A/N. Final season starts tonight! I sincerely hope they sort poor Edith's storyline out but, in the meantime, here's something I've been musing on - Edith and Marigold's life in London.
Edith Crawley had very little to complain about in her life. Whilst the introduction of Marigold to her parents, and the subsequent revelation of her true identity, certainly hadn't been a walk in the park they had (against her prediction) exceeded all expectations and had helped Marigold's transition to Downton with apparent ease.
Her parents being on her side certainly helped quash any malignant rumours about Marigold's true parentage. There were so many orphans following years of war and the Spanish 'flu that no-one could really find out where she actually came from anyway, which meant she could be installed in the nursery of Downton and into the fabric of the household with very little trouble. It was the best possible childhood Edith could have hoped for her daughter - spending her formative years with four generations of family, alongside her cousins in the same house her mother had grown up in. She got to experience the full glory of a privileged childhood with all the attendant joys and care.
Life at Downton had continued in that was for a few years. Edith was grateful to be able to raise Marigold in such comfort, so close to family, but it couldn't be forever. With Tom and Sybbie across the Atlantic and Mary's recent decision to finally stop stringing her puppy-dog suitors along and marry Charles Blake, Edith had ended up as what her parents had always anticipated for her - perennially single and living with her ageing parents. What had not been expected was Marigold.
But for Edith that life wasn't enough. More than anything she wanted Marigold to experience real life, not grow up in a gilded cage. It wouldn't be her lifestyle when she was older after all. She wanted travel, adventure, independence, the whole world for her to explore, not simply sit and wait. Michael's will had left her in complete control of his property (with a small provision for the care of his wife) leaving Edith a relatively wealthy woman, and in complete control of The Sketch.
That was the life she wanted Marigold to have as an adult. To experience independence and the fulfilment of wishes beyond simply pretty dresses and balls. To have a real life, a life divorced from social status and titles. Marigold was officially known as the Honourable Marigold Rosamund Crawley. In the absence of a birth certificate (one that could be publicly shown anyway) her family had helped invent her background and have her legally adopted by Edith which meant the honorific was her right. Edith would have preferred for her daughter not to have it, except for the fact that it proved her absolute acceptance by her family. She was glad of that at least.
Marigold was nearly ten when Edith decided to move permanently to London. She had tried to base herself in Yorkshire, and oversee things at the newspaper from a distance but the travelling was not conducive to a restful life, and she constantly felt torn between being a bad mother and a bad employer, only being able to half be with her daughter and her business. Her initial intent to be an 'editor from afar' and appoint a man to deal with the day-to-day running of the newspaper wasn't ideal. She felt that if she was truly to take on the responsibility she should be there in person. And she liked the London life. Marigold's existence showed that she was not the type to settle into a quiet country life. She liked the hustle and bustle, not to mention the anonymity that city life afforded her. Marigold had certainly spent a lot of time in the capital. Between Edith's business trips and frequent visits to her great-aunt Rosamund, London was enough of a second home to her to make the move reasonably easy.
In addition, Edith wanted to be independent of her family. Nothing could be better than the feeling of coming home to one's own home, to be mistress of her own (admittedly rather modest) establishment and be treated as such. Edith had sold Michael's flat several years before, she couldn't bear the memories living there would evoke, and had bought a small third-floor flat in Bloomsbury outright. She adored her new home. The one place she could feel truly at home and herself. She had decorated it all herself, with simple furniture, muted tones and papered walls in stark contrast to the deep jewel-colours and ornate fussiness she had grown up with.
The park was within walking distance, as was Marigold's school. Her mother had made a half-hearted attempt to persuade Edith to either allow them to pay for a governess, or a boarding school for their youngest grandchild, both of which she had refused. Nobody ever learnt anything from a governess anyway, and she didn't want Marigold exposed to the snobbery inherent in British boarding-schools. Marigold had soon settled into her new life - something her mother was glad of. There were no awkward questions about her parentage, nor any pressure on Edith to conform to the life others had decreed for her. The new life suited both of them, as did their new home.
It was at that address that she received the first reminder in some time of her previous life. She had been living for so long as simply 'Edith Crawley, editor' that her title was almost alien to her. So when a letter arrived with Lady Edith Crawley in intricate curlicue across the front she had a vague sense of foreboding. Her family, with the exception of a duty letter from her mother every so often, left her alone for the most part. When they were in London she had to visit them of course but otherwise they seemed to prefer to forget her 'other life' in London. She hadn't followed the path set out for her, by way of a husband with an estate and children, and so they would rather turn a blind eye to her alternative lifestyle and let her get on with it.
As it wasn't her mother's careful script on the front of the letter, nor any another hand she recognised, she truly had no idea who would be contacting her in her new house but under her old name.
Frowning slightly she tore open the seal and unfolded the paper. Then frowned deeper. Whatever she had been expecting this was certainly not it.