So I was taking a break from another story I'm working on and browsing for news of Robert Bathurst, hoping he'd snuck back to England to film an appearance on DA. Doesn't seem to have happened-yet. That got me to thinking about how JF is going to fix this mess he has created. So Mr. Fellowes, here's one way to right the ship-
It was a dreary rainy day in London when Lady Edith Crawley boarded the train for Yorkshire. She was sitting in her compartment waiting to feel the motion of the huge engine chugging out of the station when she glanced out of her window and saw him. Sir Anthony Strallan was standing on the platform, looking at his ticket. Just as she was about to call out through her open window, he suddenly turned to his right and disappeared into the crowd. Perhaps it was for the best, she thought, considering the last time she had seen him…
Edith thought about his appearance. He'd lost weight since she'd last seen him on that dreadful day at the church. There was a part of her that thought it only right that he had suffered. After all, she had been miserable for the longest time after he bolted. But that feeling passed briefly as she let her mind linger on how he had looked on the platform. Anthony, like so many gentlemen of his era, kept his thoughts and feelings close. But she had known him long enough, learned his face well enough to read the grief in his face…grief and a sense of futility as if he had given up and was only going through the motions of life. Her heart felt leaden as the train pulled away from the station.
Two days later she was in the village when she spied his car near the village hospital. Carl, his driver, was napping behind the wheel. After considering the possibilities, Edith surmised Anthony must be inside to see the doctor. But why? She took up a spot on a bench under a large oak tree just down the road and waited. Eventually he emerged from the hospital, slipping on his hat before climbing into the car. Even from a distance, Edith knew his mannerism well enough to know something was terribly wrong.
Once the car had disappeared in the direction of Locksley, Edith walked to the hospital in search of Dr. Clarkson.
"Lady Edith, surely you understand why I cannot tell you what it is you ask," Dr. Clarkson said frustrated after she explained the reason for her visit.
"I don't expect a full disclosure, Dr. Clarkson," she replied. "But…surely you can understand that I am concerned. I only wish to know that he is…alright."
Clarkson sighed. "Alright…is a relative term, especially with the war veterans. But perhaps it is to him you should direct your questions."
Perplexed by the doctor's evasive answer, Edith frowned. "I…I don't think he wishes to see me," she said as she chewed her lower lip.
"I believe you would be surprised…" the doctor spoke more gently. "I think he believes it is you who would not wish to see him…after the last time…"
Looking at the doctor sadly, Edith's lip quivered. "He…did what he did out of some misguided idea of what would be best for me. I was very angry for a time but…but I'm not any longer. He just…disappeared after that day and when I saw that he was here, I…"
Richard Clarkson wanted to help but he knew he couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear. Putting his hand on her arm as if to comfort her, he sighed again. "Perhaps you should ask him, Lady Edith. But…"
"But what?" she looked at him, suddenly hopeful.
"Well, only if you are going to visit as a friend. If you are planning to try and rebuke him for what he did, then I would advise you leave it alone. You are not the only one who has suffered as a result of his decision," he said darkly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a patient waiting…"
Edith mulled over her conversation with Dr. Clarkson for the rest of the day and well into the night. The next morning she was up early, ate a quick breakfast and then borrowed a car on the excuse she needed to run to Rippon. Had anyone watched from the upper floors of the house, however, they would have seen her turn onto the road in the opposite direction.
"Lady Edith?" Oakley exclaimed as he greeted her at the door. "Sir Anthony did not mention that you would be visiting," he added.
"Because he had no idea. Is he in?"
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the old butler's eyes flashed nervously. "He's out at one of the farms. We expect him back before luncheon."
"Perhaps I could wait for his return in the library," Edith suggested.
"Yes, of course. If you insist…"
"I do," she said pleasantly but firmly. With a small smile she considered that there were times when being the granddaughter of both Violet Crawley and Martha Levinson was useful. From them she had learned how one might force one's way into a situation. "Oh and Oakley, perhaps you could ask Cook to prepare a picnic basket instead of a full luncheon?" The old butler recognized the command in her question and simply nodded before heading to the kitchen.
She smiled as she looked around the library. There were many happy memories for her in this room but more than that, the room was so quintessentially Anthony. Everything in the room spoke about him from the stacks of books haphazardly placed around the room to the well used furniture to the mess that defined his desk. One of his jackets was thrown over the back of his desk chair and drew her to it. She ran her hand over the fabric as she picked it up. His scent hung on it and filled her nostrils. The sensation threatened to overpower her as she realized just how very much she had simply missed him.
Carefully she replaced his jacket and moved to the shelves. Running her fingers along the spines, she stopped when she spied a book of 19th century poetry. It was worn and she could imagine him spending hours with the book, pouring over the contents. Taking the book from the shelf she settled in a nearby chair and began to flip through it. The pages fell open to a poem by John Clare that seemed to have been well read.
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.
The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear
That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.
At the bottom there was a handwritten notation in Anthony's precise hand. Edith gasped at his note;"Oh my darling, what have I done?" When had he written it, she wondered. Had it been all those years ago, the summer of carefree rides in his car and concerts in York. Or was it after he run away from the garden party? Perhaps the night of his proposal? Or had it been after he left her shattered at the altar?
It was another hour before Edith heard the sounds of Anthony's return. Oakley's voice was rather loud as he greeted his employer but Edith noted the butler did not inform him of her presence in the library. Still, she was not surprised a few moments later when the door opened and he stepped through. It was after all, his favorite room.
He froze in the doorway, his blue eyes showing his shock at seeing her. "Lady Edith?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. To Edith he looked as if he'd seen a ghost, his face going pale.
"Sir Anthony," she said much too brightly. "I… I've been away…staying in London and am back home for awhile. But I'm afraid after the bustle of London; Downton seems quite tame so I thought I might visit friends. And of course, you have always been my closest friend here in the county…" She hated that she sounded so phony but she had to find a way to set him at ease. But he just stood there, looking at her with much the same expression she remembered from that day, a look of utter despair and longing. He looked gaunt, even more so than when she first saw him after the war. There was a dullness about him that she had never before associated with him. Always, he had been warm and comforting and with his blonde hair and bright blue eyes he seemed to shine; but his eyes weren't bright and his hair, while still blonde seemed to have no life and he just looked…weary.
"You…you consider me a …friend…after…after what I did?" He seemed completely mystified. Everything in his manner expressed defeat.
"I was quite angry with you for a long time but I knew why you did it. You thought it was what was right for me. And I realized you sacrificed your own chance at happiness so that I might someone better. I won't bore you with trying to win you over again, Anthony. However, there is no one better than you…at least, not as far as I am concerned. But you've decided and I won't belabor the point. I do, however, miss our friendship. I've found no one who sees the world in quite the way you do or whose interests so closely match mine. So I hoped that perhaps enough time has passed that we might be friends?"
"Friends?" He seemed lost. "Yes, I suppose…."
"Good," she said brightly again, inwardly rolling her eyes. "Then perhaps your cook would pack us a picnic and we could venture out as we used to?"
Anthony frowned and shook his head. "No."
"No?" She replied in a manner that let him know she wasn't going to accept that answer so easily. Then she sat on the sofa, allowing him to settle in a nearby chair.
"I…I don't think it is wise…"
"Alright then…how have you been Anthony? We heard you were travelling…"
"I did…some," he answered absently still distracted by her very presence.
"I've been busy as well. After…that day… it took awhile but I finally found a direction. I've been writing for The Sketch."
"Yes, yes…I've read some of your…pieces. I…I was …"
"What Anthony? What did you think about them? I wondered what you might think. It is you who gave me the courage to try, you know. I hoped you would like them."
"I…gave you courage?" His pained expression was breaking her heart.
"Yes, you encouraged me in so many ways, you know…when we were…keeping company."
"Yes…well,…I um…I was impressed. Yes, quite impressed," he said, finally showing a little life. "You're…living in London," he asked, trying to make conversation finally.
"I am. I have a small place. Granny and Papa are quite horrified by it all."
"Yes, well… it is….unusual. So…in London…you've met new people?" He leaned forward, genuinely interested in her answer.
"I have…many new people. At first I feared that I would become a dried up old spinster…the maiden aunt… but after moving to London, it hasn't been like that at all." She was deliberately being vague, hoping to whet his interest.
"You…have a social life?" he inquired.
"Yes…quite. I've several new friends and we go out often. I've even learned the new dances and we visit some of the clubs. It is quite exciting."
"Clubs? You…you don't go unescorted to those places, do you?" His obvious distaste for them was evident in his visage.
"Of course not."
Just then, a knock sounded on the library entrance and Oakley entered carrying the picnic basket. "As you requested, Lady Edith." He set it next to her on the sofa and hurriedly exited.
Anthony stared at the basket and then at her. "You…requested…a…a basket?"
"Yes, it is a beautiful day and I thought we might go for a drive like we used to, so many years ago…before the war. And as it is nearing time for luncheon, I thought a picnic might be in order."
"But…I said…I….I can't do this Edith. I'm sorry," he said as he stood abruptly, staring down at her beleaguered.
"I've sprung this on you suddenly. I'll give you a few minutes to reconsider…" she said in her grandmother's best tone.
"It won't work," he responded, almost pleading.
"Perhaps you are right," she gave in far too easily, which only seemed to heighten his suspicions. Watching him stand there uncertainly, Edith wondered if she were being cruel. He looked so down trodden and hopeless. And from Dr. Clarkson had not said, she gathered he was already suffering.
"I really do find the clubs entertaining," she said, turning the attention back to her life in London. "The music is quite different than anything we might hear around here and it is all very alive and exciting.
"You go there often…to the clubs?" His relief at the change of subject was tangible.
"Oh yes, at least once or twice a week. Michael takes me…" There, she'd let the name drop into the conversation. She watched him closely as he digested what she had just told him. The poor man looked queasy.
"So you've met someone?" His tone had an air of finality.
Edith couldn't decide if he looked hopeful or was dreading her answer. "I have. Quite a nice fellow…reminds me of you actually although he isn't nearly as nice or gentlemanly."
Consternation crossed his face as he absorbed her meaning. "Not a gentleman?"
"Well, no. He's not of our class. Papa doesn't like him much but I think Mama and Granny do. Mary is suspicious, which is fine with me."
Suddenly agitated, Anthony squirmed in his chair. "He's met your family? Are you… is he…a suitor then?"
Inwardly Edith was gleeful. She had him…. "Suitor? Not exactly, although he has made a proposal."
Anthony looked at her as if he might cry. "That's why you came here today isn't it? To tell me you are engaged and…and…"
"Engaged? Heavens no…not at all."
"What?" Again, Anthony looked utterly confused.
"Michael can't marry me; he's already married. But he has made a proposition; he wants me to move into his home."
"He what?" Anthony exclaimed as he rose from his chair after having just settled back into it. "He...he what? Edith, surely you aren't considering… that would….you would be ruined and…"
"And what," she asked more calmly. "No one will ever propose marriage? No one has or ever will, Anthony; no one except you. Besides, I couldn't marry someone I don't love and I don't love him. He reminds me of you in some ways and that's…that's why I feel drawn to him. And if I do move into his home, I'll tolerate it because of that. But when…when we are together I'll close my eyes and it will be you in my mind."
He went ashen at her declaration. "You…you would do that… debase yourself like that?"
Looking at him, Edith began to regret baiting him so but knew she had to get through to him. Still, he looked so utterly stricken. "Actually, that's part of why I am here," she confessed as she rose from her spot.
"What? Why?" His agitation was palatable
Taking a few steps toward him, she replied. "I thought…well, if I'm going to accept Michael's proposal I'll be giving him what rightfully should be yours…" Anthony stared at her, unnerved. "And I wanted to …I want my first time to be…with you," she said lightly as if she were proposing a first kiss. "After all, shouldn't I at least sample the original before settling for a poor imitation?" By now she stood in front of him, easily within arms reach.
Anthony's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious! Edith, you can't do this. This…this man is… what he is suggesting is… and…for me to …to …dishonor you in that way…it is unthinkable. I could never…No, I… I gave you your freedom so you might find a suitable husband, have the life you deserve, not…not a liaison." If ever anyone had yelled at her with a whisper, he had just done it.
Now Edith was upset. He looked so flustered and dejected. "But can't you see Anthony, I don't have many options. There is not a long cue of men waiting in line," she said as she leaned into him. "And I'd like my first time to be with someone that thrills me as you do."
"But…" His breathing was ragged and frantic as he peered down into her eyes. She could see his want very plainly, along with his desperation to stop her. She decided to make things even more difficult and leaned closer, ensuring that certain body parts were involved in the contact. Anthony gasped and took a step back. "You mustn't…that's not…proper," he blurted. "Some men might….you shouldn't invite them to…to…"
"Do what? Do what you refuse to do?" She paused. "Don't look so horrified, Anthony. I don't generally run around bumping into men. But I'm tired of being alone and if you won't have me…" She let his mind fill in the rest.
"Edith, you are much too lovely to let this man … touch you."
"I haven't accepted his proposal. Before I go back and give him my answer, I need to know something from you. But I don't want to talk about it here where there are so many memories. That's why I wanted a picnic…to be someplace open and no one else around and no memories of us together in that place to…to make things more painful than they already are"
Rubbing the back of his head in an effort to regain some composure, Anthony looked wary. "What is it you wish to know?"
Edith stepped back and gripped the basket handle. "Not here. Not in this room."
"But…"
She started for the door, making it obvious that there would be no more discussion in this house. Realizing that she was leaving, Anthony decided he must follow and talk her out of this nonsense.
Neither spoke as they drove a few miles down the road before Edith turned the car onto a smaller road and then pulled into a small glen. Once the offending basket was brought to a place beneath a large oak tree, they settled on a blanket that Anthony had retrieved from the car. She used every opportunity to brush against him lightly, taunting him. And each encounter produced a small gasp from him. Opening the basket she began to sort out the food. Each unwrapped a sandwich and began to eat, eyeing one another surreptitiously as they chewed.
"I saw your car in the village, in front of the hospital. You were there to see Dr. Clarkson. Are you alright?" She said all of a sudden as she finished her last bite.
"You… want to know…Yes, I'm alright."
Edith gazed at him as his eyes shifted. She had him completely befuddled and off balance but more than that, he couldn't look at her. "You're a poor liar, Anthony. Answer me and be honest or I promise I'll catch the next train back to London and by next week I'll be living with Michael as his mistress."
"You…no, you can't…" He looked positively ill.
"Then tell me what is wrong," she said firmly.
"I…nothing…nothing more than…than since the war, that is."
"Look at me Anthony." When he complied, she knew he was hiding something terrible; he had that look of despair again. "Tell me."
"I…my arm…the pain… and…" he was breathing heavily now, as if he couldn't catch his breath.
"And what?" His demeanor worried her; he looked like he might collapse at any moment and she knew he was revealing things he'd hoped to keep secret from her.
"The…the nightmares. I …have nightmares ... have had them since the war."
"About the war? I remember soldiers having nightmares when Downton was a convalescence hospital. They were quite vivid and the men were afraid to sleep after."
"Yes…yes, quite vivid. I haven't slept well since…that day. I wake up sweating and screaming and well…it's quite upsetting to everyone. They leave me feeling useless and weak…."
Edith couldn't remember ever having seen him so ill at ease and mortified. "Did they only begin then? I thought you said you were having them after the war…" Understanding began to dawn in her mind. "That's what frightened you about marrying me, wasn't it? You were afraid of the nightmares…of what I might think. But Anthony, you are neither useless or weak. The war did strange things to men…changed us all…"
"Edith, I…I didn't want you tied to me…tied to a broken man. After…after you started coming around, it was …it was as if a heavy cloud lifted and I began to sleep better and the pain in my arm was more bearable. I meant it that night when I said you gave me back my life. But it didn't go away, not entirely and I couldn't be so selfish, don't you see? And after you said you loved me because of my injury, I saw what I was preparing to do to you and I couldn't allow it to happen. You are far too… too lovely and …precious to me. I couldn't bear to see what my … situation would eventually do to you. Your spark would dim and fade and eventually you would resent me for that and I couldn't….I couldn't bear it."
"But your nightmares are worse now?"
Anthony nodded. "That's why I went to see Clarkson. I hoped he could give me something to sleep. But he said he had already given me the strongest thing he had." He watched her apprehensively, waiting for her response.
"I'm not going to accept Michael," she said. "I can't."
"Oh thank god," he breathed. "So what will you do?"
"I don't know," she said unhappily. "I…even if there were other men, I couldn't…. the only reason I even considered Michael was because I was so lonely and he reminded me of you. But he isn't you and I'd never be happy with him."
"Oh Edith, you must forget me…find someone…someone who can bring you the joy you deserve."
"Do you love me?" she asked straightforwardly.
"Edith, no…don't ask that…don't make this even more difficult. Please."
"Because I love you…" she said, ignoring his plea. "Your age, your arm, even your nightmares are a part of you. I don't love you any less because of them. And I've come to realize that there will never be another for me. I'm not trying to pressure you or make you do anything you don't want to do. But I do want you to understand. I believe you love me; you demonstrated it by trying to give me my freedom but I don't want it. Freedom can be very lonely." She paused letting those words settle. "And you've suffered; I know you have. But apparently I haven't been able to convince you; I couldn't then and I can't now. You're a stubborn man Anthony Strallan; polite, kind, gentle, and very, very stubborn." She saw tears in his eyes and knew she needed to stop. He would never recover if she were to see him cry. "I've said what I came to say. You've demonstrated that you want me to be happy and I want your happiness as well. I believe the solution to both of our situations is to be together, but I'm not going to fight your obstinacy. If you ever change your mind, you know where I'll be."
She stood and carried the basket back to the car, leaving him standing there staring after her. Once he realized what she was doing he hurried to climb in and they drove back to Locksley as quietly as they had driven out. Arriving at the front door, he stepped down from the car and turned to help her with the basket, still trying to think of a way to respond to her confession of love. Edith saw the agony etched in his face and knew she had to stop badgering him in this way and decided the leave as quickly as possible. Speeding away, she did not see or hear Anthony rush to catch her, calling her name.
It was just about tea time at Downton when Carson announced "Sir Anthony Strallan."
"What the devil?" Robert exclaimed. Mary's dark eyes flashed to Edith, wondering. Cora looked expectantly at the door and nodded to Carson to let the man come through. Edith held her breath.
He looked magnificent. Obviously Anthony had taken extra care with his appearance, his dark suit of clothes pressed and every hair in place.
Robert crossed the room to challenge him but Anthony took the situation in hand. "Lord Grantham, I realize I am the last person you wish to see in your drawing room. I won't linger." His eyes shifted to Edith. "However, I am here to ask Lady Edith if she could possibly forgive this foolish old man and give me another chance to make things right between us."
Edith stood and looked at him, beaming. "I don't know of any old man; but yes, I do forgive you Sir Anthony. And I would very much like to have things right between us."
Side stepping Robert, who was looking at him shocked and suspicious, he crossed to Edith. "I….I couldn't think of a proper response to you this afternoon until the last but then you sped away…" Suddenly he dropped to one knee. "Lady Edith Crawley, would you honor me and become my wife? Could you overlook my many flaws, most especially my obstinacy and spend your days by my side?"
Edith felt the tears in her eyes, tears of joy. "Yes," she whispered. She heard Mary's groan and Cora's happy gasp. Had she looked at her father she would have seen him roll his eyes and then stop to look at them, puzzled at first but then his expression changing to understanding.
In fact, it was Robert who stepped toward them. "Shall we celebrate?" he asked with sincere cheerfulness.
"Oh yes," Cora exclaimed.
A few minutes later as Robert refilled Anthony's glass of champagne, he looked the man in the eyes. "Do we need to pack you off to Gretna Green tonight or will can we trust you to go through with it this time?"
Anthony smiled his nervous, cooked smile. "I…I'm not doing that to her again," he said as his eyes glanced across the room to Edith. "But I'll confess that the idea of a dash across the border does have appeal."
Much to everyone's surprise, Robert turned to the others. "We're travelling to Gretna Green tonight," he announced. "It is about time these two begin their life together. Anyone going should be at the door in two hours." Turning to his middle daughter, he added,"my darling daughter, I believe you have some packing to do…"
Mary declined and Tom didn't want to leave Sybie, so it was Robert and Cora who accompanied them. Once the ceremony was done and the congratulations said, the Crawleys boarded a train for the ride home, leaving the Strallans to begin their new life together. As Edith looked up into her husband's eyes, she was gratified to see them looking back at her, bright blue and vibrant.
"Come husband, let's begin our next chapter." Anthony smiled and with a tilt of his head signaled her to lead the way.