"You're - you're - " Edith swallowed. "You aren't dead."

Anthony blinked and looked down at himself. "Not as far as I know, no. Hello, Mrs Crawley."

"Don't," she bit out. "Don't - don't you dare stand there and joke when I - when I thought you were - ! I thought you might be - "

Suddenly, she swayed, crumpled at the knees - and swooned.


When Edith awoke, it was to Sir Anthony's face looking very anxiously down at her. She was lying across three of the waiting room chairs, and he was kneeling beside her, eyes intent. "Wh-what happened?" she mumbled, closing her eyes again briefly to shut out the sight of him.

"You fainted." Sir Anthony helped her to sit up slowly, presenting her with a cup of tea. Someone had thoughtfully put two biscuits in the saucer. "There. Hot, strong, plenty of sugar." At Edith's wrinkled nose, he apologised, "I know you don't like your tea sweet, but the matron was threatening to find you a bed if I didn't promise to make you drink it the moment you woke up. I thought you'd like that even less."

"Yes," Edith agreed numbly, and drank her tea. "Quite right." Truly, this was the most absurd conversation she had ever had with anyone. It was impossible to believe that she was awake, that her brain - in the face of his almost certain death - had not just carried her away into the safety of insanity.

"You came terribly quickly," Sir Anthony murmured, breaking into her reverie. His voice was soft and hesitant, like a child awaiting a scolding. "Did Mrs Cox telephone you?" His kind smile sank into her bones like warm water. "Mrs Dale is very lucky, to have a friend as diligent as you."

"Mrs Dale?" Edith whispered - and then realisation struck. "Oh, Lord. It wasn't you, was it? It was M-Mrs Dale…"

"Yes, my dear." He shook his head tiredly. "I'm sorry, I assumed…"

She looked up at him miserably through fresh tears. "I… Mrs Cox telephoned… but the line was bad and I didn't…" She let out a shuddering breath. "All I heard was - was 'Sir Anthony' and - and 'heart attack.'"

"And you still came, Mrs Crawley?"

Edith nodded silently. He exhaled. "Well. There's something… unexpected."

Edith wouldn't look at him. "I - " She stopped. "All these months, sir, I've hated you." She chuckled bitterly. "Really, truly hated you. But… but I've never… disliked you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Thank you, Mrs Crawley. I think."

"I mean…" Edith sucked in a frustrated breath. "I never wished you harm."

"Much more than I deserve, I'm sure," he replied, ducking his head sheepishly.

To his surprise, Edith gave him a weak smile, and then looked away again. "Is there - any news?" she asked quietly.

"She's unconscious, still. Nothing out of the ordinary, according to the doctor. It's… a waiting game. Come through and sit with her for a while?"

Edith nodded and they stood together and went through.

Mrs Dale lay in a side-room on her own, her skin almost as pale as the white hospital sheets that swathed her. Edith let out a shuddering little sob and sank into the bedside chair. Anthony stood, helplessly watching her.

How were they here again? Had it been only a year since they'd last been in a hospital together, waiting to hear how Pip did? Had he really held her in his arms? Had they ever been so close to each other?

It all seemed so impossible now.

She sat bolt upright in her chair, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at the ground, eyes wide and face not so much pale as utterly colourless. He wanted so very much to go to her, and say something comforting, or offer to go and find her another cup of tea, but he knew that he had forfeited the right to do any of that. A slight sniffle reached him and he watched as silent, shimmering streams streaked down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. Roughly, she reached up a hand and pushed them away, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, thick and raw.

She looked up and caught his eyes on her, and then looked away again hastily. "I'm sure - I'm sure she'll be all right," Anthony offered quietly.

"Thank you, Sir Anthony, but you aren't sure of anything," she whispered.

The door opened quietly behind them and Edith shot suddenly to her feet. "Doctor. Is she - ?"

The doctor, checking his notes, held up a reassuring hand. "Mrs Dale has had a mild heart attack. She'll sleep for a while longer, but… she's in no significant danger just now."

Edith slumped, covering her face with one hand as a relieved noise escaped her. Anthony reached her side in long, firm strides. His hand hovered for a moment in the air between them, and then dropped helplessly back to his side. "How long will you keep her in, doctor?" he asked instead, trying to ignore the warm of Mrs Crawley's body next to him, so close after being so far away, for so long.

"Until she's recovered her strength. I'd say, a week or two, and then you'll be able to take her home. But," he warned, "she won't have the strength for any sort of heavy work for a good few months after that, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry about that," Anthony replied firmly. "We can manage. As long as she gets well again."

The doctor gave them a thin smile. "In that case, I suggest that you take your wife home, Sir Anthony, and both of you get a good night's sleep. Mrs Dale will need all your care and attention over the next few days."

Red with embarrassment, Anthony opened his mouth to correct the doctor. He didn't dare look at Edith.

Her small hand on his elbow was a surprise. "Yes. Thank you, doctor."


They stood outside the Infirmary together, breathing out clouds of frosty air. As Anthony looked up at the sky, a few flakes of snow, the vanguards of poor weather to come, drifted down and clung briefly to his eyelashes. "Beastly evening," he commented casually. "Will - will you come back to Locksley? You won't find a hotel room this late at night." He gave a wry grin as they turned and walked down the hospital steps. "Or… this early in the morning, I should say."

"Thank you. Yes." Edith tugged her coat more tightly around her as Sir Anthony rummaged in his coat pocket and withdrew his cigarette case and matchbox. Edith watched as he lit up and exhaled a relieved cloud of smoke into the air. Noticing her gaze, Anthony asked, very politely, "Can I offer you one?"

"Not frightfully ladylike," she demurred. "I don't think I ought to."

He blushed, feeling rather like a boy at his first social engagement, clumsy and out of place and with no idea as to what the etiquette in such a situation was. "No, of course. Forgive me." He frowned. "I don't know how we're going to get back to Locksley, though. How did you get here?"

"Oh, I… drove," Edith said casually.

"From Locksley?"

"Ummm… from a little further afield," she hedged, and gestured to the borrowed car. "A friend of Flora's let me take her car."

"Are you well enough to drive?" Anthony wondered. "I could - "

"Better not," Mrs Crawley shook her head and slid into the driver's seat. "Not when I've borrowed the car in the first place."

"Are you…?" Anthony began and then stopped.

Edith shot him a look as she pulled out onto the main road. "Am I what?"

"Are you staying?" God, he sounded like a desperate, needy child! "I mean," he clarified, clearing his throat, "what plans did you have, when you left Somerset?"

"I don't know," Edith whispered, almost to herself. "I just don't know."


There was a little bird bravely chirruping outside her window and weak sunlight filtering through her eyelids. Edith sat up and shivered as the heavy bedspread fell away. As if in a dream, she looked about her - around the room that had been hers for so long and was now hers again, for no matter how short a period of time. Her cases stood abandoned by the dressing table, her blouse and skirt and corset and stockings thrown haphazardly over the chair.

When they had reached Locksley in the early hours of Saturday morning and broken the relatively good news to the others, Mrs Cox had shooed them both up to bed. Edith had collapsed into hers - grateful that Mrs Cox and Molly had put a hot water bottle in there in her absence - and, after all the exhaustion of the past day and half, fallen straight to sleep.

Downstairs, a familiar face was devouring a plate of scrambled eggs with gusto. Edith hovered in the doorway of the breakfast room and for a moment let her heart ache with how much she had missed that dear little blonde head. "Hello, stranger," she offered quietly and Pip flew out of his seat and into her arms, his abandoned chair skittering carelessly across the wooden floor.

"Mrs Cox said you were coming," he whispered, "but I didn't quite believe her."

"O, ye of little faith!" Edith teased softly and he sniffled into her blouse, making her chuckle.

"Is Mrs Dale really going to be all right?" he asked at length. "I didn't know whether Papa was trying to… not worry me."

"The doctor seems to think so, yes, my darling," Edith reassured him, stroking his hair softly. "And I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure of it. Where's your papa now?"

"Went back to the hospital as soon as he'd eaten," Pip shrugged. "He didn't want Mrs Dale to be alone for too long."

"Very sensible of him," Edith agreed, surprised at how approving her voice sounded. She drew back and squeezed Pip's elbows. "Now, sit down and let me pour some tea, and you can tell me everything you forgot to put in your letters…"


After breakfast, with Pip dispatched on an errand into the village, Edith descended to the kitchen for a proper chat with Mrs Cox. "I'm sorry for the mix-up on the telephone, my lamb," the old cook sighed as she wiped down her table. "But I hope as I did the right thing?"

Edith nodded warmly. "Of course you did, Mrs Cox. I… I wouldn't like to think that… that anyone here was ill, and felt they couldn't ask me for help."

"Especially not the master, it seems." Mrs Cox had a twinkle of unholy, utterly inappropriate amusement in her eyes that made Edith blush hotly.

"Oh, Mrs Cox…" To busy her hands, Edith tugged the cloth from Mrs Cox's hands and began to scrub the table herself. "Now, tell me all the news. Pip mentioned that Sir Anthony has a new secretary."

Mrs Cox harrumphed her disapproval. "Yes. Flighty young man called Everington. He's a flash sort, got the gift of the gab. Lucky for him, 'cos he's not got much else to recommend him, if you know what I mean."

Edith looked up, startled. "I - I'm sure that can't be true. The master wouldn't have hired someone… inefficient, I'm sure."

Mrs Cox lifted doubtful eyebrows. "Between you, me and the gatepost, my dear, I think he was getting desperate. Mr Everington just - "

But at that moment, the kitchen door swung open and a man a few years older than Edith strolled in, whistling. "'Morning, Mrs Cox! Any more tea about?" Spotting Edith, he stopped and let his eyes trail slowly up her. "Well, hello. Who have we here?"

"Edith Crawley," she replied, with the precise amount of chilliness in her voice which this informal greeting warranted. "You must be Mr Everington."

"Yes, I am." He extended his hand. "But please don't stand on ceremony. If you're going to try to steal my job back, then you must call me Mark."

"Oh, you needn't worry," Edith managed, ignoring the hand. "I'm only here to take care of Mrs Dale. She's been a very good friend to me. In fact," she told Mrs Cox, "I'm going to drive over to the hospital right now. I'm sure Sir Anthony is needed far more here. Did he take the Rolls with him, or did Mr Stewart drive him?"

"Mr Stewart ran him over there. If you drove yourself, he could bring the Rolls back," Mrs Cox suggested.

"Yes. What a good idea. Do excuse me, Mr Everington."


You must wake up, Anthony thought, looking down at Mrs Dale's pale face. Locksley wouldn't survive losing you. We wouldn't survive it. You saw Pip born, you kept me going when Maude and Frances died… you can't leave us now. You just can't.

"Any change?"

Mrs Crawley's soft voice at the door still made him jump. He rose hurriedly from the chair, hoping stupidly that he didn't look too untidy. "No. Still sleeping. Probably for the best, all things considered. Is everything all right at ho - at Locksley?"

"Yes," Mrs Crawley smiled thinly. "I… met your secretary. What a very confident young man."

Anthony winced. "I didn't… Mrs Crawley, I - "

She held up a hand to silence him, and when she next spoke, her voice was falsely bright and cheerful. "Oh, you don't have to explain yourself. I… waltzed off into the sunset, you needed to find someone else. I'm sure he's frightfully efficient." She sat down neatly in his recently vacated chair. "I've left the Rolls outside. Drive it back, if you like. I'm going to spend the day with Mrs Dale in any case."

"I… I'll come back this afternoon, shall I? About four o'clock? Relieve you?"

Edith nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. "Fine. Until four o'clock, Sir Anthony."


When he reached Locksley, Everington was on the telephone. "Oh, here's Sir Anthony now, Miss Orton."

Anthony took the telephone. "Hello, Veronica."

"Anthony." Veronica sounded perfectly irate with him - as if it were his fault that he hadn't had a damned heart attack! "Thank goodness you're all right! What awful news about Mrs Dale."

"She's resting now. The doctor thinks she'll be all right, she just hasn't… come round yet."

"She will," Veronica replied with certainty. "She's a strong woman. How's Edith holding up?"

"I… don't know. She's spent a lot of time at the hospital." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "We've… not really talked much."

"I imagine she's still tired." Veronica clicked her tongue, sounding faintly admiring, as she added, "Driving all the way from Wolverhampton must take it out of one."

"What?" Anthony whispered. It was as if the words had failed to go in properly. Wolverhampton? Why ever would she…?

"Well, the trains were out - a bridge collapsed," Veronica explained blithely. "She telephoned us in a devil of a panic, worried she wouldn't get to you before you turned your toes up." There was a pause, and then she asked, "Didn't she tell you?"

"She drove all the way from Wolverhampton?" Anthony asked, almost to himself. "Whatever was the girl thinking?"

"That the next time she'd see you, you'd be halfway to Heaven," Veronica replied sternly. "She really didn't say anything?"

"No," Anthony gritted. "She most certainly didn't."