"Damn it, Slickson your boy attacked my maid! Can you not see the dishonor in that?"
"She stabbed him! She bloody stabbed him, he could have been killed!"
"But he wasn't, not even nearly! You heard Doc, it barely needed stitches! If anything my girl's the victim. What will I do with her now? She'll never marry here, unless I would be so cruel as to subject her to your brute of a son!"
"My boy is no brute!" Slickson retorted in a high, angry outrage, "That little bitch'd be more than lucky to end up with the likes of her! If she was lead on it was her fault. Perhaps you'd better remind your staff of their place, Thornton. You always did get too close to the help. I heard you made one the Master of Marlborough Mill… your mother would turn in her grave." Margaret could almost hear the snarl in his voice, and she leaned back from the door, her heart fluttering widely against her ribcage, disgust, anger and distress forming a black, hard lump that grew with each beat. Louis sat patiently by her feet, his head drawn low, whimpering.
"I cannot argue with you it seems," John sighed, "but I must beg you not to press charges, unless you want James' actions made public."
"That's blackmail!" Slickson bellowed.
"If I had to testify on a bible, Sir, I would be inclined to defend the truth. There can be no blackmail if there is no benefit in my silence. Everyone has heard, and when the trial breaks, they will know of both our disgraces. Would it not be safer to avoid a trial and drop the charges, so this becomes a mere rumor? My girl is gone in two months to school, and this will all disappear. Nicholas Higgins does not know, and I will not tell him. You have my word."
"Bah, what do I care for a simple layman," spat Slickson. There was a shuffle, and Margaret bolted to the parlor couch, pretending to be engulfed in her knitting.
"You haven't heard the last of this! I'll ruin you, John Thornton, see if I don't!" Slickson glared at Margaret as he caught sight of her, and said in a loud, blustering voice, "Tell your girl if she's pregnant to kill it. I'll have no bastard with my name."
"Leave my sight," Margaret stood, her face red with rage, "be gone with you, blackguard!" Louis drew back on his haunches and growled, his sharp white canines glinting in the light. Slickson, with one distainful glare at Louis, and then Margaret, narrowed his eyes and let himself out, the door shaking with the force of his slamming it. When he was gone, Margaret went to the study and found John sitting at his desk, hands knitted in his lap. He seemed oddly calm for the yelling match that had just occurred, and Margaret did not know how to proceed. She sensed in the air a feeling of profound unease, and followed her husband's eyes out the window and into the garden. To announce herself, she gave a little cough, hoping he would look at her.
He did, and his blue eyes fixed on hers, mouth set in a resolute line.
"I'll have to dismiss Mary," John said in a hollow voice, "if this comes out, it won't be just James Slickson who will be disgraced. We have to protect our name."
"But what of Nicholas?" Margaret gasped, "he'll find out somehow, and then what? Should we dismiss him as well?" A muscle jumped in John's jaw and he looked away from his wife.
"I don't know, but I suppose he'll leave. There will be no money for a wedding, at any rate, and he'll need to find work in another city. Nowhere will hire him as more than a layman here, and he deserves more."
"John, what are you saying? He is our oldest friend, you will not turn him away!" Margaret's voice was rising again, and she hated the shrill sound of it.
"I have no choice, Margaret!" John's voice rose with her own, and he frowned at her.
"Of course you do, you are the magistrate! We can help Mary!"
"It's too late for that," John snapped, "like I told Slickson, if this goes to trial there will be hell to pay. Both for us and Mary. This comes out, and she will never be respected here again. We will have to turn her out, or we will be slandered and our name dragged through the mud."
"It was not her fault!" Margaret cried, "She never did anything to deserve this, you can see this fact is true!"
"Then why did she accept his advances?" John shot back, rising from his seat, his back turned to Margaret. Louis, not sure who to go to, paced back and forth across the rug, an annoyance to Margaret, but ignored by John.
"She was young and foolish, John. I'm begging you, don't let this go to trial. It would kill Nicholas."
"It would kill us!" Shouted John, turning unexpectedly to his wife, "Do you know what this would do to us? How hard I've worked to build us out of my father's disgrace?"
"I would ask you not to yell at me," Margaret replied in a frosty monotone, "and I will not let an innocent girl's future be sacrificed for the sake so-called honor."
"So-called honor?" John's voice had dropped, but he was still angry, "don't ever say that, do you want our sons growing to believe the world is governed by…what, their feelings? Honor is hard to gain but easily lost, you would not know."
"Oh, really?" Margaret's eyebrows rose, "what about Fred, John?" What about our sufferings with him? Am I so innocent of the world?"
"Margaret…" John's face crumpled, but Margaret was still angry.
"Goodbye, John. I hope you enjoy your honor alone tonight. I'll be dining out." With that, Margaret swept from the room, her eyes stinging with tears as she fumbled with her bonnet ribbons and her gloves, half hoping John would fly from the room and to her side, begging her not to go. He did not, and she walked from their home to the old graveyard hill where she collapsed on a bench and covered her face in her hands, breathing heavily and willing herself not to cry. Louis loped off after her, and he laid down on her feet when she sat, licking her hands when they came down to pet him. The poor thing had never seen such a spectacle between his masters, and in his devotion to his mistress, he had followed her—just to ensure she was comforted and alright.
She and John had never quarreled in their married life, nor ever had a voice been raised in anger, and now, it seemed, something had broken, and there would be no place to settle, if not in the protection and comfort of their matrimony. It was not Mary's fault, Margaret thought with a bubble of sympathy, the poor child had been led astray by that cruel licentious young man, and now she was left to pay the debt for defending herself, rather than simply being able to retreat from him. She could not be pregnant from the encounter, Margaret prayed, for if she was, the only solution would be to marry him or expel the child to some new place, away from Milton and its family. As her mind raced thoughts began to roll out of control, and she made herself stop, taking a steadying breath into her handkerchief. At least Nicholas did not know the true nature of his daughter's encounter with James, and so in that little mercy there was comfort. If he did find out, Margaret shuddered to think of the retribution he would pay upon that smirking, arrogant youth.
Restless and in need of a diversion, Margaret trudged down the hill to Fanny's and was greeted by Napoleon's frantic barking and Fanny, still heavy with child, behind the butler.
"Ooh! Margaret! What a surprise! Do come in, Cook will make us lunch!" Margaret smiled weakly, and followed Fanny into the house. When Louis tried to enter, however, Fanny stopped him with her foot. "Margaret, he's dirty! He'll give Napoleon fleas!"
"Let him in Fanny. He's clean enough and he's frightened. John and I quarrelled."
"Oh no!" Fanny's foot retracted, and Louis took the opportunity to shoot past, sniffing Napoleon companionably.
When they were safely ensconced in the parlor, Fanny took Margaret's hand and fixed her large blue eyes on her sister-in-law.
"I don't want to talk about it," Margaret looked away, watching Napoleon hop and wiggle around Louis, who, with one glance from his mistress, settled at her feet, the frantic pug wagging his curly tail under Louis's nose.
Fanny opened her mouth the protest, but just then Samuel came tottering down the stairs, a bright smile on his little face, blond curls bobbing round his cheeks.
"Aunty!" He said, coming to sit with Margaret. Margaret picked him up and put him in her lap, smoothing his smock and kissing him.
"How are you, my dear?" Margaret asked him. Fanny gave shot her a decidedly "this is not over" look, and then turned her faux-smile on her son.
"I'm good," the little boy replied, then, distracted, "Poly, Poly, look, there's a new friend! Can I touch him, Aunty?"
"Yes of course," Margaret replied, letting the youngster slip down and onto the floor where Louis, who loved children, wagged his tail and licked the child's face.
"Nanny!" Fanny called, watching the child covered in one fat pug and a large gentle Louis, "take Sam to the garden with the dogs. Give Poly his ball and Louis some water." Her governess, who had come around the corner just in time to catch the instructions, nodded and scooped up the giggling child, dogs following behind him. Louis was reluctant to leave, by Margaret shoed him with a little nudge, and, in his pleasure, he trooped off after the little boy and his pug.
"So," Fanny said when they had disappeared, "what happened?"
"Nothing, just a small issue with our maid."
"Your maid? Oh yes, I heard about that." Fanny took a jam tart from the end table and was about to lift it to her lips.
"What did you hear?" Margaret snapped, scaring Fanny enough that she dropped the tart. It rolled onto the carpet, but landed jam-side up.
"My word! Now I am really intrigued! It was nothing, sister. All I heard was that your girl and the Slickson brat quarreled and she gave him a cut. Good riddance, he probably deserved it. It really makes him look bad, not her."
"Oh," Margaret still held her breath, "but nothing more? Nothing about her…her situation, or…anything?"
"No, of course not, why?" Fanny retrieved the tart and placed it gingerly on the edge of her serving dish, horrified by the carpet it had managed to collect.
"It's not a big thing, but Mary was accused of being…romantic with him, which has not been proven—," Margaret added hastily, "nor do I think it's likely, but Slickson was going to try to charge her for wounding, and John wanted to turn her out, as not to disgrace us."
"That's grave indeed," Fanny stopped being Fanny for a moment, and a very John-like frown knitted her brows. "Will it go to trial, do you think?"
"I hope not. But it caused a great commotion nevertheless and he shouted at me, Fanny. He's never done that before."
"He used to shout at me," Fanny mused, "but I only remember him once to Mother. I can't remember why… Anyways, he'll recover and apologize. He loves you terribly and once he sees how cross he's made you he'll come running to you and take you home."
"I don't think so," Margaret sighed, eyes prickling, "he was talking about honor and family, and so I told him he could have his honor, I was leaving."
"Oh no," Fanny drew her chin back, her breath making a whistling, "You shouldn't have said that."
"No? And why not Fanny? Haven't I had my share of troubles and losses of honor?"
"I know sister, but you must understand where we came from. John was never a man to lose face. It is the ultimate humiliation to him. When our father died, well I thought he wouldn't recover. It is a source of pride for him to have an orderly life, and if he does not manage well with chaos."
"I saw that today," Margaret crossed her arms, "but if he thinks he can talk to me like that he is mistaken. We were both too harsh but when I left he didn't even try to follow me!"
"He'll find you here," Fanny patted Margaret's hand. Sup with us, and by then word will come that you've arrived to me safely. He'll recover and apologize and you can go home."
"Can you be sure?"
"Just settle down, and we'll see." Fanny gave Margaret a small smile and offered her tea.
AN: Thank you so much for the reviews and favorite/ following love! R&R for more!