Discovering

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Gregson…has a wife…here in Germany?!

Anthony's heart stopped, but he kept his face straight as he responded to what the waiter had said.

"I didn't know he was married."

"He married her at the end of the War. It was very romantic. They told us the story when they were here for their anniversary. He was wounded, she was a nurse at the hospital. When he was discharged, they married. He had to go abroad on business, for quite some time, but he is back for good now. It is very sweet."

"Well, I am glad for him! Do you know the lady's name? Do you know where I can find them?"

"I think most people round here know her: Countess Gisela von Neunhof. She is a very generous benefactress to the hospitals and the people who live around her estate, which is somewhere out in the countryside, as I said, but I'm not entirely sure where. I wish you luck finding your comrade."

Anthony thanked him. He and Stewart left the restaurant and walked a little way before they turned to look at each other.

"Well, what do you make of that, Sir?"

"Let's hope he's talking about someone else, shall we? But we have to check. Could you go to the Town Hall and see if you can find the Countess's address? I'm going to send a telegram to my friend Percy Wilbye and ask him to do a bit of sleuthing back in London. If this is Gregson, he has woven a very complicated web for himself."

And I am going to kill him. No…no! I mustn't. I mustn't even think it. But I must impress upon him what he has done to Edith…the consequences of his actions. And I will drag him back to Appenzell by his hair if I have to.


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Back at the hotel, Stewart showed Anthony an address and a set of directions provided by a very obliging clerk at the Town Hall who seemed to receive requests such as this on a regular basis. She was very happy to put two old soldiers back in touch.

Anthony himself decided to spend the rest of the day back at the library, looking up anything he could find in the local press about the Countess. What the waiter had said appeared to be the truth: she was well-known, and well-loved. When the War had come, she hadn't abandoned the place where she was born, or the people for whom she felt responsible, but instead set up homes and hospitals for returning soldiers. She had carried on her philanthropy after the Armistice, providing work and relief for those who found themselves in the hardest of times. Her marriage was not reported, but that proved nothing.

Percy's reply was waiting at the hotel when he came back for dinner.

YOU WERE RIGHT ./STOP./ MRS ELIZABETH GREGSON LIVES IN ACTON ./STOP./ SHE'S QUITE WELL ./STOP./ MICHAEL GREGSON SERVED IN ROYAL FUSILLIERS MIA 1917-18 ./STOP./ NO RECORD OF HIS RETURN ./STOP./

That evening Anthony wrote the telegram to Edith that she never read, but which Rosamund read to her.

HAVE A LEAD ./STOP./ HOPE TO SEE GREGSON TOMORROW ./STOP./

He hoped that he hadn't raised Edith's hopes unnecessarily, but he had a feeling that he and Stewart were on the right trail.

Anthony worried all that night. He hadn't been sleeping well anyway. He knew Stewart had been trying to put a mild sleeping draught into his cocoa without his knowledge; he could taste the horrible stuff even over the chocolate. But he was grateful to Stewart's care, and drank it without saying anything, knowing it probably wouldn't do any good. All it did was make him drowsy and a little more relaxed, but that was a blessing in itself.

The next day would, hopefully, answer a lot of questions. The main thing, though, was to get Gregson to face up to his responsibilities towards Edith. If the man was already married…possibly twice over!…that was going to be easier said than done, even if the man was willing to acquiesce to Anthony's demands.

Anthony was a mild man, but now he felt an unaccustomed hatred in his guts for the man. Gregson seemed to possess an easy charm that women found irresistible. That was enough to make awkward, crippled, old Sir Anthony Strallan jealous, even though under other circumstances he would have waved away such thoughts. But Gregson had obviously been aware of his effect upon women and was willing to use it against them and for his own advantage. Worse still, he had used the chaos caused by the War to progress his little plans against these three women…and perhaps others as well that Anthony didn't know about. When Anthony compared Gregson's experience of the War to his own…

Anthony stopped himself thinking like that. Gregson had been posted missing in action, he'd probably had been wounded to end up in a German hospital. He had no idea whether Gregson had acted honourably in the War. There again, he couldn't believe that he himself had acted honourably in the War. Others thought he had; he was not so sure. He was absolutely certain that he had not acted nobly in relation to Lady Edith Crawley, and she had deserved so much more, so very much more. That was what he had to keep in mind tomorrow. The happiest ending this mess could have would be Gregson agreeing to marry Edith, and being free to do so, before her baby was born, and then living happily with her, taking care of her as she should be. Then Anthony could fade into the background again with at least some of his peace of mind restored.


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The house was in the style of a Bavarian castle, but it wasn't as big as the ones one saw in travel books. In fact, it was probably no bigger than Locksley. The grounds were not extensive, but well kept. Part of Countess Gisela von Neunhof's provision for old soldiers was to employ them as gardeners, and every bit of ground had been turned over, not to flowers, but to vegetables.

The taxi drove up to the door, Stewart alighted, and opened Anthony's door for him. A butler appeared looking very correct.

In German, Anthony gave his name, not hiding his nationality, and explained that he had served in the War and was looking for an old comrade-in-arms, showing the photograph of Gregson, but not saying his name aloud. The butler widened his eyes and asked Anthony to enter.

"I will see if the Countess is available to see you" he said and left the hall before Anthony could say anything further. The inside of the house was as old-style in its architecture as the outside. And just like the outside, the inside went directly against trying to uphold the old, pre-War position of the nobility. It was sparsely decorated, and what was there attempted to make the place look like a warm, welcoming home, rather than a stately one. There were rugs, not suits of armour. There were simple curtains, not tapestries. It was spotlessly clean.

A tall, handsome woman approached Anthony with fast, decisive steps.

"You are Sir Anthony? And you served with my husband?" she asked with no fuss.

Anthony faced her, bowed his head briefly, and, with studied politeness, clicked his heels. The courtesy was not lost on the Countess, especially coming from an Englishman.

"My name is Sir Anthony Strallan, yes, and I served on the British side in the recent conflict, but I confess I did not serve with your husband. I am looking for a man called Michael Gregson: this man." He showed her the photograph.

"Yes, this is my husband, and I know that he was born with the name Michael Gregson, though he has not used it for years. Why are you looking for him?"

"My lady, what I have to say is painful for me to tell you, and it may be painful for you to hear. Might I suggest we sit?"

"Nothing you can say to me can be more painful than what I have lived through, not knowing the truth. Come through" and she led the way to another simple, pleasant room, indicating a sofa. Once they were sat, she waited for Anthony to speak.

"Countess, are you aware that Michael Gregson was married in England before the War?"

"That's impossible. He couldn't have married me if that were the case, Sir Anthony. I fear you are mistaken." Anthony looked into her beautiful, blue eyes. He saw there only honour, and the witness to too much suffering. She was undoubtedly telling the truth.

"I believe I have guessed what happened, but please…tell me…when you met your husband, it was in a military hospital, yes?"

"Yes. In 1917."

"And he was suffering from…a head wound?" Anthony was striking out in the dark, feeling as he went.

"Yes. He had survived a mortar attack. Our troops found him and brought him to the hospital as a prisoner-of-war."

"What name did he give?"

"He gave no name to begin with. Eventually he decided his name was Marcus Gruman. I was intrigued because it sounded German, and we got talking. He's a wonderful man, Sir Anthony. He bears no malice…to anyone. We fell in love. His…wound…bothered him in sporadic episodes, and he remained in the hospital, rather than a prisoner of war camp, until the end of the War. Once he was well enough, we married, and I brought him here."

"And he was well until…?" Anthony asked.

"Why do you think he was not well?" The Countess was cautious, and Anthony couldn't blame her.

"Because he returned back to England and lived a life there, a full life, until four months ago. I don't know when he returned. Can you, would you, tell me why he returned?"

"In 1919, he returned to see a specialist, at least that's what he said. There was…" She stopped talking abruptly, and seemed to be attempting to compose herself.

"My lady, I am very sorry to ask you these questions, and to make such assumptions. Perhaps it is time I told you what I know, and why I am here?" Anthony gave her a sympathetic look.

"Yes, please do."

"I have a very dear friend called Lady Edith Crawley." The Countess recognised the name, and a look of pain crossed her face, but she didn't interrupt Anthony.

"She began writing for a newspaper called The Sketch about eighteen months ago, at the invitation of its Editor, Michael Gregson. Lady Edith tells me that Mr Gregson wanted to marry her, but he could not because he was already married to a lady called Elizabeth who was committed to an asylum for the insane. Four months ago, Mr Gregson left London to come to Munich to take German citizenship since German laws are different and divorce on grounds of insanity is legal. It was his intention to secure his citizenship and the divorce and return to England to marry Lady Edith as soon as possible, since she is carrying his child."

Throughout his narrative, Gisela had reacted with gasps and tears. It took her a few minutes to be in charge of her voice.

"The truth is…my husband lost his mind on the battlefield, Sir Anthony. He is innocent, truly…I swear! He does not know what he has done. It's as though his fractured mind has kept the parts of his life completely separate, and he is only well when that is stable. When the different parts of his life collide, he feels immense guilt and his reason escapes him. He didn't tell me he had an insane wife, I didn't know until you just told me, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to marry him!"

"Actually, Mrs Elizabeth Gregson is not insane, my lady. She is alive and well and living just outside London."

"Oh, how awful for her! I am so, so sorry!"

"Please, Countess. I don't know what she thinks of her husband or what has happened to him. I have not met or contacted her. I don't even know if the marriage was a happy one. But I presume yours was?"

"Oh, we were so happy! He was attentive, and romantic, and marvellous. He supported me in my work here for the people, and revelled in it. Then…" Her tears prevented her saying more.

Anthony gave her a minute and then prompted her gently.

"What happened, Countess?"

"A guest came to stay…an old friend…who had been to England just before. She talked about England to Marcus, because she thought he would like to hear of his country. To begin with he seemed to enjoy it, but slowly he began to act strangely. She left after a few days, and Marcus couldn't settle. He paced about the house and grounds. He couldn't sleep. He started speaking English instead of German without realising it. Finally he decided he had to go back to England and settle a few things and to see the specialist. I thought it would help…that it would help him lay a few ghosts, and that he would come back to me restored. I could not go with him because of my work here. But he stayed in England for much longer than we'd agreed; letters from him became few and then stopped. To my shame, I…I believed he had abandoned me, and I confess I gave up on him." Anthony passed her his pocket handkerchief which she took gratefully.

"Months went by and I got on with life; I knew I wouldn't find anyone like him again, so I threw myself into my work here. There is so much to do!"

"So, it seems your husband began to work again as a journalist, as he had before the War, and was quickly promoted to Editor of The Sketch where he met and fell for my friend. Would you mind telling me when you heard from Mr. Gregson last?"

"But that's it, Sir Anthony. He's here."

"Good heavens!"

"But…his mind…it's more broken than ever. He appeared on my doorstep four months ago, perfectly well, as if nothing had happened. It took me a long time to believe what he told me" said the Countess.

"Which was?"

"That he had no idea what had happened between his leaving for England on the train from Munich all that time ago, and arriving back in Munich that day. He said it was like waking up after a long and fitful sleep. I engaged doctors but they were no help at all, merely saying that…how you call it…"

"Shell shock?"

"Yes, shell shock takes different men different ways and that there was nothing they could do: if he recovered his memory: fine. If he didn't: never mind. At least he wasn't suffering. So life went on just as it had. Since I had given up on him, I didn't think I had right on my side to ask too closely what he had done, especially as I believed it might precipitate another relapse. And then…"

"Yes?"

"Foolishly I bought a copy of The Sketch, when I last visited Berlin. I bought other English newspapers as well, hoping that they might help Marcus remember and tell me what had happened. He read one of Lady Edith Crawley's columns, and within an hour he had broken down completely. And he has stayed in that state for over a month, talking nothing but English, which I cannot understand, and utter gibberish. I…I don't know what to do, Sir Anthony. If it has been brought on by his realising what he has done, how can I ever bring him back to me?"

"May I see him? I might be able to tell you what he's saying. But only if you are happy for me to do so."

"Do you have a photograph of Lady Edith?" asked the Countess.

The sudden enquiry took Anthony by surprise.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I keep one in my pocket book." He drew out the photograph taken as a double portrait, on the announcement of their engagement.

The Countess looked at it, and then at Anthony.

"This lady…she is very young and vulnerable, yes?"

"Yes" whispered Anthony.

"When is her child due?"

"In about four months' time, Countess."

"Without a husband she will be ruined, no? In this picture, I think you look just as vulnerable. You should look after each other, perhaps?"

Anthony swallowed hard, but could not trust his voice, so he nodded and left it at that.

Gisela led the way upstairs to a bedroom. A man lay in the bed muttering, with a nurse sitting on a chair by the bedside. She stood when she saw the Countess come in.

"Marcus? Marcus? We have a visitor…from England? His name's Anthony. He knows Edith."

Immediately, Gregson became more agitated, broken syllables of Edith's name escaped his lips in mad convulsions.

"Darling, is this her? Is this Edith?" Gisela held up the picture in front of Gregson's face.

Michael stopped murmuring, looked at the photograph for a second, and then began crying inconsolably, great heaving sobs. Anthony stood watching, his face creased with understanding and pity, while Gisela tried vainly to calm her husband. The nurse took over, suggesting to the Countess that she leave for a while until Marcus recovered. Gisela backed away and then left the room, Anthony opening the door for her and following.

The Countess wiped her eyes and straightened her back.

"What do you propose to do now, Sir Anthony?"

"My lady, I have no say in Lady Edith's affairs, I have given up that right. You see, I gave her up in the most terrible way, because I too suffer from the demons tormenting your husband. I could not do that to Lady Edith. That is why she was alone when she met…Marcus. I feel responsible for having put her in that position, but there is nothing to be gained from hurting you further, or insisting Marcus try to right anything with her. Yes, that was what I came here expecting to demand. Please believe me when I say that you and your husband have my sincerest condolences. The War did terrible things. I will return to Switzerland and tell Lady Edith the truth. She deserves that. After that, what happens will be up to her. She is not an unfeeling person, Countess. I sincerely hope that Herr Gruman recovers and that you have a long and happy marriage. I cannot begin to express my thanks to you for your openness and grace to me, today. Here is my card. Please don't hesitate to contact me should you need to."

Gisela nodded her understanding and thanks. Anthony bowed his head in respect once more, and returned to Stewart and the waiting taxi outside.

On the way back to Munich city, Anthony told Stewart what he had discovered.

"So there's no possibility of him marrying Lady Edith before the birth of their child?"

"None, Stewart. I have failed."

"You did all you could, Sir. You discovered the truth."

"The truth will not provide Lady Edith with a husband, nor her child with a father."

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

When they reached the hotel, Anthony approached the concierge to send the telegram he had carefully constructed in his head, only to be handed one from Lady Painswick in Switzerland.

EDITH TAKEN GRAVELY ILL ./STOP./ RETURN ASAP I BEG YOU ./STOP./ ROSAMUND ./STOP./


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Thank you all so much for all the wonderfully enthusiastic reviews! I do hope you are enjoying this.

I went away for the weekend, and when I came back there were *so* many Andith stories to catch up on! Truly, the Andith Fandom is the BEST!