Chapter 2

Lady Edith Crawley lay in bed, drinking the tea that Anna had just brought her. Once again she had awoken to find her pillow soaked with her own salty tears. Once again Anthony had been her first thought on waking.

It had been nearly six months since he had walked out on their wedding; leaving both her heart and her dreams smashed to pieces on the floor of Downton church. But, contrary to what he was thinking, she had never hated him. She had forgiven him that day; she even thought she understood why he had done it. He had set her free to find a better man nearer to her own age; a man who could put both his arms around her. Like her father though he had momentarily forgotten that most young men had been killed in the bloody fields of Ypres and Flanders along the length of the Western Front; many of them young men that she and her sisters, Mary & Sybil, had grown up, or at least been acquainted, with.

Anthony's name had not been mentioned at Downton since that day but Edith sensed that it was not an attempt to spare her feelings. After all, on that day whose memory she had come to hate no one had thought to ask her if she was alright, how she felt about what had happened or about Anthony. Why hadn't she told him that she loved him; had done in fact since that afternoon before the War when he had taken her for a drive and subsequently to a concert. She had always loved him and had constantly tortured herself since her near wedding day about whether those three little words would have made any difference.

She remembered the times that they had spent together and her heart ached. She blinked away tears. She wanted to go and see him so she could at least tell him he was forgiven for she was sure he would be torturing himself. She had wanted to write to him but knew that she could not.

The worst thing was that Edith had no one she could confide in. There was no one who would understand and comfort her. Her family constantly pressed her to find other interests and ways to pass the time but Edith's time was so empty; she missed the war because then she had been constantly occupied but now the hours stretched inexorably ahead into days much the same as the one preceding. She felt more invisible and stifled than ever. Anthony had treated her like an adult and made her feel like she mattered. Whenever he had been in the room everything and everyone else had faded into insignificance.

Edith got up and drew the curtains; her heart sinking when she saw the rain and the leaden skies.

She dressed and went down to breakfast. She should have been eating breakfast in some Italian hotel with her husband beside her.

She blinked away tears; she and Anthony had shared so many happy moments. But there would be no more of those. Ever. She missed his lopsided grin, his beautiful smile and those lovely blue eyes which made her tingle all over every time he looked at her. She remembered the night before Mary and Matthew's wedding when Anthony had exposed Larry Grey for drugging Tom's drink. She had no doubt that, had it been Matthew's drink been spiked, then Anthony would have had her father's eternal gratitude. Little memories like this made her so proud of him. Cousin Isobel had been the only one of the family to show him any kindness or respect but even so Edith did not feel she could confide in her although Isobel was on the fringe of the family as much as she was. Why had they so taken against Anthony? He was far from boring; they had such lively conversations and he had a wit she had never encountered before as she chided him for his self deprecating humour. She missed him so much.

She was in the library after breakfast, trying desperately to keep her wandering mind settled on a book. The weather rendered the possibility of a walk near impossible. She tried hard to concentrate but found she just could not. She rang for Carson and asked for some coffee which he brought and she drank it while pacing the floor relentlessly. She felt a shiver run down her back although the room was warm; perhaps overly so owing to the blazing fire burning in the grate but, like Anthony, she could not feel its warmth; all she could feel was the desperation of loneliness and a chill feeling that something was very wrong.

"Anthony, I forgive you," she whispered into the air, "I forgive you because I know you acted in love and I regret never telling you that you mean everything to me because I have always loved you,"

She blinked away tears; wishing she had the chance to see him and ask his forgiveness for rushing him. He had said to her that evening, "Are you sure you don't want to wait?" Had he been trying to tell her that he would marry her but was not yet ready? If it had been a sign she had missed it. He had told her that she had given him back his life but weeks later he had taken away that life, that hope of a future for them as man and wife.

The feeling of dread intensified and she began to feel quite cold and unsettled. She looked out at the rain.

She ran to her room and grabbed her raincoat. She put it on and pulled the hood over her head. She slipped outside; everyone was busy. So much the better for that.

She got in the car and drove as fast as she dared in the direction of Locksley.

OO

In the library at Locksley it was as though time had stood still. Anthony stood, the gun still pointed at his temple by his own hand. How ridiculous was it that he had walked out of his own wedding but could not muster the energy to carry out the last cowardly act of his life.

He was not a coward though; the VC medal in his bedside cabinet drawer was proof of that but he did not feel worthy of it now. He had seen and felt far worse during the war but that was usually the result of someone else's actions. The pain and desperation he felt now was born out of his own actions.

He did not see the car draw up outside and he did not see Lady Edith get out. His mind was concentrating on trying to find the final motivation to pull that trigger; ending both his life and the existence of the Strallan line. He turned to face the door, still holding the revolver to his temple. He had believed it would be easy; wanted it to be more like he chided himself.

The butler was not sure if his master would not want to see Lady Edith but she persuaded him; convincing him that she had a terrible feeling about Anthony. They went together to the library and the butler pushed open the door.

Edith's face was ashen as she saw the man she loved standing in the middle of the room pointing a gun at his own head, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Anthony, please god no," she had wanted to shout but the fear in her throat meant it came out barely louder than a croak, "Anthony, I love you,"

Edith.

He stared at her for a long moment; almost like he had seen a ghost or did not recognise his jilted bride but his hand holding the gun felt to his side and the revolver fell to the floor. Edith ran towards him and picked it up. She was not sure how one should handle guns but she handed it to the butler whispering, "Please lock this away, Johnson; for Sir Anthony's sake,"

"Very good Lady Edith," Johnson looked at the firearm with contempt. Those bloody things ruined lives and he left the room.

Anthony had been frozen by fear that Edith would accidentally fire and was relieved when she passed the gun to Johnson without mishap.

Anthony sank to his knees on the floor; weakened by lack of both nourishment and sleep. He put his head in his hands and his frail body shook with convulsive sobbing. Was he being tortured by nightmares? Had she come to do the job he had failed in? Had he heard those three little words pass her lips which must have been frozen almost numb from fear?

Edith crouched beside him and took him in her arms.