For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'

John Greenleaf Whittier

Margaret slept poorly that night.

She was awake at dawn's light and after dressing busied herself with household chores.

Dixon eyed her suspiciously. She had known Margaret all her life. She could tell the young Miss was upset, but dared not ask what had happened to bring about her melancholy mood. The older woman's intuition told her it was more than just the Mistress's passing.

Dixon tried to think of something to help Margaret feel better. 'I am off to the market this morning Miss.' Tilting her head to the side she spoke in a teasing tone - like Margaret was twelve rather than nearly twenty. 'Can I fetch a dainty to tempt you?

Margaret just shook her head in silence and continued on with the task at hand. Dixon decided to leave her to her thoughts.

Margaret stood in front of the looking glass in her mother's room staring at the dark circles that had formed beneath her eyes. Today she thought she looked twice her age.

As she moved away, the carpet bag containing some of her Mother's dresses caught her eye. Margaret considered it for only a second or two.

Feeling more enthusiasm than she had all day, Margaret gathered up the bag and decided she would visit the Higgins'.

As she rounded Frances Street, Margaret felt guilty that it had been so long since she had visited her friends. She realized that her last call had been the day Bessy died. Reproaching herself for her own self-centeredness she vowed to make a greater effort.

Approaching the door Margaret was surprised to hear the raucous laughter of small children. Deciding it must be coming from next door, she knocked.

Expecting to see Mary behind the door when it opened, Margaret was startled to see the rather grubby, but angelic face of a young boy.

'Hello,' said Margaret inquiringly. 'Who might you be?'

'Thomas, Miss,' he said brightly. He smiled a toothless grin, his front teeth having recently vacated his mouth. 'Are you here to see Mary?'

'Why yes I am,' said Margaret unable to help herself from returning his grin.

'Miss Margaret!' Mary appeared from behind the little boy.

Margaret embraced the girl who appeared weary from work. 'What is going on here Mary? Who are these children?'

Mary stepped out of the house telling Thomas to go back inside and mind the other children. Closing the door behind her Mary relayed the events of the past days. How John Boucher had been found in a stream and his wife had passed away only a few days later from a terrible illness. Margaret listened with a heavy heart. Those poor children were now orphans and if it weren't for the benevolence of Nicholas they would be in grave circumstances indeed.

'Father feels responsible,' said Mary thoughtfully.

'How so?' asked Margaret.

'It was the strike that drove Boucher mad. The trouble he caused at the mill. A man cannot recover his reputation after acting up like that. He died of despair'

'Still,' Margaret said shaking her head in disbelief, 'Mr Boucher made his own decisions. Nicholas is wrong if he thinks he is to blame.'

'It does not matter now anyway. It is done. The children are ours to care for. They have no one else. We are their family now.' Mary sighed in resignation then laughed halfheartedly at her own thoughts. 'Unless some rich relative that we didn't know about comes to collect them.'

Margaret could tell that Mary was trying to find humor in a very sad and difficult situation. The poor young woman was now effectively the mother of eight children with no experience of her own and only her wits to guide her.

'Oh Mary.' Margaret put her arm around Mary's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. 'Well, I guess we should not leave the children to their own devices for too long. Who knows what they might get up to inside. Tell me how I can be of help?'

Margaret left Mary before sundown, fatigued from the noise and crowded circumstance of Francis Street. The Boucher children, left motherless orphans, claimed what of Margaret's care she could bestow. She sympathised with their craving for affection. She understood their longing for their mother; yearning to be cradled in the arms of the one person who understands and loves you best.

As she walked, Margaret thought of poor Mary, burdened with eight children who were not her own. How was a young woman in those circumstances ever going to make a life of her own?

Mary's troubles, together with the bustle and commotion of the day had somehow succeeded in putting Margaret's own cares out of her mind. It felt good to be needed and responsibility for eight children certainly put life into perspective.

As she entered Crampton, taking off her hat and gloves, Margaret saw a note addressed to her on the shelf where the post usually sat waiting for her father. On closer inspection she realised it was written in a familiar hand.

'Is that you Margaret?' she heard Mr Hale say from the sitting room.

'Yes Papa.' Margaret called out, desperate to go to her room to read the note. 'I shan't be long Papa..I just need to wash up. I have been to see Mary Higgins. When I come back down I will have much to tell you.'

Margaret seized the letter, her hands visibly shaking in apprehension. Almost running upstairs, she tore it open as she headed for her room. Skipping ahead to the signature she impatiently confirmed her suspicion as to the identity of the author. Flopping on her bed she took a deep breath to steady herself enough to see the writing clearly.

Miss Hale

Please do not fear that this letter contains any further enquiries about Lieutenant Hale. I believe I found out everything I wanted to know when I visited you yesterday.

I have found in life that very few people do speak the exact truth. I confess that in many instances I have even given up hoping for it. But to suffer dishonesty from you, a person who I have at one time held in such high esteem as to be above all others, was more than even I could endure.

You cannot be at a loss as to what my intentions have been towards you. My previous actions have exposed the deepest yearnings of my heart. Even when you rejected me, I continued to hope that with time I could persuade you to love me. I thought you everything beautiful and superior to me. Your integrity and virtue were incomparable in my mind.

I have no right to resent you for not feeling more for me than you do. One cannot help whom they do or do not love. But I feel I have the right to question why I am so underserving of your trust that you should blatantly attempt to mislead me on such matters as I brought to your attention yesterday.

I have extended your family friendship, service and even charity. I have been patient. I have forgiven you, even when you were undeserving. I have born your criticism of me and worked to improve my character and opinions to please you. I believe I have done everything in my power to deserve your honesty and loyalty.

But perhaps your duplicity yesterday has revealed your true character? Perhaps you have only deceived me into believing you virtuous? Or have I deceived myself by closing my eyes to those things I do not want to see. I am uncertain.

But alas I can no longer close my heart to things I do not want to feel.

You may possibly wonder why I did not say this to you before. I am ashamed to admit that I was not master enough of my feelings to convey them with clarity. But they must be said, if only for the sake of reclaiming my own equanimity.

At present, believe me, your secret is safe with me. It is clear you wish to protect this man – whoever he is - and are willing to sacrifice the feelings of others in your pursuit of his security, no matter how unworthy he may be.

Indeed, I believe I am quite disinterested in his fate. A man who will so recklessly put his relative at risk is not worthy of my favor.

Let me reassure you Miss Hale that from this point on my own interest in you is simply that of a friend. Your father's friend. I see now we are nothing to each other. I hope this letter will make clear that any foolish passion on my part is entirely over.

I am most anxious to avoid any further discourse that may pain us both so you will oblige me by not visiting the Mill. In turn I will request your father comes to Marlborough Street to conduct my lessons so that I have no business at Crampton. I cannot, I suppose help it if we should meet by chance in the street.

I reassure you most fervently that I will not be renewing my addresses to you.

I wish you the best and hope you find happiness.

John Thornton

Margaret was glad the letter had ended there. She could no longer see the page for the tears that blurred her vision. Blinking them away she re-read his bitter words. "I see now we are nothing to each other….any foolish passion on my part is entirely over..I will not be renewing my addresses to you."

Margaret curled up, pain coursing through her chest, her stomach churning. This was all such a disaster. What cruel twist of fate had placed both Leonards and Frederick at the station that night? And why did Mr Thornton have to be the magistrate involved? But if he hadn't, would Frederick still have walked free?

Going over it in her head she tried to see what she could have done differently or how she could have prevented the events as they transpired.

How could she possibly repair the damage that had been done to her acquaintance with Mr Thornton? Could she tell him the truth? But until she heard that Frederick had reached Spain safely she knew she could not take the chance. And even if she could, would he listen to her now anyway?

He had loved her. The magnitude of that sentiment now shrouded her in misery. Margaret's own feelings towards Mr Thornton had always confused and disturbed her. Mostly because she had never really understood them. But right now, at this moment, they seemed astonishingly clear.

She had been a fool. She had thwarted her own happy ending with pride and deception.

Margaret lay tormented, overwhelmed with sadness and regret. Her anguish lay heavy on her heart and she found it difficult to breathe.

Oh the sad, heartbreaking irony of it all! So this is what it feels like? How was one to recover from an ache so profound?

To realise you love someone at the very same moment they stop loving you was almost too much to bear.