I read North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell in 2025, and I can't get it out of my head! It's a remarkable book on several levels with so much to think about.
One thing N&S fans seem to agree on is that we wish there were more. The ending, while satisfying, is so short. Continuations and variations have been published by eager fans, and here's my first small attempt at such. I chose to focus on the conversation between Henry and Margaret which is only hinted at in the final chapter of the book, imagining how it would have gone down. Henry is a bit simpler of a character to write for than everyone's favorite, John Thornton, so please understand. :)
Also, I welcome title suggestions for this scene!
Henry Lennox arrived just before the appointed time. It had been an optimal morning, he reflected inwardly. Though up rather late at his brother’s dinner party the night before, and here he paused in his reflections to shake his head with a satisfied smile, he had slept extremely well. He had then arisen in time for breakfast and a walk to Harley Street at a pace comfortably brisk. He was about to have a private interview of a very promising nature with Margaret Hale, paragon of a woman, as he had repeatedly reminded himself over the past four years. How modestly exhilarated she had looked last night! In but a few moments, he might have the pleasure of seeing his well-laid plans executed to satisfaction, executed perhaps a bit later than he had originally hoped, but executed nonetheless. Would she blush and wait until he spoke? Or would she, in all the confidence of her new wealth, dare to make the offer herself? His lip curled up on one side. The suspense was almost palpable. There was nothing like the feeling of a plan nearly fulfilled.
It was unlikely any of the rest of the family would be awake, though perhaps the children with their nurses might be about. He grimly imagined a sudden tantrum intruding upon a tender moment with Margaret. But the door to the house was now open, and he stepped inside.
“You are looking very well today, Margaret,” Mr. Lennox declared cheerfully, when the maid had shown him into the study. Margaret, gliding from the window to the desk, did not hear or did not attend. He continued, “If anyone can be said to look well at all, after staying awake until such an ungodly hour.”
She flushed, and looked up. “Yes, Henry, thank you for coming.” Her rosy cheeks and her energy, almost nervous, excited him. She settled herself softly behind the desk.
“I am happy to be of any service.”
“Thank you. You are just the one to advise me. Do sit down. I wish to invest my money in business.”
“In business?” Henry paused mid-seat to reply archly, raising an eyebrow. “Why, of course, Margaret, I can consult with my brother barristers and put together some portfolios for your perusal, if you wish to invest in business. The railways are particularly promising just now.”
“Thank you, but I wish to invest in—in manufacturing.”
“In manufacturing? Exclusively?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Lennox paused a moment. He was surprised that she had formed so specific a design in such a short span of time. But he would advise her.
“Well, Margaret, you must know that manufacturing is an industry less than thriving just now. There is wisdom also in distributing one’s ventures. Economic principles are not things which you generally need to concern yourself over, of course, but let me simply say that it is frowned upon in the financial world to put all one’s eggs in a single basket, as they say. With the resources you have at hand, a shrewd approach is to choose several promising investment opportunities, and if one fails, not all is lost. We could consider a few mills, perhaps some railroads as well, and we could consider entrusting some money into the hands of a merchant banker, though that comes with more risk. Some of my associates have even more expertise than I on such matters.”
He paused again. Margaret’s gaze had drifted to the window, and he supposed that these theories of business had overwhelmed or confused her. He would explain again—Margaret might lack in information, but she was at least capable of coming to an understanding of such things in time. She was so unlike her cousin Edith, who tended to compensate for her intellectual deficiencies with dimples and her jiggling mass of blond curls. By contrast, Margaret was an enigma of Platonic femininity, needing only his guidance—but she turned suddenly, and with an earnestness and full composure, stated,
“You are mistaken, Mr. Lennox. I do not seek your advice as to what form of investment to make, but only your help in particulars and in drawing out the necessary documents. I know well that manufacturing has suffered loss of late, and that is why I most desire to invest there. I was looking over my accounts this morning before you came. I believe I have 18,057 pounds available at the moment. Does that seem correct?”
“Why, yes,” Henry began, glancing briefly at the ledger she held. But she continued.
“In your opinion, then, would this amount be enough to reopen a cotton mill?”
He stifled a chuckle, and assented.
Quickly, Margaret went on. “But, you understand, though I believe the machinery still to be in place, there may be no more inventory, and men would need to be hired, every single man . . .”
Henry could not help but interrupt. “I wonder if you can know the impact of such a sum, Margaret! Why, this amount would more than do, and, in fact, it would be reckless to entrust such a quantity to a single mill. You lived in the north—perhaps you heard that there were such things as unions, and even riots? It is by no means a stable business at present.”
“I am aware, of course, of the strikes, and I am familiar generally with supply and market demands posing as obstacles in the working of mills,” Margaret rejoined softly.
“Why, that mill owner who was here last night—Mr. Thornton—he shared himself the struggles experienced by manufacturing in the north. Quite a man of industry he was.” Henry remarked, suddenly recalling that puzzling acknowledgement of failure which he had tried to spare Mr. Thornton from making.
Margaret colored again, but her tone was steady. “Indeed, it is Marlborough Mill in which I should like to invest. Though Mr. Thornton came to town to relinquish his lease, I should prefer this. Will you help me draw up the papers?”
“Certainly,” Henry began, examining her face cautiously, “The man’s integrity was evident and his principles appeared sound. But do allow me to present additional options as well, for the sake of dividing your capital, as I was explaining earlier.” He betrayed no emotion in this speech. For her part, the crimson color remained in her cheeks, yet she retained control of her voice.
“I can think of no other avenue in which I would more confidently invest. Investment is a good stewardship of my resources, is it not?”
“Obviously,” Henry replied, unable to resist putting a sarcastic bent into his voice. “You are getting a mere two and a half percent if the money remains in the bank. But there is no need for haste. If you like, we can draw up papers loaning Marlborough Mill a few thousand, enough to get things up and running once again, and reevaluate semiannually if the mill proves viable. I already travel to Milton on business for you, and this would add no great trouble.”
“I would like to loan it all.”
Margaret had stood, supporting herself on the desk with trembling hands, her face turned downward, her dark curtain of hair nearly shading her eyes in front. Henry watched, silently, a cold realization creeping over his heart. Never had he seen her so exhilarated and agitated as when they parted last night, never, until the interview today. An interview which clearly did not pertain to his person.
“I will draw up the papers, then,” he replied coolly.
“Thank you, Mr. Lennox,” but she did not look up. “And will you kindly come tomorrow to present my proposition to—to my tenant? I will have a servant send for him.”
“But of course.”
He hurried away. Ego and dashed hopes momentarily dueled for priority in his thoughts as he mechanically left the room, the hall, the house. Edith caught him on the way and said something, and he made some reply. By the time he was down the steps, his sense of self-importance had rallied and he continued to his chambers with his wits fully intact. He would draw up the papers with the professionalism he owed to any of his clients.
And tomorrow, he would be on a train for Scotland.
