In the immediate aftermath of Boucher's death, duty and action had overtaken feeling for a time. Called on to inform the dead man's wife of his passing, Nicholas had retreated and her father demurred, so Margaret was compelled to take on the task. Accompanied by a neighbor woman, the difficult deed was done, and there was little to do as Mrs. Boucher prostrated herself over her husband's body, her grieving words incoherent through her wailing. Margaret felt awkward being a witness to the spectacle, and soon her father drew her away.

Habit took them back to Nicholas's door, but he had bolted it against them and bid them be off when they called to him. There was nothing else to be done, and in silence they went on their way home.

Once more Margaret sought the solitude of her room, allowing her feelings to reveal themselves fully. Little acquainted as she was with the Bouchers, her sorrow did not move her to tears, but she was overwhelmed by pity and sadness. Her initial disgust at the weak man's cowardice was softened by the knowledge of how much he had suffered. What drove a man to believe that nothing else could be done, that all concerned in his life would be better off without him? Even in her lowest moments, she could not comprehend such despair.

Unbidden, Mr. Thornton appeared in her mind. His life had been directly affected by his own father's suicide. What had his feelings been in that time? When he had recounted the circumstances of his father's death, he spoke of what had been done, but nothing of what he felt. Did he understand the depths such men fell into? Was it possible that he could be tempted in such a way? Margaret clutched at her chest at such a morbid thought; she did not want to contemplate the idea. It gave her an unwelcome pain that constricted her breath.

No, she must not speculate on painful possibilities, but focus her mind on what actually was and what service she could offer. It was with this resolution that she called upon the widow Boucher again the next day. There she and her father learned that Nicholas had called, as well, mentioning some business that would take him away the rest of the day. Neither of them had any idea of what that business could be.

As for Margaret's purpose in coming to condole with Mrs. Boucher, she was dismayed to see the woman's behavior. Justified as she was in thinking herself ill-used, it was disheartening to realize how little she regarded her children's needs. Devoted as she must be to them, now she refused to acknowledge their loss, only selfishly seeing that they were inconvenient in her new situation. Every hardship was an insurmountable obstacle, and every person, even her miserable and departed husband, an enemy.

Margaret could not bear such complaining for long, and tried to do her best at comforting the children. They, at least, were not so querulous in their grief, simply and truly remembering the kindnesses their father had bestowed on them in his beleaguered life. Still, she found it difficult to recover as she walked her father home, attempting to cheer and encourage him for his efforts on the family's behalf. Was there nothing but hardship and suffering in this mortal world after all?

That evening, Mr. Hale seemed restless. Doubtless the events of the last day had driven his thoughts more closely on his own loss, so recent as it still was, and it was clear he was in need of some diversion. Once or twice he wondered aloud if Mr. Thornton would pay them a visit and Margaret, her own desires aside, hoped that the gentleman would appear, if only for Mr. Hale's benefit.

But when the door rang soon after, it was not Mr. Thornton who stepped up the stairs, but Dixon. And judging by the expression on her face, their visitor was deemed unwelcome. Margaret was pleasantly surprised, however, at Dixon's words.

"It's that Higgins, sir. He wants to see you, or Miss Hale. He's in a strange way."

"Well, certainly show him up, then," Mr. Hale replied, sitting up a little straighter. "He can see us both."

Dixon balked. "If you saw the state of his shoes, you'd say the kitchen was a fitter place!"

Margaret bit her lips back to stifle a laugh; to see Dixon's indignation on their carpet's behalf was a welcome return to form, and it gave her some relieved entertainment to know some things would never change. Dixon's admonition did not change her desire to see Nicholas, however, for she was eager to know how he bore up in the circumstances.

"I suppose he can wipe them," was Mr. Hale's reply, and without another word, Dixon huffed away, to their shared amusement. "Perhaps we will discover what business Nicholas had today," he mused to Margaret. "I must admit to some curiosity there."

Margaret was no less curious herself, and soon enough Nicholas appeared. His feet, it must be stated, were clad only in stockings, for Dixon's formidable look was intimidating enough to prompt him to remove the offending shoes.

He swiftly begged their pardon for his appearance, but then seemed to be constrained by some shyness, which Margaret attributed to his obvious fatigue. She excused herself to hasten tea along, hoping to fortify Nicholas and overcome his hesitance.

Upon her return to the drawing room, Nicholas was speaking to her father easily, although his voice was still quiet and subdued. " . . . and I feel it my lot to help those children as best I can, if you'd help me."

"Gladly," Mr. Hale replied, "but what can I possibly do?"

Nicholas paused, casting a glance Margaret's way. "Well, Miss there has talked grand of the South and the ways down there. I don't know how far it is, but if I could get down there where food is cheap, wages are good, and people are friendly like; may be you could help me get work. I've got a deal of strength in me yet."

"What kind of work?"

"I reckon I could spade a bit."

Margaret interjected here. For Nicholas to take such a drastic step, it was unthinkable. "You must not go to the South. You could not stand it. It is so different from what you are accustomed to."

"I'm not so particular as all that," he said, a little offended. Did Miss Hale really think he was so fussy?

"But I must tell you, I owe it to you, since it is my way of talking that has set you off, to make it clear. You would not be able to bear the dullness of life; it would eat away at you like rust. Those who are born and bred there are used to stagnation, but you are not. It would drive you mad, and what good would you be to the children then? Think no more of it, Nicholas, I beg of you."

His face was clouded, troubled thoughts marring his brow, but she was relieved to see he considered her words seriously. He sighed and said gruffly, "So it is that north and south has got their own troubles, and it may be of no more use to leave as to keep a civil tongue in my head and ask for work here."

Was that what his business had been, asking for work at the very mills he had spoken against? Margaret realized. Setting aside all his pride and principles for the sake of Boucher's children? Margaret's heart filled with compassion as she considered Nicholas's actions, though her opinion did not change. He certainly could not reconcile himself to the slow and steady sameness of the South. His northern vitality and drive was too ingrained in him, like so many of his stock. Like one other that now sprang to her mind.

"Nicholas," she ventured gently after tea had been served. "Have you been to Marlborough Mills for work?"

"Thornton's?" he asked with a mirthless chuckle. "Aye, I've been there."

"What did he say?"

"A chap such as me wouldn't see the master. The overlooker bid me go off and be . . . told me to go, sharp-ish."

Mr. Hale saw his daughter's thoughts and said, "I wish you had seen Mr. Thornton. He would not have spoken to you so."

"It does not matter to me the language; they wouldn't take me there, nor anywhere else."

"But would you try again?" Margaret pleaded. "And see Mr. Thornton himself. He would be fair-minded to you, I'm sure, if you could speak to him. It's a good deal to ask, I know, but I would be so glad if you did."

"It would tax my pride," he muttered, but the softness in Margaret's eyes was a great influence and he felt himself yield. "But you've got no common ways about you, Miss, so I'll go." A smile lit the corners of her eyes, and he hurried on. "Don't think he'll do it. He'd as like be burned at the stake before giving in. But I'll do it for your sake."

The small smile now reached her lips. "Thank you, Nicholas. It means all the more, knowing what a cost it is to you."

He nodded, not meeting her eye. He had agreed to her request, and that was all he felt equal to now.

He set aside his cup and stood, the Hales following suit. "Don't you hope, Miss. There'll be more chance getting milk out of a flint. I wish you good night, and many thanks."

"You'll find your shoes by the fire," she said softly, stopping him briefly, but with another nod to Margaret and Mr. Hale, he was gone.

"He's a proud man," Mr. Hale observed with a sigh, seating himself again. "But there is something to be admired in these Milton men, for all their proud ways. It is amusing to see how he respects Mr. Thornton for the ways they are alike; both can be so obstinate where they think they are right. I think you were wise to suggest Marlborough Mills, Margaret."

"Do you?" Margaret said. "I hope I have not done wrong. If they could speak together – if Nicholas could forget Mr. Thornton is a master, and if Mr. Thornton could listen with his heart, I think -"

"Well, my dear, you cannot expect Mr. Thornton to do the same for everyone as he did for us," Mr. Hale interrupted. "Even he has his limits. But I am glad to see the experience with Frederick has you doing Mr. Thornton justice at last."

Margaret fought back a blush. "It was not only his help with Fred, Father. I can admit that I was wrong in judging him as I did when we first came here. But you are not wrong in thinking that I hope Nicholas can appeal to the same place in his heart that allowed him to help us."

She did not trust herself to say any more, afraid that she would awaken suspicion in her father by speaking too openly of his friend. Until she knew for certain her feelings, she did not dare letting him know of what could be.

It was not a satisfactory morning for John Thornton as he sat toiling away in his office. Days, even weeks, had passed and he was no closer to understanding the full extent of the damage the strike had done him. Much of his capital was tied up in the new machinery, purchased because they had been doing well, and the cotton he had bought in bulk for large orders. But they were still behindhand, thanks to the strike and the incompetence of the Irish workers who had remained in Milton. Even with the return of more experienced hands, the time needed to train the Irish was more than inconvenient, when the work needed to be done quickly.

Such thoughts and worries plagued him even during his leisure hours, which were few. This was a greater annoyance to him now than it otherwise would have been, for he had much rather dwell on thoughts more pleasing, more beautiful, and more hopeful. He had little enough time to think of her, and he craved more of it, to perhaps sort out her perplexing behavior.

At first he had been ashamed of himself, giving way to an improper desire without thought. He should have exercised more control; kissing her hand had been more than foolish, especially at such a time for her. But he would not be afraid, even if he berated himself inwardly; he would still do his duty by his friend and not abandon them. He was sure, though, that she would be so affronted by his boldness that he would see nothing of her when he came.

Surprise was not adequate to describe his feelings when she did not act in the manner he predicted. She did not make herself scarce, and there was no sign from her that his company was intolerable. Perhaps she was magnanimous enough to forgive and excuse his behavior in light of his service to her family. Whatever the reason, he was glad he had not driven her away, for what hope could he possibly justify holding on to if she would not see him?

She said very little in the visits he made, but she did seem distracted. She had even injured herself with her needle, and he had been relieved to see her settle with a book the next time he came. He told himself that it was merely his imagination that she looked at him a great deal, but he did not convince himself entirely that this was the case. But her expression, whether or not her frequent glances were real or imagined, was inscrutable, and he could not tell if she looked at him with disapproval or favor.

If he had more time to devote his mind to such things, perhaps he would be able to decipher her thoughts and feelings, but it was not to be. Instead, he was frustrated and angry, and this morning had been no different as he dealt with correspondence and sought out solutions.

So it was that he was not in a friendly state of mind when Higgins presented himself. Nicholas had already been rebuffed by Mr. Thornton as he left the mill to attend to some business, but he remained by the gate until the master's return. To catch him in the street was his only chance to speak to the master, and he would stay and see it through.

At last Mr. Thornton returned and exclaimed, "What, you're here still!"

"Yes, sir," he replied quietly. "I want to speak with you."

"Then you'd best come in," Thornton said shortly, opening the door and nodding his head to the rough man to follow him.

There was usually only one reason that a man such as this wanted to speak to him, but he was not of a mind to turn him away yet, if he proved to be a man of experience. But his overlooker stopped him for a moment in the yard and whispered discreetly, "I hope you know, sir, that that man is Higgins, one of the leaders of the Union."

This new knowledge gave him pause. Certainly he knew the name; the man had a reputation as a rabble-rouser. What could he want here? Not work, surely. He wouldn't have the pluck to ask for such a thing, nor would he lower himself to do so. But the man who followed him, though it was clear he was not a man to be easily cowed, did not seem to possess such a turbulent spirit as he was reported to have. His request to speak to him had seemed positively docile. What did this mean?

A perturbed curiosity allowed Mr. Thornton to continue on his way, saying nothing to Higgins until they reached the counting-house of the mill.

"Well, sir, what do you want of me?" he asked after seating himself. Let the man stand, hat in hand like any meek supplicant.

"My name is Higgins -" he began, but here Thornton interrupted him.

"I know who you are. What do you want?"

"I want work."

"Work!" In that short time, he had convinced himself this was not the man's purpose, so he was truly taken aback. "You don't want impudence, that's very clear."

"Hamper will speak to my being a good hand."

With a cocked lip, he replied, "I'm not sure you want to send me to Hamper for a character reference. I might hear more than you like."

"I'd take the risk. They wouldn't say anything more than I did my best, even to my wrong."

"Then you'd better go and try them. I've had to turn away a hundred of my best hands for following you and your Union, and you now want me to take you on? Might as well put a firebrand in the cotton-waste."

Higgins turned away at first; there was only so much opposition he would stand, but the recollection of Boucher's children turned him back. "I promise you, I'd not speak a word against you, if you did right by us. And I'd come speak to you in private first if I thought you were doing wrong. I'm an honest man and steady. I work hard."

Thornton raised an eyebrow at this. He had thought his cold reception would have driven the man off. "How do I know you're not just stirring up trouble, saving against another strike?"

"If only I could, I'd be glad of it. But I need work for the family of a man driven mad by those knobsticks of yours until he destroyed himself, put out of work by them Irish who don't know weft from warp."

Thornton's eyes narrowed. There was no doubt that Higgins placed some blame on his shoulders for this madman's death. He should have expected it; he was used to wild accusations that he drove his workers to their death.

"You'd better turn to something else. If I were to believe your story, and I'm not inclined to, I'd tell you to leave Milton and find work somewhere else."

"If it were warmer, I'd take to Paddy's work and be off, but come winter those children would starve!" Higgins protested. "I'd take any wage for the sake of those children, if you knew of any place -"

"You'd take wages less than others?" Thornton broke in with an accusing glare. "You'd turn knobstick? Think of what your Union would do to any man who did the same; they'd be down upon him, you along with them. I'll not give you work, not for one who'd do that to another man, and not for your mock story. There's your answer."

He was again surprised to see a grim smile appear on the man's face. "I wouldn't have troubled you, but I were bid to come. By a woman, who thought you had a soft place in your heart. She was mistaken. But I'm not the first to be misled by a woman."

"Tell her to mind her own business the next time and spare us all the trouble," Thornton said flatly. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned, and he wished to be rid of the man.

"I'm obliged to you for your kindness, master, and for your civil way of saying goodbye," Higgins said with a sarcastic smile and nod of his head. He turned and made his way out, knowing Thornton would not reply.

For a moment, Mr. Thornton drummed his fingers on the desk, troubled by the man's farewell. Curious to see how Higgins took it, he stood to observe him cross the yard and was vexed by the heaviness of the man's step, as though he bore a substantial burden. His brow furrowed as a flicker of doubt overshadowed his response to the man's request.

He crossed to the porter's lodge and without preamble inquired, "How long has that man Higgins been waiting to speak with me?"

"He was outside the gate before eight, sir, and been there ever since. He was also here yesterday, but he talked with Williams then."

It was just one now, Mr. Thornton thought to himself. It was a long time to wait for any man. A distracted and troubled scowl persisted in his features, as he wrestled with his initial opinion of Higgins and a grudging respect for him and his determination.

A/N: I almost feel like I should apologize for the lack of notifications on chapters 7 and 8, but it seems to me it was an issue with fanfiction itself, because I saw that problem on a few stories I was following (and not getting notified), so while I'm sorry for those who were missing notifications, I promise it wasn't my fault! I hope that everything's back to normal, and since I think the notifications for chapter 9 were working, that it's going to continue that way without further problem.

I'm going to be honest and say the last couple of chapters have been the hardest so far for me, and that's because I've brought Nicholas back in and had to go back to the book lots and lots. The circumstances of Boucher dying and Nicholas asking for work from Thornton are, obviously, unchanged from the original story, and writing that without repeating word-for-word Gaskell's story (although I do borrow most of Nicholas's conversation, but without the accent - I wouldn't dare attempting such a thing) is hard. (I also went back to my other big story where I didn't change the circumstances of Higgins and Thornton working together, so I also had to make sure I wasn't just repeating myself! So weird.) So even though this chapter and half of chapter 9 are pretty much repeated plot points, please be patient with me! I'm not going to ignore Nicholas just because I've changed things up; he's still important, and while Thornton's been awesome at helping Margaret, there's still a lot for him to learn about his workers, and his assocation with Nicholas is a key part of that change that turns him into the man we all love. Or love even better, to put it more accurately. :)