That evening, Mr Hale escorted Margaret and Isabel on the short train ride to Heston on the coast, where Mrs Hale was resting with her trusty maid, Dixon. Margaret had explained to Isabel - in lowered tones, so that her father would not overhear - that her mother was of a delicate constitution and had been greatly unsettled by the family's removal to Milton; so much so that it had been decided that Mrs Hale would rest in the clean, costal air of Heston, until a welcoming home could be put together for her in Milton. Isabel knew all of this, of course, but she nodded her understanding, and asked after Mrs Hale's symptoms. She had always supposed the mother to have suffered from consumption, but now she would be able to determine the ailment for herself.

'I have an interest in medicine,' whispered Isabel in reply - Mr Hale dozing in the carriage with a newspaper in hand. 'I should be very pleased to spend some time with your mother and see if there is anything that can be done to add to her comfort?' Margaret was gratified. She was not certain she could profess to like this peculiar goddaughter of her father's, but she noted the sincerity and compassion in her interlocutor's voice and eyes.

'You have some special knowledge?' asked Margaret, inquisitively.

'Indeed,' nodded Isabel. 'Where I lived - far away in the desert - it was common for a woman to be a doctor, too. I am fully trained; it is my calling, if you will.'

'A fully trained doctor!' gasped Margaret. Isabel gave a small smile in reply. In truth, she was, of course, much more knowledgeable and highly skilled than the leading doctors of the day, but she could not explain that. Nor was she familiar with the limitations of ready medicines and diagnostic equipment, so she would take no pains to stress her in-depth knowledge.

'Indeed. Of course, I have no medical supplies or equipment, but I can apply the knowledge that I have, most readily.'

'You said you lived in the desert. That is then why your skin is darkened?' asked Margaret, aware that her own skin was of an unblemished ivory.

'Indeed. My look is not fashionable,' agreed Isabel, 'but Milton is a smoky place; I am sure I shall pale soon enough,' and Margaret smiled in return.

'Forgive me, but Papa told me you were twenty-seven. You look so much younger. I should have supposed you only a few years older than myself.'

'Yes, but you are quite tall, I think, whereas I am small, and that always makes one appear younger; creates the impression of a child. No doubt my hair shall begin to grey within a twelvemonth and then the game shall be up!' Margaret could not help but delight in her new companion's playfulness, and decided to reserve judgement as to her character, until they had formed a stronger acquaintance. She had already proven herself to be most agreeable in accepting servant's quarters and in expressing an interest in her mother's health. Now she showed herself to have a certain light-heartedness which Margaret had found so lacking among the ladies of polite London society. To be sure, Isabel's speech was not as cultured as she should have liked it to be, and her skin really was far too tanned, but she reasoned that the same might be said for poor Frederick, were he ever able to return home to England. Living under the Spanish sun, he was sure to have lost his pale complexion, and speaking in the Spanish dialect, she would be surprised if he was to retain his soft southern intonation, or the crisp sounding of his letters. No, thought Margaret, Frederick would probably quite like Isabel.

Mrs Hale proved less keen. She was struck by how very brown Isabel's skin was, and on more than one occasion, requested that Isabel repeat herself, claiming she had not been able to make out her words. Mr Hale felt sure his wife had fully understood the words Isabel had spoken, but felt she was merely attempting to highlight to the newest member of their family, how very displeased she was with Isabel's way of speaking.

'She speaks really quite fast,' complained Mrs Hale to her husband. 'And so dark; she is so dark. I have no a clue what she ought to wear if ever the occasion arose for her to put on a gown - a complexion such as hers; I know not what would suit it!' Mr Hale frowned, and attempted to tell his wife that Isabel was not so very tanned, but simply that the Hales were noted for having very fair skin.

'And she speaks remarkably well - certainly for one who has not lived in England for more than twenty years!' reminded Mr Hale.

'Perhaps,' sighed Mrs Hale, 'and she does appear to be quite caring; she was very attentive to my health the evening she arrived, and all day today - she has made herself useful to you or sat with me and asked how I am feeling. She is quite solicitous of my wellbeing!'

'Certainly!' smiled Mr Hale, really quite pleased that Isabel had decided to join his household, for he knew his wife would enjoy a companion who would listen to her complaints of ill health.

'Although,' whispered Mrs Hale, 'she cannot embroider. She said she has never made up a garment in her life!' Mr Hale shifted awkwardly in his chair.

'Perhaps dress making is not valued where she is from. Perhaps embroidery is not a valued pastime?' Mrs Hale shook her head - quite grieved - and determined that she would have to school Isabel in the ways of a lady, or should would be ill-suited to Margaret by way of companion. Impatient was she, then, when the following morning, Mrs Hale approached Isabel with an embroidery hoop, and Isabel replied that she could think of noting she would be more ill-equipped for.

'I cannot be idle. I must seek an active occupation. I have not the patience, nor the skill, for such intricate work, Mrs Hale. I fear I am a lost cause.'

'Oh!' frowned Mrs Hale, looking to her daughter for support, but Margaret had no great passion for embroidery herself. 'What of painting? Mr Hale said you do not paint?'

'Not at all, I'm afraid,' replied Isabel, indifferently. Her seeming obliviousness to her own failings piqued Mrs Hale's temper - which was shorted through their move north - and she could not keep the edge of scolding from her voice.

'Pray, what are your accomplishments?'

'I can ride; I am a good rider.'

'That should hardly serve you well in Milton?' laughed Margaret.

'No, indeed!' smiled Isabel. 'I can cook, and of course, I have a knowledge of medicine.'

'Cook? What do you cook?' Margaret asked, intrigued.

'Pastas, pizzas.' At the blanket faces, Isabel laughed and stated that her skills were limited to "foreign fare". Mrs Hale was displeased, for no young lady should know how to cook if the family had the means to keep a servant. She felt sure that her husband's goddaughter was not quite the lady - however kind she appeared to be - and once again, she fretted that Margaret was to have her as a companion.

And yet concerns about Isabel's lack of accomplishments and her notable eccentricities were swept aside upon the Hale's removal from Heston, for, where the sea air had proved cold but invigorating, the smoky, close air of Milton was oppressive. The air was so very thick with the soot of the machine, that Dixon walked about the house in Crampton complaining of the need for new furnishings, for surely, "any fabric light in colour shall be black with soot within a week!" The papers, Isabel was pleased to note, had, indeed, been changed, and Mr Hale, having seen the offending wallpaper with his own eyes, was much relieved. So too, was Margaret, who had received a vivid description of the ghastly papers from her father. Only Mrs Hale, who had not been fully enlightened as to the vulgarity of the aforementioned papers - so as not to alarm her - felt the need to express dissatisfaction with the newly-papered walls. Where the others knew the papers to be a great improvement, she could compare them only with those which had adorned the walls of Helstone, and of course - because Helstone was long-gone and never to be home again - everything fell short of Helstone; wallpaper and all.

The family had not long been resident in Crampton, when Mr Hale began to fret that his decision to bring his wife and daughter to such unhealthy climes, would bring about the loss of vigour in his loved ones. To this end, Mrs Hale nor Dixon did anything to alleviate his fears, and even Margaret - consoling as she was - struggled to find the words to reassure her father, for certainly, her mother's loss of strength could be first dated to learning of their removal from Helstone, and now that they were settled in Milton, she appeared to be weaker than ever. Only Isabel, who knew enough of science not to believe that it was the very place itself which ailed the mother, could offer Mr Hale any words of comfort.

'She has low spirits, to be sure, but she has not yet made any new acquaintances. In time, Mrs Hale is sure to learn of Milton ways and come to feel at home. Indeed, her room is just as she should choose it, and the drawing-room is very homely; very warm and cosy. You have your favourite pupil, Mr Thornton, to converse with, but Mrs Hale has only Margaret, Dixon or I.' Mr Hale nodded, wondering silently if Mr Thornton's mother - Mrs Thornton - might prove a suitable companion for his wife.

Indeed, he was truly quite hopeful, for the gentleman himself had proved to be quite the favourite. Mr Hale had been recommended to a fair few young boys from the age of fourteen and beyond, who would come to him to study the classics, literature and languages. Some of his pupils were older; working men who chose to improve themselves in order to satisfy their own internal wont of improvement, and not for any means by which to improves one's lot in life, and one of these pupils - the oldest of them all at approximately thirty years of age - was Mr Thornton. He came regularly to the house, and quickly became firm friends with Mr Hale. So much so that Mr Hale was wont to share all of Mr Thornton's opinions with his family at tea time. Margaret would laugh, and tease her father that Mr Thornton's hour of study must contain little in the way of study and much in the way of male conversation, but Mrs Hale found no humour in her daughter's teasing. Indeed, she was jealous of the intimacy her husband shared with the Milton manufacturer, and felt slighted that Mr Hale should choose to confide in, share company with, and express the opinions of, a working man, beyond his own fine wife. Neither husband nor daughter noticed Mrs Hale's displeasure, however, but Isabel saw it all, for she knew what to look for, and it became clear to her that Mr Thornton's visits to the house were a source of great enjoyment for the husband, and much frustration for the wife. Isabel sought to resolve this, by making Mrs Hale think well of her husband's new friend. Indeed, if Mrs Hale believed Mr Thornton to be a fine man, surely she could not feel ill-used - could feel no slight - in her husband taking such pleasure in the man's company?

'I think it says a great deal to his advantage,' Isabel ventured one evening, not long after they had settled in Crampton, 'that he is so prominent in the community - heralded as such a successful man of business, and a magistrate to boot! - and yet he still wishes to further himself. Indeed, I should not think there can be any monetary gain from his studying with Mr Hale. It can only be for personal satisfaction; a wont of knowledge and acknowledgment of his own shortcomings.'

'Shortcomings? He is a tradesman!' scoffed Margaret, who seemed impervious to Mr Thornton's charm; much to Isabel's dismay.

'Do not call a manufacturer a tradesman!' scolded Mr Hale. 'There is quite a difference.'

'I could never understand, Papa. He is not a gentleman, that is for sure.' Mr Hale was vexed that someone should slight his friend in such a way, and he felt a possessiveness in trying to defend him, which pleased Isabel greatly.

'What do you know of tradesmen, Margaret?' Isabel cajoled. 'You cannot have spent above ten minutes in Mr Thornton's company, and yet you profess to know him to be nothing more than a mere tradesman, and yet I ask you, what is so very terrible about a tradesman? - If that were a fair description of the man; which I shouldn't think it is.'

'You take an interest?' asked Margaret in surprise, for she could not fathom why else Isabel would speak up for the man. 'You have surely had not more than five minutes in his company! What can you possibly know of the man?' countered Margaret defensively. Yes, but I have read the book, thought Isabel. This, she could not voice, so instead so spoke slow and measured.

'Where I grew up, being in trade was no bad thing. Everyone worked. Indeed, a man who did not work was often viewed an idle, useless thing. What is such a man's purpose? What nobility or honour is there in a life of inactivity? I simply feel that if you are to slight a man, you must do so with good reason. As of you, I do not feel you can have any good reason. Did not Mr Thornton prove himself to be most helpful to your father in your relocation to Milton? Has not he recommended many pupils to your father? Does he not provide your father with a ready source of companionship, making his transition into Milton life that bit easier? And all this is to be undone - all this good; discounted and ignored - because the man works for a living? Because he did not go to Oxford or Cambridge?' She stood up - embarrassed at having spoken so much - at having expressed herself with such open feeling - and with a mumbled apology to Mr and Mrs Hale, bid the family good night. She could not be sorry - not truly so - for she had always felt a disconnection with Margaret Hale. She felt sure it was unfair for her to judge Margaret thus, for they were products of different times, but she struggled to warm to her; too reserved, too superior, too abysmally judgmental. And blind! thought Isabel, as she climbed the stairs to her attic room. Absolutely blind. Not handsome, said she, when describing him to her mother. Not handsome! She shook her head and determined that she would have to apologise to Margaret in the morning, but she would make no promise not to enlighten her again, for the Hales - soft and gentle parents that they were - offered Margaret no direction and allowed her to be prideful where her pride was so evidently misplaced.

Of course, it was not only Mrs Hale - and, to a lesser extent - Margaret, who regretted life in Milton. Dixon - faithful servant as she was - was determine to remain with her mistress, but so saying, she do not fail to voice her displeasure at living in such a dirty and uncultured environment. They needed a maid to assist her in her duties, but could not provide room for board. The wage they could offer - though fair by southern standards - could not compete with the wages available for working in the mills, and those girls who did apply were - as judged by Dixon - slatternly things who knew not how to show respect. Now Isabel had never been one for a life of inactivity, and wished to keep strong and healthy, so after Margaret and she had ventured through Milton looking for a suitable maid and come home with no fair prospects, Isabel determined to offer up her services, for she was - after all - taking up the room which ought to be the maid's, and living off the Hale's meagre funds. Put to use, she soon found herself commanded at Dixon's bidding - for all long-standing servants wish to have a subordinate - one to command at will, in order to elevate one's own status and flatter one's pride - and she found herself fetching and carrying water, kneading bread until her arms felt bruised, and forever running up and down the stairs to answer the door (for Dixon would not deign to answer the door to anyone not rightly called a Lady or a Gentleman, and where were they to be found in a place such as Milton?).

It was in this capacity as maid, that Isabel often found herself greeting Mr Thornton during his regular visits to the house. Although he never smiled at her, there was always a hint of warmth about his eyes whenever she opened the door, and she felt it keenly as he stepped towards her - crossing the threshold - and passed her his top hat and gloves. At every meeting she would blush, her heart hammering in her chest, and she would cast her eyes to the floor, scolding herself for her reaction. He is not for you. He is Margaret's! was her constant castigation.

Mr Thornton saw the blush that would steal across her cheeks. He would watch the hazel eyes drop quickly to the floor, and he would take a keen satisfaction in seeing the affect he had upon her. He also felt - but chose not to analyse or admit to - a strange warmth at handing her his hat and gloves; pleased by such an inane domestic gesture.

'Isabel,' asked Mr Thornton one evening, as he settled himself in the chair across from Mr Hale's desk, 'is she a servant?'

'Oh no! She is my goddaughter!' cried Mr Hale, and Mr Thornton immediately felt his blunder.

'And what is her name? for I have only heard her called Isabel.'

'She is Isabel Darrow. Well, I saw her at her baptism, and then did not see her again until she came to Milton - arrived in the city the very same day as us.' Mr Thornton's eyebrows rose.

'Indeed?'

'Yes,' confided Mr Hale, leaning forward in his chair. 'She is the daughter of a friend from my days in Oxford, but he died when she was a mere three months old. Her mother took her overseas and kept in touch by letter. She remarried but died in childbirth - along with her infant son - when Isabel was but six years old. She found herself an orphan, and was kept abroad in a cruel climate, I believe.'

'The stepfather?' enquired Mr Thornton; his interest piqued. Mr Hale shook his head sadly.

'I am afraid not. The stepfather did not want her - she not being his natural child. I believe he had an unmarried cousin who took her in, but my understanding is that her upbringing was blighted and she was passed from one reluctant claimant to another. But this is all hearsay! I have not heard her speak of family, at all.'

'And she did not return to you - as her godfather?' Again, there was a sad shake of the head.

'She was overseas - I knew not where - but I have learnt since her return, that she spent much time of late in the desert.' Mr Thornton nodded, having noted that her skin was darker than was common in the dull and sunless north.

'She is a gentleman's daughter then, by all accounts?' asked Mr Thornton, slowly, beginning to question his own interest. He reasoned it was a sympathetic affinity to learning of one's difficult upbringing; there would be no other cause for his intrigue.