"He who does not trust enough will not be trusted"
Lao Tzu
Chapter Twenty-Two
Following church services, the Thornton carriage dropped John at the jail. Fanny and his mother went home, with the intention of helping Margaret ready herself to visit the jail, despite her injuries. She had agreed without hesitation.
John was there to make certain it was in decent condition for her to even enter the cell block. Friday night the place had been disgusting, and he could only envision it being worse now, after days of many men shoved into small cells.
Walking from the bright sunlight, it took John's eyes a moment to focus in the darkened building. Sergeant Snipes was waiting for John just inside the entrance, and he immediately gestured with his head that John follows him. He led John into his office and closed the door behind them. He leaned against the door and sighed.
"What is the issue?" John asked.
"Mr. Thornton, I know you briefly interviewed everyone arrested on Friday. You must agree that it was hard to see faces in the dark. Yesterday, I was able to question each of the men. There are twenty-four in lock-up and each have been assigned a number to meet the judge tomorrow."
"Well done, Sergeant. Were you able to prepare the cells for Miss Hale's visit?"
"I have, but Miss Hale is precisely why I have brought you into my office."
Snipes moved from his closed door the few feet to his cluttered desk. He opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out the miniature portrait of Frederick Hale John had given him. Snipes handed it to John and then balled his fists on his hips.
"I believe we have this man in lock-up."
"Truly?"
Snipes nodded curtly. "Of course, he is older than he was in that portrait, but he certainly resembles that painting and also Miss Hale. The similarity between the two is quite jarring."
"No one gave the name of Frederick Hale to me Friday night. Did he admit to you who he was?"
Snipes shook his head. "I recognized something about him. He stood out because he had kept very silent, and tried to hide behind the more belligerent men."
"Which cell is he in? I will have a look again at all the men, so he has no idea I am studying him in particular. He would have seen me with his sister, but he would not know that I know who he really is. Actually, he would not assume I have seen him at all, but he knows Margaret did. He called out to her before he used his slingshot to launch the stones."
"Wait a moment." Snipes held up a hand to stop John. "It was that bloke who injured Miss Hale?"
John nodded slowly. "It was. He was standing under a street lamp. Miss Hale recognized her brother after he called out to her. He was aiming for me. I do not think he could stop his attack before he realized he was about to strike her. No one had reason to attack Miss Hale unless it was simply because she was my companion. I believe I was the target. Me, and all the other men of the club."
Snipes nodded. "The same attorney will be representing all of them. They will be charged with arson, and if Miss Hale selects her brother as the man who injured her, he will be charged with assault and attempted homicide."
John inwardly groaned. "In addition to mutiny and desertion from the Navy."
Margaret would understand the significance of identifying her brother. She knew that if Fred was found in England he would be hanged. His attack on the men's club, and injuring her, would only add to the charges.
"So…" Snipes began slowly. "The dead man found at the Hale's house could very likely be related to her brother. And then, the rock thrown through their window, threatening Frederick, was likely intended as a warning for him. Do you believe the Hales knew he was in Milton?"
"No." John shook his head. He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned his back against the office door. "There was no indication that the dead body was related to Frederick Hale. His last letter to the family was posted from Spain. Perhaps after the rock, they began to wonder if he was here because the note mentioned Freddy. I believe the Hales thought they were being targeted because someone hunting Frederick thought he had joined the family here, far from home, where he could easily be recognized. Perhaps Frederick thought he would be safe here. There is a huge bounty on his head, Snipes. The person who identifies him and brings him into police custody will be a very wealthy man."
"Pardon, sir, but I must ask… Is Miss Hale important to you?"
John nodded curtly.
Snipes walked closer to him and dropped his voice. "If she identifies him, we can arrange to have him sent south with no one being the wiser."
John swallowed. This was the moment he had dreaded since learning about Frederick. He closed his eyes and puffed out a huge breath. After taking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and leaned forward from the door before clapping Snipes on the shoulder.
"We must always do what is right, no matter how difficult it may be. I do not wish Milton to ever be known as weak on crime. If we let him go, knowing what you and I know, it would be very wrong. The Hales know what he has done, and know the consequences he will face."
"Will she identify him?" Snipes asked.
"I do not know." It was an honest answer. Her response would show how much integrity she had and whether he could trust her in other matters.
"You will risk losing Miss Hale by turning her brother in?"
John sighed again. "I always must do what is right. This is not the first time I have been faced with a difficult choice, nor will it be the last."
John stepped aside and opened the door.
"You said he was in the third cell?"
Snipes grabbed a journal and pencil from his desk and followed behind John. "Third cell, wearing black britches, a dirty, once-white shirt and a gray sweater with many holes. He is number seventeen."
John cracked a small smile. "Nicely remembered."
Snipes unlocked the main steel door, and after they walked through, it closed with an ominous slam. The smell was still as rank and the men were complaining much like they had Friday night. Although there were cells on both sides of the narrow hallway, all the men were locked up on the right.
John stopped at the first cell and looked inside. Snipes called off names and numbers and as each man came forward John studied him and asked again whom he worked for. But, unlike Friday night, he now asked the man if he was married, and if he said yes, he asked if they had children.
Snipes took notes without asking questions. John had decided he would appeal to the judge for a lighter sentence for the men with children. Their families needed the men's income to survive. He was not the judge in the matter, perhaps the judge might even let them go, provided they promised not to participate in the anticipated strike.
Then he saw a small body in the corner of the cell. He called the boy forward. He was wearing number three. He looked pitiful, and a boy that age should not be housed with adult men.
"How old are you?" John demanded.
"Ten, sir."
"How did you get involved in this riot?"
He shrugged. He looked up at John with such innocent eyes, he wondered if that was the same expression the draper saw when he had reluctantly hired John when he was age ten?
"Open the cell," John ordered.
Snipes unlocked it just enough for John to pull the child out.
John pointed at the end of the hallway. "Go stand down there and I will deal with you when I am through with the others."
Once the boy was gone, they continued on, making notes, and studying each man to determine whether he was giving the truth or not. When they reached the third cell, John was keen to see what Frederick Hale looked like as a grown man. As Frederick met John's eyes, he had no doubt the sergeant was correct. The young man had the exact eyes as his beautiful Margaret. Damn it. His hair was darker, but that could be from dirt. He was taller than John expected. Mr. Hale was a short man, well under John's six-foot height. Margaret and her mother were both short, but Frederick was almost as tall as John.
"What is your name?" John asked. He made certain his eyes were cold, unyielding.
"Derrick Heal," he answered.
John almost laughed. The man had abbreviated his first name and mixed up the letters of his last name. Ridiculous.
"Your voice has an accent? Are you from the south?"
He nodded, but did not answer.
"How long have you been in Milton?" John asked.
"Not long. Mayhap six months."
Yes, this was Margaret's brother. What to do now?
"Let us go on and finish Sergeant Snipes."
They finished the five cells and John found the boy sitting on a metal bench at the end of the hallway where supplies were stored. He sat next to the boy, pondering what to say to him.
"Why are you here?" he asked. His tone was gentle, but he was angry.
"I dinna throw no rocks or light no fires," the boy said.
"What is your name."
"Steven."
"Do you have a father?" he asked.
"Not no more. He left and ain't never come back."
"You are ten? Do you live with your mother?"
He shook his head. "I don't got no home."
"If I find you a home and give you a job, will you assure me you will not become involved in anything dangerous again?"
The boy's eyes widened and he nodded quickly.
"You will live with a minister and his daughter. It will be your job to do whatever they ask you to do around their home. You will also come to my mill and work from mid-day to dinner. Do you understand?"
He nodded again, and shockingly, he launched himself into John's arms. He did not expect it, so he was caught off guard and when the boys tears came, he knew without a doubt he had done the right thing. He tried to calm the boy, but the only child he had ever held was Fanny and that had been more than a decade earlier.
He knew Margaret would be proud of him. Hopefully Mr. Hale would not grumble too much.
Margaret was properly dressed, expecting John to collect her following the church service. Instead, she was told the carriage had dropped him off at the jail, and returned to the mill house with only Fanny and Mrs. Thornton. The carriage had left a good half an hour earlier, to retrieve John, so Margaret expected he would return for her at any moment.
Mrs. Thornton had fashioned a veil over the top of Margaret's head, under a hat, covering her face. Jane had fashioned her hair in such a way to shield the bruised section of the right side of her face. All in all, Margaret was pleased with the final result. John could see her if he looked quite close, and although she could not see much through the tightly woven, decorative lace, she would be able to identify her brother.
"Margaret, the carriage has pulled up," Mrs. Thornton said. "Are you well enough to do this?"
Margaret nodded. "Yes, I must be."
She stood slowly and waited for her lightheadedness to clear. She breathed deeply and then nodded.
"Shall I walk you to the door, Miss Hale?" Jane asked.
"Yes, thank you." She tried to smile but it hurt too much. "I am still a bit dizzy."
As they reached the top of the stairs, John was just coming inside the door. She smiled at him but doubted he could see her face through the thick lace veil.
"My how mysterious you look, Miss Hale. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you moving about." He rushed up the stairs and dismissed Jane with his thanks before supporting Margaret with a strong arm around her waist.
"John?" His mother called from the top of the stairs.
He turned.
"Do not tire her out. She refused the medication today so she might be alert. Get the business done quickly and return."
"Thank you, Mrs. Thornton."
It touched Margaret's heart that the woman was so concerned about her. From tending her the night before and then again when she arrived back from church, she had been quite solicitous.
"I will take care of her mother. Of that, you may have no doubt." He lowered his voice. "Shall I carry you or are you well?"
"I believe I can make it to the carriage," she answered. It would be nice to be conscious in his arms. "Did my weight pain you on Friday evening?"
He snorted. "No. What pained me was that you were injured. You, love, fit quite well in my arms."
She flushed. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck. That was a very nice compliment and she decided to tuck that away in her heart until this visit to the jail was completed.
It had snowed overnight. The roads were slushy and muddy. The steps of the mill house had been shoveled, but Margaret thought it prudent to hold tightly to John as he helped her into the carriage.
"Well, Papa! I did not expect to see you."
Her father was still dressed in his better suit. He smiled at her and helped her get settled.
"How are you today, my dear?"
"I am healing. I would kiss you, but I do not wish to touch the veil too much as I fear it may fall off. Mrs. Thornton worked so hard to get it just so."
He took her hand and kissed it. "I must beg of you not to frighten me in such a way again. My heart, I do not think, can take it."
"I will do my best to behave." She squeezed his hand and continued to hold it. "Are we depositing you at home on the way?"
John crawled in across from her and closed the door. "I thought if you were able to pick out Frederick, your father may wish to speak with him."
She swallowed. "Before he goes to the gallows, you mean?"
He met her eyes and looked away. She wanted to say something, anything to fight for Frederick's life. She knew, however, her brother had committed a horrible crime, and as such needed to be punished. What if he really was not guilty though? What if it was all a terrible misunderstanding?
"He will have a fair trial, Margaret. I have assured your father I will stand with him, if necessary, at the courts in London."
"Why would you do that?" she asked incredulously.
"For you and your father."
She chose not to answer. What could she say? She did not want John to sully his name with Frederick's behavior, but she also knew John's support might be the difference between death and prison.
Her father and John spoke in great detail about the damage to the building on New Street and how thankful they both were that there had been no deaths or serious injuries. Fortunately, none of the other buildings had been damaged in any way. It seemed not even a single spark had jumped from the men's club to the restaurant next door.
"Where will you and your friends meet going forward?" she asked.
"I expect we will trade hosting duties," John answered. "Mother will not be pleased with the cigar smoke and alcohol consumption, but until the building is reconstructed, perhaps in the spring, we will not have much choice."
"And the strike? Do you expect your employees will do as the others in Milton?" her father asked.
"I am, of course, hopeful they will not. I know Hamper's employees will walk out for certain. Many had already walked off early last night. The Slickson's might be able to stay open. The employees like the younger Slickson. Fanny will tell you it's because he is charming." He chuckled. "I am seen as fair if a bit intimidating. Even the men are afraid of my mother. At any rate, both Slicksons run a tight shop, and I respect them for that. Hamper does not heed safety concerns, he refuses to pay what the rest of us do, and he has no qualms about losing labor to the other mills. In fact, most of young Slickson's employees once worked for Hamper. It worked out well for Slickson to hire those men as they were already trained, which saved both time and money."
And just like that, they arrived at the jail. Margaret swallowed back the nerves that suddenly made her stomach want to revolt. She took some deep breaths hoping her distress was not obvious. She let go of her father's hand because she was certain she was crushing it.
"I'll step down first, Margaret. Will you be able to climb out with your left side first so I may help you? I would lift you down, but I fear I will jostle your arm and bring pain."
"I will shift seats, John."
Bent over, she sat gingerly on the opposite bench, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness that struck. She allowed her father to leave first and then she climbed down. John half supported her, half lifted her from the carriage. Eventually, he let her feet touch the ground.
"I wish I could see your face," he said.
"I am healing. Even this afternoon I am less swollen."
"And your arm?" he asked.
"Dr. Donaldson believes it will be almost two months before I regain use of my arm."
"You best listen to him. If you start to use it too soon, you will likely only delay its healing."
She nodded. "Shall we get this over and done with?"
"Yes." He supported her with his arm around her waist. "I came earlier to be certain Snipes had cleaned things up enough for you."
"Thank you." She stopped walking for a moment.
"Are you well?" he asked.
"Just a bit lightheaded," she answered. In truth, she was seeing double and ready to retch. "Give me a moment."
"Of course." Tenderly, he whispered, "Lean into me for support. We can take as much time as you need, love."
She nodded and then cringed. It still hurt to move her head. She swallowed back bile and closed her eyes, hoping when they opened she would see just one of everything. She did lean against John's side and was immediately comforted by his warmth.
When her stomach settled, she said, "Let us go inside."
Her father wore a concerned look upon his face. "Are you certain, my dear?"
"I must, Papa," she answered.
He opened the door for them to walk through ahead of him. Snipes met them just inside the door. He shook her father's hand and John's and dipped his head toward her in greeting.
"I am very sorry for your injury Miss Hale. I hope you are feeling better. Mr. Hale," Snipes looked at her father. "Mr. Thornton suggested you wait in my office while Miss Hale is looking at the prisoners. I believe it will be in your best interest. After the incidents at your home, with the body and the rock through the window, it might be best that the men in lock-up do not see your face."
Her father looked at John who nodded his agreement. Snipes led her father into his office, where Margaret met the sergeant so many weeks earlier. She peeked inside, not surprised by the continued disorganization.
"Mr. Hale, make yourself comfortable," Snipes said. "Would you like some coffee or tea?"
"No. I will just wait for them. Thank you."
Snipes nodded and walked to the back of the main room at the front of the building. Three uniformed men followed behind him. It worried her that he felt he needed backup to go into the cells.
"We have prisoners split now into five cells. They each have a number on their shirt, Miss Hale. Do you feel comfortable calling them forward by number to have a closer look or would you like to tell Mr. Thornton or me to speak with them?"
She swallowed. "They are behind bars?"
"They are," Snipes nodded. "I have brought the extra men so they know I mean business."
Intimidation. The fools were already behind bars, why would he need the extra support?
"I will be comfortable questioning anyone who I think may be the man who injured me," she answered.
"Very well," Snipes said. He unlocked the heavy steel door and guided the three extra men in ahead of them.
John took her good hand in his. "You may question any and all of the men, but when you identify Frederick…" he paused, "That is, if you think one is Frederick, we will still continue down the line. When we are through, you will tell me your brother's number. Do you understand?"
She studied him closely. He knew Freddy was there! There was no if, he had corrected himself. Why would he make her go through this if he already recognized Fred? Then she understood. He was testing her. He wondered if he could trust her enough to point out her brother. She wanted to be affronted, angry that he did not trust her. Perhaps if he were placed in a similar situation he would pretend not to know a family member, but she could not. She knew such a lie would weigh on her conscious for the rest of her life. If she wanted to marry John, and she truly did, there could be no secrets between them, even if her brother would be punished.
She did not agree, instead, she tipped up her chin, still uncertain how to feel about his behavior, and followed Snipes through the door. He stopped to the left of the first cell and waited.
The stench was incredible. She covered her nose and mouth with her left hand. She could see through the flowers embroidered within the lace, but Mrs. Thornton had made certain the men would not be able to see her face. She thought some of the men in the cell looked worse than she did.
The first cell had five men. All grubby, and dressed in no better than rags, they gave her blank stares. With the exception of one man, none of them were close to her brother's age and even that fellow was likely too old.
"Number four, would you please step forward?" She knew it was not Frederick, but she asked anyway.
The man did as she asked, approaching the metal bars which separated the man from her. Snipes moved his body to shield her from number four, but she could still see enough of the man.
"Would you turn your head to the right please?" Frederick had a birth mark under his left earlobe.
As she expected, there was nothing there. Some dirt, maybe but not the oddly shaped birthmark. She shook her head and stepped back. She took a good look at the others to be certain she was not missing anything.
"Ready to move on?" John asked her.
She nodded. The knot in her stomach was gradually tightening. John believed Frederick was here, what if she failed to identify him? Would John think she was lying or would he give her the benefit of the doubt?
The second cell was equally crowded. Three of the men were about the right age to be her brother. One had very dark, curly black hair and an olive complexion. He was quite handsome, and when he grinned at her, she felt John's hand on the back of her waist. She wanted to chuckle at the possessive gesture. She passed on him and called forward the man wearing number ten.
She walked closer. "May I see your eyes, please?"
The man had brown eyes, and they were shaped nothing like hers or her parent's eyes.
"Will you turn your body to the right?"
Again, no birthmark. She excused him and had the other man, who appeared to be a similar age to Freddy, come forward. One look at him was enough to tell her he was not her brother. She excused him in less than a minute, and turned toward John to see if he had any reaction to her rejection of three men so far. His face was blank.
As she moved to the third cell, her stomach still threatened to empty itself. She did not know if it was nervous energy or the smell of the inhabitants of the jail. She still held her hand over her mouth and nose but it did not seem to matter. She was extremely uncomfortable and ready to get this production over with. She closed her eyes for a moment to try to stop her stomach rolling.
When she opened them, seven men stared at her. An eighth man stared at the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. He was also trying hard to hide behind one of the bigger men. She looked intently at each of the men and called forth both number twelve and seventeen, the man trying to be as invisible as possible.
Twelve stood first. As he sat on the long bench, she thought him small. But, when he stood, it was obvious he was quite stout. Actually, he was shaped like an apple. His body was round.
"Will you turn to the right side so I might see your profile?"
He turned to the left instead. She was not certain if he did it intentionally or not.
"Your other right," Snipes snapped.
Margaret pretended to stare at the man she asked to stand, but instead, she was discretely studying who she believed was her brother sitting on the bench, refusing to look at her. She wanted to cry. What was she to do? If she named him, he would die. If she did not name him, she could not live with the knowledge she had lied to John, the man she loved. She was pretty sure John knew he was there, and if she lied now, he would never be able to trust her again. It was not fair she was placed in this situation.
Without warning, the man spit on her. She gasped and stepped back into John who grabbed her at the waist to steady her. Fortunately, the spittle landed on the tip of her shoe and not her dress.
One of the officers stepped forward to open the cell door, ready to beat the man.
"Stop," Margaret yelled. "He will have punishment coming. I have not been injured."
"Miss Hale," John said. "Allow him to do his job."
"I do not wish to see it!" she snapped.
John nodded in understanding and pulled her tightly, protectively against his side. "Wait until we are finished, officer, then you may do as you wish." He squeezed her waist. "Is there anyone else you wish to call forth?"
Now was decision time. So many thoughts ran through her head. Should she, or should she not? Her brother was a criminal, but he was still her brother. If she failed in John's eyes, she would lose him. Frederick had made his own future through his own actions. If he thought he was doing the right thing, perhaps he would be able to convince the jury.
"Seventeen, please?"
When Fred finally looked up at her, she fought the urge to gasp. If she did, John would surely know it was her brother. He looked just as she remembered, but taller, with longer stringy dark hair, only a bit darker than hers. Oh, Frederick how could you? She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Sir, could you remove your hat and turn to the right?"
Slowly, he turned and removed the wool cap from his head. The birthmark was there, right behind and under his left ear. She felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut. Her head, already paining her, began to pound in rhythm with her racing heartbeat.
She licked her dry lips and asked him, "What is your name?"
"Derick Heal."
She would have laughed at his cleverness had this not been a life-or-death matter.
"Where are you from, Mr. Heal?"
"I grew up in London," he lied.
"I can hear the southern accent. Did you spend time outside of London?"
"Aye."
She stared into his eyes a few moments longer, realizing this was likely the last time she would ever see him alive. There would no longer be hope in her heart that he was safe, living a happy life somewhere else. She sighed heavily and asked him to return to the bench beside the other men. His sad, blue eyes, identical to her own, met hers. She glanced at him one more time, and then moved away, swallowing back her tears.
She paused quickly at the fourth cell. At a glance, all the men were far too old to even pretend to John that one of them could be her brother. There was only one man in the last cell. He was naked, rolled into a ball, and on the floor crying. John gently drew her down the hall to the end and took her in his arms
His mouth ticked her ear as he said, "I am so very sorry you saw that last man. No woman should ever see such a thing."
"My head hurts," she whispered. "May I go home, please?"
"Of course." He pulled away but left his arm to circle her waist, comfortingly. "Let us join your father, shall we?"
She nodded slightly, surprised he was not demanding the information about Frederick. Perhaps she had unconsciously given a reaction to seeing him. She did not think she had; in fact, she had intentionally tried not to react at all. She thought she had treated all the men she had called forward exactly the same.
As they passed the fifth cell, John blocked her view, not that she would have looked at that poor man again. Surely, he would be sent to a hospital instead of being held here with dangerous, rowdy prisoners. She could only imagine how he would be treated by the other men she had seen.
The three men that escorted Snipes, her and John, followed them as they left the cell block and Snipes was locking the heavy door behind them. The three men were given the order by Snipes to wait.
John escorted her to a spot just outside of Snipes' office. He gently tipped up her chin and met her eyes through the lace veil covering her face.
"I know that was very difficult for you. You were very strong and I believe only I knew how it upset you. I am very proud of you, love."
She nodded. He was going to ask her for Freddy's number and she was not certain what to do. The two battling sides were tearing her apart inside. If she did not identify him, he would only be charged with arson, and perhaps assault on her person. If she identified him as Frederick, he would go to London, and likely be hanged. Her eyes teared up.
"May I speak with my father?" she whispered.
She needed her father to tell her what she should do. In her mind she knew what was the right thing, but in her heart… her heart could not bear to send Freddy to his death.
The muscle in his jaw twitched, something she had noticed only when he was irritated by someone or something. She swallowed back the lump in her throat unwilling to waiver in her request.
"You may."
He walked the three steps to Snipes' office door and opened it for her. He smiled briefly at her father, who immediately stood. John bowed his head and closed the door after he left. She thought he would stay to hear what she had to tell her father, but he was giving her much appreciated privacy.
Her father helped her sit. He took off his coat, balled it up and set it on her lap so she might have a pillow to rest her arm. Despite the sling, it was terribly uncomfortable and the makeshift pillow took some of the weight of her neck where the sling was rubbing.
Once he was seated, she said, "Freddy is here, Papa." She lifted the veil so her father might see her face.
"I have been praying that he was not," he admitted. "I do not know why he would have left Spain. Nor do I know why Adam Bell sent us here, knowing Frederick was here."
She shook her head, and allowed the tears to fall. Her father took her hand in his and together they prayed the Lord's Prayer, something their family had always done when facing a crisis. When they finished, she accepted the handkerchief he handed her and dabbed away gently at the tears coursing down her cheeks.
"Papa, I must tell John. I do not think I could live with myself if I lied to him."
Her father nodded his gray head. "I did not raise Frederick to be a mutineer. He always loved the water. When you were little and we took trips to the coast during the summer, your mother struggled to get him to come in the house in the evenings. It was always the water. He loved the ships, too. He would draw them you know?"
Smiling sadly, he nodded, remembering seeing him do it.
"I do not know how it came into his blood. Certainly your mother and I never had any inclination toward the military. If anything as a minister of the church, I should have suggested a different career for him. I am a pacifist. I hate conflict."
"Yes, Papa, I know." She squeezed his hand. "Should I feel guilty telling John?"
He shook his head. "You must. Family is important, but you deserve justice for what he did to you- even if he was aiming at John. He also must stand in front of a judge and jury for the mutiny charges. Years ago, Henry Lennox agreed to be his lawyer and we can continue to pray that he is found innocent, or at least found to be justified in his actions against the captain."
"So, I should tell John?"
"You must. Do not accept Frederick's behavior as yours. Do not punish yourself for what he has done. If you do not tell John, he will never trust you again. You do you care for him?"
She nodded. "Very much, Papa."
"Then you must be honest with him. There is never an appropriate time to lie to a loved one."
She took a deep breath. "I shall tell him. I believe they will bring Fred to see you." She smiled. "He looks the same, just taller and filled out."
"I will be glad to see him."
She saw the tears in his eyes, then. This was as hard on him as it was on her, perhaps even worse on him, because his son, his child, who he watched grow into a young man had let him down.
She stood, and so did he. "I will tell John, and then I will go home. Is Mrs. Penrod settled in?"
"She is. I will be glad to have you under my roof again, child."
He kissed the hand he still held in his and accepted his suit coat from her and helped her replace the veil covering her face again. He opened the door for her and stood until she left, and closed the door behind her.
John was waiting in the hallway, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall. He met her eyes when she emerged. She could not understand the look he was giving her. It was almost a look of uncertainty. She glanced to her right, surprised no one else was in the hallway any longer.
She tipped up her chin. "You knew he was here?"
"I did."
"And yet you made me go through the charade? Why?"
His lack of answer was as telling as an answer would be.
"You were testing me?"
He remained silent. She had been right.
"Frederick is number seventeen in the third cell. He has a navy wool cap on his head and a birthmark under his left ear. It was him that struck me with the rocks. My father would like to see him."
"Certainly," he agreed. "And you?"
She shook her head. "I need to go home."
She turned away from him and walked down the hallway to the front door. She did not look back, could not look at him. That moment she hated everything about Milton. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into her bed and take sufficient medicine to overcome the pain she was experiencing and fall asleep.
Perhaps she would go to London and forget this place even existed. Mrs. Penrod would care for her father until he finally decided that London would be the best for the three of them. Her mother, Aunt Shaw and Edith would be happy with her decision.
This week would likely make her hate the town even more. Hamper's mill would go on strike, and leave hundreds of people without work, perhaps aimlessly wandering the streets of the town, causing chaos and mayhem. She prayed the strike would end quickly, if not for the workers, just for the safety of the town alone.
The Thornton's driver did his best to help her climb into the carriage. He was a young man, not much older than her.
"Take me to my home in Crampton, please?"
"Mr. Thornton said to go to the mill house."
"Please, just take me to Crampton."
He glanced at the door of the police station and then back at her. He nodded curtly and then climbed up in the box. She hoped he would do as she asked. She had a moment of worry when she realized her medicine was at the Thornton's home, but then remembered her mother had left her sleeping draughts behind.
Her mother! Oh my, how would she react when she learned Frederick had been found in Milton? Margaret would not be the one to tell her. For a change, she would allow her father to give her bad news.