At last, I've written Chapter Two! Watch out for a bit of Mary/Edith sisterly angst here! Also, I must make a confession. When I started writing this fanfic, I promised myself "lots of happiness, fluff, and...smut." Suffice it to say that I've got a long way to go; however, I swear there'll be more Evelyn/Edith development in the next chapter! Bear with, bear with! (Please blame my copy-editor for everything. Oh, wait...)
"I suppose you'll actually have someone to see you in your frocks now," Mary said to Edith, as she and her two sisters dressed for dinner. Sybil had been summoned from her post to "welcome an old friend," and she changed her nurse's uniform for a shiny, turquoise dress. Mary wore a sable gown of intertwining satin and silk, her neck bejeweled in a series of dark beads and diamonds.
For that evening, Edith preferred something less melodramatic—a dress of pale pink that complemented her rosy cheeks. She sat on the bed, pretending to read a book that she didn't know the title of. "You can speak for yourself," she replied. "He's not my fish to fry."
"You've already learned to drive; are you going to get Mrs. Patmore to teach you how to make fish and chips?" Mary laughed feebly at her own joke.
Ignoring her, Edith continued to stare at the page blotted with words she couldn't string into sentences.
Though Sybil couldn't at once decode their bickering, she wasn't naïve enough to think it was about a lower-class meal. "Would you care to tell me what 'fish and chips' have to do with anything?"
Mary sighed. "For once, I'm actually trying to do something good, and Edith won't let me," she said, like a petulant, complaining child.
Edith looked up. "Really, Mary. What do you mean?"
"Do you like Evelyn?"
"I hardly know him." This, after all, was the truth.
"Well, I can't see why you won't consider it—he's really very nice—"
"If he's nice, then why wouldn't you—The point is, I'm sure he'll fall in love with you again."
"Oh, Edith," Mary rolled her eyes at the two figures in the mirror, "You give me too much credit. He's not for me, and he doesn't even like me. We're so…different. Sybil, wouldn't you agree that he's much more suited to Edith?"
Sybil's eyes reflected more comprehension. "Is that why you asked him to come here and convalesce?"
Mary grinned. "He's an old friend that I wanted to patch up old fences with, if nothing else."
Edith gave a noncommital shrug. "I thought he was engaged."
"He was. To one of the Sempill girls," Mary said, "But he doesn't care to talk about all that. When I saw him in London before the war, he said it all came to nothing. He ended it, by the looks of it."
"But why?"
"Really, Edith," Mary scoffed.
Sybil got up with an air of exasperated amusement. "I'm going down. Are you two coming?"
Mary smiled. "Yes, in a minute."
The door closed with a metallic click, leaving only a mellowed silence in the room. Edith's thoughts drew her back now, ceaselessly, to the past, making her think suddenly of Sir Anthony Strallan. After months of forgetting the garden party in 1914, her feelings of hurt and misery returned like a crashing tide. This made her almost determined to hate Mary again. How could she ever forget the blasé comment that ruined her chance of marrying him? She tried to tell herself that it was all a thing of the past—a mere dalliance that ended abruptly and was smothered by the news of war with Germany. Yet she felt that she owed him something, something like sentiment, perhaps attachment? Edith couldn't help feeling that they might have been happy together. Happy Enough.
"Edith, dear," Mary chattered away. She seemed to read Edith's thoughts. "It's been three years, and you know why it all fell through the way it did. I'm not proud, and you shouldn't be either. But really, couldn't it all turn out the right way now? It's not too late, after all."
Happy Enough. That was all Edith could think of as they went downstairs.
The family gathered in the small library before dinner with their guest, Mr. Evelyn Napier. Violet had just arrived, feigning surprise at his presence, giving a vague greeting ("Dear me, it's been so long!"), and taking his hand gingerly. She then pursed her lips, sinking into a chair by the unlit fire. "And how are you recovering, Mr. Napier?" she now inquired, with all the solicitude she believed due to a wounded soldier.
"Better every day, Lady Grantham," was Evelyn's cheerful reply.
His optimism did not affect her, as Violet stole a cautious look at his right side. "But your arm! Can you—"
Evelyn inhaled sharply, smiling. "I'm quite fit to help myself at dinner." He gave a show of moving his fingers. "I can almost write letters, too. I'm left-handed, you see."
Everyone sat tacitly, sympathetic to his plight of being cross-examined by Violet but either unwilling or unable to help him. Edith thought he held his ground admirably, as Carson entered to announce dinner.
Cora led the way into the dining room, and no sooner had they sat down than Violet open fire again. "Is your father well? What is he up to these days?"
Evelyn was seated between Mary and Edith; he hadn't the time to even start on his pheasant, the first non-army dish since a time he could hardly remember. "He's quite well, managing the estate for the most part—sitting in Parliament—"
Robert cut in—"He knows you're here, of course? You've written to him?"
"Oh yes. In fact, he recommended that I come to Downton. Naturally, he didn't know how much trouble it would be to get me here."
Mary spoke up. "Really, it's no trouble at all. We're all so delighted to have you here. Aren't we, Edith?" She glanced across Evelyn's half-raised fork to look pointedly at Edith, who returned a stare of puzzled annoyance, refusing to blush or even look at Evelyn.
"We're all delighted," Edith replied.
Cora cleared her throat after a lull of silence. "What do you plan on doing after the war? Or is it too soon to ask?"
"I don't know yet, but I think it's safe to say that I won't be returning to the front, not the way I am."
"Helping your father with the estate, perhaps?" Robert suggested.
"Perhaps, though my father does quite well on his own."
Violet made her way back into the firing line. "You were—political before the war, weren't you? They'll have a great need of sly diplomats in the aftermath."
Evelyn smiled. "If duty calls, I certainly won't avoid it."
Mary smiled back, shifting her gaze between Evelyn and Edith. "But you're here now; you'll have plenty of time to work all of it out."
Without a doubt, Edith knew this was directed at her. Mary had such a way with saying exactly what she wanted and caring little of how others should react. Edith decided she would deal with it all after dinner, and she now struck up a listless conversation with Sybil, asking about her shift, the new officers, whether or not she thought Captain Marley rather priggish…
Edith caught Mary just as the women prepared to leave the dining room to Robert and Evelyn, their port and cigars. She grasped Mary's wrist and walked her slowly behind the other three. "Mary," she whispered, with more than her usual share of urgency," What on earth are you doing?"
"Somebody has to do the throwing."
"Throwing?"
"Yes," Mary said in a bored voice, "If you won't throw yourself at him, I'll throw him in your way, so you don't throw this opportunity away."
"Say that word again and I'll—" Despite her frustration, Edith fought a desire to laugh.
"Edith, dear!" Violet called from the other side of the room. "Won't you throw back the curtain? There aren't any servants to do it—"
Mary giggled. "You can always count on Granny to say the right thing." She squeezed Edith's arm, grinning. "Believe me or not, I want to make this right for you. We don't always have to fight, you know. Please trust me; just this once."
For the first time since Downton became a convalescent home, the Crawleys had a guest at dinner, a guest who wasn't either the Dowager Countess, Lady Rosamund Painswick, or even Mrs. Crawley. This was refreshing for both the family and the downstairs staff, who hadn't served anyone but officers and officers for the past few weeks. They hardly noticed that Evelyn Napier was an officer, too.
As was their custom, the staff sat down to dinner and gossip after the ladies went through to the small library. Today, the atmosphere was more lively than usual, as the subject of Mr. Napier's return provided a welcome respite from talk of war news, Huns, and wounded soldiers. For that hour, at least, it almost seemed like a foray back to the days before August, 1914. Even Mr. Carson looked less stern as he presided over the table.
Miss O'Brien stared around coolly as she sipped her lamb stew. "He's back for Lady Mary then?"
"I should think not," said Anna. "She's set her mind on marrying Sir Richard. And besides, she wouldn't marry Mr. Napier anyways."
"And why not?" Daisy piped.
"Oh, this and that." Anna brushed the question aside.
Mrs. Hughes sighed, glancing at Mr. Carson. "Well, he's a nice man."
"I can't think why he's here at all, when you think of how hard it is to get officers transferred," Mrs. Patmore puffed. "More work for us!"
Carson let out an officious cough. "Lady Branksome was, before she died, a great friend of her Ladyship—"
"—And Mr. Napier is the heir to a great estate," O'Brien finished with a considerable dose of cynicism.
"What are you implying, Miss O'Brien?" Anna asked knowingly.
"Nothin'. Just that they'd be foolish not to snag him for Lady Edith or Lady Sybil."
"You're quite the seer, Miss O'Brien," Mrs. Hughes replied calmly. "And who would you award him to?"
O'Brien's serious face belied the jocularity of the others. "I can't say, Mrs. Hughes. It's a lofty prize."
Anna laughed. "Lady Sybil certainly won't have him."
"No." To her own surprise, Edith felt herself utter just that one word, as Mary gaped at her.
"But—"
More than anything else, Edith felt relieved. She said what she really wanted to say, even though it was in the heat of a moment. Evelyn was nice, gentlemanly, rich enough, high enough in society, and generally everything a girl like her could wish for. But why did she have to be the one who was lucky enough to even have a chance of "getting him"? She should be grateful that Mary was letting her "have a go" at Evelyn. She was being stubborn and intractable, but what choice did she have? None as good as the one in front of you, she could hear Mary, her parents, and Violet saying. Be reasonable, Edith. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not now.
The deluge of conflicting voices subsided, and Edith was able to respond. "Mary, there's no use in telling me what I already know. You're the stubborn one, but I'll play that role today."
"Edith—"
As though on cue, Robert and Evelyn entered. Luckily. Now she wouldn't have to say anything more to Mary.
Robert joined Cora, Violet, and Sybil by the cold hearth, leaving Evelyn to Mary and Edith, who stood in the farthest corner of the small library.
"May I join you?" Evelyn ventured with the certainty of receiving an affirmative answer.
Mary smiled, but without her previous enthusiasm. "Of course."
Edith found herself unable to look him in the eye, much less attempt conversation.
Thankfully, Mary had the answer. "Shall we go over there?"
It seemed a blessing to join the others, listening to their pleasant chatter and smiling along. Edith felt relieved to hear the soldiers' muffled laughter across hall as Carson entered.
"When will all this be over?" Violet sighed with a rhetorical air, waving her stick toward the door. She had sunk into the habit of never failing to comment on their "being relegated to using the small library as a drawing room" and blaming Isobel Crawley profusely.
Ever prepared to fight another onslaught of her lamentations, Robert answered calmly, "You'll have to ask Mr. Lloyd George, Mr. Wilson, and the Kaiser."
Being silly. Edith knew what Violet and Cora would say if they heard what she said about Evelyn Napier. Mary would tell them, and they would laugh about how foolish she was. Edith stood up. "I think I'll go to bed now."
"Are you alright?" Cora asked, standing up and placing a hand on Edith's arm.
Edith smiled in assurance. "I'm perfectly fine, just a bit tired."
As Edith turned to walk out, Evelyn got up, as though to follow her. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm feeling a little fatigued myself. If you'll excuse me."
And I couldn't have planned that any better. Imaginings of Mary's smug voice rang in Edith's mind as she walked up the stairs, pretending not to hear Evelyn's approaching footsteps.
"Lady Edith!" How easily he subsided back to formality when he could no longer sense an easy pleasantness forming between them.
Edith turned around. "Mr. Napier."
"I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to show me the gardens tomorrow." He felt his tongue tripping over the words. "I never got to see them the last time I was here."
She placed a hand on the banister as her heart grew a little lighter. "Of course. I'd be glad to." It wasn't his fault, after all.
Evelyn exhaled an inaudible breath of relief. "Thank you. You've made me feel so welcome here."
Edith had no choice but to smile, wholeheartedly.
They walked, he behind her, up the stairs.
"Goodnight."
"...Goodnight."
They parted on the landing.
