Margaret closed the door and walked slowly up the stairs. Surely he would not think much of what had just happened - after all, hadn't she made her feelings for him quite clear not a week prior? When he had caught her in her lie, the hurt on his face was undeniable - and she had caused that. She did not wish to hurt him, nor lie to him at all. And yet she had, and with alarming ease.

"Who was that, my dear?"

Margaret sat back beside Frederick, a tight smile on her face as she tried to regain her composure.

"Mr Thornton, Father. He brought some fruit for Mother, and asked after her health."

"How kind." Her mother said softly. "Such a kind man."

"Mr Thornton?" Fred asked. "Who is he?"

"A mill owner. He is one of Father's pupils." Margaret said quickly, wishing to keep the explanation as short and unemotional as possible.

Margaret silently cursed herself; why had she said that there was no visitor? A woman near the end of her life had cause for visitors, so such a thing would arouse no suspicion. Instead, Margaret had acted more suspiciously by so strenuously denying it. What must he think?!

"What use does a mill owner have with Plato?" Fred asked, his nose wrinkling. "Such company you keep, Father! Tradesmen calling at the house at all hours."

"He is a good man." Margaret said hurriedly, her cheeks burning as she realised just how quickly she had leapt to John's defence. "You would like him if you could know him, I am sure of it."

"I am not sure I have ever heard you speak of John so kindly, my dear!" Her father chuckled. "I think our Margaret has given him quite the challenge on more than one occasion."

"Oh?"

"It is nothing." Margaret said firmly, taking a seat next to Fred. "I - I have found myself taking an interest in better understanding the people who are in the employ of the mills, and Mr Thornton and I do not see eye to eye on certain matters. That is all."

Fred frowned.

"What a strange life you lead here, sister."

Margaret stiffened, stung by his unintentional barb. She looked towards her mother, thankfully sleeping, and shrugged.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll help Dixon with the tea."

She left the room, glad to be alone for a moment. She smoothed down her hair , and took a deep breath. Mr Thornton did not matter now; nothing mattered except her mother. She grew weaker with every passing moment; even in the short time Margaret had been downstairs, she seemed to lose a little more of herself. How cruel death was, to suck life away so slowly, forcing others to look on so very helplessly.

The day passed quietly; Fred and Margaret sat together by their mother's bedside while she slept. They spoke softly, but spent most of the time reading or consumed in their own thoughts. Their father drifted in and out, as well as Dixon, but nobody said anything much. They were all too aware that the end was coming - and coming soon.

Margaret thought, as she so often did, of Bessie. She had not had the luxury of a doctor, nor of a warm, clean house. She had not even had her family around her when she passed. She felt her throat tighten as she thought of her most dear friend, truly gone from this world forever. It did not feel real that her mother would soon be gone too.

And yet that dreadful moment came far too quickly.

The next day, Margaret sat with Frederick in the drawing room, both of them snatching a rare chance to be alone together as Doctor Donaldson was in with their mother. It felt strange to be with her brother once more, as though things had momentarily returned to how they used to be before Fred left, before everything had changed forever.

Fred paced the floor, restless. He had been most unsettled these past few days; it was to be expected of course, but Margaret had seen just what a different person he was from the boy she remembered. He was harder, she thought, sharper with his words.

"What was Father thinking, bringing you both to a wretched place like this?"

"Sit, Fred. Really, it is not so bad. I have grown used to it. Please, sit. Let us not talk of unpleasant things; tell me about Cadiz. Tell me about your life - you have hardly said a word about it."

"I am trying not to think of it, in truth. But I suppose - I am happy, sister. Is that wrong, that I should find happiness after causing you all so much heartache?"

"You did nothing wrong, Fred. Any heartache we suffered was by the cruelty of the Navy, not you. We are proud of you."

"What little there is to be proud of."

"You have friends in Cadiz?" Margaret asked. "And work that you enjoy?"

"Yes. Yes, I have many friends." He exhaled. "There is - there is someone that is very special to me. A woman."

"Oh?" Margaret asked, leaning forwards. "You've made no mention of her in your letters."

"I did not wish to tell you until I was certain that she cared for me too. But I have decided, when I return to Cadiz, I shall ask her father for her hand. I cannot waste another second. I have seen how precious life is, I cannot go a moment longer without telling her just how I feel. Oh, if you could meet her! You would love her, I am certain of it."

Margaret was dazed by his words, this frank confession of love for a woman she would likely never meet. His words, so earnest in their sentiment, struck her. How precious life is. How little time there is to be wasted - how pointless it is to hide one's feelings. She inhaled sharply, her own mind whispering to her that he was right - that she was hiding her own feelings just as astutely, as though time was hers to waste.

"Tell me about her. It would do us good to talk of happy things."

Just as Fred opened his mouth to speak, the door opened. The siblings turned to see Dixon standing in the door, her eyes bright with tears and her hands clutching a handkerchief. Silently they rose, and followed her in to the room where their mother lay dying.

It was strange, that a house so full of people should somehow feel so empty. Her mother was gone from this world forever, her body lying in rest. Margaret could not cry. Tears threatened to well in her eyes, her chest tightened and throat constricted and yet - nothing. She felt numb, exhausted to her very marrow. She sat staring at the same page of a book for hours, thinking nothing - feeling nothing.

The funeral arrangements were set for a few day's time. Despite Margaret's concerns, Fred was determined to attend. It felt a needless risk; though he had a false name and an entire history created to hide his identity, he would still be seen in public.

"Nobody knows me here." He reasoned, scrubbing at his face as he grew increasingly frustrated. "Margaret, what is the harm? You would ask me to not attend my own mother's funeral?"

"I-" Margaret shook her head. "I don't know, Fred. It feels like we have been lucky so far. Mother would certainly not wish you to come to harm on her account. You know that."

Margaret's fears, however, were proved to be correct, when Dixon came home ashen-faced from the grocer's the next day. She burst into the drawing room still dressed in her outdoor clothes, her hands still clutching at her basket.

"Master Frederick." Dixon said breathlessly, her eyes widened panicked.. "I just - just-"

"Dixon?" Margaret stood, taking her basket from her and leading her to sit. "What is the matter?"

"I've seen Leonards."

Margaret frowned, the name familiar but not one that she could place. She thought through all of the people she knew here, yet she could still not match a face to the name Dixon offered.

"Who?"

"From Helstone." Fred finished before Dixon had the chance to. His voice was dull, his face flat and jaw slack. He looked utterly defeated.

Margaret's stomach plummeted, her hands tightening around Fred's arm.

"What is he doing here in Milton?" Margaret turned to Dixon.

"He lives here now. What are the chances of that?!" Dixon exclaimed. "I pretended I was here on a visit, Miss, so that he would not know you are here. I didn't like him then and I don't like him now, Miss Margaret. A troublemaker, always has been."

"He might not remember..." Margaret began, though her hope was snatched away as Dixon shook her head.

"Oh, he remembers." Dixon said darkly. "He was talking about it to me, he remembers there was trouble with Master Frederick…"

That was all Margaret needed to hear. She turned to her brother, grasping both his hands so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"You must go Fred."

"What?! No!" He shook free of her grip, and stepped away from her, his expression furious. "What do I care if this man knows me? Dixon said he does not even know you live here!"

"Fred, though I cannot claim we have a great many friends here, our names are at least known. If someone mentions Hale to him, he would surely make the connection between us. Then, if he saw you.."

"If I get caught, I shall stand my ground. I do not see why I must leave before the funeral! Chased away by some drunk who may possibly not even know my face!"

"No." Her father spoke from the corner, his voice weary and thin. "You seem to think a Court-Martial is a place where justice is served. You must leave, you cannot risk being seen."

"Father, there must be something we can do! I know a lawyer, he is honourable, and clever I think. He would help Fred, I am certain of it. Henry Lennox... Father, you know him."

"Is that Edith's brother-in-law? That could work. I could write to him with details of the ship, and the crew.."

"Write to Henry if you must, but do not keep Fred in England!"

Margaret knew that her father was right. They could not risk Fred being identified; a bounty still rested on his head, and a man such as Leonards would be greatly interested in such a prize.

"Father's right." She said out loud, earning a look of betrayal from her brother. "You must leave on the night train. Go to London, then onto Dover. You must leave, Fred, as quickly and as quietly as you can."

"You think this man would know me?" He scoffed. "From what I recall of him, he was a drunk and a nuisance. Have the passing years changed him much? Would the word of a drunk hold weight here?"

"Fred, please!" Margaret begged. "See reason! Your safe passage back to Cadiz is all that matters. If anything should happen to you.."

"Fine." Fred gritted out, his expression softening as he looked over at his father, his face lined and exhausted by grief. Perhaps it had finally dawned on her brother that he could not be the cause of any further devastation. "I will leave. Tonight, as you say."

"I will go with you." Margaret said. "I will see that you are safely on the train."

Her father said nothing, merely slumped back in his chair. Margaret turned to Fred.

"Go and pack your things. The last train leaves at eleven, I believe. I will find a carriage to come and collect us around half past ten." Margaret said, her worlds babbling together as she concocted the plan out loud. "I am sorry Fred, but we must."

The carriage Margaret had arranged drew up just as the clock chimed to signify half past the hour. Her heart hammered in her chest as she and Fred climbed inside and made their way to Outwood station in tense silence.

Each jolt of the carriage, each heavy thud of the horse's hooves as they slowed down made Margaret's heart race just a little faster. She would not feel safe until she received the letter from Frederick saying he was safely returned to Spain.

"Stop fidgeting, sister." Frederick scolded her, reaching forward and putting a steadying hand on her knee. "You are driving me quite mad with your foot tapping."

"I'm sorry." Margaret said, forcing her feet still. "Fred, are you glad that you came? Did I do the wrong thing asking you here? It did place you in danger..."

"I would not have come if I thought the risk too great. I thought of Mother so often. To not see her before she died..I would never forgive myself. When your letter arrived, I knew I would risk anything to see her again. To see you all."

"Oh Fred. Will we ever see each other again?"

"You could come and see me. You would like Spain; the climate would suit you."

"Maybe one day." Margaret smiled, warmed by the thought, as she imagined she could already feel the sun on her skin. "I hope for that."

They arrived at the station. It was dark, and mercifully deserted. Margaret paid for the ticket, her hands trembling as she handed over the money . She willed herself to be calm, but very sound made her jump, every distant shout made her heart beat faster in her chest. She clutched the ticket to her as she left the ticket office.

Fred was waiting for her on the platform, hidden in shadows as he looked around. Finally, after all his bravado, she could see fear in his eyes. He had spent days dismissing her concerns, yet now she could see that he shared them too.

The train whistle sounded, piercing the cold night air. Margaret looked at her brother, studying each part of his face to commit his likenessto memory.

"I must go." He said sadly, squeezing to her hands. "But I cannot bear it."

"You must go."

"A minute more."

She smiled as he pulled her closer to him, embracing her tightly. She clung to him, knowing that this might be the last time she ever had the chance. They could talk of Spain, but the likelihood of such a thing happening was slim. Each time he received foreign visitors, a little more attention would be drawn to him. Indeed, if her name was seen on a ship's manifesto travelling towards Cadiz..perhaps she was being overcautious, but she could not risk her brother's safety again.

She pulled away, and as she did so she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She felt the weight of eyes on her, as strange as it sounded to admit such a peculiar sensation. It was as though she was being burned, and when she turned she realised whose gaze she had felt so intently upon her back.

John.

Gone was the soft expression with which he had come to regard her with. Instead, utter fury, contempt and disgust were etched on those stony features as clearly as if they had been cut into marble. Her heart, racing impossibly fast already, came to a stop as her eyes locked with his.

Then, he was gone.

"What a scowl that man has! Who is he?"

"Mr Thornton. And something has happened to make him scowl so."

The whistle sounded once more.

"Fred, you really must go. Write to me, please, when you are safely home."

"God keep you, Margaret! I will write to you as soon as I can."

"Hale?" A voice rang out, "Is that you?"

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut.

She did not need to look to know that it would be the man Dixon had seen. His accent was Southern, and she shoved Fred forward blindly away from the sound and towards the train, bumping him into the door.

"Hale?" The man called again. "It is you, isn't it?"

"I'm not..I'm not Hale.." Fred protested.

With clumsy, unsteady steps Leonards stumbled towards them. He was obviously drunk, the smell of cheap whiskey coming off him in waves. Margaret's stomach churned at the stench of it. She stepped in front of her brother, shoving him backwards towards the train carriage. Still Leonards advanced, the smell of alcohol on his breath . He grabbed at Fred's arm, trying to yank him forward.

"Go." She hissed under her breath, turning so that she might push him more effectively. Fred stood, frozen with fear. She shoved him harder, willing his feet to move. "Go, Fred!"

"Where you goin', Hale?" Leonards taunted.

"What's going on?"

Margaret's breath left her in one swoop, her hands still frantically shoving at her brother. She turned to find Mr Thornton standing before her. He towered over Leonards, his imposing form intimidating and reassuring in equal measure. Leonards stumbled back, though he puffed up his chest.

"This man-" Leonards began, until John raised a hand to stop him.

"I don't know who you think he is, but he's my associate." John stepped forward. "You're Jane's fiance, aren't you? Get out of here and sober up, you're a disgrace shouting at decent folk like this. Leave now before I summon the authorities."

"Your associate, is he? And what's the lady doin' out so late at night then?" Leonards asked, raising his eyebrows and jerking his head at Margaret. "Seems very odd,if she ain't connected to this man. If this man isn't who I think he is, if this woman isn't Miss Margaret Hale from Helstone like what I think she is..."

The station guard gave a whistle, and John walked forwards, taking Leonards with him whether the man liked it or not. Margaret turned, mouthing silent goodbyes to her brother as he boarded the train and slammed the door shut. Her heart thudded so hard it felt like her ribs might break.

As the train pulled away, she buried her face in her hands. She did not know where Mr Thornton or the man that had shouted the truth so very loudly had gone. The steam from the train swirled around her, filling her lungs until she was left coughing and sputtering on the platform.

She needed to get ahold of herself, to leave this place before somebody else saw her. What had she been thinking? If Frederick had come alone, he might never have been noticed. This was her fault.

"Margaret." John's voice came in her ear, his hand on her back as he steered her forwards without her consent. "We need to leave at once before anyone else sees you."

She allowed him to guide her out of the station, into the darkness.

"I have a carriage waiting." She said. "I will be fine getting home by myself."

"I'm coming with you."

"Please, there is no need-"

"The Devil there isn't. Go."