Music to put on while reading: "Light of the Seven" & "The Night Kind" of Ramin Djawadi

'My heart revolts within me, and two voices
Make themselves audible within my bosom.'
- WALLENSTEIN.

'But mama, if you had such a poor rest I am more than willing to fetch that water matrass Mrs Thornton offered you some time ago.'

'Oh Margaret, you needn't do it. It's still so cold outside, pray, the snow has only started melting some days ago. I still see puddles everywhere. And I heard Dixon mention that she almost slipped on the pavement one morning, since some of the snow had melted the day earlier but the water had become snow overnight!'

'I'll be perfectly fine mama, must I remind you that I have been out this week? I was alright then, and I will be again today. Please, allow me to help you.'

And so Margaret put on her coat, shawl, bonnet and gloves to keep off the cold. She still bid her parents goodbye, her heart touched when she saw her mother sitting in her comfortable chair, with her hand lying in her husband's, who looked more worn and suffering than she by far. Still, he could smile now, albeit faintly, but a smile it was – one Margaret had thought she wouldn't see again.

The freezing winds cut her face the second she stepped out, turning her nose red and painfully raising the hairs on her arms. Yet she refused to be a delicate maiden about the inconvenience. She had a task and she was going to fulfil it!

The walk to the Thornton house was only a thirty minute walk, maybe even quicker if she walked a little bit faster. She had to go through some streets which lead to rougher streets but she didn't really mind. She had come to be used to it. Yet she wasn't as familiar with the streets as a local, therefor she saw each oddity as a local thing she hadn't yet encountered before.

The first mile and a half of her journey she didn't notice anything in particular, so occupied was she by her own thoughts.

First about her mother, then about the upcoming party and then – towards Thornton. Oh she couldn't even understand why, without any intention, he sneaked into her mind all the time. She supposed it was because she couldn't figure him out. She'd always had an excellent understanding of everyone and a quick mind. She was usually so decided. Yet, she had decided on what she thought of Mr Thornton the day she met him, and had consequently been proven wrong. Who was he? And why did her mind seem to care so much? He was her father's favourite pupil, but he was only one of the many male acquaintances she had here. True, she had argued with him more than she had with any other man, but it hardly made him more important. She didn't quite know what to make of Mary's fiancé either, yet he wasn't as present in her mind.

Analysing her own mind, and the events of the past few months, she had been oblivious to the groups of people gathered at every street corner and bar.

But by and by, she was struck with an unsual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road in which she suddenly found herself. They did not appear to be moving on, so much as talking, listening and buzzing. An excitement hung in the air, as thick and heavy as the gloomy clouds obstructing the sun today.

Although she noticed it, she was less quick of observation than she might have been, if her mind had been at ease. But right before she had to turn left and start going towards the park region where the Thornton's resided, she became fully aware of the restless, oppressive sense of irritation amongst the people.

There was a distinct thunderous atmosphere, both morally and physically, around her. The buzzing and humming drew her in, just like so many others. Groups of people were walking, she didn't know where to, but she was drawn along in the stream. All mindlessly yet instinctively moving towards a goal like salmon swimming their way upriver in September. From every narrow street seemed to come voices now. The sound increased as she got closer to the mysterious destination.

The inhabitants of every poor squalid dwelling were gathered at doors and windows, the old widows with their caps stood in front of their windows, children gazing through the windows on their tippy toes.

She wasn't supposed to be here. An uncomfortable anxious feeling which grew every second, yet she was getting closer now, and now that she'd gotten this far, her mind simply had to be rewarded with the knowledge of what was happening. The toxic combination of fear, curiousity and anticipation that so many people experienced right before disaster struck had taken control of her body.

Light started flooding the dark narrow street. On a technical level, Margaret knew where they had been heading. She had a general understanding of the city pattern to know they were walking towards the harbour, yet her mind had blocked off the possible implications of that fact.

They were heading towards the harbour. A large, frustrated mob. The company boats lay there. The first boats had finally managed to enter the harbour an hour ago at the cusp of dawn. All the company owners or the high functionaries of their businesses were there. They'd been sorting through the paperwork of the freshly arrived boats. Though they had yet to see their harbour to start unloading. The ships had come in unannounced, the only notification they got was from the lighthouse keeper who sent messengers to the company owners. Though fearing some kind of disturbance, they had tried calming themselves with the fact that the workday didn't start until 8.30, and would wait for their employees to arrive until then.

But now they had arrived.

In big angry numbers. Demanding blood for the reduced paycheck, the unemployment, and the deaths of the elderly and young ones who hadn't been strong enough to make it through winter without heating or enough food.

The harbour was ominously still and the sudden change of sound left Margaret's ears buzzing; all these circumstances forced themselves on Margaret's notice. How had she failed to realize the meaning of this mob before? She hadn't fully realized what they meant-what was their deep significance. She had been preoccupied with the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her through and through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, in order that, when it came, she might be ready to comfort her father.

But now, she realized other men might be in need of her help.

Here were the fathers of her friends, who themselves were her acquaintances as well. Mr Ball and Mr Thornton could be here too. Did they know?

Margaret broke away from the mindless state which had brought her here, scanning the horizon. Four ships far away from each other. Two ships from one company, and two ships each belonging to a different company. She didn't understand the harbour lay-out and didn't know who resided where.

What would the mob do? Could she help?

Looking around she saw even more people streaming out of the streets, puddling down in the harbour. She had to go. Go where? To the ships? She couldn't return, the streets were blocked now.

The anxiety within her rose as she passed dozens of people. Were they all going to storm the ships? "Raid" them as someone had said? Or would they watch on as some of the men attacked them?

She couldn't blame them, she really couldn't. She had said herself that their wages were low while food was sparse. She herself had expressed disgust when Slickson decided to stop paying some of them until trade started again. She had known how the reduced wages would hurt the families. Yet now she saw their large overpowering numbers, against the three unfortunate companies whose ships had arrived first, how unfair all of it was. They were going to raid the first few companies who had fresh goods, no matter whether their companies were the ones responsible for their misery. She thought of Gallagher and Thornton who hadn't done anything wrong.

Could these people not see that violence wasn't the solution? If these companies didn't deliver the goods, their companies would suffer. And if the companies suffered – so would the employees.

They were only going to hurt themselves. She finally broke through the forefront. She had never seen a ship up close. Bending her neck to look at the top and sails she felt overwhelmed and small. The vast solid mass of it was so astounding she barely noticed the man in black looking down from the deck.

'Margaret! What are you doing there!'

John Thornton had been quietly talking with the captain about their journey, and their monthlong wait in an Irish port, waiting for the ice to thaw when a sailor had called them to the deck. It was past eight but the harbour was still quiet, an oddity, as there were always a good amount of workers already present on any other given day.

And then the noise coming from the streets had hit him. He'd sent out a fast running sailor to alert the nearby stationed military, but they wouldn't get here within the hour. He'd watched the people arriving with helpless dread.

But he wasn't frightened until he suddenly noticed the figure of Margaret Hale breaking through the mob, and fear was upon him instantly. It made him forget any decorum and etiquette.

The sound of his well-known and commanding voice made her look up.

Hitherto they had been voiceless, wordless, needing all their breath for their efforts to keep their resolve. But now, upon hearing all the captains and company owners starting to threaten them from their ships, they set up such a fierce unearthly groan, that even Margaret, who had been too swept up in it all to feel fear, had become white.

'Quick! A ladder!'

The wooden ladder which had been removed to keep people from entering, was fetched again, and Margaret Hale was ushered on boat with an intense urgency.

He came towards a little flushed, but his eyes gleaming, as in answer to the trumpet-call of danger, and with a proud look of defiance on his face, that made him a noble, if not a handsome man. Margaret had always dreaded lest her courage should fail her in any emergency, and she should be proved to be, what she dreaded lest she was: a coward. But now, in this real great time of reasonable fear and nearness of terror, she forgot herself, and felt only an intense sympathy, in the interests of the moment.

Mr. Thornton came frankly forwards her:

'I'm sorry, Miss Hale, I don't know what brought you to the harbour at this unfortunate moment, when, I fear, you may be involved in whatever risk we have to bear. Today is a dangerous day indeed. I'm not sure whether they will attempt a raid; but in any case, you will be safer here than there. I have called for the military. We need only wait until they arrive and chase away these… stupid people. They think they can just steal what they need instead of earning it with proper work. They think their problems will be solved. Yes, in their eyes it must be easy: we should just hand them everything. But that's not possible and that is not how the world works.'

Mr. Thornton smiled scornfully as he heard the people. He glanced at Margaret, standing all by herself at the front, meekly looking at the poor people down below. Her eyes glittered, her colour was deepened on cheek and lip. As if she felt his look, she turned to him and asked a
question that had been for some time in her mind:

'What with the poor people on this boat?'

'They are stuck. By the time we noticed the people coming from the streets we couldn't leave the ship anymore. However, rest assured miss Hale, all the windows have been shut. These men are used to sailing the Southern Atlantic and the Indian Ocean. They have dealt with armed pirates before, these are unarmed beggars. But it is not them-it is me they want.'

'When can the soldiers be here?' asked the captain, in a low but not unsteady voice. He still feared they would start throwing burning whiskey onto the ship, lighting the sails and burning down the whole thing with them in it. Such a vivid possibility hadn't even formed itself in Margaret's and John's heads.

He took out his watch with the same measured composure with which he did everything. He made some little calculation:

'Supposing Williams got straight off when I told him, and dodge about amongst them - it must be twenty minutes yet.'

'Oh, God!' cried Margaret, suddenly; 'there is Boucher. I know his face, though he is livid with rage, he is fighting to get to the front. Look! look!'

'Who is Boucher?' asked Mr. Thornton, coolly, and coming close to the window to discover the man in whom Margaret took such an interest. As soon as they saw Mr. Thornton, they set up a yell, to call it not human is nothing, it was as the demoniac desire of some terrible wild beast for the food that is withheld from his ravening. Even he drew hack for a moment, dismayed at the intensity of hatred he had provoked.

'Let them yell!' said he. 'In five minutes more. Keep up your courage for five minutes, Miss
Hale.'

'Don't be afraid for me,' she said hastily. 'But what in five minutes? Can you do nothing to soothe these poor creatures? It is awful to see them.'

'The soldiers will be here directly, and that will bring them to reason.'

'To reason!' said Margaret, quickly. 'What kind of reason?'

'The only reason that does with men that make themselves into wild beasts. By heaven! they're jumping for the ships!'

And indeed, they were starting to try and climb the ships. Some falling into the water, some using two pickaxes to get towards the deck.

'Mr. Thornton,' said Margaret, shaking all over with her passion, 'come forward if you are not a coward. Face them like a man. Save these poor strangers, whom you have decoyed here. Speak to your workmen as if they were human beings. Speak to them kindly. Don't let the soldiers come in and cut down poor-creatures who are driven mad. I see one there who is. If you have any courage or noble quality in you, go out and speak to
them, man to man.'

He turned and looked at her while she spoke. A dark cloud came over his face while he listened. He set his teeth as he heard her words.

'I will go.' And as he walked from the steer towards where the mob of protesters were gathered in front of the boat, Margaret started doubting the smartness of her words.

'Oh! Mr. Thornton! I do not know, I may be wrong, only…'

Margaret located herself more towards the rear end of the ship, but leaned against the railing to look at the reaction of the people.

Many in the crowd were mere boys; cruel and thoughtless,-cruel because they were thoughtless; some were men, gaunt as wolves, and mad for prey. She knew how it was; they were like Boucher, with starving children at home. They were relying on ultimate success in their efforts to get higher wages, and enraged beyond measure that owners like Slickson cut down their employees, bereaving their little ones of bread.

Margaret knew it all; she read it in Boucher's face, forlornly desperate and livid with rage. If Mr. Thornton would but say something to them, let them hear his voice only, it seemed as if it would be better than this wild beating and raging against the wooden silence of waves beating against wood that vouchsafed them. no word, even of anger or reproach. But perhaps he was speaking now; there was a momentary hush of their noise, inarticulate as that of a troop of animals.

She tore her bonnet off; and bent forwards to hear.

The crew was playing cards downstairs, bored and just waiting for the soldiers to arrive. Only she and the Captain were still on deck besides Mr Thornton.

Mr Thornton stood with his arms folded; still as a statue; his face pale with repressed excitement. They were trying to intimidate him-to make him flinch; each was urging the other on to some immediate act of personal violence. Margaret felt intuitively, that in an instant all would be uproar; the first touch would cause an explosion, in which, among such hundreds of infuriated men and reckless boys, even Mr. Thornton's life would be unsafe, that in another instant the stormy passions would have passed their bounds, and swept away all barriers of reason, or apprehension of consequence. Even while she looked, she saw lads in the back-ground stooping to take off their heavy wooden clogs – the readiest missile they could find – she saw it was the spark to the
gunpowder.

And she saw the man who had managed to crawl up on the deck out of Thornton's sight and was making his way towards him. And, with a cry, which no one heard, she rushed towards him. Her eyes were flaming arrows of reproach. The clogs were arrested in the hands that held them on the cobble stones. The countenance of him and the men on the street fell, so determined not a moment before, now looking irresolute, and as if asking what this meant. For she stood between them and their enemy. She could not speak, but held out her arms towards them till she could recover breath.

'Oh, do not use violence! He is one man, and you are many.' but her words died away, for there was no tone in her voice; it was but a hoarse whisper. Mr. Thornton stood a little on one side; he had moved away from behind her upon noticing, as if jealous of anything that should come between him and danger.

'Go!' said she, once more. 'The soldiers are sent for, and are fast approaching. Go peaceably. Go away. You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are.'

'Shall hoo raise our wages again?' asked the man, with fierce threatening in his voice.

'Never, for your bidding!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton. And instantly the storm broke.

A bottle traversed the sky, intended for Mr Thornton- and in that moment Margaret thought more of how she didn't want him to get hurt – than she thought of the result of her pushing Thornton away.

The moment seemed to last an eternity as he looked at the bottle turning and flying through the sky and hitting Margaret's temple with such speed that her whole body turned as she fell to the deck.

The captain leapt towards the man and pinned him down on the deck.

'You do well!' Screamed Thornton in anger, hands itching the hurt the man.

'You come to oust the innocent stranger. Now a woman came to you, pleading to be a reasonable creature for your own sake and you let your wrath fall upon her? If I had any say in the matter I would throw this very bottle at your head myself – see how much you like it!'

The man was silent, ashamed and shocked by the suddenly very real effect of his anger.

(Th' were meant for thee, but thou wert sheltered behind a woman', the man muttered.

Mr. Thornton quivered with rage. The pain of the blood-flowing had kept Margaret conscious- dimly, vaguely conscious. He collected Margaret in his arms and set her up gently against the side of the ship. 'Can you rest here? I'll call for a doctor the second the military arrives.'

But without waiting for her answer, he went slowly down the steps right into the middle of the crowd. 'Now kill me, if it is your brutal will. There is no woman to shield me here. You may beat me to death. You will never move me from what I have determined upon, not you!' He stood in front of them, with his arms folded, in precisely the same attitude as he had been.

But the retrograde movement towards the streets had begun. The soldiers were here.

He ran back to Margaret as soon as the retreat had begun. The sober dark blue coat made her pallor stand out more. Now that all animation had left her face, her youth shone through for the first time. Those sharp analysing eyes now closed, with tears battling their way through the long entanglement of her dark eyelashes.

He was both disgusted with himself for loving such a pure young girl, feeling like his love and lust almost tainted her goodness, and furious with the man who had dared to strike her down.

She, who had descended from the heavens to pity and help those in need, rewarded with violence for the love and worry she so willingly bestowed on them!

He had wondered what brought her to the harbour region when he had spotted her, but of course she would be wherever people were in need of help. But was she to help them? Would she have helped them attack the boats?

No, Margaret Hale was an advocate for peace and understanding, never would she approve of violence. Then perhaps, she had come to protect them instead, now that the role of master and subject had been turned, as the subjects in their multitude tried to take control.

She had come to his aid, and pleaded with the people to spare him! And in doing such spare themselves the problems which would come from violating the law. Had she not spread her arms and shielded him from that man, using her femininity as a shield?

She was too good, entirely too good!

Her eyebrows knit together in pain. He wished to touch her – hold her to provide comfort. But could he? He was a man, with what right could he touch her anywhere? If only he were in a position where he could provide comfort.

The sailors came out, and put down the ladder.

'Can you deal with this criminal?' he asked the Captain. When the Captain nodded, Mr Thornton decided that there was no choice. She had to get off the boat and there was no way she could walk down herself.

He picked her up, as he had never even dreamt he would pick her up on their wedding day, and carried her away from the harbour. A carriage was fetched, and she was laid down on a bench. The Captain and his secretary would know what to do with the goods. He couldn't bring himself to care now that Margaret was hurt. The bottle had been so large, and filled! She could have a grave concussion!

He demanded a boy from his warehouse took one of the company coaches and fetched Dr. Donaldson, so that hopefully, Dr Donaldson would arrive almost simultaneously at the Thornton home. Thornton asked his own driver to drive slower, lest Margaret's condition aggravated. He sat down next to her on the floor, and couldn't keep himself from reaching out and holding her hands.

Oh, my Margaret-my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Dead, cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved! Oh, Margaret – Margaret!' Inarticulately as he spoke, he kneeled by her, and rather moaning than saying the words.

His mind kept creating scenario's in which she died or never recovered, and his spirit couldn't cope. His body shook with contained violence. The more animalistic side of him wanted to return to the harbour as soon as he had delivered her to his mother, and beat the man to a bloody pulp.

Had Margaret any notion of his violent nature she would never look at him again! A great big rough fellow, excited to use his bare hands to inflict pain upon others. She had been right to not give him any more attention than was polite.

Looking at her lifeless form he couldn't help but confess, the words simply streamed out of his mouth. He couldn't remain silent now that he was left alone with her, he needn't filter his words for society or for her. He could never forgive himself if she died before he had the chance to confess.

Selfish, selfish. Abusing their time alone, using her temporary unconsciousness for his own benefit to talk about his feelings. She could be dying yet he was preoccupied with his love for her!

But he did wish for his wellbeing. And he prayed in silence with a fervour he hadn't had since his father died. A good Christian like Miss Hale simply had to be protected by the Lord. He couldn't wait until he arrived at his home so that Dr Donaldson could take care of her.

Only now that the first anger and worry had abated, he really studied her face. There were deep dark bags underneath her dark lashes. Her nails were short and brittle, and she seemed to have lost quite some weight since arriving.

She had never been anything less than breath-taking to him. He had thought he would grow used to it by seeing more of her, but his heart still jumped every time their eyes connected.

Yet, studying her closely, and comparing her with the Margaret Hale he had first drank tea with, he realized the difference. Her face didn't hold the same carelessness, and her body betrayed exhaustion – and were that, hardened pieces on her palm and fingers? Yes, they were soft but they were present. She worked, he realized in astonishment.

He couldn't imagine her having always done it, not she who was a London lady. For the first time, he left his bubble, in which Margaret existed purely as an object of affection, and now tried to imagine her as a person having a life beyond their encounters.

If she lived under his roof, he would treasure her, bestowing upon her the loveliest dresses and most interesting books. He wouldn't allow her to lift a finger, and would make sure she had a long rest each night, and a full belly each evening.

It had been clear from his conversations with Mr Hale that he allowed Margaret a great independence, and considered her as the kindest of daughters and the loveliest of helps, mature and strong enough to handle everything with perfection. Now Thornton wondered if Mr Hale had not been mistaken in his daughter's strength and resilience.

Finally, they arrived at the house, and Dr Donaldson and his mother were already waiting.

He carried her towards a bedroom, and left his mother and the doctor to it while he paced in the hallway.

As the Doctor examined her, Mrs Hale dabbed her temples with cologne. A large bruise was forming on her temple. She had at first thought it an exaggeration when Dr Donaldson arrived with the news that Miss Hale had been injured in the harbour and Mr Thornton was on his way with her. But the injury hadn't been exaggerated.

Margaret did indeed look white and wan, although her senses were beginning to return to her. But the sickly daze of the swoon made her still miserably faint. She was conscious of movement around
her, and of refreshment from the eau de Cologne, and a craving for the bathing to go on without intermission. But when they stopped to talk, she could no more have opened her eyes, or spoken to ask for more bathing, than the people who lie in death-like trance can move, or utter sound, to arrest the awful preparations for their burial, while they are yet fully aware, not merely of the actions of those around them, but of the idea that is the motive for such actions.

Miss Hale was left by the Doctor and Mrs Thornton and a servant was put on a chair to be there in case something happened. A message was sent to Margaret's parents, downplaying the injury as was advised by Dr. Donaldson, so as to not weaken the mother's state, which was frail indeed, he informed Mrs Thornton. In the story, Miss Hale had simply become unwell and had been put in a room just to be sure.

At four in the afternoon, Margaret finally managed to break free from the strange half lucid state she had been in.

'Wh- 'ere am I?'

'Oh, in the Thornton House, Miss. The master brought you in a couple hours ago.'

'Hours- n-no. M-my mother, mustn't worry her.'

'It's fine, Miss. We have informed them you have simply become unwell.'

Margaret shook her head, the movement making her head pound. She felt sick, nausea taking control of her body. Her hands instinctively flew to her mouth.

'Miss- are you alright? I shall fetch the mistress.'

And so Mrs Thornton was fetched, and Margaret made a pitifully weak bid to head home. But Mrs Thornton refused to let the girl go, she couldn't even string sentences together yet!

'Miss Hale, if I'm assessing your situation correctly, you are nauseous. A tell-tale sign of concussion. You are not to leave until the doctor says you can. He's doing his rounds now, but is set to return at five. You can try to convince him then.'

'M-Mrs Thornton, in the meantime… I… My mother… She's not… Too well. I planned on coming here, before the raid distracted me. C-Could we take you up on your offer of that water mattress?'

'Yes. I will see to it. She shall have it by tonight.'

And by five, Margaret could string short sentences together and make enough fuzz that the doctor decided to let her go, though he advised that she was brought with a cab.

At 5.30 Mr Thornton came back from the harbour, having settled his business. His boat had seventeen holes in it from the man climbing up with pickaxes, but these were a minor inconvenience.

Slickson's boats had been raided. Some men had successfully crawled through the small windows, which had had no shutting panels. They had fought their way to the deck and thrown ropes and ladders downward. It had been a mess. Fifty pounds of tea bricks stolen, stacks of China missing… Gallagher's ship had been attacked, and two burning bottles had been thrown on deck, but they hadn't caused much harm, and the load was intact. But it seemed that indeed, the commotion on the deck of his ship, had prevented others from laying siege to his boat.

'I could not come sooner: the superintendent would… Where is she?' Mr Thornton looked round the dining-room, and then almost fiercely at his mother, who was quietly re-arranging the furniture, and did not instantly reply. 'Where is Miss Hale?' asked he again.

'Gone home,' said she, rather shortly.

'Gone home!'

'Yes. She was a great deal better. Indeed, I don't believe it was
so very much of a hurt; perhaps that bottle only lightly touched her.'

'Believe me, it wasn't lightly. I am sorry she is gone home,' said he, walking uneasily about. An awful part of him had looked forward to coming home to a home she was in. 'She could not have been fit for it.'

'She said she was; and Dr. Donaldson said she was.'

'Thank you, mother. How did Miss Hale go home? I'm sure she could not walk.'

'She had a cab. Everything was done properly, even to the paying. Let us talk of something else. She has caused disturbance enough.'

'I don't know where I should have been but for her.'

'Are you become so helpless as to have to be defended by a girl?' asked Mrs. Thornton, scornfully.

He reddened. 'Not many girls would have taken the blows on herself which were meant for me; meant with right down good-will, too.'

'A girl in love will do a good deal,' replied Mrs. Thornton, shortly.

Love. Love? Love! Loving him back?

'Mother!' He made a step forwards and then came to a standstill, body heaving with passion.

She was a little startled at the evident force he used to keep himself calm. She was not sure of the nature of the emotions she had provoked. It was only their violence that was clear. Was it anger? His eyes glowed, his figure was dilated, his breath came thick and fast. It was a mixture of joy, of anger, of pride, of glad surprise, of panting doubt; but she could not read it.

Still it made her uneasy, as the presence of all strong feeling, of which the cause is not fully understood or sympathised in, always has this effect. She went to the side-board, opened a drawer, and took out a duster, which she kept there for any occasional purpose.

'You must have some tea first.' She decided this was the sensible thing to say, and a clever diversion.

'Tea! Yes, I suppose I must. It's half-past six, and I may be out for some time. Don't sit up for me, mother.'

'You expect me to go to bed before I have seen you safe, do you?'

'Well, perhaps not.' He hesitated for a moment. 'But if I've time, I shall go round by Bedford Road, after I've arranged with the police and seen Hamper and Clarkson.' Their eyes met and they looked at each other intently for a minute.

'Why are you going round by Bedford Road?'

'To ask after Miss Hale.'

'I will send. Williams must take the waterbed she came to ask for. He shall inquire how she is.'

'I must go myself.'

'Not merely to ask how Miss Hale is?'

'No, not merely for that. I want to thank her for the way in which she stood between me and the mob.'

'About that. What was she doing in the harbour? And what are these stories I've heard of you running to the edge of that boat of yours to speak to a mob of people with stuff in their hands to throw at you! It was putting your head into the lion's mouth!'

He glanced sharply at her and replied by another question:

'Shall you be afraid to be left without me, until I can get some of the police? Or had we better send Williams for them now, and they could be here by the time we have done tea? There's no time to be lost. I must be off in a quarter of an hour.'

As Mrs Thornton went to fetch a servant for tea and instruct Williams, Mr Thornton remained in the room. He tried to think of the business he had to do at the police-office, and in reality thinking of Margaret. Everything seemed dim and vague beyond and beside the touch of her arms round his neck—the soft clinging which made the dark colour come and go in his cheek as he thought of it.

The tea would have been very silent, but for Fanny's perpetual description of her own feelings when she heard stories of what happened in the harbour. How she had been alarmed and then felt sick and faint when she remembered her brother was there.

'There, that's enough,' said her brother, rising from the table. 'The reality was enough for me.' He was going to leave the room, when his mother stopped him with her hand upon his arm.

'You will come back here before you go to the Hales', said she, in a low, anxious voice.

'Why? Will it be too late to disturb them?'

'John, come back to me for this one evening. It will be late for Mrs. Hale. But that is not it. Tomorrow, you will go but come back tonight, John!' She had seldom pleaded with her son at all, she was too proud for that, but she had never pleaded in vain.

'I will return straight here after I have done my business. You will be sure to inquire after them? After her?' She immediately gave a solemn nod.

'Mother! You know what I have got to say to Miss Hale, tomorrow?'

The question came upon her suddenly, during a pause in which she, at least, had forgotten Margaret.

She looked up at him.

'Yes! I do. You can hardly do otherwise.'

'Do otherwise! I don't understand you.'

'I mean that, after allowing her feelings so to overcome her, I consider you bound in honour-'

'Bound in honour,' said he, scornfully. 'I'm afraid honour has nothing to do with it. "Her feelings overcome her!" What feelings do you mean?'
He had more than an inkling as to what his mother meant, but his insecurity had been gnawing at him all day. He needed confirmation, he needed hope that he was not alone in interpreting Margaret's acts today as such.

'Nay, John, there is no need to be angry. Did she not rush to your boat, and cling to you to save you from danger?'

'She did! But, mother,' continued he, stopping short in his walk right in front of her, 'I dare not hope. I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.'

'Don't be foolish, John. Such a creature! Why, she might be a duke's daughter, to hear you speak. And what proof more would you have, I wonder, of her caring for you? I can believe she has had a struggle with her aristocratic way of viewing things; but I like her the better for seeing clearly at last. It is a good deal for me to say,' said Mrs. Thornton, smiling slowly, while the tears stood in her eyes.

'After tonight, I stand second. I wished for you to stay so as to have you to myself, all to myself, a few hours longer, that I begged you not to go till to-morrow!'

'Dearest mother! I know she does not care for me. I shall put myself at her feet. I must. If it were but one chance in a thousand, or a million, I should do it.'

'Don't fear!' said his mother, crushing down her own personal mortification at the little notice he had taken of the rare outing of her maternal feelings. 'Don't be afraid,' she said, coldly. 'As far as love may go she may be worthy of you. It must have taken a good deal to overcome her pride. Don't be afraid, John,' said she, kissing him, as she wished him good-night.

She left the dining room with dignity, but when she got into her own, she locked the door and cried tears she never wished to shed.

Remember when I said I wouldn't write such long chapters anymore? I was planning to add the whole proposal to this chapter, but I have to cut it off here. It's too long :p

So how did you like my spin on the strike?

The first English police force came to be in 1829, had to call on the regiments now.

Here is the playlist up until now as promised (playlist on youtube named Pride and Power from belgianbisous):
C1: Hymn to the Sea- James Horner
C2: Working the Quillet- Anne Dudley (Margaret navigating Liverpool life)
- C4: The Promise- Nyman (piano marg)
Another Dance - Dario Marianelli (Thornton & margaret dance)
- C5: no specific music, just some calm piano and the N&S album
- C6: Margaret's Pianoforte- Sense & Sensibility soundtrack 2008
- C7: Twelve Days of Christmas
- C8: God rest ye merry gentlemen
- C9: Auld Lang Syne
- C10: Pan's Lullaby - Danny Elfman
- C11: Light of the Seven - Ramin Djawadi (Day of the riot)
The Night King - Ramin Djawadi (Margaret gets hurt and he brings her home)

As always thank you for your kind reactions, they are such an awesome encouragement!