I own nothing.
"Edith darling, I do apologise for my bluntness with the utmost sincerity." Celia announced, as she swept into the parlour of her friend's aunt, Lady Rosamund Painswick, of London. Edith looked up from her magazine, startled at the sudden appearance of the dark haired woman before her, though before her question could be put to words, the elderly butler shuffled through the doorway.
"Miss Celia Jackson to see Lady Edith Crawley, milady."
"Thank you Perkins- a bit late, maybe?" Came the response from the startled blonde.
The butler only responded by looking confused in an extremely unhelpful manner, and inching through the doorway with as much speed as a snail on the gin.
"What bluntness?" She asked, turning back to her work colleague.
Celia and Edith had been working together at the magazine for three years now, and had become fast friends over that time. Celia displayed an exotic character; a well travelled woman in possession of wisdom beyond her years, and experience in all manner of scenes (a lot of these were a subject the Dowager would certainly not approve of, to say the least) with a fondness for exuberant clothes of her own creation, thrown together with beads and rings which she had collected on her travels, and while many people promptly proceeded to toss their noses violently in the air and march away from the Bohemian looking woman (a savage who most likely boiled potions in her cauldron below her flat in the East end whilst listening to the wireless), some individuals saw her value, which was how she came to be of the position of standing like a patchwork angel in the London home of the Painswicks.
"Well I haven't said it yet." She replied good naturedly, gliding elegantly towards the chaise lounge Edith was reclining on, and pushing her friend's feet aside, allowing herself somewhere to perch.
"And what might your intentions have been, barging in here and leaving poor old Perkins in the dust?"
"Everybody leaves Perkins in the dust- he's one hundred and ten." Edith watched in fascination, as Celia slid the hatpin from green felt cloche, and lifted it away from her dark bob, smoothing it over with a gloved hand.
"This is nice- is it new?" Edith asked, prying the had from Celia, and holding the magazine she had abandoned beside it, comparing the drawings of models with slim necks and fabulous hats, looking all too like Mary for her own comfort.
"Rather."
"Where ever from? It's marvellous!"
"The milliner a few doors down from me." Edith lowered the hat and magazine in thought, before turning back to her friend.
"Isn't he a gentleman's milliner?" She asked curiously.
"That was meant to be a bowler. He isn't very good at his job." Edith could not help but supress a smirk in a particularly unsuccessful manner.
"Where does the bluntness come into play?"
"Now." She answered with a matter of factual air. "Edith dear, I am in dire distress." As she said this, she turned to face Edith, and for the fist time she noticed a desperate look in her friend's hazel eyes.
"What ever is the matter?" She asked in genuine concern, sitting up straighter. Glancing about herself nervously, almost as though something would pop out from behind a potted plant, Celia shook her head vigorously.
"Not something we can talk about here. I need tea."
"I can ring for-"
"I need tea now." Celia insisted, a slightly manic look appearing on her face.
"The kitchen maid can bring it up- she's a fine sight faster than Perkins."
"I need different tea. This tea tastes too nice- I need bad tea. Come and get some bad tea with me."
"Celia, what on earth-"
Evidently Celia's deep-seated desire for unsatisfying beverages over came her, for she leaped off the footrest and found Edith's hand, ripping her away from the comfort of the padding and causing her to stumble slightly. Edith found herself being forcefully tugged through the house to the cloakroom, where Celia pulled a coat and hat from their places and flung them at her hastily, ripping her hat that Edith was still holding from her grasp and jamming it onto her own head clumsily.
"We're going out!" She cried over her shoulder, as she bustled Edith down the front steps, in a blur of mint green trousers, a straight waisted blouse printed with mad moss green terracotta coloured Aztec style designs, a coat of a similar shade of brown, and a green hat matching the green of her blouse. A selection of tinkling and jangling beads and heels clicking on the pavement busily as she stretched out a gloved hand and hailed a taxi, masked Edith's enquiry as to what on earth was she doing and did she need a good slap because she seemed slightly hysterical and needed to be calmed down, though when she repeated this in a louder tone, Celia had unceremoniously bundled her into the back seat and informed the driver that while she could not pay him extra for a fast ride, she could give him another sort of bonus when they arrived providing he could park around the corner, leading to a swift journey through the crowded streets of London.
"Celia, what in the name of God are you doing?" Edith shrieked, in some distress as to both her friend's actions and the speed with which the clumsy old car was navigating the crowded streets (not a patch on her, but then that was an empty country road, this was not).
"I know about you and Gregson." She came the hushed reply. Edith frowned indignantly.
"So what? How did you find out, anyway?"
"It thought it odd that when you came in to submit an article, he'd draw the curtains in his office. So I found a chink in the blinds and had a look, and what do you know."
"What of it?" Edith replied, attempting to retain a mask of indifference, but succeeding only in feeling even more panicked on the inside. Who else could know? What if Celia had told anybody? What if her parents found out that she'd all but lay with a man on a desk?
"What has he told you about his wife? Everybody knows he's married, I'm assuming you wouldn't if-"
"I know that she's in an- an asylum." Edith faltered slightly at the use of the harsh word, but continued. "And that she had been for fifteen years and that some people may think it wrong-"
"Do you love him?" Celia's calm, quiet tone interrupted. Edith blinked slightly at the question.
"Well of course I-"And yet somehow, the words caught in her throat and refused to come out.
"Edith darling, I'm very sorry about this…" Celia trailed off as the car pulled to a halt. Clambering out, Edith found themselves in the opening to a busy street from a small alleyway, watching preoccupied passers by jostle each other madly to get ahead of everybody else.
"Oi!" The driver called, leaning across the passenger seat to address Celia. "Youse offered me a bonus!" Celia blinked, stared at him for a moment, before sighing regretfully.
"Damn." She muttered. "Must I do that…?" Grunting in annoyance she turned to Edith. "Just a mo- I did promise. Just wait here… you, er might not want to look back."
Celia clambered reluctantly into the car, where the driver looked at her expectantly.
"Are you married?" She asked busily, opening her small purse.
"Nope."
"Engaged or sweetheart?"
"Nope." He replied dopily. Glancing sideways at him, she sighed inwardly. She really must stop this- but after so many years relying on her own wits, it was difficult to stop getting exactly what she wanted, and had become a subconscious part of her routine. Snapping her purse closed, she leaned over and kissed him searingly on the mouth- his breath tasted like tobacco and pork pies. A repellent greasy combination. They broke apart, and he stared at her, stunned, as she worked her brown leather glove off her right hand. She made her usual effort to push all thoughts of loving, gentle hands doing what she was doing right now- slowly and seductively picking at the buttons of her blouse from her mind and allowing it to fall open, tugging at the straps of her camisole (thankfully modern fashion had hoisted the horrid garment they called the corset from it's ranks) and shivering as the cold air of late October attacked her exposed breasts.
"Try anything and I'll scream. Let me do it." She instructed threateningly. He, however, did not listen and reached out a tentative hand to touch her, which she slapped away. "I said let me do it." She snapped, which seemed to get through to him, for surprise did not register on his face as she reached over and began stroking the twitching organ between his legs with an un gloved hand.
She's learned to do this when she turned fifteen- had worked her way up from the ruin her father had caused of her family by using her assets to get her way, though now she was not too far out of pocket, it had unfortunately become more like habit than necessity. Plucking the handkerchief from his breast pocket, she unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled his engorged member from the gap in his underwear. As she began jerking it up and down with cover of the handkerchief, she considered her situation. While she was regretful in admitting to herself that she felt no shame in what she was doing, as his breath grew ragged an his eyes grew dark and hard with pleasure, she herself obtained none.
The days when actions such as this would have made her face flush, her knickers wet and her breast swell in delight had filtered away, leaving her alone and pleasuring a taxi driver out of habit.
Damn- she'd been attempting not to think about that so much.
A warm, wet feeling of the linen square sitting in her palm indicated that he was complete, and snapped out of her drifting thoughts.
Ignoring him as he spoke, she bundled up the handkerchief and placed it in the glove box of the car, before righting her clothes once more, and stepping from the car casually. Edith stared at her, eyes wide with horror- she'd evidently seen what had happened.
"Tips for your wedding night." Celia announced in a tone that suggested that the topic was not one for a discussion. "But now we have tea rooms to investigate, and I'm sorry darling, but this will not be at all enjoyable."
Through the window, the sight was as clear as day. The way he embraced the hand of the woman he was sitting with across the tea shop table was the way he had held her hand, and whispered words of love and affection in her ear.
And maybe the story about his wife was true, it probably was. But as far as Edith was concerned, two girlfriends were for more than the necessary amount.
"Edith dear?" Celia's voice asked softly from beside her.
"How did you know…?"
"I was walking past and saw him. I came to get you because I knew that you two were…" Edith shook her head vigorously- her hat unpinned in the earlier rush slipping to the side.
"Not anymore we're damn well not…" She trailed off, surprising herself with her with her strong language. "What do I do?" She asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How do I look him in the eye?"
"By being every bit as fabulous as you can." Came the reply from beside her. "Watch, and look indifferent."
Doing as she was bid, she observed as Celia marched up to the tearoom window, and rapped her knuckles smartly against the glass beside Gregson. He looked startled, even more so when Celia mouthed the words 'your brain has taken up residence in your backside', before his eyes flitted to Edith and widened in alarm.
Despite the crushing feeling of betrayal and sadness, there was something oddly satisfying about holding the power over him and watching him squirm.
"Do you have any gaspers, Ce?" She asked, turning to her friend, who produced the well kept cigarette case of an occasional smoker. They both lit the long, thin brown cigarettes, and stood, puffing away before the window looking extremely indifferent, behind which Gregson looked as though he may be ill from sheer nerves. Until he moved to exit the tearoom.
"Damn." Celia cursed, stepping into the street and waving her arm about madly for a cab, and Edith found herself once more being roughly manhandled into the back of a car which sped off hastily, upon Celia's instruction (who was careful not to offer any kind of reward, Edith noticed), leaving a harried looking Gregson to shrink into the distance.
For most of the journey, the pair sat in silence, puffing away on the gaspers in contemplation, until Edith spoke.
"Ce, I can promise not to judge you, whatever you tell me," she began hesitantly, "But how did you know what to do… before… with the driver?"
Celia looked around in surprise, her rounded eyebrows rising closer to her straight fringe; smoke curling elegantly from the stick between her fingers.
"I've had experience in those areas." Was the sullen reply.
"With whom?"
"With… Derek. I told you about him- I hope you remember for I shan't be repeating it."
"No." Edith agreed, not wishing to listen to the story again- once was horrid enough.
"And once with another man in the respectable sense, when I was in Bangalore." She continued, puffing thoughtfully, careful not to inhale. "And a few other times since then… for fun."
"Fun?" Edith spluttered in shock.
"Well it has to have something going for it- and it is fun! If it weren't, nobody would do it, and we'd all die out within years."
"But using it like a leisure activity! Like a game of tennis, or horse riding?"
"You'd be surprised how similar those activities actually are." Edith looked on in horror. "But you know- you did it with that bastard."
"Almost- don't use that word!"
"Fine, you almost did it with that b-a-s-t-a-r-d."
"Ce! Well, yes, I did, but that was different! I loved him!"
Celia raised a solitary thin eyebrow.
"Well, I thought I did." She amended hastily. "But nevertheless, the point I'm trying to make is-"
"Oh, there's a point! How reassuring."
"Oh, hush, you. The point I'm trying to make is that-"
And it all came tumbling out.
Ever since she was a little girl, the three Crawley sisters had aspired to be a rich man's wife- to live in a house with large drawing rooms, and dress in finery for dinner, and produce heirs for his title. As soon as they were able to walk, they had begun learning to embroider, sing, play piano, read poetry, run houses and order dinner from the kitchens, living and breathing simply to obtain a life similar to that of an Austen novel. And out of the three, one had made the marriage of dreams, one had flung years of training aside and married 'beneath' her, and one was still loitering at a crossroads.
"Celia, I ask only one thing of you." Concluded thoughtfully, as she passed notes to the driver, and stepped neatly from the cab. "I want to live. I want to drink champagne till I pass out, and smoke whenever I want, and wear short skirts and have fun with men from all walks of life, because this country has seen too much horror for me to do anything else than live, and I want you to teach me how." Edith busied herself with stomping out her cigarette, in an attempt to hide the blush that was creeping up her cheeks at such a confession. When the task had been thoroughly completed to an extremity, she looked just in time to see Celia's astonished face melt into a plotting grin.
"Oh, Edith. You are going to be absolutely spectacular."
Edith grinned nervously.
"About damn time."
Hello there. This is not my first piece on this site, however due to its inappropriate content I have been forced to create an alias to allude snooping elders.
This story shall feature four key themes:
1) Edith's journey of self discovery and happiness.
2) The exploration of a heavily damaged character (Celia).
3) Happy ending for those who have been denied that privilege by Mr Fellowes.
4) The 1920s culture, politics and lifestyle.
Mature content will be included, however I will try to keep it as smut-less as I can, and am merely experimenting for the sake of the story.
Please, favourite, review, follow, REVIEW (criticism is a treasure!)
sunbetweeentheleavesXx