Margaret – unaware of Isabel's denouement in the study – passed a pleasant evening with her jovial godfather and his friend. The effect of the company on her father was uplifting, and Mr Hale revelled in having before him, two sharp male minds with which to converse. He did express his regret that Mr Thornton had been so taciturn that evening, and that he had been required to leave them early, but Mr Bell thought Mr Thornton a little spoilt by success, and prone to a severity which did not suit his own light and playful ways, so he did not regret his tenant's departure for more than a moment.

'But Mr Thornton must be a very busy man,' acknowledged Dr Lyndhurst, tactfully. 'And a feeling man, too, if he has set up this infirmary for his workers.'

'Oh, yes! He is a fair Master, I should think,' said Mr Hale, proudly.

'I do not think he has always been so conscientious of his workers,' replied Margaret, hesitantly, 'but Isabel tends to the workers free of charge, and so the cost to him is little. I should not think he would run the scheme if he had to pay a doctor's wage.'

'And quite rightly!' smiled Dr Lyndhurst. 'The man's running a business, Miss Hale; not a charity. Still,' mused the doctor, 'it seems a very worthy enterprise, and I should be keen to learn more of it. Perhaps I shall make a donation for equipment.' This pleased Margaret greatly, for she felt that for all the vibrancy of character in Milton, and for all its energy, there was a lack of concern for that which did not directly earn one money.

'I think – if Mr Thornton would accept a contribution – that Isabel would be very pleased. She spoke of some serious accidents which have previously occurred in the mills, and I know she was concerned for surgeon's equipment. I believe Dr Donaldson – our family doctor – has made a donation of some old tools he no longer uses, but I am certain Isabel would like the infirmary to be better equipped.' Mr Bell did not pass comment, but listened quietly, determining that if Isabel should be in wont of anything, he would be the man to provide it for her. Thus, the two old friends sat amiably and talked of their long-gone days in Oxford, as Dr Lyndhurst looked upon the beautiful, supple lips of Margaret, as they bent about her compassionate words, with a dexterity of mind and independence of spirit which he found wholly refreshing.

'Well!' said Mr Bell, once Dr Lyndhurst had taken his leave to return to his hotel, and Margaret had retired for the evening. 'My friend Christopher is quite taken with your pearl, if I may say so.'

'Taken with my Margaret?' asked Mr Hale, in surprise.

'Certainly! They got on famously, and he looked at her a great deal. And I should say, she looked at him a good deal, too. No! I think they thought the other very pleasing.'

'Oh! Well, yes – he seems a very good sort of man, but Oxford is a long way off, and Kent! That's even further,' frowned Mr Hale.

'Yes, but he takes an interest in the industrial towns; the workers and their lot. I should think he could be kept in Milton if he had the inducement.'

'I thought he looked at Isabel a little peculiarly,' worried Mr Hale.

'But only a professional interest. I should think he would like to 'pick her brain'. There was no affection in his look. And Isabel! Well, she and Mr Thornton were both very grave this evening; a good match for one another, I should think.'

'Isabel and Mr Thornton!' repeated Mr Hale, in confusion.

'Come, Hale! Surely you noticed? The man can barely keep his eyes from her, and Isabel; she certainly admires the fellow. No; I'm hopeful for two pretty matches.'

'Well, indeed!' For Mr Hale was not an observant man when it came to people. In all matters of architecture, in all small print upon the page, he could describe and explain in great detail, but he had no sharp eye for matters of the heart. A little discomposed, he sat back in his chair and thought upon Mr Bell's words. Mr Thornton, he was very fond of, and thought him a fine enough man to do for either young lady, and he would certainly not be ashamed to call him son-in-law. He saw – with regret – that he was better suited to Isabel than he was Margaret, but then, as he thought back to his pleasing new acquaintance – Dr Lyndhurst – he felt obliged to admit that although he did not feel the same instant regard for the doctor as he had done the Milton manufacturer, Dr Lyndhurst had the pleasing manners and gentlemanly grace to tempt Margaret into supplication, but the spirit and measured compassion of a man to stir Margaret's interests, whilst encouraging her in her independence of thought. Mr Hale sighed in resignation. If he was to give up both young ladies, he could wish for none finer, but he only hoped his Margaret would not be swayed from Milton.

Margaret passed a very pleasant night of peaceful repose, and sat about the table at breakfast with a ready smiled upon her face. Mr Hale – mindful of Mr Bell's words – thought Dr Lyndhurst very likely the cause of Margaret's good mood, but the same could not be said for Isabel. She had risen early, but looked as though she had not slept one wink. Her face was strained, and for all that she looked youthful beyond her years, she now looked aged and drawn.

'You do not look well, Isabel, and you retired early last evening. Ought I send for Dr Donaldson?' asked Mr Hale; now cautious at the faintest suspicion of ill-health.

'No; I am well thank you; only a little tired. The walk to Marlborough Mills will do me good, I am sure.'

'You mean to go there, today?' asked Mr Hale, doubtfully.

'Indeed; it is my day to go, and the workers will be expecting it.'

'I am visiting Mary Higgins this morning, Papa, and I shall help the little Bouchers with their letters. Should you like to join me?' offered Margaret.

'No; I have some translations to see to, but do remember to come home promptly in time for luncheon; Mr Bell comes with Dr Lyndhurst.' And here Margaret's cheeks flushed, and for all that Isabel felt wretched, she was pleased for her friend, knowing that she had stolen her great love from her, by her inconvenient arrival in Milton.

Isabel walked the two miles to Marlborough Mills, but with such lethargy – her paces so idle and drawn-out – that she was late. She was irritated by her lack of punctuality, but then she chided herself for her foolish irritation, for she had purposefully delayed her arrival at the mill, simply because she was anxious of meeting with Mr Thornton again. She thought to herself bitterly, as she walked across the loud and industrious mill yard, that it was unwise for her to have tarried in her journey, for the very lateness of her arrival would surely only draw a greater attention to her presence.

It mattered not. Mr Thornton could not have missed her if he had tried. He had walked back to Marlborough Mills the evening before in such a despondent state, that his mother could not but be alarmed upon his return. He saw the look of concerned surprise upon his mother's face, and knew he must compose himself and hide away his feelings – as he always had – and yet he could not muster the strength, nor inclination to do so, and so he had sat upon his favoured chair and raised his newspaper to his face, so that his mother might not see his look. Silence hung about the room (Fanny taken to her bed with dizziness), and Mrs Thornton – now reading her Commentaries – looked up at her son in question. Seeing only the expanse of printed paper, she said cautiously –

'You found the Hales well, John?'

'Indeed, Mother. Mr Bell was visiting, along with a doctor friend from Oxford. Mr Hale appeared all the better for it; the company does him well since the loss of his wife.' Mrs Thornton's lips pinched as she paused in thought. She had not failed to notice that an unknown man had been at Crampton that evening; a medical man. She wondered if perhaps this fellow had struck up a conversation with Miss Darrow, and if that might not be the cause of her son's taciturnity.

'And this doctor,' asked she, with that subtle method of enquiry, honed by all mothers, 'how old he is? An older man – as Mr Bell? I presume they are old friends?'

'No! He is perhaps, a few years older than me, I should think. The friendship is not of a particularly long duration; Dr Lyndhurst formerly lived in Kent.'

'Another southerner, then!' said Mrs Thornton, triumphantly. 'I suppose he got on handsomely with Miss Hale?'

'I suppose he did.'

'And Miss Darrow? Surely he had much to speak of with Miss Darrow?' Mr Thornton bristled from behind his newspaper. The very mention of her name caused in him, a bodily pain.

'They hardly spoke at all. Miss Darrow had a headache and retired early. Dr Lyndhurst did express an interest in visiting the mill infirmary, so I suppose he shall come in the next day or two.'

'And Miss Darrow will give him the tour of her domain, no doubt,' said Mrs Thornton, jealously.

'No, Mother. It is my mill; my endeavour. I shall show the gentleman about and explain to him our scheme.'

'Harrumph!' Mrs Thornton spied in the tone of her son's voice, a possessiveness, which did not relate to the sovereign rule of his mill, but to Miss Darrow. She had assumed, therefore, that her son was out of sorts due to the arrival of this new doctor, and as much as it pained her to hope it, she could only pray that this Dr Lyndhurst would catch Miss Darrow's attention and lead her back to Oxford, or Kent; she cared not where, so long as it was not Milton!

Mrs Thornton had retired, but Mr Thornton had not the energy to chase sleep, and so he had paced about the drawing-room, cursing himself for having spoken so cruelly. And I tell her that I love her! he scorned of himself. It is no wonder she would not have me; rough fellow that I am. She may have the easy manners of Milton lass, but she's still a lady, and for I to treat her in such a way! And the turmoil and loathing raged within him until he found himself pacing at speed, with laboured breaths. He shook his head in irritation, and told himself that for all that he was wrong in having spoken to her in such a way, she had still disappointed him; still crushed his heart. He told himself he could not forgive it. He was not a cruel man or a tyrant, but he was a passionate man, and was possessive and jealous in his love. The mere thought of another man touching her as he so longed to touch her, sent a shiver down his spine, as sweat collected upon his brow.

Oh! the feeling of her lips upon his. So soft and warm; so inviting. And she had responded to him with a natural, artless fervour, and – although he knew he should not have done it – when he had sought entry to her mouth, her lips had parted freely, and let him take from her, the sweet nectar of her essence. His fingers came unconsciously to his lips, and traced that tender place, where – for those brief, blissful moments – she had been his. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head as he basked in that sweet reverie. He could almost tell himself that he could still taste her kiss upon his lips; still smell her soft, natural scent.

The tautness of her body, as he had placed his large hand possessively about her waist and pressed her to him. He had not noticed at the time – too caught up was he, in the lusty cloud of ardour – but now, stood alone in that cold, austere drawing room – he thought she was not so soft as he had imagined; her body less giving; her lines not yielding to his impassioned touch. But he had never held a woman thus, so he did not dwell on it, but let those images spring forth, before the bitter, vicious tongue of jealously lashed out, and splintered that exquisite reverie, for where he had kissed and felt; where he had smelt and touched, another had been before him.

She was not his; would never be wholly his. The knowledge of it was – in that impassioned moment – an agony to him, and he wished with all his heart that he could hate her; that he could think himself ill-used and mistaken, but he could not but love her. For all he thought it unseemly and unbecoming of a lady, she had not been his, nor even known to him. He had no claim upon her those five years ago, and he knew that if she would forgive those evil words, and agree to be utterly, wholly his, he would – though it would vex him to the quick – forgive her loss of virtue, and love her unequivocally.

Thus, that following morning, Mr Thornton was sat about his office, attempting to work on some ledgers when in truth, he thought only of Isabel, and what he should say to her if she would come to the infirmary. He was not a man of polished manners, and did nothing for appearance's sake, and so for all he thought on what he might say to her, he practised and planned nothing, trusting in his heart to speak for him when next he faced her. But she did not come. His pocket watch was seldom in his pocket as the hour neared eleven, and when that hand ticked round and still she did not come, he could not blame her. For all that he was disappointed, he could not be surprised. She would not come here – not place herself before me – not after I spoke so ill. She must despise me; must fear I shall attack her again, lamented he. He was sorry for it, and knew not what to do.

Then, at twenty minutes past the hour, she came; her small figure erect, her shoulders back and head held high – she could not lose that ingrained posture – yet her face bore all the signs of one whose reserves were depleted. He watched as she drew near, and saw those dark shadows beneath her eyes, saw that dimmed complexion, and knew that he had caused it. There was a knock upon the office door, and knowing it would be she, Mr Thornton rose swiftly to open it.

'Miss Darrow,' his voice strained.

'I must apologise for being late to-day. Williams has gone off and I need the key to the infirmary.' She frowned and took a hasty step backwards. 'If I am still welcome, Mr Thornton?'

'You are certainly welcome, Miss Darrow. I had not expected you to come after – but you are very welcome.'

'The key, then, sir – and I shall be on my way and leave you to your business.' Her tone of voice was so cold and detached, and she would not meet his eye. She had never looked, nor spoken to him, in such an impersonal way, and he felt the sting of her rejection.

'Miss Darrow, I must apologise for –'

'But you have nothing to apologise for!' interrupted Isabel. 'You think ill of me and are entitled to your opinion. I hardly think we need talk of it again; the key, sir.' And her hand was held out to him in expectation. He would not pain her further by detaining her in his office; the mill was no place to beg forgiveness, and so he could only hand her the key and watch her walk away from him.

There was always a cluster of workers about the door to the infirmary, and so the moment Isabel reached the sanctuary of her medical room, she become engulfed in a steady flow of bodies, who had about them, some complaint or another. All were offered tea and biscuit – unthinking of Mr Thornton's purse – and begged to stay a little longer, in a bid to chase off the loneliness and the disquieting thoughts of him; which solitude would surely bring. Alas! the last patient departed, and Isabel was left with nothing further to do but clean the room and amend the lists of stock. It was while sat at her little table, writing away in pencil, that she felt the presence of a man in the doorway, and a shudder of dread ran over her, expecting to find herself alone with Mr Thornton, but as she looked up, her face lighted, to see kindly Mr Bell stood before her.

'Isabel, my dear!' exclaimed he, taking her in with once swift glance. 'You look very ill to-day. Did you sleep at all?'

'Only a little, I am afraid, sir.' Mr Bell looked on her a moment, and thought he knew the likely cause, for he had passed Mr Thornton in the yard and thought his look quite thunderous.

'Tell me my dear – and do not think my interference to be officious – but have you exchanged words with Mr Thornton?' Isabel felt sure she would have been mortified, had the question been posed by any other, but she knew from Gaskell, that Mr Bell was an astute man who would not miss a thing, and so she merely smiled sadly, and professed that she "could not deny it". 'A man such as Thornton, and a lady such as you – I fear you shall always have heated exchanges, but a quiet, forgiving man would not suit you.' Isabel smiled wryly.

'I fear I do not suit anyone, sir; not here in Milton, nor anywhere in this strange, peculiar England.'

'What a melancholy thing to say,' smiled he. 'Shan't you tell me why you should think such a thing?'

'I am not what I may seem, Mr Bell. I am not of this world. I had hoped I might belong here, but I see now that I do not; my ways are so very foreign; offensive, I should think.'

'Do you mean to leave Milton?'

'Oh, no! I have nowhere to go; no choice in the matter. I must stay here until I am quite unwelcome.'

'I should hope that you would stay in Milton, my dear – although I would be very pleased to see you settled somewhere prettier – such as Oxford! But no, you ought to stay in Milton. Firstly, I have here a draft for monies for this infirmary. If you are going to be "Dr Isabel" you must have the doctor's wares. Here.' And pulling a draft from his pocket book, he set it before her. 'Buy those unseemly surgical items you require, and build for yourself a little Mill hospital.'

'I cannot accept this!' cried Isabel, for he had given her some two hundred pounds.'

'Nay! You must; it is an investment in your future. It should add value to the property to have this infirmary set up properly.' Isabel nodded, knowing it to be true, but not understanding the significance of Mr Bell's words. He smiled down at her in amusement, and slowly pulled a letter from his pocket, placing it gently before her. 'Will you not take a look, Isabel?' And intrigued, she took up the letter, opened it, and found herself holding the deeds to Marlborough Mills.

'Sir, these deeds have my name on them!' Her eyes widening in consternation.

'So they do. I am not in the best of health, my dear, and look to putting my affairs in order. As I said, I hope you shall stay in Milton, and I know you shall work well with your tenant,' added Mr Bell, with a presumptuous wink.

'Surely this is your largest asset in Milton?' asked Isabel; colour now staining her cheeks. 'Ought you not give it to Margaret? She is your goddaughter, after all!'

'Indeed, and Margaret shall not go without, but the mill is yours, and other monies, after I am gone.' Isabel was distressed. First she had taken Mr Thornton from Margaret, and now she took her poor friend's inheritance.

'I cannot accept it, Mr Bell. If you have no other family, your properties and monies ought surely to be Margaret's!'

'Yes, quite so, but I do have other family, Isabel,' said Mr Bell, in a gentle, quiet tone; almost tentative. She had never heard the jovial man speak in such hushed and tender tones, and felt quite discomposed. He drew closer and took up her hand in his, his eyes warm and imploring as he looked down at her, and her heart beat thickly in response. She could not mistake the look of warm affection in his eyes, and felt some sudden dread.