"So when are you leaving?"

"On Thursday. Granny's got it all arranged. We're to go down on Thursday by train at 9 o'clock, with Smithers, and Mrs Bute has arranged for us to be met at Kings Cross."

"Are you excited? I would be"

"That's because you haven't had your season yet. And anyway… I'm going to help Granny, not to gad about having a jolly time. Sybil darling, hand me that book off the bedside table would you?"

Edith was packing. Not serious packing, that was all taken care of by Anna and Mrs Hughes, but personal packing, gathering up the few bits of precious that she wanted with her in London for her month away. Sybil, eager to be part of her adventure, was in equal measure getting in the way and trying to help.

"Have you spoken to Mary?"

"Whatever for?"

"Come now, don't be like that. You'll be away for the entire month, maybe longer."

"I know, that's it exactly. And the last thing I want before I go is to precipitate another row."

"I bet she's sorry…"

"I don't. When Mary's sorry, she tends to apologise, and she hasn't said a word to me."

Sybil grew quiet, perched on the chair beside Edith's bed. Edith paused, shoving the last book into her bag, before turning to sit on the bed facing Sybil.

"It's no good Sybil. I know that you want us all to be the best of friends, but the best I can hope for with Mary is that I fall beneath her notice and she leaves me alone. We get on best when she ignores me."

"I suppose … I just wish you could be as good as friends as you both are with me."

Edith smiled and leaned over to tweak her sister's wayward curl into place behind her ear. "You get along with both of us because you are twice as nice as either of us."

Sybil giggled, her nose wrinkling in an uncharacteristically cute little bunny gesture.

"Knock knock?"

Edith froze a little as she heard Mary's voice outside the door. How long had she been there?

"Come in?"

Mary was holding a small box in her hands, and a letter tucked in her fingers.

"I was tidying out my drawers and thought you might want some of these. They're just plain handkerchiefs, no scent or markings, but I thought they might be useful bathing foreheads, or in case Granny gets a bit emotional after her stay at St Thomas's."

"Thank you … that's …that's kind of you." Edith reached out to take the box and added it to her packing.

"I won't be coy Edith, I heard what you said to Sybil. And I am sorry, and should have said so. Papa was right, I can be a brute sometimes, but I am worried about Granny. And it is good that someone in the family is going to take care of her."

Edith was stunned, and from the look on Sybil's face so was she. Although Sybil always hoped for the best from her sisters, she was frequently disappointed in their behaviour towards each other. Edith knew she must speak, and somehow freed her tongue.

"I wish we did get along better Mary. Not least because we love the same people."

"Well … I promise to try harder until you leave. You were right. We shouldn't part with a row. Not with Granny going to hospital. Papa doesn't say, but I know he's worried about her."

Sybil began to let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding. A truce was something. Not peace, as she had hoped, but something.

"Who's the letter from?"

"Oh, that? It's from Patrick, he writes that he's going to be in London with Cousin James in three weeks. It was tucked in with a letter to Mumma, she said I should bring it up for you both to see, it was to all of us."

"So he is going to be in London?"

"Perhaps you should write, Edith, tell him you'll be in town?"

"I think Granny's writing to James, Sybil, but I might drop him a note."

"I think he'd relish some company that isn't his Papa."

Edith noted that Mary was trying. A few weeks ago she would have added a barbed comment about how 'even her company' was better than James's. But she was right. The sisters were astute enough to recognise that their affectionate relationship with their own parents was not mirrored in James and Patrick's familial bond. If anything they bickered even worse than Edith and Mary did, it drove their own Papa to distraction. Patrick had been a frequent visitor to Downton during his teens and during his holidays from Oxford University, but now aged 23 he could no longer avoid what James termed his 'real occupation' – the business of finding a wife and siring the next heir to Downton.

"We'll see. Perhaps I shouldn't make plans until we know how Granny is."

"When is she seeing the doctor?"

"Dr Ryder is making a house call on Friday, to come and talk everything through. She's asked me to sit in with her, so that both of us know what's coming next."

"Poor Granny. She must be so worried."

"Oh don't worry Sybil. Granny's tougher than she looks."

Edith thought to herself, not for the first time, that while she and her grandmother were closer, Mary was taking after her in the more 'spiky' elements of her character.

"What will you both do while I'm away?"

"Urgh. More ghastly French. What else?"

"Mary? What about you?"

"The York and Ainsty hunt's riding out about a week after you go."

"From Downton?"

"Yes, at the last minute. It was meant to be from Haxby, but they cried off for some reason, so Papa stepped in and agreed to host it."

"Goodness! What a treat!"

Mary smiled. Edith was trying too. Perhaps it was best to quit while they were both ahead.

"Here, you read it first… Sybil darling have you done your music practice yet?"

"Oh Mary, don't be such a bore…"

"Come along… Mumma will be checking up on you later…"

Gently Mary chivvied Sybil out of the room, leaving Edith to read the note in peace.

With a little smile, making sure the door was closed, Edith sat to read it, tracing her fingers over the edge of the note. Even though it wasn't a private note, she could pretend that it was.

Darling Girls,

Oh, if only he would say darling Edith instead.

How I miss you, and dear Downton. Is everything in bloom yet?

Mary, has Diamond broken in properly yet? You still owe me a wild galloping race.

Sybil, how goes the dreaded French? Have you started Latin yet? If you like, I'll send you my primer from Oxford, it's here somewhere.

And dear Edith –

Dear Edith!

Great Aunt Violet writes that she is stealing you away for the summer to London, but is maddeningly lacking in details. Will you be in town for long? Papa says we are to spend some time in London this summer, he's taking apartments in Grosvenor Square. Do write and let me know more, London is so much more fun with charming companions.

Write to me soon,

Your affectionate cousin

Patrick

Edith flopped back luxuriously onto her bed. Dear Edith. How she missed darling Patrick, and it seemed that he missed her too. He hadn't said Dear Mary, or Dear Sybil, but in this letter at least she was his dear Edith…

If only he knew, if only his Papa knew, how she longed to always he his dear Edith.

Perhaps…

The thought was almost too delicious to put into coherent words. But perhaps … this summer … with Patrick in town, longing for company, and Edith around and perhaps free to spend some time with him after Granny had recovered, perhaps she really and truly could be his dear Edith.

She hugged herself in a grin, a secret wish to be kept to herself, proof against all of the teasing and low expectations her family tossed at her feet.

Dear Edith… Dear Edith indeed.