Frederick's presence in the house was a much-needed breath of fresh air. Aside from the joy they all felt at seeing one another after a long absence, he immediately set to making himself useful, his merry spirit infectious as he engaged his father in conversation and helped his sister with various tasks. He would hardly sit still, so eager was he to please his family whom he had not seen for so long. It was too late for him to see his mother the evening he arrived, but he spoke of his anticipated meeting with her with so much vigor, Margaret could not help feeling that his energy would somehow transfer to Mrs. Hale and make her well.
For her own part, Margaret was happy to find a sympathetic brother who only remembered, or professed to remember, the fond times they had shared so long ago in childhood. His solicitude and acts of kindness gave her much relief, and she looked forward to a lessening of her own burdens, as it was clear he was determined to take upon himself some of the cares she had carried. She could almost forget his danger in how happy he was to see them.
The next morning, however, brought back the old fears. Frederick's energy was tempered at the sight of his mother, and the change in him reminded Margaret that all was not well for them. While he sat quietly with Mrs. Hale for many hours, Margaret fretted over every strange and familiar noise. Dixon was true to her word and guarded the front door carefully, but Margaret worried perpetually that Frederick would still somehow be discovered.
Mrs. Hale was able to rouse herself a little when she awoke to find her son at her side. But it did not last long, frail and weak as she was. She said very little, and she smiled feebly. But at least she had this comfort; he was there, and she could depart the world knowing the man her child had become. This small consolation relieved much of her fidgetings for some time and gave Frederick a false hope that she could recover.
Margaret knew this hope well, but she also knew it could not be realized, which was confirmed to her by Dr. Donaldson when he made his visit.
"I am afraid, Miss Hale, that this state of tranquility will not endure for many days, nor even many hours. You will have to prepare yourself."
Margaret had already been prepared for many days, and she only squared her shoulders in response to his kindly instruction. The serenity and strength in her expression impressed to the good doctor once more of the remarkable young woman who carried this family. She thanked him for his visit and saw him out quietly.
Frederick had been concealed in his room during Dr. Donaldson's visit, and this precaution in conjunction with the doctor's words was enough to subdue all remaining cheer. Anxiety and fear combined with grief as the hours passed, as Mrs. Hale slowly became less and less sensible of her son's presence. Her family gathered around her as she slipped into unconsciousness, but she did not know it.
Before the next morning came, she was gone.
Frederick's collapse into anguish rivalled that of Mr. Hale's, so much so that any hopes Margaret had cherished of his help were done away instantly. Neither were to be consoled, which left her once again with the task of looking after her family. Thankfully Dixon had borne herself up tolerably, so Margaret was not entirely deserted in the wake of her mother's death, but even the faithful servant did not allow her much time to mourn. Dixon's kind words only reminded Margaret of her responsibilities and the arrangements to be made.
But how she longed for some time to give way to her own sorrow. Her father and brother were broken and allowed to remain in such a state, and she felt constricted by being forced to put her feelings aside. What good would even a half-hour's relief do for her! She yearned for such release, and it was now she wanted Mr. Thornton more than ever. His comforting strength and sympathy had been given to her so freely when she cried for Bessy; how much more did she need that strength now? He would not remind her of any duties, but let her weep; he would be the one to take on her burden of care. How she wanted him!
But he could not come to her now. With Frederick's arrival, she had been understandably diverted from her decision to confess her feelings to her father, occupied as she was by Frederick's presence and now by all the duties she had to perform. It would only be selfish of her to force her confession upon her father while he grieved, so there was no hope of being able to divulge their secret to Mr. Thornton. And the more time that passed from her desperate resolution, the more she lost her nerve. Perhaps to tell Mr. Thornton of Frederick would be foolish, after all. She had not given the idea enough thought. And now she was simply too busy to devote any time to the idea, to decide once and for all what was the right course to take.
In any case, no matter what she felt, she knew she had little right to distract her father, so they had to continue concealing her brother. Frederick's violent cries were hard enough to disguise from the next-door neighbors, who may hear him through the thin walls. If Mr. Thornton were to enter the house, it would be impossible to hide Frederick in his crazed state. Margaret must remain alone until he took hold of himself. No one could be allowed in the house until then.
Mr. Hale's grief was not loud or violent, but silent and withdrawn. Margaret made many attempts to speak to him about funeral arrangements, but he would only reply with a shake of his head. It was only as she was leaving the room that he muttered, "Mr. Bell . . . my groomsman . . . he will make arrangements." So writing to Mr. Bell was added to the business Margaret had to attend to.
It was not until the next day that Frederick was able to rouse himself at all. Margaret was relieved that he had recovered enough to at least want to be of use to her, but she was so worn and exhausted, she found she could care little. She had put herself through so much work and toil with little regard to her own melancholy in the last twenty-four hours, that his sympathetic attendance on her felt too late. But she would take advantage of his half-renewed energy so she could rest. Any sleep she had tried the previous night had done nothing to give her any refreshment, and she soon fell asleep on the sofa after he had persuaded her to put her feet up.
She did not know the time when Dixon shook her awake, but she imagined from the changing light in the drawing room that some hours had passed. And from the pinched and worried look on Dixon's face, she could tell that some fresh trouble had come to pass. She sat up instantly as Dixon apologized for disturbing her to see Frederick and her father sitting nearby, an air of tension and uneasiness pervading their bodies. She was quickly alert in response.
"What has happened?" she demanded, looking back and forth between them, but it was Dixon who replied.
"Forgive me, Miss, but as it is my own thoughtlessness that has betrayed us, I should be the one to tell you. Master Frederick cannot be allowed to stay here."
"What do you mean?" Fear gripped her swiftly and forcefully.
"When I was out today, I met a Helstone man; Leonards is his name –"
"Scoundrel!" Frederick interjected fiercely.
"That is true enough, Master Frederick, but let me finish." She turned back to Margaret. "He is as great a scamp as ever lived, and I could never abide him. But I was such a fool to see any old acquaintance from Helstone that I called out his name. And he knew me immediately."
"And does he know about the mutiny?" Margaret asked.
Frederick now responded. "He was on the Orion with me, Margaret. He ran off to sea at some time and plagued the rest of us as it seemed he plagued his own family. He was gone by the time of the mutiny, but he stayed long enough to know our indignation with the captain. He'd have been glad to curry favor with any of our enemies, and if he knew I was within twenty miles of him . . . well, he'd be more than happy to ferret me out to pay off old grudges."
Margaret was horrified that such a person so closely connected to and interested in the affair was near, but before she could speak her horror, Dixon took up the narrative again.
"And he said as much to me in our talk. We were getting quite savage, for all we were so civil, and that was my folly, trying to be even with him by mentioning his father, and sons who make their families blush. To spite me, he began to inquire after Master Frederick, and then had the nerve to suggest we go in partners to trap him! And all the while he was leering at me with that wicked smile in his ugly face."
"But you did not tell him anything about us, about Frederick's being here?"
"Not I. Never breathed a word. But Leonards being here in Milton is enough, and we don't want him poking his nose about."
"I wish I had met this Leonards," Frederick spoke savagely. "I should not have to be driven away before the funeral."
"You must go, though, Fred. It is very bad, but you must," Mr. Hale finally spoke, despondent and weak.
"Well, I've a good mind to face it out and stand trial. But who have I to hand to help? How am I to find witnesses and know how to defend my case?"
In an instant, Margaret felt a new idea come to her. "What about a lawyer? Have you thought about that?"
"What lawyer wouldn't just take me in to give me up?"
"I know a lawyer, Fred, one who is honorable. I can answer for that. And I know others in his profession have spoken highly of his cleverness. He would be willing to try for one of Aunt Shaw's relations. Mr. Henry Lennox; you remember him, Father?"
"It may be a good idea," he agreed, "but we must not keep Frederick in England." On this point he would dwell and not be moved, that his son must get away.
"Lennox – is that Edith's brother-in-law?" Frederick guessed.
"Yes. You could go to London tomorrow by the night train. You can sail just as well from there as from Liverpool. I will write a note to Mr. Lennox to vouch for you. You need not spend too much time there. It is a risk, but it is worth trying." Margaret was firm in her plan, and Frederick did not dare object to a scheme proposed in such a forceful manner.
"I think that would be all right. I can give him my story and a list of names that I can remember from the crew. If I can't stay to find witnesses out, I imagine he can. And I won't stay in London even twenty-four hours; I'll pick up some craft or other to take me off."
Mr. Hale still expressed his fears, as anxious as he was for Frederick's safety, but his children overrode him with their show of confidence. Margaret would need that confidence as she wrote to Henry. To begin a correspondence with him after so long and after their uncomfortable parting was awkward, but it must be done for Frederick's sake. It was just as well that Frederick stayed by her side as she wrote, because it forced her to be to-the-point and not linger too long in fretting over how she would express herself.
Once the note was finished, Frederick resumed some of his cheerfulness. Now that a plan had been made, he saw little use in being anxious until the time came to depart.
"You know, Margaret, while you were asleep I gave Dixon quite a fright. I heard a ring at the front door, so I was being a good boy and staying in my room. But I thought I'd stayed there long enough for whoever had come to complete their business, so I opened the door. But Dixon was in the hall and fairly kicked me right back in. I suppose the tradesman took longer than expected."
"It was Mr. Thornton," Mr. Hale spoke up. "Not a tradesman."
"Mr. Thornton!" Margaret exclaimed. "He was here?"
"Yes, he came to offer any assistance in his power. I was distressed to send him away so quickly, but I was afraid to let him stay. He inquired after you, Margaret, but I did not want to disturb you."
"Oh," Margaret deflated at this unwanted and unpleasant attention of her father's. So he had come! And she had missed him! How unfair it was, and how disappointing. "Well, if he comes again, I will be happy to see him."
"This Thornton has been an agreeable acquaintance?" Frederick asked.
"A very kind friend," Margaret replied quietly. She would not elaborate further; she was too disappointed at having not seen Mr. Thornton. She was having a difficult time already not giving in to her selfish thoughts rather than focusing on her family's needs. If she spoke more of him, she would not be able to stop herself from abandoning them in favor of seeking him out.
She was selfish enough, however, to realize that her purpose for Frederick's leaving was now two-fold: his safety and her ability to see Mr. Thornton at last.
Mr. Thornton was saddened by the news of Mrs. Hale's passing. He had not known her well, but he had been happy in her service, especially as it brought him closer to Margaret. How she must be suffering! And how his old friend must be enduring such a loss! His immediate desire was to go to them and offer whatever he could for their comfort. He was sure Margaret would be in need of help and strength, and he was more than ready to give her his own. She had been greatly affected at the death of her friend, but how much more bitter this loss must be to her. His heart was afflicted at the thought of all she must be bearing alone. He hated that business forced him to delay going to her; he hoped she would forgive his slow coming.
But then he came and she was not there to receive him. Mr. Hale spoke of her fatigue and his reluctance to wake her, and however much he understood the reason, he was still frustrated at not being allowed to see her. And then there was Mr. Hale's unaccountable behavior. Obviously his wife's death was a severe blow to him, but he seemed almost eager to be rid of Mr. Thornton, at such a time as this, when he must be in need of friends. As much as Mr. Hale had previously depended on him, that was now matched by a nervous melancholy that was very strange. He had even seemed relieved when Mr. Thornton did rise to leave; perhaps he preferred to be alone to grieve.
Such conduct still puzzled Mr. Thornton as he arrived at Outwood station the next evening. He was expecting a shipment and had to oversee arrangements to transport it from the train to the mill. All was in order and he was soon on his way back when the sight of a man and woman stopped him in his tracks. The man was a stranger to him, but he knew the woman's figure very well; indeed, she hardly ever left his thoughts.
They were standing very close to one another, hands locked together, in earnest conversation. He reached a hand to her cheek in a comforting gesture, a gesture that effectively set Mr. Thornton's blood boiling, a heat which only rose as she smiled faintly in response. Before he could try to make sense of the scene, she had thrown her arms around the man in a tight embrace. He nearly staggered at the sight. What could be meant by this? He hated what was unfolding before him, but he could not tear himself away.
Her head turned, and he realized she had seen him out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes widened as she pulled away from the man, clearly stricken at seeing who was observing them. Mr. Thornton did not care that the man followed suit to look at him; his gaze was fixed only on Margaret. But she would not come to him; she stayed exactly where she was. The shock and horror in her face were all the explanation he would receive. He could take no more and fled, hurtling away from the station, haunted by the pair he left behind. What torturous form of betrayal was this?
Margaret could find no words to describe her astonishment at seeing Mr. Thornton at the station. She had recognized a familiar figure as she hugged Frederick, and anxiety was what initially pulled her eyes to him. And he just stood there, rigid, across the platform, and she felt powerless to go to him, shocked as she was at his presence. Frederick had held her in place, as well. She could only look at Mr. Thornton, mystified, as she beheld the fury and pain in his eyes.
And then he was gone, and she lamented to herself that she had not confided in him when she first thought of it. He could not know what she was doing there or who Frederick was, and she had only herself to blame for the betrayal of his trust. How could she ever explain herself, now she had seen how angry he was?
"Who was that?" Frederick asked fearfully.
"Mr. Thornton." She had to remain calm for Fred's sake; he must not think Mr. Thornton was a danger to him.
"What a scowl he has! I thought you said he was a kind friend."
"He is; something has happened to vex him. Don't judge him too harshly." She felt tears prickle at her eyes in misery at what he must think, but she could not give in to them just yet, not until Frederick was safely away.
A moment later, though, she was frightened out of her threatening tears when a rough hand forcefully pushed her to one side and another man lumbered drunkenly into view. She stumbled and nearly fell to her knees as he grabbed at Frederick, saying in a gruesome manner, "Hale? Is that you? I thought I knew you."
His identity was clear; this brutal man pawing at and grabbing her brother must be Leonards! Margaret's fear was beyond anything she had yet experienced as Frederick wrestled him away and tripped him up, sending him falling down the platform stairs; all the while the train's engine was starting. As the train began to move, Margaret straightened herself enough to see Leonards stagger away and she pushed a dazed Frederick toward the train.
"Run, Fred! You must go now! Get on!"
He jumped into a carriage, and only had time to turn and say, "God bless you, Margaret!" before the train picked up speed and rushed past, leaving her alone on the platform.
She could hardly catch her breath as the great fear subsided. Getting Frederick away this evening had begun so simply and easily. She had hoped that her cares would lessen at his departure. Now she felt faint and sick, knowing her cares were far from over.