But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven

Nicholas walked away from the Mill, knowing that his friend was going to sit in his office alone for the second night in a row, knowing how dangerously his friend was spiralling, and he worried. He considered going back to the Mill just to keep an eye, but even then he didn't know how much help that would be. Then there was the small matter of the other unpleasant idea filling his head – that something had happened to Margaret, or even that she was leaving John of her own volition – and he decided that he would go home and sleep on it before making any sort of judgement.

He didn't get the chance, however. When he arrived home, he found Margaret Hale, pale and frightened, on his doorstep. There was some blood on her shoes and her dress was torn, but she seemed otherwise healthy. He knelt down and put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched.

"It's alright," he said kindly, "it's alright. Come inside, hey? Get you warm."

She nodded, still staring into the dark streets behind them and he guided her inside, where she sat at her usual spot at the table. He poured her a glass of water and she knocked it back so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been there, so he gave her another which she proceeded to drink more measuredly. After a long silence where he waited for her to start talking, he just came out with it.

"Margaret? Sweetheart? What's going on?" If Margaret hadn't known about Nicholas's impeccable fatherly instincts before, she knew now. He sounded so concerned, but remarkably patient as though he didn't mind how long it took for her to explain, and she found herself missing her father more than ever.

"I… I…" She tried. She shook her head.

"Why did you write that letter to John?" He asked and she gasped and clapped her hands over her eyes as though not being able to see the world would make it go away. "Margaret, come on now, we both know you didn't want to write that note. Why did you do it?"

There was a long pause, so long that Higgins considered asking again, but eventually, "He said he'd kill him," Margaret said numbly.

"Who's gonna kill him?"

"Stephens." She hissed.

"Stephens who used to work for Thornton?" Higgins asked, shocked that a family man could have done such a thing.

"Yes," she whispered, "He grabbed me on the way here for lunch yesterday, and he locked me in a room and told me if I did not write that letter to John, that he would kill him."

"And you believed him?" He asked gently.

"He was holding a rather large knife to me at the time." Margaret's tone sharpened and Nicholas became enraged at the thought of someone threatening his friends, "And… and he said… the way he was talking, he knows far too much about the running of the Mills, and he said… he's been watching us."

"Watching you?"

"He knew I'd been in that alley at that time, and he knew things about John and how late he worked and what route he takes out of the Mill and… I think he's been watching us for quite a long time. I believe he has been planning this for a long time." Margaret spoke with conviction despite her misery and not for the first time, Nicholas Higgins marvelled at the courage of his friend, on whom so much hardship had fallen.

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"He blames John for everything – his wife leaving, his son dying, his daughter running away – instead of acknowledging his own fault, he chooses to pass the blame to his employer."

"I didn't know his son had died. I knew his wife had left 'cause he couldn't get work, and then he and his children just kind of dropped off the radar after the strike and I thought they might've moved like I was planning to. How awful for him. It's no excuse for what he's doing, but it is a terrible thing to lose a child." His voice held the pain of his own loss.

"His son," Margaret gagged slightly even thinking about it, "He didn't have the money to bury his son. His body has been kept well through the winter but now that it is nearly through spring, it has begun to rot-" She choked off, barely holding herself together as the image flashed through her mind yet again and Nicholas's insides churned at what she must have gone through.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I just don't want him to hurt John."

"I think he's already managed to hurt John, through you." Nicholas said gently.

"I know, but surely that is better than dead or dying?" Margaret seemed to need the reassurance that she made the right decision, that hurting him was the only choice she had, and he wrapped her up in a hug.

"It's alright love. We'll work it out, we'll get you two safe and sound and I'm sure you'll be married and happy before you know it."

"How is he?" She asked as she pulled away and he considered lying.

"Not great, love. He's spiralling. But that's alright, we'll get him on the mend, we just have to tell him-"

"No!" She cried out, "we can't, he said if I tell him or try to contact him that he'll kill him, and then he'll kill me."

"I know, but we cannot let him dictate how you live the rest of your life. What's the plan then? Move back to London with your family and be miserable without John for the rest of your life?"

"That has to be miles better than being the reason he's dead." She snapped back and he sighed when he saw the cold fire behind her eyes. He wouldn't change her opinion that evening.

"Alright. You can stay here for now, but only on the solemn promise that you do not move back to London before we've at least tried to remedy the situation."

"As long as you swear to me that you will not tell John about what happened, or that I am still here."

"I swear. But what are you to do after this evening? My house, unfortunately, cannot manage your company for too long, small as it is."

"I will find somewhere to stay." She responded quietly.

"Alright. Off to bed with you then." Higgins said gruffly and she shuffled down the hall to Bessy's old room where Mary and the girls were already fast asleep. He sighed angrily and stomped to his own bed, wondering how on earth he was going to get them out of this mess, and how he could possibly communicate to John that everything was fine, after having sworn to say nothing.

John Thornton did not go home that evening. He was so used to finding her asleep or discovering a handwritten note that he couldn't bear the thought of returning home without seeing Margaret's face. When he arrived home he knew he wouldn't find his fiancé waiting bleary-eyed by the fire. Instead, his mother would be hovering in the hall, sternly waiting to ask about both of their whereabouts over the past two days. Or perhaps she had already spoken to Margaret - maybe she had even encouraged her to go. So he resolved for the second night in a row to stay in his office for the duration of the evening and manage his finances as a way of avoiding his heartbreak, as he had done the first time. This particular rejection, however, was must worse than the first, and his mind would not let it rest no matter how many business correspondences he wrote or inventories he took.

Early into the morning however, there came a tap at his door and he cautiously invited the presence hovering in the shadows of the archway into his office. As it turned out, it was not one person, but two.

His mother with Dixon, Margaret's ladies maid who must have only recently arrived, thundered into the room. Both of them were sporting concerned looks and each was holding a different piece of paper expectantly.

"What do you want, Mother?" He said, sitting back down and trying to ignore the tiny bit of hope that had been irrationally fluttering at his side anticipating Margaret to be the person behind the doorway.

"Son… Margaret has gone missing." Hannah said, trying to be as consoling as she could even while breaking the news.

"No she hasn't Mother."

"Yes, she –"

"She has broken off the engagement. She'll not have me." There was a lump in his throat and his face was hot.

"John," his mother said sternly. In response he thrust the letter at her. She took it graciously and after one perusal she scoffed and handed it to Dixon.

"So this is why you have not been home for two days? Moping over Miss Hale?"

"I expect she has been by to pick up her things and then disappeared without another word and that is why you are so concerned?"

"Son-"

"What am I supposed to do?" His face crumpled and he threw his hands in the air as if searching the universe for an answer.

"John Thornton you listen to me now," his mother reprimanded, "Margaret Hale is missing and if you love her at all you will stop moping about – you will pull yourself together and find her. She hasn't left you, you fool, that girl adores you, loathe as I am to admit it." She was angry now, angry that her son had given up so easily, angry that something might have happened when Margaret was under her care, angry that she had to admit how much she actually did enjoy the company of Miss Hale once she had moved in. John lifted his head slightly and wrung his hands to show he was listening and she pressed on, "The morning before yesterday she left around 11:30 for the Higgins. She walked down the usual way and I assumed she got to the Higgins just fine, but then she didn't return in the evening. Now I would have assumed the worst, but there have been a few times she has returned later than you would prefer, as the children are ill or Mary is too tired to put all of them to bed, so I stayed up late for her return. When she didn't I assumed she was staying the night there but I slept in the chair by the fire in case she came home in the early hours of the morning. Yet she didn't come back at all, which you'd know if you'd come home. Then in the late hours of yesterday Ms Dixon arrived with three huge suitcases of Miss Hale's belongings as well as her own. What kind of girl summons her maid with all of her belongings from the place she left if she is just planning to return?"

John looked to Dixon who was shaking her head with a grave expression on her face.

"Of course, when Ms Dixon arrived, she became worried immediately that Miss Hale had not at least sent word of her overnight stay, and we both wondered that she had not returned by mid-morning, now that it was already nearly evening. So we took the carriage down to the Higgins' residence but Mary said Miss Hale had never arrived for lunch the day before, and that she had wondered if she had fallen suddenly ill and been unable to attend. Obviously my first thought was that she'd taken a fall and so Dixon and I set off around the path but she could not be found. Then we knocked on people's doors in case they had taken her in, and after coming up empty, visited nearby doctors surgeries, and even went home to see if she had returned while we were out looking, but she was not there. We have been looking all night, and have not found her. She is missing."

"The letter, it is definitely by her hand. How do you know it isn't-"

"No, sir!" Dixon said vehemently, "she would never do anything to hurt you, never, she loves you!"

"She lied."

"No, she didn't!" Dixon grumbled and thrust the tattered letter in her hand into his face, "Here. You see?"

John took it from her uncertainly and unfolded it. The unmistakeable whirl of Miss Hale's handwriting graced the first line.

Dearest Dixon,

Oh the things I must tell you! For so long I have felt I would never feel joy again, and you heard me say so more than once during my stay in London. But Dixon I was wrong; I am so happy as I am to be married in barely more than two months!

Do I surprise you? After I told you so often, and with such conviction, that I would probably end up a spinster because no man seemed the right choice for my circumstance? I do hope so, I do not like to be too predictable. What you may not find so surprising however, is the man I will marry – you already know how much I cared for him, and I thank you for keeping that secret from Edith and Henry, as I never believed anything would come of it. I was wrong – twice I have been wrong and yet I find I am not sore about it at all – I am too in love to feel embarrassed. In fact I am so in love with Mr Thornton as to render me completely senseless; I have moved to Milton on a whim and have left all of my belongings behind. I'm sure it must have been a shock when Henry returned empty handed and without my company and I will tell you the whole tale if you wish, but I do have a request.

I was wondering if it would please you to return to service? I know Aunt only treats you like a servant and I do enjoy your company. I also know that you do not like Milton, so this is only a request, but I would so love to for you and I to be as close as you and Mother once were. If you are willing, I thought perhaps you could live with us here, as I fear John's mother and sister still do not accept my presence here and I would love an old friend to feel at ease. I hope to hear from you soon, Dixon, as I do miss you, and I hope my Aunt has been treating you well in my absence.

Margaret

John finished the letter and dropped it on the desk, scrutinising it carefully even as Hannah snatched it up to read. She had managed to say the words to her lady's maid but had never said them to him; why?

"What is this about keeping her secret?" Hannah asked, suspicion in her eyes as she glared over the page at the ladies maid.

Dixon sighed, "Miss Margaret has had a rough go of it this past year. Her only friend in Milton died, and then her mother, and her brother was nearly spotted and captured, and then of course that man turned up dead, and then her father died, and then Mr Bell. She has been miserable for a long time, but when we moved to London after her father died, that really broke her. She never cried – I never saw it, anyway – but something had snapped inside. Mr Bell took her to Helstone for a weekend and he gave everything to her when he left, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back, I believe. She seemed brighter when she returned from the trip, but in private… She didn't sleep; she spent many nights just sitting at the window staring into the distance… after a while I sat with her and suddenly she started talking. She told me all about how lonely she had been, and how the one man who she had grown to love now hated her and what had happened to Mr Bell. She told me all about that conversation you took it upon yourself to have with her, Ms Thornton, and about Mr Thornton here's first proposal, and about the blow she took to the head at the strike riot. There has been so much that she has told no-one for so long, and I think it had been driving her mad. She just doesn't like to worry anyone. But when she talked about you, sir, she just… relaxed a little more… she seemed more at ease. You should have seen her when Edith and Henry discussed their supposed inevitable engagement; I think they thought they were being secretive, but she could almost always hear them and it frightened her, I think. She didn't like having her future planned without her say, so when she heard about the Mills she packed her bags immediately to find you and help. Of course, she felt she had to bring Henry, as he was helping her try and get Frederick back in the country and she needed someone to help explain her business proposal. But then when Henry came back without her, I knew she had decided to make her own future. Then I got her letter."

John felt pained hearing about how cheerless his fiancé had been, but his own spirits were lifted slightly at the thought that she had been in love with him for long enough she'd admitted it to others.

"She loves you, sir, and it's not right, this other letter is all wrong. She hated London and she… any advance you might have made at the train station did not offend her. If she truly found it abhorrent, she would have stopped you there and then, you must know that!" Dixon announced, and John found himself inclined to agree; Margaret had never exactly been one to hide her feelings or hold her tongue in any situation, especially with regards to himself.

"That's not all. When we couldn't find her this past evening we searched her room, and found this." Hannah held out the paper she'd been holding. On one side was a jumble of signatures in various styles and a few repeated efforts, all of them the same name: Margaret Thornton. On the other was a list of those people she wished to attend the wedding, and he became more and more saddened as his eyes reached the bottom of the right column. "We found it under the pillow in her bed. That girl is in love with you. She would not abandon you without good reason, it just doesn't make any sense."

John looked at his mother and nodded, the horrible realisation the two women had already come to now creeping up his spine, "So why would she write those things? Where is she?" There was panic in his voice now, "Why would she do that? What if-"

"I think we need to send out a search party." Hannah said staunchly but John didn't hear her. Something was prickling at the back of his mind, something someone else had said… what was it?

"You're no use to anyone in this state…" He mumbled, comprehension dawning.

"What?" Hannah and Dixon looked bewildered.

"Higgins. He didn't believe it either. He told me to pull myself together. He knows – or he at least has an idea why she did what she did. I need to speak to Higgins." He realised quickly that time was of the essence and so launched to his feet, grabbed his jacket and was out the door in a flash with the two women on his heels.

When a knock came at Nicholas Higgins' door so early on a Saturday morning he had an immediate inking of who it would be, and he cursed that Margaret had already had the presence of mind to get up before him and leave. He wished she had been a heavier sleeper, but was already gone when he awoke. He unlocked the latch and even before the door swung open, John was half inside.

"Where is she?" There was tired frustration in his voice.

"I don't know, Thornton." Higgins said, and it was at least partly true – he didn't know where Margaret was, he only knew where she had been.

"Nicholas, please. She had to come to you, she's got no-one else. If you haven't at least seen her then I don't know what I'll do, because she could be… she could be dying out there!"

"Look, all I can say is that she is not dying, but I don't know where she is-"

"How can you know how she is, but not where she is?" Dixon protested and he sighed and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"I can't say."

"What do you mean, you can't say?" Hannah said threateningly and he ignored her and looked to John.

"Listen, she's alright, she's safe, but she made me swear not to tell you where she is or why she did what she did. I found her on my doorstep last night, and she was gone before I got up this morning; she just needed somewhere to stay the night before she left. I did make her swear not to leave for London."

"But-"

"Look, Thornton, I just don't know what to tell you – I don't know where she is. But don't be sending out search parties, because she don't want them. She's not dying and she's still in Milton."

"Nicholas…" All the fight seemed to leave John and he leant against the window-frame for support, "Please… what's going on?"

"I'm not sure I'm the right person to tell you, as I don't know as much as I say I'd like to."

Thornton nodded even while his mind raced and Higgins clapped him on the shoulder, apologising profusely to ears that couldn't hear. It wasn't long before Hannah became impatient and the party left in boiling silence.

When they arrived back at the Mills, John was exhausted – he hadn't slept for two nights and it was looking like a long day was ahead of him. It was the first Saturday he hadn't worked since they'd been back, and if she'd been home it might have been the first day they'd spent together alone.

He sat down beside the fire and poured himself a stiff drink, staring into the glass and watching the reflections of the fire, searching for answers in the twisting crystal flames. Hannah and Dixon were attempting to ascertain Margaret's whereabouts from the letter to John, and were brandishing it about angrily. John couldn't think, and as Fanny swanned in the door as she usually did on a Saturday morning, he couldn't take it anymore. He threw his glass across the room and it hit the wall and shattered, spraying alcohol across the room and scattering shards into the carpet.

"John!?" Hannah attempted, but he was already storming out the door. As it swung loudly shut behind him, the whole house was in dead silence, until Fanny raised a judging eyebrow.

"Always in one of his moods! Honestly, that Miss Hale is meant for him – they can be all miserable together."