What You Wish For (9 page)

“
Well no, of course not,” Margaret was clearly out of her depth and floundering for an answer. But then poor Margaret hadn't had the luxury of being schooled in the art of arguing by the St Catherine's School for Girls debate club, as Carrie had.

“
Why?”

“
Well, because... I suppose because, and I know you will not like this, Papa, but it is true. Mr Thornton is not a gentleman.”

'Classist and sexist,'
Carrie thought, wondering somewhat meanly if she could goad Margaret into the trifecta of expressing racist views as well.

To her surprise, Mr Thornton didn't seem to take any offence at Margaret's remark; rather he seemed to be enjoying their debate.

“
You would have been better off arguing that Mr Thornton and I had no right to dictate to your father because he is a man of the church, rather than branding us both as inferior to him. I realise that you are a product of your time, Margaret, and I really shouldn't berate you for that fact, but there are as many gentleman and members of the nobility out there who are a total waste of space, as there are good, decent, hard working, poor people. I should much rather trust the judgement of someone who works for a living over that of the idle rich, who wile away their days in lives of care and ease. How can they possibly understand what life is like for a working man, let alone a poor man?”

Everyone seemed to have been rendered speechless by her diatribe and, realising that she was tackling topics that these people were far from wanting to hear about, Carrie decided it was best if she excused herself, and went into Mr Hale's study downstairs. Truth be told, she felt rather foolish for even daring to voice such opinions in this time. Deep down she knew that her views were right but still, something about living in this day and age made her feel that she was the one in the wrong.

She heard the conversation continue between Mr Hale and Mr Thornton, but she couldn't make out their words. She picked up Plato's Republic, which had been mentioned earlier in the conversation, and sat down to read it. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there when he came in.

“
Miss Preston?” She looked up to see Mr Thornton peering around the door. “I'm not disturbing you, I hope.”

“
Oh, no. I am sorry about my outburst up there, but sometimes I get tired of everyone having opinions they are certain are true but can't back up with facts. My father always said that unless you can argue your opinion on a given subject, you don't have a right to hold an opinion, but so many people here argue with half truths and anecdotes. What about facts, reason and logic?”

“
Do you believe me guilty of the same crime?” he asked.

“
In some areas, yes, but your opinion on the mills must be respected because of your experience, even if some of your ideas about your employees need a little updating.”

“
Updating?” he asked.

“
I only mean that, although the masters are locked in a struggle with their men, it would be better for everyone involved if you could find a way to understand each other and come to a compromise.”

“
You are right, of course, but I doubt that will happen in my lifetime.”

“
Someone once told me that you have to be the change you want to see.”

Mr Thornton smiled at such idealistic words, thinking them naive.

“
Plato?” he asked, noticing the cover of the book she held.

“
I thought I'd give it a try, I haven't read it before.”

“
And what do you think so far?”

“
Well, so far the descriptions of the Utopia seem rather outdated and bear very little resemblance to most modern societies. In fact if I'm being honest, it sounds more like a dictatorship than Utopia.”

Mr Thornton smiled, impressed with her answer, for it was a rare man who could so readily form an opinion, let alone a woman.

“
Are you sure you have never read that book before?” he asked.

“
No, I prefer fiction usually.”

“
And you have never heard it spoken of before.”

Carrie's smile faltered.

“
Are you asking me whether I've formed this opinion myself, or if I have simply stolen someone else's idea?” Her voice held a note of warning.

“
I suppose I am.” He had the good grace to look sheepish.

“
Then I'm afraid I can't dignify your question with an answer. Good evening, Mr Thornton.”

Seeing that he was being well and truly dismissed for underestimating her, he left.

Her earlier words had sounded idealistic and impractical, but he couldn't get that phrase out of his head; '
be the change you want to see'
. He wanted change, that was certain but how could he, only one man, affect such change?

Chapter Seven

Carrie returned home from work to find that Mr Hale was out but Dr Donaldson had just been to see Mrs Hale, and the news wasn't good. She comforted Margaret as best she could, and was grateful that the girl never seemed to hold a grudge against her when Carrie went off on one at her. She was a much more forgiving person than Carrie had ever given her credit for when she read the book.

Margaret wanted to be alone to see her mother and, being wise enough to realise that this was a family time, Carrie took herself off for another long walk.

The doctor had diagnosed consumption, which Carrie knew was what tuberculosis was often called. Unfortunately she also knew that while easily treated with antibiotics in her time, here there was no treatment. She knew that antibiotics came from mould but she had no idea how to extract penicillin from mould.

'The Internet would know,'
she thought sadly.

Though this wasn't the first time since arriving here that she missed the Internet, she didn't think she had ever felt the loss of that resource quite as greatly as she did right now.

She stopped in at the apothecary and picked up more willow bark, as well as some laudanum, which she knew was basically morphine. It would ease Mrs Hale's pain as the disease progressed and help suppress her cough reflex, which would surely only be a relief once the disease began to ravage her lungs.

With little else to do, she began walking around the town, just wandering really, trying to get to know the place a little better.

Finally, realising that it was getting quite late, she turned to head in the direction she thought their house in Crampton was. She didn't notice Mr Thornton behind her, or hear his calls, since one of the mills or factories around here had just let out and the streets were suddenly thronged with people. She began to feel herself being buffeted about by them. Some who passed her began cat-calling and pretty soon hands began to touch and grab at her.

Carrie slapped the hands away as best she could but before she knew it, she was pushed face first into a wall and pressed against it by someone behind her. Instinct and her self-defence training kicked in and with a roar, the heel of her boot came squarely down on his foot and less than a second later, her elbow went into his ribs. As soon as she was free she spun around and although her attacker was on the ground clutching his foot, it appeared he wasn't alone and his friends did not take kindly to their friend being beaten up by a girl.

The first friend came at her, intending to grab her shoulders but a swift kick to the groin put him out of action. The second friend was clever enough to realise that she was a fighter, and decided to be more forceful and subdue her with a punch. She hadn't turned to him quickly enough to block the first blow, and it landed squarely on her cheek bone. The second blow she managed to block with her arm, then she kicked out, hitting him squarely in the shin and as his head instinctively lowered, the heel of her left hand connected with his nose, breaking it. He reeled away, clutching his nose, but the first attacker was now on his feet again, though still limping quite badly.

'Good,'
Carrie thought with satisfaction.
'I hope his foot's broken!'

Unfortunately, though wounded, his injury did seem to have made him rather angry. A crowd had formed around them to watch and Carrie wondered why they were just standing there. Perhaps this passed as sport up here, or perhaps they were enjoying her winning the fight. Either way, she thought that a little help would have been nice right about now.

Her attacker took in the state of his friends and, fuelled by hurt pride, he ran at her. He was out of control, she realised and rather than fight him, she quickly dodged out of the way at the last moment and he hit the wall, although he managed to break the impact with his hands and quickly turned on her again.

Carrie picked her skirts up with her hands and as he ran at her once more, with a roar of aggression she kicked high into the air, hitting him squarely in the solar plexus. Unfortunately her skirts, petticoats and boots weren't made for fighting, so she tripped and landed on her hip. She quickly climbed back to her feet as best she could, just in time to hear someone yelling for everyone to clear out.

Never had she been so pleased to hear someone's voice and as the workers began to disperse, she ran at Mr Thornton, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He quickly took in the scene before him and while he silently praised her bravery at taking these three men on, he cursed himself for having been so slow to reach her. He held her tightly, keeping an eye on her attackers.

Seconds later he heard the sound of whistles, and the last of the bystanders moved away as the police arrived.

Somewhat reluctantly, Carrie detached herself from Mr Thornton, apologising to him for her forward behaviour.

The police arrested the men, though they clearly didn't believe her when she said that she had felled them. Mr Thornton backed her account up though, since he had seen what happened as he ran down the hill towards her.

“
You'd best be careful when the whistle sounds in future, Miss,” one of the officers told her.

“
I didn't realise it was so late,” she said, for the evenings were growing much lighter.

“
Are you done?” Mr Thornton asked the policemen.

“
Aye.”

“
I'll see Miss Preston home then,” he said, guiding her away from the scene. “Are you sure you are all right?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the policemen.

“
I'll be fine,” she assured him, though she could already feel her control slipping.

He took her to the mill as it was closer than her home, and led her into his house. His mother and sister stood up in shock as they came in to the parlour, and Carrie realised that she must look a bit of a sight.

“
Well, not exactly the first impression I wanted to make,” she joked but as she went to laugh, a sob escaped her instead and she began to cry.

Mr Thornton gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried, stroking her back and cooing softly to her.

She pulled away as soon as she had herself reasonably under control again.

“
I'm sorry, I think the shock just caught up with me.”

“
Nonsense,” he reassured her. “Now, sit down and let's get you cleaned up.”

Whilst she had been crying, evidently his mother had gone for supplies as she shooed her son out of the way, sat Carrie down and began to clean her cheek with a cloth and a bowl of warm water.

“
The skin doesn't look broken,” Mrs Thornton said. “But you'll have a nasty bruise come morning.”

“
What happened?” Fanny asked.

“
She was attacked,” Mr Thornton explained. “Three men from Hampers tried to get a little fresh with her, but she put them in their place.”

Mrs Thornton began to clean Carrie's hands, evidently expecting to find abrasions under the blood but there was nothing.

“
It's not my blood,” she explained. “I broke one of their noses.”

“
Where did you learn to do that?” John asked.

“
I studied karate for a while.”

“
Karate?”

“
It's a martial art from the Far East. It's a combination of fighting skill, discipline and philosophy.”

“
And why did you yell when you struck them?” he asked, for he had never seen anything like her display before.

“
It helps to channel aggression and to unnerve your opponent.”

“
You learned to fight?” Fanny said, quite disgusted by the idea.

“
No, the point of martial arts isn't to become a good fighter, but rather to end violence swiftly when it occurs. I have never attacked anyone in my life; only defended myself.”

“
Well I think it very unseemly.”

Carrie thought it best not to answer, since Fanny's mind was obviously made up and she didn't want an argument.

“
What do you think John?” Fanny asked, clearly not willing to let the point rest. “I'm quite sure that none of my friends would have behaved in such a manner.”

“
I think you're right,” he said, his tone neutral.

“
See!” Fanny smiled as though she had won the argument. It was this smugness that finally goaded Carrie into defending her actions.

“
Then perhaps I should have just let them do with me as they wanted until some big, strong man found the time to ride to my rescue, but who knows what greater evils might have been done to me in that time, than damaging my reputation through fighting.”