Authors: Catherine Winchester
“
I don't think anyone could ever doubt that you're a lady,” he said, a warm smile on his lips. “But I can see how difficult that kind of career would be for a woman.”
He was judging by Victorian standards though, he didn't see her as the coward she really was for giving into her family.
“
Anyway,” she said, standing up. “That's enough introspection for one day. I should be getting home.”
Mr Thornton stood up as well and offered her his arm.
“
Then allow me to escort you,” he offered.
Carrie slipped her arm through his and they strolled back down the hill, towards the town.
They kept the conversation light, on topics such as music and books and when they stopped outside the small house in Crampton, Carrie thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, but instead he stepped back and, touching the brim of his hat, bid her good day.
Carrie watched him leave, pleased to note that he turned back after a dozen or so paces. She blushed to have been caught watching him, and quickly made her way inside the house.
The next day Carrie was surprised to get into the office to find that Mr Thornton had moved the table she worked at, so that it was opposite his desk and they now faced each other.
“
I thought it was rather rude to make you face the wall so you have to keep your back to the room,” he explained. He also wanted to be able to observe her a little better.
She had finally finished rearranging the filing system on Friday and was about to ask what he wanted her to do, when she noticed a stack of post was lying on her desk along with a letter opener. She duly opened the letters and put them in the relevant inboxes, then she filed the few items that had been placed in the outbox after she had left on Saturday.
Before she had finished, he called her over to his desk for a moment.
“
I have to go into town for a meeting shortly,” he explained. “These are two bids I've worked out,” he showed her his calculations. “I dug this old tender out and I was wondering if you could copy the format and write the tenders for me?”
Margaret took the sheets of paper from him, and quickly read through them to make sure she understood what she had to do.
“
I don't think I'll have any problems,” she said.
“
Good.” he smiled. “If I'm not back before you go, just leave them on my desk when you're done.”
She nodded her understanding. Once he had gone, she finished the filing then sat back down at her desk to write the tenders.
Thankfully in the rucksack she had brought with her to this time, she had a pencil case with various pens and highlighters in it. One of those pens was a fountain pen her father had given her, that she really only used to sign her name with. She had brought it into the office after discovering how difficult it was to write using a nib and an ink well.
She had just finished the first tender, when the office door opened and Mr Hale came in.
“
There she is, hard at work!” he smiled. Margaret came in behind him.
“
Mr Hale, how lovely to see you,” she said, though she was unsure how kindly visitors during work hours would be looked upon.
“
We were just returning Mrs Thornton's visit, and we thought we'd stop in and see how you were getting on.”
“
Oh, very well, thank you.”
Margaret was looking around the office as though it were a museum, and noticed the fountain pen sitting on her desk.
“
What an unusual writing instrument,” she said. “I have never seen one quite like it before.”
'You should see my biro's,'
Carrie thought.
“
Yes, it was a gift from my father on my fourteenth birthday.”
“
Is it gold?” Margaret asked, shocked that such a material would be used for a pen.
“
I believe so. He had the barrel inscribed with my name so it would be a kind of keepsake.”
Margaret put the pen down, wondering again what kind of family this woman came from, for they seemed to have been rich and yet Carrie herself had no money. If Margaret needed any more proof of Carrie's poverty, the fact that she was working was proof enough. Perhaps her father had speculated and lost their money, much like Mr Thornton's father had.
“
Well, we won't keep you,” Mr Hale said. “We just wanted to see how you were getting on and say hello.”
“
Of course. I hope you enjoy your visit with Mrs Thornton.”
Mrs Thornton had seen the Hales enter and leave the office on their way to the house so once her guests were seated, she apologised that Mr Thornton had not been there to greet them.
“
Oh, that's quite all right, we really wanted to see Miss Preston,” Mr Hale assured her.
“
You are acquainted with my son's new assistant, then?” she asked, for she knew hardly anything about the girl. Her son seemed very protective of her and other than commenting on how good her work was, he hadn't said anything of a personal nature about her.
“
Oh yes. She is my ward,” Mr Hale said.
“
I had no idea.” Mrs Thornton said, wondering where the girl had been when she called on the Hales. “Has she been with you for long?”
“
No, not long, just a few months now.”
“
And, I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did she come to be in your care?”
“
Well, she is an orphan. I didn't feel we could turn her out into the world on her own, so we invited her to live with us. Working here was her idea; she's a very independent young woman and I admire her spirit.”
“
Indeed,” Mrs Thornton answered, though her manner was somewhat stiff. “Though I am not sure for how much longer there will be employment here. I suppose you have heard the talk of a strike?”
Mrs Thornton went on to explain all about Milton's long history of strikes, and the battle that perpetually raged between the masters and workers.
Carrie quickly finished the second tender, wrote the envelopes for both, and placed everything on Mr Thornton's desk for him to look over and sign.
Having run out of tasks, she went through the post in the general inbox to see if there was anything there that she thought she could handle. There wasn't, so she went through the outstanding invoices to see which were the oldest, and she began writing letters to those over two months old, reminding them of the invoice and that payment was now overdue. She also wrote out a copy of the original invoice, in case they tried to claim that they didn't have a record of it. Though in all honesty, they had received their cotton, it was surely their duty to pay for it and if they didn't receive a bill, then to ask for it!
Still, she was used to businesses waiting as long as possible before paying their bills, and if she didn't know about the financial troubles in Mr Thornton's future, that the impending strike would cause, she probably wouldn't have minded so much.
The letters she wrote were firm but polite, and she was just completing her third and final reminder when Mr Thornton returned.
“
You're still here?” he asked. “I can't pay you past your time, you know.”
Carrie looked up and realised that it was now half past two.
“
I don't expect it,” she answered. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Besides, Mr Hale popped in earlier on his way to see your mother, so I had some time to make up.” She went back to the letter she was writing, and tried not to notice how haggard Mr Thornton looked.
Mr Thornton hardly registered her words, since his mind was on other things.
“
Are you all right?” she finally asked, her compassion overcoming her desire to keep things professional between them.
“
Aye, it's just this talk of a strike, that's all.”
Carrie nodded her understanding.
“
I'm sorry.”
“
It's hardly your fault, is it?” he asked rhetorically.
“
No, but... I just wish there was something I could do to help, that's all.”
“
Thank you,” he smiled. “I wish there were too.”
“
Would you like some tea?”
“
No, I'm fine. I'd best get on. You can finish whatever it is you're doing tomorrow, if you want.”
“
I'm nearly done.”
She got back to work, pleased to note that Mr Thornton checked her tenders, signed them and slotted them into their envelopes for posting.
“
Good work,” he praised her. “What are you working on now?”
“
Unpaid invoices,” she said, handing him a copy of one of the letters she had written. “I thought a friendly reminder might be in order for those over two months old. I mean, you might want me to chase up the more recent ones as well, I just thought that these were the most urgent. You may already have chased them of course, but I needed something to do.”
“
I haven't got around to chasing them yet,” he said, reading through her letter and the attached copy invoice. “This is very good; authoritative without being rude. Good work.”
“
Thank you.” She handed him the second letter she had finished and a few minutes later, she handed him the final letter and stood up.
“
Well, if there's nothing else you need, I'll get off home now.”
“
Of course.” Mr Thornton smiled at her. “Thank you for this,” he said, holding up the letters. “I'm not sure when I would have found the time.”
“
You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow,” she said as she left, though in the event she saw him again that evening.
Chapter Six
Mr Thornton called at the house in Crampton later that day, to apologise for not keeping his lesson with Mr Hale the night before and at the same time, he discreetly gave Margaret the contact details for Dr Donaldson. Carrie surmised that Margaret must have asked for the details when she visited Mrs Thornton today, and looked over at Mrs Hale, who was indeed looking rather pale and listless these days.
Mr Thornton stayed for tea and before long, the conversation turned to the strike. Margaret got into quite a heated discussion with Mr Thornton over his handling of his financial affairs. She wanted him to be more open with his workers, but Carrie could understand his reticence. In her time, most people were more likely to talk about their sex lives than their financial affairs.
Of course in this case, Margaret was right and his only hope of stopping a strike was to be open and honest with his workforce.
This discussion led on to his right to influence his workers lives, with Margaret feeling that it was his Christian duty as someone with power over them to tell them what to do away from work, and he arguing that his workers deserved their independence when they were on their own time.
“
You must have seen for yourself by now, how independent we Darkshire men are, Miss Hale. What right do I have to dictate how my workers live their lives, merely because they have labour to sell and I have the capital to buy it?”
“
No, not because of your labour and capital, but because you are a man dealing with a group of men over whom you have immense power, and simply because your life and theirs are so interwoven.”
This was something that had always troubled Carrie in the book and so she spoke up now.
“
Margaret, God gave man free will so that he might make his own choices. I don't understand why you believe that Mr Thornton has the right to take that god-given free will away from them? Not to mention what would happen if the master should not be quite so upstanding? What if he led his workers into sin? We have free will so that we can make our own decisions, and the most other people can do is to try and educate us about which choices are better than others.”
“
That is hardly the point.”
“
Then what is the point?” Carrie asked. “If I were to employ your father, should I have the right to dictate how he and you live your lives?”
“
Well, no...”
“
Why not?”
“
Well, because you are a woman.”
“
Indeed I am, but I dare say I am more knowledgeable about many things than most men.”
Margaret laughed and Carrie bristled.
“
I know that you lack even the most basic understanding of how the human mind works! You haven't got a clue how or why people think the way they do, or how their behaviour can be influenced. Group dynamics are playing a massive role in this confrontation, because the workers identify with each other more than they do with the masters, and to convince them that they and their kind are wrong and that the masters are right is an uphill struggle. In this conversation, Margaret, you are like a child trying to tell the grown ups how to behave.”
Margaret was looking rather affronted and Carrie suddenly felt bad.
“
I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, but I am getting sick and tired of being told that I am inferior just because by an accident of birth, I am female.”
“
It was not an accident,” Margaret said. “It was God's choice.”
“
Very well.” Though she was still affronted by Margaret's sexism, it had sidetracked her. “Mr Thornton here employs your father to teach him the classics. As such, do you believe he has just as much right to dictate how your father lives as he does his workers?”