Chapter Twenty-One

On Saturdays, the mill closed earlier than the rest of the week. It was still light outside as his workers passed through the heavy wrought iron gate where John stood, watching them leave. This could be the last time some of these people made the pass under the sign that read Marlborough Mills. He had no idea if all of his workers would return Monday morning, but thankfully, no one had accepted his invitation to leave immediately after the talk he had given that afternoon.

Williams tipped his head to John and wished him a good evening as he pulled the gates closed and locked them. They would meet again at church the following morning. The day had not been very productive. He arrived late because of utter exhaustion following the fire the night before. He had spent precious time begging his workers not to walk out on strike, and the rest of the day his mind had been fixated on Margaret. Was she awake? Had she looked out the window, looking for him? Did she hate him for putting her in harm's way? How would they deal with his brother's appearance in Milton?

It would be them dealing with her brother together. John would step down as magistrate if needed. Living through the last twenty-four hours of concern, he realized just how much he loved Margaret and wanted to protect her family. Protecting Milton was one thing but it did not bring him the contentment and happiness that being with Margaret did.

Because his mind was not on the mill that day, the only truly useful thing he had done was fixing the broken tooth on loom number seven. He was pleased when the cotton was ultimately emitted from the loom, that it was smooth and equally woven throughout all of the yardage. Number seven was one of the older machines and would need to be replaced within the next three years. He had already begun setting aside funds each month for the eventual purchase of three new machines. He had learned the hard way, early on, that extra income was not designed for frivolity, but rather to be reinvested in the mill to continue its success and growth.

He left the mill without looking back. He tried to do that as often as he could, allowing there to be a firm separation in his day from work to home. Living next to the mill, it was sometimes hard to break away, when there was often so much left to do. The work was never really done, even though the looms were silent. Tonight, he needed to be with Margaret. He prayed Mr. Hale had told Margaret that John wanted to see her this evening, that she did not hate him, and that no matter how bruised her face was, she would still spend time with him.

He walked through the front door of the mill house bringing a swift breeze with him. Jane greeted him at the door and accepted the overcoat he shrugged off, and his leather gloves.

"Good evening, Jane. How is Miss Hale faring?"

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton. Since this afternoon, she has been awake for much longer periods of time. She is still in pain, but claims it is not bad enough to continue to take the medication as often."

He smiled. "Thank you, Jane, for helping her. We are fortunate to have you working for us."

Jane flushed, nodded her thanks, and led the way up the stairs to the main landing. He needed to thank the people who worked for him more often. Perhaps if he was more intentional with his compliments, as he had done just now with Jane, and earlier with Louisa, his workers would appreciate being employed by him. He paid well, and if he treated them just as well, he prayed they would remain in his employ.

He and Jane split ways at the landing. The maid went toward the back of the house, while he stopped outside of the drawing room, looking for his mother. Instead, he found Fanny sitting at the piano, paging through sheets of music.

"Good evening, Fanny. Where is Mother?"

She glanced up momentarily before returning her attention to the music sheets. "With Margaret, I believe. Mr. Hale had to return home to greet their new maid. So, Mother went to sit with her, allowing Jane and the other maids, who have been doting on Margaret, to complete their duties."

He did not miss the bitterness in her voice. Was she actually jealous of Margaret getting attention? "Have you checked on Margaret?"

Fanny shook her head but failed to look up at him. "I could not."

He saw her visibly shudder. "Why?"

"John, her head and face are quite damaged. I saw her last night after the doctor arrived and I do not believe I could stomach such a sight again."

"Fanny, is she not your friend?"

"Yes, I believe so." She nodded, finally looking up at him.

"Friends should not care about appearances, especially when you know very well how she became injured. You must learn to accept others as they are." He moved closer to the piano and lowered his voice. "Surely you must realize my intention is to wed Margaret. To have you shun her, because she was injured saving me is a rather… selfish choice."

"But, John…"

He shook his head. "There are no buts. I expect she will soon be your sister. I cannot fathom how you care so little for someone I care for so much."

He left the room, hoping she considered his words. She would not. She was selfish and spoiled, likely his own fault. He worked to make her life easier than he had growing up, following their father's suicide.

As he had earlier when he awoke that morning, he rested his ear against the door where Margaret was staying. Margaret's room. He heard his mother's voice and it sounded she might be reading to Margaret. He rapped softly, hoping that he would be admitted without much fuss.

He heard footsteps coming to the door. His mother opened it a crack and looked through it.

"She is uncomfortable seeing you."

He sighed, expecting some such nonsense. "Mother, do plead my case? I just want to speak with her. That is the only way I will feel certain she is healing."

All at the same moment, she frowned, sighed, and nodded before closing the door in his face. He heard talking, and then the sound of furniture being dragged across the floor. Why would they need to rearrange the room for him to visit with Margaret? He grew almost curious enough to peek inside the door, but footsteps quickly came back and his mother opened it.

"She wants to speak with you, but only if you promise not to look at her. We have turned her chair so her back will be toward you and placed a chair nearby for you to be close enough to talk."

As soon as his mother stepped aside, he walked in the dimly lit room. "Margaret, do not be worried. I just wish to spend some time with you."

"Please, John, I truly do not wish you to see my face. Perhaps in a few days, my appearance will improve, but today… please just no."

He sighed. "You must know your beauty has nothing to do with your outward appearance."

He heard his mother tsk with her tongue. How could he woo his lady with his mother in the room?

"I thank you for that reassurance. Please respect my wishes?"

"Yes, of course. May I simply sit behind you? I will promise not to look at you." Even though he so much wanted to. Not to see the injury but just to see her beautiful eyes and make her smile.

"Yes," she said. "I am getting sleepy, but I did fight to stay awake until you finished at the mill. Papa said you wished to talk with me, and well… I wanted to be with you, too."

"That makes me happier than you can even imagine. All day, I worried you would not want to ever see me again. I feel very guilty, Margaret. You took the punishment that was intended for me, and I could not even catch you quickly enough to avoid your arm being broken."

"It all happened so quickly." She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. "I did not even think, I simply acted. I was very impulsive as a child. My mother would always scold me for acting without thinking first, but if I had not reacted, you could have been hurt even worse than me."

He sighed, frustrated that she did not realize just how bad he felt. "Oh, Margaret, it would have been so much better if it had been me injured rather than you."

She chuckled and then cringed. "Ow, that hurt my head." She rubbed the back of her head with her left hand. He caught himself before he reached forward to rub her neck. If his mother had not been in the room, he likely would have. "Far more people rely on your good health than upon mine."

She was making a place for herself in Milton and would be missed if anything happened to her. He decided to remind her of all that she accomplished in the city.

"What about the food baskets you make each week? And, what of your visits to Bessie and Mrs. Penrod and the old hag lady that gives you herbs? Do not underestimate yourself. You have become very important to many people in Milton." He dropped his voice low so his mother did not hear. "Especially to me, love."

"Thank you," she whispered back. "You are very important to me also." He heard her swallow. "Did…did Papa tell you I saw Frederick?"

He paused. She needed to know, even in her condition, what the consequences could be for her brother. He did not wish to ever keep secrets from her, and in this instance, it could harm her, if she did not know. Would her brother kill her, to save himself?

"Yes. I have not yet told Mother."

"Ah. Thank you for that. I believe the fewer people who know the better. However, John, please know I do trust your mother."

"You certainly can. She will not tell anyone, not even Fanny, perhaps, especially Fanny!" He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and allowed his clasped hands to dangle between his knees. "As much as I do not wish to, I must call upon you to visit the jail. As far as I know, you are the only one who saw him."

"Papa said I might have to, but oh John," she breathed, "I do not think I could do that."

"But, Margaret, you…"

She interrupted him. "I cannot go in public looking as I do."

He expected her to say she could not go because it was her brother whom they were hunting, or perhaps even that she did not want to be exposed to the criminals at the jail. Both of those reasons were quite legitimate. It surprised him that her hesitation was related to her injury and her facial damage.

"We will only go to the jail. I am certain my mother could create a veil or face covering of some sort to cover that side of your face." He smiled, even though she could not see it. "Is there someone locked up whom you might wish to impress with your beautiful blue eyes?"

He laughed when she snorted.

"I do hope you are teasing."

"I am," he agreed. "It is a great loss to me that I cannot see your eyes. However, I will respect your wishes." He shifted on the hard-backed chair. "We will make the trip as quickly as you can be ready. We cannot hold those men forever, and I expect the judge will see most of them Monday morning. I suggest that after services tomorrow, I return here to pick you up and we will go together."

"Have I no choice?"

He paused, wanting to word his answer as gently as possible. "You do have a choice. Of course, you do. Margaret, I will never, ever force you to do anything which you are unwilling to do, unless it must be done for your own well-being." He sighed. "I do not wish to find your brother among those who were rounded up last night. Goodness, was that only last night?" He rubbed a hand over his face, more tired than he has been in a long time. "It seems like much longer than a day has passed since this attack happened."

"Yes, it does. Of course, I have slept most of the time since it happened. Is the building completely gone?"

"The top two floors have crumbled and are burned out. The first floor is unstable. The ceiling will likely collapse when we have the next rain." He shook his head. "The whole thing is quite unbelievable. One minute we are watching a ridiculous pantomime, the next we were forced running for our lives to avoid arsonists."

Several moments of time passed before Margaret spoke again. He decided she must be pondering the jail visit. He had been there the night before. Conditions were never sterile or even remotely clean, but in the dark, filled with dozens of sweaty, angry men, it was more than disgusting. He would have to tour the cells first, before allowing her to pass through. No one would further injure his Margaret.

"If you feel it is the only choice, I shall go with you tomorrow. Oh, John, I am so frightened that I may come face to face with my brother. I do not know if I could live with the knowledge that it was my identification of him which will mean the end of his life."

With the thought of comforting her, he reached out his hand and placed it softly on her shoulder. She had to know that no matter what happened, none of this was her fault. A person did not choose who they were born to, and just as John had no control over his father's foolish actions, she had no sway or input in what Frederick had done, either.

"It was his actions, not yours, or your father's. It would have been so much easier if he had simply stayed in Spain. It is not as if he came to England to see your family. He hid out here, in Milton, instead." He paused. "What if you and your family had not relocated? You would still think he was in Spain."

"Oh John, how I wish he had!"

"Perhaps, it will make you feel a bit better to know that he is not employed by me? All my workers were accounted for this morning." He had already known after his visit to the jail that none of his employees were being held there.

"I am glad of that. Yet, if he did work for you, he would not have been on New Street last night. Oh! How could I forget? What of the strike?"

In her excitement, she almost turned completely around face him. She caught herself just before he caught sight of the injured side of her face. Slowly, she cautiously turned back around, looking away from him again.

"You have been healing, love, I would not expect you to worry about me and the mill at all. You must concentrate upon getting well."

"Please, John?" she asked. "I need something else to think about rather than what happened last night."

"Alright." He did not want to burden her with this, but he did want her to share his life, so this was something he should share with her. "My mother, Mr. Williams, and I addressed the workers just after the mid-day bell. I thanked them for not getting caught up in the fervor on New Street last night. As for a possible strike, I reminded them that I already pay far better wages than the other mills and I guaranteed that if they decided to withhold their labor, I would find replacements. Once they quit, they would not be welcomed back."

"Oh, my. How did they react?"

"No one said a word. There was no grumbling or irritation."

"It appears you were quite firm and forthright with your people. I suppose you shall not know the consequences until Monday?"

"Yes, that is true," he agreed. "I did offer them a choice to leave right then and there. If they intended to strike on Monday, I suggested they just leave today, so I could find workers to immediately replace them. No one accepted my suggestion."

"That sounds promising." She turned her face slightly his way again, giving him a sliver of a glimpse of a smile.

"I thought so, also. After the talk, I had to fix a loom and then the rest of the day proceeded quite normally." He leaned quite close to the back of her head. "I must admit I did look up at this window the few times I was called into the courtyard. I hope you rested well today."

"Yes, I have. Your mother and the maids, especially Jane have been quite helpful. It will take some time to remember my right arm is useless, and learn how to use my left for several weeks."

"Oh Margaret—"

"Shhh," she interrupted. "I am not blaming you. I am young and will heal quickly. Or, that is what Dr. Donaldson has convinced me. He came to see me again today."

"Is the medicine helping?"

"Yes, but it does make me very sleepy. I imagine that is part of the purpose of this medicine. If I cannot move because I am sleeping, I will heal more quickly."

He chuckled softly. "That sounds about right. Do you need anything? Shall I send for your father?"

"Oh, no. Papa is at home helping Mrs. Penrod settle in. Yesterday was horrible for him. First Mama left and then I was injured. He is no longer a young man, John. I asked him to stay home and relax. Your mother refuses to allow me to leave yet, so I will impose upon your hospitality a bit longer."

At that moment, he wanted to ask her to stay with him forever, to make the mill house her home… with him. He could not do that though, not with the mill in a precarious position and her injured as she was. But soon, very soon, he would make an offer, and pray she accepted it.

"I see you are yawning. Shall I fetch you some medication so you can return to bed? Shall I help you back into bed?"

She laughed. "You are being far too kind, dear sir. I will sit up a few more moments. Jane will be here shortly with some tea to help me sleep, and I will swallow two spoonsful of dreadful-tasting medicine and fall fast asleep." She held out her left hand to him and he squeezed it. "I am so very glad we were able to talk this evening, even for such a short time."

"I am thrilled to spend any time with you. When I brought you here, I was so very…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I do not wish to think of losing you ever again, love."

"I will do my best to remain breathing, at least as long as you do."

When Jane entered a few minutes later, John stood to take his leave. If the maid and his mother had not been in the room, he would have kissed her—gently—on her head. But instead, he kissed her hand before reluctantly letting go. He bid her and his mother good night, before he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Margaret awoke in the middle of the night. At least it seemed as if it was the middle of the night. After John left her, Margaret had given in to Mrs. Thornton's insistence that she take the laudanum. It made her feel lightheaded and foggy, but it was the only thing that seemed to take away the pain.

She turned her head just slightly and saw Mrs. Thornton sitting in a chair, next to a lit lamp, knitting. It was too dark in the room to stitch or read, but she could obviously knit without the need for a bright light. Margaret cleared her throat. She needed water and more medication, and Mrs. Thornton needed to go and get sleep herself.

Margaret had not expected the woman to stay awake and watch over her, but her heart was touched by the consideration the older woman was showing her. The knitting needles stalled at the sound of her cough, and Mrs. Thornton smiled at her.

"How are you feeling, dear?" She stood, and unlike both of her parents, there was no creak or crack in her bones as she walked to the bed.

"My head is bad, Mrs. Thornton." Tears were thick in her eyes. "I should not be afraid, but I am. I have never had this sort of pain before."

Mrs. Thornton sat with gentle care on the side of the bed. Tenderly, she pushed a lock of Margaret's hair from her forehead and settled it behind her ear.

"There is no need to be afraid," she soothed. "Dr. Donaldson said it would take quite a few days for you to heal and feel like yourself again. I wish your mother could be here with you. Would you like me to send for your father?"

The tears fell from her eyes, and Mrs. Thornton dabbed them clear with her handkerchief. She softly caressed Margaret's cheek and murmured soothing words. Margaret closed her eyes and imagined it was Aunt Shaw soothing her fears. Margaret had never been coddled by her aunt, yet, when she was scared or ill, Aunt Shaw was always there to soothe her worries.

"Do not disturb my father," Margaret whispered. "He has enough worries."

"For a lass so young, it seems you have been forced to take on the burdens of your family. Your parents rely quite heavily on you, do they not?"

"Yes. However, now that Mama is with her sister, I expect Aunt Shaw will accept some of the weight from my shoulders. I just pray my mother improves and can be reunited with my father."

"Will your father remove to London if she is… unable to return?"

"I cannot think that far ahead." Right now, Margaret was just trying to get through each moment of the pain.

"I understand. Are you comfortable?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Thornton I could not ask for anything more than the kindness you have provided to me." More tears dripped from her eyes. "I just am in so much pain."

She rose so gracefully, so poised. Margaret was very impressed by this woman and oh, so thankful she was offering her the kindness she was. The tears continued to fall, but not as heavy. Mrs. Thornton fetched the bottles next to the chair where she had been knitting. Holding a silver spoon and the small brown bottle, she came back to the bed.

"Can you sit up just a bit?"

Margaret leaned up on her left elbow and after Mrs. Thornton had spooned the medicine up she opened her mouth t accept the vile tasting fluid. She gave her a second dose, something Margaret should have agreed to before she went to sleep. The pain had not been horrible then, but it was now. She put the medicine back on the table and rejoined Margaret on the edge of the bed.

"Few people would call me kind, Margaret, but you have earned my admiration and respect for the many things you have done since your arrival in Milton." She continued caressing her cheek. "I am not an especially tender hearted person, you see. At first, when your family arrived, I worried you were chasing a husband and saw John as a perfect target. I learned rather quickly how badly I misjudged you. I am especially indebted to you for the joy you bring to my son. He is so very happy in your company. Despite his tough, often gruff exterior, I believe there is still a scared and uncertain little boy inside. You have made it through his outer wall of defense, and something within you has soothed whatever fear he still carries in his heart. He seems to stand a little straighter, and look more confident when you are near. I expect he worries one day he may turn out as his father. My husband was weak and could not overcome financial errors. I believe John worries he too will fail, should he encounter equally difficult times."

She sighed, uncertain what to say. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her heart so the beating in her head might cease as well.

"I do know about your husband Mrs. Thornton. I did not know, however, that John harbored any insecurities related to his death. John is one of the strongest, most confident men I have ever met. No one in my experience can compare."

"I was very proud of him this afternoon addressing his people." Mrs. Thronton rested a soft hand on her swollen cheek. "He will need a strong woman by his side, someone who can ease his burdens. I have accepted that position since he became the master of Marlborough Mills, but he must marry and I believe you are made of stern stuff, despite your fancy and pampered upbringing."

Margaret opened her eyes and smiled. "There has certainly been no pampering here in Milton. That is until I was almost killed."

"Let us not have something like this happen again," Mrs. Thornton said, returning her smile. "Would you like some water or anything to eat?"

Margaret closed her eyes on a sigh. "No, thank you. I do have one request though."

"Oh? Well, John asked that I do whatever I can to make you comfortable. Thus far, you have been a perfect patient."

Margaret smiled. "I would like you to go to bed, Mrs. Thornton. I will be fine now for the rest of the night. And, when you go to church in the morning, please pray for my parents."

"I should not leave you alone," she answered.

"There is nothing else you can do for me tonight." Her eyes remained closed. "You have helped calm my fears. I think my worries are strong simply because I am in a new place, and in pain. I will be fine now until the morning."

"You are certain?"

"I am. In fact, I will be much more relieved to know you are getting sleep instead of watching me sleep." She shifted slightly, allowing the pillow to accept more weight off her neck.

Mrs. Thornton fussed with the blankets, pulling them close to her chin, over her shoulder. Margaret opened her eyes, touched by the tender look the older woman was giving her. She swallowed back more tears. She was an adult. She did not need her father. She trusted in this woman and in John to keep her safe and help her heal.

The following day, just as Jane had finished helping Margaret dress in her favorite, short sleeved blue gown, sent over by her father, another maid came to the door to announce the arrival of Mrs. Donaldson.

"She is wanting to see you, Miss Hale. I know Mrs. Thornton said no visitors, but seeing as she's the doctor's wife and all, I thought she might be here to help you."

"I would be pleased to see her."

The maid bobbed her head and left them, likely off to bring Mrs. Donaldson upstairs.

Dressing had been a horrible torture. It took an exceptionally long time, and even though they were able to keep her arm stable and move it in such a way to get through the armhole, I hurt something fierce. In fact, she thought she was about to faint twice from the pain, and they had to take a few moments to allow her to catch her breath and regain her bearings. While Margaret was seated, Jane helped pull up her stockings and fasten her walking boots.

Short sleeves were certainly not appropriate for the end of November in northern Britain, but she would be wearing clothing without sleeves until her arm could be removed from the heavy wrapping and sling. When she had to leave home, she could place her woolen cloak over her shoulders to stay warm. When she finally was home again, she would simply wrap up in a blanket to stay warm.

Now, Margaret was seated in the same chair she had the night before when she and John had spoken. Her hair was pulled back, but the way it was pinned, it did not cause pain to the right side of her head. She was not uncomfortable; except she knew her face was wholly exposed.

Mrs. Donaldson came into the room as she did everything, with a flourish and a smile. It hurt for Margaret to smile, so he tipped up just the left corner of her lips.

"Oh, my dear, dear girl! Your face looks so painful! What a horrible injury." Her eyes were gentle as they studied her face, but it was clear she was upset by what she saw. "I wish I could hug you and take all the pain away. I used to tell my own children the same."

Mrs. Donaldson sat where John had the night before.

"I wish it were that easy. I would be hugging everyone." She laughed and then moaned, forgetting how it hurt to laugh.

"What can I do for you, my dear? Are you hungry? Do you need more medicine? My husband wanted me to ask if you need more medicine."

Mrs. Donaldson was making Margaret's head spin. She knew the older woman meant well, but the exuberance was overwhelming.

Margaret cleared her throat. "No. I believe there is enough medicine at present. I slept almost the whole day away yesterday and just awoke a short time ago. Mr. Thornton needs me to go to the jail and see if I might identify the man who struck me."

Her eyes widened. "And you are you going?"

"I am. He said it is important."

"Oh my. I have never visited the jail before. I hope Mr. Thornton is certain this must be done."

Margaret chuckled and then moaned. "He will keep me safe. He said it would not take very long. Either I will see the man or I will not."

"Did you see him clearly on Friday night?"

Margaret nodded. "I did. At least I think I did."

"You must remember the details of your afternoon and tell me about it when we next visit. This week are to meet at the Latimer's house for stitching. It is such a shame it is your right arm that was damaged and you cannot stitch. You should still come and visit."

"I cannot, Mrs. Donaldson. Look at my face is so swollen and puffy. Even if I wait until Thursday, I am certain I will still be very bruised."

"No one will judge you. Everyone in our group was there Friday evening. You were spoken about after services today and everyone knows you were injured. By Thursday your face could be all different colors. Shades of purple, and black and yellow."

"And that is a good thing?"

"Unique perhaps." Mrs. Donaldson laughed. "Rather like a painting."

Margaret did laugh at that. "Was my father at church?"

"He was. Many people were asking him and the Thorntons about your condition."

It was inevitable, she supposed, that she would be the talk of Milton. What would people think about her staying at the Thornton's home? They knew she had attended the party with John, but now that she thought about it, he should have taken her home instead of to the mill house. Oh, what did it matter now?

"Did the baskets get done?"

"Yes." Mrs. Donaldson smiled and reached forward to take her left hand. "I must tell you, however, that your friend Bessy is not doing well. Her father was not at the riot on Friday, but rumor has it, he is one of the instigators of the call to strike at the mills beginning tomorrow."

"Oh, dear."

"I visited Bessy yesterday because I was too busy getting the club ready for the party to see her on the normal day. Mr. Higgins says all she is doing now is sleeping. She has stopped eating and when she is awake, she is praying for death." Mrs. Donaldson's squeezed Margaret's hand. "I should not have been so blunt, my dear. I am sorry."

Margaret started crying again. She was just one big watering pot since Friday night.

"Do you believe she is in pain?"

"No. It is just her breathing. The cotton that filled her lungs," Mrs. Donaldson made a circular motion over her chest, "is now so tangled and congested with fluids she cannot catch her breath. Soon pneumonia will overtake her and she will pass peacefully in her sleep."

Tears dripped from Margaret's eyes. It was sad, too sad that her friend, a woman just her age, was dying from an illness that could have been prevented if she had worked somewhere other than the mill. Mrs. Donaldson handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes.

"Should I not have told you?" Mrs. Donaldson asked.

"I am glad you told me. I would not be able to see her this week because of my head and arm. It would have been worse had I shown up at her home in a few weeks, and learned that she had already passed. Do you think… could you take something to her for me?"

"I would be glad to."

"I do not even know what I could give her. Perhaps… perhaps could you take some yellow roses to her? Some that are similar to the ones which were on the tables Friday night? She was so excited for me to go to the party. Oh!" Margaret glanced around the room, looking for her fancy dress. When she found it, she pointed. "The fabric cut from my dress to remove my arm from the sleeve should still be with the rest of the dress. Could you see, please?"

Mrs. Donaldson stood and walked to the chair where Margaret's dress had temporarily been hung. She lifted the dress. "You looked so very lovely in this gown. I do hope you can salvage it for another time."

"I will try, but it may be a while."

"Ah, do you mean this?" Smiling, Mrs. Donaldson held up some fabric that had once been part of a sleeve.

"Yes. Could you fashion that into some sort of holder for the roses? I will pay you of course for the flowers."

"Nonsense." Mrs. Donaldson argued. "I helped the florist's wife with all her baby deliveries. Since then, he has given me flowers very inexpensively."

"You are certain?"

"I am. There is a piece of lace here as well, might I include that? Perhaps I could attach it to the gown she is buried in?"

Margaret swallowed hard. She had no experience with death. Her uncle, Admiral Shaw had passed on before she moved to London. She did not know him well. Other than him, she knew of no other deaths.

"I think she would like that," Margaret agreed with a slight, sad nod.

"I will see to this, Margaret, do not fret. Just concentrate on becoming well. I am sorry dear, but I must be going. I told my husband I would only be here a few moments. He likely knows better. He is used to my talking." She laughed. "I will come to see you again. Perhaps Tuesday before stitching? Will you still be here?"

"I am not certain. I would like to go home, but I am being well cared for here, and I am not certain my father has the energy to care for me as the ladies here have."

"You are in good hands" She kissed the top of Margaret's head. "I will send my husband to see you tomorrow."

And with that, the whirlwind of energy that was Mrs. Donaldson left the room. She took a deep breath, knowing the hardest part of the day was yet to come—the jail with John.