One more short chapter to go after this.

Point of clarification if the note in the first chapter didn't make it clear. Sybil and Tom left Downton Abbey for America shortly after Saoirse's uneventful birth, so she didn't know about Marigold because Gregson and the fallout of that relationship happened after they had gone.

Also, the Christmas "novena" referenced here is a tradition in South America and Colombia, where I grew up so these are references to things I remember from my own childhood.

Lastly, the final element of the request (that Edith is a lesbian) is hinted at in this chapter.


December 22, 1925

Ven, ven, ven
Ven a nuestras almas, Jesus.

Ven, ven ven, ven.

Ven a nuestras almas, Jesus.

Ven, ven ven, ven.

Ven a nuestras almas.

No tardes tanto,

No tardes tanto,

Jesus, ven, ven.

Edith lifted her hands to clap after the children, accompanied by Jose in his guitar, finished the call-and-response song that was part of the night's "novena," but Sybil gently grabbed her hands and brought them back down to her lap.

"It's a prayer," Sybil whispered with a smile, "even if very enthusiastically prayed."

"Oh," Edith responded quietly, looking around. Nobody among the score of people gathered had noticed her slight faux-pas in any case.

The chairs in the sitting room had been arranged in a circle and were full with neighbors and family (from Tom's side) who had come over for the novena. Jose, Ten, and the seven children present were sitting on the floor by the now decorated Christmas tree. Marigold was between Saoirse and Miguel and was granted the great privilege by Saoirse of holding the tambourine for the song. She'd seemed overwhelmed at first, but by the end her expression settled into something Edith recognized as contentment—in so far as a little one could be.

Ten rose up to her knees and read from her prayer book, the final prayer of the evening. She read first in Spanish, then English.

Then the crowd said, "Amen," and before Edith realized what was happening Sybil was taking her arm and guiding her to the door, so they could say their goodbyes together as the crowd dispersed.

The night before, after it was decided that Edith, Marigold and Lily would stay in the walk-up's currently vacant third floor apartment, Tom and Sybil let them settle in and rest from the long journey. Tonight, though, the Bransons insisted on their presence for the novena. For Edith, it provided a glimpse of the life her sister and her husband had made for themselves and how far—literally and figuratively—Sybil had gone away from the life she'd known growing up. Despite her lack of understanding of the tradition itself, however, Edith felt a warmth and kinship that she didn't always feel back at Downton.

"So do all Catholics do this?" Edith asked, about an hour later, sitting in the kitchen drinking tea with Sybil. The guests had gone and the children had been tucked into bed.

"No, the novena is a South tradition," Sybil replied. "It's something Ten did as a child growing up that her family continued to do even after they'd moved to New York."

"I'm afraid I didn't follow it much, but the children seemed to have fun."

Sybil chuckled. "Ten translates as best she can, but there's not much to it really. It's a reflection of Joseph and Mary's journey to Bethlehem and the birth of Jesus. Saoirse could sing the song long before she knew what any of it meant. Tom and I aren't particularly strict with her so far as her religious education goes, but I do like that this is meant to bring neighbors together."

"it was nice of Saoirse to ask if Marigold could sit with the children. She hasn't had many playmates."

Sybil watched Edith closely for a moment. "May I ask why you brought her here?"

Edith stiffened. "If you—"

Sybil quickly put her hand over Edith's. "She is most welcome here for as long as you want to stay. Please don't think the question is meant to suggest otherwise. I just wondered . . . you told me in your letters that the family had taken in a ward, and I just wondered. You seem rather attached to her."

Edith looked down but didn't say anything.

"Edith, you know you can tell me anything."

Edith ran her finger along the edge of her teacup. Sybil watched, feeling a wave of concern come over her. Edith looked up finally with tears in her eyes. "She's mine."

"What?"

"Marigold. She's my daughter."

Sybil was floored. "Edith! But . . . I don't understand."

"You remember the editor that I wrote you about."

Sybil nodded.

Edith shrugged her shoulders.

"And he died?" Sybil asked quietly.

Edith nodded. "It would have been complicated even if he hadn't. I was a fool—"

"Edith, you're a human person. You're only a fool only in so far as we are all fools in love."

Edith sighed. "I don't know if it was love, is the thing. He liked me, and I suppose I liked that. The truth is Sybil I don't know that I'm built for marriage. Relationships have always been so fraught for me, and when I was young I spent so many nights wondering why that was. Marigold came along and . . . I just want to provide for her. I don't much care about anything else. Even if no one knows I'm her mother."

"Does anyone know?"

"Aunt Rosamund and granny for sure. Mama seems to have guessed but never asked me one way or the other. Perhaps she didn't want me to confirm so as to save herself from the true disappointment."

Sybil, who hadn't let go Edith's hand all this time, squeezed it again. "You can live on your own terms you know. You said that Gregson left you the means to do so. Why not start now?"

"You mean here?"

"Of course, here!"

"But Sybil . . ."

"What exactly is left for you at home?"

Edith thought for a moment. She didn't have an answer to that question.

"Look, darling," Sybil said. "I would never presume to tell anyone how to live their lives, and you have my support no matter what you decide, but you are the master of your own fate—yours and Marigold's. Where you think you would both be happiest is where you should be."

"Thank you," Edith said.

The sisters stood and hugged. After Sybil cleared their tea service, she walked Edith back upstairs where Edith found Lily sitting reading next to a sleeping Marigold in one of the apartment's three bedrooms. She stood from the chair in the corner of the small space as Edith walked in.

"She went down easy as pie, milady. She seems very comfortable here. And, well, the event this evening likely wore her out more than normal. It seemed like a lively affair in any case."

Edith kneeled down by her sleeping daughter and watched her chest rise and fall.

"You seem more comfortable here too, if you don't mind me saying milady."

The words took Edith out of her reverie. "I'm sorry," she said, standing. "I should have asked if you wanted to come too. That was thoughtless of me."

"It's all right. It was a family affair."

"You care for for us so well. It was ungenerous of me not to think of it, especially when I've made you come all this way during Christmas."

"I told you I wanted to come," Lily said with a small smile. "I don't have much in the way of family, milady."

"And about that. I won't pretend that I'm so free as Sybil, but since she insists on you calling her by her given name, well, you should do the same with me. It's all pretense, anyway. I've hardly proven myself a lady."

Realizing just how open she was being, Edith felt momentarily embarrassed. Lily noticed the blush come over Edith's cheek and bit her lip slightly to keep herself from smiling. Always observant, she had guessed from the moment she came into Edith's employ, many months ago, after Marigold began living at the house full time, that she was Edith's child, but she was not one for judgment and had taken to Edith. She liked the idea of helping a woman that, despite the privileges life had given her, seemed to need help.

The two help each other's gaze for a long time. Marigold shifting in her sleep broke the spell. Edith felt her blush deepen and, feeling awkward, moved to step away but only managed to trip and fall into Lily, who caught her.

"Thank you," Edith whispered and righted herself.

"You're welcome," Lily whispered back.

Later, when she was along in her bed, Edith wondered how it was that her heart still beat so fast. How an incidental touch had seemed to affect her more than many other touches over the course of her life had.