I have amended the current chapter, polishing and adding new developments at the end. I am sorry if you have to read it twice, but I hope you do so again and leave me a comment as this version is better (wouldn't I just say that? ;) ) I'm particularly interested to see what you make of Henry. Disclaimer: The letter is a real letter ca 1920; I only take credit for the translation in English. Happy reading!

'Oh, Henry, you know I can't help thinking that if only you'd have asked Margaret, we wouldn't have to suffer her going away to this dreadful, dreadful place.' Edith was reclining on her easy chair and lazily looked in the distance.

'I am sure you would have suffered equally acutely, had I asked her.' Henry's voice came up levelly behind the morning paper. 'And I won't ask her now so put it out of your head.'

'I'm not sure it's all hopeless still. If you only tried – nothing's been settled yet.' Edith's head jerked in his direction and she didn't see Margaret entering the room at the opposite end.

'What's not settled yet? I can't imagine there is anything else to be settled. One could say we were entertaining half of the realm, Edith.'

'I'm not sure anymore what we were talking about,' replied Edith briskly and looked towards Henry for help. The morning paper remained silent, so she continued, 'Oh, I'm so tired. Last night was positively exhausting. I do not understand why Helen persists in giving such unequal dinners. I was forced to do every dance. I feel a veritable wretch today, and I won't be surprised if my poor feet fell off.'

'What's not settled?' repeated Margaret stubbornly, ignoring the last remark and looking quizzically at her cousin. At length, Henry put the paper down and said carefully,

'The latest case at Chambers. Edith thought there was still a chance of a favourable settlement but she was wrong.'

'A case? How peculiar. I thought law gave you headache, Edith.'

'Oh, it does indeed! It's all so very boring and I can't seem to keep it into my head. But this case is different. I'm dying to know all about it and Henry is being obstinate.'

'I am?' Henry's eyebrows came together in barely suppressed puzzlement. He felt the strain, vague and yet clearly perceptible, between the two cousins, and he didn't like being drawn in the middle.

'Why, yes! The Ruskins case, of course, you silly.' Edith stood up in her chair excitedly. 'Margaret, have you heard? Effie Ruskin is going to -' she made a dramatic pause and sussurated the next word,– 'd-i-v-o-r-c-e.' She gazed triumphantly from Margaret to Henry and back a few times before reclining back in her chair and adding coolly, 'Or so one hears.'

'One hears a vast deal, no doubt,' came Mr Lennox's measured reply, 'but one should do better than believe most of it.'

'Oh, Henry!' Edith jerked up again. 'Don't be such a prude. Everyone is talking about it. Society is buzzing. It's all so – (she waved her hands helplessly) – well, it would have been exciting had it not been so shocking.'

'I have not been called a prude before, my dear sister. But it is only appropriate to exercise some caution and restraint in a matter of such delicacy.'

'Oh, I knew it. I knew it!' Edith's triumphant shrieks filled the room. 'You know more than you let out. How monstrously cruel of you, Henry, to keep us all in such unbearable a suspense! Come now, do tell! My ears are itching.'

'I beg you to exonerate me from such a charge, Edith, for it is wholly unfounded. Moreover, I am sure all suspense on Miss Margaret's part is on account of far more joyous an occasion.' He looked up to Margaret with a dry but friendly smile. She approached him smiling and replied playfully -

'I'm sure Henry you have a deal more on your mind than idle talk of the predicaments of marriage, whether joyous or unfortunate.'

'Ah, so true. I do not pretend to have first-hand knowledge of either. This is usually the province of the ladies who are forever more adept at experiencing them than we men are.' Henry had risen from his chair and stood a step next to Margaret, looked at her intently and added quietly, 'but I hope that in your case at least the predicament is a happy one still, even if the occasion appears to be a great deal more complicated than a walk to the church on a sunny day.'

Margaret was confounded this instant, unsure how to interpret his last words. The voice was soft, the eyes benevolent, almost smiling with their customary dry demeanour. Was it a charge? A reproach? Or mere friendly compassion? She managed a faint smile and an unsure 'Why, yes! Thank you, Henry!" before Edith's voice demanded her attention.

'I would say that there are plenty of women who would not consider dear Effie's predicament an unhappy one.'

'Edith!' Margaret was shocked. 'How could you! A divorced woman! What about her future.'

'I don't mean the divorce, Margaret, a dreadful thing to be sure, but her reasons. Plenty of women would be prettily content in her situation. It's for a reason that they are called 'wifely duties'. Why, no need to be so shocked. You'd please permit me to possess knowledge yet foreign to you. You'll learn it all soon enough, then you'll understand me better.'

Henry interrupted hurriedly,

'I see you are determined to pursue the topic of the Ruskins so I shall leave you to it.'

'But not before telling us all the particulars. Come, Henry, pretty please! We won't tell anyone.'

'I wouldn't tell you, my dear, even if I knew. At any rate, I do not see why you want to know; facts are enemies of gossip. I would not tell you the facts or I would deny you the pleasure. Your professions are wasted on me. Good-day!'

'An impossible man!' sighed Edith despondently after Henry and sank back in her chair. She began to twist idly a curl of hair around her forefinger. 'I'm sure he knows a lot more than he lets out.'

Margaret was oblivious to her cousin's torment, deep in thought. Until John wrote it, the idea that she could somehow cause Henry's recent lack of spirits hadn't crossed her mind. She hadn't told John about the ill-fated conversation of four years ago and even though her life had changed since then, and she had changed, and had grown into a young woman, she was still mortified and a great deal ashamed she could be thought of in such a way. Her instinct was to dismiss the notion as ridiculous but her regard for John's judgment was so high and steadfast that she decided to be more observant and careful around Henry, very conscious of his discomfiture. He'd been the perfect gentleman and until today hadn't said, done or implied anything that would betray his ever having designs on her. But he must remember it all very clearly, for she was sure he had cited her word for word. What did this mean and more pressingly, how should she behave towards him now? She liked him as a friend, and had grown to like him even better in the last year. He has been helpful and reliable and one of the few constant things in her present life. Even Mr Bell couldn't find anything displeasing about him, and surely that was saying something. It was so confusing.

Suddenly she became conscious of Edith's having asked her something. She hadn't heard the question but it was obvious her cousin expected a reply. Margaret rallied herself and with difficulty feigned an unconcerned air.

'I'm sorry, what was that, Edith?'

'I was just saying how unfortunate this business with poor Effie is. Who would have thought it? Theirs was such a love story. But let this be a lesson to you, Margaret. Not all that glitters is gold.'

'I am not sure I follow you.'

'Why, what I mean is that passion doesn't endure. Effie was smitten by John and his endless professions of love. It was the talk of the town. I'm sure I have heard a thousand times of that silly little story he wrote for her. And then their courtship, and honeymoon. Italy. Florence, I think. And all endless trips to the Scottish Highlands. All very grand and wildly romantic.'

'And all very enviable, I'm sure,' smiled Margaret, half-jokingly.

'Oh, I don't know about that. What was that about the book and its cover? It would seem things between them started going amiss right from the "I do". He was more interested in the art than in her – and before you object, I have this on a secure chain of intelligence.'

'I'm sure you do!' Margaret's voice betrayed almost imperceptible annoyance.

'I'll have you know that Effie has always been a particular friend of Helen Gibson. And Helen always said that there was something not quite right in the Ruskins household. John lost interest right after the wedding night – or rather during it – and Effie just couldn't do anything to better the situation.'

'Edith, I am not sure how this concerns me. Pray stop. I won't pry into their business. It's sacrilegious.'

'Oh don't be so prissy! Firstly, this is hardly private. When Helen knows it, everyone knows it. It's been widely discussed –'

'Exactly my point. I do not wish to hear it.'

'And secondly,' added Edith ignoring Margaret's words, 'I think you should pay close attention, very close indeed, bearing in mind –'

'Bearing in mind what exactly?' Margaret's blood boiled and her reaction was whip-sharp.

'Well – bearing in mind the very strong passions incited in your lover. And his are undoubtedly very strong passions because why else would you not show me his letters. All I am saying is that you have to be careful that you do not end up like poor Effie. Tricked into marrying on promises of love and all, only to find your poor self rejected by your 'lord and master'. They both have the same name, you know. Surely you wouldn't like being – jilted.'

'I do not know what I hear. But I know I do not like it. You have no business –' Margaret blanched for a moment, utterly at a lost how to continue. 'I shall not listen to you any more. I need to be alone. Excuse me.' And she hurriedly gathered her dress and almost fled the room.

Margaret ran to the uppermost floor of the house and released her breath only when the sturdy door of her room was safely closed behind her back. She had once again come to occupy the old nursery. Here, in her childhood refuge, she felt warmest and most secure, in the bitter-sweet comfort of her memories of old times, when her life was charmingly simple and the future equally uncomplicated, when she was surrounded by her dear parents, when Fred was still at home, when her father was the much respected vicar and her dear mama was healthy and smiling. Oh, days bygone!

She was distraught by Edith's words. She wanted to ignore them but they had lodged in her head, sneaky, unruly and stubbornly unyielding to reasoning. She remembered faintly the Ruskins courtship and marriage – it was around the time Edith and the Captain married. Margaret hadn't heard much about the marriage, Milton being at too merciful a distance for that. Edith had written occasional snippets of gossip when she'd tired from lamenting the madness of her uncle and the family's removal to the "barbaric" North. The source of most of it seemed to be Helen Gibson, whom Margaret knew to possess too much time on her hands and not enough wits to know what to do with it. But if Effie Ruskin was compelled to take such a terrifying and desperate step, something terrible must have happened. Surely such calamity would never befall Margaret; John would love her and honour, would he not? Margaret felt tired and bewildered. If only she was able to talk to someone, about these doubts. "Oh, dear, dear mother, help me! What should I do? I feel I am losing my bearing."

Margaret knelt by her bed and drew from under it her mother's old needlework box. She cupped her white hands pensively on the curved lid, as if to sense the warmth her mother's hands had left in the grooves and crannies in the wood. After a while, she opened the lid gingerly and took out John's last letter. Her fingers caressed the corner where he wrote his name in a bold and assured manner, and then turned the paper and prised it carefully open. Her eyes sought eagerly the soothing words within:

"My dear love,

It is nine o'clock in the evening, everything around is still, I have your likeness before me & your self in my heart & I am filled up with pride & jubilation at the realization that something infinitely important & joyous has happened in my life. I have toiled away for long, hard years & I thought I have made something of my life but only now I see it for the restless void it truly was, & the dreadful torture it would be, without your grace & strength as safe & peaceful refuge for my tired soul. - I will make you happy, my dearest & cherished Margaret, I will infect you with my love & our life together will be the happiest & the most glorious that ever was. I am no poet or a skilful lover; am a plain & uncouth fellow; but I promise you that I will be true & complete in all I say & do to you & I only beg of you that you leave open your heart, your pure & innocent heart, & I will fill it with my love; & it will feel for me what mine feels for you & we shall be forever & immeasurably happy."

Margaret closed her eyes and clasped the letter close to her chest. Sudden and violent warmth spread from her belly to all bodily extremities and made her dizzy and faint. She leaned back on the plush pillows and read the letter again even though she knew it by heart just like all his other letters. It made her feel safe and happy beyond any measure of felicity and comfort she had felt before and dissipated some of the effect of Edith's words. "True and complete in all I say and do to you", he wrote. Oh, how wrong Edith was! How could a man with so much tenderness and passion and such firmness and justness of character like Mr. Thornton lead her in a falsehood?

Edith had mentioned 'wifely duties' and Margaret could not fathom how these came to be in a conversation about the dissolution of the holiest of unions. Her mother had never talked to her of such matters, as at the time there was no occasion for it, and now when the need arose, Margaret found herself deprived of the best advice. One would suppose a married cousin or an aunt the natural authorities for a timid maiden to turn to, but in view of Aunt Shaw's coolness to the very idea of Mr Thornton and Edith's apparent scheming against it, Margaret felt deserted and desperately alone. Could Dixon know something about such duties? Weren't servants more casual in their private dealing? And how about Mrs. Thornton? Margaret felt her stomach tighten and another hot wave of queasiness overcome her at the thought of having to endure such an interview. Even marrying Mr. Thornton would not aby for such mortification.

'Strength!' whispered she to herself. 'I have nothing to fear but fear itself. A few more days and he'll be here and take me away, and everything will be as it should be'.

And yet, if Edith was right, what was Margaret to do? And anyway, what was Edith about precisely? Margaret resolved to understand more about the Ruskins, but how? Henry Lennox said he didn't know details and even if he did, she would never dare broach the subject with him. Soon an opportunity presented itself in a most unlikely way when the very same day, just as they gathered in the drawing room before dinner, Mr. Lennox took her gently by the arm and directed her away from the others.

'I understood, Margaret, that you felt rather unwell earlier today. Are you better now?'

'Well, yes, Henry! Thank you!'

'I am very glad indeed to hear it.' There Mr Lennox paused and motioned her to the sofa. He seated himself next to her, and after a still and pensive moment under her quizzical gaze, continued with a barely hidden discomfiture.

'Margaret, I must beg your forgiveness if what I am about to say causes any offence or mortification, as I know it must, but I promise you that I speak strictly as a concerned old friend and in the sole desire and hope to be of service to you. I beg you to hear me out and there is no need to trouble yourself with replying.'

Here he stopped and leaned even closer to her, his voice became barely audible.

'I do not presume to know a woman's heart but I believe there is a veritable storm of conflicting thoughts and feelings that could very well overwhelm someone in love when the lover's motives and intentions are in some way questioned. I understood that certain information has been imparted to you this morning after my departure and certain suggestions have been made which, and I hazard a guess here, must have had a deeply distressing effect on you. I refer, of course, to Edith's talk of the Ruskins case. I ought not to impart much detail, and what I will, must remain in the strictest of confidences. We have been friends with the Grays for a long time; and we grew up together with their children back in Scotland. Some time ago, Effie's father came to me for some legal advice on how the marriage could be dissolved. Effie and Janet have always been particularly close, and this friendship, together with the longstanding family relationship, has encouraged him to turn to me on such a delicate matter. I am not going to trouble you with the complex legal proceedings but what you need to know is that Mr Gray has petitioned for an annulment, the fault is with Ruskin and he is not contesting. It should be all done and dusted soon and no doubt it will become subject of gossips, conjectures and insinuations of the likes of Edith and her friends.' He hesitated a little then added with a quiet and decided purpose. 'The important thing to remember is that the delicacy of the matter is matched only by its rarity and you must rest assured that such another case is so improbable as to render it wholly unworthy of consideration. Please forgive me; I have embarrassed you. But you now have the facts and I hope you understand my reasons and see my actions in the light they are meant. The last thing I would like to say now, is that if you ever thought that I could be of service to you, I would be glad to oblige you.'

Margaret remained silent for some time, barely suppressing her agitation. 'Thank you, Henry,' said she quietly and pressed her small white hand on his. 'You are a good man and I am grateful for your friendship.' Her large soft eyes gashed the young lawyer's valiant heart and all the conviction in the justness and morality of his deed could not abate his pain.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!