Hi! This is my first time to write an Edith fanfic. I've always thought of writing stories other than William/Daisy fics, and as Edith is my next favourite character, there should be one for her as well. While most of you think that Edith should stop moping and get moving, I always believe that there's more to her than meets the eye. In this fic, she's gone through a lot, and changed a lot. Like this story, she's a work in progress. Please let me know what you think! x
1926
"There you are," Edith Violet Crawley called to her brother-in-law, Tom Branson, with his six year-old daughter Sybbie in tow. Tom, after a year of consideration, returned to England at Edith's persuasion. The publishing company that she had inherited from her late lover Michael Gregson had taken off very well, and was going from strength to strength. Which was the very reason why Edith had taken her brother-in-law as one of the magazine's writers. And here she was, meeting him at the train station with Pratt, the chauffeur.
Sybbie Branson took out a paper bag from her coat pocket and gave it to Edith. "Does Marigold eat candy-oh, sweets, Auntie Edith?"
The old Edith would refuse the bag, but for Edith, times have changed. And along with time, she had changed, and she was far more easy going and kept her own counsel. And with regard to her older sister Mary, she had tried to be pleasant, even with the usual barbed remarks. At first, the effort was painful, but in time, it became remarkably easy. Edith had so many other things to think about other than trading barbs with Mary. A few of them would be The Sketch; and of course, Marigold.
"She can eat sweets but only one for each meal. We can never be too careful," Edith told her niece with a wink. " But thank you, sweet one." Edith looked up. "How was your journey from Boston?" She directed the question at both niece and brother-in-law, and they could hardly contain their excitement. She walked with her niece and Tom to the car, while Pratt carried their suitcases.
"Ooooh Auntie Edith, there were so many birds perched on the deck! And in Liverpool, there was so much cake in the train. Daddy made me save each one after every meal so I won't get sick." Sybbie gave an excited summary of her adventures. At this, Tom made a funny face at his daughter which made Edith and Sybbie, the actual recipient of the look, laugh. "She's got a digestive system made out of cast iron," Tom mock-groaned. "How is the estate doing, by the way?"
"Amazingly well," responded Edith. "I must say, Mary has been doing a spectacular job." She laughed. "Two years ago, I wouldn't have said that. But she's got good help from Carisbrooke, the new agent. He came well-recommended by Evelyn Napier, no less." Edith gave a sly grin and a mock salute that made Tom chuckle. "I think we might be having a new brother-in-law pretty soon. Finally."
"What happened to Mr. Talbot?" Tom was curious. Edith shook her head. "You know Mary. One minute, she was quite taken with him. The next, she wasn't." She shrugged. "I guess there's no one for her except Matthew. But," Edith grinned again. "Good old Evelyn Napier had the perfect timing. He had seen her once in the Doncaster races, and at that time, she was going on about the estate business by herself. Papa gave her time out, and told her to enjoy herself. Anyway, not to digress, she saw Evelyn there. They've been seeing each other more often, lately. Come to think of it, he's a constant dinner guest lately. Not that we mind. In fact, we're delighted." Another sly grin surfaced. "She's much nicer for it, really."
"How's everyone-Mr. and Mrs. Carson?" Tom asked. Somehow, he could not forget these people. After all, he had worked with them for some time-for a long time. He had known about the Bateses though. Mary provided a regular bulletin about them; time and circumstances proved Anna Bates innocent of murdering Mr. Green, Lord Gillingham's valet.
Edith cheerfully delivered the news. "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Carson found that they could not retire as of yet. Mr. Carson's wary of Barrow, and Mrs. Carson is loath to steal Anna from Mary and give her the promotion. And finally, there's a Baby Bates, and myself and Mary are godmothers along with Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. Speaking of Daisy, she's finally stopped wearing widow's weeds after eight years and is walking out with Andy, who's the new first footman. I heard she's going to inherit Mr. Mason's farm, which is one of the reasons why she's doing all that studying. Molesley has moved on to Granny's-Spratt finally retired and before he could blink, she took him on as her new butler. And it seems that Daisy isn't the only one walking out with someone. Molesley's been sweet on Baxter for a long time."
"I didn't know you were such a gossip," teased Tom.
"Having worked in a magazine gives you a sort of training," was his sister-in-law's cheeky retort.
Tom thought that he liked this new Edith. She was much more confident, more at ease with herself. Probably it was because of the fact that she became a businesswoman, an editor, and a mother all at the same time. It put things into perspective.
"Does Mary already know?" Tom asked, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" Edith asked dreamily, as she gazed at the lushly green field and at the sheep grazing on it. The journey was quiet now, except for the soft hum of the car engine. Sybbie's head was on her lap, and she was napping.
"About Marigold?" Tom prompted. His sister-in-law nodded. "Ironically, she was the last to know, which was the way I wanted it. And she took it more quietly than I feared."
"So is that a good thing?" Tom queried. Edith smiled, and said yes. "I think it was the moment that both of us grew up. Mary had George and the estate; I had Marigold and The Sketch to think about. Frankly, I no longer have time to waste on bickering. And I fancy Mary would think likewise."
"So how did she know?"
"I was playing with Marigold one day in the nursery. Daisy taught me a clever little game with string and fingers. Something about cats and cradles. I was trying it with Marigold."
"Cat's cradle," Tom replied. "I played it with my sisters occasionally in Ireland when I was a boy."
"Anyway," continued Edith, "I didn't know Mary was there too, reading a story to George. I noticed that she was looking at us intently. I asked her why. She said that there was something about little Marigold that she couldn't put a finger on to."
"Go on," prodded Tom.
"Mary took a deep breath, and said that Marigold reminded her of Michael. She asked me if I came to terms with his death, and I said yes. Then I told her that Marigold is my daughter."
"What did she say?" asked Tom.
"Well," Edith replied, "she was in a shock, really. Mary clamped her hand over her mouth, and tears came out of her eyes. She asked me if that was why I went with Aunt Rosamund to the Continent, and I confirmed it. Then for a while, she was still, and she said, 'I was married when I had a baby. My husband lived long enough to see his son. I don't think I would have been strong enough to go through what you just did.'"
"Well, at least she was accepting of it," Tom was practical. Edith nodded in agreement. "Then she asked me what game was I playing with Marigold, and I explained it to her. To our surprise-and to borrow a phrase from Grandmama Levinson, we had a capital time. Oh, here we are at Downton now. Sybbie darling, wake up. Tom, rest first and make yourself at home-let's talk shop tomorrow. Welcome back, Tom."