They remained in that quiet embrace until Margaret's senses overtook her. Anyone could catch them here, for her father was not in bed yet and Dixon was still prowling around. Hot shame flooded through her as Margaret pulled away, as she realised she had behaved without a care for her reputation once more.
"You should go." Margaret whispered as they broke apart. "It is late."
And it will not do for you to constantly be leaving here very late at night, no matter how innocent the pretence of your lessons here, she thought. His mother was no fool, that much was certain, and her suspicions would only be confirmed by her son's repeated midnight returns home.
"May I see you tomorrow?" He asked, his thumb stroking at her jaw as he gazed down at her , a small smile tugging at his lips.
"I do not know if I can - Mama is not well." Margaret said, thinking of just how unwell her mother had seemed earlier that day. "I fear - I fear there is not much time left. I shouldn't have gone to London, I can't leave her again."
"I am sorry," He exhaled deeply. "Can I help in any way?"
Though her opinion of him had not always been as favourable as it was now (her swollen lips a testament to her improved consideration of him), she would willingly concede that he was a surprisingly generous man to those he considered friends. He had always been most kind to her mother and father; something that she would always be grateful for, no matter the nature of her own relationship with Mr Thornton.
"No. Thank you. I am very tired. It has been a long day."
That was certainly no lie; the journey back from London had been tedious, and the sudden decline of her mother had shaken her. She had had no time to adjust to the change in her, for the time spent in the company of others had been spent pretending that nothing was wrong. She wished to crawl into bed, to have time to come to terms with the fact her mother would soon be gone - and that her brother had still not come.
She could tell Mr Thornton none of that, and she was thankful that he asked no questions. Instead, he held her hand, bringing it to his lips. She watched him curiously, for despite all of the ways his lips had touched her, this felt strangely intimate. He straightened, her hand falling back to her side, and nodded his head.
"Of course. I will bid you goodnight."
He turned to the door, and with one final kiss, he was gone. Margaret closed the door behind it, pressing her weight against it. Despite the sorrow lodged deep in her heart at the loss that was surely soon to come, she felt something else too.
Hope.
She walked towards the stairs, and as she set foot on the first step, a heavy thudding noise sounded from the direction of the kitchen. She frowned-Dixon was still upstairs with her mother and could not have moved to the kitchen without first passing through the hallway. Surely Dixon would not have failed to notice her employer's daughter in a clinch by the front door, so there was no way it could be her currently crashing around in the kitchen. Margaret listened, waiting to see if the noise came again. It did, louder this time, and she realised it was not thudding at all, but a knock. Who could be knocking on the back door at this time of night?
She hurried in the darkness towards the kitchen, heart hammering against her ribs. As she walked towards the door, she picked up Dixon's rolling pin. She was sure any intruder would not do them the courtesy of knocking, so perhaps it was a little silly to arm herself in such a way.
Hesitantly, she edged the door open. Smoke hung thickly in the air outside, the streetlight doing little to illuminate whoever was there. Fear caught in her throat as she opened it wider, seeing a man standing with his face turned away from the door. She gripped the rolling pin tighter, though she kept it close to her side. But when the stranger turned to face her, she realised he was not a stranger at all.
"Is Mr Hale in?"
That voice could only belong to one man, the man she longed to see most in the world. She yelped with delight, before pulling him in off the street as quickly as she could manage.
"Frederick!"
She closed the door behind him, bolting it securely before pulling him to her in a firm embrace. He let out a huff of surprise, before laughing as he caught sight of the rolling pin still in her hand.
"What are you going to do with that, roll me to death?" He asked as his hands prised her makeshift weapon from her. He took her back into his arms, holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. She was surely clinging on just as firmly, her throat tightening as she tried not to cry with the pure relief of seeing him here. "Sister. I am so glad to see you. So very glad! How is Mother?"
"She is alive. She is as ill as could be, but she lives." Margaret looked at him in disbelief, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek, to make sure he was flesh and blood and not a figment of her wishful imagination. "I cannot believe you are here! We have had no letter!"
"I've travelled before it. You knew I would come, though?"
"Of course, but I did not dare to hope that it would be so soon!"
"Margaret?" Their father's voice called. "Did I hear the door?"
The worry that had consumed Margaret for weeks melted away when she caught sight of her father's face. Though she was not ignorant to the danger posed by having Fred here, there was no doubt in her mind that writing to him had been the right choice. The sight of her father, weak with emotion, embracing the son he had missed so much, confirmed that. If there was to be grief, let there first be love.
"My boy." Her father looked at his son with tear filled eyes, holding Fred's face tightly between his palms. "You're here. My boy."
"Father! Father, I've missed you!"
They sat down at the table, her father sitting beside his son and taking Fred's hand, gripping so tightly that Margaret could see the grimace on her brother's face. He said nothing, merely covering their father's hand with his spare one.
"How was your journey?" Margaret asked, for the lull in conversation unsettled her. She did not know why, but she felt the need to fill the silence.
"Fine." Fred smiled tightly. "I travelled under a false name. Nobody shall ever know I was here."
Her father's face faltered, and Margaret tried to soothe him.
"It will be alright, Father. We will be careful, won't we Fred?"
Fred nodded, his face betraying his uneasiness. Margaret wondered if she had asked too much of her brother; whatever trepidation she felt must have been nothing in comparison to the risk he had taken to travel here, to this strange town in a part of the country he did not know.
"Of course. I had to come, Father. I hope you understand."
"Yes, Fred. I understand, but please, do not leave this house, let nobody see you. No man knows you here, but we must still take great care."
"What's all this then?" Dixon stood at the door, looking down at the scene with a happy expression. "Rather late for visitors."
"Dixon!" Fred stood, a broad smile on his face. "You haven't changed at all."
"Look at you." She smiled, suspiciously watery eyed. "Your mother will be so pleased you're here."
"Is she sleeping, Dixon?" Margaret asked.
"Yes, Miss. She's been uncomfortable this evening, best let her rest."
They sat at the small table for what felt like hours, until the candles had run down and the room was bathed in darkness. Her father excused himself for bed, though Margaret and Fred remained. They whispered in the darkness, the joy at being reunited far too sweet to part for something as silly as sleep.
"Will she know me?" Fred asked during a lull in conversation. "Father and Dixon might be dancing around it, but she is dying, isn't she?"
Margaret stood, needing a moment before she could speak. She rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a new candle, finding the matches and lighting it. She set the candle down on the table, comforted by the sight of her brother's face in the shadowed light. She took her seat once more, her throat tight as she tried to speak.
"Yes. I thought my letter was clear, I am sorry if I-"
Frederick shook his head, chestnut curls which so closely resembled her own bouncing with the movement. She looked at him, taking him in. He had changed very little since she had last seen him, which surprised her. She had been expecting someone who looked far older than his twenty two years, for she had thought the stress of his situation would have aged him prematurely. Yet here he was, looking younger than she did!
"No. No, you were perfectly plain in your letter. I knew what to expect. I just - Father looks broken, Margaret. Do you not see it? His eyes are filled with sadness, he looks - frail. Frail, that is the word for it."
Margaret thought on this; she would not have called him broken. Fragile, maybe, but he had had much on his heart and his conscience to deal with. Perhaps he had just aged, for Fred had been gone for five years and much had changed in that time.
"He has had much weighing on his mind the past few years, Fred." Margaret took his hand. "I shall not lie to you. What happened to you devastated us all, and then the business with the church, Mama's illness - it has all been difficult for him."
"I am sorry to have caused such grief. If I could change things, if I could go back to that ship-"
Margaret held up a hand to stop him, for she could not bear to think of that awful business now. The danger was ever present in her mind, but she could not give it weight now. Let them pretend Frederick was simply here on a visit. Let the fact that, should he be caught, he would surely hang, disappear from their minds - just for tonight, at least. Tonight, he would be safe.
"No, Fred. You did the right thing, and I will never discredit your bravery. If only we could reason with the Navy, to make them see that you acted only out of honour." Margaret said, betraying the vow she had made in her own mind not to discuss it. She sighed heavily.
"Let's not talk about this now. What of you?"
"There is not much to say. It has not been easy to grow used to life here, for I've found the customs and etiquette to be quite different to London and Helstone. And it is colder, with far less greenery or pleasant things to see."
"The air here is wretched, sister - thick with smoke and dirt. I cannot imagine it has done much for Mother's condition. It cannot be good for her, or you, to breathe such filthy air. It seems a grim sort of place, even in darkness."
Margaret closed her eyes, too exhausted to hear Milton's failings listed out to her yet again. Her time in London had been spent in much the same way, and she was quite tired of it.
"Please Fred. Father did what he thought right. Things are not so bad." She braced herself on the table, pushing herself up with considerable effort, for her body felt heavy with fatigue. "Come, let me show you to your room. I had Dixon prepare it some weeks ago for your arrival."
"Thank you."
Fred followed her to his bedroom in silence, placing his small bag on the bed. She realised he was still wearing his coat.
"Let me take your coat and hat. Goodnight, Fred. Sleep well."
"Thank you. Goodnight, sister, and may God bless you."
She went downstairs, hanging his things on the coat hooks by the door. She leaned back against the wall, her heart heavy. For a moment, she thought of Mr Thornton, who not four hours ago had held her in her arms as though it was his divine right to touch her in such a way. He had told her he loved her, and each time she recalled his tender words, her cheeks grew hot.
No, she chastised herself, now was not the time to recall such a thing. Mr Thornton could not be allowed to come here again until it was safe. He could not know the truth of Fred nor that they harboured a wanted man under their roof; he was a magistrate, a man bound by duty to uphold the law.
-
The next morning, Margaret awoke thinking the previous day had all been a dream. Yet the sight of Fred, sitting by their mother's bedside holding her hand as she slept, confirmed that it had all been real.
"Good morning." Frederick whispered, darting his eyes to their mother to indicate she should be quiet.
Margaret sat in the chair on the other side of the bed, looking down at her mother. She looked peaceful in sleep, though the sound of her laboured breathing filled the room. She felt tears well up in her eyes, though she brushed them away before they could fall.
"How long have you been here?"
"I don't think I slept. I've been here for hours." Fred said softly. "She hasn't woken yet. Does she always sleep for so long?"
"She will wake soon." Margaret reassured him. "She will be so glad to see you, Fred. I know she will."
He glanced up at her.
"Did you sleep? You look exhausted."
She was not sure of the answer; she had lain awake in the dark, her mind racing with all the things that could go wrong in the next few days. Her heart felt heavy, her mind fogged with grief; she missed Bessy bitterly, and as the days passed sadness had given way to an anger that Margaret could not explain. Everything was so unfair, this place so harsh and unforgiving that nobody, no matter how young or good or kind, was spared.
"A little. There is a lot on my mind." She shrugged, straightening her mother's blankets.
In the light of day, Fred looked different. Last night, she had thought the shadows on his face were merely from candle light. Today, she could see that was not the case. He too looked exhausted, but in a way that could not be cured by rest. He looked tired to his very bones, the stress of these past years having left a map of all his troubles on his face.
"I am sorry you have been alone in this, Margaret. I know you, I know how much you would have taken on your own shoulders. I am here now."
"Thank you."
"Margaret?" Her mother's voice, weak and reedy, jolted them both. "F-Frederick?"
"Mama." His voice cracked, and at the moment Margaret thought he looked just like a little boy again. "It's me."
"Is it really?" Her voice was barely audible now as her tired eyes filled with tears. "I am not dreaming?"
She tried to sit up, and Margaret leapt to her feet. Steadying her mother, she adjusted the pillows to a sitting position. Fred stood also, holding their mother's hands and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"I am so glad to see you." He murmured. "So very glad."
"I thought I would never see you again." Mother whispered brokenly, leaning back against her pillows and staring up into his face. "I thought you were lost to me forever."
Fred shook his head, pressing his lips together as he struggled to keep a hold of his emotions. Margaret knew him too well, even after all the years that had passed.
"I am here. I came as quickly as I could. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm so sorry."
Margaret slipped from the room, her eyes brimming as they seemed wont to do ever since Fred arrived. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply in an attempt to quell the tears that threatened to fall. She must be strong; she was no use to anyone if she could not keep her composure. No, she would not cry.
As she took a deep breath, her father's footsteps sounded. She composed herself, hoping her eyes were not too red. It would not do for her father to see her upset, it would not do at all.
"Good morning, my dear."
"Morning, Father." She said, her voice falsely cheerful. "A lovely day."
He merely murmured a response, eyeing her strangely before he turned to the closed door of the room her mother occupied. He gestured towards it.
"Is your mother awake?"
"Yes. Fred is with her."
"Oh good. Dixon is just making tea. Will you join us?"
"Of course." Margaret nodded. "I will go and see if she needs any help. I know her knees are giving her bother lately."
A series of heavy knocks sounded, echoing through the house as Margaret's blood turned colder with each rap on the front door. Her father froze in place, as they both held their breath. They looked at each other, fleeting panic clear to see on her father's face before he shook it away, the gentle smile she knew so well taking its place. He was lying to her, pretending that he was not as scared as she was that Fred would be discovered.
"Margaret, will you answer that my dear?"
"Yes, of course."
With each step, fear overtook her until the only thing left in her mind was terror. She was certain she would open the door to the police, come to take Federick away. Her mind told her it would just be Mary, come to start work for the day, but her hand trembled as she opened the door.
Her heart fell into her shoes.
"Mr Thornton. I was not expecting you." Her voice trembled, and she swallowed heavily. She said his name rather more loudly than was perhaps needed, hoping her father would overhear and know that there was nothing to worry about. Forcing a smile on her face so as not to arouse suspicion, she straightened her shoulders.
"I am sorry for intruding. I have brought some fruit for your mother in the hopes it might please her."
Behind him, Mary Higgins walked past on her way to the back door.
"Mary!" Margaret called, and Mary Higgins looked up at her and Mr Thornton with an expression of a mouse pinned by a cat. "Mary, would you please' take these into the kitchen?"
If things were as usual, she would want nothing more than to bring John inside, to introduce him to Fred and hope that the pair got on. As much as she had denied it to herself, she was coming to hope that her future would include Mr Thornton. Most sincerely indeed. However, now was not the time for romantics. The crux of it was that Mr Thornton, however personally she may have come to know him, was a magistrate. Nobody could know of Fred's return to England, but especially not this man.
While she certainly did not believe he would want to intentionally cause her family harm, she did not doubt his integrity. Even if she did not tell him the nature of Frederick's absence, or perhaps even pretended they were not related, it was still too dangerous. Frederick resembled her most strongly, and it would be a tall stretch of the imagination to pretend they were in no way related.
"Miss Hale, are you quite well?" He asked. "You seem a little out of sorts."
"Yes, of course! Quite well, thank you sir. There is much to be done, as you can imagine. My mind is elsewhere, I apologise."
His eyes moved to glance behind her, and Margaret turned to see what he was looking at. Whatever it was had made his expression harden and lips draw tightly together, and as she caught sight of it too she realised why. Fred's hat and coat, which were generic enough to belong to any man, were in the entrance way.
"Excuse me, I see you already have company . I did not intend to intrude. Good day to you, Miss Hale."
"No! No, indeed there is nobody here."
At that moment, several peals of laughter sounded from the upstairs window; her mother's (a welcome sound Margaret had heard all too little of lately), her father's and - Fred's. There was no denying now that there was another man inside the house. Mr Thornton frowned, his shoulders straightening as he tipped his hat to her.
"Good day, Miss Hale."
Oh, how frustrating this was! If only she had had the foresight to claim a visit from some doctor or other, someone who would arouse no suspicion at all. No, she had been too consumed by her nerves to think of an excuse, instead denying the presence of another man in the house at all. That looked far more suspicious than anything else. She watched as he walked away, his shoulders hunched as he shoved his hands furiously into his pockets. She could not help herself from calling after him.
"Please, Mr Thornton, know that you are always most welcome here."
Despite the volume of her voice, which was far too loud and improper for such a busy street, he had apparently not heard her for he did not turn back. She stepped into the house, feeling hot humiliation crawl up her neck. She had lied to him, and he had caught her in that deception within moments. What must he think of her now?
Sighing, Margaret turned and closed the door - wishing desperately that the circumstances of her brother's visit were different. There were so many things that she wished were different.