Author's note: Sorry about the delay with this chapter, it's a little longer than previous ones as it was supposed to be two different chapters but merged into one- I also struggled a little to get into this character's head -hopefully it's turned out okay.

Thanks again for all those who have stuck with this and reviewed, really makes it worthwhile. Enjoy :)


9

Grandmama arrives early one Saturday afternoon in a whirlwind of fur, lipstick and strong perfume. Edith's a little wary of her; she looks even scarier than Granny! Her orange hair matches the autumn leaves that are falling and Edith wonders if she dyed it especially for the season, or if it was that colour last time she visited; she secretly hopes her hair never turns that particular shade. She watches on a little jealously as Sybil perches herself on their Grandmama's knee, and Mary gets seated on the footstool at her feet; Edith remains by the fireplace, unsure of where she should put herself. Grandmama tells wonderful stories, mainly about Americans – Granny leaves the room at this point – but she also tells tales of their Mama and Uncle Harold, who Edith doesn't recall ever meeting, from when they were children.

After a little while Edith finds her Grandmama's American drawl pulling her closer to the little group. Just as she reaches the back of Mary's footstool, and is about to seat herself next to her sister, her Papa comes and orders them upstairs to change. As Edith goes to follow her sisters out of the room she's halted by a warm hand gently tugging her back. "Now then little one, why didn't you give me a proper welcome earlier? Have we had a falling out that I'm unaware of?" Edith's not sure what to say; she certainly didn't mean to offend her Grandmama really she didn't, she just didn't know what to say to her – and Sybil and Mary said enough for the three of them, anyway. She can feel her hands getting clammy where they're still encased in her Grandmama's and her cheeks are heating up, she's not sure why really, but she despises people studying her like her Grandmama is now. She keeps her eyes averted and tries to tug her hands away but the older woman is having none of it, "No, no" she says, whilst tilting Edith's head up, "none of this, now. You will look me in the eyes when we talk; you are Edith Crawley! And I expect you to stand tall and proud. None of this shuffling and slumping like a kitchen maid. Do you understand me, young lady?" It takes all of Edith's willpower to keep her gaze trained on the older woman's eyes as she replies, "Yes, Grandmama". "I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up, I can't hear you", is the response. Edith takes a deep breath and repeats a little louder, "Yes, Grandmama!" The woman just shakes her red curls and says, "No, it's no good, I must be getting deaf in my old age, you'll have to be louder than that". Edith giggles a little and shouts, "YES, GRANDMAMA!" and the older woman smiles then, and presses a soft kiss to the girl's cheek, "Now that's more like it!" She proceeds to lightly tap her granddaughter on the bottom and tells her to hurry up and change because she's 'so hungry she could eat a horse'.

Edith spends the rest of her Grandmama's visit mimicking Mary's walk and haughty attitude and asking almost as many questions as Sybil. Whenever her efforts are mocked (by Mary, usually) or ignored (by everyone else) and she feels her shoulders curving inwards and her resolve slipping away she needs only to seek out her Grandmama's kind face, and one smile has her straightening her back and raising her head and her voice.

Edith begins to worry, as her Grandmama's visit draws to a close, that all of her efforts will be for naught; soon she won't have such a friendly face to bolster her confidence or her spirits. Her Grandmama is due to leave on the first of November and on the eve of her return trip Edith is feeling particularly melancholy. Her fears are somewhat alleviated when her Grandmama pulls her to one side and makes her promise to 'keep up the good work' and to write to her about how she's getting on, or if she ever just needs someone to talk to; Edith imagines this will be every time she has an argument with Mary so she promises to be a very regular correspondent.

The rest of the evening is spent with the family huddled around the fire telling tales of ghosts and ghouls and monsters that carry little children off in the night, apparently it's the custom to scare one another on All Hallow's Eve. By the time her Papa announces it's time for bed, Edith is sat on her Grandmama's knee and clutching her Granny's hand, she thinks if anyone can keep the monsters away it will be these two. She finds she's glad for maybe the first time in her life that she shares a bedroom with her sisters; even if one of those sisters is Mary.

Her relief at not being left alone, however, is short lived. As soon as the girls are settled in their beds and the room is engulfed in darkness Mary decides to continue with their earlier activity; she tells a particularly chilling tale about a man who dies a bloody and painful death at the hands of his daughter and then digs himself free of his own grave before hunting down and slaying any child who resembles her –particularly those with red hair. She accompanies all this with occasional bangs and scratching on her bedpost, and when she's finished she pauses a moment before whispering across the room, "Edith, he's coming for you". Edith refuses to give Mary the satisfaction of knowing she's scared her so with great effort she says, in a steady voice, "Mary, this is no time for childish stories, some of us are trying to sleep". Mary, of course, is relentless and jumps straight into another story, and then another; the only thing any of them have in common is the preferred victim-type –red-headed little girls. Although she knows Mary is talking absolute nonsense she finds her body won't stop trembling and she's sure her sisters can hear her heart pounding whenever Mary pauses for dramatic effect, so she's more than a little relieved when Sybil whimpers, "Please Mary, do stop it, you're scaring me", and Mary finally shuts up.

Edith's barely in the grip of slumber when she's sitting bolt upright in bed with her heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in painfully ragged pants. It takes her a moment to locate the source of her awakening –a dragging sound followed by a light thump and barely audible scratching noises. She glares through the darkness to where she can just about make out the darker mass that must be her sister's bed and hisses, "Stop it at once, Mary! Nobody finds you funny!" There's a rustling of bed sheets before her sister's groggy and indignant reply, "Oh, what have I done now? Stop being such a baby, Edith, some of us are trying to sleep!"

She settles back onto her pillows but she knows she won't sleep now; instead she's straining her ears trying to hear anything over her shallow breaths and heavily beating heart. The second time she hears the noise she knows she's not the only one; Sybil's trembling voice follows the scratching, "W-what was that? M-mary, is it y-you?" Mary's ghostly face rises a little in her vision before she issues a tremulous, "No, darling. I-it wasn't me". Edith thinks she'd be a little gleeful at the obvious alarm in her elder sister's voice, if she weren't so terrified herself.

She jumps about a foot in the air when Sybil issues a strangled scream and a choked, "It went under the bed. I saw it. Mary, it's under your bed!" And she's straining her eyes trying to see what Sybil's on about but all she can make out is Mary's startled face. Her sister lets out a breathy laugh before trying to reassure the youngest Crawley that she's imagining things, and there's nothing at all in the room apart from themselves. Edith would be a little more reassured if Mary's voice wasn't catching on nearly every word. Sybil is inconsolable; crying and hiccupping about how they'll be eaten by a monster and won't even get to say goodbye to their parents when, with a swiftness that leaves Edith wondering if her feet even touched the floor, Mary darts across the room and throws herself onto Sybil's bed.

Edith looks on a little enviously at the sight of her sisters huddled together in the gloom. She wishes she were as brave as Mary, as she longs to go and join them, but the visions swimming round in her head of hands reaching out from under the bed and grabbing at her ankles leave her rooted to the spot. She wishes she had her Grandmama or Granny with her now to hold her hand and whisper soothing words to her, like she knows Mary's doing for Sybil, but instead she must comfort herself. The tears come thick and fast and, before she can stop herself, she's sobbing and hiccupping worse than Sybil. Wonderful, she thinks, Mary will definitely call me a baby now!

She's distracted from her misery by the sound of her sisters fussing on the other bed. She glances up and, in the slowly lightening room, is momentarily muddled by the sight that greets her; Mary is crouched on Sybil's bed whilst their little sister makes a number of unsuccessful attempts to clamber onto her back. Edith's tears turn to laughter as she watches her siblings almost tumble headfirst onto the floor. The sun's almost up by the time Sybil is safely wrapped around Mary's back, and Edith's terror has somewhat abated, but she's delighted that Mary still chooses to make her way over to her; she's moving much more slowly now, with Sybil hanging on her shoulders like a monkey.

When all three sisters are safely cocooned in Edith's blankets, with Sybil sandwiched in between the other two, the girls develop a case of uncontrollable giggles. Now that the sun's streaming through the windows, and Sybil's admitted she may have imagined the monster under Mary's bed, Edith feels a little ridiculous for being so scared. She's not sure why the noises in the night scared her so much, it was obviously one of the servants moving about, or why she couldn't simply walk –or run – across the room to Sybil's bed. She does feel a little mollified that she wasn't the only one who was scared; but she vows not to be too cruel to Mary about that –after all, she did conquer her own fears of unknown terrors to comfort both of her sisters.

She awakens sometime later to find herself almost chewing on Sybil's hair and Mary's cold hand tickling her arm. She untangles herself from her sisters and goes to seek out her Grandmama –she makes sure to check under all of the beds before she leaves the room; she doesn't think she'll tell Mary about that. She finds her Grandmama as welcoming as ever and spends the rest of the morning wrapped up in her furs and committing her perfume to memory. She's elated when, before she leaves for the train, her Grandmama slips her a piece of paper with her New York address on and tells her she'll be waiting for her first letter; she tries not to cry too much.

It seems to be an unspoken rule between the girls that they don't talk about their night-time terror and, after a week of Mary sniping and snapping at her, Edith begins to think she may have imagined it all. After one particular vicious spat with her older sister, and once she's had time to regain her composure, Edith confronts Mary about their mutual terror and her sister's surprising comfort. She's sure (or had been sure) that Mary would much rather see her torn apart by wild dogs than risk her own safety just to comfort her, but Mary merely rolls her eyes before huffing out, "Honestly Edith, don't be so ridiculous, we don't have wild dogs here! And besides, only I'm allowed to pick on you." Edith hugs her sister after that and, although Mary only allows the contact for a brief moment, she knows everything will be all right; after all, she has a little sister who always makes her smile, a Grandmama who believes in her and a big sister to protect her- she thinks that's enough to be getting on with, for now.