Mischances #2
“You know I cannot leave Father. And besides, I…I do not mind Milton so much as I did.”
“Not mind it! It is everything frightful and dreary. I cannot think how you bear it. How can you possibly be happy here? Father cannot last another year in such a place. How can you be content to stay unless…” He narrowed his eyes.
“You have not some secret beau, have you? Some entanglement that keeps you here?”
“Of course not!” she gasped, but her cheeks were unaccountably warm. “No, it is enough for me to remain with Father for as long as I may. I shall not think of the rest.”
He subsided rather unhappily, and a morbid silence fell over the siblings. At length he said, “I’ll have to leave this evening. Dixon says there is a train leaving Outwood at eleven.”
She nodded. “I will walk with you to the train.”
“Margaret, who is that man looking our way? Over there, on the horse.” Frederick pulled back from what had been a tender farewell embrace and gestured behind her.
Margaret felt a leaden drop in her stomach as she looked in the direction her brother indicated.
A rider had drawn up his mount, seemingly arrested by something.
Good heavens, it was he. His dark top hat was pulled down low, and he wore a high-collared coat against the evening damp, but a shaft of lantern light struck his face.
She would know those eyes anywhere…and just now, they were staring at her.
“It is Mr Thornton,” she managed in a strangled tone. “He is the friend Father told you of.”
“I jolly well wish I could have known him,” Frederick lamented. He gave a tip of his hat to the other man, and Mr Thornton made a stiff response in kind. His rigid jaw set, and he turned his horse away—back towards Marlborough Mills.
“Well! Not a very friendly chap. If I did not know better, I would think he believed me to be some enemy,” Frederick huffed.
“Do not be hasty to judge. Something has displeased him, for that is not his usual bearing,” Margaret apologised.
“You would find him more than agreeable if you had seen how gentle he was with Mama.” Why she found it necessary to defend him to her brother she could not say, but she could not be easy allowing Frederick to think the worst of him.
Frederick grimaced. “Then I am sorry to have insulted your friend. I do hope he remains a friend so you have someone in this God-forsaken city.”
“We are far from alone.”
He studied her in the weak glow of the gas lanterns, then shook his head. “I hope you are not deceiving yourself, Margaret. Come, it is nearly time for my train. My ticket—”
“I will fetch it,” Margaret insisted. “Stay out here in the dark, so no one sees you.”
Before he could protest, she was hastening to the office.
She pressed through the few scattered passengers warming themselves by the stove and made her way to the counter.
There were more than she had expected at this time of night, and she glanced about uneasily.
None seemed to care that a lady had entered their midst until her gaze fell upon one among them who seemed familiar.
He removed his hat, revealing a thinning patch of hair and a face she could not help but recognise. “Miss Hale!”
She blinked, and her breath caught raggedly in her throat.
He came forward, offering a smile that was more than welcoming. “You may not recall, but we have been introduced. Hamper, Benjamin Hamper at your service. I believe we met at the Thorntons’ dinner party.”
She curtsied numbly. “I remember, Mr Hamper.”
“Ah, if you are waiting for a passenger from the London train, Miss Hale, I believe everyone has already got off. I only waited because there was some mishap and my bags were damaged. The cargo master is speaking to his supervisor just now.”
“That is unfortunate,” Margaret answered neutrally. “Good evening, Mr Hamper.”
She paid for Frederick’s ticket, glancing only once over her shoulder before she turned away and hurried back out of the office. She found Frederick standing on the platform near where the baggage handlers were skulking about their duties.
“Margaret, what is the matter?”
“I encountered someone I knew, that is all. But he would not know you, and…and I do not see him any longer,” she added with another cautious look backwards. “Please, Fred, you must hurry. Have you got your bags?”
“Yes, here. Margaret, I—”
“Hale!”
Frederick whirled about, but Margaret saw his eyes in that fleeting instant of recognition. It was a baggage handler, and he was pushing her aside, almost knocking her down as he reached for Frederick. Leonards.
A sickening sort of delirium washed through her as she watched the assailant dragging her beloved brother back on the platform, locking him into a fighting grip, and crying out his condemned name to all and sundry.
But Frederick was taller and more fit—moreover, he was not the worse for drink as Leonards clearly was.
He rallied, he wrested from the other’s grip, but then Leonards thrust out his leg and both tumbled together.
“Fred!” she cried.
The two men grappled still more, and it was Leonards who was on top, Leonards who gained his feet first. But when he bent to reach again for Frederick, the latter rolled away and gave a mighty shove against his attacker.
Leonards, off his balance and already swaying, staggered headfirst off the platform.
They heard him groan, saw him rubbing his bruised crown, but he did not rise at once.
“Fred, you must run!” she urged.
He nodded, his face white with shock and terror. The train whistle blew, and the conductor cried out for all remaining passengers to board. “Margaret, are you well?”
“Yes, yes, but you must go. Now, Fred, before he rises!”
“But I cannot leave you after this! Suppose he—”
“Fred, the train is rolling. You must go now!”
Frederick gazed at her for a long second, then hastily kissed her gloved knuckles. “God bless you, Margaret.” He dove for the door, caught it, and leaned out the window. “I will write as soon as I can!”
She pressed her fist to her mouth and waited anxiously as the train rolled out of sight. Only when the lantern from the last car turned out of view did she permit herself to breathe, and she discovered that her hands were shaking.
She had not stirred from that spot where Fred had bid his adieu—had forgotten in her moment of blind terror exactly where she was standing, but a muttered oath caught her ears.
She stilled, then watched in horror as a hand reached over the platform.
A head followed, and then Leonards’ stained, leering smile.
“Ain’t you a pretty piece. You must be the Hale wench. Come down here—” His hand locked around her walking boot and he pulled.
Margaret screamed, her arms wheeling back as she sought her balance.
She tried to pull her foot away, but he gave a jerk and she fell backwards, her petticoat showing and her other ankle well within his reach.
She kicked at his face with her heel, felt it connect, and gasped in frantic relief when his hand fell away.
“Miss Hale! Miss, are you well?”
Margaret rolled to her hip and looked dazedly over her shoulder. Mr Hamper ran to her and bent low, offering his hand up. She took it without thinking, and he helped her to her feet.
“What are you doing out here still, Miss Hale? Were you attacked?”
“I…I fell,” she mumbled.
He gave her a dubious look. “I saw you fighting someone. Come, Miss Hale, who was it? I will have the blackguard taken up by the authorities! I’ll call the magistrate this very night.”
“No! It was nothing—I slipped, sir.”
“Well, now, if you will not say, then I…who is that?” Mr Hamper pointed, and Margaret could see Leonards’ dark uniform as he stumbled off. He was clutching his side and moaning faintly, but he was leaving.
Mr Hamper turned back and regarded her in heavy silence for a moment. “Miss Hale, permit me to escort you home.”
She agreed, not knowing what else she could have done. Not five minutes later, she wished she had asked to remain in the rail office.
“There will be talk of this,” Hamper was warning.
“Mark my words, Miss Hale. Too many people saw—oh, I fear I may have pronounced your name a bit too loudly. But never fear, Miss Hale. I am quite willing to set matters right. Why, it has been lonely these last two years without my Clarabelle. A man likes to have a wife about to keep up some idle chatter, you know.”
“I suppose he must,” she answered reflexively.
Her thoughts were still with Frederick. Would Leonards give him up?
Would he pursue him to London? Or worse—would he find her, follow her, and try to attack her again to learn what he wished?
Frederick’s life was worth a hundred pounds—a fortune to such a man!
“Did you know I had a son, Miss Hale?”
“Hmm?” She looked up to her escort.
“Seventeen he is, but he was his mother’s son. I’d like to set him up in business, but the lad has not been the same since he lost his mother. Addle-brained boy! But I think he would like you very much, Miss Hale. It might be just what he needs to put him right.”
“I thank you for the compliment, sir.” Her thoughts turned inward again. Was Leonards much hurt by Frederick? He could claim assault—there might be an investigation if…
“I presume I might call on your father on the morrow, Miss Hale?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked. “My father is in deep mourning, sir. He is not receiving guests.”
“Then I shall wait two days, but I dare not let it go longer,” he decided.
She blinked and stopped. “Let what go longer?”
“Why! Your reputation will be greatly injured. Surely…” He gestured expansively and shook his head, a bewildered smile on his middle-aged features. “You must see, there is nothing else to be done.”
She flushed. “Mr Hamper, I assure you that no such gallantry is necessary. I thank you for the escort home, but—”
“But you have your cap set for that strapping lad who boarded the train?” he asked knowingly.