Fanny's prophecy that John would return for Margaret did not happen, and by the end of dinner she had barely touched the obnoxiously pink macaroons placed before her. She knew the boys would be well cared for by Dixon, but in her pride she would not allow herself to return, at least not until a sufficient time had passed. She would come home to tuck in the children and retire to her room, but she would not talk or engage with her husband until he apologized. Then she would forgive him wholly and he would kiss her goodnight. He would fix things, he was the town magistrate and if he could not, he would call someone who could, even if it was that horrible Mr. Slater from the nearby hamlet.
Fanny stood from the table, and with a worried expression helped Margaret into her coat when she declared that it was time to leave.
"I'm sorry Margaret. Should I have a word with him?"
"Heavens no, Fanny," Margaret shook her head, "I'll be alright."
"Alright," Fanny shrugged, "but if he's being horrible, come and visit me. Bring Dixon and the babies as well."
"Thank you, dearest," Margaret kissed her sister-in-law's cheek and accepted the ride home in the family coach, Louis curled up at her feet. Once at the border of their garden, Margaret paused and squinted through the high regular windows into the parlor. It was dark, but there was a light still flickering in the study and Margaret took ascended the steps with an apprehensive heart. She had forgiven John some minutes before, but had he forgiven her for her foolish outburst?
Inside, once she had stripped off her coat, hat and gloves, she hazarded a look in at John who, to her surprise, was asleep on the couch, a book on law resting unevenly on his stomach. He had one arm slung over his eyes and the other hung down, fingers barely grazing the carpet. He looked oddly innocent and young in the candlelight, the fine wrinkles relaxed against his forehead. His lovely hair was still smooth, but when he awoke he would have a funny little duck tail and Margaret padded to his side, tapped him, and blew out the candle.
"I left a light on for you," he murmured groggily.
"And I waited for you," Margaret replied wryly, "come to bed now, we'll talk about it later." Like a little mother, Margaret plucked the book from John's stomach, replaced it on the shelf and eyed him from the door. John rose slowly and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'll be up in a minute, just let me arrange a few things." Margaret nodded and went to their room where she slipped off her heavy petticoats and dressed for sleep, waiting in bed. Minutes turned into a half hour, and that turned into hours. When she was almost asleep, she decided to go down and see what John was doing, only to find him back at his desk, pen in hand.
"Come back to bed," Margaret begged him, "whatever it is, it can wait til morning."
"I just wrote a letter to Slickson," John replied with a flourishing finish. "Since the incident happened to a person of my personal employ, I was obligated to call for outside council and received word from Mr. Slater that, should charges be pressed, he would intervene on my behalf. I stayed up examining the texts, and I can see no reason to why Slickson would choose this course. It involves an inquiry, men to be chosen for the council, and then, if it goes any further, which it wouldn't, to be taken to the Court. If Mary wishes to place a counter-claim, then of course we will have trouble but for now I told Slickson of the inevitable course this investigation would take if he were to press charges, and of the detriment to both our families, but more to his."
"For his son, you mean?" Margaret asked, "And what of the others involved?"
"Yes, him and his friends. For Mary's sake I hope this will go no further, but for the sake of this town I hope they do. I have been watching the situation with that boy for some time now, and it seems there is a gang about, but no one will discuss it."
"You mean, this might have a connection to the Richards girl and the cult objects they found by the cemetery?" Margaret asked, recalling the case of young Georgia Richards who was found beaten and brutalized with a cat's head, Silver Star stuffed in its mouth, by cemetery. She had been so traumatized from the incident that her family had sheltered her from questioning and moved out of Milton. John had been furious that no culprit could be found, and for some time had put his affairs on hold to manage the incident and police, but since Georgia would not testify, they had nothing. She had, however, mentioned the name of James Slickson and Sydney Hamper, the supposed ringleaders of what they had begun to call a cult. The new names made sense, as Edward Burns was the Slickson footman and Kal Painter was the boy who delivered meat to the Master's houses, but what were they doing associating with two rich Master's sons, or the contrary? The girl, Vera Lawson, Mary's friend, was also a mystery. Did she know something about Mary's incident, or the brutalization of Georgia?
Now, with James implicated again, Margaret worried there would be a trial, and all the boys would be dragged up to testify, much to their parent's horror and the delight of the townspeople. A cult would be dreadful, and exciting, and Margaret feared a Byronic sort of craze might begin to swirl around the dashing, educated youths. Certainly if they did not seem perfect enough now, the air of mystery and secrecy would make the boys stars while their lackeys would likely be punished in their stead.
"The boys might have a great deal to do with the Georgia incident," John said after a pause, "but we have only two victims, and I cannot prosecute in this case. You remember how hard I fought for Georgia, dear? But now they moved away, and we would need to call her back to make a connection and she would need to be persuaded to testify. No, this will be very tricky, that is why I hesitated in contacting Mr. Slater." Margaret felt a rush of relief that her husband seemed to have forgotten their fight, but a sick premonition that this nasty business of the boys would not be resolved as easily as she had hoped.
"Mary will not testify," Margaret sighed, she does not want her father knowing what happened."
"Then we question her about the cult," John replied quickly, "but that will have to be decided by Mr. Slater."
"Why does it have to be him? He is the most indelicate man in the county," Margaret complained, "he will make Mary into a puddle, and that will only make it worse. Perhaps, if this goes any further, you should inform Nicholas of what happened. He will find out sooner or later, and it might be best if it comes from you."
"I am hoping it does not, Margaret," John shook his head, using her Christian name, a symbol of the severity of the situation, "but I suppose it would be the honorable thing. You must receive Mary's consent first however. She is his daughter, after all."
"Of course," Margaret agreed, "but oh dear, John, I don't like the way this seems to be headed."
"Nor I," John put one of his large hands on her shoulder. "But we'll see it through. Justice shall be served in Milton."
"I hope you're correct," Margaret replied, "when will Slater be here?"
"Upon my call," John said, "this letter will be delivered to Slickson posthaste and whether he chooses to press charges or not may make no difference now. What will is if Mary is willing to stand up for herself and Georgia Richards."
AN: Now I think we get into the meat! R&R!