Summer 1944
They had been sent to the countryside after the shell hit the street where the city house once sat. The Second World War was already taking its toll on the Crawley family before it happened. Robert had been deemed 'too old' for the front, but was offered a position in the government, something he was kept from discussing wit his family. Whatever his job Robert often returned home late in the night and left well before anyone else had woke, always insisting that sleep was the least he could sacrifice for the country. That was until a bombing of the city stole Mary and Cora away.
The pair had been walking home, just a few steps away. Mary and Matthew's young son George waving from the window when the shell hit. Mother and daughter never saw their end coming. The strength of the blast shattered the windows, throwing George across the room, showering him with sharp shreds of glass. He survived, though badly cut. Matthew had gone missing, so news of his wife's death had yet to reach him.
In reaction to the death of his wife and eldest daughter, Robert insisted that his remaining daughters and grandson return to Downton, in the countryside where they would be safe. His youngest, Sybil, had fought her father on being forced away. She worried for her father, for his health and well-being. Edith, the middle Crawley daughter, was rather keen to return to Yorkshire. Although she took great pride in the volunteer work she and Sybil had done at the hospital. Both worked as nurses, though Robert forbade them from signing up to work in any hospital close to the fighting. Robert Crawley would be damned if he allowed any more of his family to come to harm.
"Papa, please, please. You'll need someone to take care of you." Sybil pleaded as he tried to coax his daughter on to the train. He and Edith had shared a brief hug, exchanged 'I love yous' and 'be careful,' beyond that neither had much to say to the other. Edith was far from the favorite child of either parent.
George was held in Edith's arms, sleeping peacefully. The child was haunted by the death of his mother and grandmother. For a three year old to watch such a horrific scene was enough to strike him mute. He hadn't uttered two words since that day. Sleep eluded him as quickly as speech. The only way he would go to bed was if Edith or Sybil stayed with him. If he woke in the middle of the night it was certain that one sister would wake to find the child in their bed.
"I'm a grown man and can see to myself. Sybil, please, you must go. You and Edith and George will be safe at Downton. Granny will be there to check in with you, as well as cousin Isobel."
"I love you, papa."
"I love you too, now you must go."
The sisters settled into their compartment, their snoozing nephew laid across the seat next to Edith as they moved to the window to wave goodbye to their father.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" Sybil asked.
"Of course. He'll just take to sleeping in his office. Working twice as hard. He'll be fine, Sybil."
"You aren't worried?"
"Of course I'm worried. But I know father, he'll survive and so will we."
The train ride home was quiet, the steady rocking and clanking of the tracks soothed Edith for the first time in years. No matter how their world had changed trains still made the same noise they always had. Unchanging and oddly comforting.
At 22, Edith had seen far more than a young lady her age really should have. Wasn't that the hope at the end of the Great War? That young women and men would never again have to witness the horrors of war? The war to end all wars?
When war was declared and father assigned to his post, the family left Downton for the city. The belief was that they would be safer in London. As hospitals began to fill with injured soldiers, Edith volunteered as a nurse, not telling her parents for fear that they would stop her. When Sybil found out where her sister had been disappearing to she demanded to be taken along. When Robert and Cora found out they commended Sybil for taking the initiative at such a young age. There was no recognition of Edith's effort, despite the fact that she had been the first to embark on the career.
She didn't let it bother her. Edith was used to an independent life. Her actions went largely unnoticed or unacknowledged by her parents. A blessing and a curse. Life with her little sister and nephew would be much the same. She would look after the household, see to her family as best she could, and find a new way to support the war effort.
When the war came to an end Edith knew she would be returned to a life of uselessness. Unlike so many other ladies her age, she didn't have a sweetheart to wait for. There was no promise of marriage to come, shell shocked men would have little use for her. Instead there was an image of what she hoped for.
One day at the hospital there was a critically wounded patient brought in. He had been tortured, leading Edith to conclude that the man worked in intelligence rather than combat. Which meant that the two men lingering outside of his room were intelligence agents as well. Of the two, a tall blonde man caught her eye. He was proud in his uniform, pacing back and forth with a subtle grace. His blue eyes were clear but sad; perhaps the injured man was a friend.
When she returned to the ward a few hours later the patient was dead and the man was sitting on the bench further down the hall. Without a second thought, Edith took the spot next to him, gently resting a hand on his back. He startled at her touch, looking away from the spot on the wall he had been staring at.
"Am I in the way?" He asked.
"Of course not. Are you all right?"
"He's dead… which means I'll be sent to take his place." He murmured, staring at her as if she was the last human he'd ever see.
"You're going some where very dangerous?" She asked, knowing better than to look for specifics.
"Very."
Looking at him a bit closer, Edith realized he was older than she first thought. He had to be close to her father's age, which meant he must have a family tucked away somewhere.
"There's no on waiting for me. No one to live for, no one to think of should they…" He faltered, suddenly falling silent.
"Think of me then." She offered.
"A lovely young lady like you?"
"I don't know about lovely…"
"Lovely." He repeated with a very sure nod.
"Well then, just think that there is a lovely young nurse who would be very keen to see you again, alive and well." She smiled softly, taking his right hand with both of hers.
"I shall." He nodded with a small smile.
"Good. Then I'll see you soon, sweetheart." She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.
Over a year had passed since that day, and every day Edith thought of that man. She had walked away before they could exchange names. Sometimes she wondered if he was an illusion, a phantom concocted by her lonely mind to get through the days. Other times she found herself wondering if he was thinking of her.
"Edith?" Sybil's voice broke through her thoughts. Looking from the window she realized that the train had stopped. "We're here."
Outside of the station they looked for the car that Mr. Carson was going to send to collect them. Edith finally spotted the vehicle and the young man standing next to it. Tapping her sister's shoulder, Sybil turned, shifting George in her arms.
"Lady Edith?" The man asked approaching them.
"Yes."
"Tom Branson." He offered his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Branson. My sister Lady Sybil and our nephew George."
Sybil had yet to look away from Tom. His brown hair was slicked back, probably at Mr. Carson's insisting. He wore a simple grey suit, something he wouldn't mind getting dirty if need be. His blue eyes shone brightly even though he had a generally serious and slightly sad expression. He looked world weary even if only a year or two older than Edith. It was a look most people of their generation wore. No matter what your station, the war still managed to reach one and all.
"If you ladies would like to wait in the car, I'll see to your luggage."
"Thank you." Sybil finally spoke with a bright smile. He returned her grin before hurrying past them.
"Father would kill you." Edith reminded gently.
"It's 1944, division of the classes can only last so much longer."
"True. Certainly doesn't make a difference in war… Just be careful. The youngest lady of the house and the Irish driver, granny would have a heart attack, but would be sure to telephone father first."
"You mean be secretive."
"I mean be sensible."
Downton was exactly as they left it. Mr. Carson and a small staff arrived early to open the house. With just the three of them and the four staff members, the house felt rather empty. A routine was established rather quickly. The girls and George would take their breakfast together each morning. After which Edith drove herself into town to work at the hospital with Cousin Isobel while Sybil saw to George.
"It's so nice having you girls back, a bit of healthy youth is such a nice change." Isobel smiled brightly, hugging Edith. It was a much tighter embrace than she would have received before the world changed. Everyone seemed to hug tighter, longer; any contact was prolonged just in case, just to feel human for a few minutes more.
"I'm happy to be back. I've missed home." Edith sighed, relishing the contact of her aunt for a moment longer. It felt as though ages had passed since she had been willingly embraced. Her father hugged her at the train out of duty. George would try to hug her but his arms will still too short to wrap around her completely. Isobel had the comforting arms of a mother, her embrace was warm and made Edith feel truly safe for the first time in years.
"I've missed you, dear. How were the hospitals in London?" She asked, leading the young lady through the hallways.
"Rather the same. Crowded and always trying to make room for incoming men."
"That was something I wanted to speak with you about." Isobel ventured carefully.
"Oh?"
"I think I have a viable idea for expansion."
Edith felt nervous as she waited for the phone to connect, her father was busy, and she knew that. But she and Isobel couldn't very well turn the house into a hospital without his approval.
"Crawley." Came his brash answer.
"Hello, father."
"Edith? Is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine, just fine. I wanted to run an idea past you."
"Quickly, I've got a meeting to get to."
"Well, it was Cousin Isobel's idea actually. The local hospital has reached capacity with recovering soldiers and we thought, since Downton is mostly empty right now…"
"Use it for a convalescent home?"
"Yes. There's no sense in letting these rooms sit empty when they're piling injured soldiers on top of each other in town."
"Will the staff agree?"
"Yes, they already have. Also there are volunteers who would come from town."
"Very well. I'll inform your grandmother so she isn't shocked on her next visit. Make sure the family rooms are left untouched, please."
"Of course… thank you, papa." Edith managed. Her tone of gratefulness seemed to catch Robert of guard; it had been a long time since she called him papa. As they had become more distant she had reverted to calling him 'father.'
"Of course, my girl." He managed, closing his eyes as he remembered the losses of their family. Sometimes it was easy for Robert to forget that he still had two living daughters. "I love you."
"I love you too, papa."
"I'd like to hear about the progress."
"I'll write."
Fall 1944
It didn't take long to transform Downton from a grand home into a hospital and convalescent home for returning soldiers. Those that were critically wounded or required some sort of privacy were giving guest rooms upstairs. Others were simply arranged on temporary beds in various downstairs rooms. The library remained free of beds, though use of the books was allowed. While the dining room had been used in shifts for those well enough to come to the table to enjoy sitting down to a meal. The doctors were in and out, always one kept on hand just in case, while Edith and Sybil saw to as many of the nursing duties that they could handle. When supplies ran low they would take the car back to the main hospital for more.
As Sybil was not able to drive, she would have to rely on someone else to take her to town. Which was how she found herself in the front seat of the car with Tom Branson.
"You're unusually dedicated to this cause." He mused aloud as they drove down the empty lane towards town.
"This cause?" She repeated, looking at him rather sharply. "The war is a reality of this world, who could possibly turn a blind eye to it?"
"I just mean… well, most young ladies of your station wouldn't take on such a hands on approach." He seemed rather flustered. "I had meant to compliment your dedication."
"By insinuating that someone of my station is usually incapable of caring for someone other than themselves even in a time of war?" Branson couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not.
"I didn't… I…"
"I find this line of questioning odd considering that you're of age and not serving."
"They rejected me, heart defect." He answered solemnly.
"I'm sorry." She softened slightly.
"I would have done more in the city but my family is still in Ireland and I needed to find a job to send money home… My father is gone and my brother was killed."
"My mother and sister were killed."
"The bombings are especially barbaric. We had a friend growing up, he had been a soldier during the first war… always mused on how the fighting used to be much more civilized before the likes of Hitler. They did horrible things, but civilians weren't blindly bombed. A fool's notion of course. He drank like a fish, talked nonsense the majority of the time."
"I imagine many of our veterans feel like the fighting has become much more horrific. And numb their own memories with alcohol. One can hardly blame them. I'm sure many of the men at Downton will seek their comfort in a bottle as well."
"Not while Mr. Carson is under the same roof." Branson laughed, grinning when he realized that Sybil was laughing with him.
They arrived at the hospital and reloaded the back of the vehicle with supplies. Before the pair could start back out they were stopped by a nearly out of breath Dr. Clarkson.
"Wait, Lady Sybil!" He called, running out to meet the car.
"Dr. Clarkson, is something wrong?"
"No, not at all. I was wondering if you might take a patient home with you. He recently arrived, but is well enough to be transferred to Downton, if you wouldn't mind?"
"Of course not, we've got plenty of room still." Sybil smiled, noticing that Dr. Clarkson was already gesturing to a nurse at the door.
"Be mindful of him, he's a bit nosey. Has been asking all sorts of questions to our more critically wounded patients, getting on their nerves."
"Is he a soldier?" Branson asked, moving to stand behind Sybil.
"Some sort of reporter who was traveling with a troop in Germany. He was injured during an attack, was sent to us by mistake. He'll only be here a few weeks longer."
The man made his way towards them, looking exhausted but capable on a pair of crutches, his left leg completely plastered from foot to thigh.
"Lady Sybil, this is Mr. Gregson." Dr. Clarkson introduced.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Sybil."
"And you, Mr. Gregson. This is Mr. Branson." She introduced, quickly letting go of the injured man's hand. He nodded and followed them to the car. It was a bit odd getting in with the crutches and cast, but they were finally on their way.
By the time they returned to the house most of the men were having lunch. Edith and Mr. Carson came out to meet the car and unload the supplies. The months with the girls returned had been difficult for Carson; he knew Edith and Sybil to be young ladies. They should have been living an easy life, not witnessing the after effects of war.
"Ah, Mr. Gregson, this is my sister Lady Edith and our butler Mr. Carson, he will see to assigning you a bed."
"I'll take of it, Mr. Carson." Edith volunteered, leading the man into the house before anyone could disagree.
"There's something unsettling about that man." Sybil commented, watching her sister show him into the house.
"Couldn't agree more." Branson nodded.
"You aren't a soldier?" Edith asked as she showed Gregson to one of the empty beds in the shared room.
"How could you tell?"
"Just something I can notice at this point."
"Have you been a nurse very long?" He asked with a roguish smile.
"About four years now."
"How very brave."
"Hardly. It was the least I could do. And what do you do, Mr. Gregson?"
"Newspaper reporter. Caught in the cross fire I'm afraid."
"I trust you won't be bothering the other patients." Edith tried to manage a severe expression but instead found herself grinning.
"I'd much rather bother you, Lady Edith."
"We'll see. You can still manage a bit of lunch if you're hungry."
The looks Michael Gregson proceeded to send Edith's way were not lost on anyone in the house, except perhaps Edith. Sybil was constantly concerned about the man they knew so little about paying too much attention to her sister.
"He watches her far too closely." Sybil whispered one night when she was sitting in the library with Tom. The latter had asked the ladies if he could have access to library the same as their patients did. Often the pair would end up sitting together, reading quietly or debating the latest political movements in the war. Tonight found them sitting far too close on the sofa, Sybil far too distracted to focus on her book.
"He won't be here much longer will he?" Tom offered as a bit of solace for the situation.
"I suppose not."
"Then he'll be gone and Edith will be less distracted."
"It seems so unfair to wish someone away who seems to actually pay attention to her."
"Not if it's the wrong kind of attention. There's nothing noble in his stares, but Edith's smart, she won't allow anything to happen."
"You're right." Sybil nodded simply, setting her book aside. He grinned at her words. "You needn't look so happy about that."
"Rare words from your sweet lips." He answered casually, not acknowledging his compliment.
"I am not above admitting when someone else is correct."
"What else are you not above?"
"Getting my hands dirty." She smiled thoughtfully.
"Anything else?"
"Stealing kisses in the middle of the night." With that she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. Tom was frozen in surprise for a moment before remembering that he wasn't dreaming this embrace, the beautiful Lady Sybil was kissing him. His hand let go of the book he was holding, moving to cup her cheek and keep her closer for a bit longer.
"You know, there's no need to steal, I would give you kisses freely, milady."
"Then I hope you're feeling charitable." Their lips had just met again when a scream echoed through the house. "That's Edith!"
Tom was to his feet in a second, hurrying up the stairs two at a time, and running until he reached her room. He didn't knock or wait to be invited in, simply throwing the door open.
"Get off me!" Edith whimpered, trying to fight Gregson off of her. Tom moved towards the bed, pulling the man away from her.
"She invited me in!" Gregson charged, trying to free himself of Tom's vice like grip on his upper arms.
"I did no such thing!" Edith shouted back, trying to pull her robe to cover her. Sybil appeared in the doorway, having rung for Mr. Carson before following Tom upstairs.
"You've been flirting with me since I arrived."
"That isn't an invitation to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night!"
Tom wasn't going to let the man remain in Edith's room a moment longer and with the help of Mr. Carson, led him downstairs. Mr. Gregson found himself locked in a hall closet until the police could arrive to take him away. Mr. Carson refused to let such a man remain in the house a moment longer and insisted on calling Robert to let him know what had happened. Edith meanwhile refused to leave her room, wanting nothing more than to pretend that nothing had happened.
"Dearest, please…" Sybil tried to sooth her sister, sitting beside her on the bed and brushing reddish curls away from her face. Edith had clearly put up a fight; a palm print was visible on her cheek, where he had slapped her, and a small glistening of blood at the corner of her lip. Sybil could just barely make out hints of bruising beneath her sister's robe; there were also stains of blood beneath her finger nails. Gregson must have been scratched rather severely, the least of what deserved.
"I didn't ask him up here, I never… never would have… I just thought he was nice to me… why would he…" Edith sobbed incoherently.
"It isn't your fault, dearest. Please, come downstairs to the examination room, let me clean you up a bit."
Edith finally nodded her agreement, allowing her sister to lead her downstairs, past where Carson and Branson stood at the hall phone. Upon seeing Edith, Carson felt a rage boil within him, something he had never felt in regards to the middle Crawley daughter. It had never been a secret that Mary was his favorite, but he had known the girls for the whole of their lives. To see the quiet but bright Edith bruised and bleeding ignited an anger in him that he had never before known. He had always known her to be silent but strong, to see her reduced to a sobbing, shaking slip of a girl because of a lecherous man…
"Yes, I'm trying to reach Robert Crawley." He spoke into the phone when a secretary answered. "It's urgent."
"Excuse me, Mr. Branson?" A young soldier had limped out of the common room that served as their quarters. "Is everything all right? We thought we heard one of the ladies scream."
"Lady Edith was attacked."
"Is she all right?" He demanded.
"She will be. Mr. Gregson will see justice as well."
"If… if you'd like a bit of swift justice…" Another man offered, coming out of the room.
"Though tempting, the police are on their way and I think Lady Edith would rather you didn't all find yourselves in trouble for her sake."
"We'd do anything for her and Lady Sybil, they're far kinder to us than any of us would expect."
"Don't worry, darling, you'll be right as rain in no time." Sybil promised softly, using a warm, wet cloth to wipe the blood away from Edith's fingers. It took some time to convince her to remove her robe so that Sybil could examine her for any other cuts. Mostly her skin was covered with quickly darkening bruises. Grabbing a small packet from one of the cabinets, Sybil took her sister back upstairs and got her into bed. "Do you want to take something to help you sleep?"
"Please." Opening the packet, Sybil shook two pills into Edith's hand before passing her a glass of water.
It felt as though she had slept forever. A fact she was grateful of, in her sleep she felt safe, comforted by her blonde officer with no name but piercing blue eyes. In her dreams he refused to leave her side, taking her away to his home that looked rather like a gingerbread house. When Edith finally did wake she was instantly aware that it was bright out and someone else was in the room with her. She startled, grasping at the sheets and moving back towards the headboard.
"Calm down, sweetheart. It's me, it's just me."
"Papa?" Edith asked in confusion, trying to regain her bearings.
"Yes. Come, lay back down." He coaxed, holding a hand out to her.
"What are you doing here?" She whispered, taking a tight hold on his offered hand.
"Carson called to inform me of what happened. Did you think I wouldn't come?"
"It wasn't Sybil who was attacked." She murmured quietly.
"I knew that when I got on the train. You are my daughter too, Edith. I know I haven't always behaved accordingly, but I want to change that. I love you, my girl. And I wanted to see for myself that you were all right."
"I'll be fine, my pride was injured far more than anything else. To be such easy prey to that man…"
"Not that easy based on the scratches you left on him."
"I fought as best I could… papa, I'm so sleepy."
"Of course you are. Go back to sleep, I leave this evening, but I will see you before I go."
"I love you." She whispered, closing her eyes again. Robert leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead. From now on he would be certain that his middle child knew that she was as loved as her sisters.
Winter 1945
Edith was glad to see winter come to Downton. She always loved the winter, though her appreciation for the new season had more to do with her low mood. The last few months had left her tired, between working with the soldiers and looking after George there was a barely a moment for Edith to sit down by herself. The situation with Michael had left her embarrassed and ashamed. In turn she was very eager to return to what had been normality before his arrival. Sybil was in love and that took up a fair bit of her time. Edith couldn't begrudge her sister this glimmer of happiness, even if it meant that George was left in her care more often than before.
Christmas was fast approaching, which meant the young boy was bouncing with excitement almost every day as more and more decorations began to appear in the house. Edith meanwhile was feeling the loss of her family for the first time. It was no secret that she and Mary didn't get along, and her relationship with Cora had always been strained. But the first Christmas without them felt like it was going to be especially difficult. Father had sent a box of the few presents he was able to scrap together, meaning that the holiday would be celebrated with the small trio and the soldiers of the house.
"Auntie Edith, where's Aunt Sybie?" George asked, appearing at her side.
"She's taking care of something downstairs." Edith answered vaguely; there was no way to explain to the boy that his favorite aunt was probably occupying her evening with the lips of Tom Branson.
"I wanted to write to Father Christmas. Aunt Sybie said she would help me."
"I could help if you'd like?"
"All right." She couldn't even appease a four year old with her company.
"I'll tell you what I'd like to say?" Edith nodded and took a sheet of paper from her desk before moving over so that he could sit with her on her window seat. On the rare nights when she wasn't occupied downstairs or babysitting, Edith would take to her window seat, listening to the radio and reading.
"Very well, what would you like to say?"
"Dear Father Christmas. I hope you are well. Things are not as well here, but it is better than London. For Christmas all I want are mama and papa to come home. And perhaps a toy, if you think I've earned it this year."
Edith slowly lowered her pen and turned to face her nephew. He had been very straightforward in his request, his tone suggesting that it should be rather easy to fill.
"Sweetheart, you… you know that your mama can't come home." She began slowly.
"Why not? Grandpa said that she and Grandmamma went to heaven. Can't they visit?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Oh. What about papa?"
"It's worth asking, isn't it?" She smiled sadly, taking up the piece of paper again.
"Mr. Carson says your suppose to burn the letter when you're done. Why?"
"Because that's how it gets to Father Christmas."
"Oh." The child seemed confused and truth be told the logic was always a bit fuzzy to her as well. "Do you want to write a letter as well?"
"I wasn't planning to."
"You should, how else will he know what to bring you?"
"Good point, George."
"We can burn them together, you don't have to tell me what you ask for."
Edith smiled, pulling out another sheet of paper for her to write on. Staring at the blank sheet she realized there was only one thing she wanted… one person…
Dear Father Christmas,
I write to you at dear George's insisting. Of course I would like peace for Christmas, although I know that it a great deal to ask for from a fictional character. So if I am to break the image of adulthood and ask for something of a mystical man, then I shall ask for the safe return of my blonde officer. My attachment to this stranger is bizarre, but writing a letter to Father Christmas at the age of 25 is rather bizarre as well. I would like to see the return of that gentle soul and if he could find his way to me I would be eternally grateful.
"Ready?" George asked as soon as she set her pen down.
"Yes." They moved towards the fire in her room and knelt down. Edith took both sheets of paper and gently tossed them into the flames.
"Did you ask for something good, Auntie Edith?"
"I did." She smiled. "Let's go see if Mrs. Patmore made those cookies yet."
Christmas Eve was a different affair that year. They held a small party with the men of the house, Sybil and Edith hoping that it would help life their spirits. George was happily running around, handing out small presents to the men. Most of them received little crafts or bags of cookies or candies. Mrs. Patmore outdid herself with their feast, a traditional meal covered the dining table, allowing for each man to take a plate and eat their fill. Carols were sung, small presents given to the ladies for their kindness over the year, even a bit of dancing when the radio cooperated. They even arranged for the man from the village to bring his film projector to the house for a playing of A Christmas Carol.
Everyone had settled into the room where the projector had been set up, plates of sweets in hand. Sybil and Tom sat close together towards the back of the room; George had already fallen asleep before the film started.
"I'm going to put him to bed." Edith whispered, picking up her nephew.
"Do you want any help?" Sybil asked.
"No, no. You two enjoy the film." She smiled conspiratorially. Edith carefully tucked the boy into bed, hesitating a while before heading back downstairs. Just before she made it back to the group there was a knock at the door.
"Dr. Clarkson! Happy Christmas." Edith smiled, looking beyond the doctor to where two men were unloading their ambulance. "A new patient?"
"Yes, Sir Anthony Strallan."
"That name sounds familiar."
"He's from these parts originally. He has an estate not that far from here, but his staff is in London currently and he requires constant observation. Do you have a private room available?"
"Not at the moment…" Edith looked at the body being unloaded from the vehicle. "Put him in my room, I can always sleep in with Sybil."
"Thank you, Lady Edith. He could use a bit of attention, my patients who come here to Downton seem to recover much faster."
"Sybil and I are great motivators."
"That you are. I hate to impose, but…"
"There is still plenty of food in the dining room, help yourselves."
"Thank you." Edith smiled, watching the doctor go before moving out of the way to allow the men to enter with the stretcher. Gazing down at their newest house guest she felt her stomach drop… the man from the hospital… her blonde officer.
Without another word to anyone, Edith followed as he was taken upstairs to her room and left on her bed. She carefully eased him under the sheets, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Once he was settled in she pulled a chair to his bedside so she could continue looking at him. The sight alone of Anthony was enough to quench a thirst within her. So many months had been spent wondering who he was, if he was alive, if they would see each other again. It was strange to feel so connected to a man she had only spoken to for a few minutes.
He looked defeated. Beneath the blanket he arrived in he was shirtless, a large bandage covering his right shoulder. There were dark circles under his eyes, his face looked much thinner then before. The year had certainly been hard on him. She wanted to take care of him, a steady supply of hearty meals would certainly help, plenty of rest.
"He's been through hell." Dr. Clarkson announced quietly, startling Edith.
"Oh?" She managed.
"Yes. Intelligence officer. Spent the last year as a prisoner after they discovered that he was a double agent. He was tortured on a regular basis."
"His arm?"
"Difficult to say. I repaired as much damage as I could, simply a matter of time now… do you know him?"
"Yes." She answered simply.
Thus began Edith's vigil at Anthony's bedside. She never explained their connection to anyone, simply let them believe that they had been well acquainted at one time. Edith would see to her usual duties, but any free moment found her sitting with Anthony again, waiting for him to wake.
A week had passed and Anthony had only come around once or twice while in a feverish haze. He didn't seem to be aware of where he was, Edith did her best to calm him. She would brush his hair back from his forehead, pressing a cold cloth to his skin while reassuring him that he was safe. She would change his bandage when necessary. Most wounds didn't bother her, she could face blood without fainting, watch surgeries without a fleeting quiver of nausea. But looking at the injury that he had sustained, looking over the crudely healed scars that covered the rest of his body, it hurt her. She could feel the pain of his suffering. When she thought on their situation all that came to mind was Jane Eyre. There was a string tied around his heart, connecting him to her, except it clearly couldn't be snapped.
"My keen nurse." He smiled weakly, his voice shaking Edith from her thoughts.
"My brave officer. We meet again at last." She moved forward in her chair, taking his injured hand in hers. "How are you feeling?"
"Hungry."
"Hungry is good. I'll go get a tray." She grinned, standing to move away. Before she could his hand tightened around hers.
"Wait."
"Yes?" She asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Are you really here?" He asked, his voice hoarse from sleeping so long.
"I am, Anthony. I'm really here. And you are really here, in my bed."
"I dreamt of being with you again. Is that insane? To be so infatuated with someone you only knew for a few sweet moments?"
"If it is take comfort in the fact that we are both thoroughly insane. I was so hoping we'd find each other."
"Would it be too bold of me to ask for another kiss? I've thought of nothing else for months. You kept me going… I don't even know your name…"
"Edith."
"Lovely Edith. The thought of you, quietly making your rounds through the hospital every night. That at the end of long hours at work you would come home to me… in the worst moments of captivity you were the only thing that kept me going."
"Anthony…" She managed, a small sob escaping before she swiftly captured his lips. Unlike their brief kiss at the hospital, this was full of passion. Her mouth moved confidently over his, trying to express every emotion she was feeling in the single gesture. "Is it crazy to be in love with you?"
"I'm certain it is. But I'll take you however I can get you." He whispered, kissing her again. The only thing that managed to force them apart was the sound of his stomach growling.
"I'll be right back, you need to eat something." She returned shortly with a tray of tea, broth, and buttered bread.
"What time is it?" He asked, having spent the last few minutes staring towards the windows trying to decide if it was a stormy day or incredibly late.
"About one in the morning. Hunger aside, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"
"Answers I suppose. Where am I?"
"Downton, in Yorkshire. My family home."
"You're Robert Crawley's daughter."
"Yes. You know papa?"
"We worked together briefly… why am I here?"
"After a bombing my father sent us back here. Sybil and I turned the house into a convalescent home for the soldiers they didn't have room for in the hospital."
"Have I been here very long?" He asked as he polished off the bowl of broth and turned to the bread.
"About a week. You arrived on Christmas Eve. A delightful present, I must say." She grinned, pouring them each a cup of tea. "You've been asleep most of that time, a few feverish moments, but otherwise unconscious."
"So wonderful company for a young lady such as yourself."
"The only company I've been looking forward to all year." Her smile was sincere so he didn't question her on the point. Though it seemed beyond reality that a lovely young woman would be so taken with him. "Full?"
"For the moment. I don't think I've had a real meal since October."
"I thought that might be the case, we'll have to ease you back into solids."
He just nodded, watching her carefully. She looked much the same as she did that day they shared in London. Still beautiful, still tired.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Properly? Months." She admitted quietly.
"I can move to another bed, you should have your own. You need your rest just as much as anyone else."
"You'll move nowhere, Dr. Clarkson was clear that you required constant observation and that's what I'm providing."
"Where have you been sleeping?"
"Window seat."
"Absolutely not. At the very least we can share."
"Are you… are you certain?"
"I am."
She nodded, setting the tray outside her door before closing it. Moving slowly towards the bed she removed her robe and pulled back the sheets next to him.
"There's no need to be nervous, I won't bite. And I hardly have the strength to rob you of your virtue." He reassured her, settling down next to her. She seemed to tense at his comment. "What is it?"
"I… a few months ago one of the men tried to… he came to my room in the middle of the night… he tried…"
"Oh, Edith. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… goodness I've messed things up already, that must be a record."
"You haven't. Just… will you hold me?" She asked timidly. He simply nodded, holding out his good arm for her to move closer to his side. Once they had curled together it barely took any time to fall asleep. Which was exactly how Sybil found them the next morning. With a small smile she took the tray and closed the door. She would owe Tom a few pounds and admit that he was right again.
Spring 1945
"What do you think of a summer wedding?" Anthony asked one bright spring morning. He was healing nicely, much better than Dr. Clarkson had ever expected. He would soon be well enough to return to Locksley, although a staff had to be found and he was rather hesitant to leave Edith. Neither spoke about the fact that they were still sharing a room, even though he no longer required constant observation. There was a marvelous comfort in lying together every night, and as Anthony's strength slowly returned his ardor for Edith seemed to grow.
Each night they would return to her room, he would remove his trousers and shirt for the day, opting to sleep just in pajama bottoms, while Edith slipped out of her work dress, then whatever she had decided to wear underneath that day before pulling on the top that went with his pajamas.
"Depends on whose wedding it is." Edith replied, pulling a cream colored slip over her head. He watched from bed as she dressed, the only upside to the morning was watching her dress. They didn't get to spend much of the day together, Edith had patients to see to and George to watch, although the boy had taken a liking to Anthony. George would often follow him around the house, asking every question that flew into his mind.
"Edith," he began, taking her hand and pulling her onto his lap. "I cannot imagine being separated from you again. If you would be willing to marry, I thought perhaps a summer wedding to keep us from having to wait too long."
"Willing? I would be far more than willing, Anthony. Giddy, elated, I could offer you more words to convince you or you could kiss me." She grinned, pleased that he had opted to kiss her.
"Come back to bed." He coaxed, shifting so that she was lying between his legs.
"You certainly make a convincing argument." His hand moved to her slip, pushing the fabric up around her hips. "Very… very convincing."
"One of my finer skills."
"One that you should only ever use on me." She grinned, pulling back long enough to remove the only piece of fabric between them.
"Auntie Edith!" George's voice called from the door, banging the wood with his tiny fist. "Auntie Edith!"
"What is it George?" Edith called back, trying not to sound too out of breath.
"Grandpa is here!"
"Oh no." Edith whispered, quickly moving to her feet. "He can't know that we've been sharing a room."
"Of course. I'm sure Sybil will cover for us."
"She will." Edith nodded, pulling her clothes on as fast as she could. "Otherwise she might find herself having to answer for her recent bedmate."
"She and Tom?"
"Of course." Edith moved back to the bed to help Anthony to his feet. Though his strength was returning he still required a bit of help dressing. She eased his wounded arm into the sleeve of his shirt, then focused on pulling his trousers up his long legs and fastening the fly.
"I never thought it would be so alluring for a woman to dress me." He murmured as she moved her attention to buttoning his shirt.
"Just wait until we're married and I start undressing you." She smiled, straightening his collar. "Tie?"
"I suppose I should if I'll be meeting your father again."
"You want to make a good impression?"
"I'm twenty years your senior, I've got a bullet hole in my shoulder, your father and I didn't part on the best of terms. Telling him that I intend to marry his daughter may not go well."
"What do you mean you didn't part on the best of terms?"
"As his superior officer I was consulted as to whether or not your father was still capable of field work. He was the only man in our unit with a family, he had something to lose." Anthony explained gently, lifting his chin as Edith pulled the tie around his neck. "He was rather angry with me at the time for assigning him to a desk, but men with something to lose can become a liability when it comes to…"
Edith looked up at him not so much in confusion but curiosity.
"When you've been starved for two weeks, tortured physically and mentally… you lose track of days, weeks, you're kept in a basement with no windows… after all of that they bring you into the sunlight, offer you a meager meal and say you will tell us what we want to know or our kindness will disappear… a man with nothing to live for will say no. A man with a wife and children…"
"Thank you." Edith managed, standing up on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you, my love."
"For what?"
"For keeping him safe. For returning to me." She smiled, fixing his tie. "You look like the perfect gentleman."
Taking her hand in his, Anthony moved for the door.
"Ready?" He asked.
"I'm ready for anything, so long as you're with me."
The pair moved downstairs, prepared to share their happy news only to be greeted with happier news. Germany had surrendered, the war was finally coming to an end, and a happy ending was in sight for many, not just the Crawley daughters.