Author's Note:Hey guys! A thousand apologies for not uploading sooner but life is basically what got in the way. Anyway so thanks to everyone who reviewed and I'm glad you liked the last chapter. Now we're going to really start peeling back the layers so we can get to the centrepoint of the story, and you'll be seeing more about who these people are and what they want with Matthew and his family. There's also a small part I added last minute about Siobhan because it's really important to the story. It was going to be at the beginning of the next chappie but I thought it'd suit better at the end of this one.

So read it and tell me what you think! x


Previously on Fall of the House of Grantham:

Edward finally opens up to Matthew about HMS Worthington. There were three men on board the ship, (Morrison, Garvey and Riordan) who lured Edward into a small cabin and told him all about their secret group - a group his father was involved in. Initially this group only planned to stop the war coming to Britain as many of them were still the trauma and shock of the last war. However, once war became inevitable the object of their aim shifted as did their intentions and they became a strong, fierce group of Nazi supporters, ready to restore England back to the height of success. Morrison, the main man, tells Edward that Matthew wasn't having any of it and left them. He then tries to offer Edward a way in, praising his sharp mind and headstrong personality, believing him to be an asset to their group.

Naturally, Edward is disgusted and in the heat of the moment threatens to expose them once they reach shore. In an instant they turn on Edward and reveal him to be suicidal, exclaiming that he was threatening to jump off the ship due to shell shock. As Edward is hauled off into isolation he continues to plead his innocence but is protests fall on deaf ears. They strap him to a gurney and tranquilize him but not before he manages to choke out the real intentions of these men.


Chapter 52 - The Penknife

Matthew couldn't move. He didn't even know how he was still able to breathe. All he could do was sit there, stunned, not even bothering to wipe away the stray tear trailing down his cheek as he just stared at his son. Edward slumped back in his seat, exhausted at having finally revealed all to his father.

How could he have let this happen? Joe, Georgina, Rebecca, Benjamin and now Edward have all fallen victim to this monstrous war. He was their father he was supposed to protect them! Would this run of bad luck continue? Should they fear for Emily's safety? She was the only one of his children who hadn't been tainted by the curse of war.

The Earl shot up from his seat, unable to stay still for much longer.

"It would really help if you said something." Edward said in a reasonably calm voice, prompting his father to turn around and gape at him in disbelief.

"How can you be so nonchalant about this Edward?"

Edward heaved a tired sigh, "I've been carrying this around for months." He shifted in his chair, "It felt good to – unburden myself." He shot his father a sly grin and nodded at the bottle of scotch by Matthew's hand, "Do you want to pour me some of that?"

"I understand why you've been so difficult. With me I mean." Matthew said in a mere whisper, his face a mask of self-pity.

Edward frowned, "I'm sorry, I'm not following you."

"I'm your father and I let you down."

Edward wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. "Papa – you weren't the one who strapped me down to a gurney and then tranquilized me." He said slowly.

"No but I should've -"

"We can go on and on about should, would and could but it isn't going to change anything!" Edward interrupted smoothly, "Now, it's been a really, really long night and I'm exhausted." He hoisted himself out of his chair, "I'm going to bed."

Matthew cleared his throat, "Fine. Your brother's coming home the day after tomorrow, he's due some leave so – we can finish this conversation then? With everyone?"

Edward hesitated briefly but then nodded, "I suppose so." He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced towards the door, pausing at the lip, he turned back to his father. "Goodnight Papa."

Matthew's lips parted as if he were going to ask a question. Edward knew it and he knew it but instead he just shook his head and forced his lips into a small smile. "Goodnight son. Sleep well."

Edward tried not to laugh at the sheer irony of his father's last words as he silently slipped out of the room. On his way up the stairs he spotted Tommy. He was standing in the corner of the foyer muttering to Agent Blackwell and another agent. His eyes travelled towards Edward and he quirked his brow quizzically at him. Edward just gave a small nod, signalling that he had at least, started the story of HMS Worthington. Tommy turned his attention back to Blackwell but Edward knew what he thinking. Now they can start to track these people down.

Oh, if only it were that simple.

Once inside his room, safe from any curious eyes Edward flopped down on his bed waiting to feel something. Some kind of relief or a weight lifted off his shoulders. Alas, it never came. If anything he felt just as empty as he did the day before.


April 5th 1941

Colonel Redford nodded at the guards stationed outside the War Office as he left the premises. It had been a tiresome day dealing with losses, casualties and signing warrants, all he wanted to do was go home to his wife. He scurried down the steps, loosening his tie with his free hand and glancing at his watch, his head swimming with thoughts of war, so much so, he didn't notice the man leaning idly against the pillar next to him.

"Evening Kenneth."

Colonel Redford stopped, startled, his surprise morphing into fear as he saw the man lift himself off the pillar and casually toss his cigarette away.

"Good evening Mr Gower." Redford replied, his voice trembling slightly, "How are you?"

Victor Gower tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing the man before him as he sauntered closer towards him. "I've been better." He answered in a curt tone. "I actually came by to see you."

"Oh? M-me?" Redford tried not to stammer but the poor man couldn't help it, "I – I don't -"

"Yes you do Kenneth." Victor interrupted, his tone dripping with amusement as did his expression, "Matthew Crawley? The Granthams? Your job? I'm here to hear the latest report on your...progress."

"Listen Mr Gower, I haven't forgotten Fanshawe's deadline!" Redford protested, his hand clutched around his tie, "I'm working on Lord Grantham! I'm meeting him tomorrow for a drink near his home!"

"That's good Kenneth." Victor said calmly, his lips spreading into a chilling smile as he clapped Redford on the shoulder. "Just make sure you manage to get something this time because, I'm just reminding you that I haven't forgotten either. And I'm a patient man but sometimes Kenneth," He pulled the wary Colonel into an embrace as he smiled at the guards watching the exchange, but the words he breathed into Redford's ear were cold and smothered with malice. "Even my patience can wear thin. You'd do well to remember that."

Sir Victor Gower drew back and absently flicked a speck of dust off his cuff, shooting the Colonel a warm and friendly smile. He raised his eyes to the sky and turned back to Redford with a bemused expression, "It's a warm night tonight Kenneth. Why are you shivering?" He gave the shaking Colonel one last smirk before hitching up his collar and stalking off into the night.


"Sir, with all due respect let's just throw Redford away!" Jude Fanshawe grumbled as he paced around the Gower's drawing room. He slurped down the last of his scotch before slamming it on the marble fireplace, causing Victor to shoot him a reprimanding glare. "The man screams incompetence. Let me get Grantham for you. I'm highly connected to some of the craftiest newspaper mongrels in the city, we can scope out a story for you in no time!"

"Damn it Jude I told you before, I don't want some measly teatime gossip!" Victor snapped, slamming his own glass down on the coffee table. He leaned forward in his armchair and rubbed his throbbing forehead, "We can always paint him as being a Nazi sympathizer but we have no solid proof and of course he'll just deny it. And with all his children queuing up to sacrifice themselves well – no one will believe that! "

"Perhaps if I can get one of those brats to talk." Jude spat, "I had a run in with one of his daughters last year remember?"

"Yes and you were sloppy!" Victor retorted, "You were outshone by a mere boy I believe!"

Jude flushed a deep scarlet, "He simply caught me off guard sir."

Victor snorted and rose from his seat, shoving his hands into his pockets and pacing around the room. "Don't hurt them." He said suddenly, his voice frail and thin.

Jude frowned, almost in disgust, "I'm sorry sir?"

"Don't physically hurt them." Victor corrected steadily, turning back to face Fanshawe.

"Sorry sir, you misunderstand me," Jude countered in brash confusion. "I thought you were trying to everything you can to get Lord Grantham back on our side."

"Oh I don't think that's possible." Victor said with a tight laugh, swirling the ice in his scotch. "No, Lord Grantham made it very clear where his loyalties lie and it's not with us."

"So what are you trying to do sir?" Fanshawe pushed, watching Victor walk towards the mantelpiece and run his finger along the smooth marble.

Victor picked up the large photograph of his son, encased in a silver frame. "I want them to pay for what they did to my son." The smile died away from his eyes to be replaced with a cold, hard glare.


Edward Crawley flipped the bed sheets off his body and roughly scrambled out of bed, reaching for his water jug. He poured himself a large amount and glugged it back, eager to quench his dry thirst. It wasn't the first sleepless night he'd had, nor would it be the last. But since he had opened up to his father, the nightmares kept flooding back. Deciding he might as well read himself to sleep, he snapped on the lamp and rummaged through his drawer until he found a decent book. He pulled out "King Solomon's Mines."

"Well that'll have to do." He mumbled glumly to himself, settling back against the pillow and opening the novel.

A sharp object fell out onto his lap.

Curiously he picked up the object and held it towards the light, his stomach churning with guilt. It was his penknife. The knife Joe had given him for his twelfth birthday. Papa had tried to confiscate it from him countless times but Edward always managed to get it back. He had never gone anywhere without it and he had used it to pick the locks at Eton when he and his friends wanted a night out.

It was never meant to cause anyone any harm.

October 10th 1940

"Damn!" Edward Crawley cursed, snatching his hand away from the door. He had been sat there for a good hour trying to unscrew the door handle with his bare fingers and needless to say, they were raw and bloody from his persistence. Ever since he had woken up, they had taken him down to the ship's holding cell for his 'protection' and confiscated the pen-knife he had hidden down his sock. The only sound that could be heard was the steady They were promised to arrive on shore soon but Edward knew enough about the world to know that he wasn't getting off this ship alive.

"It won't work Crawley."

A frail voice from the corner of the room jolted Edward into shock. He whipped around, glaring into the abyss of the tiny room. "Who said that?" He asked brazenly, wondering why he didn't notice anyone in there before.

He received a dry cough in reply.

Edward squinted through the slice of light emitting through the cracked window but his eyes widened as they fell across the huddled figure. "General Barrow?" He whispered in surprise, crawling towards his boss, "Is that you?"

"So, they finally got to you eh?" Thomas choked, "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time."

"Why did they put you in here?" Edward asked fearfully, "What did you do?"

"I opened my big gob and it cost me my life." Thomas chuckled bitterly, "I always knew it would get me into trouble one day. I never imagined it would be like this. I should've been more careful. Then again, I could say that about a lot of things in my life."

"You knew those Nazi men?" Edward groaned, "You threatened to expose them, like I did, didn't you? Then they locked you up in here?"

"We're similar you and me kid," Thomas said hoarsely, shooting a cracked smile towards the boy. "We don't realize we're in trouble until it's too late."

"How do you know them?"

"I too was a part of their little club." Thomas scoffed, "Until they started to shift their focus. I was all for stopping the war but this – this is something else entirely. But then once I tried to back out, it was too late."

"Too late?" Edward narrowed his eyes towards the General, his words slowly sinking in. "Were you spying for them?"

"No." Thomas said softly, though in the dim light Edward could see his eyes were brimming with tears of guilt. "I wasn't spying. I was lying. There's a difference."

"But if you had agreed with them, then they could've used you as a spy?" Edward countered hotly.

"Yes." Thomas replied, his tone tinged with regret as he stared at the floor.

"My father trusted you and so did I." Edward said quietly. "Granted you were a real pain and we all thought of shutting you up in a pyramid, but we would never have thought -"

"Edward – I'm not proud of it. But I promise you, any information I fed them was false -"

"And yet here we both are." Edward interrupted pointedly, "Interesting how they knew where we were heading and what was going to happen? That doesn't seem very false to me, on the contrary it seems like a perfectly executed plan."

"Yes it does! They have other spies, everywhere!" Thomas responded brashly. "Edward these people are leeches. Once they have you, it's hard to let them go! And they had me; oh boy did they have something on me!"

"You mean they were blackmailing you?" Edward responded in disbelief.

Thomas nodded. "Indeed they were." He said in a tiny voice.

"Who'd want to blackmail you?" Edward asked brashly.

Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Everyone has something they want to keep hidden Edward. They found out something about me. A secret of mine that could ruin my life and they threatened to use it against me if I refused to co-operate with them." Thomas heaved a despondent sigh, a haunted look of guilt clouding his eyes, "It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to use it against me." He looked up and leaned forward a little, "But Edward, you have to believe me, I never passed on any legitimate information. I could never betray my country. The fact that I'm sitting here proves it. I'd rather die than become a Nazi."

"Right, so what are they planning on doing to us?" Edward asked, trying to keep his anger in check.

"They're planning on silencing us." Thomas answered, his fragile voice injected with irritation as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Why else would they put us in here?"

Edward swallowed over the lump of panic rising in his throat. He has a sneaking suspicion they would do that but to hear it practically confirmed sent waves of fright rippling through him.

"Then we need to get out." He said steadily.

Thomas gave him a hollow laugh. "No one's getting out of here. Well – not alive anyway."

"Well we have to try!" Edward snapped, scrambling to his feet and dashing back to the door.

"What exactly are you going to do Crawley?" Thomas challenged in amusement, "Pick at the screws until your fingers bleed? Oh, my mistake you've already been doing that for the past hour."

"Yes well if I had my penknife this would be a lot easier!" Edward snapped, feeling his way across the small door.

"This isn't some dorm room back in Eton you know?" Thomas chided wearily, "Those aren't teachers out there, ready to give you a smack on the hand and send you to bed in disgrace!"

"I'm aware of that Barrow thank you." Edward replied coldly. "Nevertheless I have been sneaking out of places since I was in the nursery."

"I know." Thomas growled, "As reprimand for my behaviour Carson always sent me out looking for you."

"If I could do it when I was three, I could do it now surely!" Edward mumbled, "This is our only way out and I'm not giving up."

"Stubbornness always did run thick and fast in that blue blood of yours Crawley." Thomas quipped, his tone laced with frustration. "I saw the same type of behaviour from your parents. They love each other one day and hate each other the next."

"Watch it Barrow." Edward snarled.

"Tell me what do you think will happen if you do manage to get those screws unloose? You'll break out of this room and then what? Take on those goons singlehandedly?"

"Maybe." Edward replied through gritted teeth, his fingers grating against the metal.

Thomas snorted, "You're too out of your depth. You're just a boy."

"And you're supposed to be the General!" Edward yelled, whipping around in fury. "But instead you're here and they're out there!"

Thomas didn't say anything. Gripped with shame, he hung his head. "I'm not proud of this. If I could take it all back I would."

Edward scoffed bitterly, "Spare me the self-pity. I've heard it all before and I'm sick of it. If you want people to understand you, you hold your hands up and admit to the truth. Don't go around feeling sorry for yourself because in times like these no one has the hour to give a damn!" He promptly turned his back on his General and proceeded to unbolt the screws, muttering under his breath, "We're all too busy with our own pain."

Seconds, minutes, hours snailed by until finally the last screw fell to the floor with a tiny clang. With a sigh of immense relief, Edward slumped against the door, beaming with accomplishment. He wiped the beads of sweat dotting his brow with the back of his hand before pulling himself up to stand.

"Looks like my blue blooded Crawley stubbornness paid of eh Barrow?" Edward threw a proud smirk at his General but the smile died quickly on his lips. Thomas was lying utterly still, his head lolling against the wall, sweat streaking his pale face.

"Barrow?" Edward asked cautiously, his medical instincts automatically kicking in. He scampered towards him, "Barrow are you all right?" Edward lightly touched the General's shoulder and released a gasp of horror as his left arm slapped against the floor, his wrist cleanly sliced open and pouring with blood! Clutched loosely in his right hand was the missing penknife.

"Jesus Thomas what have you done?" Edward whispered in panic, forgetting all formalities and immediately reverting back to the name he had known him as. He tried to press his hand against the sliced wrist to stop the stem of blood but it was already proving futile.

The former footman rolled his eyes up to smile at the terrified medic. He saw not the spoiled brat who had made his life difficult, not the stubborn young man who argued with him countless times in battle, but the grown medic, who was the epitome of strength from the only family who had ever given him more than one chance.

"I'm sorry." He rasped, the colour already fleeing his cheeks. "Tell your mother I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Edward stammered, checking Thomas's weakening pulse. "Ugh, why did you do this to yourself!"

"I ruined her life." Thomas moaned, shaking his head in despair, "I won't allow myself - to succumb to their blackmail. I won't ruin - another person's life – because of my own – my own faults. It's the only way." With a shaking hand he tossed him the knife, "Here get out Edward. Go – and keep your family safe."

Edward could do nothing except watch helplessly as the former footman took one last shuddering breath, the life diminishing from his tired eyes.

Edward hung his head in defeat.

Thomas Barrow was dead.

Edward heaved a sigh drenched with annoyance as his fingers turned the knife over. The rusting blade still specked with dirty stains of crimson. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't seem to get it clean. He had kept this knife close to him because his brother had given it to him but now it had been tainted with another man's blood. It was his knife, does that mean Thomas's blood were on his hands...?

No!

He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs of guilt. He didn't hand Thomas the knife, that idiot was just a coward to choose the easy way out! Edward slammed his book on the nightstand in anger. He had stayed, he had fought, he hadn't given up on his life, his family! He could've done, Lord knows it would've been the easiest thing to do! If Thomas thought that ending his life would give these deranged people less ammunition then he was wrong.

Edward switched off the lamp and shuffled into his sheets, a newfound determination pulsating through every inch of his body. Tomorrow Joe was coming back home and then they would finally be able to hash it out.

They weren't going to run.

Running is for cowards.

They would fight. They would fight or die trying.


April 6th 1941

Siobhan Riordan rose to the peaceful sound of birds chirping in the blossoming trees. She felt her husband's warm arm draped across her body and although the feeling should make her feel giddy with excitement, all she could feel was a numbing sadness. She turned her head to look at her sleeping husband who remained completely oblivious to the emotions brewing inside her heart. She heaved a sigh and shifted out from under him, careful not to wake him.

Wrapping her shawl tighter around her, she rubbed her bleary eyes and padded towards the window to stare absently into her grandmother's beautiful gardens, the same question swimming around in her mind since the day she set foot inside that damn house.

Why had she come back to Downton?

Things were so much better when it was just the two of them in Ireland. She could stop clinging onto her tiny thread of hope that he'd ever come back for her. That was it, she was married it was over. It was so much easier to forget about him when they were seas apart. But being back inside the big house, God, it just brought everything back. All the pain, all the memories. Her heart could break all over again.

Siobhan leaned against the window frame and nibbled on her thumbnail anxiously. The fact that Joseph was returning today would not help things in the slightest. There was a time when she loved Joe like a brother. They were practically like twins. Yes, she had prepared herself for this, she'd told herself time and time again that she had forgiven him for everything that happened, that she had Sean and everything was fine. But when she came face to face with him what should she do? Should she smile and greet him like the brother he used to be? Or slap his face and tell him where to go?


to be continued...