A/N: Another huge thanks to the guest reviewers, especially when they leave such thoughtful comments. I hope this week's chapter will satisfy you and will be enough of a thanks for the kind words I always receive (and not from guests only!). You guys really make my days :)

Chapter 17: In the heart of darkness - part II

30 July, 1925

Bertie had decided to use Brancaster's chapel to hold the service. The village church would have been much more accommodating, but it would be a pain to make sure that all the guests would have a means to arrive in time at Brancaster afterwards, especially the farmers and tenants who had written to Bertie en masse to find out when and where the service would be held. Besides, making use of the chapel had been a way to ensure that the entire staff could come to pay their respect. In a parody of a marriage, Bertie had arranged the seating to reflect the social divide; on the left side, the one which would have been occupied by the bride, stood the aristocracy, headed by Lady Rothbury and her daughters, with the second row occupied by Cousin James and Sir Michael Arlet, Florence's husband. On the right side, the one belonging to the groom, Bertie stood tall, flanked only by his mother. Behind him, in a move that had possibly offended the majority of the congregation, and that even his mother had opposed (she had commented once on the fact that it didn't sit well with her that Bertie would keep Peter's staff, when they were likely to treat him less respectfully than they ought to – he had told her without a second's hesitation that they were staying, and made it clear he didn't want the argument ever resurfacing), he had placed Brancaster's servants, in order of years of service rendered, rather than seniority. He imagined Peter's face as he observed the congregation, and couldn't help but think that his cousin would have been ecstatic about Bertie's assertiveness on the matter. If the smirk he had spied on Yearnshire's face when the valet had learnt of the plan was any indication, Bertie thought he'd hit the mark quite effectively.

Harry, whom Bertie hadn't seen since before the news of Peter's death had reached him, had come with his entire family, and once the service was over, Bertie took the time to embrace Ada and thank each of the children immensely for being there. They might not have been Peter's family, but they were Bertie's much more than his Aunt Hilda and her husband, his Uncle Bartholomew.

The reception afterwards served as much of a reminder to Bertie of how truly alone he was. As guests mingled and pretended to have long faces when they noticed his presence or his eyes upon them, Bertie could see quite clearly how their looks were predatory at best and certainly calculating. There were no whispered defaming of his name, but Bertie rather thought it was all entirely due to his mother's presence rather than for lack of thought. There was one thing that could be said about Mrs Pelham: she commanded respect, whichever room she was in – Father used to joke that Mother was the only woman who could make the king bow. Bertie might have resented her callousness in regards to Peter, but he felt no small amount of gratitude at having her there with him in his hour of need.

He made sure to thank all the tenants and farmers in attendance for their presence and their kindness, as well as trying his best at making the rounds amongst the aristocracy, but he was more than a little glad to see that his mother handled that side of the room while Bertie had to dedicate his attention to the bishop who had presided the service and needed his full attention. When he was too tired to keep up the conversation, he was rescued by Florence, who gave him a kind smile as she captured the Bishop's attention and relieved him of his duty. Bertie naturally gravitated towards George and Margaret, who were the youngest attendants at the wake. Whereas Thomas and Elizabeth had found themselves mingling with other young men and women, the two youngest Armstrongs had no one but each other to rely on.

"Hi, you two," he said as he approached them.

"Hi, Uncle Bertie," Margaret said as she gave him a sad smile. "Are you very sad?"

"I am," he confirmed. "But it's all right, because I promised Peter I would become less sad about his death, soon."

"Well," George declared with absolute conviction. "That's good. Because a man always keeps his promises, and you're the best of men."

"Right," Bertie confirmed, as he ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm afraid this has made it harder for me to find some time to spend with you two. I still owe you a day each, don't I?"

"Don't worry, Uncle Bertie, we understand. You're very busy and you have to be all over the place to check all this stuff that you inherited." Margaret must have been given a simplified recount of what it meant for Bertie to be the new Marquess.

Suddenly, Bertie was struck with a thought. "What would the two of you say to a trip to Scotland?"

"Really?" George blurted out. His tone was a bit higher than he had probably intended it because it attracted some stares.

"I will have to ask your parents, but I have to go to Scotland to visit a place that belonged to Cousin Peter, and maybe you can come along. It won't be all fun, because I have to do some work, but you've never been to Scotland, and I think you might enjoy that."

"We say it would be great," Margaret assured him for the two of them. "Provided Mum and Dad approve, and only if you are really sure it won't be a bother."

Bertie smiled. "Do you see that man serving tiny food, who is close to the Bishop and the lady with the raven black hair?" He was drawing their eyes in Matthew's direction. The two children nodded. "His name is Matthew. Go tell him Lord Hexham asked him to show you to the play room. There should be some old toys still around that you might enjoy."

As soon as he had caught Matthew's eye to confirm the story the two children had relayed to him, Bertie turned around, ready to mingle with the next guest who needed attention. It was then that he realised it. Everyone was engaged in a conversation; there were two contiguous opened reception rooms, and while he stood in the middle of the largest, he understood how truly alone he was. He felt as useless in that moment as he had when his field assistant had died at his side during the Great Retreat after the Battle of Mons. Even more so, actually; he had, then, at the very least had the duty of keeping his men in line and alive. Now, his only duty appeared to be standing still while life went on without him. There was absolutely nothing for him to do. He was tempted to get a tray and start serving the guests, but even that thought seemed ridiculous when Charlton clearly had everything under the strictest control, and even the temporary absence of Matthew wasn't a good enough reason to slow the perfect rhythm the butler had established in serving and disappearing to fetch new trays. Bertie couldn't justify the anxiety that overcame him; everything was running smoothly, and he should have been relieved to know that he had no reason to worry himself with the thought of keeping his guests happy when they so clearly already were, but he felt himself short of breath and suddenly sweaty, well beyond what was normal for a summer day, even if he was spending it wearing his best mourning clothes. Hugh came to his rescue with a glass of water, and brought Harry with him soon thereafter in as inconspicuous a way as possible.

As his friend approached, the bubble which had seemed to envelop Bertie and choke him suddenly broke, and he could finally breathe more freely. Instead of causing a scene by sitting down or retiring to the corridor for a moment, Bertie put on a brave smile and headed towards his mother, pretending nothing was, or had been, amiss. The look Harry sent his way was not lost on him, but Bertie ignored it in favour of affecting, like so many of the assembled crowd, that there was nothing out of place.

The general public was sent on their way after another hour or so, while the staff gradually transitioned to the main dining room, where closest relatives and a select few members of the local aristocracy were going to be served luncheon. Mother had prepared the seating arrangements, placing Lady Rothbury and Lady Adele each side of her, and Florence and the Bishop each side of Bertie. Everyone else was sorted out in a way that made every guest comfortable; his mother seemed to know who liked whom, and had ensured that everyone would be content with their fellow commensals. The Bishop of Newcastle, who hadn't christened Peter and knew very little of him, but had been in service in his current post for approximately ten years, was not on his first visit to Brancaster, and seemed to be intent on regaling Bertie with all the details of his previous stay. Florence appeared only too delighted by the ordeal Bertie found himself in, and dared whisper in his ear that it was to be his penance for having decided to sit beside him rather than her mother or sister. Bertie just wished the Bishop had been more fascinated by sharing a name with him than the stonework. Bertie had thought the Deacon of Hexham or, at the very best, the Archdeacon of Lindisfarne would have been a high enough representative of the clergy for Peter's service. Unfortunately for him, however, the Right Reverend Herbert Wild had insisted on attending to the service himself, and there was little aside from 'thank you, Milord' one could say to a bishop offering his services.

Throughout the whole meal, Bertie didn't eat more than mere morsels of food, and he noticed the staff exchanging what should have been covert glances to each other whenever he refused a serving plate and denied a refill for his mostly full glasses of wine. His mother, even from across the table, seemed quite as worried as the servants, but she had her hands full with Lady Rothbury and Lady Adele to do much beyond doing her best not to be rude to them.

At the end, when fruit had been served, Bertie called for attention. The room feel in silent anticipation as Bertie stood tall, his back straight and his face composed. "A toast to the memory of the departed sixth Marquess of Hexham. May his soul find peace in death, and may his memory leave a lasting impression on those who knew and loved him." Over thirty glasses were raised to the toast, and still, Bertie's eyes couldn't help but fall upon Yearnshire as they did, as though of everyone present, he alone could truly capture the meaning of Bertie's toast. He, who stood still with a carafe of wine in his hands, ready to refill the glass of those who had never known and certainly never loved Peter.

9 August, 1925

Mother hadn't been too pleased to learn that Bertie had no intention of cancelling the reservations for the grouse season, but Bertie had been resolute in his dogged determination not to cancel – he might have become a millionaire, as the papers seemed to love reminding the entire universe, but he didn't necessarily think that should translate into his having to pay a fee to all those who had paid to stay at Brancaster, as well as reimbursement for their payments. He had begun works to restore a section of the Castle that had originally been arranged for a maiden aunt, which he didn't necessarily intend to send his mother to immediately, but which might be useful in the future, should he ever marry.

He hadn't told his mother he had broken things off with Edith, she had simply assumed that her absence and his lack of visits to either London or Downton were a direct result of Bertie's preoccupation with dealing with all of his new duties. He had left for Scotland three days after the service, wanting to escape his first very public appearance in the newspapers. George and Margaret had gone with him, though Ada hadn't been too pleased with the suddenness of his plans. It had done Bertie some good, but he had only allowed himself to stay two nights – he hadn't slept, of course, and had only eaten enough so that the children wouldn't notice how his appetite was lacking. He had spent the time alone, when the children had been asleep or playing some distance from him, in a near catatonic state, staring into space without really taking anything in. It seemed as though whenever he didn't think about work, Bertie was assaulted by an overwhelming despair, and thus had taken to actively trying not to think of anything and, failing that, to have some paperwork in his hands to hide the fact that he couldn't bear to be alone with his own thoughts.

Upon coming back to Brancaster, he had summoned Mr Carr (whose finances Mr Bell had closely scrutinised to discover that Bertie's assumption had been correct), and fired him on the spot – not before having told him that he had commenced a legal case against him. While Mr Bell's associate would deal with all the judiciary aspect of things, it had left Bertie with the unpleasant task of finding someone else to cover Mr Carr's job. He had sent Mother to Newbiggin again in the meantime, thinking it would do him good to be separated from her for a handful of days without necessarily having to tell her that he was extremely tired of her constant nagging. It helped him keep the peace to have a couple of days off from her. And if her absence meant that there was one less person monitoring his eating habits, he would certainly not complain about that.

In anticipation of Brancaster housing guests while he actually lived there, Bertie had decided to modify the rooms which he had made available for the renters. The library, which had become his sanctuary, the one place where he refused to talk about business of any kind, had suddenly become off limits for the guests. Brancaster had enough drawing rooms and ante-drawing rooms for renters to be happy whether or not they were allowed in the library. He had also reserved his study and the one which his mother used for her correspondence from time to time. Finally, he had selected a small dining room, which he used for breakfast and luncheon most days. There was enough space at Brancaster that Bertie didn't have to worry about even meeting the guests.

He heard a knock on his study door and called for whoever it was to come inside. Mr Charlton opened the door with a solemn air that was slightly more accentuated than usual.

"How can I help you, Charlton?"

"I hope His Lordship won't find me impertinent, but I was wondering if I could be made aware of your plans for Hexham House. I do believe it is time the matter was decided upon, Milord." Bertie blinked. "I am well aware that it is not an extreme strain on His Lordship's finances to keep the house closed, but it does appear a shame to have it closed and uninhabited when Brancaster will soon be quite crowded with strangers."

"Are you booting me out, Charlton?"

The Butler looked scandalised. "Not at all, Milord. I was simply suggesting this grouse season appears to be a perfect opportunity for you to deal with Hexham House."

"Since when have you become my agent?" Bertie asked, more baffled than upset. Indeed, he thought the entire thing quite funny.

"I should never dare to call myself your agent, Your Lordship, but you do seem quite intent on not hiring anyone to cover your old job, and with your new responsibilities it seemed only right that I should try to keep abreast of anything that might escape your notice while you are overly busy with more incumbent matters."

Charlton had been trying not-so-subtly to convince Bertie to get a land agent to substitute Bertie in his old job for the past ten days, on and off, with as little success as his mother had. Unfortunately for Bertie, where his mother was quickly convinced to raise the white flag when Bertie presented her with Mr Carr's case and the likelihood of someone incompetent or ill-intentioned worming his way into the job and wrecking Brancaster's future, Charlton had seen beyond Bertie's excuse and claimed that if not an agent who handled all the work, at the very least an assistant would be necessary. Bertie had yet to capitulate. Still, as he considered the future of Hexham House – because in spite of what Charlton probably thought, Bertie did listen – he had to relent to the evidence presented to him by Charlton's words. Hexham House needed sorting, and if Bertie left the following day, he wouldn't have to worry about renters inviting him to dine with them when they would inevitably find out that he was in residence.

"I'll ask Yearnshire to help me pack, and I'll leave tomorrow morning if you are quite so determined."

Charlton nodded, but made no move to leave. Bertie sighed internally before asking him if he had something else to say.

"Might you wish to bring Mr Yearnshire along with you on your journey, Milord, I think he could be spared here. After all, we do not provide guests with a valet if they do not have one."

"Of course, Yearnshire will come with me."

Satisfied that his voice had been heard, Charlton left the room, and Bertie went back to his job. He had been working on more mundane things since he had fired Mr Carr, primarily concerning the estate. Farmers and tenants could not be neglected on account of his being busy with tasks that had never been in his purview before. His mother was coming back that evening, and that meant he at least wouldn't have to worry about the renovation crew being unsupervised while he was in London; indeed, Mother was much more effective than he could ever be in policing the workers. In his two years as agent, he had managed to secure the running of the estate in such a way that it didn't actually require as close a monitoring as he had kept up for the entire time he had worked – something that explained why the estate had not suffered his increasing visits to London. Indeed, it was only his perfectionist and over-controlling attitude that had made him feel guilty whenever he had not been managing the estate. Barring any emergency, Charlton's assessment had been correct; now was the perfect time to tackle Hexham House.

The only reason why Bertie hadn't gone down to London, and had refused to even entertain the thought of going, was that going to London meant a possibility, however infinitesimal, of meeting Edith. Of course, now he knew her usual stomping grounds and her favourite restaurants and clubs, so he could do his best to minimise the chances of running into her, but the truth was he didn't trust his desires. Because the more he thought about not meeting her, the more he wanted to take a seat outside her flat and wait for her to come, so that he might apologise for leaving and ask her forgiveness. Unfortunately for him, the idea was ludicrous. The plan – which wasn't even a plan, but rather a fanciful idea born of weeks of frustration, restless sleep, and nibbled-at food – would have required him to think about all the things (and there were more things than just the way the revelation of Marigold's parentage had come about and the lack of trust Bertie had initially taken it to be, Bertie just hadn't put a name to them yet) that had gone wrong in their relationship for it to reach the breaking point, but Bertie was too scared by half to face them, which meant that even if he were to meet her outside her flat, he wouldn't know what to say to convince her – and himself alongside her – that getting back together was the right choice to make. Giving them another chance appeared to be a beautiful, even Edenic, idea, but in reality it was as much of a chimera as Lady Rothbury thawing to the idea of Bertie being the new Marquess. If he wanted to salvage his relationship with Edith, he would first have to stop and think at what wrong he had done – to her, certainly, but to himself as well. But no amount of consciousness would be able to convince him to actually start on the process.

No, he would go to London (with Yearnshire in tow, despite the fact that Bertie didn't truly think it necessary to bring the valet with him), and he would make a decision about Hexham House, even if it was just to keep it closed forever, and stay for a week or two just to change scenery. Whatever he would do, though, trying to reconcile with Edith was not on his list – however desperately he wished it could be.

A/N: If at any point during the reading of this chapter you found yourselves frustrated with Bertie, I will only remind you that the human mind is not the easiest place to inhabit, especially in the wake of pain, loss and grief. The chapter's title is very much