AN: Thank you all for your continuing support of this fic! I especially loved the 'Edith's a hypocrite' club that formed in the comments for the last chapter (and totally agree with you!) - and hopefully, you'll enjoy certain moments in this chapter...

Dearest Edith,

I know you're hoping that I'll support you and say that you did absolutely the right thing, but you need to know right from the off that quite frankly, I think you've behaved like a beast.

For one thing, you've no idea what actually happened. All right, so he says he went to bed with her - plenty of brides get to the altar not necessarily qualified to wear white. He married her, didn't he? From what you've said, they were very happy together. Not all men are manipulative boors, you know, and I never thought Sir Anthony was anything other than a gentleman.

Look at the facts, darling. He let you go haring off to London without a backward glance when I was in prison, came visiting when he thought you were struggling, sent gifts, helped Tom and me - and, when asked, was thoroughly honest about something that was never going to put him in your good books. Rather a lot of energy expended just for the vague chance of (pardon the vulgarity) getting under your skirts. No man's devious enough to try that, least of all Anthony Strallan.

I hate to say it, but you, my dear sister, are a hypocrite. When he found out about you and the Sketch's Louse-in-Chief (yes, that's what we're calling him these days), he was the model of kindness and decency. He knew you so little, Edith, and he never once expressed any kind of doubt over your character.

I suppose what I'm trying to ask is: what was your excuse?

Anyway, it's too late now to go crying over spilt milk. I just hope that you're feeling suitably ashamed of the way you treated that poor boy, if nothing else. When it comes to children, Edith, I don't think adults have any rights to their own feelings - especially not when they're dealing with a child who's already lost so much. You say it would have been agony for both of you to say goodbye in person, but nothing worth doing was ever easy.

Isn't there any way you can try to fix things, darling? I don't mean going back to Locksley - not if it isn't what you want - but there aren't many truly good people in this world, and we don't find true friends all that often either, and it would be a shame if you lost Sir Anthony's friendship over something so trivial and silly.

At least think about it?

All my love,

Sybil xxx

Edith tried to roll her eyes upon reading Sybil's letter, but deep down, she knew that her little sister was right - about her behaviour, at least. She had treated Pip shabbily. She had been selfish and thoughtless and high-minded, too - the latter not at all in a positive way. Even before Sybil's letter had arrived, Edith had realised that, and had begun to regret it.

The new job was well enough. Dr Robinson ran a very tight ship - her staff were forerunners in their field, with high expectations for their students, and the girls - from the grubbiest first-former to the most studious sixth-former - were polite and pleasant to be around, even if they could not compete with a certain mischievous and noisy twelve-year-old of her acquaintance.

She was busy, anyway, which was a godsend in her current frame of mind. The Bursar was getting old and absent-minded, and Dr Robinson had quietly pulled Edith aside at the end of her second week and suggested that she could be of use in terms of accounts and scholarship payments; she had been placed in charge of writing to potential donors regarding new equipment required for the Science laboratory (Edith smiled faintly as she typed the one addressed to Veronica); and in addition to that, there were all the other jobs required of any person working in any sort of administrative capacity in a school: the managing of the calendar, the organising of hundreds of people and their timetables, and (that particular specialty of school secretaries the world over) the hard, disapproving stare meted out to those rare miscreants unfortunate enough to be called to the Head's office.

She arrived at her desk early, and stayed late. On her afternoons off, Edith took long walks into the countryside around the school, or else wandered down to the beach and swam in the private cove. She knew full well what she was doing, of course - she could not even trick herself: desperately, she was trying to drown her misery and guilt and unhappiness in lungfuls of fresh air.

Dimly, Edith wondered when it would begin to work.

Veronica scowled and shoved the two sheets of headed paper across the breakfast table at Flora. "I hate these things," she confided with a shake of her head.

Flora scanned down the top sheet with a critical eye. "Miss V. Orton and guest - oh, goody… Founders' Day celebrations… distinguished alumna… " Grinning at Veronica, she asked, "What distinguishes you, I wonder?"

Veronica rolled her eyes, pouring more coffee for them both. "About thirty thousand pounds and hundreds of rolling acres, one imagines. I saw Edith's sly note about supplies for the new lab, don't you worry!"

"Well, at least it'll be nice to see her," Flora consoled her, setting the letters aside. Veronica's face took on an expression of abject horror.

"You don't mean to say that you want us to go?!" Veronica spoke as if Flora were suggesting that they set fire to the house.

Patiently, Flora took a sip of her coffee. "Of course I do, darling," she replied sweetly. "Don't you ever go to these things?"

"No," Veronica answered shortly. "I prefer to forget that I ever set foot in that place."

Flora squeezed her hand fondly. "At least you had a proper education, darling. All I got was French and twice-weekly singing lessons."

"I'd have taken that over geometry and Ancient Greek any day!" protested Veronica. "All I ever wanted to do was to ride and swim - but Papa was insistent that I get that 'proper education.'" She shrugged her shoulders. "He just couldn't accept the idea that his only child wasn't ever going to make any sort of scholar."

"Ah," Flora nodded. "Well, that explains things, I suppose." At Veronica's faintly questioning look, she stood and came to hug Veronica around the shoulders. "If I had ever lived somewhere where I was always being told that I wasn't good enough, then I wouldn't particularly want to go back there either. But… " (she kissed the top of Veronica's head) "…perhaps new laboratory equipment would make life just a little bit more bearable for the current inmates? Perhaps some sports' equipment too? Hockey sticks or lacrosse balls… or whatever else they need? Just to prove that you've not turned all respectable in your old age?"

"All right," Veronica replied grumpily. "If you insist."

"I do insist, darling. And it'll give us the opportunity to check up on Edith and make sure that we don't need to - to do anything drastic."

"Like what?"

"Like tell her how miserable Sir Anthony has been since she left."

"That's your idea of drastic?" wondered Veronica.

"It is when I'm not supposed to know." Flora sighed. "I love Claudia dearly, but she can be an incorrigible gossip."

Veronica squeezed her hip in sympathy. "She's just worried about the fool, I suppose." Tiredly, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I wish I'd not mentioned that blasted job at all to her now. I never in a million years thought she'd take it, though!"

"We gambled and we lost, my love," Flora murmured softly. "It happens. I suppose… if Edith looks as unhappy as Anthony does… then… we'll fill her in."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then we must just let her… move on with her life - and hope Anthony's heart mends sooner rather than later…"

"So you let her go." Lady Strallan, newly arrived from London, shook her head and took a sip of tea. "Poor, darling Anthony."

"Well, I couldn't exactly stop her, could I? The days of serfdom are over."

"You could have done precisely that," his mother replied, rather sharply, "if only you'd told her the truth."

"What truth, Mama?" Anthony lurched up from his chair and paced to the fireplace and back. "That I was… oh, how did Papa phrase it?" His lip curled faintly. "Ah, yes: 'a disgrace to my family and my rank'?"

"Your Papa loved you," Nancy reminded him softly. "And you know he bitterly regretted ever saying those things to you."

"Not nearly as much as I regretted doing what forced him to say them in the first place."

Nancy rolled her eyes downwards towards her teacup. "The problem with you two was always that you were so alike. You've no idea how much of a relief it was when I realised that Pip would take after Maude."

Her son smiled briefly, sadly, his eyes closed. "He's her mirror image, isn't he?"

"He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. Which is more than can be said for you, my lad." Nancy shook her head in exasperation. "Oh, Anthony. What am I going to do with you, hmm?"

Anthony opened one eye, shooting his mother a rather severe look. "I'm not nine years old any more, Mama."

"More's the pity." Nancy tutted. "When you were, I could still put you over my knee and switch your backside when you were being ridiculous."

"Thank you, Mama."

"Is Mrs Crawley really such an - an unforgiving young woman?" Lady Strallan asked eventually.

"No." Anthony's voice grew quieter. "But… she has reason enough to despise men who behave poorly towards women."

Lady Strallan raised an eyebrow. "There's a story there, my dear. Help me to understand?"

"She… when she came to us… it was because she had had an affair with her former employer - her former married employer." Anthony looked guiltily up at her. "She was vulnerable and grieving for her father and… well, if he didn't force her, he certainly did take advantage of her. And then she miscarried his child."

One of the things Anthony loved best about his mother was how beautifully unflappable she was. Her only reaction was to exhale in understanding and say, quite sympathetically, "Ah. I see. Poor, dear child."

"Exactly. So when she discovered that her new employer was no better, she reacted as any sane woman would and told me precisely where to chuck it." Bleakly, Anthony looked over at her. "So can you really blame her, Mama? Because I can't."