Chapter 2 Passages in Time #8
“That is not possible,” Mr. Thornton had whispered.
“My … my mother’s opinion of Slickson is worse than mine.
” He’d gone on to explain how his mother held Slickson responsible for his father’s death.
They’d been involved in some scheme that had financially ruined his father – he’d committed suicide shortly afterwards.
Slickson had found out that the project was going to collapse and had sold his shares without telling Mr. Thornton’s father, unscrupulously making a profit even though he knew the project was doomed.
He’d tried to buy the business then, but Mr. Thornton had come home from university and took over the running of the mill, turning it into not only a commercial success but a benchmark for how a mill should be run.
Further research into the sale of the mill shed light on how it had come into Slickson’s hands.
Initial newspaper reports confirmed that the mill had been bought by a company called the Lancashire Textile Company, a company managed but not owned by a man called Robson.
Only later was it revealed that Slickson had been behind the purchase.
On hearing about the duplicitous way in which Slickson had bought the mill, Mr. Thornton had become rigid with shock and anger.
She’d watched his fingers curl into a fist, his jaw clench, and his eyes harden until they resembled chips of ice.
He had moved away from the computer and walked to her window, staring out over her tiny garden.
She had left him for a time as he struggled to contain his emotions, only going to him when he remained unmoving for ten minutes.
She reached and touched his arm before taking his cold hand in hers and gently stroking it.
She felt his taut muscles relax and his ragged breathing return to normal.
He apologised, thinking he’d scared her, but she assured him he had not.
Without letting go of her hand, he returned to the sofa and sat by her side in a way he’d not done since they had watched David Copperfield together. They had been closer that night, for their legs touched – propriety seemingly forgotten.
He spoke of his mother and how important an influence she had been.
He wondered what effect hearing that Slickson had got his hands on the mill had had on her.
MJ knew the answer, or at least suspected it.
She’d not been going to say anything, but he must have read something in her eyes because he asked her to explain what she knew.
She told him his mother had died nine months after the sale of the mill, shortly after Slickson’s ownership became common knowledge, and one week after his sister’s wedding.
His Victorian way of hiding his feelings came to the fore as he merely nodded at the news. His facial expression barely changed, but he couldn’t hide the pain he obviously felt from his expressive eyes. MJ reacted to the emotion she saw there, and reached up and touched his cheek.
“We’re going to get you home, and there is every chance that the events around the time of the fire will alter,” she’d said quietly.
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. You only know Bessy Higgins as a mill girl – I know her as a brilliant physicist. If she says the passage in time will reopen next week, it will. So, the best thing you can do is consider how you are going to rebuild the mill.”
He had smiled then, a sad, quiet smile. “I will have to use the money I have been saving to build the workers’ village.”
“Then we must find you a partner, one you can trust to invest in the mill.”
“I don’t trust easily. Anyway, how can I find an investor when I am stuck in the twenty-first century?
I wish I knew how Slickson not only bought the mill, but built it up again into a viable business.
Even he will not have had the money to do all that.
He must have had an investor.” No sooner had he voiced this thought than an idea came to him.
“Can you use the computer thing to find out who invested in the mill with Slickson?” he asked her.
They then spent three days researching the past.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Mr. Thornton said, bringing her thoughts back to the present where they sat on a bench overlooking the moor.
“I was just thinking about the past few days – how much we have learned, and your plan to use the same backer as Slickson did.”
“Yes, let us hope this Mr. Barnes likes my proposition.”
“There is nothing to suggest he won’t. After all, he is just a gentleman looking to invest his fortune. Now, no more talk of the plan. Today was supposed to be a day out.”
“Yes, I thought I knew this place. But Saddleworth Moor looks nothing like it did in my day. That huge lake was not here.”
“That is Dovestone Reservoir, the final in a series of reservoirs that run through this place. I think the first of them was built towards the end of the nineteenth century. I thought after we eat the picnic I packed, we could walk down to the water.”
“Thank you for this, Miss Hale. I forgot how clean the air is out here on the moors.”
“I thought we could both do with a change of scenery, and thought Saddleworth would not have changed much. Of course, I forgot the reservoirs were not started until the 1870s. You’ll have to forget you know about them when you return.”
He nodded. One thing he would never forget was Miss Hale. His feelings towards this remarkable woman deepened with every moment he knew her. Leaving her was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done.
They spent a very happy afternoon on the moors, walking and watching the wildlife that was so prevalent away from the city. It was only when they returned to MJ’s home that the afternoon took on a nightmarish quality
Chapter Eight
The nightmare began as soon as they returned to MJ’s home.
She was barely through the front door when she crumpled at his feet.
She dropped like a stone: fast, sudden, and straight down.
One minute she was talking to him and the next she was unconscious at his feet.
He scooped her up and carried her to the couch in her sitting room.
He’d never felt so useless before. He was used to being in control, having a solution to every problem, but he didn’t even know where to go for help.
He knelt at her side and took her hand in his. She was too pale, but at least she was breathing. “Miss Hale, can you hear me?” he spoke quietly.
She remained still and unresponsive. He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, noticing for the first time a small scar.
Her skin felt cool and soft. At least she wasn’t feverish, which had to be a good sign.
“Miss Hale, please, open your eyes.” Again his quiet plea was met with silence and stillness.
He needed to get help. Something had to be seriously wrong, for several minutes had passed and she did not speak or move.
The problem was, he had no idea how to get help.
The twenty-first century was a mystery to him.
“Margaret, I’m going to get help. I don’t know where, but I …
.” He paused, noticing the device she called her mobile in the pocket of her trousers.
She had spoken to Bessy Higgins on this contraption.
Could he do that? He hesitated, suddenly aware he would have to touch Miss Hale to retrieve the mobile.
He was being foolish. This was an emergency; he would apologise later.
He pulled it free from her pocket and studied the small flat object in the palm of his hand.
When Miss Hale used it, she touched something on it and the front lit up.
He turned it in his hand and noticed a small button on the side.
He touched it and the screen lit up as the time and date appeared.
He’d switched it on! Pleased with himself, he studied the screen, trying to recall what Miss Hale had done.
She’d wiped her finger across the screen.
Doing the same, he revealed several symbols.
After frantically pressing several which were wrong, he finally discovered something called her contacts and found Bessy Higgins’ name along with several others.
As with everything else on this machine, he tapped the screen over her name and some information appeared--a number.
He tapped the number and it was replaced with the word ‘calling.’ Miss Hale had lifted the mobile to her ear, so cautiously he did the same and waited.
A moment later, the ringing he heard was replaced by Bessy Higgins’ voice – as clear as if she were in the same room.
“Thank God,” he whispered, glancing at the motionless Miss Hale.
“Mr. Thornton, is that you? Why do you have Margaret’s mobile?”
“IT’S MISS HALE SHE’S—” He spoke so loudly that Bessy interrupted him.
“Speak normally, Mr. Thornton, there is no need to shout.”
“It is Miss Hale – she has collapsed. One minute she was standing, and the next she was on the floor. I have placed her on the couch, but she has not come around yet and it has been several minutes since she collapsed.”
“Is she breathing – Mr. Thornton?” Bessy said as calmly as she could.
“Yes, but she is not responding to me.”
“All right, I will call an ambulance and then I will come to you. In the meantime, try loosening her clothes if they are tight, and place her on her left side. It will help protect her airway.”
“All right. Miss Higgins, please hurry! If anything should happen… I don’t know….” Mr. Thornton’s voice broke.
“I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m not far away.”