This story is the sequel to the previous story I wrote, "Downton Abbey: A Tragedy at Downton", and will probably make worlds more sense if you have read that first (AKA: Major spoilers ahead!). But, if you wish to take the rebel route, here is an overview:
Matthew is found in a comma under his car after mary gives birth. He has been in an accident. They take him back to Downton and put him in bed and higher a nurse-Sharon. Anna is pregnant by Bates, and Alfred has gone to make a culinary genius out of himself in Paris. Edith has just found out that the editor of The Ripon Post has been killed (they were romantically involved). Matthew finally wakes up at the end and...yeah. Your good now:)
A man walked swiftly up the steps intimidating granite front steps of Downton Abbey and knocked smartly on the door. His kid glove stretching as he made the fist. He bounced on his heels-Brown Broxford dress shoes- and waited. He needed to see Miss. Edith. A portly, rather bald, man swung the huge, oaken door aside with non obvious difficulty. He was the capable butler at Downton Abbey. Carson looked down at the puny man in front of him. The man was used to this. He was very short, and very thin. Other men usually underestimated him because of this.
"I am Carson, head butler here at Downton abbey. May I ask who you are?" Carson asked in that oh so condescending way of his.
"My name is George Breech and I am here to call upon Miss. Edith Grantham." George frowned up at the man. It was very hard to frown up at someone. It made you feel like an ant.
"Well, come this way Mr. Breech. Please wait here." Carson lead him inside and to the sitting room, where he took an uncomfortable seat on an under stuffed chair.
When Edith heard that there was a Mr. Breech waiting in the drawing room for her, she burst into tears and told Mr. Carson to stop teasing her. That she would have him fired and hung for playing such a nasty trick.
Edith had read just two night before that George Breech was dead. Killed in a tree accident. She had then broken and urn and then passed out because of it. Well, it didn't say George Breech in the newspaper exactly, but it said the editor of The Ripon Post, and that was George.
"I am not trying to pull the wool over your eyes, Miss." Carson had grumbled uncomfortably.
So Edith has dried her eyes, hardened her resolve, and went with Sybil down to meet her "deceased" friend.
She gasped and covered her mouth with a gloved hand. He smiled sheepishly.
Edith ran to him, and hugged him. Sybil looked away.
As she pulled away, she whispered, "I thought you were dead!"
"I know. I have a confession to make." He looked down at his hands.
"I told you that i was the head editor of The Ripon Post. I'm not. Or at least, i wasn't. I was assistant editor, but i wanted-no, i needed- to impress you. But its falsehood now. I have been promoted." He told her, first ashamed, then rueful.
First she slapped him, right across the face, and then she kissed him. Not on the lips, but on the cheek. At this very moment, The dowager happened to be descending the stairs.
"I'm just glad you're alright." She murmured, as Sybil tried in vain to signal her sister. But they were in there own special world.
Granny cleared her throat and the happy couple sprang apart. George looked down, embarrassed.
"Next time you decide to turn this sitting room into a bedroom, do tell me first. I do hate to be surprised." She wheezed and she descended the rest of the stairs. Sybil smiled inwardly.
"Of course, my dear, i was not aware that you were involved with anyone right now."
It was Edith's turn to look embarrassed.
"My name is George Brrech. I am the head editor for The Ripon Post." He said proudly.
Edith nodded. Granny staired. Sybil grimaced.
"Were you planning on keeping it a secret forever?" Granny demanded.
"No. And with your permission, i will ask him to stay for dinner, so i might introduce him properly." Edith said, nose in the air.
"Alright my dear. But i do suggest you wear a simple dress."
"Whys that?"
"So nothing will be ruined when your father starts throwing things."
Rose looked out the window of the cab at Downton Abbey. It was large. But a few rooms more cramped than her parents estate. Of course, that was no matter, she thought, looking down now at her jeweled high heels. But I am sure it will be terribly dull. Nothing to do. Well, there was never anything to do back home. But still. At least I'll be away from mummy.
The cheveux opened the door with a pop and Rose stepped out onto the gravel driveway, spindly heels crushing the rocks. She had a full compliment, with all the servants lined up in front of the mannor. Lord Grantham was standing by, blazered arm held out for her to take. Rose sighed. Already things were disappointing. She had hoped so that Matthew would have been there to escort her. Of course, he's married now, She sulked, and with a baby now, too! She clicked up the steps and into the grand front hall, her lady's maid, Bethonie, trailing behind.
Fabulous luxury met her at green sparkling every turn. The lush persian and Iranian rugs in muted hues, the chandeliers just dripping with glinting, gleaming crystals, the gild shining framed famous paintings of sour faced generals, the rich silken wallpaper with little raised engravings, and the gas powered lights, shielded with hand blown glass shades, throwing soft gentle light on everything.
Of course, the girl appreciated none of it. She was constantly comparing everything with the goods that she owned at home. Never stopping to observe the simple beauty of the priceless artifacts that lined the walls and shelves. She knew no other life, so she criticized it. Lord Grantham led her to her room, and Beth closed the door softly behind them.
"What a wonderful view!" Rose cried, throwing open the windows and leaning out into the fresh, cooling air. It was just turning September and the heat of August had almost begun to be penetrated by threads of chil.
Beth unpacked Roses Toilet onto a golden dressing table and then backed out of the room, reminding her lady she would be back in an hour to help her dress for supper. As soon as the other woman was out of the room, Rose lit up a cigarette and flopped down onto the poofy, voluminous bed, not really caring where her ashes landed.
