The Fallen Woman
“She is ruined, John.”
His mother sank onto the chair closest to where Fanny still lay asleep. Mother’s face looked worn and her regular air of confidence was absent. She took Fanny’s hand and shook it. Fanny still had not uttered a peep since being placed in the bed nearly eight hours earlier.
“Surely, we can devise a solution to prevent that.”
“How?” she demanded, casting a woeful glance his way. “What can be done?”
He had never seen her so downcast, not even during the workers’ strike. As soon as Dixon had shown his mother into the bedroom, Margaret had gone downstairs to fetch a fresh pot of tea and breakfast for him. Her absence had allowed them an opportunity to discuss the situation in private.
“She told Miss Hale the man was married, so he is not an option,” she said. She fixed her stare on Fanny. “Perhaps we could find a different man to take her, but who and where? Good Lord, I can hardly believe this to be true. How did she get so out of hand without my noticing?”
He had no words, for he had asked himself the exact same question.
“It was smart of you to bring Fanny here. Perhaps before the gossip starts, we will have a plan.”
“It was Margaret’s idea.”
“Margaret, eh?” She turned to him with a quirked brow.
“Yes, Mother.” He sighed. “If nothing else good has come from this situation, it is that she and I have become friendlier toward one another. I believe her feelings have softened toward me.”
She clicked her tongue. “Both my children have gone soft. What about her lover at the train station?”
“His name is Frederick, and he is her brother. There is much more to the story, I will tell you about at a later time.” John sighed. “You want my happiness, do you not?”
“John, do not vex me today. I have enough to worry about with Fanny.”
A few minutes later, Dixon opened the door and then shifted the tray she carried to set it on the table. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Thornton?”
“No, thank you, Dixon,” John said.
“Miss Hale says if you would like Dr. Donaldson sent for, she will see to it,” Dixon told him.
“Not at present but, if that changes, I shall alert you.” John stood and walked to the table where his breakfast plate was resting next to the familiar teapot.
Dixon left the room again, closing the door behind her, and he and his mother were alone again.
He dug into the plate of food Dixon had brought him, oddly famished. Ten minutes ago, he would have said he was too upset to eat.
“She’s waking up, John.” His mother stood and looked down at his sister. “Fanny, wake up!”
He watched her eyes slowly open. The expression on her face reflected her confusion—she no doubt wondered where she was. She opened and closed her mouth and then swallowed.
“Dixon!” Margaret threw her sewing aside and rushed into the hallway outside the sitting room. “Oh, there you are. You have read my mind.”
Dixon held two pails, which she handed to Margaret. The unmistakable sound of retching could be heard coming from Margaret’s bedroom. She rushed up the stairs and, as soon as she reached the landing, John was opening the door.
“Fanny is ill?”
He nodded, his face looking a bit peaked.
“You go on; I shall help your mother.” She held her smile. A man of such power unable to handle someone retching.
She walked inside and was shocked by the state of her bedding and Fanny. She quickly handed Mrs. Thornton a pail and retreated into the hallway.
“Dixon!”
The stout maid appeared at the bottom of the steps.
“Can you gather some fresh bedding, please?”
The maid rolled her eyes but, with a hefty sigh, grabbed the banister and climbed the staircase.
When Margaret returned to her room, Fanny had ceased her vomiting. Margaret reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a fresh nightdress for Fanny, who was now lying exhausted against the bed pillows.
“Let’s roll back the bedding,” Margaret suggested to Mrs. Thornton. The smell was overwhelming. Once the sheets and blankets were in a huge pile on the floor, Margaret said, “Fanny?”
The girl’s eyes opened.
“Let’s put a fresh gown on, shall we?” She tried to sound as positive as she could despite the circumstances.
Mrs. Thornton helped Fanny pull off the soiled gown, and Margaret quickly pulled the clean one over her head. By then, Dixon entered the room, carrying a fresh set of linens. Before they could change the bedding, Fanny bolted upright again and began to vomit.
“Miss Dixon,” Mrs. Thornton said over the sound of Fanny’s gagging, “could you please tell Mr. Thornton to go to work and that we shall return home once Fanny’s stomach has settled?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dixon nodded and, with a glance at Margaret, left the room to do Mrs. Thornton’s bidding.
“Do you think whatever the gypsy gave her to sleep has made her ill?” Margaret asked.
Mrs. Thornton frowned at her but then softened her expression. “Of course, you could not know, Miss Hale, but women are often ill in the early days of pregnancy.”
“Oh. I see.”
Margaret had very little knowledge about pregnancy and childbirth. Now, with her mother gone, she wondered fleetingly who she could ask should she ever wed and conceive a child. Edith, perhaps?
“It stops after a few months have passed, and generally the sickness only hits in the mornings,” Mrs. Thornton said.
Fanny lay back again, and Margaret and Mrs. Thornton covered her up with the fresh linens.
The sound of the front door closing pulled Margaret’s attention from Fanny.
Margaret pulled the curtains aside and watched John walk away from the house.
Good for him, she thought. There was little a man could do here and, as upset he was, he’d be better off working and focusing his attention on something more productive.
Dixon rapped on the door and stepped inside. “Miss Margaret, Mary Higgins is here for you.”
“Oh, no.” Margaret spun around, a hand to her throat. Mary’s presence could only mean one thing. Bessy was close to death.
Comfort & Security
Margaret held her friend’s hand as Bessy took her last breath. Long after Bessy’s spirit had gone to Heaven, Margaret stayed, holding her friend and allowing her tears to flow. Even though her friend’s passing had come as no surprise, Margaret’s heart was still breaking.
Eventually Margaret left, teary eyed and a bit weary from the emotional turmoil of losing Bessy and helping Fanny. When she stepped outside the Higginses’ house, she realized how long she’d been there. Darkness had fallen. Had she really spent so many hours with her friend?
She walked past the familiar Princeton houses to the main road, which would lead her home.
Was Fanny still there, or had she recovered sufficiently to return to her home?
If Mrs. Thornton was right about Fanny being sick each morning, surely their servants would gossip about it.
Perhaps Fanny should stay at Margaret’s house until a solution was devised?
She stopped walking as a familiar imposing figure appeared, walking toward her on the road. She smiled, despite her tears.
“Your father is worried about you,” he said. “I told him I would come find you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Bessy?” he asked softly.
Her throat closed, and she shook her head and burst into tears. How was it that tears seemed infinite? Just when she thought she could cry no more, more would come.
“I am very sorry for the loss of your friend, Margaret.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles before threading it through his arm and leading her from Princeton.
They did not speak for several minutes. His quiet strength comforted her, as if his hand covering hers was absorbing some of her distress.
When she finally had control of her emotions, she said, “Thank you for coming for me.”
“You must know… That is, I would do anything for you and your father.”
She did. He had proven himself too many times for there to be any doubt of his true, abiding care for them.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You are a good man.”
He ignored her compliment and said, “Fanny has returned home. I am sorry I deserted you this morning.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid I felt a bit queasy after seeing her become ill.”
She laughed for what seemed like the first time in days. Perhaps it was.
“I pray a solution can be reached,” she said.
“I have already sent letters by express to two gentlemen of my acquaintance who may be interested in having Fanny as a bride.”
“You told them—”
“Yes, of course.” He cut her off, but not unkindly. “I did not wish for any sense of manipulation. They needed to know why she was in such great rush to wed.”
“Are they Milton men?”
“No.” He shook his head. “One is from Le Harve—an investor I have worked with for many years. The other is a man in Scotland. We met at school when we were young but stayed in touch with each other over the past decade or more. Either would be a good, stable man for Fanny.”
“I don’t suppose she will tell you the name of the man she’s been seeing here in Milton?”
“I will force her at some point. He must be held accountable.”
Margaret stopped walking. “Force her? How?”
He chuckled. “Fear not, Margaret. I would never harm my sister, no matter how much I might wish to wring her neck at the moment.”
He pulled Margaret along gently, and they completed the rest of the walk in silence. He saw her inside the door, said goodnight to her father and to her, and then departed back down the quiet street of Crampton.
“He’s a fine man, Margaret,” her father said once they were alone. “It is such a shame about his sister.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Perhaps your aunt would keep her?”
Margaret took off her gloves and bonnet before shaking her head. “Fanny could never stay hidden away and would somehow embarrass herself in London. I would not burden Aunt Shaw with such a situation.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I have a question I must ask.”
“Yes?”