Licensing Note: Based on Characters and story lines from North and South by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell. All original content and plot for Revelations at Outwood Station is released under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International license by Morgan A. Wyndham. Also published on Archive of Our Own by Morgan AW.

Chapter 1: Outwood Station

John Thornton wearily rode his horse down the nearly deserted street. One of his suppliers had mistakenly sent a shipment of raw cotton to the Outwood station rather than the Milton station. As it was his name on the cargo, the stationmaster was refusing to release the shipment into his overseer's care without Thornton's signature. He could have gone in the morning, indeed arrangements to transport the shipment to Marlborough Mills wouldn't be possible until the following day. However, the prospect of a ride to the station had sounded more appealing than returning to the house and the sole company of his mother. Nonetheless, it was just another dreary task to end his dreary day in his dreary life. Excursions like this aside, his life proceeded as predictably and monotonously as the looms in his warehouses. Every day he went to the mill, performed the same tasks, saw the same people, the same routines he had followed for years. None of it gave him any pleasure anymore.

He hadn't realized just how much the presence of the Hale family had changed his life until he was forced to remove himself from their company. It began with his lessons from Mr. Hale. For the first time since his father's death he had someone that he could hold meaningful conversations with on the classics, philosophy, morality – all subjects that were lost on his Milton peers. Then there was Margaret – elegant, regal, beautiful, and so very different than all of the other women in his world. She somehow managed to be neither stern like his mother, nor flighty like his sister. She was judgmental and fierce, but never cold or mercenary like the other young ladies in Milton. She was intelligent and witty, even in her reproofs of him. He always enjoyed his lessons with her father, but he had lived for the days she would sit in with them. On those evenings, he could bask in her beauty, entranced by the tempting domesticity of her preparing his tea. She would occasionally contribute to their discussions in her quiet even tones with the confidence of a well-educated lady.

For all of his infatuation, he had never been blind to her dislike of him. Nonetheless, he could not help but fall in love with her. He had scarcely admitted his feelings to himself because he was sure she would never see him as a suitor. The riot had finally forced him to confront the depth of his emotions. She had saved his life. She had boldly shielded him from the wrath of the strikers heedless to her own danger. John had struggled to maintain his habitual detached composure as he met with his brother magistrates, saw to the needs of the Irish hands, and dealt with the aftermath of the riot. His thoughts kept returning to the dead weight of Margaret in his arms, the fear that she could have died. Indeed, in those hours he did not know how she fared as he had been obliged to leave before she awoke. It was in those agonizing hours that he realized he must brave her rejection and ask her to marry him.

He had thought that nothing could be as painful as looking down on her cold, white, lifeless face. The next day he realized how wrong he was. Her flushed, angry face with her piercing eyes and her upraised eyebrow as she told him how much she despised him was far worse. Although he had expected her rejection he had, for the span of an evening, dared to hope. Nothing could have prepared him for the strength of her hatred. He had offered her his heart and she had very nearly ripped it out of his chest. The constant dull ache reminded him that it was still there, though battered and bruised it still beat and beat for her. He was helplessly, hopelessly in love still and saw no end in sight.

It had been nearly two months since that fateful morning. She haunted his thoughts and his dreams, but he saw little of her in reality. He had used the end of the strike as an excuse to cancel most of his lessons with Mr. Hale. He feared that he would be unable to temper his reaction to her presence and he was unwilling to force his unwanted presence on her. It was done for the best and yet it had drained all of the joy from his life. His work at the mill, his mother's pride, Fanny's delight in small gifts, his respected role in the community: these aspects of his life had all once given him a sense of purpose but now his life seemed bleak and aimless.

Perhaps he ought to resume his regular visits to Mr. Hale, the poor man could use a friend after losing the love of his life. His heart beat slightly faster as he reasoned to himself that even brief glimpses of Margaret would ease his despair. The smallest morsel of food is precious to a starving man. For all his pain, he longed to see the author of it. Even if stolen glances paled in comparison to the life he wished to share with Margaret, any contact would be better than his current privation.

In accordance with the cruel ironies of fate, he had just made this resolve when he had the misfortune of catching a glance at Margaret and his heart nearly stopped. Margaret Hale, love of his life, paragon of virtue, mourning daughter, was standing in a dark, secluded stall near the railway station at dusk, clasping hands with an unknown young man. Their heads were bent together as they talked and they were standing closer than propriety allowed – far closer than John had ever been to her other than on the day of the riot. He saw her start when she saw him. Their eyes met briefly and he could see the fear and shame in them. For a moment she stood frozen before she gave him a slight bow. He mechanically returned the bow before he passed their stall. His hands loosened on the reigns and his horse slowed nearly to a stop, which unfortunately allowed him to hear their conversation.

"Who is that?" Said the young man who had stolen all of his hopes for the future.

"Mr. Thornton; you saw him before, you know." Margaret replied in an unsteady voice. John desperately wracked his brain to remember when this young scoundrel would have seen him.

"Only his back." John recalled his condolence visit to Mr. Hale, when he had been denied access to any of the family. He had heard a noise from the direction of the family quarters and seen Miss. Dixon's furtive glances in that direction as she showed him out of the house. He had assumed it was Margaret trying to avoid seeing him so, in his determination not to burden her with his love, he hadn't turned to look. "He is an unprepossessing-looking fellow. What a scowl he has!"

"Something has happened to vex him," said Margaret, apologetically. "You would not have thought him unprepossessing if you had seen him with mamma." It was small comfort to know that she recognized the pain she had given him, and a balm that she could acknowledge he had some merits. That balm was, unfortunately, not soothing enough to distract him from the fact that he had just discovered Margaret in an assignation with a lover. Had he been shielded from discovery, he could have sat there for hours in the depths of agony that this realization induced in him.

As it was, he had only moments before the villain's voice broke into his thoughts. "I fancy it must be time to go and take my ticket. If I had known how dark it would be, we wouldn't have sent back the cab, Margaret." John had just enough pride left to break from his stupor and set his horse in swifter motion before he could be overtaken by the lovers.

As the station drew closer he allowed the sorrow to drift over him in waves. Again he was forced to re-examine his lowest depths of misery. He would gladly relive her passionate refusal of his proposal daily if it would wash away the revelations of the last minutes. He could bear that she didn't love him the way he loved her. He could bear her unjust sketch of his character, her anger, and her blaming him for the plight of the workers because those faults in understanding came from her ignorance of Milton ways and her honest care for the wellbeing of others. What he could not bear was the sight of her speaking intimately with another man. He was haunted by the remembrance of the handsome young man, with whom she stood in an attitude of such familiar confidence; and the remembrance shot through him like an agony, till it made him clench his hands tight in order to subdue the pain. At that late hour, so far from home! It shattered his trust – erstwhile so perfect – in Margaret's pure and exquisite maidenliness.

"Enough," he reprimanded himself as he stopped his horse in front of the station. He would turn his mind to his task. He would forget about Margaret. However she had misjudged him, he must also have been deceived in her. He had to continually repeat this to himself as he met the station master and made arrangements to have his shipment delivered in the morning.

He was still in the office filling out paper work when she entered. The door to the office had been left ajar, so he could just see her toss an imperious glare over the loiterers. "One ticket to London, please," he heard her say in her soft southern accent. To London! Good God, she can't be leaving! He hastily finished signing the shipment forms and brusquely bid farewell to the stationmaster. As he exited the office he saw her take her lover's arm and move toward the deserted end of the platform.

John couldn't think what to do as he hung back by the station door and observed the couple. He could not believe that Margaret was so wholly lost to propriety that she would elope so soon after her mother's death, to abandon her father in his grief. She had only purchased a single ticket. A portion of him hoped that it was for her swain who would board the train and leave, never to return. This rapidly turned to anger that any man fortunate enough to earn the love of Margaret Hale would ever willingly walk away. John would move mountains to receive even a smile from Margaret and here this young fool was abandoning her in her time of need. Furthermore, what was the young fool thinking sending Margaret into the station by herself to purchase his ticket, why that alone was enough to begin gossip about her character.

John had nearly built up enough anger to confront the cad when he noticed a porter approaching the couple with the unsteady gait of a man in his cups. Just as the train began to pull into the station, the porter roughly pushed Margaret and she cried out. All of the uncertainty of the past half hour dissipated at the sight of anyone laying violent hands on the woman he loved. He ran towards the group to aid in any way he could, cursing himself for leaving such a distance between them and cursing the passengers disembarking the train for blocking his path. As he struggled to make it to the scene, he saw the porter lunge at the lover and the two briefly fought before the lover managed to trip the porter and send him over the edge of the platform.

John was mere feet away when he heard Margaret gasp, "Run, run! The train is here. It was Leonards, was it? oh, run! I will carry your bag." And she took him by the arm to push him along with all her feeble force. A door was opened in a carriage—he jumped in; and he leant out to say, 'God bless you, Margaret!'

This heartfelt show of affection stopped John in his tracks. Before either moved the two were left alone on the platform. He noticed her gasp and hold out her hand as if to steady herself, in a moment he was at her side. "Margaret! Are you well?" This exclamation startled her and in her dizzy state she nearly over-set herself, but John took her elbow to steady her and led her to a nearby bench hidden in a small alcove. At first she could do nothing but gasp for breath. "It was such a hurry; such a sickening alarm; such a near chance. If the train had not been here at the moment..." she eventually murmured in a bit of a daze.

"Margaret," he spoke softly now, trying to break through her shock. "What is happening? Who were those men? You mentioned a name, Leonards?"

"You don't think he's seriously hurt, do you?" She asked, turning her large soft eyes on him for the first time since the fight.

"I shouldn't think so, but I can look if it would set you at ease."

"Please do, Mr. Thornton." She said, lightly grasping then releasing his hand. His hand tingled where she had touched long after he arose to look over the edge of the platform. There was nothing there but patchy grass and the discarded train tickets and other miscellaneous detritus that gathers in such spaces. He eagerly returned to Margaret and reclaimed his seat.

"He is gone. There doesn't appear to be any signs of distress, I would not worry on that account Mar... Miss. Hale." Now that the first suspense was over, he needed to regulate himself back into formalities. He needed an explanation.

She seemed to note his retreat back into civilities and turned her face away from him. "Thank you for your concern and care. I suppose I do owe you some explanations, but ..." she paused, glanced around the platform and noted that a few passengers had begun to arrive for the northbound train "... but not here. It is a long story. For now, I will tell you that the man you saw me walking with was ..." she paused and looked intently at her hands resting on her lap. John's heart beat a rapid tattoo in anticipation of her confession "... my brother Frederick."

"Brother!" he exclaimed, a weight lifting from his chest. Then regulating his tone asked, "why have I never heard of him before?"

"I cannot tell you here," she glanced around again, "it is a terrible secret." The trepidation began to creep back into his heart. She may not be in love with another man, but there was something terrible weighing on her. She was obviously in shock: her face pale, eyes wide, hands trembling. John fought the urge to draw her into his arms and tell her that everything would be alright, that he would slay all of her dragons. Cognizant that they were on a public train platform, he settled instead for taking her trembling hand in his.

"May I escort you home?" He asked tenderly. She meekly nodded her assent and allowed him to help her stand.

He hailed her a cab and would have followed her into it but she asked — in a voice closer to her habitual tone — "did you not ride here?" He laughed at his own folly. He had forgotten his surroundings and circumstances in his need to tend to Margaret.

"Aye, I suppose it would not do to leave old Nelly here overnight, she will be needed at the mill come morning. May I follow behind and call on you in Crampton?" He feared that if he did not gain her confidence tonight he never would, and he needed to know if he was to help her.

Her eyes caught those of a young man exiting the station and she straightened and said in a low tone: "I would not wish to alarm my father tonight, he will be expecting me home directly. He is so very afflicted by my mother's death, I do not wish to burden him with news of my brother's narrow escape." She paused and looked up again to see the young man had drawn closer. In a stronger voice she added, "I do hope to see you at the funeral service, you have ever been a friend to our family, especially during my mother's last illness. Perhaps you might call on my father next week?" Her words were spoken in a cool manner but her eyes plead with him to accept her terms.

Unable to say more under public scrutiny, and unable to deny Margaret anything at this moment, he merely nodded his agreement and added, "I hope to always be a friend Miss Hale, if there is anything you or your father require, please do not hesitate to send for me." His gaze lingered, begging her to trust him. She nodded and he closed the carriage door and made his way back to his mount in deep reflection.