"A late dinner in the sitting room this evening, sir?" Mrs Cox asked as she opened the front door to them. "Master Pip's finished his prep, and he's just gone to bed."

Edith pulled off her gloves and tugged the pin out of her hat. "Lovely, Mrs Cox. I'll just go up and kiss him goodnight."

Anthony watched her patter up the stairs, a faint, longing expression on his face. Something hollow had opened up inside him, at the way she had spoken - a mother who had returned from a long journey, and wanted nothing more than to see her child. "Thank you, Mrs Cox," he managed quietly. "I… think I'll change first, then… poke my head around Master Pip's door. Will you send Stewart up to me?"

"Y-yes, sir. Of course. Right away."

"Mrs Cox?" Anthony frowned. "What is it?"

"We-ell, sir…"


"Good evening, my dear," Edith smiled, poking her head round Pip's door; the man himself was in bed, nose buried in a book, which he cast aside joyfully at her voice.

"Mrs C.! You're home!"

"I am," she agreed and perched on the edge of his bed to kiss his forehead. "Your papa will be up in a moment, I'm sure. Anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

Pip set aside his book, nibbling at his lip. Edith cocked her head to one side. "Pip? Darling, what is it?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed after a moment, "whether or not I should tell you. Mrs Cox said she wanted to speak to Papa about it first."

"Well, she's downstairs with him now. I imagine she'll already have told him." Edith frowned. "Is it really so awful?"


"Hello," Edith offered quietly as Stewart passed her in the sitting room doorway. He gave her a small smile and a nod, and then shut the door behind him.

Sir Anthony stood at the fireplace, thoughtfully smoking his pipe and staring into the fire. He looked rather tired - and not just from the drive, Edith thought. From what Pip had told her, she wasn't at all surprised. "Sir?"

He jumped a little and looked around and down at her. "Hello, my dear," he returned quietly.

"Mr Stewart told you, then," Edith murmured.

His eyebrows lifted a little. "And who told you, I wonder?"

"Pip." She raised a hand at his look of surprise. "Not all of it, I imagine, but… enough that I could piece the rest together myself. Is… is Molly b-badly hurt?"

"No, no," he reassured her hastily. "Just shaken. I've just rung for her. Will you stay, while I speak with her?" He dug his free hand into his pocket. "She may be more comfortable, with another woman in the room."

Edith smiled softly. "I don't think any woman could ever be afraid of you, sir. But, yes, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

There was a shy knock at the door and then Molly edged her way into the room, eyes wide and lip trembling. "Good evening, Molly," Sir Anthony smiled warmly. "Won't you sit down?"

Molly's eyes grew even wider and she gave a terrified shake of the head. "N-no, sir. I w-wouldn't dream of - "

Gently, Edith crossed to her, wrapped a reassuringly firm arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa. "What Sir Anthony means to say, Molly, is that you aren't in any trouble. We heard about Mr Everington's disgraceful behaviour and we just wanted to make sure that you were all right."

Molly blushed. "Y-yes, miss," she whispered. "I - I know that M-Mr Stewart… had a word with him. He came and spoke to me afterwards, and he - he was very kind to me…" Her blush deepened and Edith squeezed her elbow gently. "And I haven't seen Mr Everington since." Hesitantly, she chewed her lip. "I th-think Mrs Cox has been making him eat his meals somewhere else."

"Jolly good," Sir Anthony interrupted firmly. "Molly, my dear, I'm so very sorry that this happened to you, while you were under my roof. Mr Everington will be dismissed first thing in the morning."

Molly's head shot up, her mouth wide open in astonishment. "R-really, sir?" Her fingers were tying themselves in knots in her apron. "I - I wasn't expecting… I don't think - I'm sure he was just - "

Sir Anthony shook his head. "Molly. It is enough - more than enough - that he dared to lay even a finger on you. Go to bed, my dear - get a good night's sleep." And then, quieter, in a voice that made Edith's heart ache, sharp and sudden, "And please, try to forgive me."


"Is she asleep?" Sir Anthony asked as Edith shut the sitting room door behind her again. "You were gone rather a long time."

Edith smiled wanly. "Yes, asleep now." She sat down in the chair Sir Anthony pulled out for her. "She's very young. I don't think I realised that before. Sixteen, seventeen at most. A child."

"But she had a mother tonight," Sir Anthony murmured gently oer her shoulder. "Or at the very least, a very kindly older sister."

"Have you spoken to Mr Everington yet?" Edith wondered.

"No, but I've told Stewart to tell him that I'll see him in the study, first thing tomorrow." His face and voice were grim.

"And what happens afterwards?" Edith lifted the lid from a dish of green beans and began to scoop some onto their plates, while Sir Anthony served the lamb cutlets.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Edith exhaled, gesturing helplessly around them. "Will you be looking for another secretary?"

"Do you want me to?" Sir Anthony asked quietly, lifting the wine bottle.

Edith fiddled with her napkin as he poured her a glass. "Well… you'll have so much else to do, won't you? Mrs Dale being ill. The house. Pip." She shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if Everington had left your ledgers…" Another little embarrassed shrug. "You don't need to worry about finding another secretary on top of all that, surely."

Sir Anthony lifted his wine glass and toasted her with it. "Thank you. I… appreciate it. Will ten shillings be enough?"

Edith blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"As a pay rise. Ten extra shillings a week. Will that be satisfactory, given that you'll be doing the job of two people?"

"Don't be silly, sir." Edith set aside her cutlery. "I didn't offer because I wanted… wanted to… "

"To hold me to ransom?" he asked, a wry smile playing about his mouth.

Edith narrowed her eyes playfully. "For that, sir, I shall take your ten shillings extra a week and not even feel a little guilty about it."

"Mercenary girl," he chuckled - and with that, they lapsed into comfortable silence as they finished their dinner.


Edith felt warm and content and well-fed; by the time they had cleared their plates and moved to the sofa in front of the fire with their coffee, she felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and it had been a comfortable, utterly relaxed smile that she gave her employer as he sat down next to her.

The conversation had been light, for the most part - what they ought to get Pip for Christmas, what Edith could take to Mrs Dale at the hospital the next day, the places they might like to visit on the promised London trip that summer. Edith felt, for the first time since arriving home, really, that all the ache and estrangement and distance of the past few months was finally lifting from her; it felt now like nothing more than a bad dream, brushed away by a sunny morning and a good breakfast.

"I suppose we shall have to start thinking about putting the Christmas trees up soon," Edith offered, as the talk between them lulled somewhat.

"Mmm, we shall indeed," Sir Anthony agreed. "Look - " (he nodded his head towards the mantelpiece and the mirror that hung above it) " - Mrs Cox has already started the decorations."

Edith looked. The green leaves and tiny white berries were unmistakeable.

"Mistletoe," she whispered, very quietly. She was fiddling with her coffee cup, toying with the spoon. At length, she set it aside, and very steadily went to the door. Her hands felt just the tiniest bit shaky, and she felt… distant… somehow as if she - Edith - were not in control of herself at all.

Behind her, she felt Sir Anthony rise - ever the gentleman - but he said nothing, and the only sound in the room was the click of her turning the key in the lock.

"Edith?" he asked, his voice somewhat confused.

She looked rather pale as she moved towards him again. "Sorry. I just thought… well, other people do rather have a habit of interrupting, don't they?"

"Interrupting?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded sluggish and stupid. She was so beautiful, in the firelight - so beautiful all of the time - and she was moving towards him as if she…

"Yes," she finished, letting out a sigh of shy laughter. "At moments like this. With us. And… it is tradition." Her eyes flicked towards the mistletoe once more, and it hit him like a blow to the stomach, leaving him breathless with joy, what she was planning. "And," she continued, right in front of him now, her eyes wide and lovely, "it - it would be frightfully bad luck, wouldn't it, if we…?"

She was already leaning up on her tiptoes, when he agreed, softly, "Yes. Frightfully bad luck."

His hand was on her waist, somehow, his head bending towards hers - and then their mouths pressed softly together.