As Margaret grew to despair for her loved ones - the health of her mother and Bessy Higgins never far from her mind - Isabel found herself to be rather in her element. Life in the Crampton house had a tendency to be dull. True, Mr Hale always had a ready word for her on the classics, but even Isabel's fondness for philosophy could not sustain her interest for long enough to satisfy Mr Hale's insurmountable appetite. She had never met with such a scholar in all her life; not at any university, nor in any school. He was inspiring, but only in small doses. Mrs Hale, Isabel found to be simply a fussy, feeble thing. Isabel's natural propensity to care for her kinsman ensured that she was ever attentive, but the person - the true character of Mrs Hale - in that respect, Isabel found the mother to be very bland. Hardly surprising, thought Isabel, for in the book her purpose was only to ail and lament; to bring about Fredrick's return to England. Ah Frederick! she smiled to herself. I should like to meet him. Margaret was - to Isabel's mind - still Margaret. An intelligent, thinking young lady with compassion and a thirst for knowledge. But as Isabel accompanied her on her visits to the Higgins, and tried to offer comfort to poor young Bessy, she could only feel scorn for the fervour with which Margaret attended to all of Nicholas Higgins' protestations against the masters. In Margaret, he had found himself a very ready listener. Still, the visits created a diversion, and a means to escape the Crampton house, and Isabel was really quite gladdened to meet the rough fellow she knew would go on to orchestrate the strike.

Nicholas Higgins was, she thought, a very sharp man of quick thinking. Indeed, the quickness of his mind was truly impressive, considering he had never benefitted from any form of schooling. She watched him closely as he spoke his impassioned words to Margaret, and felt that if Margaret ever did one good deed in the book, it was bringing Mr Thornton and Nicholas Higgins in league with one another; for surely, if Mr Thornton held true to the words he had so eloquently spoken in the Crampton house that evening he took tea with them - that he neither despised nor scorned anyone for their want of wealth or rank, skill or education, but merely for their lack of striving to better themselves; for their reliance on others to hand to them on a gilt plate that which they so idly and selfishly believed to be their lot, then surely Mr Thornton could only be impressed with such a man as Nicholas Higgins; hard worker that he was, deep thinker and revolutionary.

And the longer he spoke, the more he drew her in, until she, herself, felt that if Mr Thornton was not so very handsome - not the hero of the book she had escaped in so frequently over the past fifteen or so years - then she would perhaps now, be as Margaret was; ready to join the workers' plight and rally with them. She looked to her companion and felt a pang of remorse at judging her so coolly from a mere string of words upon a page. Yes, she is biased and ignorant - she has a natural proclivity to favour the poor - the ones she feels beneath her - but she means well, and had Nicholas Higgins not been such a skilled and inspiring orator, she may not have proven herself to be so impervious to Mr Thornton's merits. No, I blame her natural disdain for those she feels to be of a superior level in society, and Nicholas Higgins for being so very inspiring in his cause. It was an enlightening moment, for Isabel had now truly learnt - for the very first time, since her strange new existence began - that life in Milton - the people of Milton - were not entirely as she had pre-supposed.

The Thorntons, however - namely, Mrs and Miss Thornton - she had felt to be a gift. The afternoon spent taking tea with both ladies had been a true pleasure to Isabel, for she could not pick up the book without delighting in Mrs Thornton's staunch and stubborn ways. She could not fail to admire the woman, and had always taken a certain pleasure in despising her in her unrelenting prejudice of the "soft southerners" she so rigidly decried. No, Mrs Thornton had interested her greatly, and she wished to meet with her again, but even so, she was not insensible to the fact that she had been lucky to escape the derision of the matriarch when she came to Crampton to take tea. Isabel had watched closely, and seen the lip curl in distaste as impatient, weary eyes glanced over the weak mother; the proud and haughty daughter. She had felt no such silent rebuke for herself, but she knew the matriarch's ways; her own views and means of expression, would surely invite the lady's scorn in time, and Isabel, brave solider that she was, had no inclination to face such an enemy; to take up arms against such a formidable woman.

Fanny Thornton, however, was an utter delight. The creature was so very ridiculous in her crinolines and ruffles, with her excessively curled hair which bounced and bobbed with each turn and tilt of her head, that she was a sight to be seen. But then the true gift - the gem - came in the opening of the mouth, for she spoke such foolish words, as to divert Isabel beyond her every expectation. She had always questioned in the book, how it was that such a daughter was born to such a mother; how the stern and purposeful brother had not influenced the flighty, useless sister. She had thought the character of Fanny necessary only for a passing moment light relief - given here and there - but sat in the small drawing-room, amongst the proud, forbidding mother, the limp and lifeless Mrs Hale and the cold haughtiness of Margaret, Isabel felt - more than saw - the very necessity of Fanny Thornton. For, however could one exist in such a place, amongst such people, without the harmless ignorance, the careless words and selfish amusements of such as Fanny Thornton? The young lady served to sharpen the character of those around her - a lightness by which to contrast the dark and staid - and even Bessy Higgins; a kind and playful interlocutor, who spoke unguardedly as Margaret never would, could not compete with Fanny Thornton; as far as Isabel was concerned, the sister was a treasure. I should not wish to live with her though, she warned herself in caution. Poor Mr Thornton; to have to live with such excess and selfish conceit each and every day! What is to me a pleasing diversion - a break from the staid monotony of Crampton life - must be to such an honest and thinking man, a great sufferance. And so it was, that amongst all new acquaintances - both those Isabel found herself to like and admire, and those she merely tolerated with a quiet indifference - for all character analysis and comparisons of people, she was ever drawn back to that one gentleman; that very gentleman who was to be Margaret's.

Now Isabel was not the only person of the Milton circle to be found sketching the character of new acquaintances, for indeed, Mr Thornton was doing the very same. He did not do it so openly, of course. Nor did he understand his motives as freely as did Isabel, but the inhabitants of the Crampton house - namely the two young ladies - were often present in his mind when a lull came about in his day; be it in sitting at the desk in the mill office, or when reading the newspaper after dinner. He felt both intrigued and discomforted by the young ladies, and he wished to rid himself of both sentiments, for he had not the time to dwell upon the fairer sex. Indeed, that was a great part of his concern, for never before had Mr Thornton found any interest in a young lady; never had he given any lady of his acquaintance a thought beyond a polite acknowledgement that she looked very well. But here he found himself much occupied by two young ladies of the very same house; and both so different and yet so alike.

Firstly, there was Miss Hale. She had struck him - upon their first meeting back at their hotel, when they had sought to secure a residence for themselves in Milton - as a great beauty. Certainly, she was not - in the classical nor fashionable sense - the handsomest woman he had ever seen, but she was a beauty nonetheless. Added to that natural charm, she had a grace and poise which elevated her beyond her peers, and seemed to heighten every admirable feature, until he felt himself admiring her beyond any creature he had ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. She was, in essence, extremely attractive with the gentle dignity of a queen. Those first few minutes in her presence - when all these thoughts and feelings had stolen across his mind in an instance - had been a source of extreme pleasure - but then all was tainted by her cold reserve when speaking to him; she was aloof and held herself in such a fashion as to show she quite clearly disdained him. Now Mr Thornton was not a vain man, but he held a natural pride in having made himself a name to be proud of. He did not seek flattery or regard in others, but he was not insensible to the fact that he possessed it amongst the populace of Milton, and within the wider sphere of manufactures and businessmen. He had grown accustomed to uttering a command and having it instantly followed. He was well used to his peers coming to him for guidance and advice - despite being far older and more experienced - for he had an innate business acumen which all were willing to acknowledge and defer to. And so then, when this haughty young lady had looked down on him so openly - with no knowledge of his merits or faults - knowing only of his very northern-ness and line of business - he had been surprised, then vexed. The pride Miss Hale had displayed at their first meeting - the conflict she appeared determined to delight in at every subsequent meeting - blighted her fine beauty and left him feeling cold. He did not wish to think of her, for he had never thought of any other. It was offensive to him - a betrayal to his pride - that he could think of such a woman who so clearly disdained him; who seemed so very determined to misunderstand and dislike him. And yet she was so beautiful, so regal, so unlike anything or anyone he had ever met, that he could not put her from his mind.

But that was not entirely true, thought he, as his musings turned to Miss Darrow, for she affected him in an entirely different way. He had thought his interest in her had merely been a curiosity at first, for surely he had never met a lady who had lived all her life in uncultured lands; who insisted on carrying an ugly great burlap sack about her. And if he was entirely honest with himself, although he had never truly been able to reconcile himself to the thought that she was the Hale's servant, in learning that she was indeed, a lady - and Mr Hale's goddaughter! - he was so very surprised, for she treated him with the deferential respect one might expect from a person in one's service. But then, thought Mr Thornton, that is not entirely so. She is too outspoken; too opinionated, too independent. For, when he thought back to each occasion of their meeting - each quiet answering of the door - in taking his hat and gloves, in smoothing the nape or setting his leather gloves beside the fire in readiness for a long walk home, he saw not the attitude of a servant who did as she ought, but the ministrations of a lady who acted because she thought to do so; simply because she could and because she wished it. Confirmed in this belief, he felt himself to be, by the very directness of her speech when she felt another to have spoken wrongly, for although he had not commented or reacted at the time, he had been awed by her speaking to Miss Hale has she did when she so passionately derided Miss Hale's ignorance of market forces. And similarly, when Mr Hale had told him of Miss Darrow's disagreement with Miss Hale - of their conversation for and against the virtues of the gentleman versus the man of employment - had she not then, shown herself to admire the very qualities instilled in him? Had she not spoken contrary to her new family and their own way of living; contrary to what society dictated of her as a lady? And so saying, that she was so very willing to do so, showed an independence of spirit - a gritty determination - that did not sit well alongside the quiet, shy and deferential creature who so often sat before him or met him at the door when he took his lessons at Crampton. Such an independent young lady, who believed in the virtue of hard work - who was not afraid to speak in contrast to the family, who for all intents and purposes, had taken her in as an adult orphan - would surely not be found smoothing the nape of his hat, warming his gloves and offering him packages of fudge?

But then, she had expressed an interest to his mother in exploring the industry of Milton. She had favoured the tradesman, labourer and manufacturer over the true gentleman of leisure, so was it possible, asked Mr Thornton of himself, that she could favour me? He looked down at his hands - blackened with ink from the ledgers - grease from the loom he had mended earlier that morning. No, she may speak up for my kind, but words mean nothing where action does not follow. Any independent, spirited lady can argue a point she would not carry through to fruition. He frowned - a strange disappointment filling his chest - and thought of Miss Hale, who so clearly could never think of him - manufacturer as he was. Perhaps, he told himself, Miss Darrow is attentive simply because Miss Hale is not. She is observant and sees the slight - feels the mortification of feeling - and in her goodness, does not wish for me to feel it, but seeks to atone for her friend's failings.

His ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door to his office, and he roughly called out for the man to enter. Some ten or more minutes wasted, and still he understood no further; his mind no more resolved. Still, both ladies plagued his thoughts, and he could not fathom his feelings to understand why.

It was whilst both parties were ruminating on the character of the other, that Mr Hale came to his daughter and goddaughter one evening, after Mrs Hale had retired through fatigue, and said that the young ladies must return Mrs Thornton's visit and go to call on the mother and sister.

'Your mother will not be able to make the walk - I think it some two miles - but you young ladies will be able to manage such a distance with ease.' Margaret merely nodded, accepting her duty but with little pleasure, and excused herself to see to her mother. Once she was safely up the stairs, Mr Hale turned nervously to Isabel. 'Do you think her very unwell? Ought she to see a doctor?' asked Mr Hale, anxiously. 'I am loath to speak to Margaret of it; I should not wish to alarm her.' But the poor man did not see that he was the last to sense that his wife may be suffering from some grave illness from which she would never recover.

'I believe her condition to be serious, sir,' replied Isabel, softly. 'I would not be hopeful for any sustained improvement in Mrs Hale.' She took his hand gently in hers, for she could see the lines of his face tremble with emotion. 'It is possible that Mrs Hale will rally for small bouts of time, but I do not think this a merely passing fatigue or ailment, but a lasting condition. I can see to her comfort - am happy to do so - but yes, we ought to seek the advice of a doctor who has with him ready medicines and restoratives. I have the knowledge to provide the care, but not the toolkit of a doctor.' At Mr Hale's concerned gaze, Isabel forced a smile. 'Come sir, I shall ask Mrs Thornton for the name of her doctor when we call to-morrow. She seems a very sensible woman who would know a good doctor when she sees one, and I should think she employs no one but the best for son and daughter. Mrs Hale shall have the best, too. Perhaps I shall seek an interview with him once he has assessed his patient, and I might find from him where I can procure the necessary medicines and tonics. That way Mrs Hale shall have the care of two doctors. Will not that be a comfort?' Mr Hale nodded his pathetic acquiescence, and Isabel saw for the first time just how very ill-suited he was to a crisis, for he was a man of learning and not a man of action.

Both ladies set out the following afternoon - Margaret grudgingly, Isabel with a cautious hope of meeting the infectious Fanny Thornton once again.

'Papa said they lived in Marlborough Street,' frowned Margaret as she cast about the aforementioned street, struggling to find a house large or grand enough to suit the stately Mrs Thornton. She could see nothing of the kind. 'Perhaps they only keep a small house - through habit - after all those years of economies?' asked Margaret dubiously, but she certainly could not envisage such a proud creature, who wore such fine black silk and lace, to live in a cramped little house. Nor, she thought with a fleeting smile, could she conceive of how Fanny Thornton could get her skirts and all those crinolines, through any narrow doorway.

'They live in the mill house, at Marlborough Mills,' put in Isabel.

'Oh! Where did you hear that? Papa did not mention it.'

'No,' replied Isabel, realising her error. 'Mrs Thornton spoke of it I think; the day they called for tea.' Margaret had no recollection of any such information having been imparted, but turned her attention to locating the mill, which was not difficult, for it was a vast place with towering smokestacks and a painted gate bearing the proud lettering of "Marlborough Mills". Isabel stepped forward and into the yard, drawing a great, excited breath. I am here, at Marlborough Mills, she told herself, with wonder. She longed to run off into the weaving sheds; to see the sights - the cotton snow - and hear the uninterrupted roar of the machines, but she schooled her features with determination and followed Margaret's sedate step towards the mill house.