Chapter 2 Passages in Time #6
“No, I cannot. I dare not, for two reasons. Firstly, I cannot forget what I have learned here. It would be impossible, knowing how history unfolds, to remain silent and do nothing. Imagine, Mr. Thornton, going back to the time of the Trojan War. You know of the Greeks’ plan to hide in the horse and so have the power to stop the destruction of Troy – what do you do?
Do you stand by and do nothing, knowing that Troy will be destroyed with the loss of many lives?
Or do you warn them, knowing that you would be changing a future that has already happened? ”
“I understand. It would be most difficult to remain silent. Are you saying that terrible things have happened to this world since my time? Surely we have learned that war is not the answer,” Mr. Thornton said.
“Mr. Thornton, all I will say is look to the Bible—Matthew, chapter 24, verse 6.”
“You will hear of wars and rumours of wars,” MJ said. “Sorry, I’m a vicar’s daughter.”
Mr. Thornton looked at Miss Hale, wondering not for the first time what her father would make of his daughter’s decision to entertain a strange man in her home.
“Oh, Mr. Thornton, I can read you like a book – my father would not care that I had a man in my house without a chaperone – you have to stop thinking you are compromising my honour. It was compromised long ago.”
Bessy Higgins smiled. “Sometimes, MJ, it is as difficult going forward in time as it is going back. You need to make allowances for Mr. Thornton’s upbringing; there was a name for a woman who entertained a man alone in her home in the nineteenth century and it wasn’t a polite one.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, I will stop teasing you.”
“And I will try to stop judging you by my Victorian moral compass,” he replied. “Miss Higgins, you said there were two reasons you would not be going back with me. May I enquire as to what the second one is?” he asked, turning his attention back to Bessy Higgins.
“I am not who I was when I left. As much as I miss my father – and I do beyond measure – I cannot return to that life. All I would know would be poverty, illness, and hardship – he wouldn’t want that for me. It is another reason why you must not get comfortable here – you won’t want to leave.”
“No, I have to go back. I have to be sure my mother and sister are all right.”
“Will the passage open one week later in the nineteenth century, as well?” MJ asked.
“That is my hypothesis, but it is only a hypothesis, one I have no way of knowing is correct.”
“I have to believe that you are correct,” Mr. Thornton said.
“In which case, please heed my warning. Try not to learn too much about this world, it could be very dangerous.”
“Am I allowed to learn things about the world I left?” Mr. Thornton asked carefully.
“Like what?” MJ asked.
“Like who tried to kill me?”
“Kill you?”
“The fire was started deliberately. A man called out to me as the fire broke out. He told me that I had been warned. The fire must have singed more than my hair – I know I should know him, but his name eludes me.”
“There has never been any question of the fire being arson,” MJ said.
“No, that’s not strictly true; a cause was never given.
What you must remember, MJ, is that fire investigations were not carried out like they are today – it was a tragedy for sure, but they would be likely to say it was heat from a chimney or something similar.
The inquest would open and close. The dead would be buried; rebuilding would begin,” Bessy Higgins said, her tone one of weary acceptance.
“Yes, they put the fire at Marlborough Mills down as an accident that happened due to more than one circumstance,” MJ admitted.
“Well it wasn’t – it was a man. I was lured into the cotton store by seeing the open door, which it wouldn’t have been that early. I mean, the overseer wasn’t even there,” Mr. Thornton said.
“No, that’s right. According to newspaper reports of the day, by the time he’d arrived, the fire had already taken hold.”
“So, Miss Higgins, would it be all right for me to use the special window Miss Hale has to find out about the fire?” Mr. Thornton asked again.
“Window?”
“He means my laptop,” MJ explained.
“Right. Truthfully, I don’t know, but I am assuming you will only confirm what you already suspect.”
“The future regarding the fire has already changed. It’s why I believed Mr. Thornton’s story. The newspaper reports online said his body wasn’t found, but when I saved and printed them last week, they said his body had been found,” MJ said, realising she hadn’t explained this to Dr. Higgins.
“That is interesting. I suppose the change is only small since everybody still believes Mr. Thornton died in the fire. I can’t stop you doing research, and I obviously did the same.
The difference is I never planned to go back.
Promise me that whatever information you learn you will use wisely.
And, MJ, please keep the research related to the mill.
It was the one thing that Matthew worried about – time travel causing a cataclysmic change in history. ”
“I promise that I will only look at my family and the mill,” Mr. Thornton said. “I don’t think anybody would accuse me of being frivolous or foolhardy – you must remember how cautious I am.”
“Yes, you were a sober man and a fair Master, better than others in Milton at the time. I will continue to work on the calculations for next Monday morning when the passage should reopen.”
“I suggest we catch up on Sunday. Come for dinner, and we will discuss what you think Mr. Thornton must do to pass back through the crack in time,” MJ said.
She stood to leave, and Mr. Thornton held out his hand to Bessy. “Miss Higgins, thank you for the explanations and for understanding my need to return so I can find out who did this to my family. You have my word that is the only information I will look at.”
She took his hand. “And your word, Mr. Thornton, as everybody in Milton knows, is a good deal from you.”
Chapter Six
MJ couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten at her small kitchen table.
It was usually strewn with books and papers.
She’d cleared them away, knowing that Mr. Thornton would not enjoy dinner on the sofa.
Now, she searched through the kitchen drawers, certain that she had a tablecloth and tablemats tucked away somewhere.
She had not made her usual Thai or Italian food, thinking it better to stick with something Mr. Thornton would be familiar with.
He’d probably call her chicken supreme a stew, but at least she wouldn’t be answering questions about how she was cooking food using ingredients he’d probably never heard of.
They’d spent the afternoon looking at information about the mill and Milton leading up to the fire.
The months before the fire had been very unsettled – workers were forming unions and demanding better pay and conditions.
She’d been forthright in her opinion in saying how the mill owners must have hated the demands.
He’d smiled slightly and agreed that many mill owners were against the unions – some because they were fools and others because they worried about meeting the cost of the improvements the unions were demanding.
She shook her head and spoke of how pay increases and improvements were disliked for one reason only – they ate into the company profits.
He’d responded in his quiet way that not all mill owners behaved like that.
Not all mills had large profits; some were barely scraping by.
He’d explained how he had made improvements at Marlborough Mills; some were expensive, like the wheel in the carding room that drew the cotton fluff and dust out of the air to prevent it going into the workers’ lungs.
It was one of the reasons Bessy Higgins worked at Marlborough Mills and not at Hamper’s, like her father.
During the course of the afternoon, she’d had to re-evaluate her opinion of the mill owners whom she had labelled as evil tyrants – John Thornton, she realised, was none of those things.
Besides the wheel, which would have been a huge financial outlay (as much as five or six hundred pounds), he’d also set up a kitchen where for a penny or two the workers could have a hot meal.
At a time when food was expensive and scarce, this was often the only meal his workers ate.
He’d built a wash house near the site of the mill so that his workers could have a proper bath for a penny.
Since its introduction, they had seen a reduction in skin complaints and diseases.
He admitted that these had not made him popular with some of the other mill owners, who couldn’t see the sense in improving conditions.
“But if my workers are healthier, they work longer for me,” he explained.
When she asked if he meant more hours in a day, he looked genuinely hurt.
“No, Miss Hale, I meant that my workers do not fall ill as easily and, because conditions are better in my mill, they are less likely to leave my employment. My turnover of staff is the lowest in Milton and my workers suffer fewer accidents.”
She apologised, but he became quiet and uncommunicative, so she excused herself by saying she’d make a start on dinner.
She realised she’d offended him, but she hadn’t expected to like him so much.
If anybody had told her she was going to meet one of the Lancashire mill owners whose names she knew almost as well as her own, she’d have said she expected them to be coarse and uncouth, with no concern for the wellbeing of their workers.
Mr Thornton was different, she admitted with surprise.
His manner, though stiff, was achingly polite; his tone was quiet, and he had obvious compassion for his workers.
She sighed. The table was set, and the meal was ready to serve. She couldn’t avoid him any longer. “Mr. Thornton, I am about to serve dinner if you want to come through.”