Edith blinked at her, surprised. “Because you looked exhausted, and Henry knows these things. He offered at once.” She hesitated. “You… don’t mind, do you?”
Margaret opened her mouth—and stopped. Shedidmind, but saying so would only make matters worse. Henry had always been thoughtful toward her, and refusing him now would seem pointed.
“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t mind.”
Edith seemed relieved. “Good. He said he’d come as soon as he was free.”
A short while later, the bell sounded downstairs. Voices. Footsteps. Edith’s unmistakable welcome.
Margaret stayed where she was until the door opened and Henry appeared. He carried himself as though he thought she had been expecting him.
“Margaret!” He smiled warmly. “I received Edith’s note. Thought it best to come straightaway. Now — where is this infamous folio?”
Margaret gestured to the table. “It’s there.”
Henry lifted it as though accustomed to such matters. “Shall we take it to the study? The light is better.”
There was no graceful way to refuse that, either. Margaret followed him into the study. Edith remained in the hall, whispering something to Dixon, who pretended not to listen but certainly did.
In the study, Henry unfastened the buckles and opened the folio. He began turning pages at once, scanning the first few entries.
Margaret sat beside him.
He continued reading, pausing now and then to tap a line with his finger. “Bell kept excellent records,” he said. “I suppose you expected that. It all seems quite clear, but it will take some time. But once we have the essentials in place, the rest can be managed easily enough.”
He was saying something about Oxford properties—rental income, something about a minor lease near Summertown—but the words drifted past her. The details meant little yet. They were numbers and paragraphs without faces, without lives attached.
But the mill…Thatmattered.
She leaned in slightly. “Have you reached the Milton section yet?”
Henry moved on to the next document. Property listings. A set of accounts from Oxford. Several bond certificates. “Not yet. They should be here somewhere.” He turned a page, but it was nothing of interest to her. Margaret tried to read over his arm, but the numbers seemed distant, flattened, like the tide retreating from the shore.
None of what Henry explained felt real.
Not compared to the sight of John Thornton in the sanctuary of the carriage.
Not compared to the tremor in his voice when he told her the mill was failing.
Not compared to the knowledge that dozens of families depended on that place—and on whoever commanded it next.
Henry turned another page. “We’ll find it, never fear. Edith said you had some decision to make soon?”
She swallowed. “I have to decide whether to sell or keep the property.”
Henry’s brows jumped. “Indeed! You cannot simply make the decision after a year, or after some time—”
“Within seven days. Those are the terms of the will. After that, the property enters a sort of joint stewardship with the lessee.”
Henry pursed his lips. “Interesting. Not altogether strange, I suppose, as the Milton properties are of such a nature that their disposition affects a number of other people. Perhaps Bell did not want them to be left in any uncertain state.”
“Yes, exactly,” she agreed. “And I think I would like very much to keep the mill, if such a thing is manageable.”
“Hmm.” He flipped through until he found a page clearly labelled 'Marlborough Mills' at the top. “These figures should be able to answer that for you.”
Margaret pressed her hands together. “I don’t think it’s the only thing I need.”
Henry glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
