Chapter 9. Shaking

As they walked home from the Thorntons' dinner, Meg found herself enjoying the cool air and the clear skies overhead. It was a wonderful change from the stifling, crowded rooms at Marlborough Mills, and she nearly danced down the street in her gratitude to be away, at last, from the glitter and confinement of the evening.

Her mind wandered back to Mr. Thornton and the pleasure he had taken in her playing. She had recognized before now that he was a good man, albeit a bit stern and aloof, and much too focused on business rather than people. However, tonight she had felt a tug of attraction for him that frightened her. She was not here to indulge in romance; she had a task to do, and once that task was completed successfully, she had every intention of returning to her former life, if she could find the way back.

As they entered the street where they lived, Meg saw their front door open and close, and a figure descend the steps. The man turned his face to the gaslight, and Meg recognized Doctor Donaldson. Without thinking, she rushed forward, her arm outstretched to detain him. "Doctor," she called in a sharp voice. "What are you doing here this late in the evening?"

Doctor Donaldson gave her a grave look. "Your mother is not well, Meg," he said in a low voice. "She has had a spell tonight." At the look of terror on her face, he quickly continued, "She is resting comfortably now, but I cannot tell for how long." His gaze encompassed Mr. Hale and Mr. Bell as he explained, "Mr. Hale, your wife has had several spasms tonight. These spasms wracked her body and caused enough physical distress that I had to dose her with laudanum. She is sleeping peacefully now."

"Meg?" Mr. Hale exclaimed in a frightened voice, as if he did not understand what the doctor was saying.

Meg placed an arm about her father's waist to support him, and he sagged against her. "Come inside with me, Father." Gazing up at the doctor, she added, "Thank you, Doctor Donaldson. I will be at your office the day after tomorrow, unless I am needed at home." She spoke softly, not wishing to alarm her father any further by saying she would fetch the doctor if her mother's condition worsened.

"Miss Hale, a word," Doctor Donaldson urged, and Meg relegated care of her father to Mr. Bell, who helped Mr. Hale into the house. Once the front door closed, Doctor Donaldson looked directly at her and said bluntly, "I do not know how much time your mother has left, Meg."

At Meg's shocked expression, he continued, "It could be months or it might be weeks. She cannot sustain attacks such as these much longer." He hesitated and seemed to struggle before he continued, "Tonight, she mentioned a son she has not seen in years. She related to me that she longs to see him again. I mention this to you because if your brother is to ever see his mother again in this world, it would be best to bring him to her now."

As Meg stood considering his words, he squeezed her arm consolingly and wished her a good night.

Meg was deeply concerned. If her mother had confided to Doctor Donaldson that she wished to see Frederick, given all the inherent danger of sharing such a confidence with a stranger, she must truly be desperate for a sight of her son. After ascertaining that Mr. Bell had her father well in hand, she went below to the kitchen in search of Dixon. She asked the servant if she had an address for Frederick to which she might direct a letter, and explained what she was going to do.

Dixon agreed with her, going so far as to claim, "Mind you, miss, if you weren't going to write to him, I was of a mind to do so myself." She promised to copy the address from Mrs. Hale's notes tomorrow morning, in time for Meg to put a letter in the post.

Meg retired to her room and wrote Frederick a short letter explaining his mother's condition, and provided him the direction to their home in Crampton. She urged him to come with all speed, and conveyed in a few short sentences his mother's longing to see her son.

Upon sealing this missive, Meg was so tired that she barely had the strength to remove her petticoats. After struggling with her corset, she merely loosened the strings and left it on. When she slipped into bed, she allowed her mind to play over the events of the day, and found herself remembering the look on Mr. Thornton's face as he watched her play.

During dinner, she thought she had disgusted him with her talk of helping the poor and easing the suffering of those on strike. Not that she cared; these things were important to her and she had no intention of modifying her morals for Mr. Thornton. She felt sad that their points of view were worlds apart. However, when he came to stand by her at the piano tonight, she imagined he felt an attraction toward her. She knew she was drawn to him, like a compass to True North, despite her better judgment. If she spent much more time with him, she was afraid she might lose her heart, and while that might do for Margaret, who belonged in this time, it would never do for Meg, who did not. With these thoughts in her mind, she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed she played the piano for him alone, while he watched her with his beautiful, piercing eyes.

********

As the days sped by, Mrs. Hale's condition showed no sign of improvement. Although she had no recurrence of violent spasms, she complained of weakness in her lower limbs and pains in her back. No matter how she lay in the bed, she could not find a comfortable position. Remembering Fanny's offer, Meg mentioned the water mattress, but her mother waved it off irritably, saying she had no use for such new-fangled inventions.

Meg prepared to set off one morning for the clinic when Mary came up from the kitchen, a worried look upon her face.

"Miss, if you please," Mary said, glancing about anxiously. "Miss Dixon says that your mother has changed her mind about that water mattress you mentioned. She says she has been thinking that lying on a bed of water would bring her comfort. She would like for you to go to Marlborough Mills and ask Mrs. Thornton if she would send the mattress. Miss Meg, your mother is in a bad way."

"Thank you, Mary. I shall go to Marlborough Mills at once." Meg tossed a shawl about her shoulders and, picking up her purse, stepped lightly down the steps into the street.

The shops of Milton were busy as usual, but as she neared the mill, she realized that few people were out. The streets were thin of people, and the few folk who did venture out scurried along and did not return her greeting. Instead, they averted their eyes and kept on their way. A sense of unease hung over the town, as if everyone were holding their breath waiting for what was about to unfold.

As she approached Marlborough Mills, Meg was surprised to find the gates closed and barred. She rung the bell and waited several minutes until Williams peered out at her and opened the gate. She explained that she had come to see Mrs. Thornton, and he opened the gate just wide enough to admit her.

"Come inside, Miss, and I'll bolt the gates behind you," he ordered her, and closed and secured the gate once more.

Meg walked swiftly across the courtyard, and knocked loudly on the door of the Thorntons' home. After an interminable time, a frightened-looking housemaid opened the door and bade her enter. Meg followed her up the stairs into the parlor, and was told to wait there until the girl fetched Mrs. Thornton.

Overcome with curiosity, Meg moved to the window in time to see Mr. Thornton unlock and enter the warehouse. From the windows above, a number of pale faces peered down.

Who were those people?

The sound of footsteps entering the room caused her to turn, and she moved toward Mrs. Thornton.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Thornton, for intruding like this," Meg said in an apologetic tone. "But Fanny said you had a water mattress that we might borrow?"

Mrs. Thornton did not respond. She was listening intently to a din outside that was steadily growing in intensity.

Meg fell silent, and both women were able to discern the sound of angry voices and fists pounding on the gate, demanding entrance.

"They are coming! They are coming," screamed Fanny from the doorway, her eyes wild with panic. "They are going to break down the doors and kill us all."

"Fanny, calm yourself," demanded Mrs. Thornton, but the young woman was hysterical. She spoke in quiet, measured tones in an attempt to calm her terrified daughter.

Meg turned back to the window in time to see Mr. Thornton emerge from the warehouse and lock the door. Pocketing the key, he raced across the mill yard and disappeared into the house. She could hear his footsteps as he came up the steps, and heard him speaking in a low tone to his mother.

At that moment, the gates to the mill yard broke free. A wave of furious mill workers trampled them under foot and flooded into the yard. The frenzied workers filled every corner and space; some ran to the warehouse doors in an attempt to wrench them open, while others swarmed to the steps of Mr. Thornton's house. Their faces were inhuman in their animal frenzy. Each man looked as if he would easily murder anyone who stood in his path and foiled his attempt to protect his livelihood.

This is it, Meg thought as her heart thundered. This is the riot of which Gran spoke!

In the background, Meg could hear Fanny screaming once more, followed by sudden silence. Turning, she saw Mrs. Thornton lift the girl into her strong arms and carry her to the back of the house. Meg looked out upon the crowd once more and spotted Boucher, livid with fury, shouting at the upper windows of the mill where the terrified Irish workers peered through the dirty window panes.

"Have heart, Miss Hale, the militia will be here soon."

Meg jumped. She had not noticed that Mr. Thornton had moved to her side. He peered down into the yard, his face dark with anger.

"The militia," Meg gasped. "Why has the militia been called?"

"To dispatch this mob," he responded promptly.

Meg was aghast. "What will they do to this poor starving crowd, driven mad by their hunger?" She felt a strong charge of energy run up her spine. The shouting mob, the angry man - she knew what was about to happen next, she could see it unfolding before her.

He must not go down there, she thought intently. At the same time, she knew that someone must speak to that crowd and try to stop them from attacking the Irish. She gazed out over the upturned faces and gasped. There, among the milling bodies, was Clothilde!

The fortune teller stood apart from the others, her face upturned and her mouth quirked in a slight smile. She looked directly at Meg and with a slim, upturned hand, beckoned to her. Now is the time to act, Meg thought.

Turning abruptly from Mr. Thornton, she raced down the steps, ignoring his surprised exclamation. "Miss Hale, what are you doing?" he cried after her, but she did not respond.

At the bottom of the steps, Meg managed to lift the heavy bar barricading the door and toss it aside. Throwing the door open, she raced out onto the landing. She looked out over the crowd, searching for Clothilde, but the fortune teller had vanished.

The crowd quieted, mesmerized by the sight of the woman in white above them.

Meg realized that the throng below was waiting for her to speak, so she cried in a cold, high voice, "Stop! Think of what you are doing!"

The crowd shifted uneasily, and she continued urgently, "Would you do violence to men like you, men and women driven from their homes by hunger to find work elsewhere? Mr. Thornton may have been wrong to bring them here, but what you would do is far worse. The soldiers are coming. You must go home."

She finished on a breathless note, and cast her eyes about the upturned faces that gazed uncertainly at her, as if she dared them to counter her directive. She heard footsteps behind her, and saw with dismay that Mr. Thornton had joined her on the landing.

"Will you send the Irish home?" bellowed one man.

"Never, by your bidding!" shouted Mr. Thornton.

Damn the man, she thought in despair. He had moved beside her, his face set and determined. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he stared at the crowd defiantly while the men and women below howled their anger and flung invectives at him.

Turning coldly to Meg, he said, "Go inside."

"No, I shall never leave you. It is my place to save you," Meg responded unthinkingly, her eyes never leaving the crowd.

Fury leapt into his eyes. "Go inside or I will take you myself." He grasped her shoulders to force her into the house, but Meg pulled away from him, intently watching the rioters. She saw Boucher bend down and pick up a good-sized stone; he hefted it in his hand and looked furtively at Mr. Thornton. He was going to hurl it at the master, Meg realized.

Her one clear thought was to prevent Mr. Thornton's injury. If the injury could be stopped, then the entire malignant chain of events might be averted as well. She stepped in front of Mr. Thornton and, raising her arm and pointing, cried out in an imperious tone, "John Boucher, put that stone down."

Startled at hearing his name, Boucher dropped the stone at once and stood looking like a guilty schoolboy. Others who held stones froze in place. Mr. Thornton attempted to step beside her, but she resolutely moved to stand in front of him, pushing against him with her body to keep him behind her.

Her voice rang out over the mill yard again. "Do no violence here if you value your lives and your livelihoods. You must settle this strike like men, not animals. I entreat you to go home. There is nothing for you to gain here!"

The crowd milled about uneasily, reluctant to leave but unsure how to proceed. They were muttering among themselves, uncertain what to do, when a shrill whistle shattered the quiet and officers on horseback entered the gates, wielding their clubs threateningly.

Chaos erupted as men ran in every direction, pursued by the soldiers on horseback. Meg saw with horror several workers fall to the ground insensate, in danger of being trampled beneath the horses' prancing hooves.

When she spied Jenny, Bessy's neighbor and friend, ducking blows, Meg did not stop to think of her own safety, but rushed into the crowd to the girl's side. She shoved Jenny out of the way and took a hard blow to the head.

Mr. Thornton had followed Meg into the crowd. He watched in horror as she was struck, and he pushed through the throng in desperation to reach her.

Jenny cried out and attempted to hold up Meg's limp form, but she was not strong enough. Before Meg slumped to the ground, Mr. Thornton caught her and swept her into his arms.

Maneuvering through the fleeing crowd and into his house, Mr. Thornton rushed upstairs and into the parlor, and gently lowered Meg upon a settee. Shouting for a servant to secure the front doors, he knelt beside her unconscious form and chafed her hands between his larger ones. It had been madness for her to rush downstairs, he thought angrily, but her concern for the working people seemed to trump any instinct for self preservation that she had.

What a foolish, headstrong young woman, Mr. Thornton thought yet again, half in exasperation and half in tenderness. No matter her intent, she had saved his life, of that he was certain. He had seen stones in many of the men's hands, and knew that once the first stone was thrown, others would follow. In calling upon the men to stop, Miss Hale had prevented a hail of stones and other objects from being hurled at his head. Her words had served as a dash of cold water in the face of the mob, abruptly cooling its frenzy. Even the angriest man recognized the folly of striking and injuring a woman, especially a lovely young woman such as Miss Hale.

She was lovely, he thought ardently. Her face in repose was soft, and her long lashes lay against her pale cheeks. Her auburn hair framed her face, and her full lips were relaxed into a half smile. He smoothed a lock of hair from her injured temple and caught a faint hint of her scent - was it lilies? It was fresh and captivating, as she was.

He felt a swelling of tenderness and some stronger emotion. Miss Hale had risked her life to save his. What had she said to him on the landing?

I shall never leave you, it is my place to save you.

A shiver of desire and longing passed through him. This girl was dangerous, he thought. She would upset his calm and deliberate life, and he would never be the same, he feared. He still felt her body pressed against his as she attempted to shield him from the crowd, and his pulse quickened at the memory of how her soft curves felt against him. He had the strangest urge to lean forward and kiss her, as if he were a prince in a children's story who could awaken her from a spell. He took her cold, lifeless hand in his own once more and bent closer toward her, his breath quickening, when his mother's voice called him back to the present.

He stood up quickly as she entered the room.

"John, what happened?" Mrs. Thornton asked sharply, staring at the unconscious girl on their settee.

"Mother, Miss Hale has been injured," Mr. Thornton responded in agitation.

"I can see that," she responded in some alarm. "I could almost imagine she is dead. I shall send for the doctor directly," she said decidedly.

"Send one of the servants," her son urged. "I must go see to my Irish."

Mrs. Thornton left the room in search of a servant, as her son continued to gaze down at Meg's pale face. He knew he should go to calm his workers, but he longed to remain by her side. She looked so defenseless and lovely that he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and cradle her in his embrace.

He was about to leave when he saw Meg's eyes flutter open. He swiftly knelt by her side again.

"Miss Hale, can you hear me?" he asked urgently, laying a hand upon her arm.

"What happened?" Meg asked weakly. She closed her eyes because the light pained her and her vision was double - two of Mr. Thornton swam before her eyes, concerned expressions on both of their faces.

"You took a blow to the head in the mill yard. Do you remember?" he asked.

Meg thought for a moment and remembered everything that had happened. Her eyes flew open, and she grasped his hands. "You are all right," she cried, and a brilliant smile lit her pale face. "You were not hurt by the crowd! Oh, I am so glad!"

Falling back on the pillow, she burst into tears of relief. "It is done!" she exclaimed. "I have accomplished what I was sent to do."

Mr. Thornton watched her cry with a rising sense of joy. She cares for me, he thought exultantly. Even in her delirium from the blow she sustained, she cares for me! He returned the pressure of her hands and his face was incandescent with happiness.

"Miss Hale-" he began in a low, husky voice, but at that moment his mother entered the parlor with Doctor Donaldson, and he was forced to move aside.

Doctor Donaldson walked over to the sofa where Meg was struggling to sit up and pushed her back on the pillow. "Stay where you are, Meg," he admonished sharply, "until I have had a chance to examine you. I thought you might be here. Your mother sent me to retrieve you. Mrs. Thornton tells me you have taken quite a blow. What were you doing down in the mill yard with all this rough business going on?"