It was as she stood in front of her father, William Hanson, that something began to give way in her. She was suddenly overcome by a hot, faint feeling and her legs began to shake.
‘Oh . . . help me . . .’ She reached out to Philip who seized hold of her and ordered William Hanson to bang on the front door.
In seconds, everyone was around her – Uncle Eb and Aunt Hatt, Annie, her father, Philip and Daisy. As the heat and blur receded, she found herself seated in the back room, everyone still there, Aunt Hatt announcing sweet tea and Annie kneeling in front of her, gazing anxiously up into her face. She tried to force her lips into a reassuring smile.
‘Maggs?’
She had never seen Annie so worried, or so tender.
‘Oh, Maggs – thank heaven you’re back. Are you all right?’
Margaret nodded, hardly realizing that tears were coursing down her cheeks. ‘I’m perfectly all right – I am. I think I just need something to eat. It’s been a long time since I had anything . . .’
As she began on the cup of deliciously sugary tea and a plate of bread and butter and jam that Aunt Hatt brought her, everyone waited, talking gently, though she was hardly aware of anything they said. She felt blanketed in everyone’s love and concern, while they let her eat and gather herself without asking questions for the moment.
The food began to take its effect, and she felt herself grow stronger and calmer. She noticed, then, from her seat by the fire, that her father was seated on an upright chair, on the other side of the room. Aunt Hatt was fussing and giving everyone tea. Annie and Daisy sat either side of her while Philip was at the table and Uncle Eb stood somewhere letting out exclamations which included well-I-nevers at Margaret’s abrupt reappearance and finding his house suddenly full of people . . . Soon Aunt Hatt could contain herself no longer. She came and stood in front of Margaret.
‘Whatever happened, dear?’ she burst out. ‘I mean, I thought that young man seemed such a gentleman.’ Blushing suddenly, as she realized that whatever had happened might not be something with which Margaret wanted to regale a room full of people, she added, ‘Of course – if you can’t say . . .’
‘No – it’s all right, Auntie. And in any case –’ She felt strength pouring through her. Glancing across at her father, she went on, ‘Everything is on his conscience, not mine.’
She told them exactly what had happened – the sudden change of plan, going to Oxford, the grandmother’s house.
‘Oh! Locked you in!’ Aunt Hatt exclaimed, hands going to her face. She sank down on a chair at the end of the table. ‘Oh, my Lord!’
As Margaret told them about the progress of the night, the sheer terrifying weirdness of all that had happened sank into her and she was trembling as she spoke. But she wanted them to hear it – especially her father – in all its details.
‘And,’ she said emphatically, ‘d’you know what the old lady said to me, as she let me out of the house? She said . . .’ She turned very deliberately towards her father. ‘“He’s another of them – just like my pig of a husband was.”’
For a second she felt concerned that Daisy was hearing this. But then she thought, if I’d known a bit more at her age I might never have got into all that mess in the first place.
‘See,’ Annie said. She was not going to spare their father’s feelings and looked directly at him as she spoke. ‘That’s exactly what he was – is. And someone should do something about it. We should get the police on to him. He abducted you.’
‘I wonder if that old lady will be all right,’ Philip Tallis said. ‘I mean, if she locked him in?’
‘I know,’ Margaret said. ‘I wondered too – though I couldn’t do anything about it. When I got to Oxford station I realized that if she let him out it was the first place he would come looking for me. So I waited until I had found out the time of the first train and went away again – out along the cut, until it was time. I was scared stiff he’d be there waiting, at the station . . .’ She turned to Daisy. ‘What was that you said about Den?’
‘He followed you,’ she said.
‘But why?’
‘He said . . .’ Daisy tilted her head to one side and suddenly put on Den’s gruff voice. ‘“That feller – he looks like a bad’un. And when ’er saw ’im, ’er copped ’old ’o my hand so hard I thought ’er’d pull it off. It was ’cause she were frightened of ’im.”’
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears and when she looked at Annie, she saw the same emotion.
‘What a boy,’ Annie said, having to wipe her eyes.
‘But why could everyone see it except me?’ Margaret said.
‘Well, I couldn’t,’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘He seemed perfectly nice to me.’
‘All that time – I couldn’t see the bad in him. There was good in him – and I suppose I only wanted to see the good – I know that when I see it.’ She smiled at Philip Tallis and he gave her a loving smile back.
‘When he came along, I was so . . . And he has a way of getting inside your thoughts, burrowing in like . . .’ She shrugged.
‘An earwig?’ Daisy suggested. Everyone laughed.
‘Yes – a great big fat earwig,’ Margaret said, putting her arm round Daisy for a moment.
There was a movement at the side of the room and they all looked to see William Hanson getting stiffly to his feet. Even the way he did this seemed the action of a man older than she remembered and Margaret felt a jolt of sorrow. Still in his black coat, he came and stood beside her and reached out a hand as if to put it on her shoulder, before, on second thoughts, removing it again. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, bending forward slightly, and his stance silenced everyone else.
‘I owe you an apology of the profoundest kind,’ he said. Even though he was speaking quietly, his resonant preacher’s voice resounded about the room.
‘My dear Margaret –’ She could see that it was costing him to speak, to admit how deeply he, but above all she, had been wronged and deceived by Charles Barber. ‘And you, Annie – who can see through walls that confound those of us less inclined to see. All I can say is that I was wrong. I looked upon Charles as a son – or perhaps, more perniciously still, as the man I might have been. I was blinded by my own need to believe in him, by his persuasive, insinuating ways.’ Pulling back his broad shoulders, he shook his head sadly.
‘Even now, it is hard to believe what he is capable of, what a serpent we had living among us, and how long he took to show us his true nature. I have to tell you, I am left stunned and wretched over this whole business. But I owe it to all of you to face the truth.’ His speech was made in the stiff manner of a man seldom used to being wrong, but when he looked down at her, Margaret could see all the sorrowful love in his eyes. ‘I owe it to you, my daughters, especially you, Margaret, who has been so wronged and endangered. And you, little Annie, who always fights for the truth.’
Annie nodded at him with grave dignity.
‘And to all of you –’ he looked round the room – ‘who have been so kind and hospitable to my family, I want to give thanks and all contrition where it is due. I think, Harriet, you have been able to give them the love and guidance of a mother – something they have sadly lacked for so long.’
‘Oh, Father.’ Margaret stood up, unable to hold back her tears. She went to him and they gave each other a brief embrace. ‘I know you only wanted to believe the best of him – as I did. But I was not lying to you. That was what hurt the most – that you could have believed that of me, of us.’
‘There is none so blind as those who will not see,’ said her father. He looked carefully at her. ‘You look well, my dear – even after what has happened.’
‘I am well,’ she said, realizing that tired as she now was, she had hardly ever felt better. She had found a life that suited her.
Releasing Margaret, her father looked round warily, ‘And little Annie?’
‘The thing is,’ Annie said, not quite ready to forgive all yet. ‘You really must believe us when we tell you things. Just because we’re girls doesn’t mean we have no judgement or insight. And in this, we had a good deal more than you.’
‘You did,’ Margaret said.
‘Yes . . . Well . . .’ She went to her father. He looked down at her with gentle fondness.
‘I stand corrected, Miss Annie,’ he said. They embraced stiffly, not being a family given to outward show.
Aunt Hatt stood up, looking tearful. Margaret even saw her uncle wiping his eyes.
‘Will you have another cup of tea, Mr . . . er, Reverend Hanson?’ she asked, getting in a fluff with the titles.
‘William, please,’ he said, smiling stiffly. ‘And I must say – it is a pleasure to see you both again. It’s been too long. Another cup of tea would be most welcome.’
‘What are you going to do about him?’ Annie demanded as they all sat down again.
‘I shall take measures as soon as I get home,’ he said. ‘He is dangerous and must be stopped. He is unwell, I believe.’
‘Unwell!’ Annie erupted. ‘He may be unwell, but he’s a complete ba—’
‘Annie’s been working in a factory,’ Aunt Hatt interrupted. ‘I’m afraid some of it might have rubbed off.’
William Hanson looked astonished. ‘Well, you always said you wanted to see more of the world. I am full of admiration.’ He gave the creaking laugh of a man not often overcome by mirth. ‘But now, girls, there is no reason for you not to return home, is there? I think we have all imposed on your aunt and uncle quite long enough.’
‘Oh, no,’ Annie said straight away. ‘We’re not coming home. At least – we’ll visit, of course. Soon. But not for good. I’m going to apply to become a nurse.’
Exclamations of surprise rang round the table.
‘Ooh, are you?’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘Oh, my – I couldn’t do that.’ She looked carefully at Annie. ‘Come to think of it, if you really think that’s what you want, from what I’ve seen of you, you’d be marvellous.’
This affirmation brought a beaming smile to Annie’s face. ‘Thanks, Auntie,’ she said.
Margaret sensed her father looking at her.
‘I’m afraid I shan’t be coming back to live at home either, Father, though I look forward to visiting very much. I . . .’ In confusion, she looked across at Philip Tallis. Holding her gaze very seriously, he got to his feet.
‘Reverend Hanson,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t know me and I hope that we can rectify that in the days to come. But I should like to ask you for Margaret’s hand in marriage.’
‘Ohh!’ Daisy cried, jumping up and leaping about the small available space. She went to William Hanson, hands clasped in front of her chest. ‘Oh, say yes, please – you’ve got to say yes!’
Margaret was beginning to feel genuinely sorry for her father, the number of shocks being inflicted on him in one day. He looked about him with an air of almost comic bewilderment.
‘Well, I . . . What’s your name, my dear?’
‘I’m Daisy Hanson. And I would like your daughter to marry my father, please, if that’s all right?’
‘What do you say to that, Margaret?’ William Hanson said. ‘And is this all right with Miss Annie?’
‘Oh –’ Annie grinned at Philip Tallis. ‘Yes. I think he’ll do.’
Margaret looked from her father to Philip Tallis and back again, a smile growing on her face of utter certainty. ‘I say yes, Father. Gladly – yes!’
Everyone in the room broke into applause – even, in a measured way, William Hanson.
‘Oh, Margaret, bab – you’ll be our next-door neighbour!’ Aunt Hatt exclaimed, not even trying to hide her tears now. She seemed to have forgotten all about moving house.
‘And you’ll be my mother!’ Daisy cried. Her face sobered. ‘Not my real mother, of course.’ She looked carefully at her father. ‘But like my mother.’
Margaret walked round the table and put her hand on Philip’s shoulder. ‘I’ve found a truly good man, Father.’
‘She has,’ Annie said, serious now.
‘Well.’ William Hanson looked back at them all with a helpless smile. ‘My Leah used to say that the people she came from here were golden-hearted – and from what I see, I believe it to be true. I bow to your judgement. I’m sure you know what to do for the best, my dears.’