"You look awful darling," is the first thing Aunt Rosamund says as she breezes through the doors and settles herself in a chair as if she owns the house. She should be offended really; Edith thinks she looks better than she has in months, but her Aunt has never been particularly tactful, and so she expects nothing more from her. But she never expected her to be here, in the depths of Scotland away from the glitter of society, and in front of her disgraced niece no less, and the surprise must surely show on her face. Mama must have told her not to come...Papa must have warned her not to come; Rosamund Painswick has never done what she's told, but this is not her fourth – fifth? – engagement, it's a visit to the very ruin of the Crawley name.
Edith folds her hands primly in her lap. She refuses to show her Aunt how much this visit means to her, after three long and miserable years. She's tried so hard to stay angry and pretend she doesn't care, but Evelyn has dampened the pain and now Aunt Rosamund is standing in front of her in glorious purple, and with her mane of red hair she's like Elizabeth Tudor herself, and all Edith wants is to be loved. Forgiveness she can give or take – she can't decide if she deserves it or not, or if her actions even warranted it in the first place – but she thinks about her family more and more with every passing day.
She wants to ask how they are – Sybil hasn't visited her for some time, and the last she heard Papa had had a cold, a bad cold. It was months ago now, but in her darkest moments, her loneliest moments, she imagines his death...but they'll let her know if he dies, won't they?
But Edith doesn't get a chance; Rosamund has barely seated herself before she eyes her niece speculatively across the table. "Evelyn Napier?"
She ducks her head to hide her blush. Of course she's heard; there's nothing Aunt Rosamund misses.
"We're friends. He...visits me. I don't receive many visitors."
She can't help the bitter twist to the words, and she can't imagine Rosamund has missed it either; the look in her eyes is all the confirmation she needs.
"Your little letter did rather a lot of damage, Edith."
She speaks with a lightness that belies the seriousness of her words, but Edith's heard it all before, and she almost snaps those very words at her Aunt, finds them almost spilling from her tongue before Rosamund beats her to it.
"But..." Aunt Rosamund's voice falters and Edith holds her breath. She never expected a but, not from her mother's staunchest supporter. "...Well darling, Mary is hardly a harbinger of joy, is she? And I won't warrant a guess as to why that dreadfully dull man left you."
Edith is about to interject with that dreadfully dull man's name – even now she's still fond of him, though the thought of him no longer makes her heart ache as it did before – but Rosamund, as always, is quicker.
"But if I did," her eyes twinkle but her gaze is piercing, and Edith can see her grandmother in those eyes; Rosamund truly is sharper than she's ever given her credit for, "I'd certainly not exclude your sister from suspicion."
Her voice softens then and Edith feels a lump of emotion in her throat as her Aunt reaches for her hand. She's craved this for so long now, wasting away in this miserable house that seems admittedly brighter since Evelyn Napier's startling first visit; she wishes it was Mama, or even Papa, but Aunt Rosamund is more than adequate, especially as she grips her hand and holds it tight and gives her the warmest smile she's seen in weeks.
"I adore your mother, Edith. I have done for almost thirty years, since she turned up at Downton and promptly tripped over her skirts and smashed one of Mama's priceless vases."
Edith almost smiles; she can well imagine this but she can't pretend it still doesn't hurt, that she doesn't miss her parents and crave their love so much it hurts more than Mary could ever hurt over the loss of her reputation.
Rosamund squeezes her hand again. "But I cannot, in all good conscience, agree with what she's done. I cannot agree with this."
Edith would have known what she meant, even if Rosamund hadn't swept her arm around the elegant little lounge that forms the central hub of her prison, but she appreciates the clarification almost as much as she appreciates the sentiment and the warmth in her Aunt's eyes. She blinks back her tears bravely and offers a shaky smile.
"Would you like some tea, Aunt Rosamund?"
The older woman smirks and nods her agreement. If she's noticed her tears she doesn't mention them, and Edith appreciates that too.