New Year passed and 1925, at the start at least, promised little change.

They were still living in Liverpool, her father continued his sessions with his pupils, and Margaret's mother remained ill. It had been two months now, and Margaret started to wonder whether her mother's complaints would ever pass.

She kept an eye on her at all times, and since Bessy's death she kept more to her house, trying to be in her mother's neighbourhood as much as her list of chores allowed. It was a comfort to her that her mother drew more tenderly and intimately towards her than she had ever donce since the days of her childhood, and her efforts were rewarded by Mrs Hale taking her to her heart as a confidential post, a post Margaret had craved to fill and had envied Dixon for filling up until now. All unconsciously Margaret drew near to a reward by dutifully doing her chores and keeping Mrs Hale company.

One evening, Mr. Hale being absent, her mother began to talk to her about her brother Frederick, the very subject on which Margaret had longed to ask questions, and almost the only one on which her timidity overcame her natural openness. The more she wanted to hear about him, the less likely she was to speak.

'Oh, Margaret, it was so windy last night! It came howling down the chimney in our room! I could not sleep. I never can when there is such a terrible wind. I got into a wakeful habit when
poor Frederick was at sea; and now, even if I don't waken all at once, I dream of him in some stormy sea, with great, clear, glass-green walls of waves on either side his ship, but far higher than her very masts, curling over her with that cruel, terrible white foam, like some gigantic crested serpent. It is an old dream, but it always comes back on windy nights, till I am thankful to waken, sitting straight and stiff up in bed with my terror. Poor Frederick! He is on land now, so wind can do him no harm. Though I did think it might shake down some of those tall chimneys.'

'Where is Frederick now, mamma? Our letters are directed to the care of Messrs. Barbour, at Cadiz, I know; but where is he himself?'

'I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale; you must remember that, Margaret. Notice the F. D. in every corner of the letters. He has taken the name of Dickenson. I wanted him to have been called Beresford, to which he had a kind of right, but your father thought he had better not. He might be recognised, you know, if he were called by my name.'

'Mamma,' said Margaret, 'I was at Aunt Shaw's when it all happened; and I suppose I was not old enough to be told plainly about it. But I should like to know now, if I may and if it does not give you too much pain to speak about it.'

'Pain! No,' replied Mrs. Hale, her cheek flushing. 'Yet it is pain to think that perhaps I may never see my darling boy again. Or else he did right, Margaret. They may say what they like, but I have his own letters to show, and I'll believe him, though he is my son, sooner than any court-martial on earth. Go to my little Japan cabinet, dear, and in the second left-hand drawer you will find a packet of letters.'

Margaret went. There were the yellow, sea-stained letters, with the peculiar fragrance which ocean letters have: Margaret carried them back to her mother, who untied the silken string with trembling fingers, and, examining their dates, she gave them to Margaret to read, making her hurried, and gave anxious remarks on their contents, almost before her daughter could have understood what they were about.

'You see, Margaret, how from the very first he disliked Captain Reid. He was second lieutenant in the ship called Orion in which Frederick sailed the very first time. Poor little fellow, how well he looked in his midshipman's dress, with his dirk in his hand, cutting open all the newspapers with it as if it were a paper-knife! But this Mr. Reid, as he was then, seemed to take a dislike to Frederick from the very beginning.'

'And then…these are the letters he wrote on board The Russell. When he was appointed to her, and found his old enemy Captain Reid in command, he did mean to bear all his tyranny patiently. Look! This is the letter. Just read it, Margaret. Where is it he says 'my father may rely upon me, that I will bear with all proper patience everything that one officer and gentleman can take from another. But from my former knowledge of my present captain, I confess I look forward with apprehension to a long course of tyranny on board the Russell.' '

She took the letters from Margaret and handed her the one she was talking about.

'You see, he promises to bear patiently, and I am sure he did, for he was the sweetest-tempered boy, when he was not vexed, that could possibly be. Is that the letter in which he speaks of Captain Reid's impatience with the men, for not going through the ship's manoeuvres as quickly as the Avenger? You see, he says that they had many new hands on board the Russell, while the Avenger had been nearly three years on the station, with nothing to do but to keep slavers off, and work her men, till they ran up and down the rigging like rats or monkeys.'

Margaret slowly read the letter, half illegible through the fading of the ink. It might be a statement of Captain Reid's imperiousness in trifles which was very much exaggerated by the narrator, who had written it while fresh and warm from the scene of altercation. Some sailors being aloft in the main-topsail rigging, the captain had ordered them to race down, threatening the hindmost with the cat-of-nine-tails. He who was the farthest on the spar, feeling the impossibility of passing his companions, and yet passionately dreading the disgrace of the flogging, threw himself desperately down to catch a rope considerably lower, failed, and fell senseless on deck. He only survived for a few hours afterwards, and the indignation of the ship's crew was at boiling point when her brother wrote about it.

'But we did not receive this letter till long, long after we heard of the mutiny. Poor Fred! I dare say it was a comfort to him to write it even though he could not have known how to send it, poor fellow! And then we saw a report in the papers that's to say, long before Fred's letter reached us of an atrocious mutiny having broken out on board the Russell, and that the mutineers had remained in possession of the ship, which had gone off. It was supposed to be a pirate and that Captain Reid was sent adrift in a boat with some men, officers, whose names were all given, for they were picked up by another boat of the fleet. Oh, Margaret! how your father and I turned sick over that list, when there was no name of Frederick Hale. We thought it must be some mistake; for poor Fred was such a fine fellow, only perhaps rather too passionate; and we hoped that the name of Carr, which was in the list, was a misprint for that of Hale since newspapers are so careless. And towards post-time the next day, papa set off to walk to Southampton to get the papers; and I could not stop at home, so I went to meet him. He was very late, much later than I thought he would have been; and I sat down under the hedge to wait for him. He came at last, his arms hanging loose down, his head sunk, and walking heavily along, as if every step was a labour and a trouble. Margaret, I see him now.'

'Don't go on, mamma. I can understand it all,' said Margaret, leaning up caressingly against her mother's side, and kissing her hand. Finally she'd gotten answers. And though she knew that mutiny meant hanging, she was proud that her brother had done the right thing, standing up for the crew in the face of tyranny.

'No, you can't, Margaret. No one can who did not see him then. I could hardly lift myself up to go and meet him. Everything seemed so to reel around me all at once. And when I got to him, he did not speak, or seem surprised to see me there, more than three miles from home. He put my arm in his, and kept stroking my hand, as if he wanted to soothe me to be very quiet under some great heavy blow; and when I trembled so all over that I could not speak, he took me in his arms, and stooped down his head on mine, and began to shake and to cry. I begged him to tell me what he had heard. And then he gave me a wicked newspaper to read, calling our Frederick a "traitor of the blackest dye," "a base, ungrateful disgrace to his profession." Oh! I cannot tell what bad words they did not use. I took the paper in my hands as soon as I had read it and I tore it up to little bits. I believe Margaret, I tore it with my teeth. I did not cry. Months after, this letter came, and you see what provocation Frederick had. It was not for himself, or his own injuries, he rebelled; but he would speak his mind to Captain Reid, and so it went on from bad to worse; and you see, most of the sailors stuck by Frederick.'

Her mother appeared exhausted remembering the emotions of that traumatizingly painful moment.
'I think, Margaret, I am glad of it. I am prouder of Frederick standing up against injustice, than if he had been simply a good officer.'

'I am sure I am,' said Margaret, in a firm, decided tone. 'Loyalty and obedience to wisdom and justice are fine; but it is still finer to defy arbitrary power, unjustly and cruelly used not on behalf of ourselves, but on behalf of others more helpless.'

'For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more, just once. He was my first baby, Margaret.' Mrs Hale spoke wistfully, and almost as if apologising for the yearning, craving wish, as though longing for Frederick meant that she didn't love her still present child enough. But such an idea never crossed Margaret's mind. She was thinking how her mother's desire could be fulfilled.

'It is five or six years ago. Would they still prosecute him, mother? If he came and stood his trial, what would be the punishment? Surely, he might bring evidence of his great provocation.'

'It would do no good,' replied Mrs. Hale. 'Some of the sailors who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a court-martial held on them on board the Amicia; I believed all
they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed with Frederick's story but it was of no use.'

Now tears were finally streaming down Mrs Hale's cheeks. Imagining what was to happen to her son if he were to return, remembering some of the weeping mothers whose sons had been tried. Something possessed Margaret to force the information she foresaw, yet dreaded, from her mother.

'What happened to them, mamma?' asked she.
'They were hung at the yard-arm,' said Mrs. Hale, solemnly. 'And the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by their superior officers.'

They were silent for a long time.

'And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not?'

'Yes. And now he is in Spain. At Cadiz, or somewhere near it. If he comes to England he will be hung. I shall never see his face again for if he comes to England he will be hung.'

X.X.X.

From that day forwards Mrs. Hale became more and more of a suffering invalid.

Margaret looked back at the past 6 months' accumulated heap of troubles, and she wondered how they had been borne. If she could have anticipated them, how she would have shrunk away and hid herself from the coming time had she known of what was to come! And yet day by day had, of itself, and by itself, been very endurable small, keen, bright little spots of positive enjoyment having come sparkling into the very middle of sorrows.

When she first went to Helstone, and first became silently conscious of the querulousness in her mother's temper, she would have groaned bitterly over the idea of a long illness to be borne in a strange, desolate, noisy, busy place, with diminished comforts on every side of the home life. But with the increase of serious and just ground of complaint, a new kind of patience had sprung up in her mother's mind. She was gentle and quiet in intense bodily suffering, almost in proportion as she had been restless and depressed when there had been no real cause for grief.

Mr. Hale was in exactly that stage of apprehension wherein he tried to turn a wilful blindness to his wife's health. He was more irritated than Margaret had ever known him at his daughter's expressed anxiety.

'Indeed, Margaret, you are growing fanciful! God knows I should be the first to take the alarm if your mother were really ill. We always saw when she had her headaches at Helstone, even without her telling us. She looks quite pale and white when she is ill and now she has a bright healthy colour in her cheeks, just as she used to have when I first knew her.'

'But, papa,' said Margaret, with hesitation, 'do you know, I think that is the flush of pain.'

' I tell you, you are too fanciful. You are the person not well, I think. Send for the doctor tomorrow for yourself and then, if it will make your mind easier, he can see your mother. But you are the one who has been growing pale and faint. You've been falling asleep in the couch during the evening hours, going to bed earlier every month, losing weight. And I have noticed your lack of focus and waning lust for knowledge and discussion.'

Her father was indeed unaware that Margaret had simply been taking on many of the chores in the household, and had been much more busy caring and worrying for her mother and the poor people of Liverpool she barely had any time for herself. At night she lay awake, thinking of Mary's impending marriage, and her own future life. Her nights were restless, and she often lay awake feeling cold for the first two hours of being in bed since she didn't want any wood to be wasted on her room. Wood was expensive, and her mother needed the heat more in her drawing room and bedroom.

She was still young, she could easily deal with a few more worries and less comfort.

'Thank you, dear papa. It will make me happier, indeed.' And she went up to him to kiss him. But he pushed her away gently enough, but still as if she had suggested unpleasant ideas, which he should be glad to get rid of as readily as he could of her presence. He walked uneasily up and down the room.

'Poor Maria!' said he, half soliloquising, 'I wish one could do right without sacrificing others. I shall hate this town, and myself too, if she… Pray, Margaret, does your mother often talk to you of the old places of Helstone, I mean?'

'No, papa,' said Margaret, sadly.

'Then, you see, she can't be fretting after them, eh? It has always been a comfort to me to think that your mother was so simple and open that I knew every little grievance she had. She never would conceal anything seriously affecting her health from me: would she, eh, Margaret? I am quite sure she would not. So don't let me hear of these foolish morbid ideas. Come, give me a kiss, and run off to bed.'

But she heard him pacing about — racooning, as she and Edith used to call it — long after her slow and languid undressing was finished.

The next day Mrs Hale was unable to leave her room and everyone was worried now. Dr Donaldson was fetched now solely for Mrs Hale, but he seemed to be unable to offer many solutions. Margaret stayed up till long after what had become her new curfew, but had to finally accept she wouldn't see her mother better by the time she went to bed, and so she allowed her father to convince her to go to bed.

But Margaret could not catch sleep. She kept hearing her father's steps. He could not settle to anything that evening. He was continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret's heart ached at his restlessness, his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came back to Margaret's bedroom somewhat comforted.

'She's awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels refreshed, and ready for tea. Where's the note for her? She wants to see it. I'll read it to her while you make tea.'

The note proved to be a formal invitation from Sir Aldridge, to invite Mr, Mrs, and Miss Hale to a goodbye dinner held for all the trading company owners who were about to set out , on the twenty-first of February. Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated by Mrs Hale. The idea of her husband's and daughter's going to this dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale's fancy, even before Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to diversify the monotony of the invalid's life and she clung to the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity when
Margaret objected.

She refused to let her illness keep her daughter from going to an event. She knew she would have longed to go back when she was a young maiden. And she knew there would be handsome bachelors and hoped that the more they saw Margaret, the more they would be convinced of her merits.

Now that she was convinced of her own mortality and quickly approaching death, she was set on having her daughter married before she died. The only thing she wished to see, if she couldn't see her son again, was to see her daughter at the altar.

'Nay, Margaret? If she wishes it, I'm sure we'll both go willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really stronger, really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?' said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as Mrs Hale prepared to write the note of acceptance the next day.

'Eh! Margaret?' questioned he, with a nervous motion of his hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for. And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope.

'I do think she is better since last night,' said she. 'Her eyes look brighter, and her complexion clearer.'

'It was so sultry everyone felt ill yesterday, I think. It was a most unlucky day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on. You know she falls ill quite quickly, but I'm sure she would've been able to get through it on her own in due time. Right?'

But the scare had a lasting impact on Mr Hale. And Margaret was determined the sight of her brother might restore Mrs Hale health and cheer, and could help her a great deal. And so a letter was written and sent, of which she only informed her father afterwards.

'You shouldn't have. I wished you hadn't. It would bring great danger to bring him here, and he shall be determined to come. But maybe it will be a good thing for us. I am glad you hadn't informed me, I would have kept you from doing so. But now that it is done, I am glad.'

It's been a bit longer since the last update: I've had a holiday for the first time in 2 years and we went to Cyprus. Words can't describe how much I love the place. Pafos was amazing, stunningly beautiful and if I could, I would take the story there immediately.

Now about this chapter, this pretty much follows the "Ghost of Death" chapter from the North and South book with little deviation. My story still follows most of the main plotlines after all, but I can tell you right now we will see a great deal more of Frederick in this story!

Now, I've got some small things to talk about

1) This story now has a playlist you can listen to on youtube. I shall list the songs and when I used them while writing up until this chapter. The songs I won't discuss I used while writing out later chapters. I'll share the moments I used them while writing in those upcoming chapters. Until then you can enjoy the soundtrack and guess the song meanings.

You can simply search for it on youtube: Pride and Power playlist BelgianBisous, or use the next link while replacing the (dots) with actual dots. w w (dotttt) com (slash) playlist?list= PLlIRK2RBX-FJeHi5LyYseqomPv6zzLiU-

2) I'm thinking about writing a story about Margaret Dashwood(S&S) after this one, I'm thinking about a romance with Col. Fitzwilliam Darcy (P&P). It would contain crossover elements between Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility (both are written around the same time) and minor Persuasion crossover elements (and maybe some other Austen books as well) without breaking canon. Margaret was said to, even when mature, never getting the same amount of sense as her sisters. She also has a great sense of adventure. I've never gravitated towards heroines whose minds work very different from mine but a story with her as a protagonist in which she tries to have her great adventures sounds amazing. What do you guys/girls/x think?