'Frederick, I am so glad you are here.' Margaret as Frederick comforted her in the sitting room. Their father was still with Mrs Hale, unable yet to leave her.

'Margaret, I must travel on tonight's train.'

Margaret looked up at Frederick in confusion. 'Why? Surely it is safe for you to stay a day or two more. No one can possibly know you are here.'

Frederick sighed and rubbed his forehead 'I did not tell you before, but there was trouble when I arrived.'

'Trouble? What trouble? What do you mean Frederick?' Margaret's pulse raced in panic.

'A man by the name of Leonards.' Frederick cursed, 'If only I had known he was here.'

'Frederick, you are not making any sense,' Margaret urged.

'Leonards was a sailor assigned to me, although..a worse sailor was never on board ship—nor a much worse man either. I declare, Margaret—you know the circumstances of the whole affair?'

'Yes, mamma told me.'

'He was at the train station the night I arrived. He was drunk and making very little sense. He alerted a guard and they detained me while they tried to ascertain what he knew about me.'

'Frederick!'

'Calm yourself sister. As I said, he was rather drunk. All they managed to get was that Leonards believed I was Lieutenant Hale and I was wanted by the Navy.'

'What happened Fred?'

'The police questioned me, but I had papers – not authentic of course - stating I am Frederick Dickensen.' Frederick looked puzzled. 'But the Sargent must have been suspicious for he summoned a Magistrate.'

Margaret had a sinking feeling that she was not going to like what she was about to hear. 'A Magistrate? What did he say Frederick?'

'He questioned me; asked me why I came to Milton. But I maintained my story- that I had come to seek work.'

'But what about the man? What did you say his name was? Leonards?'

Frederick sniggered cynically. 'The silly fool fell and died before he could sober up enough to give them more information.'

Margaret grimaced.

'Do not waste your regret or pity on a worthless firebrand like Leonards, Margaret. The world is a better place without his type.'

'So the Magistrate believed you? You were released?'

'Yes..and no. Without Leonards to verify his drunken story, they really had nothing to hold me on. But that particular Magistrate was no fool He had heard enough to make him wary of me. He warned me that if I did not leave Milton within two days he would seize me and take me to Naval authorities in London himself.'

Margaret was beginning to feel ill. 'Frederick, did the Magistrate tell you his name?'

Frederick thought for a moment, trying to recall. 'He was a tall, powerful fellow. Stern in features….Thornley? Thornhill ?

'Mr Thornton?' prompted Margaret, dreading his response.

'That's the fellow. He did not seem to me the type of man I should dare trifle with. I have decided I should heed his warning.'

Margaret paled.

'Margaret, what is the matter?'

'Fred, we know this Magistrate. He is one of Papa's pupils.'

Frederick considered this a moment. 'Then..oh dear.. do you suspect he made the connection?'

Margaret nodded solemnly. 'I cannot say for sure Frederick, but yes it is possible.'

'Are you on good terms with this Thornton?'

'Yes we are. Papa likes him very much; and he is highly respected in town.'

Frederick got up to pace the room. In silence he thought it through. When resolved he sat back down again and took Margaret by the hands. 'Margaret, you cannot speak to Mr Thornton of this.' Frederick's tone was insistent. 'You cannot tell him the truth. We must be cautious whilst I am still in the country. We must not trust anyone. Especially a Magistrate.'

'But..'

'Margaret, don't you see? If this Thornton is as good a man as you say he is he may feel compelled to fulfill his responsibilities to the crown and turn me in. And you and Papa will both be implicated in protecting a wanted criminal. No I will not let that be. You simply must not tell him about me. If he asks you, you must deny you have a brother, or that our father has a son.'

Margaret looked forlorn. 'Oh Frederick, I wish it wasn't so.'

'Don't worry so, sister. Just let me enjoy my last hours with you and Papa and I will be gone. It will be like I was never here at all.'

Her brother made it sound so simple, Margaret thought. Poor Frederick. He had no idea of the significance of what he had just asked of her.

Good to his word, Frederick left that evening, only explaining to his father that he had been detained by the police and did not risk lingering in the town for long. Mr Hale had been easily persuaded, and neither Margaret nor Frederick thought that they should burden him further with the unhappy truth of Fred meeting with Mr Thornton.

In her heart, Margaret did not believe that Mr Thornton would raise the subject with his tutor – at least not so soon after Mrs Hale's death. Margaret agreed that she should wait until he was stronger to tell her father.

In the days following, Margaret busied herself by writing the invitations for her mother's funeral. With so few friends in town, the guest list was not long. Dressed in her black crepe; that she had purchased for such occasions; she dwelt at home with her father with only Dixon for company.

Dixon was relentless. She threw herself into the task of readying the mistress, dressing her in a white cashmere robe and cap as was fashionable for the dead. Margaret was grateful to her. She did not have the heart to do it herself.

Mr Hale was inconsolable, choosing to spend much of the day in his wife's room, still holding her stony cold hands. Margaret did her best to encourage him to get some air, but he would not budge.

She was disappointed that they did not receive any visitors during this time. The Thorntons sent a card confirming that they would attend the funeral but did not come to Crampton. John also sent a personal, but brief note to Margaret in his own hand.

Miss Hale,

Be assured we are deeply saddened by your family's loss.

I comprehend that the circumstances are such that will prevent you from walking on Sunday.

John Thornton

Margaret felt despondent. But Mr Thornton was perfectly correct in his judgments. Of course it would be improper for her to be seen in public on the arm of an eligible gentleman so soon after her mother's passing.

However this further proof of his reluctance to come to Crampton fuelled Margaret's fears that Mr Thornton suspected that the man who had identified himself as Frederick Dickensen was indeed related to the Hales of Milton.

Had he distanced himself in case he should compromise his own reputation? Did he fear any association with a family with questionable connections was not worth risking his standing as a magistrate?

Margaret was hesitant to think so. But what other explanation could there be for his not coming to see his dear friend…and his friend's daughter.

On the day of the funeral Margaret summoned up all her forces to her aid. Her father was afflicted with grief and..absorbed in one idea—that the last visible token of the presence of his wife was to be carried away from him, and hidden from his sight. He trembled pitifully as the undertaker's man was arranging his crape draperies around him. He looked wistfully at Margaret; and, when released, he tottered towards her, murmuring, 'Pray for me, Margaret. I have no strength left in me. I cannot pray. I give her up because I must. I try to bear it: indeed I do. I know it is God's will. But I cannot see why she died. Pray for me, Margaret, that I may have faith to pray. It is a great strait, my child.'

Margaret sat by him in the coach almost supporting him in her arms; and repeating all the noble verses of holy comfort, or texts expressive of faithful resignation, that she could remember. Her voice never faltered; and she herself gained strength by doing this. Her father's lips moved after her, repeating the well-known texts as her words suggested them; it was terrible to see the patient struggling effort to obtain the resignation which he had not strength to take into his heart as a part of himself.

Margaret's fortitude nearly gave way as Dixon, with a slight motion of her hand, directed her notice to Nicholas Higgins and his daughter, standing a little aloof, but deeply attentive to the ceremonial. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had a bit of black stuff sewn round his hat—a mark of mourning which he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. But Mr. Hale saw nothing. He went on repeating to himself, mechanically as it were, all the funeral service as it was read by the officiating clergyman; he sighed twice or thrice when all was ended; and then, putting his hand on Margaret's arm, he mutely entreated to be led away, as if he were blind, and she his faithful guide.

Once outside the church, as the small crowd dispersed, Margaret left her father momentarily to go speak with Nicholas and Mary. As she accepted their condolences she spied Mr Thornton walk over to her father.

She watched their interaction nervously looking for any sign that Mr Thornton would choose that moment to continue his inquiries.

Margaret was reassured to observe that the exchange between her father and Mr Thornton was brief but convivial. There was every appearance of compassion and consolation in Mr Thornton's manner.

Embracing both Nicholas and Mary and promising to visit them soon, Margaret returned to her father. As she approached, Mr Thornton bowed and courteously offered his deepest sympathy and said that his mother and sister will include them in their prayers. With little more to say, he wished them both good day and headed towards the mill.

Margaret felt injured. Mr Thornton had been all politeness; but gone was the familiarity and ease that they had shared only a few nights ago. His manner had been formal and aloof.

Feeling decidedly more wretched than at any other point in her life, Margaret slowly walked her father home.