Isabel arrived at Marlborough Mills the following day, at the allotted time. She was not insensible to the fact that the last time she had stepped foot inside the grounds, had been the day of the riot, and that brought to mind more fully (if she was ever in need of a reminder) the proposal which had so swiftly followed the next day, and been necessarily rejected. It was with trepidation that she picked up her skirts and hurried across the mill yard, anxious of the reception that would await her, at the hands of the stern and unforgiving matriarch. Mr Thornton had, however, been watching for her from the window to his office, and he stepped promptly from the mill building, and came forward to greet her.

'Miss Darrow,' he said, his back straight, his voice stiff and formal.

'Mr Thornton,' greeted she, bobbing her knees low in that deferential manner she had. She felt, rather than saw, the looming figure of a shadow at the window, and knew that they were being watched, and as though he had sensed her sudden unease, Mr Thornton looked up at the mill house, his eyes lingering but for a moment, before he stepped back and held out his arm to direct her across the yard.

'If you will follow me, Miss Darrow, I have a proposition for you, and I think it would be best if you saw what it relates to, before I begin to explain further.' She nodded, intrigued, and followed his long and graceful strides across the yard. Being a good foot shorter than he, she almost had to run to keep up with him, but she was no stranger to exercise, and so managed to remain beside him with a composure which surprised him, as he glanced furtively at her from the corner of his eye.

'This is the stable block, Miss Darrow,' explained Mr Thornton, as he slowed his pace and led her towards the outbuilding. 'We do not keep horses, but hire them as necessary, so you see the stalls are currently empty, but often in use. Here,' continued he, walking onwards, towards what she had supposed to be a tack room, 'we have rooms which are not in use - on account of our not keeping horses - and it is this room here that I should like to show you.'

He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. She did so without caution, and found herself standing just within a moderately-sized room, with a smaller one leading off the back. The rooms were empty, but covered in a series of roughly-drawn chalk lines, which she supposed to be markings for some form of renovation. Leaving the door to the building wide open, Mr Thornton followed Isabel inside, and stood beside her, looking about the room with a small dip to his brow.

'It does not look much - it is modest - but I had thought that we might set this up as a type of infirmary, if you will. A surgery for the hands, and - if I recall correctly - you had said you would be interested in working in a medical capacity - even without pay - if it was of benefit to the poor?' He smiled softly, his eyes glowing indulgently, as he saw pleasure light her face.

'You mean to open an infirmary for the hands, and for myself to run it?'

'If you are willing, then yes.' He held his breath in expectation. He felt sure she would agree, and yet he felt so very nervous. He had looked the matter over for many hours; arduously poring over costings and lists of necessary equipment. He had spoken to Dr Donaldson, and had him draw up a list of supplies that would be needed, stating their associated costs, and how often he believed stock would have to be replenished. He had reasoned that there was a need for it amongst the working poor - that healthy workers would be better workers; working harder and longer. He had reasoned that although in no way able to prevent a strike if the fools should put their heads together again, and although he was not willing to explain his every reason for each business decision he made, that some effort - during the confines of working hours - could do nothing to harm relations between the workers and the Master.

'How would it work?' asked Isabel, walking into the smaller back room.

'It would be a surgery, run perhaps two - three - days per week. I would cover the cost for any treatment necessary due to accidents which had occurred on site - which I always have - so long as negligence was not the cause - and I am minded to look to free treatments for the children. The adults will pay - either per visit, or by putting a little aside each week if they have trouble with savings. It would be a nominal fee - they won't want charity; they would be suspicious of it - but the cost to myself would be only the free care for the children workers. I already pay for the doctor if there is a fair accident, and having an infirmary on site, will reduce the cost for me. Buying supplies in bulk will keep costs down, and you - if you are in accord - could offer your services to us here at Marlborough Mills -'

'For free. I should not charge you, sir!' replied she, spinning on her heel and pointing him with an indignant look. 'I did not speak idly, Mr Thornton. I told you I would work for free if I were to have an occupation which used my skills and did some good for the poor, and I spoke no lie.'

'I did not doubt you, but if you do a day's work, you deserve a day's pay. I cannot pay you the rate of Donaldson or Lowe - I'm no philanthropist and my pockets are not deep enough - but I can pay you something.'

'No! It is for free, sir, or my services are unavailable.' She smirked at him as though in challenge, and he felt himself delightfully vexed. His chest dilated as he drew in a deep breath, and he fixed her with a fierce look. Yes! He would love her; would never love another, for all her foolish proclamations.

'Must you always argue? If I had asked you to work for free, no doubt you would now be demanding pay - a man's pay, I might add!'

'No doubt I would!' replied Isabel, with a hearty burst of laughter, causing her to throw back her head and expose that vulnerable slender throat, olive and warm in tone; begging to be touched. Mr Thornton folded his arms across his broad chest and waited for her laughter to abate, his heart beating thick and fast the whole while her melodious laughter filled the cavernous expanse of that small, but empty room. 'What do you propose then, Mr Thornton? What are your terms?' The very word "propose" struck him like a nail driven straight into his heart and he smarted at the sharp pain of that re-lived rejection.

If she sensed the affect her word had on him, she did not show it, but stepped back into the first room and walked around, running her fingers over the roughly-hewn walls, tracing those white chalk lines. Mr Thornton stood, watching the traverse of those delicate fingers, so slight and slender, yet strong and supple. He wished his skin was that wall, revelling in her touch, and yet he stood in the doorway, isolated from the very thing he craved the most in all his life. He sighed and stretched his neck in an attempt to dispel those wayward thoughts; he had no right to think of her in such a way; she was not his and claimed she never would be.

'I have a list you may look over - make notes if you feel anything is missing that you shall need. I will place the order and get one or two of the hands to set up the room. It should not take much more than a week to have it put together, and then we shall have your infirmary, where you may flatter your philanthropic tendencies by working for free.' He smiled at her; a provoking smile which said to her; I have let you win. You have what you wanted, but only because I chose to let you.

'What hours shall I work; when will it be open?' asked Isabel, ignoring his look, in defiance of his provocation.

'I don't expect you to be very busy at first; the hands will be wary of using the place - thinking it some trap set up by me to do them out of wages, or wrangle more control, but I should think the free treatment for children will lure the mothers in, and once the women take it up, they will urge their men to come; not being able to risk lost wages through illness or accident when an affordable doctor is on hand.'

'Will they allow me to tend to them as a doctor?' asked Isabel, doubtfully. Mr Thornton set his lips into a firm line and inclined in head in acknowledgement of his caution.

'I would expect some apprehension to begin with, but if you are as skilled as you say (and I believe that you are), then they will come to know it. I warn you, the men can be rough - some of the women, too - and you will hear - may be the target of - unsavoury language.' His brow arched as he looked at her with a wry curl to his lips. 'But you are accustomed to vulgar language from your time overseas, and find our Milton way of speaking quite modest, I recall? So I know you shan't take offence.'

'Indeed,' smiled Isabel, in amusement, before a frown crumpled her brow.

'I will not work before daylight, nor beyond nightfall - I shan't walk in the dark,' warned she, an uncharacteristic note of trepidation in her voice. Mr Thornton heard it, and it caused his blood to thump thickly through his veins as his chest tightened.

'A man would; you claimed the right to the freedom of a man?' taking a step closer, watching her intently.

'I did, and I choose to exert that freedom by stating that I shall only walk in daylight.' He smiled at her softly; that rare glimpse of feminine vulnerability in her, making him ache with longing.

'I would not allow it; I had no intention of you starting so early, nor finishing so late.'

'You shan't allow it?' asked Isabel, indignantly.

'I shan't,' smirked Mr Thornton. 'And as you do not wish to, there is little point in us arguing the matter.' Mr Thornton watched as Isabel quarrelled with herself, before silently relenting. 'I had thought - if you are agreeable - that you might work a few hours at midday; over the start of the second shift and end of the first?'

'Yes; that is practical.' He smiled at her modest praise and held out his hand to her.

'We have an accord, Miss Darrow?' Smiling, she took up his hand, and then pressed it with her other; holding it for longer than was necessary, and with every passing second that her small hands encased his own large one, he felt her touch light his skin, until he felt as though he was burning from within. Their eyes locked with one another as he looked down upon her; those olive cheeks suffused with a beautiful flush of pink; her bosom rising and falling as she felt her heart thump against her breast. The moment seemed to suspend all time, as neither sought to give up that tender touch; so longed for by both parties, but impossible, for reasons neither could truly understand. At length her hands slipped from his and she dragged her clasp away. He wished he could squeeze his fingers about her and stop her pulling away, but he did not; he could not take from her - not after her refusal.

'I am obliged to you, Mr Thornton. You are a good man. I have always known it, but this enterprise; it is a good thing - both for the workers and for Marlborough Mills. I am not insensible to the great trust you place in me by allowing me this opportunity, and I am grateful beyond words; especially in light of -' But he interrupted her; unwilling to have that painful moment alluded to; not after basking in the delight of her touch.

'No! no gratitude,' said he; voice low and roughened with emotion. 'You make this scheme a fair prospect; I could not countenance such an endeavour if I had to pay the going wage.'

'Then it is mutually agreeable, though - I am sure - I shall take the greater pleasure from it.' But this was not entirely true, for although Isabel wished to ply her trade and help the sick, Mr Thornton relished the thought of seeing her in his domain; of glimpsing her as she passed the window to his office, or simply in knowing that she was a mere fifty yards away at any given moment. Neither was he insensible to the fact that he was offering her what no one else could - or would, even if they could - and he had her ready gratitude and admiration, simply for extending to her such an opportunity.

He would prove the constancy of his heart with indirect action. He would see her pleased, and show her that a life with him would not be a life of lost independence; that she could be a free and thinking creature, and still the very creature he loved and admired. He feared only that his restraint would slip and he would do or say something unguarded - too soon - that would repel her. He also feared his mother. He had seen her watching from the window; noted the stern brow at Miss Darrow's arrival, and knew that he would have to explain the moment he returned home. It was a task he did not relish.

Mrs Thornton was sat about her linens in the dining room, the tea tray beside her, waiting for her son. She grew impatient with every passing moment, for each five minutes that he tarried, was five minutes spent alone in the presence of Miss Darrow. She feared that he was trying her again, but she knew her son was no fool, and was hardly likely to offer himself up again so soon, only to be refused for a second time, and yet she could see no other need for him to speak with the girl. She compressed her lips as she bore a deep frown upon her face, but the expression - worn upon such strong and handsome features - did little to strike Fanny's notice, for Fanny was about a piece of embroidery which had required unpicking three times already, and she hummed idly to herself as she bounced her foot listlessly against the leg of her chair.

'Can you be still, Fanny!' chided Mrs Thornton, short of temper and vexed by her daughter's constant fidgeting.

'What is wrong, mother? Why are you angry with me?'

'I am not angry; I simply tire of the ceaseless tapping of your foot. It vibrates the table.' Fanny harrumphed and turned back to her stitching before sighing dramatically and complaining that the tea would be cold.

'I wait for John.'

'Oh! but he is always working, mother. Why must we wait?'

'You may have your tea now if you wish, Fanny. I shall pour it for you.'

'No,' sighed Fanny, 'if you will not have yours then I shall not have mine, only when John decides he has had enough of business, we shall have to ring down for a fresh pot.'

'Your brother is probably making up time for yesterday; when he was at the funeral for Mrs Hale,' said Mrs Thornton, in a defensive tone, yet she knew her son was not working; nor had he been for the last hour.

'I don't know why he felt he had to go; an old parson-turned-teacher! And they are nothing to us!' complained Fanny, but she had not heard her brother's step upon the stairs, and so did not hear his coming.

'Mr Hale is my friend, and his wife is dead. I went to pay my respects in honour of my friend, as any gentleman would,' replied Mr Thornton, in an angered, forceful voice. Displeased that her son should scold his sister in such a way - in preference of the Hales - Mrs Thornton turned her sharp eye upon her son and observed coolly, -

'I had thought you might give them up after the strike.'

'And why should I do that?' asked Mr Thornton, defensively, for he knew his mother thought it a weakness that he would still place himself before Miss Darrow; that he could still go on loving her after she had rejected him. Of course, Mrs Thornton would not own this to her son, and certainly not before Fanny, who knew nothing of his proposal.

'I thought you had not the time for lessons; after all the work there is to make up from the turn-out.' Her eyes fixed back to her linens.

'Aye!' sighed Mr Thornton, in acknowledgement. 'There is much to make up, and I do find myself with little time for leisure, but I will make some time. It is pleasing to me to study with Mr Hale, and he would appreciate the company after so lately losing his wife.'

'And how is the mill today?' asked Mrs Thornton, keen to know all of Miss Darrow, but unwilling to say her name. Mr Thornton, of course, knew what his mother was about, and thought he might just as well say his piece now - before Fanny - than have to explain the matter twice over.

'The mill is well - I shall go back in twenty minutes; it will be a busy afternoon.

'If you are so very busy, I wonder that you had time for a visit from Miss Darrow?' asked Fanny, carelessly.

'It was work, Fan!' warned Mr Thornton, for he did not like the note of familiarity in her voice. 'Mother,' said he, turning to face that grave expression; sat rigid as though expecting some great news to be spoken and see herself felled. 'I am to open a surgery for the workers. I have talked it over with Dr Donaldson, and gone over all the figures. The children will be treated free of charge, but the adults will pay a small fee to cover the cost of supplies. Miss Darrow is to run the surgery a few hours a day; two or three days a week.'

'Why ever, John!' asked Mrs Thornton, aghast. 'Did the girl put you up to it?' Mr Thornton bristled at being questioned in such a way - and in front of Fanny!

'No, Mother! I am no fool; I shan't be talked into anything which does not make business sense.'

'So it is not Miss Darrow's doing; this charity you offer?' asked Mrs Thornton, veritably spitting that word "charity" at him; she had no time for philanthropy, and had never been the recipient of it herself; not even in their hardest years of struggle.

'No! Miss Darrow enabled it to be possible, by offering her services for free - I could not afford to pay a doctor - but the principle behind the scheme is one of business. As with the wheel, I maintain that healthy workers will work longer and harder, and that can only be a good thing. You have seen the waste from those inexperienced Irish hands - the cost of it! If I can train up skilled men, and keep them working for me many years, by spending only a pittance on a few supplies for an infirmary, the cost to me now - slight as it is - will be a saving over all.'

'And if it is only a matter of business, why is there no fee for the children?' asked his mother; her voice clipped with obvious displeasure.

'Ought not the children be treated? Any family with the money to treat a sick child will have to give up their meat to cover the cost, and then the parents come to me ill-fed and flag upon the floor. Or worse! the womenfolk don't come at all because their child is sick at home and needs care. Then I am down the child and the mother. If I am lucky I find someone to take their place - someone reliable and good - but if not, I am short a pair of hands, or have to pay a man where I could have paid the mother less. It is all good business, Mother.' She pursed her lips to stifle a dissenting reply. She was not convinced of her son's motivations. Yes, he had a ready argument, but the timing, she felt, was all too convenient. And that Miss Darrow should happen to be available, and willing to work without pay!

'The hands will never take to a woman; they shan't trust her to know what she's about.'

'They will be reluctant, at first, I admit. And Miss Darrow is expecting it. But all it shall take, Mother, is one sick child, or one bad accident, and when Miss Darrow sees the patient better, they will be clamouring at the door; the pittance I shall charge them. No!' said he, turning now to the window, and looking out upon the yard, 'my only concern is that they shall pour upon us in great droves and Miss Darrow will find herself in such demand as to have to put in more hours.'