Yes I'm back with an idea that has been niggling at me since I finished the last story. I promise I do have a life outside of writing fan-fiction. But it is hard to resist... Anyway, I don't own these characters but adore them as I do Margaret's Gaskell's books. As with my previous stories, I will from time to time borrow some of her incredible prose and display it in italics to distinguish it from my own sorry efforts. Your feedback will be appreciated as I am not entirely sure where I am headed with this one yet! PJ


'Papa, what is the matter?'

Margaret sat down beside her Father, immediately concerned to find him slouched over the kitchen table at this late hour.

'Oh Margaret, I don't know what to do?'

Margaret put her arm about her father's shoulder, wondering at what aggrieved him so terribly this evening. It was true that Richard Hale had considerable cause for worry. His wife, his love, was dying - and there was very little he could do about it. But Margaret had never seen her father so broken.

'Papa, please tell me what is troubling you. Mamma is feeling much better of late. The treatment that Dr Donaldson is giving seems to be helping to ease her discomfort.'

Mr Hale looked at Margaret with an even more pained expression. He rose to his feet with his hand on his forehead. Turning his back to Margaret, he breathed in deeply before continuing. 'Margaret, that is just it. ' He sat down again, this time putting his head in his hands, his elbows leaning on his knees. 'The treatment is helping..' When Mr Hale looked up he had tears in his eyes. 'Margaret, I have failed you, I have failed your mother. I dragged you up here to Milton where neither of you wanted to come…'

Margaret sat looking at her father with compassion. He was clearly in distress. 'Papa, you are not making any sense. Please tell me precisely what is bothering you so.'

Mr Hale wiped his eyes and hesitated before handing over a sheet of paper to Margaret. 'I received a bill from Dr Donaldson for the opiate treatments that your mother is being given.'

Margaret looked at the numbers on the page in her hands. Her stomach dropped. She felt foolish that she had not even considered the cost of sending for Dr Donaldson. Margaret's only thoughts had been to use any means at her disposal to save her mother, or at the very least, ease her suffering.

'Oh Papa. I had no idea.' Margaret shook her head and returned the bill to her Father. She remained silent for a moment, pondering their alternatives. 'Is there no arrangement we can come to with Dr Donaldson to pay back the debt over time?'

Mr Hale shook his head. 'No, I'm afraid not my dear. Dr Donaldson says he is happy for us to pay his bill at a later date, but that the medicine must be paid for straight away - or the apothecary will not provide it to us in future.' Mr Hale sat back, a dazed look in his eye. 'If I still had my income from the parsonage and the security of a home provided by the church we may have had some hope of paying for this. But here? Now? I barely have enough income to cover our basic daily provisions. '

Margaret was no stranger to her family's financial woes. She understood, and in fact had decided upon the economies that had to be made as a result of her father leaving the church and their relocation to Milton. But deep down Margaret had always secretly thought, or perhaps hoped, that her parents had some savings that they could call upon in their hour of need. It was becoming more obvious to Margaret that this was not the case.

'Father, what if you were to write to Aunt Shaw? Surely she will pay for the treatment. She has as much reason as anyone. I must believe she would want to give her sister comfort in her…' Margaret stopped short of saying 'dying days' to her father – although she was sure he understood her meaning.

Mr Hale shook his head, his jaw set. 'Absolutely not, Margaret. I forbid you to write to that woman on my behalf!'

'Why, Papa? I understand that things have never been what one would describe as congenial between you. But surely you will not let your pride stand in the way of Mamma's health?' Margaret was disturbed by her father's stubbornness at such a time.

'Congenial! Ha! The Beresfords never wanted me to marry your mother. Your mother doesn't think I know but of course I do. They might have stopped short of saying I was not good enough for her, but I could tell how they felt. To write to your Aunt now and beg her assistance would only confirm what she has always suspected - that I was never worthy of your mother.'

Margaret had never witnessed her father in so dark a mood. It sometimes surprised her that a man who spent most of his adult life listening to and advising others regarding their relations and problems, should be so inept at managing his own. Margaret recalled at that moment how her father, when too afraid to broach the topic of moving to Milton with his wife, had delegated the task to Margaret. Margaret began to feel the burden of trying to find a solution for her father once more.

'Perhaps I could find work…as a Governess I think?'

Mr Hale's expression softened as he looked at his daughter affectionately. 'It is a good thought my dear, but I am afraid your income would still not be enough. And besides, there are unlikely to be many households in Milton who could afford such a luxury as a Governess. And if they could, they would want you to live-in. For you to leave your parents' house, to toil in another's. … Well it would surely claim your mother's life before this wretched disease can. No Margaret, do not even think of it.'

Mr Hale reached out to take his daughter's hand. 'I'm sorry my dear. I should not have worried you. It is late and I am tired. Let us sleep on it and I am sure we shall have a new perspective tomorrow. Let us not rush into rash decisions. I shall meditate upon it some more and pray that God will give me courage and wisdom to see the right path.'

Margaret squeezed her father's hand. 'Can I make you some tea Father before I retire?'

'No Margaret. I will just make my way to bed I think. Goodnight my dear.'

Her father leaned over and kissed her cheek, before leaving her to her thoughts.

Extinguishing the candles, Margaret's mind was preoccupied with the dilemma before her. Should she disobey her father and write to her Aunt Shaw? It was incredibly frustrating that he should be prepared to sacrifice his wife's comfort to protect his pride.

As she climbed the stairs to her room, Margaret became even more infuriated by her own powerlessness in the situation. She keenly felt the injustice of not being able to do anything tangible to raise the money needed to pay for her own mother's treatment. Life and circumstance meant she must rely on the generosity of others. And even then her only real means of improving their circumstances would be to reach out to a wealthy benefactor, or by making a fortunate alliance herself within the marriage bed…

Margaret felt a chill invade her spine as the thought entered her head. It occurred to her then that it was entirely within her means to help her mother, or at least it had been yesterday when Mr Thornton made her an offer.

Margaret unconsciously rubbed her slender fingers over the small wound by her temple. She felt a rise of panic well inside her. But to marry him for his money? That contradicted everything she had ever contemplated for herself and her future. She had never seriously entertained making a match for purely prudential considerations. She had only ever imagined herself marrying for love.

It was almost unthinkable. Would she, could she go through with such a plan? Could she find happiness married to a man like Thornton? He was handsome, and he was rich by others standards in Milton – but would that be enough for her to literally sacrifice herself at the altar for her Mother's sake?

And after all she had said and how she behaved yesterday….would Mr Thornton be prepared to take her after she had insulted him?

Father would be pleased with the connection. He was very fond of Mr Thornton.

Margaret splashed her face with cold water as she made her preparations for bed. Father was right, there was no reason to rush into rash decisions tonight. She would consult with him again in the morning and together they would find a solution.

But as Margaret lay in bed, she found it difficult to quash the thoughts of Mr Thornton and the security that he represented. He pervaded her dreams that night. She woke several times flustered and confused. In one she dreamt she lay sleeping in his strong arms and heard him whisper, 'Oh, my Margaret—my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! …. you are the only woman I ever loved! Oh, Margaret—Margaret!'

As she woke again, a tumult of feelings that she couldn't define unsettled her. She knew she should be revolted by the idea of marrying a man she didn't love. A man who she was not sure she even liked, and yet…

Margaret covered her head with her pillow and tried desperately to think of something other than the tall dark haired man and his penetrating blue eyes.