Mrs Thornton returned from Hayleigh – after having been bid by Fanny, to stay for some four weeks – to find Isabel sat at the dining table (Johnny sleeping in his basinet, beside her), as she pored over scraps of fur and battled with parcels of cotton fluff.

'What is all this?' asked Mrs Thornton, her eyes wide with dismay. In truth, she had surmised – with one cursory glance about the room – that the standards she demanded, had quite slipped in her absence from the mill house.

'Oh, Mother,' said Isabel, looking up with a smile. 'It is lovely to have you home. I trust Fanny and Irene get on well?' Mrs Thornton shuddered – as she always did – at the sound of her granddaughter's name, and merely nodded, before frowning at the monstrosity in Isabel's hand.

'What is that you have there?' Now she spied brown thread and a needle, and she became quite worried that her daughter-in-law had seen fit to fashion for Johnny, a new wardrobe in her absence.

'I am making a bear for Johnny; a little plaything for him,' frowned Isabel, indignantly. 'Cannot you see that it is a bear?' And she held it aloft, so that Mrs Thornton could take a closer look. The matriarch pressed her lips into a firm line, and her nostrils flared, as she leant towards the strange creation. She secretly thought – upon closer inspection – that the bear held an even weaker resemblance to any such stuffed creature, than it had when she was stood at a distance, for her vision was now all the more sharp, and only heightened Isabel's ill work.

'You ought to have made something you could find a pattern for,' said Mrs Thornton.

'Oh, but I drew my own. Stuffed bears are very popular where I have lived.' Mrs Thornton did not reply, but looked to the badly stitched, lumpy plaything, and supposed that if such concoctions were admired where Isabel had lived, she must have lived in some very queer places, indeed. She was saved from the responsibility of any further comment, by the arrival of her son. He strode quickly into the dining room and pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek.

'Welcome home, Mother. I just saw you return, and thought I would join you for tea.'

'Yes, do, John. I must nurse Johnny.' And so Isabel took the babe up to her rooms, leaving mother and son in solitude, for the first time in more than one month!

'How does Isabel get on?' asked Mrs Thornton, sitting wearily at the table.

'Better than you, I should think, Mother. You look a little tired.' She pursed her lips, and sighed deeply.

'Fanny is trying, and her babe cries loudly and often.' Mr Thornton smiled, broadly.

'Then you shall be pleased to be home. Johnny has cried little, and Isabel is much improved, as you can see from this bear she means to make for him,' said he, inclining his head towards the discarded work pieces which now cluttered the dining table.

'It is ghastly, John.' And now, he chuckled wryly to himself and nodded.

'It is, Mother, but Isabel has spent many hours working on it, and so I find I cannot help but admire it.'

'You are soft, John. We can only hope that Fanny does not see it.'

'And how is Fanny? Watson tells me she quite dotes upon little Irene, and is forever fussing with her dress.'

'It is true. She is a warm mother, but you know your sister. She is flighty, and now that the babe is come and a girl! Well, she has seen new papers added to the nursery (which was newly made up when she found she was with child!), – something more feminine, she said – and she talks of little but the dresses and ribbons she shall have for her babe. Then she quite tires herself, and so has Irene sent to the nursery with the maid, and complains that she is loath to be separated from her daughter.'

'Well,' frowned Mr Thornton, 'Fanny has always been that way. I am not surprised.'

'No, I am not surprised, either. But I must say, I was a little shocked to find that she meant to nurse the babe,' said Mrs Thornton, pensively. 'But I believe Isabel told her that nursing helped the mother to lose weight, and you know Fanny grew quite round, so I expect that is why she sent away her wet nurse.'

'I see.' Now Mr Thornton sat awkwardly at the table, and claimed a great interest in the pattern on his teacup, for he often watched his wife nurse his son, and did not wish to think of his sister in any such way.

In the ensuing silence, Mrs Thornton gazed about the room once more, and felt certain she had seen more than one dust mote. She had not given her position in the mill house much consideration since her son's marriage and their determining that she would continue to run the house, whilst Isabel worked in the infirmary. But now, she felt less certain as to her place. Indeed, she had been gone from home one month, and Isabel had necessarily filled the breech. She had not done a satisfactory job (to Mrs Thornton's fastidious eye), but it was entirely possible that her daughter-in-law might now mean to keep the mantle of "Mistress of the House", and leave the matriarch without occupation. She frowned at her tea in contemplation, and said, –

'How has Isabel got on with running the house?'

'She has done so without complaint, Mother, but I know she shall be glad to hand the task to you – if you are still happy to see to things, that is.'

'Certainly, I am,' replied Mrs Thornton, evenly, but she was greatly relieved. 'And what does Isabel mean to so with her time, now? She cannot mean to always be in the infirmary, now that she has Johnny to tend to?' And although she tried to speak kindly, she could not keep the note of disapproving accusation from her voice.

'She does not, Mother. We have discussed the infirmary, and Isabel is to work one hour a day – during shift change-over.' Mrs Thornton grumbled at the prospect – fearing infection – but inwardly ceded that one hour was far better than the endless hours the girl had spent at work, before.

'Isabel shall have plenty of time to tend to Johnny, then. But the lad is only a babe. He must sleep a great deal, and then what shall Isabel do? She is not one to sit about,' warned Mrs Thornton. Then a fear suddenly gripped her, and eyeing her son warily, she said, 'she has not had you send off to London for one of those expensive baby carriages, has she? No doubt, she would spend all day walking about the Princeton district!'

'Nay, Mother,' replied Mr Thornton, in vexation. 'I would not allow such a thing, and Isabel is not fool enough to wish it. No, Isabel has had my books this past fortnight, and has been putting together some figures for me. If the numbers are viable, she means to open up a sort of nursery in the dining room, so that the babes and smallest infants might be watched by the likes of Mary Higgins and her two kitchen hands. I think Isabel means to help watch the babes during meal times, whilst Mary is busy with the lunches.

'A nursery!' cried Mrs Thornton, aghast. 'Why on earth would she mean to do that?'

'The mothers often have need to leave their young babes at home, and unattended, Mother. The nursing mothers,' here, Mr Thornton coughed and flushed, for he was uncomfortable alluding to such a thing, 'the nursing mothers can sometimes –' a frown, his lips grim, 'be wet through, for lack of nursing.'

'Good God, John!'

'Nay, Mother,' replied he, holding up his hand. 'I have never noticed it, and did not think of it, but Isabel did and once she told me that it can be painful to the mother, and even lead to an infection! and once I spoke to Higgins, and he told me of the mothers' embarrassment at the state of their appearance, I could not ignore the matter – it is not proper – so I bid Isabel to look at some numbers for me. Unless the cost to me is very great, I shall see it go ahead.'

'And what of Johnny?' asked Mrs Thornton. 'If Isabel is to spend lunchtimes in the dining room, what of Johnny? She cannot mean to take him with her?' her voice now quite insistent.

'I think she did mean to, but I have told her that I shan't allow it. I had hoped you would sit with Johnny, Mother? It would give you time alone with him.' Of course, such a prospect held great appeal for the grandmother's rapacious heart, and so she only grumbled, instead of voicing an outright refusal.

Mr Thornton smiled well-pleased – for he saw that his mother had been won-over – even if she would not yet admit it. He smiled, also, at the remembrance of that little disagreement, which he had shared with his wife when first she spoke of her wish for a workers' nursery. When Isabel had told him of her intention to watch the babes whilst Mary Higgins saw to the hand's hot meals, he did not object at all, for he knew his wife needed an occupation beyond the home, and he thought himself quite lucky that "beyond the home" did – for Isabel – happen to be confined to his mill yard. But then she had suggested that Johnny could go with her to the dining room, and he had rejected the notion at once. She had scowled at him with a challenging look, but he had only reminded her of the risk the other children might pose to their young son – those workers' babes being so often exposed to disease. And her maternal heart had thundered with concern, and she had instantly relented. No; her acceptance of his wishes pleased him, but her reluctance to part with her son – even for one hour – pleased him more.

Indeed, his family was a happy one, and he was glad to have his mother home, for although he enjoyed his quiet evenings with his wife, his mother was such a strong character – had such an imposing effect upon the house – that he had quite missed her. He was now, so very well pleased, that there was only one circumstance he would see changed, and that was his son's sleeping arrangements. He had tentatively suggested to his wife, that their son – no longer nursing between the hours of ten o'clock at night, and six o'clock in the morning, might very well have his crib moved into Isabel's room, so that husband and wife may sleep alone. Isabel had not wished it, and had claimed her son only young, and because her fierce bond with Johnny had come only lately, Mr Thornton patiently chose not to press her. Still, he was loath to share his room with his son for much longer, for he had not loved his wife since before little Johnny's birth, and he felt he could not do so with their sleeping son about their darkened room.

It was some days after Mrs Thornton's return from Hayleigh – the dusty rooms now put to rights, under the stern matriarch's watchful eye – that Fanny, Watson and their infant daughter, returned to the mill house after church; eschewing their Sunday evening dinners, and instead sharing a midday meal, so that the little cousins might be awake in one another's company.

Little Irene Watson screamed quite heartily upon entering the mill house, and kept up her shrill wail until her face was red, and Mrs Thornton was obliged to seat herself across the other side of the room.

'She cries loudly,' grimaced Mr Watson in apology; for he grew tired of the incessant wailing, and only his secret fondness for his daughter, prevented him from demanding that the babe be banished from the family rooms at Hayleigh, and kept quiet in the nursery, where she could not give her father a headache.

'Perhaps she did not like the carriage ride?' suggested Isabel, now leaning down to pick up the babe. She settled somewhat, but like her mother, she was a fussy, noisy thing, in wont of constant attention. And like his father, little Johnny only lay quietly, in Mr Thornton's arms, watching the room intently. 'Shall you meet your Cousin Johnny? Perhaps you might like a little talk; we grown-ups must be very dull,' shushed Isabel, bringing the babe close her to husband. Mrs Thornton rolled her eyes, for she thought it very strange to speak to an infant in such a way, but Fanny seemed quite unconcerned, and Watson was merely grateful that the room had quietened, somewhat.

'Let me take my little niece then,' smiled Mr Thornton, taking the babe; now cradling one within each arm. 'Johnny, my lad, this is Cousin Irene. Irene, meet your Cousin Johnny.' Isabel sighed, thinking her husband's arms looked quite beautifully full – holding two young babes – and when Irene instantly quietened at the large, dark man's touch – his deep, soulful voice – the room appeared to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

'You are very good with children, John,' mused Fanny.

'Do not tell anyone such a thing, Fanny. I have my reputation to think of.'

'Oh, do not worry,' replied Fanny, with a dismissive flap of the hand. 'The workers think you quite soft since you married Isabel, and there's talk about town of you being quite the family man; I think the game is up.' And because his sister's words vexed him, and he did not like to be talked about, Mr Thornton walked towards his brother, and swiftly deposited both babes into the older man's arms.

'There you go, Watson. It is your turn to play the family man.'

'But – look, I don't think –' stuttered Watson, looking helplessly to his wife, but Fanny was too tired to hold either babe, and so ignored him. 'Isabel, ought not you take them?' asked Watson, with a pleading voice.

'You had best ask Mother; they are her grandchildren.' And Mrs Thornton would have quite readily taken both babes, but that she enjoyed seeing her idle son-in-law so flustered.

'You wanted a son, did you not, Watson?' Surely you wish to hold Johnny for a little longer?' asked Mrs Thornton, in a challenging voice.

'A son! I care nothing for a son. My Fanny might give me only daughters, and still I should be happy. No, I need not hold him – either of them – please take them.' Mrs Thornton relented, too eager to hold both babes. She did cede, inwardly – because she was an honest forward-speaking person – that Johnny was by far the most handsome of the two; very long, with lovely thick, dark hair, and the brightest, bluest eyes, which were quick and alert, where Irene's eyes would fluster about restlessly. No, said Mrs Thornton to herself, smiling down upon both grandchildren, I should be very happy for John to fill this house with his children, and I would quite happily mind them all. Isabel might take up endless charitable works for all I mind, if I might have the likes of little Johnny about me.

And Mr Thornton was of a similar mind; he did wish for a great brood of children, and he wanted his wife to have her daughter, but he stood little chance of fathering more children, if his son still slept with the martial bedroom.

'Izzy,' said Mr Thornton, as she nursed Johnny one last time, before setting him down for the night. 'Johnny is almost three months, now. Might I move his crib into your room? We might keep the door open a little; we should still hear him if he cries.' Isabel bit her lips in hesitation, for she was well aware (although they had not spoken of it) that her husband had made no advances on her, only because of their son's nocturnal proximity. She did not fear her husband, and knew he would not press his attentions where they were not wanted, but oh! she herself, so dearly wanted them, and feared she would not have the courage to refuse him.

'Do you feel strongly about it, dearest?' asked she, seeing a glimmer of hope in his eyes, at finding she had not immediately rejected the proposition. Mr Thornton sighed, for he did not wish to lie to his wife, but nor did he wish to pressure her for intimacies she may not wish to share.

'Izzy,' said he; his voice soft and plaintive. 'I have no objection to keeping Johnny with us, if you should wish it, but I am not comfortable loving you as I might wish, unless we are alone.'

'Is that what you wish, then?' asked Isabel, blushing. A small groan escaped Mr Thornton's lips, and he turned away, in discomfort.

'Not if you do not wish it,' came his hoarse reply.

'But you do wish it?' pressed Isabel again. Now he shook his head, and turned to her with a frown.

'I am man, Izzy. Of course I wish to lie with the woman I love, but as a man, I know not of your –' He thrust out his hand and waved it at her, vaguely; his brow contorted in embarrassment. 'Of your – recovery. I should never wish to hurt you.' He grimaced and turned away again, tugging at his cravat. 'Forget I spoke, love. I do not mean to press you. I am patient. You might, perhaps, suggest that Johnny's crib is moved through to our room, when you feel you might welcome my affections?' His voice was strained, and Isabel knew he felt a little rejected; that he was anxious not to cajole her, but had need of a greater intimacy than they had shared of late. She saw, too, that it was an emotional need, and she quite readily shared it, but she was afeared.

'What if I should fall with child, John?' Now he spun about – the top button of his shirt undone, but the act of disrobing now forgotten.

'Is that what troubles you?'

'Yes.' He licked his lips anxiously, as his heart began to beat thickly in his chest. He knew – with time – her fears would lessen, but still he felt her next words would ordain the path of their life together, and so it was he held his breath, as next he spoke and awaited a reply.

'Do you not wish for more children? You do not wish to fall with child again?' He kept his voice even, but his jaw was set, his shoulders tense, and his hands; they belied his tone of voice, for they were clenched into fists, and Isabel could quiet plainly see the skip of tendon over knuckle, as he stood before her; waiting.

'I should like us to have many children, John. But I am afraid.' That held breath was immediately released, and in two great strides, Mr Thornton was beside his wife in an instant; one strong arm about her shoulders, the other cradled about his son, so that he might embrace both loved ones, simultaneously.

'I have fears, love. I think we feel the same. And although my body did not bear your trial, my heart did; I felt it in my heart – my soul. We are stronger now, my love. I do not think God would see us mourn again, but if He did, we would bear it better; I would bear it better, and care for you better. I would not let you down.'

'The risk, John,' said Isabel, frowning sadly.

'Ay! It is a daunting prospect, but the prize, love. Look at our son? Is he not worth any risk?'

'Yes, he is. You both are.' Mr Thornton smiled, and kissed his wife gently on the lips, before turning to his son, and tracing one elegant finger across that softest cheek, as the babe nestled close to his mother, and suckled contently.

'I hope one day to give you a daughter, my love. I saw when you held Irene; how much you long for a daughter.' At this, Isabel smiled, but it was not a sad smile, as Mr Thornton might have expected, but a bright one, full of amusement.

'What, love?' asked he, in question.

'Only that what you say is very true; it would be you! who gave me my daughter. It is not – as you archaic men suppose – the wife who determines the sex of the babe, but the husband.'

'Hmmm,' mused Mr Thornton; his lips pursed, and – or so Isabel thought – pouting quite temptingly. 'If that is so, and you might agree that I am to give you a daughter at some future time, I should need to practice; the challenge is mine, and a man must always take his lessons if he wishes to excel.'