Margaret wasn't quite convinced they as a family would do well in the city. Her mother loathed the loneliness of the country and therefor society could be good for her. However Margaret sincerely doubted her mother would enjoy the society of a big harbour city filled with merchants. She knew she herself had a strong dislike for these merchant men and their ways. Her father had found a living as a private tutor of some wealthy local aristocracy and some high off merchants, but it wasn't a job within the church. There would be no parishioners Margaret could help, there would be no people she was welcome to visit. She couldn't quite imagine how she would occupy herself in a useful manner.

It had been a painful thing to tell her mother who, when she first found her the next morning started telling her of her little plans for adding some small comforts to the lot of the poorer parishioners. She could not help listening, though each new project was a stab to her heart. By the time the frost had set in, they should be far away from Helstone. Old Simon's rheumatism might be bad and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go and read to him, and comfort him with little porringers of broth and good red flannel: or if there was, it would be a stranger, and the old man would watch in vain for her.

'Oh mama, let us do all we can for the parishioners as soon as we can do it, for we may not be here for long.' Her mother was confused, and then shocked, when Margaret ever so gently informed her of her father's decision.

Margaret truly didn't know if there was a way she could have told her mother the unthinkable without having her worry. To say she was shook would be a big understatement. Meanwhile Dixon was furious, and wouldn't stop feeding unsatisfied remarks to Mrs Hale and Margaret. And though Margaret detested Dixon for encouraging the depressing thoughts which were already present in her mother's head, she couldn't help but notice in between discussions about the move with her parents and visiting the parishioners, that her mother, whose health hadn't been perfect to begin with, seemed to be declining even more.

'Dixon is something the matter?'

'No miss, why do you ask?'

'I've noticed you and mother are spending quite some time together lately. She is still quite alright isn't she?'

'Of course miss, you needn't worry. I've always taken great care of her.'

'I don't doubt that, Dixon. It's just that I'm her daughter, if anything is amiss, I should know of it.'

'You needn't worry. She'll be just fine. She's just very shocked because of the move. You know she wasn't made for the countryside with its lack of society, but neither was she made for some self-made city reeking of fish.'

'I know, but what is there to do?'

'She would do well enjoying the countryside for a bit, getting away from all the worrisome rushed plans. Just the idea that there is no house yet, and our furniture would have to remain somewhere in the meanwhile… It's not ideal Miss Hale. If only your father would understand that! But he has always been so preoccupied with his own thoughts.'

So that day, as her father went up after tea to sit with his wife. Margaret remained alone in the drawing-room. Suddenly she took a candle and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of England. She was ready to look up brightly when her father came down stairs.

'Papa, come over here!' She said as she noticed him.

'I have hit upon such a beautiful plan. Look here, hardly the breadth of my finger from Liverpool, is Lambton, which I have often heard of from people living in the north as such a pleasant little place. The valleys and the Pemberey estate are quite lovely, they even have roman thermal baths in the town. Now, don't you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one all ready for her in Liverpool? She would get a breath of air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.'

'Is Dixon to go with us?' asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless dismay.

'Oh, yes! She quite intends it, and I don't know what mamma would do without her.'

'But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, I am afraid. Everything is so much dearer in a town. I doubt if Dixon can make herself comfortable. To tell you the truth Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.'

'To be sure she does, papa,' replied Margaret; 'and if she has to put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up with her airs. But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us, I am sure- especially in this change; so, for mamma's sake, and for the sake of her faithfulness, I do think she must go.'

Her father, as always trusting in the sound reasoning and clear-headedness of his daughter, agreed. This was a great step. Now Margaret could work, and act, and plan in good earnest. And now Mrs. Hale could rouse herself from her languor, and forget her real suffering in thinking of the pleasure and the delight of going to the genteel countryside. Mrs Hale only regret was that Mr Hale could not be with her all the fortnight she was to be there. It had been a very long time indeed since the two of them spent a fortnight apart. The last time had been when they were engaged, and she was staying with Sir John and Lady Beresford at Torquay.

Margaret had cried at least five times by the time the night had set on the day of their departure. Despite all their preparations, moving had still been a messy whirlwind, but by the time dusk set in, they'd finally arrived in London.

Their evening passed without employment in a room high up in a hotel. Mr Hale had still managed to find two acquaintances to meet up with. But there was no such joy for Margaret and her mother. Everyone they encountered in shops or on the street appeared rushed. They alone seemed strange and friendless, and desolate. Yet within a mile, Margaret knew of house after house, where she for her own sake, and her mother for her aunt Shaw's, would be welcomed, if they came as happy family members. Yet now they would arrive in sorrow, if they came and London life was too whirling and vibrant to pause itself to mourn and pity the unhappy ones. There would be no sitting, like the friends of Job, where 'they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him; for they saw that his grief was very great.'

After that evening, Dixon and her mother set out to Lambton, while Margaret and her father embarked on their journey to Liverpool.

Mr Hale's friend, Mr Bell and the friend of Mr Bell called mr Thornton, had suggested four houses for the Hale's to inspect. Their Helstone home had never been much, more aimed towards comfort than fashion. It hadn't been particularly large, but it had always suited their needs.

This had lead them to think that since they didn't have many airs, it would be quite possible to find a satisfying home in the city. Just two sitting-rooms, a study for their father, and four to five bedrooms. Certainly nothing unusual for a middle class home with a very limited amount of children – just the one – and a limited amount of servants. But the organisation and the amount of rooms was not to their liking anywhere. Their Helstone home had many windows and overlooked on much greenery, but here there probably be no garden, nor quiet calm streets. And the wallpapers were so gaudy, Margaret couldn't quite fathom who would ever think it would be a nice decoration to their home. True, in London her simple and utilitarian taste wasn't too common, but such gaudiness as was present in the homes they visited here was looked down upon as well.

After a morning of visiting the homes, they decided to pore over their choices with a cup of tea.

'We must go back to the second one on Cranford road, I think. It is not too far off of a park, not too near the harbour and not too far from shops. There were three sitting-rooms; don't you remember how we laughed at the number compared with the three bed-rooms? But I have planned it all. The front room downstairs is to be your study and our dining-room, though I am sorry the two will have to be merged together. We have settled mamma is to have as cheerful a sitting-room as we can get; and that front room up-stairs, with the atrocious blue and pink paper and heavy cornice, had really a pretty view, with the little front garden down below, though we have none at the back. Then I could have the little bed-room behind, in that projection at the head of the first flight of stairs-over the kitchen, you know-and you and mamma the room behind the drawing-room, and that closet in the roof will make you a splendid dressing-room.'

'But Dixon, and the girl we are to have to help?'

'Dixon is to have, let me see, I had it once. She can have the back sitting-room. I think she will like that. She grumbles so much about the stairs at Heston; and the girl is to have that sloping attic over your room and mamma's. Won't that do?'

'I dare say it will. But the papers. What taste! Overloading such a house with colour and heavy cornices is quite awful!'

'Mayhap you can charm the landlord into re-papering one or two of the rooms-the drawing-room and your bed-room. Those are the rooms mamma will come most into contact with; and your
book-shelves will hide a great deal of that gaudy pattern in the dining-room.'

Her father, as always agreeing with her visions and relieved that there was a way to make at least one of the houses agreeable with some very basic redecorating and reorganizing, nodded. He would contact the landlord and ask to change the wallpaper, and she was to order lunch and rest at the hotel.

Margaret hoped his request would be granted, though she said nothing. She had never come in contact with the taste that loves ornament, however bad, more than the plainness and simplicity which she believed to be the framework of elegance. Her father took her through the entrance of the hotel, and left her there to go after the man who would hopefully become their next landlord.

Just as Margaret had her hand on the door of their sitting-room, she was approached by a nervous waiter.

'I beg your pardon, ma'am. The gentleman was gone so quickly, I had no time to tell him. Mr Thornton called almost directly after you left. Mr Hale had told me you would only be gone for so long. Which was exactly what I told Mr Thornton. He came back about five minutes ago, and said he would wait for Mr Hale. He is in your room now, ma'am.'

Believing her father to come back within half the hour, she decided it would only be polite to receive the man who had helped her father an Mr Bell in collecting a list of possible houses, a man who would soon be one of her father's pupils as well. Surely it wouldn't be indecent to receive a man both her father and Mr Bell regarded with praise. She was tired and much desired some rest, but making a man who had already come by once before wait even longer would be terribly rude.

Margaret opened the door and went in with dignity and fearlessness. She felt no awkwardness, she was too used to society from her time in London.

Mr. Thornton however, was a good deal more uncomfortable and unprepared than she was. He had never been very comfortable in any kind of society, not when meeting up with men from his own trade and especially not when meeting unfamiliar people of the opposite sex. No indeed, experience had taught him to mistrust anyone he met, for they would gladly spend time with John Thornton, the wealthy man, but none of them would be there should he ever fall from grace again. Yes indeed, the people here lived in constant fear of losing their positions and wealth, and were only focussed on themselves, with no care for the misfortune of others. John understood this, it was the only way one could go on, but it made trust and easy connections quite hard indeed. And now, instead of a quiet, middle-aged clergyman, a young lady came forth with a kind of dignity, air and attitude unlike those he had seen before.

His eye was drawn to her plain dark grey dress, which she wore in memory of the death of a distant relative, unbeknownst to him, which was fine and of high quality. Her straw bonnet sat close around her head with only a simple sash adorning it. Her dress had none of the excessive trimming his sister preferred, and there was an absolute absence of jewellery on her person. The only bit of decoration was her large coloured Indian shawl, which hung about her in long heavy folds, and which she wore as an empress wears her drapery, quite unlike the practical styles most Northerners preferred when wearing shawls.

He did not understand who she was, as he caught her eye. She was not surprised to see him, that much was clear, her lovely ivory face shewed no blush. He believed himself to be quite the opposite to her cool indifference and simple clothing. He was well dressed today, since it was market day, his clothes were fine and decorational, but not as tailored as hers. His own face was much less reserved and a good deal more astonished than hers, he could barely swallow when looking at her. He had heard that Mr. Hale had a daughter, but he had imagined that she was a little girl.

'Mr. Thornton, I believe!' said Margaret, after a half-instant's pause, during which his words remained stuck in his throat. Just like that she had taken away his role as initiator, despite him being the man and the visitor.

'Do please sit down. My father brought me to the door not a minute ago, Unfortunately enough, he departed for some business before the waiter could tell us you had arrived. But he will come back almost directly. I am so sorry you have had the trouble of calling twice.'

Mr. Thornton was in habits of authority himself, but had a seemingly natural rule over him at once. Before her arrival he had been getting impatient while pacing the room. Today was a busy day for him but now he sat down wordlessly. When he realized he had yet to say a word, he tried his best to come up with something useful.

'Do you know where it is that Mr. Hale has gone to? Perhaps I might be able to find him.'

'He has gone to a Mr. Donkin's in River Street. He is the landlord of the house my father wishes to take in Cranford Road.'

Mr Thornton knew the house. He had seen the advertisement, and been to look at it, as he had promised Mr. Bell's that he would assist Mr. Hale to the best of his capabilities. He had to admit that the case of a clergyman who had given up his living under circumstances such as those of Mr Hale had intrigued him and had given him a certain mental image of the man and his family. However upon seeing Margaret, with her elegant ways and airs of high society, he began to feel ashamed of thinking such a home would befit them. He nodded, remaining silent as his mortification sank in for she must know he had advised them to visit this home, and three others which were barely if at all better than the one located on Cranford Road. She knew now what he thought to be fitting for them.

Yet Margaret thought little of Mr Thornton, rather she thought about herself. Instead of analysing him, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror above the fireplace just before sitting down and mourned she had to meet up with a friend of her godfather now. Her face had never been a delight to begin with, according to herself. She had an arrogant short curled upper lip, a proud round upturned chin, and a way of carrying her head in a way which her niece had often remarked upon as defiant, and now she had bags under her eyes from restless nights to boot. She was tired now and knew it wouldn't help the general first impression of haughtiness people got from her. She would rather have remained silent, and taken the rest her father had planned for her; but, as Mr Thornton appeared not to be the kind to offer polite and easy conversation, she as a gentlewoman was needed to speak courteously from time to time to this stranger; not over-brushed, nor over-polished, she was too tired for that kind of artifice.

She wished that he would go, as he had once spoken of doing, instead of sitting there, answering with curt sentences all the remarks she made. Never once however, did he pick up a topic and decided to take it on to have a deeper conversation on it. He thought it was the polite thing to do, to just answer to her, his hostess. He felt no need to take over the conversation of her, quite enjoying her soft voice and different accent. She however, found this way of conversation much more taxing.

Getting warm, she took off her shawl and draped it on the back of her chair, but continued to play with the tassels. Mr Thorton could hardly decide on what to fix his gaze, a problem he had never encountered before. Certainly, he had met women who were considered beautiful but never had any one of those practiced the same kind of attraction over him as she did. His eyes went from her slim long fingers playing with the tassels,with long nails which showed a comfortable lifestyle. His gaze then slid to her round white throat rising out of the full bust of her lithe figure. Her lips were full and her green eyes had a lovely haughty curve and met his with quiet maiden freedom.

He wished to say her haughtiness and her unbothered look annoyed him. How could she, who should be below him, look so at ease and natural in her state of authority as a host while he, in control of his own big firm, felt so mortified. How could he look at her and only admire her beauty, whilst she probably looked at him as for what, in his irritation, he had often told himself he was: a great rough fellow. He had no grace or a refinement about him. His complexion was dark from his time at sea, his skin marred with the occasional scar from his time in the navy.

The father had always appeared most kind in his letters, but if he, like his daughter, would be so contemptuous in real life, Mr Thornton wouldn't want to have anything to do with these Hales anymore.

Just as Margaret had exhausted her last subject of conversation, her father came in to save the day with his unending amount of kindness and courteousness. With the friendliest apology, Mr Hale immediately reinstated his name and family in Mr. Thornton's good opinion.

Mr Hale and Mr Thornton started talking about the only thing which connected them: Mr Bell. Margaret was relieved that her job was over, and went to the window to try and make herself more familiar with the strange aspect of the street. She got so much absorbed in watching what was going on down the street, that her father had to call her attention twice before she confusedly turned to him. Rubbing her face to shake herself awake. It was only in this instant, when he recalled Mr Hale saying how early they had risen and how much they'd walked, that her calm uncaring looks may have very well been a sign of tiredness, and now a concern for her, as she looked tired yet lovingly towards her father, grew.

'Margaret! the landlord will persist in admiring that hideous paper, and I am afraid we must let it remain.'

'Oh no, how dreadful! Well, I can't find an immediate solution to it but we will figure something out. I'm sure.' she replied, and began to turn over in her mind the possibility of hiding it with her sketches and paintings. In the meantime Mr Hale tried to convince Mr. Thornton to stay to luncheon with them. As it was market day, he felt inclined not to, unless both of them had insisted on it. But it was clear Mr Hale's daughter would not pressure him further, he was glad she did not, and yet he was irritated at her for not doing it. When he took his leave, and as he tried to extent his hand, she gave him a low, grave bow when he left, and he felt more awkward and self-conscious in every limb than he had ever done in all his life before.

When they returned to Mrs Hale, they had a lot to tell, and she had a lot to ask.

'And what is your correspondent, Mr Thornton, like?'

'Ask Margaret,' said her husband. 'She and he had a long attempt at conversation, while I was away speaking to the landlord.'

'Oh! I hardly know what he is like,' said Margaret, who was too tired to give a lengthy account. Deciding it would be impolite to not say anything at all, and seeing the curious look on her mother's face, she decided to yet make an effort. She thought back on the intimidating dark man she had met this midday, whose strong severe look had made her quite uncomfortable and who made it even more difficult for her to appear careless and easy in her way of conversation with his short unconversational responses.

'Well, he is a tall, broad-shouldered man, dark of hair and brow but with light eyes, about-how old, papa?'

'I should guess about thirty.'

'About thirty-with a face that is neither exactly plain, nor handsome, nothing remarkable-not quite a gentleman; but that was hardly to be expected.'

'Not vulgar, or common though, really Margaret. I will never enforce on you the same visions as I have but the way you talk down everything that stems from the city from the people, to the houses and everything that is connected to trade isn't particularly kind. Most can't help the places the places they are born in or the parents they come from,' put in her father, feelin protective of the sole friend he had in Liverpool.

'Oh no!' said Margaret. 'With such an expression of resolution and power, no face, however plain in feature, could be either vulgar or common. I should not like to have to bargain with him; he looks very inflexible. Altogether a man who seems made for his niche, mamma; sagacious, and strong, as becomes a great tradesman.'

His gaze danced in front of her eyes just as she talked of him, and though she deemed it unpleasing, just thinking of his eyes gave her an unsettled feeling which made it impossible for her to simply call him plain or unattractive. But objectively, she knew his face to not be the kind which could be called gentlemanly or handsome by the London standards she knew her mother held. But as her father reprimanded her negative words, she thought on the next bad thing she had encountered which she simply had to tell her mother about.

'But, oh mamma! speaking of vulgarity and commonness, you must prepare yourself for our drawing-room paper. Pink and blue roses, with yellow leaves! And such a heavy cornice round the room! It is quite horrid indeed. Papa asked if their was a possibility to refurnish a couple of the rooms but unfortunately there was nothing to be done about it. I'm sorry.'

However when they removed to their new house in Liverpool, the obnoxious papers were gone and replaced with soft yellow and cream on the first floor, for some fortunate reason the exact colour of Helstone roses, while the downstairs was now grey with blue. Unbeknownst to Margaret the colours were very much intended as they consisted of all the colours of Margaret's yellow shawl with blue, green and grey flower details she had worn on the day she had met Mr Thornton. The landlord received their thanks very composedly, and let them think that it was he who had reconsidered repapering. There was no particular need to tell them, that what he did not care to do for a Reverend Mr Hale, a no one in Liverpool, he was only too glad to do at the one short sharp remonstrance of Mr Thornton, the wealthy merchant.