I need to apologise for any Gregson shippers. I have tried to make him a bit more than two-dimensional by looking at him through Edith's eyes, but it still won't please you. In fact, I wouldn't read this at all if I were you.


"Sir Anthony?"

"Just Anthony. Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here. I feel much safer with you here."

She closed her eyes again.

"I promise you that I will keep you safe. I will watch over you and call for help if you need it. In the morning, I'll still be here to make sure you're fine, and to get you anything you need. Because you are the most amazing woman. You're amazing, and lovely, and brave, and beautiful, and entrancing, and I think you're wonderful. I'm just so grateful that I could be the one to help you tonight."

There was no response. She had passed out.


...

He watched her carefully. He'd promised he would keep her safe, after all. That was the reason why all he wanted to do at that moment was watch Edith Crawley, he told himself. He was just keeping his word to her by letting his eyes drink in her creamy complexion, her long eyelashes, the way her copper-blonde hair sweetly tried to curl in all directions. He had a fleeting vision of how it would tumble across his chest if she laid her head there. He shook that treacherous thought from his head. That was the sort of brutish male need that got her into this mess in the first place. He wasn't like that. At least he didn't think he was. He certainly hadn't been like that in the previous forty-five years of his life. Why was he thinking, and feeling, like that now? Despite his earnest discipline, guilty images of what she might look like if she raised her head from his chest to smile sleepily at him followed, and were just as forcefully dismissed.

He couldn't spend the entire night in unwelcome, unbidden, irresistibly intoxicating fantasy...it was uncomfortable, extremely uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Heaving a deep, unhappy sigh, he stood and began to scan her shelves for a good, engrossing book to take his mind, and other bits of his anatomy, off of Edith Crawley, apart from keeping watch over her. He found Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum but he found he couldn't concentrate on that. He replaced the hefty paperback and tried again. Rose Tremain's Music and Silence couldn't do it either. Finally he settled on Christopher Reid's A Scattering (1) and began to read it aloud to Edith's sleeping form.

.

Those last few days

of drug-drowse, coma-comfort…

.

That was a bit near the knuckle. He skipped a few lines.

.

...a faint, fleeting

muscular effort

adjust her mouth and jaw

as if in greeting,

as if for a kiss…

.

He swallowed hard, trying not to think of kissing Edith. He looked up, instinctively, foolishly. He knew she was unconscious but still he checked, hoping she had not noticed his reaction, only to find that she was, indeed, pouting slightly in her sleep. Could she hear him? Dragging his eyes back to the page he continued.

.

...I talked, too, read aloud

from her favourite Yeats,

or played the last, great

Schubert quartets -

the one in G

that, with whole-hearted

ambivalence,

weighs in the balance

the relative merits

of major and minor

and struggles to postpone the choice.

.

There was a thought: he wondered whether a little music might help pass the time and soothe them both. But try as he might he couldn't find any discs. Then he realised that her collection must be on her iPhone and he felt very old again, a feeling heightened when he skipped through the tracks not recognising any bands except The Rolling Stones.

There was nothing for it; he would have to watch over the young lady and endure the ridiculous imaginings of his fevered brain.

But were they? Were they just middle-aged yearnings and silly fantasies? Or something more serious? Much more serious? He looked at her and his heart gave a little leap.

Good god, he was in trouble.

"Meow!" Aslan jumped up onto Anthony's lap, took advantage of the man's surprise, and settled on his lap to sleep.

"You are a very lucky cat, Aslan. Your mistress is kind, and talented, and beautiful, and young. I hope you appreciate her and look after her."

Aslan gave him a superior look intended to convey just how much the cat loved his mistress, and how much he held anyone who doubted it in contempt. Still a warm lap was a warm lap, and Aslan was not a stupid cat; he would take it if it was there.

Anthony stroked the cat absentmindedly, and he watched Edith, with a driven care and a metamorphosing heart, for the rest of the night.


Around six the next morning, Edith's drugged stupor bleached into natural sleep. With sleep came dreams; dreams of loss and loneliness, of sisters luckier in love than she'd ever be, of a man with brilliantly blue eyes and a gentle manner, making her feel safe and cherished, until he too was gone. She woke with tears in her eyes.

"Lady Edith? How are you feeling?"

A deep voice rumbled gently at bed-level. Anthony was kneeling by her bedside, and had taken her hand, rubbing his thumb delicately over her fingers. It was amazingly soothing. There was also an insistent, annoyed mewing from the general direction of his knees.

"I think I'm feeling better than Aslan, thank you. Don't worry, I know what he's like. I realise that you did feed him last night, but he's trying to convince me otherwise so he gets a second helping. But more than that, I'm paying you attention he thinks is due to him by right. Don't be jealous, Aslan! I love you too!"

I love you too! Could that mean…? It means absolutely nothing, you old fool.

He let her hand slip from his to lift the cat up to the bed, which is where Aslan most definitely wanted to be.

You and me too, my feline rival!

Shaking himself back to reality, he left the lady and the cat and went to the kitchen to make some tea. When he returned he was rewarded with a joyous smile.

"Tea! Just what I felt like, thank you. I think you can read my mind."

I'm glad you can't read mine, my dear.

"How are you feeling? Really?"

"I feel a bit groggy but otherwise fine, as though I'd just had a very heavy night's sleep. I hope you got some rest too?" she asked.

"I did as I promised and looked after you. Aslan kept me company, didn't you?"

Aslan graciously gave a 'meow' indicating that it was actually the other way round.

"Didn't you get any sleep at all?" Edith's voice was full of worry.

"I would not have been able to even if I had tried, Lady Edith. I needed to check on you regularly, to make sure you were all right, but I think it would be wise to see a doctor this morning, just to be absolutely sure. And then…" his face darkened "...I intend to make an appointment to see the owner of your newspaper and therefore your boss's boss, right? Mr Gregson can't be allowed to get away with this sort of thing."

"Do you really have to? It's just that...well, I don't want to earn a reputation as a troublemaker."

"My dear, he was intending to rape you! If you would prefer me just to report it to the police, then of course that is what I shall do. But this isn't just about you, you know; this is about protecting other female employees of the paper, because if you don't you won't be the last, and I very much doubt that you were the first."

That seemed to convince her, as she sipped her tea thoughtfully.

"Do you feel like some breakfast?"

"Anthony, you don't have to hang around, looking after me as though you were Jeeves! Even though you're dressed like him!" He looked down at his undone white tie and discarded tailcoat: he didn't look like Jeeves at all. If anything, he looked like an upper-crust lush. Edith continued "You must be so tired. Why don't you go home and get some rest?" He looked utterly crestfallen, as though he had somehow failed her. She hurried to reassure him.

"I'm really very grateful to you. I am, truly. I just feel...well, a bit embarrassed about it all now."

Anthony gave a sad, understanding nod. The dream was almost at an end. There was nothing he could do to extend it further. He stood hoping to make it out of the front door before he lost control of his tears.

Edith watched him, saw the misery in his expression, and regretted allowing her fears to show. He looked so delicious in his slightly ruffled formal clothes. She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't really believe he would want to stay. She couldn't let him leave without at least…well, she could but hope...

"Wait!"

She called out, leaning out of bed and treating him to a glorious view of all that he had tried not to imagine: in reality it was only a glimpse of her nightdress, but to him it was wonderful. God, she was beautiful! She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

"That's my number. Let me know what I should do with...er, the police...please, would you?"

His astonished face broke into a lopsided smile. He took out a piece of card from his waistcoat pocket.

"My business card, but it has my contact details. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything; anything at all. And I'll call you later on today, just to check you're okay, if that's all right with you?"

"I'd like that...very much."


That unbelieving smile just wouldn't go away. It was there when he returned the white tie and tails to the hire shop. It was even still there when he arrived at the Police Station, although it soon evaporated as he made his statement to a stone-faced sergeant. It threatened to take over as he held his phone ready to call Edith. He pushed his fears away and pressed the speed dial he'd programmed in as soon as he had left her flat.


Edith had seen a doctor and been told she was fine, but to take it easy over the next few days. When she'd rung in sick to the paper she'd had to tell HR what had happened, which was awkward but necessary. She slept some more, she cuddled Aslan, all the while waiting to hear Anthony's rich, thrilling baritone. Then, when she was beginning to think that he had forgotten all about her, her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Lady Edith. Anthony Strallan here. How are you now?"

"Much better, thank you. The doctor says I'm to be gentle with myself for a few days, but otherwise I'm back to normal. Thanks to you."

"Nonsense! It was the least I could do. I...er...I went to the police. They want to take a statement from you when you feel up to it. I've got an official Crime Number here somewhere that you'll need. You can take a friend with you if you would be happier doing that rather than going alone. It doesn't have to be me."

"I would be happier...happiest if you would come with me, though."

"Really? Would you really? Well, I'm not doing anything for the rest of the afternoon, if you want to get it over and done with? That is, if you're feeling up to it?"

"I think that's a good idea. I don't want to drag it out."

"Right. I'll come round and pick you up in half an hour, if that's all right with you?"

"Perfect. See you then."

Each of them cut the call with a happy smile, and nervous, excited butterflies, which, in Anthony's case at least, lasted all the way to her flat in a cab. How could knowing someone for less than twenty four hours make him feel so much...excited, hopeful, younger? Asking the cabbie to wait he pressed the buzzer for flat four. There was no answer. He frowned and tried again. A woman came out from the stairwell and Anthony thanked her and walked through, trying to make it look entirely natural and not as though he was technically trespassing and/or breaking and entering. At the top of the stairs, he found Edith's door ajar, and his blood went cold. He pushed it open and walked through. There were voices coming from the kitchen, Edith's and a man's. Anthony heard a noise as though a chair had been pushed over, and Edith yelped.

Anthony didn't even think. He strode into the room, saw the young man from last night holding Edith by her wrists, and snapped.

"You nasty little cockroach! Let her go!"

Even Anthony was shocked by the force of his voice. Michael backed away, suddenly all innocence and geniality, as Anthony put himself between him and Edith.

"It's all right! Everything's fine. Edith merely misunderstood me about last night, and we needed to sort things, didn't we, dear?"

"If you mean your drugging her" said Anthony keeping his voice coldly level "then, yes, I believe we have things sorted out, Mr Gregson. Now please leave."

"We'll talk again when you're back in the office" he hissed at Edith as he left. Anthony made sure he'd gone and the door was firmly closed before he turned to Edith, who was quietly weeping. Anthony hesitated, unsure what to do for best.

"Edith?"

She turned and hugged him. He put his arms around her, anxious to comfort her, closed his eyes, and made soothing noises.

"There, there. It's all right now. You're okay."

Before he'd realised what he'd done, he'd pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. Her tears stalled and she looked up at him. He backed away, stuttering his apologies.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't. Thank you for coming to my aid...again." She sighed.

"What did he want?"

"He's terrified. He wants me to retract what I had to tell HR about last night. He says that I misunderstood his intentions and the drug was only meant to relax me."

Anthony scoffed.

"Yes, of course. That's why he used a drug that makes you pass out completely for several hours. You must do what you want, but I believe he is trying to manipulate you, Edith. He must not be allowed to succeed. You are too...wonderful...to be one of his victims. You are not to blame for any of this, no matter what he says."

"You're quite right, I know, but I feel so…" She looked up at him, waiting patiently for her to finish. "...so mean."

"That's what he wants you to think. But, don't take my word for it. I think we should go to the police station now, and you can see what they say." Before the poison he's put in your head has a chance to take hold.

They gathered themselves together and went down to the street. Anthony stopped suddenly, his face like thunder.

"What's the matter?"

"That little...weasel! He's taken my cab!"

The tense silence was broken by Edith trying to hide her snickering, and then not bothering to hide it. Anthony looked at her, a bit put out, and then he too saw the funny side of it, and their helpless laughter began the healing process for them both.


The police were professional and sympathetic. A lady officer took Edith into an interviewing room for the best part of half an hour, while Anthony waited outside and worried. When they emerged, Edith looked much more settled and sure of herself. The policewoman came round and shook Anthony's hand.

"You are one of the good guys, Sir Anthony. I've seen so much in my service that I know one when I see one. It takes much, much more courage to do the right thing and look weak, than it does to act on one's desires and look strong."

With that she left him looking shocked, and Edith smiling at him.

"I think I ought to buy you dinner, Sir Anthony, to thank you for being 'one of the good guys'."


The meal was delicious, the restaurant was not busy, and the staff easygoing. Edith and Anthony finally had a chance to begin where they should have done: telling each other about themselves.

"I really do read all your columns. I can't say I agree with you on absolutely everything, but you always make me think" he declared.

"Well, that's really what it's for, though I also try to write about topics a bit off the beaten track, you know, things other columnists don't tend to consider. Perhaps I could do one on Agricultural Management?"

"If you want to bore your readers to death, yes why not!" he smirked sadly.

"No, I mean it. Knowing where our food comes from, and how it is produced, is very important. More and more people are getting very interested."

"You could always come round a few of the farms I visit, if you like." He couldn't believe his luck: Edith actually wanted to spend time with him. He couldn't believe his amazing luck.

They walked along the Embankment rather than taking her straight back to her flat. They paused on Waterloo Bridge where The Houses of Parliament could be seen in one direction, and St. Paul's Cathedral in the other. In the moonlight everything felt so fairytale to Anthony, and he didn't want it to end.

"Edith, I know we met under strange circumstances, but, er, well…" he gathered all his courage and tried to say all his words at once "...it would make me really very sad if I weren't going to see you again. I don't have many friends, and we've got on so extremely well...at least on my side...but don't let any of that stop you telling me where to chuck it, if you...if you don't see it the same way...and there's absolutely no reason why you should...I'm a lot older and…"

"Oh Anthony! Stop rambling and kiss me! Please!"

She hoped, oh Lord! how she hoped that she had interpreted his nervous bit of a speech correctly. She gazed up at his astonished face, and for a horrible moment thought she'd pushed her luck. But she needn't have worried. He quickly pulled himself together and took her in his arms, looked at her adoringly, then pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and unsure to begin. Anthony took his time, allowing her the leeway to draw back should she change her mind. Edith, however, had other plans. She parted her lips for him, almost causing him to faint, but he wasn't going to reject such a precious gift. He let his desires off the leash a little, and couldn't help moaning his worship of her against her mouth when she reciprocated.

Two teenagers passed them, one wolf whistling, the other shouted "Get a room, will yer?!"

They stopped kissing, both slightly out of breath, smiling shyly.

"With your permission, I think that's rather a nice idea" Anthony whispered in her hair.

Edith nodded and they ran, hand in hand, towards the rest of their lives.


...

(1) - Mr Bathurst has devised a one-man show where he recites this entire poem/sequence of poems (from memory) in the first half, and in the second half performs (also from memory) The Song of Lunch as a two-hander with an actress. He calls it Love, Loss, and Chianti and I had the honour of seeing it at Chichester last year. At that point, he was hoping to take it to New York, via London. Do see it if you can.

Charles Townshend, 2nd Viscount Townshend (1674 – 1738), known rather unfortunately as 'Turnip' Townshend, was a major part of my school history curriculum, a leading figure in the British Agricultural Revolution along with Jethro Tull and other such emotive folk heroes. Prior to Townshend, all through the Dark Ages, the Mediæval period, and the Renaissance and Reformation, most people had to slaughter most of their animals at the beginning of winter because there wasn't enough feed to keep them all alive until spring and feed the humans too. This was because the same crops were grown in the same fields for some years until all the nutrients were exhausted. Then the field was left 'fallow', without a crop for a season or two to recover.

Townshend either developed or popularised (there's some doubt how far he originated the theory) that if crops were rotated between barley, wheat, clover, and TURNIPS, this eliminated the need for a fallow period because the nutrients one crop takes from the earth another replaces, and, additionally, the system provided a feed crop for animals for the winter, the turnips, so they didn't have to be slaughtered.

This completely changed the way we farmed in Western Europe, vastly improving yields and supporting/causing the explosion in the population that in turn fuelled the Industrial Revolution, and, ironically, also causing the migration of most of the workforce from the countryside into the cities in the first half of the 1800s and which we still see today.

Calling Anthony 'Turnip' Strallan and giving him the profession of an Agricultural Management Consultant has prompted a certain amount of correspondence with my readers. In fact, so much so that I really want to keep this concept for another, longer story now. So I'll just leave it with this story that he's a consultant on agricultural matters. Watch this space!