Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the lovely readers who have been leaving such fantastic reviews for the last few chapters! I'm very flattered and grateful that you've stuck with me through all the long gaps between updates with this fic, so while my muse is having such a field-day with it, I'm making the most of it and trying to give you all as many new updates as possible. And now... on with the tale!
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Edith asked quietly. She and Anthony stood in the hall at Locksley, Edith twisting her gloves between her fingers as she looked up at him. Saturday morning had arrived, and Edith was about to leave for her trip to London to check on Helen. After the past few days, however, she was beginning to wonder whether leaving Anthony alone would be a good idea.
Gently, Anthony kissed her cheek. "Absolutely." At Edith's raised eyebrow, he insisted, "I'll be quite all right, my sweet one. I have Stewart to fuss over me, and you'll only be gone a night or so. Really." He smiled, half-sadly. "Besides, you deserve a break from it all. Get a decent night's sleep, at least, away from your burdensome husband."
Impatiently, Edith pulled on her gloves. "I have never thought of you as a burden, Anthony." Gloves donned, she reached up and kissed him. "One day I'm going to convince you of that."
Anthony did not reply to her statement, only said, as he led her to Waters and the waiting car, "Remember to invite Helen to come and stay for as long as she likes."
"I will. Promise me you'll telephone if you need me? Even if you're just missing me?"
Anthony grinned wryly. "I promise. Let us know you've got there safely?"
"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow evening."
"Until tomorrow, then. Give my love to Charlotte and Clara."
"Of course. Goodbye."
One last kiss, the fleeting press of her hand, the glimmer of her hair through the back windscreen of the car… and then she had vanished down the drive.
Morosely, Anthony returned inside. He could not deny that the thought of Edith gallivanting off to London alone worried him, especially after the last few days. Not because he feared a relapse, but because… well, to own the truth, he feared that she would not wish to come back to him. She was still so young - only thirty-three, for God's sake! - and what could he offer her that would not pale in comparison to the glitz and glamour of the capital? And the worst of it was that he knew Edith's character - her firm, unshakeable devotion to duty and principle and doing the right thing - would never allow her to walk out on him, not even if it was the thing in the world she most desperately wished to do, especially not now, when he was so unwell and in need of her.
It was the devil of a mess, and no mistake.
"Good Lord, Edie," exclaimed Helen when she caught first sight of her, "you look worse than I do!"
"Thanks," Edith grinned wryly, sinking with relief into the armchair in Charlotte and Clara's comfortable sitting room. She was well aware that half a week of disturbed sleep and emotional turbulence had left her looking haggard and positively ancient, but it didn't help to have it continuously pointed out to one.
Helen frowned. "Whatever's happened?"
Edith grimaced. "Anthony… had some bad news this week. One of his old army comrades committed suicide. It's… dredged up a lot of bad memories for him." She shrugged. "Anyway, what it all boils down to is… it hasn't been a terribly good week."
"I'm sorry," Helen replied, and looked as if she meant it. "He… feels things very deeply, doesn't he? I suppose compassionate people always do."
"Mmm," Edith nodded, a little watery-eyed. "He does." Shaking herself a little, she added, "We'd both love it if you came to stay with us for a while, you know." As if seeking to make the offer more attractive, she pressed on, "We've some lovely country for photographing - you could make prints to sell afterwards, and things. And… I'd love some new snaps of Elinor - she's shot up since her birthday and no one photographs her as well as you do and - "
"All right, all right!" Helen laughed. "I'm convinced! But promise me one thing?"
"What?" Edith asked, curious.
"That you'll let me get my Brownie on your man, too. Now there's a really interesting subject for photography, don't you think?"
Edith nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Do you know, I don't think I have any photographs of Anthony at all?" She hadn't even allowed any photographs when they had married, no matter how Helen had wheedled and pleaded with her. Then, she had thought any of the conventional trappings of a wedding would have felt like a mockery of everything she and Anthony might have had together; now, Edith felt a little regretful that she had allowed herself to marry him with so little ceremony.
"Well," said Helen decisively, interrupting this rather gloomy train of thought, "let's change that. I tell you what - I'll photograph all three of you together. The perfect little family."
A lump rose suddenly in Edith's throat. Was that what other people really thought of them? "Oh, Helen, don't be silly. You know there's no such thing."
"Mr Stewart?" The little voice was soon accompanied by Elinor's head and shoulders poking around the boot-room door.
"Good afternoon, Miss Elinor," Stewart grinned cheerfully, pausing in his polishing of Sir Anthony's second-best shoes for a moment. "Can I help you?"
"I was just wondering," Elinor said, "if I could go and play on the terrace with Horatio? If I took him on his lead?"
The lead was indeed usually kept hanging on one of the boot-room hooks; it hung there now, just behind Stewart. "Well, not really for me to say, is it now, Miss Elinor? Go and ask Sir Anthony, and if he says it's all right, then I'll fix it all up for you."
Elinor was already halfway out of the boot-room in her hurry to go and seek permission. "Thank you, Mr Stewart!" her voice drifted back to him from halfway down the corridor.
Stewart shook his head in amusement, and carried on with his polishing.
Anthony's perusal of some rather dull estate accounts was interrupted by a small, yet solid knock on the library door. "Come in," he called absently and heard the door creak open. Stewart with the tea, perhaps.
"Anthony?" Elinor asked at his elbow.
Surprised, he lifted his glasses and turned to lift her up onto his lap. "Hello, my sweet one. Whatever are you doing knocking at the door?"
"Mr Stewart knocks at the door when he comes to see you in here," Elinor pointed out, frowning a little.
Anthony chuckled, the first one in days and kissed her forehead. "Stewart works for me, my little love - and he likes me to know my place. You don't need to stand on ceremony, though. Come to keep me company?"
Elinor shook her head. "No," she replied honestly. "Can I go and play on the terrace with Horatio? If I keep him on his lead? It was too rainy to go on our walk yesterday, Phoebe said, and I haven't been out for ages…"
Anthony pretended to think about it, screwing his face up in a mockery of concentration, until Elinor begged, "Please, Anthony?"
He kissed the top of her head. "All right. But stay on the terrace, yes? And keep a tight hold on Horatio's lead."
Elinor threw her arms around his neck with a grin of pure delight. "Thank you, Anthony!"
For an hour or so, there was peace. Occasionally, Anthony heard the scamper of footsteps and claws on the part of the terrace that ran past the library windows, and Elinor's little voice giggling and chattering away to her canine companion. With this pretty, domestic background noise, Anthony returned to his work.
After a while, however, it occurred to him that silence had fallen.
Frowning, he stood up and poked his head out of one of the library windows. The terrace was utterly deserted. This on its own was not necessarily a cause for concern - Elinor was, by nature, a wanderer, as Edith would have told him, had she been there. This was trying, indeed, but -
Suddenly, he could hear barking down in the garden, from the direction of…
The old pond.
Lord, he had almost forgotten they even had one.
He threw open the French windows and began to run.
"Elinor? Elinor!"
And as he ran, Anthony Strallan cursed the God he was not even sure he believed in any more. Not her. Not her. You listen to me, you old bastard, if you even think of harming a hair on her head, I will ensure you regret it. You will not play your celestial bloody games with my daughter. Not this one. Not this one too.
"Help! Help me!" He heard the frightened cry at roughly the same moment the pond came into view. Horatio danced about on the edge, barking his head off - and wasn't that damn fortunate? - as a thoroughly wet, terrified Elinor thrashed about in the water, utterly unable to either swim or touch the bottom.
Anthony plunged in, throwing off his jacket, but not stopping to take off his shoes. He kicked off and struck out with his arms. It was freezing. Hell and damnation, he'd forgotten how big this thing actually was. How could he have been so stupid?
Three more strokes and he would be with her. It seemed like ice was settling into his very brain. His fingers were going numb. Christ, how long had she been in here already?
"Help!" Elinor squeaked, coughing as her head went briefly under.
Two strokes.
And then, panicked: "D-daddy!"
Oh.
One.
He reached her and let his feet touch the bottom. The water flooded up to his armpits and a cold rush of fear shot through him. A few more moments and Elinor would have been irretrievably lost. "D-daddy!" she choked again and threw her arms around him.
"I've got you, my love, you're safe. I - " Anthony swallowed, paused, and then threw himself full-length into his future. "Daddy's here, my sweet one. I've got you."
"D-daddy! I - I was so f-frightened!"
"I know, I know." With an effort, Anthony started sloshing back towards dry land, precious burden clutched tight against his chest. "What on earth were you thinking of, my little love?"
"I was playing fetch with Horatio and the stick went in," Elinor whispered plaintively against his chest. "I was reaching out for it and I f-fell in."
"Oh, my silly little one." Anthony pressed a kiss to her hair as they clambered out on to dry land. Elinor was shivering and there was a hint of blue around her lips. Quickly, Anthony wrapped her up in his jacket, ignoring the shivers that were wracking his own body as Horatio hurried to lick his little mistress's face, reassuring himself that she was relatively unharmed. "This is a very dangerous place to be, Elinor, while you're small. You must promise me that you won't come here on your own again."
"I p-promise, Daddy."
Every time she said that word - that precious, wondrous word that he had thought he would never hear - a little thrill of fierce, proud possessiveness ran through him. Was this what Edith felt, all the time? And he had been so careless with it, so cavalier, so bloody irresponsible - !
"Good," he said firmly, and hoisted her up into his arms again to walk back to the house. "That's my clever girl."
Of course, Mrs Dale gave them both a thundering scold when she saw them and heard what had happened. "Miss Elinor! What on Earth did you think you were doing? And with your mother away in London, too! What will she say when she gets back?"
"We're quite all right, Mrs Dale," Anthony interrupted. "A little wet and cold, but we'll live, I think."
Mrs Dale turned that furious gaze on him. "And as for you - a grown man to go throwing himself into ponds without telling anyone where he was going! I ask you! What if you'd got into trouble too, hmm? Didn't think of that, I'll wager!" Hands on hips, ready to boil over, she surveyed both miscreants with the sort of awful fury that can only be conjured by mothers the world over. "Hot baths, for the pair of you," she decided, with the air of a judge pronouncing the death penalty, "and then beef tea and toast. And neither of you'll stir from in front of that library fire until Dr Clarkson's looked you over and you can speak without shivering!"
And that was that.
An hour later, still in disgrace, but pronounced fit by the doctor, Anthony and Elinor sat in the library devouring their late luncheon. "Swimming lessons, Elinor, starting tomorrow," Anthony decided firmly. Belatedly, he added, "Not in the pond, this time."
"Am I in a lot of trouble?" Elinor asked in a small voice.
Anthony looked up at that, a tired smile on his face, and wiped away a smudge of butter from the side of her nose. "Yes, my little one." Elinor's face fell, and he chucked her underneath the chin. "So much trouble that I shan't let you out of my sight for the next ten years at least." The twinkle in his eye made her smile, albeit a little sheepishly.
"Will be Mummy be cross like Mrs Dale?" whispered Elinor, snuggling closer to him under the blankets that said irate housekeeper had swaddled them in after their baths.
"Probably," Anthony replied honestly. "You gave us quite the scare, my sweet one. But… if Mrs Dale didn't love you so much, then she wouldn't be quite so angry."
Elinor absorbed this for a moment, a little frown on her face, and then she brightened. "Then she must love you lots too, Daddy. Just like me and Mummy do."
Absently, eyes half closed and too exhausted to question the content of what she had said, Anthony corrected, "'Just like Mummy and I do.'"
