A/N Oh dear. I am afraid my muse has gone somewhat off of the deep end. I am becoming rightly very worried and may suggest an increase in it's medication (or mine). Unfortunately, it means that this chapter is somewhat discombobulating... Sorry. You're not going to like it, but I warn you, I am hiding until the furore dies down.

Thank you again to everyone who is reading, favouriting and reviewing and generally joining in with the whole jolly shebang. You are all simply marvellous.

Enjoy x

Cecily Carlisle tapped her French polished fingernail on the table in front of her. She stared out of the window thoughtfully. The threat had been a mistake. She was used to using information against people, that was her stock in trade, Richard's too, but with Lady Mary it had seemed almost to bore her. The woman was no fool, that was abundantly clear. So Cecily had tried, woman to woman, to appeal to her better nature. Apparently Lady Mary didn't have one. It was frustrating. The one woman she should hate, the one who she should shun and stay as far away from as possible… she was the only person Cecily believed could help her. And yet she had flatly refused.

"Where did you go yesterday?" Richard quite made her jump.

Of course he would know that she had gone out. The servants would keep him apprised of her movements, just as they reported his to her. She suspected some of them did very well out the arrangement. Of course, he already knew her destination. Simpson, their driver, was quite the mine of information for both of them.

"I went to call on the neighbours, I did tell you I was going to." She said sweetly.

Richard stood near the table, he did not look at her, instead his eyes stayed firmly on the window, his jaw taut.

Cecily already knew where Richard had been the previous evening. He had claimed to have some business in London and would return today. His wife was painfully aware of what that kind of business entailed. Prior to their wedding it had not seemed so personal, in fact she had actually believed once they became man and wife his dalliances elsewhere would stop, or he would at least try to hide them from her. However, in this she had been completely mistaken.

"How was she?" The tone was cold, and if Cecily hadn't known better, she might have even believed it to be disinterested, but she did know so much better.

"I thought she looked every inch the blissful doting wife and mother." She replied. Of course it was an almost cruel thing to say, but it helped to at least vent some of her irritation.

Theirs had been a business arrangement. Richard had been completely clear on that, nothing more than an alliance between rival publishers to increase his market share. They had known each other for years and Cecily had watched his relationship with Lady Mary from a distance. The young woman had always appeared cold and almost unfeeling towards her fiancé, a demeanour Lady Carlisle could understand to some extent. They were not the kind of people to demonstrate their affection.

It was only years later, when Richard had approached her with the proposition, that she did her own investigations and uncovered the Pamuk scandal and more interestingly a considerable surprise in Richard's own past in Yorkshire. In fact it was in this very house where her now husband had completely lost his senses over Lady Mary Crawley, resulting in quite shameful conduct on his part.

The information had given his new wife a considerable amount of power, which knowledge of course she had saved until after they were married. Now she had her own bargaining chip and it gave her a lot of weight. It had brought about his semi retirement. Unfortunately it was not strong enough to persuade him to share her bed, or give up his overnight trips.

So she had asked the one person she knew could affect Richard. It had been a simple request she felt. It was not as though she was asking for oh so very much. She had brought him back to Yorkshire and to the place where she believed the problem could be solved. Now she just needed to persuade Lady Mary somehow to play her part.

The weight of his exile lay very heavily on Michael Branson's small shoulders. He missed his parents, and now the only thing that had made his life bearable was being sternly regulated. Despite his cousin's protestations, the incident with Lily-beth had been laid very firmly at his door. He was a bad influence, pure and simple. Nanny Stevens had told him so almost constantly. To be fair to his cousin, she had taken the responsibility herself but refusing to believe it, and for once Nanny Stevens had been completely unable to blame George, so Michael was the one. His time with the twins now only allowed under her steely gaze. Lily-beth had been resilient, despite being scrubbed until her skin was red and sore. She had only finally shed a small tear when her hair had to be cut. And now she now watched him balefully from the other side of the nursery.

George had been beside himself with the unfairness of it all. Clenching and unclenching his small fists in outrage. As he saw it, his sister had deliberately engineered something to get Michael in the maximum amount of trouble and he had vowed never to forgive her. The atmosphere in the nursery was thick with emotion.

So too was the drawing room at the Dower House where the Countess of Grantham was in conference with her mother in law.

"Goodness Cora, you are not so much beating about the bush as waiting for it to die of natural causes. What is it you are trying to say?"

The younger woman sighed; this was not going to be easy. "Matthew is… how can I put this…"

"Quickly, none of us are getting any younger." Violet said sharply.

"He is having relations with the maid." There, she had said it.

The Dowager's eyes opened wide with surprise. "You mean that baby is Matthews!" It almost made a chimney sweep from Solihull acceptable.

"No." Cora said. "The other one."

Violet's expression suggested the new maid had not reached her notice. "I cannot imagine Mary would tolerate such a thing. What proof do we have?"

"Apparently the girl flaunts it openly, and Mary doesn't appear to be concerned, but I am so surprised at Matthew!"

"Well." The old woman pursed her lips. "A wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf." She said knowledgeably. "Although I would have expected Matthew to be a little more middle class."

"Upper middle class." Cora said pointedly, the two shared a wry smile at Isobel's phrase.

"What of his mother? Could she be persuaded to intercede?" The Dowager asked.

"If we could find her. She is still single handedly trying to sort out the mess left by the war. Last I heard she was travelling the country campaigning for Milk for the Children."

"One does so have to admire her zeal, if not necessarily the choice of her focus."

Cora nodded in agreement.

"So it is down to us once again to act for Mary's best interests." The Dowager said wearily. "I do believe that girl will be the end of me."

Mary woke and stretched lazily, a contented smile on her face. The events of the previous evening still etched onto her skin. Afterwards they had lain together on the carpet in the study, both quietly enjoying the closeness, her head on his chest as Matthew stroked her hair.

Eventually she had shivered with the evening chill. He had helped her to her feet and collected their scattered clothing to dress. Hand in hand they made their way into the hallway where a yawn overtook her. Matthew only smiled and scooped her gently into his arms. He had planted a kiss in her hair before carrying her to their bed. Now she was alone. She turned over and hugged his pillow to her, her head filled with memories of their reckless abandon. Nuzzling her face into its folds, she giggled like a schoolgirl.

It was a very different Mary Crawley who now sat regarding Sarah Smith. Despite expecting the summons, the young maid's heart had still been pounding in her chest when she was called to the drawing room.

Last night she had seen the tender exchange between her employers. It had done nothing but strengthen her view of Mr Crawley as the white knight in her imagination, which would make his wife the black queen.

This morning had been painful for her. Mr Matthew was taking breakfast and reading the newspaper. She had entered the dining room with his tea.

"Good Morning Sir." She had ventured.

He had barely looked up from behind the paper, not even glanced in her direction.

"Smith." He had said. That was it. No acknowledgement at all really. Never had she heard her name spoken with such lack of feeling. It had cut her to the quick. He had simply turned the page and continued reading.

Mary sat impassively in her chair, her hands folded across her lap. There was nothing in her expression to suggest displeasure or anger. Sarah shifted uneasily, unwilling to meet Lady Mary's eye.

"Are you happy here Smith?" The voice was clipped, perfectly enunciated, and cool.

"Yes my lady." She bobbed appropriately.

"The other staff are treating you well?"

There was another bob.

"And your mother appreciates the extra funds I presume?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And tell me, what is your opinion of my husband?"

Sarah's eyes widened. It did not matter how much she had rehearsed this meeting in her head. She had expected Lady Mary to raise her voice, to be threatened and angry. Not to sit there smoothing her skirt and asking her outright.

"I… err… I don't know what you mean my lady." Sarah stammered.

"Well it's quite simple. What do you think of my husband?"

Smith could only stand with her mouth opening and closing. What was she supposed to say?

"Do you for example think he is an honourable man?"

Sarah nodded.

"You do? Excellent." Mary said almost cheerfully. "Because I can tell you one thing about Mr Crawley, he is a very good man, a fair man, a man devoted to his family, as indeed we are to him."

Sarah said nothing.

"However, something people do not realise about my husband is that he will not tolerate anything that he feels will disrupt the happy running of his household. So despite his natural desire to be compassionate, should something be seen to be, how shall we say, rocking the boat, it will be removed, he is most firm on that."

"Yes my lady." The unfortunate Smith said.

"So, I will ask you again Smith… Are you happy here?"

It was a furious maid who walked quickly into the village. She wished she could have said something, anything. But no, she had blankly stood in front of Her Ladyship and said yes my lady, no my lady. It was very clear, she had been warned.

"Sarah isn't it?"

She looked up into the genial face of the assistant cook from the Abbey. Daisy instantly noticed something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" She asked innocently.

"Nothing." Sarah muttered. The other girl was close enough in her age and today Sarah had done with bowing and scraping.

If she was offended it didn't show. "Has something happened?"

"It's her Ladyship." Sarah said eventually.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about it. I was always in bother with Mrs Patmore at first, it does get better."

An evil thought occurred to Sarah. "It's not that. She is entertaining a gentleman."

Daisy immediately looked shocked. "You shouldn't say such things…" She began.

"No, she is." Sarah said in a loud whisper.

"Who is it?" Daisy asked, unable to resist.

At this Smith was stumped. She had heard Pamuk, but did not know anyone in the area by that name, so she grasped at the only name she could think of off the top of her head, the only name she had recently heard.

"Sir Richard Carlisle."