"She looks so peaceful," Bertie says and Edith nods.
"I think she is happy here. A bit lonely perhaps without George and Sybbie, but Nanny says she is doing fine." Edith tucks her daughter in and kisses her brow.
"Yes, she seems a happy little thing." Bertie reaches and pets the dark curls before blessing his stepdaughter.
"You know, this fete you got that letter about…" He says as they leave the nursery, keeping the door ajar so Nanny can hear Marigold call out in the night.
"What about it?"
"I was thinking: If you and I can put a magazine together in one night, there's no reason we couldn't set up a simple country fete."
Bertie opens the bedroom door and Edith slips through before him.
"I suppose you're right. It's just such a peculiar idea: me putting on an event like that. Everyone always thought Mary would be the one doing such things." Edith sits down in front of the vanity and starts wrapping her hair in a silk shawl before rubbing some cold cream on her face before taking it off again.
"Best get used to it. Garden parties, shootings, house parties, regimental dinners…"
"The magazine also needs supervising, you know. I can't just be here to play lady of the manor. I do have a job."
Edith gets up and walks over to her husband, who eases down the zipper of his wife's dress with practiced ease.
"I know. I am sure we can plan around you obligations."
Edith smiles at him and joins him on his side of the bed, cuddling up close.
"I'm very lucky to have found you, you know," she says and Bertie looks at her happily.
"I feel just the same way."
Rosamund had managed to undress herself and had taken care of her bedtime rituals in record time, only to find that the bed in the guest room was frightfully cold.
She doesn't enjoy the cold. She likes warmth. Heat even. She had rolled her eyes at Mary when she spoke of the South of France being too hot. Rosamund enjoys luxuriating in the sunshine. She loves wearing the lightweight clothes and the blue skies. She likes drinking champagne and drowning raspberries or strawberries or slices of peach in her glass.
She loves watching the men in their cricket whites, running around a field. She understands nothing of the rules and politely applauds when other spectators do. But she usually manages to single a young man out to keep an eye on. To keep her from being bored as the game goes on and on.
The thought of summer is quenched as she turns over and the sheets feels icy and almost wet against her. She pulls up her knees and thinks about dinner and after dinner coffee. She has no idea why Mama has summoned her.
Not a single hint was dropped. They spoke of nothing but trivial and familial matters. Edith outranking all of them now - which had brought a naughty little twinkle to Mama's eyes - Mary's little secret and Robert being so bored.
Which she could easily understand. Wasn't she bored stiff herself?
"Do you know, I never was this tired when I was a girl?" Elsie says as she puts her cold feet against her husband's warm calf.
He jumps a bit, still not used to it after months of sharing a bed.
"I mean: I'd be woken up around five thirty and would run my legs out from under my body and not see my pillow again until eleven at the earliest and be so bone-weary I'd fall asleep immediately, but it never felt like this."
She sighs. When she scrunches a bit closer to Charles, she hears her back click in several places.
"It's a different kind of tired," Charles offers and plants a kiss on the top of her head.
"I don't even have that much work anymore. Everything has changed and I know, I know -" she puts her hand on Charles's chest to stop him from laughing at her, "- I've never been against change, but to be honest: there is nothing I do that Miss Baxter couldn't do. Mr Barrow has everything well in hand and I have a distinct feeling that Mr Bates is not going to be with the family for much longer."
"Why would you think that?" Charles frowns.
Elsie shrugs and rubs her feet together. "Just a feeling I have."
"Lady Mary would be very upset if Anna doesn't return." Charles runs his hand up and down Elsie's arm to warm her up a bit.
"Hmm. Maybe," Elsie says non-committedly. She untangles herself from the sheets and blanket and her husband's grip and turns off the light.
"Let's just go to sleep. Tomorrow will start early enough."
Wrapped up in her husband's arms, she smells the distinct scent of soil. She sighs and runs her hand up over his chest.
"Don't work too hard," she whispers. "The other house will be done when it's done."
The night is cold and damp, but Andy doesn't feel it. His mind is occupied with images of Daisy and his senses are filled with her. His hair is a wild disarray of dark strands and his cheeks blush brightly. His eyes sparkle, though he doesn't see much.
He walks unhurriedly. The path is unlit, but he knows the way. He's walked from the house to the farm and back again a hundred times. Never once has it been like this. His legs are a bit wobbly and his lower back feels strained and he wouldn't be able to come up with an excuse as to why he is so late when put on the spot, but it's been great.
Unexpectedly wonderful.
It didn't feel quite right leaving Daisy all by herself afterwards, but there wasn't much for it. Mr Mason would have his hide if they were found out in the morning and besides: he's expected back to help serving breakfast in the dining room at eight..
How he is to face Mrs Patmore as he sits down to his own breakfast is something he chooses not to think about. Instead he imagines the loveliness of Daisy. The softness of her skin, the strong muscles of her thighs. The hungry kisses they shared and how everything faded to the background and made the other thing simple. That one thing they shouldn't have done.
But he isn't sorry. He is not sorry at all. He is sorry he's hurt her - but she reassured him it was only a little bit and only for a little while. He's soaringly happy he's found his Daisy in this way. It confirms to him that they belong together.
As he walks he fantasises about a civilian life. Of taking over the farm and setting up house with his love. He thinks about how Daisy can do the business part and he can do the hands-on part. He is convinced they'll be very happy together.
Nothing can possibly go wrong, now.
As he scribbles a last note in the margins of the final test he has to correct, Joseph Molesley thinks about Phyllis Baxter and how much he misses her.
Teaching is his vocation. What he was born to do. He knows that now. But at night, when he is all alone in his room in the old house where he grew up, he feels terribly lonely. He wishes he could think of a way to talk to her. To be with her.
Sometimes he runs into her when she is on an errand for her ladyship. Of course on Sunday, after church, they see each other.
She is always kind. Always happy to see him.
He puts the mark for the test in the top right corner and puts down his pen and gathers his things. As he sets up his things for the next day, he wonders if there'll ever be a day when an unlucky man could have it all.
"You look completely wrung out," Mary says as she hands her mother a glass of sherry.
"Working a full days is not quite the same as being Lady Grantham all day," Cora says with a smirk before taking a sip.
"But it does give you something to do." Mary sits down on the red velvet sofa, across from her mother and picks up her cup of tea.
"Did you have a good day?" Cora asks.
"Nothing very out of the ordinary. Did the books for a bit, looked at some plans for the final renovations and had a visit with George and Sybbie after they were done having a picnic with Papa. Did wonders for him, by the way. He is terribly gloomy lately."
"Hmm," Cora swallows another sip before continuing. "I think he is lonely. And feels like he doesn't have much part of our lives anymore."
Mary shrugs. "The children adore him."
"Mary, you don't think your father would enjoy a bit of adult conversation now and then? Before Tom was the agent, he did do what he could for Downton, you know."
"I best inform him how things are, it will be a while, but he'll need to step in when I can't do it anymore." Mary runs her fingertip around the rim of her cup.
Cora takes a bigger sip and closes her eyes for a bit. Behind her she can hear the almost silent footfall of Barrow.
"Milady, his Lordship and Mr Talbot have gone up. His Lordship asked me to let you know."
"Thank you, Barrow."
Noiselessly Barrow slips away again.
"I miss Carson," Mary says when she assumes Barrow is out of earshot.
"We all do. Barrow is competent, but he doesn't have the… I don't know."
Cora drains her glass.
"Henry'll be waiting," Mary says and gets up from the sofa. Elegantly, as always. "Goodnight, Mama."
"Goodnight, dear."
The house is quiet except for Mary's heels on the wooden floors towards the staircase. Cora pulls her legs up and under her. She has a lot of thinking to do.
Why was Tom not with Robert and Henry? Is there a way she can cut back on her hospital duties? With Christmas in sight, is there a way she can do something wonderful for Robert? She remembers he once joked about going off to the South of France in a sportscar with her.
The idea is strangely appealing, as darkness envelopes the house and she imagines herself a pea in a pod far too large. Bashing around with the few other peas. One of the curtains hasn't been drawn completely and she rises from the sofa. She looks out unto the park towards the folly. Trees stand silently in the windless night. The moon is nothing but a little crescent.
This is her home. And she will make sure everything will turn out alright.
fade to titles
end of episode
A/N: Thank you everybody for your wonderful support. I really appreciate all your kindnesses.
I am fairly sure there won't be a second episode. Whilst an undertaking like this ought to be seen through, I find I've bitten off more than I can chew at the moment. I don't reject writing more for this seventh series off-hand, but for now I will put this story on 'complete'. Thank you.