Simple Twists of Fate
Author note: This fic is my STEAMM Day contribution. Be warned that it plays havoc with the sequence of events in the 2012 CS.
December 1919.
The day of the shoot dawned cold and foggy. Lady Edith Crawley sighed deeply as she left the dining room after breakfast. She had not felt like eating much. She was deeply disappointed after the previous evening when her father, Lord Grantham, had told her that he had offered Sir Anthony Strallan three dates to come over but he had said no to all of them. He had been so keen on shooting and gentlemanly sports before the war, but Edith suspected that perhaps he had had enough of shooting, especially when the previous few years had meant that pointing guns at people had been with the intention of killing.
Edith had been relieved to know that Sir Anthony had survived the war. She wondered if she would have a chance to sneak out and drive over to Locksley to see him. No one ever noticed her anyway, so they would hardly miss her for a few hours.
Her sister, Sybil, had come over from Ireland with her husband, Tom Branson, Lord Grantham's former chauffeur, and Edith felt the tension in the air. Tom had no real interest in shooting either but had agreed to have a go. Edith did not really relish the prospect of being anywhere near her sister, Mary's fiancé, Sir Richard Carlisle, whom she actively despised. She sensed the tension between Carlisle and Matthew. Carlisle envied Matthew, in fact he was actively jealous of him because of the hold he believed he still held on Mary. Edith did not know then that Carlisle had a far more sinister hold over Mary; he would expose her ill-advised pre-war liaison with Turkish diplomat Carlisle Pamuk if she did not marry him. Edith sensed that the fact that her father's valet, John Bates, was awaiting trial for murder had remained out of the public domain, owing to Carlisle's influence. Edith knew that Matthew and Mary still loved each other. She had caught Mary about to pray for Matthew during the war.
Edith knew that she loved Sir Anthony Strallan; in fact she had done since their brief courtship before the war. They had gotten on well, shared so many tastes and interests and he treated her like an adult, not the child she had then been. Edith had grown up during the war and been told she was a lot nicer. She had kept busy because any idle moment had caused her to worry fiercely for Sir Anthony's safety. Her father had told her only that he was doing highly sensitive work, and that she had been told only under duress. She knew her father found Sir Anthony dull as paint and much too old for her. If Anthony had proposed to her on the day of the garden party, as she had believed was his intention before Mary had stuck her oar in, then she would have needed her father's consent. Now she was free to give her own.
Violet joined Edith at the window where she was looking out over the fog shrouded lawn.
Edith accepted Violet's arrival with a nod, but neither of them spoke.
Edith started as she noticed a semi-familiar car wind its way down the long drive. But it was chauffeur driven. Sir Anthony did not use a chauffeur She hoped that the disappointment was not obvious.
But wait. It was Sir Anthony getting out. Her breath caught in her throat. There was no mistaking that tall, slightly stooped stature and the long graceful legs.
"He never used to use a chauffeur." was all Violet said. But Edith had run from the room and was rushing downstairs, her cheeks pink with elation.
She arrived in the hallway, just as Carson was greeting Sir Anthony. Anthony looked at her, trying to ignore the fact his heart was pounding at the very sight of her. His heart was pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck bristling.
"Lady Edith, it's been far too long." He smiled and that lopsided grin of his melted her heart once again.
"It's nice to see you," she breathed, "It's nice to see all our friends who made it through unscathed."
"I'm afraid I haven't," he said gently and she realised that his right arm was encased in a sling and the hand looked withered and useless. She fought to keep tears back. What on earth had happened?
"I took a bullet in the wrong place, which seems to have knocked out my right arm." He said.
"Not forever surely." She gasped.
"Well the upshot is the wretched thing is no use to man or beast."
Just then Sir Richard Carlisle came by, closely followed by Mary and Matthew.
"You're a bit late my friend," Sir Richard quipped, seeing Anthony's injured arm, "Downton ceased to be a military hospital earlier this year."
"Trust me, I am still probably a better shot than you are with two good arms."
Edith was immensely proud of him for saying this and her hatred for Carlisle boiled and seethed beneath the surface.
Edith did not miss the pitying look on Mary's face, but she also detected a softness, an almost apologetic look beneath the scorn.
Carlisle went on outside and Edith smirked at his back.
"What on earth does Mary see in him?" she murmured under her breath, but Anthony heard her.
Just being in the same room as Anthony Strallan was beginning to reawaken her own thwarted romantic hopes and broken dreams. She took his injured hand in hers and caressed it gently. Anthony blinked back tears from his own beautiful blue eyes.
"Edith," he whispered, "Will you come to Locksley for tea tomorrow? Only I need to talk to you, about things I dare not utter here."
"Yes of course," she whispered, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart at his nearness.
As yet neither of them, or the assembled shooting party, had any indication that that day things would be irrevocably changed.
