow so we can make her more comfortable, then bring a blanket to cover her. Sassy, go fetch my cloak and muff, then you are to stoke the fire in this room and Mrs. Thornton’s bedroom. I must find Dr. Donaldson.”

 *  *  *

Margaret had rarely felt such relief as she did an hour later when Dr. Donaldson took charge of Mrs. Thornton’s care. After a brief initial examination, he helped them move the unconscious figure to her gloomy bedroom. She and Jane exchanged her constrictive clothing for a white cotton nightgown.

She sent Jane out in the hall while the doctor undertook a more thorough examination. As he looked in eyes and ears, and tested reflexes, her thoughts spanned all the possibilities she might soon confront and what action she should take for each, twitching her mind through a maze of abrupt turns and frightening dead ends.

His diagnosis pushed her into immediate action. “Mrs. Thornton has suffered a heart seizure,” he said. “Her survival of the initial shock bodes well, though I am concerned that she has not regained her senses yet.”

Margaret nodded her understanding.

“Has Mr. Thornton been sent for?”

“He…he is in Le Havre and not expected home for three days or more. I will go to his clerk and have word sent immediately. And I will send a message to Fanny, of course. Tell me, Dr. Donaldson, what should I say?” She bit her lip. “How grave a warning must I give?”