A/N Thank you all for your readership, comments, reviews and FB! They are all so appreciated. The Funk/Slump continues, exacerbated by the return of C19 symptons from when I caught the damn virus in March/April. I hope this next chapter and my little story brings you all some enjoyment in these hard times.

The scratching sound of a key fumbling in a lock was enough to rouse Mr Thornton out from his light slumber. He sat up straight, twisting his head right and left, the tightness about his neck and shoulders dissipating with a gratifying crack. After a quick glance at his sleeping charge he rose to his feet, and set off quietly in search of the noise.

He crept down the stairs, past the undisturbed entrance, and down into the corridor that lead to the kitchen. In the grey light of the breaking dawn he could just make out the small figure of Mary Higgins letting herself in the back door. Unsuspecting, she set her things down on the chair, and leapt several inches in the air when she turned to face all six foot three of the Master of Marlborough Mills.

"Mr Thornton!"

"Beg ye' pardon. Didn't mean to frighten you."

Clutching her breast, she took a moment to catch her breath, nodding that her forgiveness would be forthcoming, once she had recovered.

"I've come t' check on Miss Marg'ret." she explained, pausing to survey his person, "was ye' 'ere all night, Measter?"

"Yes Miss Higgins," he replied directly, taking no offense. He knew there was no guile, only genuine affection in her enquiry. "Miss Hale slept through, and I sat up in the armchair. She is still asleep, but I must be off to the mill. I will make arrangements for her care this very morning."

"Oh, ye' needen' worry 'bout that, Measter. I tol' Miss Dolarhyde I'd not be in t'cook this mornin', 'n Miss Quirk down the way's lookin' afte' th' children, so I'm free t' attend t' Miss fe' today.

Thornton smiled. Remarkable girl! And what relief to know Margaret would be in good hands in his absence.

"I bes' b' gettin' on then, Measter." she continued, encouraged by his expression. "Per'aps ye' should go roun' back. Ye'll b' less likely t' b' seen."

"Yes, good idea. I will return later today. Send word to Marlborough Mills if ye' have need of anythin', for Miss Hale's comfort, or your own."

Mary blushed, unused to such kindness.

"Aye, Measter, I will."

On the way home Thornton stopped to leave a note with Dr Donaldson's housekeeper. He wished the physician to attend, in case Margaret's weariness did not abate and she required the administration of some fortifying tonic, or any other treatment. All bills were to be sent to the mill, along with as detailed a report as the Doctor could provide on the patient's progress.

After crossing the gates into the mill yard, he circumvented the house and jogged down the stairs until he reached the servant's entrance to the kitchens. Here he found himself once again obliged to apologise for frightening Mrs Cusack and her maids who, in their great surprise, upset a whole pot of bubbling porridge onto the freshly polished floor.

Once order had been reinstated, (a still trembling) Mrs Cusack received her master's instructions. Three hot, nourishing meals and an assortment of dainties and fruit, (the best that could be found for ready money), were to be prepared and delivered to Crampton throughout the day, with an account of whether or not the fare had been eaten.

He thanked the cook and left the way he came, eager to avoid his mother and her inevitable interrogation. Upon reaching his office, he took up some leaves of paper and penned a few notes in his usual, brisk hand.

The first was to the florist, requesting the delivery of a bouquet of yellow roses to Crampton. It was a gift he conjectured might improve Margaret's mood, as he remembered hearing her once talk fondly of a similar flower. The second, to Mr Bell, enquiring after his intentions and whereabouts, and offering any assistance he could in the arrangement of Margaret's care. The last was to Miss Dixon, who he had learned was away at her sister's, to urge her to return and take her young mistress under her wing. He would have to find an address for her later.

Then he settled at his desk for the rest of the morning, working and reworking the Mill's accounts and productivity reports. He had instructed his foremen that he should not be disturbed, save by the hallboys who came bearing reports of Margaret's progress throughout the day. He worked through the lunch hour, determined to make up for whatever time he would spend calling at Crampton at a more appropriate hour of the evening. It would be unwise to risk being seen sneaking out of the house at the crack of dawn two days in a row. Once was bad enough, but he didn't want to think about that just yet.

When there were but a couple of hours left to the work day, the mill received a visitor who would not be dissuaded by any of his overseer's remonstrations. So consumed was he in his calculations that he did not hear the delicate throat being cleared in an attempt to rouse his attention. Twice.

"So you are still living, I see."

Looking up from his tabulations in surprise, John took in the young lady staring at him from the doorway, noting her countenance every bit as icy as her tone. She wore a coat and gown the colour of angry red, and even her bonnet looked greatly offended, flaring out menacingly as it did around her face, reminding him of that Australian dragon-lizard he had seen illustrated in a book once.

"Afternoon Miss Lat...ah!" His bemusement suddenly dissolved, John leant back in his chair, rolled his eyes and palmed his forehead with a smack. With a look of weary resignation, he rose reluctantly to offer his fiancée a more appropriate greeting.

"The recital…" he sighed as he reached her side "It was unforgivable of me not to send word. I was detained. Most unexpectedly. I do beg your pardon."

Expecting a peck on the cheek to accompany the apology, the lady made a show of turning away dramatically, only to find that he had only risen to offer her a handshake, as was his habit. The sleight did not help matters.

"Detained?" she said sarcastically, "with what, pray tell? I spent the evening wondering whether my fiancé was lying in a ditch somewhere; beaten and robbed by one of those hands he esteems so highly; or perhaps set upon by wolves. Oh! What a relief, what a comfort, to know he was simply detained!"

John snorted.

"There haven't been wolves in England since Henry VI. At least on that score you need not have worried."

He made to return to his desk, when a sharp pull on his arm restrained him.

"Do not sport with me, John Thornton!" she hissed, "I am in no mood for your jokes. I will not leave here until I am satisfied: where were you last night?"

John could scarcely believe the force with which this lithe, delicate creature held him captive. He glanced about to see several of the workers had noticed their altercation, and were whispering amongst themselves.

"Have a care, Miss Latimer," he replied, his voice equally low, "this is neither the time nor the place. I shall call on you tomorrow, as I have many things to attend to today."

"Like Miss Hale?" cried she, louder than she had intended. From the second and third spinning lines faces shot up to look in their direction. This would not do.

On an impulse Thornton folded the hand that gripped his arm into its crook, and lead Miss Latimer away more forcefully than either of them would ever admit to any of the onlookers. He marched her out of the Mill and up to the house, but it was not until they were in the privacy of the library that he released her.

He turned and put several paces between them, swallowing his rage in thick, heavy gulps. He took a few moments to steady his temper, biting back the profanity that had sprung onto his tongue unbidden at the sound of her vexation. It would not do to behave in any manner he would regret, however sorely she might deserve it.

"Miss Latimer," he began, his voice steadier than he felt, "can we not at least be civil?"

"I am not one of your hands, John! To be manhandled and commanded about in such a fashion!"

Every visible patch of skin, from the tips of her ears to her wrists was flushed crimson. She stood with her hands balled into tight fists and a look on her face John could almost admire, were it directed at somebody else.

"I waited for you John Thornton! Like a fool I waited at the lyceum, then at home, then for the best part of the day for you to call or send a note."

"As I said, it was unforgivable that I…"

"And as I set out here this afternoon," she continued, swatting away his interruption with a wave of her hand, "I encountered not one, but two of the servants from Marlborough Mills, coming and going between this house and Crampton. Delivering fruit! And dainties! To Miss Margaret Hale! Whom you were seen calling on last evening! Miss HALE!"

Here she paused, breathless and perhaps slightly less burdened now she had said (or shouted) her peace. For a moment she fiddled with her dress and bonnet, regaining her dignity, before fixing him with her usual poise.

"Will you not tell me why, Mr Thornton?" she said, with an unnatural sweetness to her voice, "I am sure you must have your reasons for lavishing such generosity and attention on the girl. What terrible catastrophe must have befallen the great southern beauty that my fiancé need prove so considerate to her in her time of need?!"

These last words were hissed through gritted teeth, and were one insinuation too many to be borne. John drew himself up to his full height, and addressed her with the grave ceremony he employed when pronouncing magistral judgement or dismissing a worker.

"Her father has died, Miss Latimer. He was a good friend to me, and the only family she had left. She had no one to attend her, and was stricken with grief. Out of respect for Mr Hale (who was also my tutor, if you will recall), and for the lady herself, and the memory of her mother, I took the liberty of paying my respects, and seeing that she has all she might need, at least for today, until her servant returns to take care of her."

If he felt any satisfaction at the colour that drained from her face, and the way her facetious smile contracted into a small 'O' shape, John gave no indication of it. Whatever antagonism existed between the two ladies, he suspected that even one such as Anne could hardly be unsympathetic towards the loss of a parent, nay, two parents, in so short a space of time.

His conjectures were right. She had not expected this, and was silent for several moments. Poor Miss Hale. Poor, blasted girl!

"Do you love her?"

The earnest question escaped her lips, as she settled herself gracefully on the edge of a chair, an air of circumspection about her as she stared off into the distance.

"Beg ye' pardon?"

"Do you love her?" She repeated, lifting her gaze to meet his.

"It is immaterial." replied he, looking away once again with a sigh.

She nodded at his answer, as if from it she had gleaned a great wealth of information. When he turned back to her she was staring at him, with the expression of one who was performing great calculations in her head.

"It is immaterial," she repeated, "What is done is done and it is better this way."

He cocked his head in question. Rising, she came towards him in response, and pressed her hands against his broad chest.

"I am sorry for her loss," she began sincerely, "truly I am. But I will not forfeit my future on her account. You are that future, John Thornton, and I'll not give you up, not for anything."

Her hands slid down his jacket, smoothing the wool and removing bits of cotton fluff that she imagined she found there.

"You will not see her again." she commanded quietly, grooming him still.

"I will see her this evening."

"You will not!" she gasped, her cheeks scarlet.

"You may accompany me, if you so wish. But I will be calling at Crampton, with or without your permission. Just as you are not mine to manhandle, you will find that I am not yours to command."

After several more attempts to dissuade him, Miss Latimer conceded defeat. Fearful of goading his temper past the point of no return, she asked that he call her a cab, which he did, to take her home.

"Please give her my condolences," she said meekly, as he helped her into the vehicle. "Say to her: 'my fiancée is sorry for your loss.' And do not stay long. People have already begun to talk. There is a limit to even my patience, John."

Wearily he nodded his assent, and knocked twice on the carriage roof to instruct the driver to depart.

When the cab had turned the corner, John let out a weary sigh, easily the tenth that day alone. The discomfort of the night and the turmoil of the afternoon had knit the tendons in his head into the tightest of knots that had set itself to throbbing, particularly about the temple. He made his way back to the house, stopping once he reached the stairs. He steadied himself on the bannister, breathing deeply so as to alleviate the pressure, as he had learned. It would hardly do to bring his own troubles with him when he visited the grieving Miss Hale.

"John! What is it child? Are you sickening?"

John looked up to find his mother staring down at him from the doorway, her face taut.

"No, just a headache. I got very little sleep last night."

Her eyes flew open, scandalised.

Damn it John! Regular glutton for punishment ye' are today!

"About that… I'd like to speak with you, if you've got a moment."

"Well, actually Mother…"

"And even if you don't." she added briskly, punctuating her statement a withering look.

Like a misbehaving child he hung his head as he followed his mother into the parlour where he had, just moments ago, sustained the brunt of his fiancée's wrath. Her rosewater scent, a smell that had come to him uneasy, still hung in the air, transporting him back to their disagreement. He wondered for a moment how long it would be before Fanny would be along to berate him for something or other, effectively completing the Devil's trifecta for the day.

He braced himself for a scolding, but she took him by surprise, taking his hand and leading him gently to sit next to her on the settee. She kept his hand in hers, rubbing a nervous thumb back and forth against his knuckles as she tried to find the right words for what she wished to say.

"John," she began finally, "I'll not beat about the bush. I know you did not come home last night, and I heard some of your conversation with Anne. I must say I can scarce believe your carelessness! I daren't think of the gossip! And I should warn ye': I know you've no great passion for the girl, but I do not think it's right to show her such disrespect. She is your betrothed and'll not likely take kindly to being treated in such a fashion."

"I have apologised to Miss Latimer, for the offence I caused her. But I cannot apologise for my actions. You know I care nothing for idle gossip. Mr Hale was a great friend to me, so comforting his daughter was the least I could do, and I would do it again…"

If I am ever allowed to leave this blasted parlour!

"I've no doubt that what you did you did with honour, and in memory of Mr Hale. He was a good man, a worthy man. But you must take care, John! I fear that until Miss Hale is married or moved away from here, you will never be at liberty to move ahead into your future."

John's brow contracted at hearing his worst fears assembled into a single sentence. Disheartened, he looked away. He could not betray the deepest feelings that still anchored his heart, even to his mother.

Sensing his anguish, Mrs Thornton reached out a hand to cup his downturned cheek. Her finger brushed against the small rise of skin where he had been struck, now completely healed and invisible to all except those standing in close proximity.

"I've often thanked God for twice sparing my boy on that terrible day."

At this he looked up, his face a question.

"On the day of the riots. Twice you were almost lost to me. Once when you received this," she tapped the scar gently, "and once when I apprehended that Hale girl attempting to take advantage of you while you were ill."

"You are confusing me, Mother. What do you mean? Why would Miss Hale take advantage of me? How would she even do such a thing?"

For a moment she stared deep into his eyes, reading the confirmation of what she had long suspected: that he did not remember. He must have been temporarily out of his mind, or so she told herself, preferring to blame Miss Hale for the whole affair. Here was her opportunity. Perhaps when John saw the girl for what she was: a wanton, opportunistic, fortune hunter, who gave herself airs and graces she did not deserve; the spell would be broken.

"You do not remember? I thought as much. There is nothing confusing about it. When I returned from going for the doctor, I found Miss Hale had trapped you both in the most compromising position."

"What?! What sort of position?"

Hannah squirmed. She assumed her son would have grasped her implicit meaning, unaccustomed as she was to discussing such things, least of all with him. Still, best get it over with, as clearly and concisely as possible, to avoid any more delicate questions.

"She was kissing you. Most unreservedly. You had your hands in her hair and she was holding… or leaning on you in a manner that can only be described as wanton. Then there was something, I don't know, some noise that startled her, (probably Donaldson wheezing his way upstairs), and she pulled away, fearful of being caught, no doubt. That's when you took ill once more and I sent her home."

John's face was unrecognisable in disbelief, his eyes flickering across her face as shadows of memory suddenly gained in definition in his mind's eye.

"Mother! I have never known you to lie, but I cannot believe what you say?! Why… why would Miss Hale kiss me? When I was injured, knocked senseless, no less!"

"Oh John!" she cried, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "Why wouldn't she? To trap you of course! To take advantage of your addled state to impose herself on you, and bind you to her! God only knows what would have happened had I not interrupted!"

To her great bewilderment a smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth. Being kissed by Margaret Hale, (unreservedly, wantonly no less!) could be considered many things, but never an imposition.

He rose to his feet, scrubbing his face and hair as he frantically ordered and reordered things in his mind. A kiss had taken place, so what he had imagined to be a fantasy was in actual fact a memory, and a heavenly one at that! But it remained to be seen who had kissed whom; he could scarcely imagine Miss Hale accepting such an embrace, let alone initiating one.

And yet, what if it were so, and there was some truth in his mother's conjecture that Margaret had wished to lay some sort of claim to him? His heart swelled as he realised that even in such an instance he would still have no objection. To be caught by the woman he loved; to have her so determined to make him her own, would be a scandal he would wear as proudly as his best sunday suit.

No wonder she had thought he had been toying with her affections! Not to mention using her extremely ill, and accusing her of impropriety! Waves of shame and elation washed over him as he stood gormlessly in the centre of the room, clutching distractedly at his hair and jaw as he stared off sightlessly into the distance.

"John? Can you hear me?"

The familiar voice drew his attention back to his mother. She was still perched on the chair, her expression furrowed in concern for her son's incongruous behaviour. What did he mean by mooning about, flailing his body and ruffling his hair at a time like this? Did he not grasp the gravity of the situation he was in? They were in?!

Then suddenly it appeared there was no need to voice any of these concerns out loud. As their eyes locked she witnessed the warmth drain from his cheeks, and the slump of his features as the reality of his conundrum dawned on him. Discouraged, he sank down slowly onto the chair before him, almost missing the seat and landing on the floor in his distraction.

"What now?" he mumbled, "How does one proceed in such an instance as this… to be bound in honour to two different ladies…"

With an anguished look he addressed his mother.

"Tell me what I should do."

"I'm not sure I know, John." replied she, truly at a loss before such extraordinary circumstances, "except perhaps…"

"Yes?" he pressed, eagerly shifting forward to the edge of his seat.

"If both ladies have equal claim to your honour, as you say, then you must measure them against some other criteria."

Seeing he hung on her every word, she continued. Who knew but it was her last chance at influencing him in this matter.

"You must ask yourself which of the two young women will make you the best wife. For example, which girl has demonstrated the most honourable behaviour, and which has shown a propensity to court scandal? Which has displayed the more virtuous character, and could be trusted with the management of your household and the upbringing of your children? Which of these ladies will bring the greatest contribution to Marlborough Mills, which has been your life's most important work so far?"

She paused for a moment in satisfied silence, confident that there was but one conclusion he could draw. She startled in her seat as he leapt to his feet, his eyes shining in jubilant revelation.

"Miss Hale!" he cried, gesticulating wildly "Miss Hale! A thousand times Miss Hale!"

She gaped at him. Had he not heard a word she had said?

"Mother, Mother, do you not see? All that has passed, all that was done, was because of me! By your own reckoning, nay, by your very own standard, she is quite ten times more suitable for me than Miss Latimer"

"But… no! That business at the train station… and she hasn't a penny to her name! She would have nothing to contribute to the mill! You would be drowned in scandal!"

"I daresay some scandal will be unavoidable, no matter to which of these ladies I am bound. Although, in Miss Hale's case, it will not be for the reasons you imagine. Her lover at outwood was no lover at all, but her own brother. I shall explain the circumstances surrounding him at another time, but suffice it to say I am satisfied on that score. And I do not need Miss Latimer's money, as the Mill is secure and will soon turn a profit now that Mr Latimer has agreed to extend the loan."

"But what of your honour, John? Of your word to Miss Latimer? To agree to marry a girl then to change your mind and pursue another!"

"There is no 'agreement' in my engagement to Miss Latimer. The thing was thrust upon me so artfully that I found myself with little option but to acquiesce."

He resumed his seat opposite his mother, the burden of the memory suddenly weighing down heavily upon him.

"I did not realise that you had been… caught… trapped in such a way."

After all the care she had taken to shield him from such predations! Was there not a single young lady in all of Milton with her sense of propriety still in tact?

"And yet here I am, trapped, as you say. And yet, this revelation you bestow on me, the confirmation of this memory in my mind (for it was indeed a memory all this time!), has me feeling as free as a bird! Oh mother!" he bounded to his feet once more, knocking the table so it wobbled on its stand until his mother reached out an instinctive hand to steady it. "To know that there is a chance Miss Hale cared for me… perhaps cares for me still? To me that would be worth every bit of scandal, every moment of hardship and ruin!"

"Foolish boy!" cried she in exasperation, "and where would that leave us? I've no fear for myself, mind, I know you'll always see me right. But I do not pretend to understand why you must cling to her so! And risk everything you have worked so hard for!"

"There is no reasoning to it, except that she has filled my heart so much so that I daren't think about how empty I have been in her absence. She is the part of me that I lack, as dear to me as my own body, and beside her, within her, my soul has found its mate."

He fell to his knees before her, clasping her hands in supplication.

"Would you have me betray my own heart, and my honour before God, for the sake of a young girl's schemes, and society's good opinion?"

She hesitated, torn. She had never returned any of his questions without an honest answer.

"I would not have you marry where you do not love." she said quietly, "I would take piecework, or beg in streets, or give my very lifeblood before condemning you to a life of unhappy compromise with one who has used you for her own end."

He looked at his mother as one looks upon one's personal saviour, anointing her hand with a grateful press of his lips.

"Then it is settled!" he exulted, his voice an uncharacteristic tenor. Rising to his feet, he cleared his throat, and shrouded himself in his habitual gravity.

"I will go to Crampton." He declared.

"Yes." she conceded, "you could hardly do otherwise. Only…"

Her hesitation gave him pause. He bent to meet her eye in concern.

"Do not go tonight, John. It is late, and a good night's rest can only help settle things in your mind. Stay, and take dinner with your old Mother. I daresay Miss Hale and her superior claim to you will still be there in the morning."

As she spoke she reached out and caught a piece of his coat in her hand. She toyed with it, weaving the rough fabric through her fingers to distract her from the humiliation of begging her son not to replace her with another. Not tonight, not just yet, at least.

John did not know what to make of her request, but sensed there was more to it than his mother would be inclined to let on. Ruefully he accepted, conceding that a few more hours to prepare for his interview with Miss Hale would most likely prove beneficial.

As he retired for the night he felt no surprise at discovering that sleep eluded him, despite it having been in scarce supply of late. Once in his chamber he barely had mind enough to undress, throwing himself upon the bed in an act of uncharacteristic abandon. Even his jacket and cravat, usually carefully folded and tucked away, lay strewn across the floor, alongside his waistcoat, socks and trousers.

He knew scandal was inevitable, as since the business at Outwood station Miss Hale had long been rumoured to keep a lover. He did not worry overmuch about Miss Latimer, she was artful and resourceful, and had suitors enough to find an adequate replacement for him. And the extension of the Mill's loan had already been agreed upon, with only some minor details to be added to the deed. The next few months would be critical, but John was confident that this time next year, the business would be turning a decent profit once more.

Once he had considered most of the possible consequences of this newfound revelation, John set about selecting in his mind the exact words he would say to Miss Hale. Words of apology, of regret, of reassurance, of love! Of honour that bound him so genially to that which his heart desired most of all, and he had been denied, mostly as a result of his own impetuousness. He managed to weave together the perfect declaration, one which conveyed all that he felt needed to be said given all that had passed between them. Just as he was formulating his question; his request for permission to hope beyond every damning circumstance so far, his eyes succumbed to the weight of the day's exertions.

John awoke, much later than was his habit, with a curious sensation in his jaw. Taking a moment to regain command of his limbs by stretching them across the bed, he rose directly to his feet, as he did every other morning. He made his way to the washstand, making gaping motions with his mouth in an attempt to relieve the stiffness he felt there. It sounded ridiculous, but if he was not mistaken, it almost felt as though he had spent several hours smiling. Indeed as he beheld himself in the mirror, he noted a distinct pronunciation of the crinkles about his eyes, and a ruddiness to his cheeks, all of which bespoke of a night spent with happiness etched all across his face.

After hasty ablutions and without a word to his mother, John quitted the mill and sped off in the direction of Crampton, and his beloved. He completed the journey in record time, and stood for a moment at the corner of the street where the small house stood, a beacon of peace and warmth since he had first been admitted into its welcoming rooms. Only then did he hear the church bell ring. It had just gone seven o'clock. Would Miss Hale even be awake at such an hour as this?

He began to weigh his options. He could return to the mill, and get a few hours work in before calling later in the morning. He could wander about aimlessly for a while, tormenting himself with scenarios in which he was refused, or worse, revealed to have completely misunderstood what his Mother had told him. Or he could brave the impropriety of calling at such an early hour and knock at Miss Hale's door directly, before he lost his nerve.

Besides, he reassured himself, in the grand scheme of interactions between myself and Miss Hale, calling too early could hardly be considered scandalous!

"Mr Thornton, sir."

Christ! What now?!

Thornton readied his most formidable scowl and turned, the expression dissolving somewhat when he came face to face with a young police officer.

"Ah, Armitage, isn't it?"

The boy beamed.

"Yes sir, yes it is. I'm sorry fe' troubling ye' so early in the day, but there is a small, yet urgent matter that requires a magistrate's verdict. I was just heading over t' Marlborough when I saw ye' across the high street, and thought I'd take the liberty."

Thornton grimaced, shifting on his feet and glancing at the door he had been fixing with a penetrating stare before the interruption. He was acquainted with this particular officer, having taken an interest in the young lad almost as soon as he had first set eyes on him several years ago. When the boy had expressed a desire to enter the police force, John had not hesitated in giving him a glowing recommendation to the chief constable on his behalf. There was something about him, so tall and shy and slightly maladroit, that had endeared him to John, perhaps reminding him of his own awkwardness at the same age.

A beanpole, he had thought, with a nose we can only pray he grows into.

"It is no matter. What can I do for you sir?"

The small, yet urgent matter turned out to be so far removed from either adjective that it took John the best part of the morning to gather all the evidence needed and, (together with Dr White, his brother Magistrate who helmed the local hospital), come to a verdict. By the time he found himself once more braving the cobbles that lead to Margaret's door, some three hours later, he had had ample time to work himself up into a fidgeting mess of anxious anticipation.

He raised a sweaty hand to take purchase on the door knocker, rapping three times before suddenly being assailed with the impression that more than twice was probably terribly common and uncouth. He stood for a moment, before realising he was almost pressed up against the door and that Mary Higgins would likely never recover were she to answer to him leering at her in such close proximity. He stepped back and removed his hat, smoothing a trembling hand over his hair and chewing the inside of his mouth as he willed the door to open. Finally it did, and he barely managed to stifle a sigh of relief at the sight of the girl his mother had recommended to the Hale's as a kitchen and parlour maid.

"Good Morning Martha," he said with a genuine smile, "Is Miss Hale in?"