A Misguided Mistake

Chapter Six

John watched with a scowl as the carriage left the yard. He should have gone too, for the streets were surely unsafe even now. The faint sound of whistles and shouting still echoed in the distance, but he could not bring himself to care. The worst of the trouble would be well away from Crampton, and his mother's passage home should be clear too. Princeton would bear the brunt of the violence, for the rats who had caused the riots would run right back to the hovels they had come from.

He could not stay here, dwelling on the day. He needed to walk, needed to get away from here. There was still work to be done, but for once John did not care. He left the mill without bother, walking through the now empty streets until he reached the hills above the city. The air was cleaner here, above the clouds of smoke that spewed from chimneys day and night. He stopped, looking down at the place that had raised and shaped him into the man he had become. It all looked so small from here, yet at the same time the factories and closely packed houses sprawled out as far as the eye could see.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Here, the air smelt like grass and late summer flowers. It was such a rare indulgence to come here, and he felt his heart slow from the frantic rhythm it had kept all day. He thought of Margaret. She always smelt like flowers, somehow. When he had kissed her, she had smelt like roses. How could anyone smell so pure in this place, where everything smelt like smoke and dirt?

He felt cowardly for leaving his mother to accompany her home; he should have done so himself, for he needed to see that she was safe and well. Hell, even if she did not care for him as he so desperately wished, the thought of her injured because of him - he felt sick with guilt. He should have been firmer in his instruction yesterday, for she was too headstrong to listen to any advice she did not appreciate. Behind his closed eyelids, images of the stone striking her flashed over and over again in his mind, growing worse and worse until all he could see was blood.

His eyes snapped open, and he chased the images from his mind. She was well. He would visit in the morning as soon as it was polite - for some small part of him hoped her behaviour this afternoon could be almost entirely blamed on the blow to the head she had received. One way or another, he had to know his fate.

He lingered until the light dimmed, the sky streaked purple and red as he began his walk back to the mill. By the time he reached home, it was almost entirely dark. He entered the parlour as the clock struck ten. His mother sat in her chair, repairing the linens. She did not lift her head at the sound of his footsteps, but he had no doubt she knew full well he was standing behind her.

"You're back, then."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to be so late."

"Where've you been?" She asked. "You've been gone hours."

"Walking."

"And where have you been walking? The servants said you left not long after Miss Hale and I. Where've you been all this time?"

"Just walking. Thinking." He sat down heavily on the settee, feeling his head begin to pulse. Now he thought about it, he hadn't eaten all day.

"Little use in asking what about, I suppose."

He did not answer her, changing the subject to one that would not result in an uncomfortable conversation he was not quite ready for.

"It has been a long day. I thought you'd be in bed, you must be exhausted."

"I am quite well. John-"

"Mother, please."

"I saw you."

He should have known this was coming. He knew full well his mother had seen him whispering to Margaret, for he had seen the appalled look on her face at the discovery. He had known she would scold him for his lack of candour, and he was too perplexed by the day's events to have such a conversation.