How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  Dixon was adamant that Leonards did not know; she believed he was trying to annoy her by casting aspersions on the family that she served. “Mark my words, he may be up to no good but he does not know that Master Fred is here. If he even suspected he was in this house, the authorities would be at our door.”

  Meg felt her heart sink. “We must be alert at all times, Dixon. We cannot let our guard down until Fred is on a ship back to Cadiz. His life hangs in the balance.”

  ********&********

  Frederick had been home but a week when Mrs. Hale rallied. Arising from her bed, she insisted on washing and dressing one afternoon, and came down to the parlor for dinner and tea. Her husband and son hovered about her, refilling her cup, plumping the cushions behind her, and standing at the ready to fetch any little thing she might desire. It wounded Meg to see the hopeful looks father and son exchanged over the patient’s head; she knew this was one final rally of spirits before the end. She had seen this happen numerous times with war patients, where they appeared miraculously cured one day and were gone the next. However, she could not bring herself to say anything to lower their good humor and hopefulness.

  Mr. Thornton had brought more fruit for Mrs. Hale that afternoon, and she exclaimed over his extravagant kindness. “What trouble he has gone to, to procure grapes!” she remarked repeatedly. She insisted that Meg write a thank-you note and dispatch it immediately to Marlborough Mills so that Mr. Thornton would not think she did not appreciate his kind gesture. With the knowledge that her mother would not rest until this task was completed, Meg went to the desk in the corner of the room and scribbled a few lines to Mr. Thornton, trying to infuse the note with some of the gratitude and deep esteem that she felt as well:

  Mr. Thornton,

  My mother has asked me write and thank you for your kind gift. The fruit that you brought her has been the only thing that tempts her to eat. She is truly grateful, as is my father. Please let me add my thanks as well, for the sight of those lovely grapes brightened her countenance and gave her great pleasure.

  Thank you for all of your kindnesses to my family. We are blessed to have you as a friend.

  With deepest regard,

  Meg Hale

  The following morning, Mrs. Hale’s waxen features and listless demeanor communicated to her daughter that death was near. Fred and Meg stationed themselves on either side of the bed, each holding a hand, and Dixon stood at the foot of her mistress’ bed. Mr. Hale hovered uncertainly in the hallway, not quite knowing where he should be or what he should do.

  Before the clock struck two that afternoon, Mrs. Hale cast her loving eyes over her children and Dixon, heaved a sigh, and died. Fred gave a great sob and covered his mother’s hand with kisses. Dixon stood and let the tears run down her face unchecked. Meg felt a grasping tightness in her chest; rising from her chair, she rushed toward her father and clasped him in her arms. She felt his slight frame shake with emotion, and gently led him to the chair that she had vacated, urging him to sit and take his wife’s hand. He did so, and there he remained for the remainder of the day. No one was able to remove him.

  As Meg suspected, all funeral arrangements fell upon her. Her father was incapable of rational thought; his response to every question was, “Do as you see fit.” Fred was of no help since he could not leave the house. Dixon assumed the task of preparing her beloved mistress’ body for burial, and Meg uttered a prayer of thanks that she would be spared that task.

  Meg took swift care of all arrangements, assisted by Dr. Donaldson, the sole outsider besides Mary Higgins who knew of Fred’s existence and circumstances. Meg had informed Dr. Donaldson of the details of Fred’s exile, and found the doctor a sympathetic and discrete listener. Since he had to attend to Mrs. Hale during the last days of her life, Meg had insisted to her father and brother that the doctor must be told of Fred’s presence in the house; otherwise, he might unknowingly let slip that a stranger was staying with the Hales.

  With Mrs. Hale’s death, Meg was convinced that Fred must leave as quickly as arrangements could be made. Mr. Hale had written Mr. Bell to tell him of his wife’s passing, and Mr. Bell insisted on coming for the funeral to support his oldest friend. If this was not cause enough, Dixon had seen Leonards lurking about Crampton, obviously prying into their business. Fred railed that he could not leave now, when his father was brought so low. While Meg agreed, she impressed upon him that if he were taken up by the authorities, the shock and grief would kill Mr. Hale. Fred reluctantly agreed.

  Early the morning after her mother’s death, Meg walked to the train station to purchase a ticket for her brother on the evening train. As she stepped to the window, the clerk glanced up at her and smiled. “Taking another trip, are we?”

  Meg looked at him blankly. “Another trip—what do you mean?”

  The clerk, an older, portly gentleman, explained in a friendly manner, “I never forget a face, miss, especially a pretty one like yours. It has been nearly a year since you purchased your ticket to London. You told me you were going back to visit family.”

  Meg stared at him. Had Margaret Hale gone to London? Could she be there now, living with her aunt and wondering why her parents had never contacted the family about her disappearance? No, it was impossible—her mother had received numerous letters from her aunt, and Meg had received several letters from Edith. Nothing had been mentioned of Margaret being in London. And Henry, after all, had travelled to Milton to propose. But, why then did Margaret Hale buy a ticket if she did not go to London?

  Aware that the clerk was observing her, Meg mustered a smile and responded, “Yes, you are right. I had forgotten about that.” As he passed the ticket over to her, she paid him in exact change. Placing the ticket in her bag, she thanked him and left.

  Just after dusk, Meg and her brother stood in the shadows at Outwood Station, awaiting the London-bound train. Looking about the dark station, Meg remembered the foreboding she had felt the night that she and Gran had arrived in Milton; had it been nearly a year since she had arrived? Gran and Lily must think that I have gone for good, much as Margaret Hale’s family must have believed when she disappeared. But, that wasn’t right. She frowned. She was here, living Margaret’s life.

  Meg and Fred stood apart from the other small clusters of passengers on the tracks, preferring to stand in the shadows. Meg wore a cloak, and had the hood pulled over her head to obscure her features. “I wish I did not have to go,” Fred lamented yet again. “It is not fair that you have to shoulder the burden of my father’s grief. I have half a mind to turn myself in and stand trial.”

  “Yes, and be hung in a fortnight’s time,” Meg hissed. He flinched, and she relented. “There is neither justice nor forgiveness in a court martial, Fred. The safest place for you is away from England.”

  “I do not know when we will meet again, Meg.” Her brother pulled her into his embrace, pushing the hood back from her head to feel her cheek against his. “Promise me you will bring father to Cadiz to visit me.” She placed her arms about him and tenderly kissed his cheek. She did not respond to his request, for she knew not what the future would bring.

  A slight noise made her turn. Mr. Thornton stood at the end of the platform, staring at her. He had just exited the ticket office, on his way to Marlborough Mills, no doubt. His eyes met hers, and she saw his surprise transmute to dismay and something else which could be anger or disgust. He glared at her briefly before departing the station grounds. Meg felt grieved and fearful—he had seen her embrace Fred! What would he think of her being at the train station this time of night in the arms of a strange man?

  “Lord, was that Mr. Thornton?” Fred asked. “What a scowl that man has!”

  She watched his figure recede into the darkness. “Something has obviously happened to upset him.”

  The train blew its whistle to signal departure, and the occupants of the platform surged forward to enter the compartments. Meg turned to embrace her brother one last time when a rough arm was thrus
t between them and she was shoved aside. She fell to the ground, but managed to regain her feet. A man had grabbed Fred by the collar. “By your leave, miss,” he exclaimed, pushing Meg aside once more as she attempted to intercede. “This man is wanted by the Navy,” he declared as he grappled with Fred.

  Fred struggled mightily against him, and managed to elude his grasp. When Leonards—for Leonards it must be— lunged forward to seize Fred once more, Meg shoved him with all of her might, and thrust her foot out to trip the assailant. The stranger fell against the wall, and tumbled violently down the stairs.

  Meg was horrified; she had merely wanted to give Fred a chance to escape, not injure this man. He lay motionless at the bottom of the steps, and Meg moved to go to him. Fred halted her progress, hauling her back by her arm. “Meg, you must leave at once,” he exclaimed.

  “But he is injured,” she protested.

  “And you might find yourself at the center of an inquiry, and how would you explain that you were at the station?” He hugged her swiftly before pushing her away from him. “Go home,” he hissed as he mounted the steps of the moving train. “God bless you, Margaret!”

  She watched as the train receded in the distance. Fred hung out of the window, his hand lifted in farewell. When she could see him no more, she hastily departed the platform. As she left the station, she heard a man’s voice exclaim, “Here’s that drunkard Leonards! It looks as if he fell down the stairs this time.”

  A voice replied, “Heigh-ho, I thought I saw him accost a lady—where did she go?”

  ********&********

  Meg ran from the train station, ignoring the stitch in her side and the blood rushing in her ears. Could this evening have been more disastrous? Bad enough that Mr. Thornton had seen her at the station, in a compromising position; to have been involved in the serious injury of a man, no matter that he threatened her brother’s liberty and life, was disastrous.

  When she reached home, she was relieved to find that the streets were empty. She sat down heavily on the stoop and sunk her face in her hands, unwilling to go inside and face her father. Was that man alive or dead? She had no idea; she had attempted to check on him, but Fred had prevented her, insisting she go home. She trembled in fright at what had occurred. If that man were dead, there would be an inquest. And what would the witnesses tell the inspector assigned to the case?

  The door opened and Dixon peered out. “Miss Meg, is that you? Is he off?”

  “Oh, Dixon, I think I killed Leonards.” She stood and stumbled up the steps into Dixon’s arms.

  Dixon led Meg into the kitchen, and placed her in a chair before the fire. “You sit there while I put the kettle on.” She measured several spoons of tea into the pot and placed it aside. Once this task was completed, she pulled a chair close to Meg and took one of her cold hands between her two careworn ones. “Tell me what happened.”

  Meg began crying. She eventually sobbed out her story and Dixon heaved a heavy sigh. “Did anyone see you push Leonards down the stairs?”

  “N-no, I don’t think so.”

  “Did anyone see Master Fred?”

  Meg thought for a moment. “No. Fred and I stood on the far edge of the platform, away from other people. I don’t know where Leonards came from; he must have been lurking around a corner.” She could still see his unfocused eyes, staring blindly from the bottom of the stairwell, and began to tremble. “What should I do, Dixon? Should I speak to the magistrate?”

  “Lord, no, miss—you do know who that is, don’t you?” When Dixon saw Meg’s blank look, she explained, “Mr. Thornton is the magistrate.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Meg moaned, recalling Mrs. Thornton’s proud words about her son being master and magistrate. “Dixon, I forgot—Mr. Thornton saw me at the station with Fred.”

  Dixon looked frightened. “That can’t be good. No matter how much he thinks of your father, he is still a representative of the law. If he knew Master Fred was a fugitive, he would have to report him. No, Miss, you keep quiet about this and hope it blows over.” She stood and kissed Meg briskly. “Now, you go upstairs and join your father. Mr. Bell arrived this evening, and they will want their tea. We must try to go on as before. You would not want to worry him with this.”

  Meg waited until the tea tray was ready, and carried it slowly up the stairs. As she mounted the steps, she wondered dully how they could go on as before when everything had changed so disastrously.

  Chapter 14. Who Stole the Tarts?

  The days following Mrs. Hale’s death and Fred’s departure from Milton were filled with too much time for contemplation, as far as Meg was concerned. She was thankful for Mr. Bell’s presence, as he provided a source of great comfort to her father. The old friends spent many hours in Mr. Hale’s study, and Mr. Bell did what he could to elevate Mr. Hale’s thoughts from his ongoing obsession that his family’s removal to Milton had curtailed Mrs. Hale’s life.

  Meg sent word to Doctor Donaldson that it might be a fortnight before she was able to return to the clinic. He wrote back telling her to take whatever time was to grieve her mother; he would be glad to welcome her back when she felt it was time to return. Nicholas Higgins was working out very well in his new capacity at the clinic, and might be able to assist the doctor, given guidance and instruction. Meg would be deeply missed, but he would carry on without her for as long as was necessary.

  The day of her mother’s funeral dawned bleak and chilly, and a small group of mourners attended the church service. Meg insisted that she attend the service, and sat between her father and Mr. Bell in the church pew near the altar. She was touched to see Doctor Donaldson behind her, and Nicholas and Mary in the back. The doctor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him with a silent look of gratitude for his supporting presence.

  She felt less grateful to see the Thornton family seat themselves across the aisle from her father. Mr. Thornton spoke his condolences in gentle tones to Mr. Hale and greeted Mr. Bell, but said nothing to her. He would not meet her gaze, and Meg knew her tryst at the rail yard was foremost in his mind. He suspected the worst of her. She flushed hot and cold as she contemplated the light in which he viewed her, and was relieved when the vicar rose and stepped into the pulpit, forcing her to turn her thoughts to the service.

  From the corner of his eye, Mr. Thornton studied Meg’s pale profile with regret. It was difficult to believe that this slim, grave girl in black was the same wanton woman he had seen at the train station. He felt a black rage as he remembered her soft arms around the stranger’s neck. He could not reconcile that woman with the one who sat across from him now. She wore a black mantilla over a black bonnet, and it made her skin appear to be made of ivory. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but she appeared calm, holding her father’s hand between her own. She sat between Mr. Hale and Mr. Bell, and her presence caused Mr. Thornton to glance across the aisle numerous times during the service.

  She did not cry, but appeared composed, as if emptied of emotion. As he glanced at her profile yet again, he saw Mr. Bell take her hand and place it in the crook of his arm. She responded by settling her head momentarily upon his shoulder. Mr. Thornton felt a wild yearning—in spite of all he had witnessed at the train station, he longed to sit next to her, holding her hand and feeling the weight of her head upon his shoulder. But he did not have that right—she had rejected his proposal of marriage.

  He recalled the events of the day she had turned him away and, although hurt, he was puzzled as well. She had told him no, but her eyes had been at war with her words. She had looked at him with a regret that belied her rejection, and made it hard for him to believe that she did not care for him. The day of the riot, her relief at his wellbeing had found expression in exclamations of gladness and tears. How could she behave in such a manner and not care for him? Perhaps she did feel some tenderness, but was afraid to succumb to her emotions.

  He glanced at her again and the vision of her in the arms of the stranger danced before his
eyes. His hope died, and he abruptly turned to study the pulpit in front of him. It was clear to him that her heart belonged to the man at the Outwood Station.

  Meg felt Mr. Thornton’s eyes upon her; she was as aware of his glance as she was of the beat of her heart. She refused to meet his gaze; she was deeply ashamed of what he must think of her. She had been in this time period long enough to know that it was scandalous for a single woman to be with a strange man late at night. It did not matter that he was her brother, because she could not tell Mr. Thornton that Frederick had been in England. As a magistrate, Mr. Thornton would be duty bound to pursue the laws of the land. She would never want to place Mr. Thornton in such a predicament, or to endanger her brother.

  She startled as her father and Mr. Bell stood; the service was over, and it was time for them to leave the church and greet their small group of acquaintances. Meg supported her father down the aisle. He leaned quite heavily on her arm, and Meg thought with despair that he had aged ten years in the past fortnight.

  As Meg accepted the condolences of Mrs. Thornton and Fanny, she steeled herself to speak with Mr. Thornton. However, before he could reach her, an official in uniform pulled him aside. Her heart lodged in her throat; could this discussion concern the death of Leonards? Impossible, Meg told herself sternly; surely there was other business in Milton requiring Mr. Thornton’s attention.

  However, when the same inspector showed up at her home the following day and questioned her regarding her whereabouts the night of Leonards’ death, Meg knew that trouble was brewing. According to Inspector Watson, the grocer’s assistant had witnessed some drunken impertinence to a young lady, and was certain that the young lady accosted was Miss Hale. He had seen her face quite clearly at the station that night and would swear under oath that she had been there.