Once again, I would like to than an incredible beta, soccer4fc and a wonderful editor LittleBeth. This would not be possible without them.

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The Error of Judgement.

Part six.

Walk to the church.

She was nestling in his embrace with her head in the hollow just between his shoulder and his chest. The sudden sense of foreboding came just moments before she was torn out of his arms, and she was flying away, sucked into some cold, dark void where he could not reach her, and he was thrown back onto his lonely bed, devastated…

He woke up, panting, but his nightmare was continuing. She was not there. The bed was cold and empty; he could not find her warmth…

He woke up, panting. She was not there. She was not supposed to be there. She was in Crampton, peacefully sleeping. But unless something would go terribly wrong, she would be there tonight. A few hours more. That was it. He could perfectly well wait for a few more hours.

Thornton got up and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open. It was still very dark; the outlines of the Milton chimneys were barely seen against the first graying of the sky. Going back to sleep was useless now. He probably should get some things done before the day started.

He dressed quickly and walked out into the yard full of chilly fog. It was still too early for even the most faithful cooks in the town to start their stove fires. The key turning in the lock of his office sounded harsh and loud at this quiet hour. He lit a candle and surveyed the pile of fresh papers which had accumulated on his desk since the previous morning. At least he had time to go through them, and it would take his mind off his eager anticipation.

He worked with impatient diligence for several hours among the rising ding of the morning. Yesterday's post did not bring any hopeful news from bankers, but there was much of day-to-day correspondence to attend to, payments to complete, documents to file, and decisions to make to occupy him until the signal for the start of the work shift sounded. When Williams knocked on the door, he saw the desk cleared and his Master waiting for him with instructions for the day.

It was still rather early. Thornton went back to the house to change; he gave only a short nod to his mother, who was industriously sewing away in her usual chair in the dining room, as he left. It was not the time to talk, he thought, striding along the familiar path to Crampton. Everything that needed to be said was said yesterday; somewhere deep inside he was glad that that was already behind him. Mother was not always an easy person to deal with, but she was frank and open, and she would never go back on her word.

Mr. Lynn, on the other hand... oh, Mr. Lynn was probably the most fair and honest person he had ever met, but he did not promise Thornton anything. Was Margaret to be brought at this time of grief, two miles away from her home only to talk to the Bishop, probably in vain? Or would they come out from Milton church as man and wife? Thornton was not fretting, he was almost sure that all would be well. Even if the Bishop would refuse to help, which was now rather unlikely, there were plenty of other options. Though Margaret's aunt could come as early as tonight if she received the letter this morning, she would not be able to act against Margaret's wishes just yet, and he believed that those wishes were on his side. Getting the legal guardianship would probably take even longer than getting a marriage license. He could wait. He just wished he did not need to.

As he turned the corner and saw the house,wispy threads of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, he felt the muscle at his jaw relaxing, and shook himself ruefully. What was he afraid of? That the house would not be there? That she had fled, and the place was empty? That it was all just another dream, that yesterday had never happened, that she was not his, that she had not promised to stay with him forever? He had dealt with his misery for a long time; he could deal with the happiness, too. It would take some time to get used to the idea.

Martha opened the door for him, slightly surprised to see him so early in the morning. She let him into the sitting room and his heart jumped at the sight of the door to the adjoining room; the room that was now sacred in his soul was now flagrantly thrown open, the bed covers ripped off, sheets in a pile on the chair. Martha gave him an apologetic smile and hastily collected the linen.

'What are you doing? Why?' he asked with the lips suddenly numb.

'Oh, Miss Hale has mentioned that her aunt might be coming,' she said, balancing the pile of sheets in her arms. 'I thought I better air the guest room and change the sheets. I will take it to the kitchen and go tell Miss Hale that you are here. The poor thing was in such distress yesterday, she sent me to bed but I could hear her crying into the wee hours.'

Of course. It was not her room. It was likely her mother's as the best and most comfortable, and was made a guest room after her passing when Bell was staying over. Her room would be upstairs. He had never seen it. It was foolish to feel cheated over it. Martha returned and with a small curtsey to him went upstairs. He heard her steps on the squeaky stairs reverberating through the flimsy house. The sound of her knocking on the door came as if she was standing next to him. He heard her voice addressing Margaret and refused to acknowledge his relief that Margaret was indeed so close. She would be down in a few minutes; all he needed was to wait a little longer.

Martha came down to tell him that Miss Hale was asleep, but answered and would come directly. He nodded distractedly from behind a random book he had picked up from the shelf to hide his impatience. He was relieved when Martha disappeared into the kitchen again.

Yet there was no sound coming from upstairs. The noises of the busily occupied servant were the only ones he could hear. Did she fall asleep again, despite Martha's urgings? He heard Martha clanking the handle of a water bucket. She probably was going to the cistern at the back of the house. It would take her some time. He should stay right here. It would be highly inappropriate to walk upstairs. He winced guiltily as the stair plank squeaked under his foot.

There were three doors, but only one of them was closed. It was not locked though, and opened to his touch. The tiny, almost Spartan room filled with the bright morning light through the open curtains struck him as essentially Margaret, made regal and feminine not by fine furniture or grandeur, but by light and by the lovely form of its inhabitant, fast asleep on the narrow bed.

He knelt by the bedside to gently kiss her awake. Her eyelashes fluttered, but the eyes remained closed. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her pillow was still slightly damp with the tears shed at night. He lowered his head to her to kiss her again.

'John,' his own name tickled his lips. A small hand came up to stroke the side of his face and diped its the long fingers into his sideburns. He closed his eyes for a moment as the trickle of pleasure ran down his spine.

'John?' Her sleepy eyes finally opened, though not quite at the same time, but they rounded in surprise all the same. 'Mr. Thornton!'

'I thought I was John.'

'You are real! It was all real…' He saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes as she recalled the news he brought yesterday. He had no words of comfort to offer, and simply held her close to him. She took a deep breath to master her grief, still so fresh and painful and looked up at him again.

'You are here! How?'

'Martha was not able to wake you up. I thought I'd test the technique that was reported to work on sleeping beauties.'

'Martha let you up?'

"I am afraid I neglected to ask her. She was busy making the tea. Are you awake now? Shall I send her up? We need to talk.'

'Go!' she said, exasperated, 'I will be right down.'

He got up and looked back at her from the door. He'd never seen her like that before, her hair tousled from sleep and trying to escape the thick plait that held it for the night, one cheek pinker than the other. He swallowed.

"Margaret, I will go before Martha catches us. Please make haste.'

He snuck back safely well before Martha returned, and sheepishly pretended that he had been reading all this time.

'Master! Tea will be ready shortly. Is Miss Hale not down yet?'

'No.'

'Pardon me, sir, I shall go and see if Miss needs my help. I will be right back.'

'By all means,' he said, once again hiding behind the book.

Margaret came down sooner than he expected, dressed in black and seemingly composed. She was paler than he would have liked to see her, but it would be too much to expect otherwise. She was looking decidedly better than yesterday, though sad and grieved, but animated with some hope for the future. His heart swelled at the thought that this hope rested with him in her life.

As soon as Martha disappeared in the kitchen to fetch the tea, he laid down the book and came to gather her in his arms. He still could not quite believe that he could do it, that she would not shrink away in indignation, but would instead melt into his embrace with a sigh.

They were standing in dreamy silence, enjoying the new closeness. He nuzzled the hair on top of her head, but she lifted her face to him.

'John?' she asked. 'You said we needed to make haste? Why?' He postponed his answer for a moment, needing to kiss her lips.

'You asked for a half an hour notice. We need to be at Milton church at eleven o'clock.'

'You cannot be serious,' she said searching his face.

'I have never been so serious in my life.'

'Did you get a license?' she asked incredulously.

'Not quite yet. But I hope I will within an hour or two.'

'What do you mean?'

He explained to her about St. Catherine consecration and the Bishop being in town for the occasion, as well as his own long history with Mr. Lynn. She seemed uncertain.

'The Bishop? Wants to talk to me? Impossible.'

'He is a peculiar man. He knew your father. '

'He really promised he would marry us if he is satisfied?'

'So he said. Would you refuse to come then?'

'No. I did not expect to be examined today. It is all very strange. But of course I shall come. I promised, didn't I? ' she smiled archly.

'I shall go and get a cab,' he said, relieved by her compliance and flattered by her trust in him.

Martha came in with the tea tray and Margaret took her cup to the window and looked out wistfully.

'It is a fine morning. Do you think we have time to walk there?' she asked hesitantly.

'I did not think you would be strong enough. It is a long walk; do you think you can endure such fatigue?'

'It is a fine morning,' she repeated slowly, speaking to herself. She turned to him and said, 'I think I should like to walk.'

'If you wish,' he checked his watch. 'We need to leave soon, then. It is ten o'clock already.'

She nodded her understanding and went upstairs directly to put on her bonnet. He was waiting in the hall when she came down, her pale face like fine porcelain against the black of her dress.

Unthinkingly, he reached his hand as if to run the black lace of her mantilla through his fingers, like he had always wanted to do when he saw her in it, letting the back of his fingers glide over her smooth cheek. She dropped her eyes and leaned into his touch.

Smiling, he offered her his arm, and they walked out together for the first time. The morning was indeed fine; the heat of the late April sun was relieved by a fresh breeze that shifted the smoke of Milton and brought the breath of the fields beyond. At first they were silent, walking arm in arm through the morning town. He was deep in thought, content with just feeling her by his side. He liked the feel of her hand on his arm, and the light walk of hers easily falling in with his stride. Occasionally her fingers on his sleeve would move slightly, as if ensuring the reality of his arm under the cloth. He longed to reassure her and himself in a more substantial way, but it was impossible on the busy street.

'Margaret? Why did you want to walk?'

'It is a fine morning. The walk is pleasant' He felt that there was more to it and waited.

She blushed. 'I... I once expressed a wish to walk to... to the church.'

'To your wedding?' Her blush was so deep he could almost feel the heat from her face.

'Yes. It was just when my cousin Edith was married. I was so tired and so annoyed with the many preparations that I wished never to go through that again,'She said, looking more uncomfortable than such an innocent wish warranted. He waited, but nothing more came.

'Margaret, you seem unhappy about it,' he prompted.

'It is silly. I was silly. I am not ashamed of what I said then, but it brought me some mortification later.' She smiled, "I was accused of insincerity. This is probably my way of amending it.'

'To whom did you say it?' he guessed.

She glanced at him and dropped her eyes.

'To Mr. Henry Lennox, my cousin's brother-in-law.'

'He took it as encouragement?'

Her "Yes" came nearly inaudibly and she did not lift her head.

They walked in silence for a while.

'It was foolish of me,' she said finally.

'Why? As you say, there is nothing to be ashamed of.'

'I did not want to upset you.'

'You could have before, but now you are walking to the church with me and not with Mr. Henry Lennox. It is he who should be jealous, along with the rest of men in England. All I can feel toward him is compassion and admiration for his good sense and fine taste.'

He kept looking resolutely forward to let her recover from embarrassment, but from the corner of his eye he could see that she looked at him in wonder and then turned away to hide a smile.

'Besides,' he added, 'I rest secure knowing that you have no more funds left over to buy out any more men.'

He was finally rewarded with her laugh.

Thornton was glad that in this hour of the morning the streets were not over crowded. They did not meet many people they knew until they reached the church. The morning service was over and by now the tardiest of parishioners were filing out of the tall doors. Thornton and Margaret stood aside to let them pass, unnoticed by most.

The church was empty and echoing when they walked in, but Mr. Tully welcomed them with a warm smile and kind words. Thornton did not notice the Bishop until he stepped into the slanting column of light falling from the high window. This time he met the piercing gaze of his old teacher and held it while making the necessary introductions. He had one advantage: the Bishop seemed mildly surprised. He walked closer to Thornton while Mr. Tully took Margaret aside to say a few words of consolation.

'John. I am surprised, I admit. You have never mentioned… well, from what you told me yesterday I expected a lady, oh, endowed with the grace of the soul rather than worldly attractions, a pious thing probably of the age of thirty…' He smiled slightly at Thornton's chuckle. 'And now you bring this glorious creature, why, she looks just like a Spanish Infanta.'

Thornton looked at the proud and serene form of Margaret, trying to see her as a stranger would, and marveled again at her great regal beauty.

'It is probably the mantilla,' he supplied helpfully.

The Bishop looked at him incredulously and shook his head in resignation at the callousness of today's young people. 'I would still like to talk to her, though I have no more doubts about your motivations anymore; I, however feel responsible to the memory of her father to ensure hers.'

He crossed to Mr. Tully and Margaret and smiled benevolently.

'Miss Hale, if Mr. Tully would be so kind as to let us use his vestry,' he said kindly, and the good vicar smiled and nodded in his assent. 'would you speak to me for a few minutes?'

Margaret gave Thornton a brief worried glance and followed the Bishop through the tall oak doors.

Left alone with Mr. Tully in an empty, echoing cavern of the old church Thornton felt excluded and unneeded. Perhaps Mr. Tully felt it even more acutely. It was, after all, his own church where he was left behind closed doors like a reprimanded child. With an admirable effort he broke the uncomfortable silence and offered Thornton a tour of new improvements to the church he had recently undertaken. He went on with forced cheerfulness, describing the beauties of the old architecture, but Thornton was too preoccupied to listen to the story he already knew so well. He was, however, grateful for the effort of conversation; he himself did not feel capable of it just at the moment. What took them so long? Whatever could they be speaking about? What if he refused them the marriage for today and demanded the established wait?

As the clock chimed noon, the church door opened a fraction wider and Mrs. Thornton quietly slid into the chapel. Mr. Tully, with an apologetic nod to Thornton, went to her side. After another moment one more figure made an appearance, as Nicholas Higgins shyly stepped in as well. He was in his work clothes with a bit of black crepe sewn in. Thornton was strangely glad to see him and came to greet his reluctant ally. Higgins shrugged in his embarrassment and said that he learned about Margaret's loss from Mary and wanted to say a word of condolence to Miss Margaret.

'But how did you know to come here?' asked Thornton, quite puzzled.

'Missus here told me. Came right to me this morning at the mill, and said that I can drop here on the noon break. She knew that I would not want to miss it. Fine lady, she is. Talks gruff, but has soft side in her, just like you. Said what you plan here with Miss Margaret. I was glad to hear it, too. Came close to losing my wager, I did.'

'What wager?' Thornton was suspecting that he missed a large part of this conversation

'Aye. See, I put a stake that you would come to an understanding before May. Fellows who lost their Christmas bet were gloating all last month. They will laugh from the other side of the mouth now.'

'Wait. There is a wager on this? People expected us to marry?'

Higgins looked at him in astonishment.

'They are not blind nor stupid, you know. Whenever you went to see the poor old parson there was always someone to watch if you came back glad or gloomy. People knew it was better to stay away if the news were bad, and more than one application for a rise was lucky if you came back smiling the night previous. Almost all put a penny or two into the wager, even the girls from the carding room.'

'Who held it?' groaned Thornton, getting angry at himself and at the thorough scrutiny of his actions by his own workers.

'Master, I am not telling.'

'So you put a penny in, too?'

Higgins looked at him in deep satisfaction.

'I put a shilling. Will bring me upward from two pounds, it will. They were betting against me like vultures for the last two weeks. Mary is going to get a new dress, she is, and the little ones are in for a treat.'

'A shilling.'

'Aye. Was a sure bet, too, 'cept I dinnuh know wha' tookyou so long. You are not a man to let what you want slip through your fingers, and it was shame to see Miss Margaret pining away. Ha. Most wagers were on when, not if you would go for it.'

Thornton did not have time to answer, as the door to the vestry opened. They all turned, to see Margaret coming out quite flustered, and the bishop following her with an unreadable face.