Before entering the study, Margaret paused, her hand on the doorknob. She did not want to tremble before the police inspector, whatever his purpose in being there. Steeling herself, she opened the door, putting on her familiar composed look.
The inspector was almost daunted by that haughty expression. He was unused to such a lady, who was so controlled and gave no indication of curiosity or alarm. She said nothing, which was just as well for him, awkward as his business was.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but my duty obliges me to ask you a few plain questions. A man has died at the Infirmary, following a fall that took place at Outwood station on Thursday evening, the twenty-sixth. His name, we have discovered, was Leonards."
Leonards, dead! Would her troubles never cease? Margaret forced herself to remain calm.
"At the time, the fall did not seem of much consequence," the inspector continued. "The doctors determined that it was rendered fatal by a bad drinking habit and some internal complaint."
So Frederick could not be blamed for his death, at least, little as they had thought his tumble could kill him. Margaret breathed a little easier. But despite her resolve to be calm, she could not help tensing. No matter Frederick's blamelessness in the tragedy, she could not divulge his presence. She had promised her father, and what was more, she would not risk Frederick's safety while he could still be in the country. What might this inspector have the power to do if given such knowledge; how quickly could he inform associates in London to be on the search for Frederick Hale? She would not affirm that he had been at the station. The inspector had paused to observe her, but she only nodded and said, "Go on."
"There will have to be an inquest. There is some evidence that suggests that the scuffle that caused the fall was provoked by the man's drunken impertinence to a young lady, who was walking with the man who pushed him. There is some reason to believe that lady was you."
"I was not there," Margaret immediately replied. She had not thought that her identity would be investigated in the case! But if she was going to protect Frederick, she had to conceal herself, as well. Her expressionless face did its duty, while she struggled within to maintain it. "Frederick!" she thought. "What have I not sacrificed for you!"
The inspector hesitated before her impassive look. The evidence that brought him here was already vague enough. He had been directed to her door on the word of the station master who heard from a porter who had it from a grocer's assistant that the woman in question was Miss Hale. He had spoken in person to the assistant, who affirmed her identity, as her family dealt at his shop, but that chain could easily be broken. Leonards himself had been too tipsy and far-gone by the time he was taken to the Infirmary to give an accurate account of his fall. At times he had almost seemed sensible, which gave them enough cause to send for a magistrate, but by the time he arrived, it was too late. And her unflinching denial gave him more pause.
"I have your absolute denial that you were at the station?" he felt compelled by his duty to ask again.
A sharp pain went through Margaret at having to repeat the falsehood. "I was not there," she said firmly and decisively. She could not waver now.
He sighed. "I hope you will not think me impertinent, but I may have to summon you to appear on the inquest, to give an alibi. My witness may persist in deposing to your presence. It is unlikely, but I hope you will forgive the necessity; I must do my duty."
She merely bowed her head and directed him to the door. She did not trust herself to speak as she prayed that whoever had seen her would accept her denial. She did not know that the inspector's wishes tended in the same direction. She may be unaware of the possible scandal inherent in a well-bred lady appearing on an inquest, but he was all too aware. Dispute of identity was very awkward, and one did not like to doubt the word of a respectable young woman.
Margaret did not return to the drawing room after the inspector's departure. Feeling faint with worry, she sank into the nearest chair in the study, trying to recover her strength. What had she done? She hated the lie and the events that made it necessary. But she had lied to save Frederick. She could not regret that. She had gained him time by not giving him away. But how would she withstand another test of her story?
She did not know how long she sat there, but she did not move until distracted by Dixon, who had come to check on her after seeing Mr. Thornton out. She felt keenly the reminder that the inspector was not the only one misled by her. But at least Mr. Thornton did not know her conscious and deliberate lie. She could not bear the idea of sinking even further in his estimation.
He had stayed much longer than he intended to. Mr. Hale had entreated him to remain, and he felt that his company did some good for the poor man. But he wondered that Margaret did not return after so long. She had left so quickly, and his curiosity was piqued at what could have called her away. But as much as Mr. Hale clearly wished for his continued company, he had to return home, taking his leave regretfully but with a promise he would return soon.
He had not gone ten steps in the street when he was stopped by that same police inspector. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Thornton, but I wanted to speak with you."
Recognizing him, he replied, "Oh, Watson, isn't it? How do you do?"
"Well, sir, thank you, but it is on a matter of business I made bold to speak to you. I believe you were the magistrate who attended to take down the deposition of a man who died in the Infirmary last night."
"Yes, Leonards, wasn't it? A drunk, obviously, but met his death by violence." Watson nodded to affirm the information. "One of my mother's servants was engaged to him, I believe, and is in great distress. What about him?"
"Well, sir, his death is oddly mixed up with somebody in the house I saw you come out of – a Miss Hale."
Mr. Thornton turned to face him sharply, her name quickly removing any lethargic feelings about a case he had cared nothing about. What had she to do with it?
"I have a chain of evidence that links her to the gentleman who may have caused Leonard's death – the push at Outwood station, you see. But the young lady denies she was there at the time."
"Miss Hale denies she was there?" he repeated. Could it be . . . ? "What evening was this? What time?"
"About six o'clock, evening of Thursday the twenty-sixth."
He was silent. Here he was, a witness to her presence there, and he said nothing. Why would she have lied to a police inspector? He could not understand such an action; what was she hiding? What could have possessed her to put herself in such a tenuous position?
"There will be a coroner's inquest, and I've got a witness who's pretty positive he saw Miss Hale at the station, walking about with a gentleman around that time. I've just returned from seeing him and telling him of her denial, but he's still sure it's her. And seeing you come out of the very house, I thought if you were a friend of the family, you might . . . well, you understand the difficulty with dispute of identity."
How well did he understand. Margaret was in some danger. "And she denied being at the station!" he muttered more to himself than to Watson.
"Yes, sir, twice over, distinct as could be. But seeing you, I thought I might ask your advice, seeing as you were also the magistrate in the case."
He turned again to Watson, saying firmly, "You were quite right. Don't take any steps until you have seen me again. I will not delay you long."
Watson nodded and shook his hand before departing, and Mr. Thornton made his way quickly to the mill, his mind reeling. Once more his jealousy took hold as he thought of the falsehood Margaret had trapped herself in, all for the sake of some unworthy man who left her alone in a time of crisis. How much she was willing to risk for this stranger, even her noble and honest character!
But no, he stopped himself. He was trying to remember that she was not honest, was not noble. She would have trusted the truth to him if she were, if she remained true to the woman he once thought she was. But he had seen a glimpse of that sincere and virtuous woman only today. Was she still that woman? And if she was, why did she take such a risk by lying about Outwood station? Once more the thought occurred to him that she was in some peril, and the lie was a necessity for protection. But from what? And for whom?
"Margaret!" he cried within himself. "If only you have confided in me! If only you could have loved me! I would never have asked you to commit perjury or sacrifice your soul. Why could you not trust me?" Even his resentment would not suppress the certainty that she was in trouble, some danger that precipitated her falsehood, and he made his decision.
There should be no inquest. He would save her. He would keep her from public shame, no matter how she might despise him. He would prove his worth, a better worth than he felt, by protecting her.
Margaret was beginning to grow frantic with worry. Still no word from Frederick, and the inspector had not returned. For all she knew, he would turn up at midnight to demand an alibi she could not honestly give. Once more she kept her father ignorant of her trouble, and even Dixon did not know all of the particulars of the interview. Would this torment plague her throughout her life? Instead of coming and going, her troubles only heaped upon her, heavier and higher.
It was past nine o'clock when the door-bell rang, and she hurried to reach the door before Dixon, eager for some knowledge of her fate, whatever it may be. The inspector stood before her and she let him into the study, saying, "You are very late. Well?"
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I had other people to see and other business to conclude; otherwise I would have been here sooner. There will, after all, be no inquest in the Leonards case."
Margaret felt the weight on her lift. "So there is to be no further inquiry." She tried not to show her relief at this small mercy, but she was sure that a tiny hint of it escaped in the breathlessness of her reply.
"Yes, I've got Mr. Thornton's note about," he began searching through his pockets.
"Mr. Thornton!" She found it difficult not to cry out his name. "What has he to do with it?"
"He's a magistrate in the case and an acquaintance of mine. I told him of the difficulties," he said, handing her a folded piece of paper. She took it with a trembling hand, thunderstruck as she was at this latest revelation.
The note read: "There will be no inquest. Medical evidence not sufficient to justify it. Take no further steps. I will bear the responsibility."
Her voice faltered as she thanked the inspector, handing the note back to him. "You told Mr. Thornton that I was not there, at the station?" She was afraid to hear the answer, but she needed to know for certain.
"Of course, ma'am. I'm sorry to have troubled you. The witness was so positive; now he knows he was mistaken. He hopes he hasn't caused offense."
What cared she for this witness, whoever he was? The brief light she had beheld in the wake of the halted inquest was harshly extinguished by the knowledge of Mr. Thornton's involvement. Now he knew for sure of her iniquity. At least before it had only been the appearance of deceit, but now she was a proved liar in his eyes. She could have borne public shame, but not further abasement before him. She was so overcome by her disgrace that she forgot to be grateful that he had saved her.
Long after the inspector left and she had told Dixon that the matter had been resolved, she lay awake in her room, fighting the emptiness that threatened to consume her. He had just cause to feel nothing but contempt for her, he who had professed so sincerely and openly his love. It seemed so long ago that he had made his declaration, that she had assured him of her own feelings, and that they had stolen those delicious moments in each other's arms. Now she felt many years older, and there was nothing in her future to bring her any joy. Not now that he would most certainly not be in it.
Sleep came eventually, and she awoke late, her father having been conscious and concerned enough to give orders she not be disturbed. She barely heard a soft knock at the door and was surprised. Dixon hardly ever knocked, and when she did, it was a forceful boom immediately followed by her entrance. But this morning Margaret had to call out her permission for entry, and the door opened to reveal Mary Higgins instead of Dixon.
Margaret managed a smile in order to put her at ease. "Good morning, Mary."
Painfully shy, Mary was wary of speaking, and hurried through what she must say. "Miss Dixon was busy, but she asked me to give you this. Said it would do you good." She awkwardly stepped into the room and handed Margaret a letter. It took only a passing glance to see it was from Frederick, and Margaret was keen to read it, but for Mary's presence. She felt she must be alone to open the letter, and Mary had not moved. She clearly did not know what she was about outside the kitchen, and Margaret pitied her discomfort and put aside the letter briefly.
"Thank you, Mary. Tell me, how is Nicholas?"
Mary shuffled her feet as she answered. "Oh, he's been brought low again by news of Boucher. You would not know this, Miss, but Boucher was found dead yesterday – drowned."
Margaret's heart sank at such tragic news. "Oh, Mary, I'm sorry. How is Mrs. Boucher?"
"Not well, Miss. Neighbors find it likely she won't last too long now her husband's gone."
"What will become of the children?"
Mary only shrugged, seeming embarrassed at such a question, and Margaret assumed she had overstepped her bounds. She thanked Mary again and sent her on her way.
Alone again, she opened Frederick's letter. It was dated two days before, which made her look closer at the envelope. Sure enough, there was the mark, "Too Late," meaning some careless porter had forgotten to post it promptly. So Frederick had written when he promised! And he had been gone and safe yesterday when she felt herself forced into deceit. How cruel her life was turning out to be.
She read over Frederick's hasty words, remembering little about what he said about his meeting with Henry. She only cared for the lines that told her of his quick departure; indeed, he had written only a handful of minutes before the packet ship would sail. There was that comfort at least, and her father would be glad of it.
She allowed herself to smile fondly at Frederick's kind words about their having seen each other again. No matter the dreadful circumstances, to meet again after so many years had been a blessing. She lingered over the lines he wrote about their mother. "She was a good woman, and I'm glad I got to see her at the last. I will always thank you for that, Margaret, fulfilling her last wish and words."
Her brow furrowed. Yes, she had delivered Frederick to her mother, but as far as she was concerned, she had not fulfilled her mother's last wishes. Her actions following Mrs. Hale's passing had all been to the opposite effect her mother intended her to take. She had taken steps to ensure that she would avoid her happiness, rather than seek it out. Would her mother be glad, knowing her final counsel had been disregarded?
Margaret raised her head to the light streaming through the window, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. She had ignored her mother's words, but in that instant, she decided she would do so no more. She would no longer put off her happiness; she would dare the world and chase it somehow. No matter what her father wished or what Frederick urged, she would not remain silent. She had done so for too long already.
Yes, she would tell Mr. Thornton what she should have a week, two weeks, a lifetime ago. She would tell him everything about Frederick, she would explain what motivated her actions, and she would confess to him of all she felt. She did not dare hope that he could still love her, but she trusted that some day he would forgive her. She would live free from this guilt. She would have a clear conscience before him. Even if she could not enjoy happiness with him, she could at least be happy knowing she had told him the truth.