A Misguided Mistake

Chapter Three

Margaret was unable to go home after her visit to Marlborough Mills. She had too much on her mind, too much to consider. Instead, she went to Princeton to visit Bessie. The streets were lined with those begging with their hands out. Margaret gave what she could to each of them. It was not enough, it would never be enough. Things would not be right until Milton returned to work, but things seemed more hopless than ever in that regard.

The unrest on the streets seemed worse; the sound of crying babies echoed through the narrow alleyways and closely packed houses, the shouting and fighting of men ringing out alongside. It was not a good place to be; so much hunger, so much tension boiling beneath the surface.

The strike had gone on long enough, and it could not last much longer without death and misery spreading like plague.

Margaret's thoughts of the strike were interrupted frequently by the image of what had just happened in Mr Thornton's office. She had been wrapped around him in the most improper way imaginable, his hand on her bare leg beneath her skirts. Her heart raced at the memory; it was the worst thing she had ever done in her life. Yet it felt glorious, just for that moment.

"Bessie, I have done something terrible." Margaret blurted out as soon as Bessie opened the door. "Truly terrible."

"Oh, go on!" Bessie's eyebrows shot into her hair as she ushered Margaret inside. "Miss Margaret Hale, doin' sommat terrible! This I must hear. Better make it good, I've no time to waste."

She gestured for Margaret to sit at the small table in the middle of the room, and Margaret did so. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to gather herself for long enough to have a reasoned discussion with her friend.

"You must make me a promise that you will not tell anyone what I am about to say. It is - it is shameful."

"Are you alright, Margaret?" Bessie said, wide eyed and suddenly serious . "You're not in trouble are you?"

"No! Yes! No, not like that!" Margaret said, catching the horrified glance her friend gave to her midsection. "Promise me."

"I swear it, I swear! What have you done, girl?"

Bessie's face was a picture of concern, and Margaret felt a wave of shame. Why had she come here, to burden her sick friend with tales of her own immorality? What did she expect Bessie to say? Surely, if Bessie knew what Margaret had done she would no longer want to know her. For a woman to accost a man in such a wanton, brazen fashion.. Oh! Who would want to know a woman like that?

"The other night, at the Thornton's dinner party I- I-" Margaret could not say the words.

"C'mon, Margaret. What could have been so bad you've worked yourself into such a state?" Bessie chuckled. "You used the wrong fork? Slapped Mrs Thornton across the face? Made eyes at Mr Thornton?"

"You are not far wrong." Margaret said quietly. "Oh Bessie! I - I was in his study, looking at his books. I should not have been in there! He came in and - and-"

"What?" Bessie said, her eyes wide and hands clasped on her knees as she leaned closer. "C'mon, out with it."

"He kissed me." Margaret said, so quietly she was not quite sure she had said anything at all.

"He what?!" Bessie squealed, though her chest was far too weak for such exerition. She coughed heavily, falling forward to lean on the table with the effort of simply trying to breathe.

Margaret stood and rubbed at her friend's back as she often did, trying to ease her stuttering breaths. After a few moments, Bessie's breathing had calmed and she waved away Margaret's hand. She looked at her friend expectantly, waiting for Margaret to continue her tale.