Part I. A Drive in the Country
Downton Abbey
February 1921
Wedding preparations are in full swing, and with the ladies Grantham in charge, things run to military precision, as her father frequently says. Edith smarts a bit at the comparison, her mind filled with memories of the poor souls who drifted in and out of Downton during the war.
But this is a happy time, and Edith is glad for Mary, and for Cousin Matthew. She knows they deserve their happiness, after all the gloom and despair of the past. But her joy has a tinge of regret, an edge of envy that Providence should solve all of Mary's problems in such an uncomplicated way.
Then there's Sybil. At Cora's behest-command, really-she's back at Downton, swollen, tired, yet somehow still lovely. The fire of rebellion has cooled, but Sybil and Branson have genuine affection for each other, and her sister remains as calm as she's ever been. Edith is happy to have her back.
Still, it's stifling to be around so much happiness without being able to share in any of it.
At first, she distracts herself with other projects, big and small. Cousin Isobel recruits her to help with her Red Cross work, and for a time, Edith feels useful, even needed. But Isobel is brisk, efficient, and antiseptically dull, and after only a month, Edith is out of her mind with boredom. A timely invitation from Rosamund is the perfect remedy, and she jumps at the chance.
Rosamund takes her to parties and teas, and Edith, always polite but carefully indifferent, plays the dutiful Crawley to perfection. She is rewarded with the lukewarm attention of several young men, but they're as insipid as she pretends to be, and she tires quickly of the whole charade.
She returns to Downton just two weeks later, but the ease of her return bothers her. Downton is home, of course, and there's a certain comfort in knowing she's always welcome. But it's too comfortable, and she begins to relish it, this singular chance to feel sorry for herself. Only Violet's sharp voice draws her back. Don't wallow, Edith. It's. Not. Done.
By April, Downton Abbey is a madhouse. Its stone floors feel the rushing tread of too many feet, and the walls echo with the tumult of Mary's wedding. The event is almost at hand, and only the small details remain.
The uproar does not touch all their lives though. Edith is amused by the way their father remains unfazed. At breakfast, he's lost in the newspaper and pays no attention to the conversation around him. Mary and Cora make use of the morning quiet to conspire over the wedding. Edith strains to hear, but most of it escapes her, and she shrugs it off with only mild annoyance. She has other things on her mind anyway.
"Papa, would it be alright if I took the car out for a bit?"
Robert looks up, distracted. "Eh? Well, yes. I'm sure it's fine."
Mary raises an eyebrow, suspicious. "Where will you be going?"
"Nowhere in particular. I just thought I'd go out for a spin. A good motor does want driving from time to time."
Mary is unconvinced, but Robert merely shrugs and Cora sighs, a disapproving frown on her brow. "Edith, I do wish you wouldn't drive around by yourself."
Not this again. This is a good a time as any to remind her mother that driving by herself reduces the odds of eloping with the driver, but Edith's natural restraint and years of training give her pause.
Cora smiles in a weary way. "I'm sure you'll be fine. I just worry."
Her mother's concern for her welfare, ever-present but so rarely shown, gives Edith a small burst of joy. But to indulge it is undignified, so Edith swallows down the sentiment, ignoring the lump in her throat. She clucks her tongue in feigned annoyance. "Oh, Mama, really. It is 1921, you know."
"Be back by luncheon, will you?" Mary added. "I need to go into Ripon."
Edith ignores Mary and slides away from the table. They've been in a state of truce since Sybil's rushed wedding in Dublin, and for her part, Edith even enjoys Mary's company now and then. But the wedding has put her sister on edge, and Edith decides to give Mary a wide berth.
She goes out the back way and down the kitchen stairs, slipping the key off its hook by the kitchen. If the staff notices Edith's presence, they make no fuss over it. The novelty of seeing her drive off by herself had worn off during the war, and nobody except Cora—thinks it strange anymore. She quickens her steps, but she's barely at the motor when she spies a familiar figure shining the bonnet with his shirt sleeve.
"Branson! I didn't expect to find you here, of all places. Thought you'd be keeping Sybil company."
"She's asleep." He smiles genially, but his voice has a clear edge. "You should really call me Tom, now I'm your brother. "
She does not oblige. "Missing your old job, were you?"
"Not quite." His expression is polite, but the set of his mouth is tight and his shoulders tense. Edith feels new sympathy for him. If Downton is difficult for the Crawley girls...
Branson pats the car's top gently. "Just checking if you're taking good care of her."
"We take it—her—to the garage in Malton, and one of the footmen gives it a good wipe down every week. No trouble so far." He nods and with that, they run out of things to say to each other.
"Well, I should be going then. Mary needs the car back soon."
"I could drive you," he says with a smirk. "Just like old times."
"No. I'm quite capable of driving myself, you know. Besides, I'm off to see a friend and it wouldn't be right to keep you, my brother, waiting."
Branson raises an eyebrow at her. "Ah, a friend? I see." He bows theatrically as he opens the car door for her. "Don't let me stand in your way."
Edith slides behind the wheel and rolls her eyes. "It's not like that. Nothing tawdry."
"Never said it was." He shuts the door and winks at her through the glass. "But don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
–00-
To escape the house and her own dark moods, Edith drives, sometimes to Ripon, but mostly just wherever the road takes her. Driving by herself, conquering machine and distance, gives her a sense of power she's never had before. She enjoys the feel of the motor beneath her feet and the way the wheels crunch the gravel. It's just warm enough now to have the top down, and as the wind stirs her hair, she feels free.
She's driving in the countryside, but this time with a specific goal. As the car crests the hill, the Strallan manse, with its stately red brick facade and tidy gardens come into view. Edith is not certain she's welcome. Since Christmas, he's refused most invitations to Downton, probably to put distance between himself and her. But if Edith has inherited anything at all from her American mother, it is determination, and she's not about to give up.
She pulls up in front of the house and sits still for a moment, stealing herself for the awkwardness that lies ahead. She's sure Sir Anthony still has affection for her, and with a little persuasion, he might come to see things her way.
A footman leads her into the library, but there's no sign of Sir Anthony himself. The room is not as large as the library at Downton, and the collection of books much smaller. But Sir Anthony's more erudite than her father, if the titles of the books are anything to go by. She picks up a slim volume of a French book, only to discover it's full of drawings and equations, most of which she can't decipher.
"I didn't know you had any interest in engines, Lady Edith."
Edith startles and claps the book shut. "No, I...well, I suppose I've been caught out."
"No, no."
She waves the book in front of her. "Engines?"
"Yes." He takes it from her and thumbs through it, pointing to a particular drawing. "They're called jet engines. It's all just theory at this point. But if they can get it to work, we'll have machines that can fly at great speed over long distances. Much faster than the RAF planes did in the war. They'll even carry a load passengers. Like a train. Maybe even all the way from London to Paris. To America!"
"That's...rather hard to believe."
Sir Anthony laughs and sets the book back down. "Everything is hard to believe until it's right in front of you, I suppose."
Edith wonders if this was her opening. "Yes, quite. I-"
"So. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Well, I thought maybe you'd like to take a drive with me."
Sir Anthony's smile is wan. "I thought we'd put this argument to rest."
You might have. Edith takes in a long breath, determined. "Here's the thing. The more you refuse, the more I'm inclined to keep asking. I imagine that will become rather tiresome, and very quickly."
Sir Anthony chuckles, a friendly sound that relieves the tension in the room. "Well, how about a compromise then? We'll take a walk in the garden."
Edith allows herself to be led out of the house and into the garden. Sir Anthony walks beside her, but does not offer his arm or take her hand. She keeps her expression pleasant, but inwardly she quails, worried that she's overstepped and is about to be dressed down, however gentle he might be about it.
"You must think me terribly forward."
"No, not at all." They stop in front of a particularly well-tended hedgerow. "Is everything in order for the wedding?"
"Oh, yes. Everything is near perfect. Exactly as Mary would want it."
"Yes, I'm sure. Lady Mary does seem rather a perfectionist."
Edith makes a face. "I think she's very determined to get things her way, no matter the cost."
He acknowledges her words with a polite nod and turns his attention back to the garden. They make two tours around the roses and find their way to a small trestle table before Sir Anthony speaks gain.
"Lady Edith, would you mind if I were to be very plain with you?"
"You always are."
"Yes, well." He hesitates, shuffling his good arm from one side to the other. "You seem to be in some sort of contest with your sister, and I'm not sure I want to be part of it."
"If this is about what happened before, so many years ago, I assure you there was nothing to it. It really was just Mary trying to-"
He holds up a hand. "Let me put this another way." He's interrupted by the footman bringing tea, but once the man retires, Sir Anthony's serious expression returns.
"I was married before, as you know. I was rather lucky in that Maud was as fond of me as I was of her."
Edith stares into her teacup, sure she knows what's coming, but unsure of any good will come of it.
But there's honesty in his eyes when he speaks, and that's so rare a thing in her life that Edith has to look away in guilt.
"I make no secret that I like you, Edith. But I'm too old now to take a chance on someone who might not like me quite as much."
"I assure you, Sir Anthony, that is not-"
"Please. I'm not accusing you of anything." He speaks with a sort of quiet confidence that makes Edith feel even smaller. "It's just that you're very young, and your world is very small. I think you should know what you really want."
His words are soft, but even cushioned by his politeness, their sting is unmistakable.
He pats her hand gently. "I don't mean to be unkind, and I hope you'll forgive me. But you can't marry me just to keep up with your sisters. Marriage is meant to be for the rest of your life, and it would be a bad thing indeed if you did it for the wrong reason."
–00-
Tension is the main course at dinner that night. The entire house is holding its breath, a silent if fervent prayer for a smooth, uneventful wedding. Cora is wearing a smile, but it's stretched thinly across her face, more a sign of exhaustion than joy. Mary seems nervous, shuffling her feet in a very un-Mary-like way, and even their father is on edge. In his case, though, it has nothing to do with the wedding, and everything to do with having Tom Branson seated next to him. With the exception of Sybil, nobody is quite sure how to be around him, and even Carson does not seem his usual unflappable self.
For his part, Tom attempts to engage Edith in conversation a few times, but she can't hear him over the din of her own thoughts. When dinner is done and they've walked through to the drawing room, she sees for the first time that she's worried her skirt with her hand through most of dinner. Sighing, she smoothes the wrinkles out, glad nobody had taken much notice.
Most of the after-dinner conversation is idle chatter about nothing in particular, everyone tiptoeing around topics that might force Tom into the conversation. To her credit, Sybil pretends not to notice any of it, and Tom keeps to himself, content to flip through the pages of a book without actually reading it. Edith tries to join in the conversation, but she's distracted, and after a bit of effort, she gives up and settles for silence. It's not until Sybil nudges her politely that she realizes she was being spoken to.
"We were wondering, Edith," Mama begins, her tone soft but pointed, "where you were this morning. You were gone a long time."
Without time to consider her answer properly, Edith blurts out the truth. "I paid a visit to Sir Anthony Strallan-"
"Sir Anthony Strallan?" Mary chortles. "Oh, Edith. Surely even you're not that desperate."
"Mary!"
Cora's voice, full of indignation and reproach, cuts through the room. Abruptly, Edith excuses herself, ignoring Sybil's whispered entreaty to stay. Tears, hot with shame, sting her eyes as she runs up the stairs. She throws herself on her bed, a flood of tears washing away her resolve and determination, leaving only bitterness and regret behind.
–00-
A soft knock at her door rouses Edith out of the doze she's fallen into, still in her dinner clothes. She rubs at her eyes and mutters weakly at the door as it swings open to admit Anna, a tray in her hand.
"Excuse me, Lady Edith. I thought maybe you'd want a glass of milk." She sets the tray down by the bed, her brow creased with worry. "I could help you get ready for bed now, if you like."
Edith rubs at her forehead, confused. "Yes, I—oh, I must look a state."
"No, not at all, my lady." Edith lets Anna wipe off her tear-stained face and help her into her nightclothes. Her anger recedes, replaced by a welcome numbness. She closes her eyes to shut out the day's events, willing it all to have been a bad dream, but she's interrupted by another knock at the door. This time, it's Sybil ducking her head in the door.
"Are you...all right?"
Edith nods weakly and waves Sybil in as Anna lets herself out. She watches her sister for a moment, noting how tired she looks. "You really shouldn't be up so late."
"Oh, stop. I'm not an invalid." She slumps on to Edith's bed, a hand on her belly. "But I think I'll have a sit down."
She gives Edith a pointed look. "I know Mary can be cruel sometimes, but I don't think she really means it."
Edith snorts. "Of course she does."
"No, really." Sybil hesitates, shifting on the bed and picking at the covers. "But sometimes she's right."
"As in this time?"
Sybil shrugs. "Maybe. Or not. What I mean is, you don't have to rush off to get married. There's more to life than that."
"So say you. Mrs. Branson."
Sybil manages a smirk. "All right. I deserved that. But my life is the one I chose, and it's very different than the one I had here."
She leans forward, more animated than she's been in a long while. "In Dublin, I have my own house. I do all my own cooking and cleaning. And I'm wretched at it." Her eyes laugh as she speaks, and Edith feels her sister's happiness as if it's a tangible thing.
"So you feel free now?"
"Yes, exactly. So could you be." She frowns. "If only you weren't so determined to be just like Mary."
"It's not like that. It's just-"
Sybil shakes her head and is about to speak as the door opens and Mary walks into the room.
Edith rolls her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to ask you about the flowers for the wedding."
"What?"
"Oh, Edith, really. I'm here to apologize, of course. As hard as that may be for you to believe."
Edith stares her down until Mary relents and looks away. She sits down at Edith's desk. "Sybil's right, you'd be better if you weren't always cutting off your own nose to spite your face." She smiles wryly. "Or to spite my face."
She meets Edith's eyes evenly. "And as for what I said after dinner, I shouldn't have. Sir Anthony is a gentleman, and a kind one. I dare say he'll make a perfect husband for someone like you."
"For someone like me? What does that mean?"
Mary hisses in frustration. "You make it so hard to talk to you sometimes, do you know that?"
Edith crosses her arms, indignant. "If this is your idea of an apology-"
"No." Mary holds her forehead for a moment. "Just let me get all the words out for once." She strides over to the bed and sits down, looking Edith square in the eye. "The thing is, I may not always like you. But you are my sister. And if you decide you want to marry Sir Anthony, then I'll be glad for you, even stand up for you, if you like. And that's all there is to it."
Edith feels the weight of her misery in full force, and she sinks down onto the bed. "Well, you needn't worry about that. He doesn't want me." She covers her face with her hands and begins to sob.
"Oh, Edith." For the first time in years, Edith feels her sisters reach out to her and she welcomes it, the perfect balm for all her pain.
(TBC)
