A/N: While this story is in fact a crossover, no category exists for the other story (which shall not be named just yet)... this is why I'll post it here, and only here.
A Foregone Conclusion | A North & South Mystery
"Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a Work before we count the Cost,
and before we judge rightly of our own Strength to go through with it."
(Daniel Defoe, 'Robinson Crusoe')
The young woman, sitting alone in her darkened bedroom in the early hours of the new day, was not a reader of romance or fiction—and therefore she was not familiar with that quote. But had she been, she would have been struck by its appropriateness with regard to her current situation.
She sat on the edge of her bed, and despite the late hour her posture was perfectly erect. But then, it could hardly have been otherwise—the rigidly laced corset underneath the travelling costume she still wore saw to it that there was no slouching; and no matter how much her spirits were drooping, her body would not. Her room was at the Crown—the best hotel in Milton—and it was part of a small suite on the first floor consisting of a parlour and adjacent bedroom. She occupied it all alone, which accounted for much of her predicament. By rights there should have been a genteel, elderly female companion—but, as it was, she didn't even have a maid to attend her.
By a series of questionable choices she had put her reputation in jeopardy. And this wasn't the worst of it...
It was as if history was repeating itself.
"Once again I have proved to be both reckless and obstinate," she whispered. "And, once again, I have neglected to consider the consequences." She rose and started to pace the length of the room, again and again, wringing her hands in agitation. A tear trickled down the gentle slope of her cheek. How quickly misery was following elation!
"Haven't I learnt anything?" At other times she would have been inclined to call upon divine intervention, but knowing that her present dilemma was entirely of her own doing made her hesitate.
At long last she stopped in her restless wanderings, her face suddenly set by resolve.
This time she would do the right thing. Even at the risk of appalling and alienating him.
Again.
01| Haste to the Wedding?
I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
(Lord Byron)
He was waiting for her in the hotel lobby as he had said he would on the night before. The instant she came down the stairs he turned towards her, and when his eyes found hers his entire face lit up.
How handsome he was!—and how could she ever have thought otherwise?
His tall dark frame, chiselled features, and brilliant blue eyes made him stand out amongst the small crowd waiting near the reception desk—as, indeed, he would have stood out amongst any crowd, anywhere—and regardless of all the trepidation that filled her heart at the thought of what she would have to say to him shortly, and what would be quite contrary to her protestations of the day before, the overwhelming feeling at this precise moment was one of blessedness... of gratitude for being loved by such a man.
"Miss Hale," Thornton called, and he held out his hand to help her down the last couple of steps. "My darling Margaret," he murmured drawing nearer, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at beholding her. "And do I spot a new bonnet?" he added mischievously.
"How very observant of you—John," she said just as softly, smiling despite herself. Calling him by his first name gave her a small tingle of delight. "I sneaked out of the hotel early this morning, as soon as the shops were open... There are certain advantages in residing on High Street—" Checking herself she took a small step back and reclaimed her hand from his grip. "Thank you for meeting with me this morning, Mr Thornton," she said aloud. "Would you care to follow me into the reading room?"
He frowned, sensing that something was ever so slightly amiss. "There's a carriage waiting outside, to take us to Marlborough Mills," he pointed out.
"Would you mind sending it away?—I should like for us to talk before I'll see your mother." When she saw his frown deepen, she added in a whisper, "Please, John. I need to talk to you before we proceed."
By the time Thornton entered the reading room, a space draped entirely in reds and dark browns, with a couple of book cabinets at one wall and groups of easy chairs and side tables strewn across a thick carpet that muffled his tread, the unmitigated joy he had felt upon arrival had given way to wariness. The room, although public, was empty at this time of day as Margaret had rightly assumed.
There she was! She was seated at a small group of armchairs by the window, well away from the entrance—so that they could neither be overheard by passers-by nor surprised by any new arrivals. As he came towards her she watched his progress with an expression of what could best be described as regret, and it heightened his sense of unease.
"What is it, Margaret?" he asked the moment he took a seat opposite her. He would have preferred to sit next to her, to feel her close by his side and to hold her hand.
To hold on to her—because he had an uncanny feeling that she was slipping away.
She looked up to him, her luminous eyes dimmed for once. Her face was pale, and he suddenly noticed that there were dark smudges underneath her eyes, as if she hadn't slept much the night before. Well, neither had he... Blame it on a profusion of happiness.
Somehow, he doubted that she had had quite the same reasons—
"We can't do it," she said abruptly. "I must return to London."
"Wh-what?" He was back on his feet again, looking at her in utter incredulity.
She held up a reconciliatory hand. "Hear me out," she begged. When she saw him remain standing, she added quietly, "John. Please, let me explain—"
"You don't want to marry me?" he asked hoarsely, sinking back into his chair. He was in shock, and a tiny detached part of him wondered whether—once he came out of it—he would feel furious or devastated.
"I do wish to marry you," she hastened to reassure him. "Nothing whatsoever has changed in that respect—and if it were up to me alone I should marry you in a wink, as soon as the licence was issued."
He heaved a sigh of relief. At least the worst would not come to pass. Or would it? "But?" he asked. "I sense a 'but' in there."
"But we acted very foolish when we met so unexpectedly yesterday—" She blushed deeply, remembering their fervent kiss at the train station platform. "—and one way or another we'll have to bear the consequences."
"We shall," he insisted. "And this is why we're going to marry quickly; just as we agreed yesterday—"
"But I disagree today... I thought about this all night, and I believe that acting rashly now will do much harm in times to come. People will wonder, and speculate... There will be talk—"
"But isn't that to be expected?" He looked at her, bewildered. "We kissed in public! The only logical—and honourable—solution is for us to marry instantly."
"It is not!" she insisted. "Remember, the train was almost empty by the time we arrived at Outwood station. Therefore it is very unlikely that any Miltonians were on it who recognised us on that platform... And when we arrived in Milton we separated almost immediately, me taking a hackney to the hotel, and you going to Marlborough Mills. I don't think there was anything untoward in the manner we bid each other good night at the local station. So, by all means, your landlord returned with you to Milton last night to finalise the business proposition she had come for earlier in the day."
"I don't follow your logic—" His face suddenly became withdrawn. He leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "But it appears to me that you have already made a decision about us—single-handedly, I might add." He didn't bother to hide the hurt in his voice.
"I'm only trying to be the voice of reason, John," she pleaded.
"So, you're saying that I'm unreasonable?"
Oh, how she knew that phrase, and that expression on his face—like a thundercloud—that went with it! With a sinking heart she felt that the situation was getting out of hand.
"John, please!... For your sake, and for mine, we must adhere to the approved duration of an engagement, and the personal conduct that comes with it..."
"How long?"
"How long before we can get married, you mean?" She dreaded his reaction to her calculations. "Eight months, I presume," she whispered at last, not daring to look at him.
"Eight months!" he cried out, slamming the armrest with the flat of his hand, and by all appearances quite oblivious of Margaret's gestures to pacify him. He was back on his feet again. "Eight months," he repeated agitatedly. "For goodness sake!... by what reasoning?" He stopped, staring at her. "No! Don't tell me—I cannot deal with this right now—" He turned abruptly and stormed towards the exit.
In the doorway he stopped, looking back at her. "At this moment I only understand that you renege on the promises we exchanged yesterday... I never knew you to be a coward before, Margaret Hale," he added, his voice low and scathing. Then he was gone.
Dejectedly, Margaret stared at the empty doorway.
She had done it all wrong!—by failing to take into consideration that, of the two of them, she was the cool, calculating one when it came to affairs of the heart, whereas he—under his carefully guarded manner—was a very passionate man...
I have a temper. Wasn't this virtually the first thing he had let her know about himself? How could she have forgotten?
Margaret took the midday train back to London. Travelling alone, even in a first class compartment, was yet another impropriety, but—as she thought resignedly—in the greater scheme of things it did hardly signify.
She had spent the remainder of the morning at Mr Latimer's bank. The extensive paperwork Henry Lennox had prepared prior to their sojourn into Milton had still been in her holdall. She had taken it with her to Marlborough Mills the day before, when she had gone to seek out Thornton. It had been by way of a pledge of her rational intentions when she came to make her business proposition; and after she hadn't found him at the mill, the contract and banker's order had remained forgotten in her bag.
Mr Latimer had been quite surprised to see her—surprised to such an extent that he had, in fact, been uncommonly taciturn and not even inclined to question dealing with a woman alone, a task also facilitated by the fact that the procedure had been prearranged, and the paperwork legally sound. So, pending Mr Thornton's acceptance, Marlborough Mills would be back in funds and in a position to resume business within a day.
Both contract and bank statement arrived by messenger at Marlborough Mills the very moment the conductor blew his whistle and the train—with Margaret on it—pulled out of Outwood station.
The train gathered speed. Exhausted to the bone, both from emotional turmoil and lack of sleep the previous night, Margaret fell back into her seat. She had done what her conscience had dictated her to do, and in spite of her heavy heart she still considered it the right thing to have done.
The next move would be up to John.
They were all assembled in the drawing room when Margaret arrived—Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox—and for a ludicrous moment Margaret wondered if they had come together to hold a tribunal over her. They were still mutely staring at her when Dixon entered through the other door with a large tray in hand, and Margaret realised that they had simply gathered to take tea together.
"Miss Margaret! You're back?" Dixon cried out, stopping dead in her tracks, and Edith—about to utter a similar exclamation—snapped her mouth shut again.
"Good evening, aunt," Margaret said with outward composure. "Edith. Captain Lennox. Excuse me for arriving without giving you prior notice... I hope I am not interrupting your tea," she added, well aware that she was doing just that.
"Thank you, Dixon. Y-you may leave," Mrs Shaw said, stumbling over her words.
Dixon bustled with the tea tray for another few moments, obviously disgruntled at being cut out of the drama that was certain to unfold.
Margaret quickly scanned the faces opposite her. Both Edith and Aunt Shaw looked stern and disapproving, while Captain Lennox's seemed to display a glint of amusement. But at what exactly? Margaret wondered.
"Look what the cat's dragged in," Edith murmured not quite under her breath as the door clicked shut behind Dixon. Margaret blinked; never before had she heard Edith say anything quite as unkind about her.
Hardly missing a beat Aunt Shaw said aloud, "Well, Margaret. I believe you owe us an explanation."
Collecting herself, Margaret replied, "I presume that Henry notified you last night of my return to Milton after meeting Mr Thornton..."
"He did say," Edith interrupted, "that you and that man Thornton came across each other en route, that you came to an understanding of a very personal nature—and I believe you should enlighten us on the precise manner of that, as Henry refused to do so—and that you boarded the northbound train with him—"
"We thought you had eloped—that you would be in Gretna Green by now... But here you are!" Mrs Shaw exclaimed, her face a picture of indignation.
"Don't you see the kind of situation you're putting us in?" Edith cried. "And poor Henry!... Have you no consideration at all for him?"
"I..." Margaret faltered.
"Are you engaged to be married to Thornton?" Captain Lennox, who had hitherto been silent, asked.
That was the question in a nutshell.
"I believe I am," Margaret said with all the conviction she could muster.
"You believe you are?" Mrs Shaw gasped, outraged. "Pray, what kind of answer is this?"
"Margaret, are you out of your mind?" Edith said, looking at her aghast.
"It is all the answer I can give you as of this moment," Margaret replied with quiet dignity, "and it will remain the only truthful answer until I shall see Mr Thornton again."
"I am quite put out!" Mrs Shaw declared. "You are excused to go to your room, Margaret. We don't expect to see you down here at dinner."
Back in her room Margaret lowered herself on the edge of her bed; her hands were shaking badly.
She had expected some disapproval from her Harley Street relatives, but she had never pictured the kind of hostility she had encountered just then. Obviously she had underestimated the loyalty they felt towards Henry as Captain Lennox's brother, and it was becoming equally apparent just how much scheming must have gone on behind the scenes in recent months to produce a happy ending between Henry and herself. Hadn't Edith always dreamt of them all living together in one big house?
They had even condoned her travelling alone with Henry to Milton and back again—probably in the hope that hours spent alone together in a train compartment would bring on a situation conductive to Henry's suit.
And then the train stop had happened, derailing all their plans...
A brisk knock at the door, followed by Dixon entering with a tea tray, interrupted her thoughts.
"Miss Margaret, what a to-do," Dixon muttered as she set down the tray on the bedside table.
"Did you hear what was being said in the drawing room?"
"The door was closed, miss." Which, for all Margaret knew, was servant code for I won't admit to listening at the door. "But it appears that you are in disgrace—"
"I am indeed," Margaret sighed. "For doing entirely the right thing, except for that one short moment of weakness yesterday, when I was giving in to my feelings and boarded the train with Mr Thornton... But it appears that I'm the only one viewing the situation in such a way."
"I shall always believe in your doing the right thing, Miss Margaret."
Margaret gave the old servant a grateful smile. "Thank you, Dixon... Even more so as I know that you don't approve of Mr Thornton."
"Well, miss, I disapprove of the North in general... Having said as much, I can't find as much fault with Mr Thornton as I used to—not after he helped you at the time of the inquest—but I wished you'd be looking at an easier life than the one Mr Thornton will be able to offer you."
"I shall never mind a full and busy life—I'm not cut out for idleness either," Margaret said with a sad smile. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves... When I left Milton, our engagement was not yet made public, and Mr Thornton was very upset with me when I last saw him. Let's wait and see if he'll still seek me out here in London."
"But if he won't—and soon!—your situation will become quite untenable here in Harley Street..."
"And don't I know this, Dixon," Margaret replied with sudden exasperation. "But there's no use crying over spilt milk—"
"I'll leave you to your tea now, miss." Years of dealing with Margaret Hale had given Dixon some insight when it was better to retreat quickly and quietly.
The following morning, upon waking late, Margaret was greeted by the information—brought in by Dixon together with the breakfast tray—that a note had arrived for Mrs Shaw from Mr Thornton, announcing his arrival at Harley Street after luncheon and begging for a private interview with her niece.
Hearing this made Margaret smile despite her apprehension about the actual agenda of his visit; it seemed that this time he had decided to strictly stick by decorum. But would he be coming to confirm his proposal of marriage or would he, on the contrary, return the contract and sever all ties between them?
She felt that what connected them was bigger than a lovers' tiff, and she took courage from his speedy appearance at her doorstep. Nevertheless, some uncertainty remained... She had proved to be a poor judge of him before, and the fact remained that she had reneged on her promise to marry him as soon as possible.
"The missus said you may receive your visitor in the back parlour," Dixon told her. "Now, what will you wear?"
She decided on a simple burgundy skirt and white blouse; it was in fact an old skirt, one she had owned while still living in Milton, but rarely worn at the time because the colour had felt too bold for the place and her status in Milton society. Now simple but bold seemed perfect.
Sitting in the back parlour, with the ormolu clock on the mantle—oh, so slowly!—ticking away the minutes, Margaret listened with all her might for the knock at the front door. When it finally came, precisely as the clock started to chime the hour, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She was on her feet when Dixon opened the parlour door shortly afterwards, with John following right behind her.
"Thank you, Dixon," she said, her eyes not leaving his face for a moment. "You may close the door behind you." She gave him a tremulous smile.
As soon as the door drew shut John rushed towards her. "I've been a cad," he said, his voice tinged with remorse. "Can you forgive me, Margaret?"
"I am so glad you have come..."
"My first impulse," he said, interrupting her, "after receiving your message with the contract yesterday, was to take the very next train south... But then it occurred to me that I would have arrived at your door in the middle of the night, and that would have confirmed—if not to you then to your relatives—what a boor I am. So, I've decided to do things properly and announce my visit with your aunt, to show you that I pay heed to your concerns. Do you approve?"
"With all my heart," she replied, smiling at him. Seeing his countenance she was certain where this was going.
"And are you still willing to marry me?—uncouth Northener that I am?" he asked with a tentative smile.
"I am... Of course, I will marry you, John!"
"And may I still kiss you?" he said, his smile broadening.
"In the privacy of this room, you may," she said, her eyes dancing. When she saw him still hesitate, she added, "Won't you come any closer?"
He took her in his arms then and silenced her with a kiss—and what followed was a lengthy period of delicious silence—until, laughing and slightly breathless, they took a small step back, yet still holding on to each others' hands.
"Before I'll ask your aunt for your hand in marriage, will you name the date?—however far in the future it may be," John said. "And, before all that, will you tell me all your reasons for the delay? Those reasons I was too pig-headed to listen to yesterday—"
"Gladly," Margaret replied. "It is as simple as that, John. You are a man of honour, and I don't want anything to taint your standing and reputation in Milton... I have done quite enough to damage—or at least to hazard—your good name in the past. I wouldn't want to make a habit of it... When I refused to marry you after the riot, people must have wondered; and whether they thought that you had not proposed at all, or were slighted, either case would have impaired the way your peers regarded you... Or think of the inquest! As a magistrate you risked an allegation of abusing your powers when you came to my rescue."
"I chose to help you then—You didn't force my hand," he said, shrugging off the risk he had taken at the time. "Besides, I don't care what people think... After I went out of business, I saw just how many true friends I had in Milton." He scoffed softly.
"You will be back again in business very soon—and those who derided you in the past will envy your good fortune all the more. Let's not give them the opportunity to look down at us."
She almost expected him to dismiss her concerns again, but he only raised a quizzical eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. Margaret faltered; the explanation he was waiting for was the part she dreaded. Raising such an issue with a man she was so newly engaged to, felt very improper.
"Well... you see... people in Milton don't know that you have cared for me for a very long time... nor can they possibly be aware that I have harboured... feelings for you for quite some time now. To them it is all very sudden, and perfectly inexplicable. Not even your mother or sister could possibly have foreseen this—not these days! And so everyone must wonder... All of Milton would ask themselves, 'How come that a young London heiress is in a rush to marry a bankrupt Northerner to whom she has, by all accounts, always been indifferent?'." She looked at him with pleading eyes, willing him to understand her meaning before she had to spell it out.
He gave a sardonic laugh. "Right," he said at last. "If it is rumours of 'having bought yourself a husband' due to particular circumstances you're alluding to, you may have a point—"
"Right," she echoed quickly, staring down at her hands. Her face was turning a flaming red.
When she finally looked up and saw his eyes suffused with love and understanding, she dimpled despite her embarrassment. "As we shall live in Milton once we are married, it will matter how people regard us," she said at last. "You will hold your rightful place amongst the masters and manufacturers of Milton again, and they shall respect you... and I may resume and expand my charitable endeavours eventually; and in order to do so I shall need the trust and goodwill of all the best families in Milton—"
Thornton chuckled, albeit a little wryly. "I daresay my admirably clever fiancée has thought of everything... not only in terms of analysing our current situation with the detachment of a true strategist, but also by planning for our future." He raised her hands to his lips and reverently kissed first the one, then the other. "So, what's the timeline exactly?"
"Well, we must do it by the book—"
"I beg your pardon?"
"By 'The Etiquette of Courtship and Matrimony: with a Complete Guide to the Forms of a Wedding'... It was published earlier this year, and my cousin took great pains to acquaint me with the fact of its existence and content, in the hitherto vain hope that I might put it to good use ere long."
Thornton groaned. "You mean literally... There really is a book—" He raked his fingers through his hair in seeming despair, making them stand on end for a moment.
"—and according to said book a society wedding might best be conducted in spring, so that it can be followed by an extended honeymoon on the Continent before summer turns unpleasantly hot. Too early in the year, and we might end up with sleet on the day." She stopped herself, realising that she sounded absurd. She didn't care for any of this; quite besides the fact that they would be spending several more months apart—after all the time it had taken them to come to an understanding in the first place. An understanding that almost hadn't happened, if fate hadn't intervened.
"However, for the time being I must remain in London," she concluded. "But now that we are engaged, you may come visit me again. Often... and I shall return to Milton as often as I can."
"You must!—Remember, I have yet to introduce you to my mother as my fiancée."
Margaret gave him a constrained smile. "I am sure she's impatiently waiting to welcome me into the family..."
"... as will be your aunt when I'll go and ask for your hand in marriage in a moment."
He suddenly frowned. "You said yesterday that no-one of consequence saw us kissing at the station platform. But someone of consequence did see us at the time!—Mr Lennox... Hasn't he told your family? What about your reputation here in London?"
"Henry hasn't told them the particulars, merely the irrefutable fact of my returning with you to Milton which, bearing in mind our respective situations, they consider scandalous enough, of course."
"But can Mr Lennox be trusted to remain silent?"
"If nothing else I know him to be loyal to his brother. He would want to avoid having his brother's family associated with any scandal ... so, I should say 'yes'."
"In the light of all this, I am truly sorry for my lack of self-restraint at the station the other day. If it wasn't for me kissing you in public, none of this unpleasantness would have befallen you."
"Don't you dare regret what happened then!" Margaret whispered, stepping closer and putting her arms around his waist. "I shan't until my dying day, not even for a moment."
"Then neither shall I," he murmured as his lips brushed her cheek.
Eventually—after another lengthy lapse of time—he said, "Now, name the date and I shall go and see your aunt... If we tarry in here for very much longer, someone will burst in on us to make sure that you're not being ravished by a tradesman."
Lost for a clever reply to his pert remark, she spluttered for a moment, then decided to answer the obvious question. "I have been thinking about a week or two after Easter, as we couldn't possibly get married during lent... What do you think?"
"Easter, you say?" He pondered over her suggestion for a moment, doing the maths in his head. "Then I consider myself lucky! Easter will be late in March next year. I daresay we may get married in early April, and therefore it is only seven months instead of eight... I'll gladly risk the sleet." He gave her a sweet lopsided grin. "Mind you, it is still an eternity."
A/N:
I first started writing North & South fan fiction in 2014, and since then my fics have lost their "home" twice due to forums closing down, as last happened in October 2020. As it was, both of them had been rather quiet nooks in the greater world of online fan fiction. I have since disputed with myself whether or not to re-post my stories—my favourite ones, at least—at a large writers forum such as this one. Well, as you can see, I'm giving it a try now...
This story has been my latest piece; a just-for-fun project with a crossover element further along the line that you may, or may not, recognise. However, even if you don't, it will be of not much consequence.
I hope that none of you is too disappointed by the fact that this is not an actual work in progress, but a complete story coming to you in fairly regular intervals, only depending on the time I'll need to proof-read each chapter ahead of posting. So, while I can't work any of your suggestions for plot points or characterisation into it (however much I'll welcome your feedback), you have at least the certainty—unless I get run over by a bus—that you will get an actual ending!
