Author's Note: THANK YOU all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm touched by the response I got to the first chapter and, yes, there is much more to come! Also, this story is based on some book/film adaptation hybrid that lives only in my head and in this story.

Disclaimer: They're still not mine, sadly.

Chapter Two

Dixon sobbed into her handkerchief and Margaret sighed to herself as she sat back in the church pew. Mr. Bell put a consoling hand on hers.

Mr. Thornton turned at hearing Margaret's exhalation. She looked tired, he thought, and yet she's still beautiful, his love-sick heart added. She had circles under her eyes she'd tried to disguise, but he could tell she was not sleeping well. He longed to reassure her and tell her all would be well. It was his turn to sigh. He longed for a good many things.

The preacher dismissed them and the few mourners made their way out into the tepid sunshine.

John approached Mr. Hale next to Margaret and Mr. Bell. "You have my greatest sympathies, Mr. Hale."

The gentleman smiled vaguely at his pupil. "Thank you, John."

"I realize this isn't the best time, Mr. Hale, but I was wondering if I might return to my lessons with you this week. I've been missing our discussion of Plato." He sent a sideways smile to Margaret who nodded encouragement.

"Oh, John, I'm not sure—"

"Come, Papa," Margaret interjected. "I think it's an excellent idea. You've enjoyed your evenings with Mr. Thornton so much in the past. I believe it would be good for you."

Mr. Bell eyed the couple urging his old friend and raised a perceptive eyebrow. "Quite right, Hale. A little intellectual debate would be just the thing for you."

"Perhaps you're right. Very well, John. Thursday?"

"Thursday." He tipped his hat and acknowledged Margaret's grateful smile with a nod. "If you'll excuse me." But Mr. Thornton hadn't taken more than four steps when the sound of his name stopped him. He turned to see Mason, the policeman, greeting him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but seeing as you're the local magistrate…"

"He was found along the station embankment and died in hospital this morning. We're trying to find out how he died."

Oh, God. It was him, the ruffian from the train station.

"There was a witness, a local grocer, who spotted an altercation between this man and another man and woman."

Mr. Thornton was doing some very fast thinking since the truth was out of the question.

"Was this witness able to identify the other man? Or the woman?"

"All he was able to say about the man was that he was tall. He thought the woman might have been Miss Hale."

John was careful to school his face to betray nothing. "Well, Mason, the woman was Miss Hale, but the man in question was myself. I was escorting Miss Hale home – in my role as magistrate, of course – and we were accosted by this man. He was quite drunk and the situation required that I use some force to encourage him to leave us alone. He staggered off and that was the last I saw of him.

Mason nodded and closed his notebook. "Very good, sir. He was clearly unwell. I don't believe we need to hold an inquest."

"Neither do I. Well done, Mason." Thornton shook his hand.

"Thank you, sir."

John was thrilled to close his ledgers and cap his ink bottle on Thursday afternoon. The aftermath of the strike was taking all his attention lately and the outlook was not very promising. His evening at the Hale's was a welcome interlude.

After changing and bidding his mother not to wait up for him (she would anyway), he retrieved his books and enthusiastically walked to Crampton.

Dixon answered his knock and escorted him to the sitting room just as Margaret was pouring the tea for her father.

"Ah, John, good evening. Would you like a cup?"

Mr. Hale seemed in much better spirits this evening and Mr. Thornton was glad of it. "Yes, please, if Miss Hale would oblige." John was also pleased to see that Margaret looked much improved as well.

She nodded and crossed to pour him one. John stopped her midway with an outstretched hand. She smiled and shook it.

"I trust you are well this evening, Miss Hale?"

"Quite well, thank you, Mr. Thornton. Would you care for any milk or sugar in your tea?"

"Both, please."

A hint of rose touched Margaret's cheeks as their fingers brushed and John's heart stuttered in his chest.

Mr. Hale cleared his throat and broached the subject of Plato and the allegory of the cave.

Margaret tried to recall that particular story. Ah yes, a man's inside a dark cave. The stone statues surrounding him are distorted by shadow. His imagination and perceptions make them into terrifying creatures, but as he comes out of the cave and into the sun, he sees the statues for what they really are. As he sees more of the world outside the cave, he gains knowledge of just how wrong he was about the statues.

Mr. Hale and Mr. Thornton were discussing whether or not the tale could be applied to modern day life.

Margaret said, "Well, it's me and my original reaction to Milton, isn't it?"

Both men stopped and stared at her.

She elaborated. "At first, Milton was distorted by my previous life in Helstone and by my initial observations of the place. But as I lived here and got to know the people and how the town sees itself and its business, I gained an appreciation for it and saw how prejudiced I was at the beginning."

Both men looked stunned. Mr. Hale recovered first. "Quite so, Margaret. Well done."

Mr. Thornton nodded. He felt he'd been given a gift, an insight into the woman he'd first met so unfortunately all those months ago. "And what of Plato's views on justice, Miss Hale?"

"Well…"

The evening progressed through two pots of tea and a vociferous and heated debate between all three of them. None could remember the last time they'd enjoyed themselves as much. It seemed they took turns siding with each other. It was always two to one, but it varied as to who was left to debate their side alone. It always gave John a bit of a thrill when Margaret took his side.

Hours later, John realized just how late it was. "I should be going. It's quite late."

"Thank you for coming tonight, John. Will you come again on Tuesday?" Mr. Hale rose to shake his hand.

"Yes, of course. I should very much like that."

Margaret rose as well.

"I'll see you out, Mr. Thornton."

She retrieved his hat and met him in the hall. "I thank you for coming tonight as well, Mr. Thornton. Father has been looking forward to it all day."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Hale. I'm glad to see his spirits improved."

"As am I. Please send my good wishes to your mother and sister."

"I will." He paused and lowered his voice a bit. "I should tell you that the police found that man from the station dead the other day."

"Oh, God! Did—"

"No, he was only found ill. He died in hospital. There was a witness who saw the altercation, though."

"Then Frederick—"

"Not to worry, Miss Hale. All they saw were two men and a woman. I have suggested that I was the other man, which is not, strictly speaking, a lie since I was there."

"But the gossip! Surely—"

"A magistrate seeing a young woman safely home? No, Miss Hale, we're quite safe."

Margaret was relieved. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Thornton's good deed to lead to scandal. "And Leonards?"

"The man was in very bad shape already. It has been ruled an accidental death. It's done."

She smiled at the man who had saved her yet again and held out her hand to him.

The corner of his mouth quirked and he took her hand in his. Margaret wondered that his eyes could be so blue.

Without letting go of his hand she said, "I have a pair of your gloves, you know."

His brow furrowed. "You do?"

"You left them here… that day."

Mr. Thornton was pleased that he could hear her mention "that day" and not feel a pang of anguish.

"I didn't quite know how to get them back to you. I suppose you have a new pair now."

"I do, yes, but I'm glad to know where I left them. I wondered at my sanity for a while." Margaret grinned at him and his knees wavered ever-so-slightly. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll see you on Tuesday, Miss Hale."

He finally relinquished her hand.

"Until then, Mr. Thornton. Good night."

"Good night, Miss Hale."

A part of John Thornton wondered if "that day" were to happen now if she would answer differently than she did then. With the state of Marlborough Mills at the moment, he was in no place to ask her. He slid his new gloves on his hands and returned to his ledgers.