Richard had lost his bunny, and the endless squalling began to give Margaret a terrible headache. Owen, upset by his brother's distress had also begun to cry, but with help from Dixon had been quieted. Mary, back to work out of necessity hunted around the nursery, and when at last the screaming had been silenced, the toy found, Margaret called her into the parlor. The girl was looking strikingly pale these days, with dark rings under her brown eyes and lips stained to the lightest shade of peach. Since coming back to serve the Thornton's she seemed to be a markedly different person. The blush of youth seemed to have been sapped from her and her deportment had become staggered, her customary humming all but silenced as she went about her duties.
Eyeing her with motherly concern, Margaret told Mary to stoke the fire, a suspicion perhaps growing unwarranted in her mind. The girl curtsied and bent over, her shift tightening over her unusually full breasts, and as she did Margaret noticed the subtle tug of an apron upon the swell of a little, almost unnoticeable belly. Worry made Margaret herself pale and clutch her knitting a little harder white-fingered, imagining the worst but hoping that Mary had grown a little fat on gifts from friends and well-wishers.
As if feeling her mistresses eyes on her back, Mary turned and curtsied, agitated and frightened looking. When there was no comment from Margaret, she asked if there would be anything else, and Margaret dismissed her, allowing the girl to shuffle from the room at an almost indecent rate, the girl's hands balled tightly at her sides and countenance green. It was not a good sight, Margaret thought, and even less so with the trial so close. There had previously been no need for Mary's confession to take her relationship with James Slickson account as it had been rape, but if what Margaret had just seen would come to fruition there could be a question of bias. John always spoke candidly about bias, and likened it to the case of a greedy banker from London who would not witness for a purgery trial lest his own misdeeds be known. Until then, Margaret had not understood, believing that the pursuit of justice must be pure regardless of personal downfalls or hazards, but now she saw the fault in her thinking.
She would not tell John, the trial was still a fortnight away. Georgia Richards has also been convinced to testify, though a written confession was to be the only evidence on her behalf. She had not wished to return to Milton on account of the trauma she suffered and did not care to relive the nightmare that she had put behind her, just like her Given Name. Finding her, from what John explained had been exceedingly difficult as she had changed her handle on fear of being associated with the old case and her parents had since died. It was a stroke of genius on behalf of Slater that she had been thus located, though the details of his brilliance John could not divulge until after the trial. Georgia had no reason to purger herself in front of the court, and both John and Margaret were relieved in the news that she had appeared honest and forthcoming with her answers to both Slater and the constables.
It was now the business of bringing James Slickson back to town, and within the community an angry buzzing had begun. It happened first when Margaret went to chemist to pick out a salve for Richard's aching gums and had been met by a stern and put-upon Mrs. Dickson. Her elderly face was surprised and in the dim light from the many gas lamps she appeared almost waiflike in her black gown and white sash, a bonnet placed to cover her greying black hair.
"My dear," she said with a voice Margaret could not place, "I wonder at you. Why do you not send your maid to do chores at a time like this?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Dickson," Margaret bobbed her head, "I cannot guess why my maid would go to the chemist on such an easy errand as me myself might be permitted to undertake. It would be waste of useful labor, you would agree."
"Yes, I understand my dear," Mrs. Dickson replied twitchily, her lips pursing and relaxing as she glanced about the empty shop, "but with the trial, do you think you ought to be walking around here without your husband?"
"What?" Margaret asked stiffly, a burgeoning sense of dread filling her heart.
"Well I am merely saying…with the trial so soon…"
"Does that have bearing on my mobility?" Margaret replied rather testily. She regretted it immediately when Mrs. Dickson's bottom lip quivered and she afforded Margaret a look of doe eyed hurt.
"The Slickson's aren't happy, love," Mrs. Dickson elaborated, her eye catching on movement out the shop window that caused her to withdraw from Margaret and stand by the perfumes, "and there's been talk."
"What sort of talk, Mrs. Dickson?" Margaret asked with a much softer, placating tone. "Do you mean about my girl or the trial?"
"You," Mrs. Dickson said quickly, "we do not do this in Milton, my dear."
"Hold trials or commit crimes?" Margaret responded, her eyes narrowing.
"Accuse the Master's children, Margaret. It simply is not done and is in bad taste. When these things happen the servants are dismissed…"
"This happened before?" Margaret asked, disgusted.
"Of course! Men cannot keep themselves controlled. Liaisons with serving girls are as old as time." It was Mrs. Dickson's turn to be scornful. "I care for you my dear, I really do, but your southern ideals have not been well received here in Milton. As a friend I advise you to drop the girl and distance yourself from this. Already there is much damage done between the Masters and it would not do if ranks were broken with workers unsettled as they always are."
"So you would advise that I drop the girl who was the victim of a terrible crime? One with a death penalty? Would it have been different if she'd been murdered?"
"Well of course," Mrs. Dickson shrugged, "but there is no need to get testy with me, I am trying to help you."
"Thank you," Margaret replied, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle against her coat, "I will take your kind advice into consideration."
"Psht," Mrs. Dickson replied flapping a hand dismissively, "I do not care a fig for what you young folks get up to, but more people have dogs in this fight than you know. Just remember that."
Margaret, who had no reply for such a cryptic threat, turned about, payed for her goods and left the shop. She was just about through the casement when she ran into a large, solid figure who smelled of cotton and aftershave. With a cry of surprise, she looked up expecting to see John. Instead, however, was the lithe, handsome boy Sydney Hamper. What he was doing running to the chemist, Margaret could not guess, and before he recognized her he apologized profusely, his pale cheeks pink from embarrassment. When he saw who it was, however, his face hardened and he pushed past her without the slightest semblance of curtesy. He was in such a hurry to escape from her that he tipped off her bonnet, and she said angrily,
"Excuse me young man, but that was rather rude."
Sydney turned on his heel and pushed himself close to her, attempting to intimidate her with his height. With a snarl in his voice he replied, "Go to Hell Missus."
"Go to Hell indeed," Margaret puffed her chest, an angry little bird. "How dare you imagine that it the way to speak to a lady."
"I wouldn't speak to a lady like that, but you…" Margaret's eyes widened and she almost slapped him.
"I never," she shook her head, "you should be ashamed of yourself. Does your mother know you speak like this?"
"She hates you too," Sydney growled, "you stupid southern bitch."
Margaret was so shocked by Sydney's words that she found it impossible to reply. No one had ever spoken to her like that, and she floundered at the unnecessary swearing. Instead of a reply, she sent a ringing slap across his soft young face.
Shocked, and with an undeniable spark of rage, Sydney hissed, "you'll pay for this," and turned to walk into the shop. Just before he was inside, Margaret replied, just as venomously,
"As I hope you do for what was done to Georgia Richards and Mary Higgins." The door banged shut, and Margaret left the shop, walking along the high street and back home, her head ringing and fingers trembling. Dixon met her at the door, just about to go on an errand and Margaret stormed past her. Dixon followed, and the day's events were told in scathing detail until Dixon was left ruddy faced and clucking.
"Shall I call the Master then?" She asked when Margaret took a deep breath and regained a little of her composure.
"No, that will not be necessary," Margaret waved her off, "he has enough to worry about."
"Are you sure dear?" Dixon replied in a concerned voice, "You are too close to this case for it to end well. Stay out of sight until the trial and I will do your errands from now on."
"So I should run scared?" Margaret replied in a shrill cry, "the tyranny of my British countrymen have already driven Fred away—I for one will not bow."
"I understand," Dixon nodded grudgingly, "I just wish you would be careful."
Before Margaret could question her, Mary entered the room with a feather duster, keen on cleaning the ornaments and books surrounding them. When she realized they were arguing about her, their voices hushing as she entered the room, her face darkened and she shuffled out, leaving Margaret glaring at Dixon.
"See?" she whispered, "now she knows something happened, and because of your worrying! I am a grown woman. Little children do no scare me." Seeing that she could not convince her mistress, Dixon shrugged and waddled away leaving Margaret to read and play her small piano until dinner was ready, and John had arrived home from work. He seemed happy enough, and Margaret did not bother mentioning the disturbing events earlier that day for fear he would retaliate against the imprudent Sydney.
He did not ask her how her day had gone, but simply gave her a hello kiss and sat down, bags under his eyes and tired expression on his face. She noticed he had not gone to see the boys, and when questioned about his motives he shrugged it off as forgetting due to exhaustion. He was hiding something from her as well, and she did not press him. Dixon brought the boys down for supper, and the family ate in relative silence. When he was done, he politely waited for the others, kissed his boys goodnight, and sulked off upstairs. Dixon gave Margaret a knowing look and Margaret retuned it with eyes narrowed.
Assured the boys would be cared for, Margaret followed John and found him in their room, his head bent over something from his bedside table. Before she could ask what it was, John dropped it back into its hiding place and stood so she could not him sliding a key into his back pocket.
"What is it?" Margaret asked, attempting to peer around him.
"Nothing," John replied quickly, "just something I bought years ago. I did not think I would need it, and now I see I am correct."
"John, what is it?" Margaret repeated, hands on hips.
"Nothing, I promise Maggie," John moved away from the drawer and put his large hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with a stern expression that softened as he moved to kiss her. "Just come here, I've had a long day. I need my wife."
"This isn't over," Margaret said, half whispering as his lips ghosted over her neck. John chuckled, and she soon forgot to hound him. Whatever it was he would tell her when he was ready.
AN: Ok this story is coming to a close, and I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter, but it is all building, so keep reading if you dare! Suggestions welcome, I love a review, but basically just enjoy! Also thank you all so much for the story fave's/follows and reviews, all you guys make my day!