It was the day after the funeral that Margaret eventually felt the pain. As she laid three plates at the dinner table a dawning realisation hit her. Her mother was gone. Never to return.

Margaret slumped to the floor, uncertain by the way she was feeling if she would ever be able to get up again. The tears began to flow and would not abate. Her life without her beloved Mamma suddenly hung heavy in front of her. Never again would she hear her mother hum as she did her needlework. Or frown on Margaret for her outspokenness and 'modern' thinking. Nor would her mother be there to dress her on her wedding day or hold her grandchildren.

It was like the night they left her as a child to live with Aunt Shaw in Harley Street all over again. How she had cried bitterly, taken from the comfort of motherly and unconditional affection. Except there would be no summer in Helstone to look forward to. No joyous reunion in which Margaret could run into her mother's waiting arms and rest her head against her beating heart.

Margaret lay down and curled into a ball, the sobs now racking her body.

The numbness of grief had protected her during the dreadful long hours of her mother's illness. In many ways she had carried on like none of it was real, drifting between denial, hope and acceptance.

'Miss Margaret, what happened?' Dixon knelt beside the young woman. 'Oh Miss Margaret.' Helping Margaret to sit up, she pulled the young woman into her arms. 'There there now Miss. Shh. I know, I know. Shh.

Dixon rocked her as Margaret continued to cry. How long they sat like that she knew not. In time Margaret managed to pull herself up on to a chair and rest her head in her hands. 'Dixon, did she know how much I loved her?'

'Of course she did. Of course she did.' The servant lady sat down beside Margaret and held her hand.

'I don't know if she did. I have been selfish and preoccupied by my own thoughts. I should have dedicated more of my time to her Dixon. Instead I let you shoulder so much responsibility.' Margaret looked up red faced and puffy, wiping away her tears with her delicate fingers.

Dixon looked on with sympathy. 'She would want you to cherish your better memories of her. Not to dwell on the worst hours of her life. You have not failed her in any way. It is good to keep busy with other things in sad times. An idle mind is the devil's playground.' Dixon shook her head. 'This is just your grief talking.' Dixon patted Margaret's shoulders. 'These feelings will fade.'

Margaret cried again.

A few days later, Margaret decided she would pack up some of her mother's personal items. Dixon left her to it, understanding that this was an important part of Margaret saying good-bye.

Margaret handled each item like it was made of fragile glass. Touching the embroidered bodices of dresses, tracing the necklines with lace and tatted collars. Her mother's dresses she decided she would give to Mary and Mrs Boucher.

She folded the shawls neatly, putting aside the one that Margaret knew to be her Mother's favourite. She would give this to Dixon.

Mrs Hale had owned very little in the way of jewelry; a consequence of choosing a frugal life as the wife of a country parson. Margaret would keep some pieces of sentimental value for herself and make a gift of the rest to her brother's wife. Although not married yet, Frederick had spoken devotedly of a young woman in Spain. Margaret suspected it would not be long before they wed.

Finally she sorted through her mother's needlework. There were many unfinished pieces that she thought she would try to complete. Although not as gifted in this particular art as her mother had been, Margaret felt she would find comfort in the hours spent devoted to them. Knowing that she would be sharing this last pursuit with her mother…

As she was closing the door to her mother's room, Dixon blustered up the stairs. 'Miss Margaret you are wanted by that man, Mr Thornton. He is in the sitting room. '

Margaret's heart skipped a beat. She had not seen him since the funeral. Why had he come now – to see her? With each day she had begun to worry more about Fred. How she wished she knew if he had returned to Spain yet. What if Mr Thornton had news of Frederick's fate?

'Calm yourself Margaret,' she told herself. 'He is your father's friend. It is not peculiar that the man should call.'

Margaret straightened her dress and made her way down the stairs. Her hands trembled again as they opened the door. Mr Thornton was standing at the fireplace. As she entered he turned to look at her.

Margaret closed the door behind her. 'Mr Thornton. It is nice to see you.' Her calm voiced veiled the nervousness she was feeling. Her mind could not help casting back to another day he had called on her in this room.

Mr Thornton nodded. 'Miss Hale.'

Margaret sat down, gesturing to the tall gentleman that he too should take a seat. He did - across the room from her.

Feeling uncomfortable, Margaret offered him tea.

'No thank you.' Once again he spoke with a formal manner. 'I have not seen your father since the funeral. I merely came to enquire after your ..family.'

Margaret told herself to breathe. 'We are doing as well as can be expected, thank you Mr Thornton. ' She permitted herself a brief glance at him. He appeared agitated. She diverted her eyes again. 'I trust your mother and sister are well?'

'Yes. Yes, quite well. Thank you Miss Hale.' Mr Thornton stood up now and returned to his position at the fireplace. It was evident to Margaret that he had more serious things on his mind than his mother's health.

He paced to the window before turning. 'Miss Hale, I do not wish to seem insensitive to your family's loss, but I must speak with you regarding matters that have lately been brought to my attention. Matters that concern you and your father.'

Margaret felt the familiar dread wash over her but maintained her composure.

'Please understand that I only ask this out of a desire to ensure the safety and welfare of your family.'

Margaret did not meet his eyes and continued to look down as she nodded her permission.

'Miss Hale, can you tell me who it was that came to see you the morning after I dined with you?'

Margaret lifted her face and assembled all her strength. 'I'm sorry sir? I do not know what you mean?' Margaret hated this deceit. Mr Thornton deserved much better from her.

John fidgeted. 'An officer by the name of Lieutenant Hale came to Milton. He is a wanted by the navy for crimes I know not of. He was recognised by a witness who had sailed with him.'

'And you believe he is connected with my family?'

'Miss Hale…'

Margaret laughed nervously. 'The name resembles to be sure.'

John eyed her in frustration. He sighed. 'The night I dined here, you will recall I left to summon Dr Donaldson on behalf of your father. Afterwards when I returned to Marlborough Mill I was met at the gate by a police inspector. The fellow is well known to me. I obtained for him his first situation in the police. He was a packer in my warehouse before. Anyway, he presumed an association with your father having seen me once leaving this house. He asked that I would come and review the statements in the case. He thought that perhaps with my knowledge of your family he would be able to clear up the awkward business of disputed identity.'

John sat down again. When Margaret offered him no comment he continued. 'I interviewed the man identified as Hale myself.'

Margaret kept her eyes focused on a hole in the rug that had begun to fray with age.

'He said his name was Frederick Dickensen, and that he was in Milton to find work.'

'And you did not believe him Mr Thornton?'

'I had my reasons not to. The witness seemed pretty convinced.'

Margaret smiled disingenuously. 'I am surprised that you would take the word of a drunken sailor so faithfully Mr Thornton. I feel sorry for this Mr Dickensen.'

Mr Thornton's tone exposed his increasing irritation with her. 'It was not only that that raised doubts in me about the truth of Dickensen's story.'

'Oh?' said Margaret innocently.

'Though I wear the costume of a gentleman there are many tell tale signs that I have not been brought up in that class that would call themselves by that name. I am but a great rough fellow, with little grace or refinement about him. I have labored in my life and I have the callouses to prove it.' Mr Thornton got up to pace again. 'This man,' he smirked, 'was quite the reverse of myself, but no less deceitful in his appearances. He dressed in the garb of a farmhand but had the manners and education of a superior upbringing. There was no mistaking the tilt of his chin, and the demeanor of contemptuousness in which he held our smoky northern town.'

Margaret stood now and raised her eyes to him. 'I'm sorry Mr Thornton, but I still cannot see what this has to do with my father and I. Even if this poor man is accused of sharing our name, it does not make him connected with us?'

Mr Thornton moved closer to her and looked directly into her face. He seemed to be searching her face for the truth. 'There was one aspect which assured me I was not mistaken. I would have recognised them anywhere for I know them as well as my own.'

Margaret did not know how she could find the strength to continue this charade much longer if he continued to gaze at her as he was currently doing. His proximity was disarming.

'Once again you take me for a fool Margaret,' he whispered. His expression was unfathomable. He paused just then, before reverently saying, 'He had your eyes.'

A single tear rolled down Margaret's face and she looked away. She knew that he could no longer have any doubt as to the family's connection.

Mr Thornton stood for a time looking at her. But neither spoke. Eventually breaking his gaze he walked to the door. Before leaving the room he muttered as if to himself, 'I never said the witness was drunk.' With that he left.