Chapter Six

With no work to do at the mill, Carrie stayed home most days, helping Dixon. Mr Thornton had said she could continue to come in and that he would find work for her, but she didn't want him to be paying her for jobs that didn't really need doing, so she declined.

She also did her best to avoid him when he came to his lessons with Mr Hale. He needed a chance to get to know Margaret and so she made herself scarce every time he arrived.

After two weeks there was no sign of the strike relenting and so Carrie tried to find work elsewhere. Not only was she feeling the loss of her wages, she knew that Mr Hale had lost some of his students, or they had at least cut back on their lessons.

She asked in shops mainly but was consistently refused. It seemed that Mr Hale and the mill masters weren't the only ones feeling the pinch from the strike.

Word got back to Mr Thornton that a young lady was seeking employment and he guessed who it was. It hurt him that she had refused his offer of work during the strike but was happy to seek employment elsewhere, though he supposed after the shocking way he had behaved toward her when he kissed her, he could not blame her for not wanting to see him.

Besides, despite her fine words about judging people based on their character, he wasn't sure that extended to actually marrying a manufacturer. Though it pained him to realise it, she was far too good for the likes of him.

During the third week of the strike he set about importing hands from Ireland while his mother prepared for her dinner party. He was disquieted to hear that Mr Hale had only replied for three. It could be that Mrs Hale was too unwell to attend, or it could be that Miss Preston was still avoiding him, for he was astute enough to realise that was what she was doing.

Fanny was quite put out abut the fact that Miss Preston had been invited, while his mother declared her to be wild and hoped that she did not upset her other guests with her antics.

Mr Thornton rather hoped she would, for he was almost certain that she could argue her point with almost anyone and he enjoyed watching her. He did not know that she had been captain of a debate team in school, nor that her knowledge gained at GCSE far surpassed that of most educated people in the 1850s simply because more had been discovered and was understood by the 21st century.

When the evening arrived, Miss Preston looked every inch the lady, putting everyone else there in her shadow without seeming to try.

Though she had bought a few dresses of her own now, Carrie didn't have anything suitable for a dinner party and once again, Margaret had ridden to her rescue, offering her a choice of her silk dresses from London.

Carrie chose a dusky pink dress with a fitted bodice and flared shirt. The straps and been adorned with roses, as had the seams of the bodice but Carrie wasn't really a flowery kind of person (she wasn't a pink kind of person either, but this shade wasn't too bad). She removed the roses by hand and replaced them with piping in a slightly darker shade of pink that drew attention to the lines of the bodice and made the dress look all together more streamlined and less flouncy.

It had taken her hours to make the piping and then sew it on but the effect was worth it. She kept a few of the roses from the dress, unpicked them and made larger roses from them, adding some pink lace and some pink feathers from the haberdashery to fashion a hair ornament that would match the dress.

Sadly she still had only her black boots to wear with the dress, but the skirt was so long that no one would probably even see her feet.

Her bruise was well healed by now but she wore a little mascara to emphasise her eyes and a touch of lipstick to darken her lips very slightly. Makeup had always been a form of war paint to Carrie, something to hide behind when she needed to and right now she needed to hide, for the very idea of seeing Mr Thornton again terrified her; not so much how he would react to her but more how she would react to him after not having seen him for so long.

She had tried to get out of going, arguing that someone should stay and keep Mrs Hale company but Mrs Hale wouldn't hear if it. It seemed she wanted to live vicariously through the others and Carrie couldn't refuse without seriously upsetting a dying woman, something she didn't want on her conscience.

Bessy came to see Margaret off to the dinner party and Carrie felt her heart plummet, for it would not be very much longer now until Bessy died. Margaret had also been feeling guilty about going to this dinner party when so many in Milton were living on or below the breadline thanks to the strike, so the mood in the carriage was not exactly jolly.

As they alighted from the carriage in the mill yard, they each took one of Mr Hales arms and he guided them into the house. Thankfully they were greeted by Mrs Thornton as Mr Thornton didn't seem to be around. They mingled with the other guests, chatting about nothing in particular and avoiding talk of the strike at all costs. Carrie was rather practised at small talk, though she didn't much enjoy it.

She felt rather than saw when Mr Thornton entered the room, for she felt like she was was suddenly surrounded by static electricity. She could almost feel his eyes warming her skin as he looked at her. Unable to stop herself, she turned to him and the passion she saw in his gaze as he drank her image in made her feel light headed.

Of course, some of that might well be thanks to the rather restrictive corset on her dress, but she doubted it. No man had ever made her feel like this before, so careless and carefree! She wanted to hurl herself at him and kiss him like her life depended on it, by standers be damned! But she didn't. Somehow she managed to smile and remain where she was.

He approached her and they shook hands. Carrie lowered her eyes suddenly feeling self conscious under his hungry gaze.

"I'm sorry Mrs Hale couldn't make it," he said, so far completely ignoring Mr Watson, to whom she had been talking.

"She is sorry as well, but she has made Margaret and I promise to give her a full account of events."

"Thornton," Watson interrupted their moment and Mr Thornton reluctantly let go of Carrie's hand. "Good to see you again."

Carrie tried to listen to their conversation but more often than not she found herself staring at Mr Thornton, thinking a lot of impure thoughts about what she wished he would do to her!

Finally Mr Slickson interrupted them and called Mr Thornton away, lessening her torment for a while. Mr Watson took it upon himself to introduce her to those she hadn't met and, though she was always aware of exactly where Mr Thornton was in relation to her, she never looked at him.

Finally Mrs Thornton announced that dinner was served and Mr Watson escorted her through to the dining room, though thankfully she wasn't seated near him since she was starting to find him something of a simpering fool.

The dinner was exquisite, though given how rich the food was and how restricting her corset was, Carrie finally understood why ladies in the Victorian era seemed to nibble their food rather than eat it.

Mostly the women just listened while the men talked until finally the conversation finally turned to the taboo subject of the strike.

Fanny questioned Margaret about her taking food to the Princeton district and Margaret explained about Boucher and his starving children.

"Well, he knows what to do," Hamper said. "Go back to work."

"If only it were that easy," Carrie sighed.

"I'm sorry?" Mr Thornton asked her.

Carrie blushed, for she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"I said, if only it were as easy as just going back to work."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Hamper asked her.

"The unions have immense power over these men," she explained. "If they refuse to join the union or go against the strike, they become outcasts among their people. No one will help them, speak to them or even look at them. Imagine living your life being shunned by all those around you? Who among those present would be brave enough to defy the union under threat of those penalties."

"How do you know this?" Mr Thornton asked her.

"I read a lot and have learned something of the union practices." Well she could hardly say she had read about in North and South, could she?

"So you're telling me that if a man returns to work without the backing of the union, he's an outcast?" Watson asked.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"For how long?" Mr Slickson asked.

"Until they tow the line again by doing whatever it is the union wants them to do, I suppose. There are many men who would dearly love to return to work, and many who didn't want to strike in the first instance, but they are afraid of the repercussions if they do not do as the union says."

The men looked at each other, all wondering if this was true and if so, how it would affect them.

"Mr Higgins has said something similar to me about the ways and means of the unions," Margaret confirmed. "And I know for a fact that Boucher would like to return to work."

"It looks like both sides in this war know very little of what the other side is up to, " Carrie added. "The workers think you are cutting their pay to increase your profits rather than weathering hard times, while you think that each and every worker sides with then union, when many don't."

"Perhaps if you could talk with the union leaders," Margaret added, "you might be able to come to an understanding."

"There's too much distrust," Slickson said.

"Aye, for you," Mr Thornton said pointedly.

The conversation moved on after that but as the women left to go to the drawing room, Carrie could hear the conversation turn back to the union. She wanted to stay and hear what they had to say (and maybe share their cigars and brandy!) but that would not be seemly in this day and age.

The men joined the ladies again a little later but soon afterwards the evening broke up. As the carriage pulled away from the house, Carrie couldn't help but look back at the house and was surprised to see Mr Thornton still on the front step, watching her leave.

She was not surprised to see Mrs Thornton watching from the sitting room like some Greek god surveying her subjects. The look she gave Carrie did not show great affection and if she had indeed been a Greek god, Carrie was in little doubt that after receiving such a harsh look she would be turning to stone right about now.

III

A few days later Dr Donaldson suggested they ask to borrow the Thornton's water bed for Mrs Hale as he believed it would help her rest more easily. Margaret offered to go and Carrie was both pleased and devastated.

She was pleased because this was a pivotal point in John and Margaret's relationship but she was devastated because selfishly, she wanted to keep Mr Thornton's affection to herself.

But she knew that this must happen, that Margaret must protect Mr Thornton and so she bit her tongue and stayed home while Margaret went to enquire about the water bed.

When Margaret returned home little more than an hour later, unharmed and without seeing Mr Thornton, Carrie grew worried.

Surely today was the day of the riot? Had her presence in this place altered events to such a degree than there would be no riot?

Somehow Carrie couldn't believe that.

"What was the town like?" Carrie asked.

"Very quite, actually. I'm not sure what is going on but there is hardly a soul about."

Carrie's heart sank, for she knew exactly where everyone was, working themselves up into a frenzy before they marched on Marlborough Mill.

Without Margaret's influence though, Mr Thornton would surely stay in the house where it was safe, while the soldiers handled the rioters. But things had already changed because Margaret had not seen Mr Thornton. What if he was caught in the yard this time? Or if the rioters broke into the mill and attacked the Irish workers?

"Margaret, I think you should return to the mill, I think we need to warn Mr Thornton."

"About what?" Margaret asked, confused by her statement.

"I think that the workers are about to attack the mill."

"Whatever for?"

"Did you not see faces in the mill while you were there?"

"I saw no one but Williams and Mrs Thornton."

"Well he's brought Irish workers over and the strikers aren't happy. They're going to start a riot." Her voice was rising with panic and Margaret was starting to give her strange looks.

"I hardly think that is likely. Mr Higgins has stated time and again that this is to be a peaceful protest and there will be no violence."

"Can't you just take my word for it?" Carrie asked. "Please."

Margaret looked indecisive for a moment and Carrie thought that she might be able to persuade her to return to the mill but just then Mrs Hale called for her daughter.

"I must go to my mother."

Carrie sighed. With no other option, she grabbed a shawl and headed out, running most of the way to the mill. The streets were quiet, eerily quiet but thankfully she reached Marlborough Mill without incident and knocked on the gates. Williams, the overlooker, let her in.

"Where is Mr Thornton?" she asked.

"You'd best wait in t'ouse, Miss, I'll find Mr Thornton."

"No, you don't understand. I think the strikers are coming. They know about Mr Thornton's Irish workers and they're going to attack the mill."

Williams paled but nodded.

"Get in t'ouse Miss. I'll tell t'master."

"No, we need to barricade the gates!" she argued.

"They're locked," he assured her, but she knew they would give away to the strikers eventually.

"Fine, you go find Mr Thornton, I'll stay with Mrs Thornton," she said, taking two steps towards the house but when Williams ran into the mill, Carrie headed back towards the gate.

There was a cart not far away, loaded with cotton bales. She thought that if she could move it in front of the gates, it might shore them up slightly.

Thankfully, though it was heavy, the cart moved fairly easily and she managed to manoeuvre it sideways on to the gate so that it could not roll away when the gate struck it. She then placed stones in front of and behind each wheel to stop it moving easily and stepped back just in time to hear the roar of the crowd as it advanced on the mill. She backed away.

Suddenly she found arms encircling her waist and she was dragged into the house.

"Put me down!" she cried.

Finally Mr Thornton set her back on her feet and locked the front door behind them.

"What were you thinking, placing yourself in danger like that!" He sounded angry.

"I was thinking that I didn't want anything to happen to you or your mill. Besides, I had plenty of time to accomplish my task."

"Foolish woman!" he said, dashing a hand through his hair.

"You'd better go and check on your mother," Carrie said. When he left she made her way into the living room and watched the crowds as they pushed against the gate. "Come on," she said under her breath, willing the soldiers to arrive before the gate gave way.

Mr Thornton returned a moment later.

"You should step away from the window," he said. "Mother and Fanny are at the back of the house, it's safest back there."

"No, I want to see what's happening."

"Don't you ever think about your own safety?" he almost shouted. "What if they were to throw a brick at the window?"

"They haven't broken the gate yet, they're too far away."

How wrong could a person be, she wondered a few moments later as the brick hurtled towards the window. She just had time to push John out of the way and turn her back but as the shattered glass washed over her and she could feel it slice into her upper arm. She had no time to think about that though as Mr Thornton was lying on the ground, unmoving.

"Oh god!" she cried, rushing to his side. She heard the whistles from the soldiers when they arrived and the cries as the rioters began falling under their attack but she paid them no attention because Mr Thornton's head was bleeding where it had impacted with a table. Her attempt to save him might well have killed him.

"Come on, Mr Thornton, wake up!" she called, tapping his cheek.

When he refused to rouse she cried out for help and moments later Mrs Thornton, Fanny and two maids entered to see her kneeling over his body, cupping his face.

"Please, John, you can't die! Wake up."

"Fetch the doctor," Mrs Thornton said to Jane. Though she was just as concerned for her son as Carrie, she had years more practice at controlling her emotions.

"But the rioters?" Jane protested.

"Fine." Unwilling to wait a moment longer than necessary, Mrs Thornton could see that she was the only one brave enough to summon the help her son needed. She left without another word.

"Help me get him to the sofa," Carrie cried, and the two maids ran forward to assist her. Fanny was talking nonsense, wondering what would happen to them all if John died but Carrie couldn't think about that yet.

"Do you have any ice?" she asked, one of the maids.

"Ice?"

"Yes, you know, frozen water."

"No ma'am."

"Then get me a cloth and the coldest water you can find." Jane just looked at her as though she had spoken in a foreign language. "Now!" she barked, and Jane ran off.

She parted his hair to get a good look at the wound and tried to clean the blood up as best she could with his handkerchief. She knew that head wounds always bled a lot and so this might not be as serious as it looked. There was little else she could do until Jane returned with a cloth and a bowl of cold water.

"I drew it fresh from t'well so its nice and cold," Jane said, placing the bowl and cloth beside Carrie.

"Thank you." Carrie dipped the cloth in the water, which was indeed very cold, and wiped the rest of the blood away. She rinsed the rag out a few times then laid it over his wound. The cold should help lessen the swelling and stop the blood flow.

With little else to do, she sat by his side and took his hand in one of hers, wiping her tears away with her free hand.

"Okay, John, I know you can hear her me. You can't leave me, okay? This is all my fault, I have messed everything up but you can't die because then I can never put things right! You... you don't know how much you mean to me," she cupped his cheek. Her next words were so soft that only Jane was close enough to hear. "I love you."

Moments later John finally began to rouse and Carrie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank god! How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like my head is about to explode."

She helped him sit up.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"John Thornton." He sounded confused.

Carrie held up two fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two."

"What year is it?"

"1855."

"And who is the prime minister." She suddenly realised that she had no idea herself who the prime minister was, rendering the question rather useless.

"Henry Temple."

"And the King?"

"It's Queen Victoria."

She smiled, pleased that he had caught her out.

"Do you mind telling me what the point of all this is?"

"Be quiet." She held up one finger. "Follow my finger with your eyes."

"But-"

"Just do it!"