A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with this story and for your lovely comments. I'm back with a rather big chapter and some interactions with other members of the family. As always, feel free to let me know your thoughts!

Bastard

"If everyone would simply-" the somewhat frazzled photographer peered out from behind his black box shaped camera. "Stay steady. Please let's all try to look at the lens, shall we? Children?"

A great flash and boom came from his camera and with it a loud screech from Donk's lap. Marigold had the distinct impression that her smallest brother Oliver was very much indeed ready to be done taking photographs.

"Perhaps one more?"

From her place near George, Marigold leaned forward and looked across her grandparents, catching her other brother's eye. Regarding Oliver, it seemed Nigel was in agreement. He stood stiffly in his vest and tie, shaking his head. His eyes darted back and forth between the fidgety figure in their grandfather's arms and Marigold's own. Now taller than all of them, and stationed behind Nigel's shoulder, Sybbie regarded the Pelhams, her eyes sharp and inquiring. Caroline's hands moved to cover her ears.

Was there anything to be done? Nigel shrugged and so did Marigold.

They had no idea how to help. For the entire year and some months if his life, their little brother was quite opinionated about doing things and in general, despite his young age (and lack of words), the boy was vocal when he decided he was through doing whatever it was the world around him wanted to do.

Not Nanny Atkins, nor Papa, nor Mama could change his mind.

Donk bounced his knee gently, trying to calm the young toddler, but to no avail. Oliver pulled on the white collar of his dress shirt, throwing his body back hard against his grandfather's torso and kicking his legs out in front.

"Now, my dear boy," Robert soothed. "It's not as bad as all of that."

Hands flapping, his grandson continued to wail.

"Ollie!" Mama appeared on the other side of the photographer, calling to her son in an overly cheery voice.

Even at a distance, Marigold could see Aunt Mary roll her eyes. Though he was still tearful and pouting, Oliver went quiet and regarded his mother solemnly. When it was clear she had his attention, Edith waved to him with both hands.

"It's alright darling. Look here, you're nearly done. Don't fret."

The camera clicked one more time and with the sound of the shutter the spell broke. Mama's sing-song voice was all for naught.

Oliver managed to slide himself out of Donk's arms, properly worked up in earnest now, sandy hair and fancy collar equally disheveled. He crawled on the floor toward his mother and, in due course, his protestations set off the new baby.

(While Marigold found it to be a very nice home, Tom and Lucy's town house had smaller rooms than Downton or Brancaster so the noise seemed to fill the sitting room quickly. The house also did not have a proper name, so everyone just called it by it's street name, Victoria Grove.)

The added volume was certainly unpleasant, and Marigold didn't blame her littlest cousin for crying out. For someone only a couple weeks old, she'd had a rather over excited day. Already that morning, Ellen Branson's baptism had been held at the Catholic church in Ripon, followed by a journey back to Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy's home for a few commemorative photographs.

Tom stepped forward and took Ellie from Cora's arms, beginning to rock her gently. The rest of the children all scattered away from their poses. Nigel and Caroline moved to their their grandfather's side, while George moved off to stand near Granny Isobel. Sybbie joined Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy to coo at and sooth the tiny baby. Maud Bagshaw hovered near Tom's shoulder.

Marigold did not claim to know the woman well, but it seemed she was not the cooing type.

Marigold knew that Maud was her grandfather's cousin and not blood related to the Bransons (excepting Sybbie), but following Aunt Lucy and Uncle Tom getting engaged, the older woman had changed her will to make Lucy her heir. For grown-ups, as far as Marigold could tell, that was as good as being adopted and it made her pleased for Aunt Lucy.

If nothing else, it was very clear that though no blood existed between them, Ellen Branson had another Granny in Maud Bagshaw.

Unlike Oliver, who continued to protest (despite Mama's best attempts as well as the offending portrait session's conclusion), Ellie was quickly calmed by her family's presence. Curious and eager to take in more of her new cousin, Marigold stood near Aunt Lucy, observing the baby.

Cora laughed and addressed the photographer, "I do believe this marks the end for us, Mr. Glover."

"Thank God for that," Donk huffed, accepting Nigel and Caroline's proffered arms for leverage as he stiffly rose out of his chair.

"Right you are, your lord and ladyship," the photographer replied amiably as he began to clean up his kit. His expression grew sheepish. "I probably shouldn't have saved the pose with all the grandchildren for last."

"I daresay not," Aunt Mary remarked dryly. "But then who could have foreseen there would be tears involved in photographing children?"

Marigold caught her gaze and struggled not to giggle.

"We've got one with the godparents, some with all the three generations, as well as this with all the grandchildren," he continued counting down on his fingers. "I can't promise they'll all be looking at the camera, but I think I have something decent in each pose."

"I am sure the photos will be of excellent, Mr. Glover," Granny Isobel encouraged. "It takes a high level of gravitas to be able to organize this group."

Nanny Coates and Nanny Atkins returned and with them so too some semblance of order, though Oliver's scowl refused to fade. Nigel and Caroline began playing with blocks in earnest and Donk moved near them to continue an a rather animated discussion on the merits of dogs as pets. The discussion made Marigold smile.

"Dogs are much better companions than cats for gentlemen," Robert tried to convince Nigel. "Their loyalty is beyond question."

"That's true," Caroline agreed, very familiar with Donk's dog.

Nigel countered, "Cats are much more tidy."

"And more quiet," Caroline added eagerly.

Their beloved grandfather prodded, "What side are you on?"

The girl held her head high and squared her shoulders, "I would prefer a horse. Perhaps for my birthday?"

"That's a wish to discuss with your parents, my darling."

There was a long pause and then Nigel asked, "Can a gentleman have a beetle for pet?"

Donk grimaced.

The older members of the family settled in the sitting room for tea and chatting. The baby was passed around gently, and Marigold took her turn eagerly, reaching her arms out for the baby and oblivious to the look Sybbie gave, as well as the conversation around her. She studied the girl's small features, much like she had with her own brothers.

She fancied she was becoming very good at observing new babies.

There was nothing to eye, not in the soft skin or hair or sleeping features, that would let you tell that the baby was a boy or a girl. In retrospect, there was nothing revealing in Nigel or Oliver's features either, but Ellie was the first baby girl Marigold had seen. Very young babies had a certain similarity to them, she was sure. After all Ellie didn't look so different than her brothers and they shared no blood.

Marigold could tell however, that Ellen Branson was much plumper than Oliver had been, which made sense given she came later than expected, rather than early. She squinted and searched for resemblance to her family.

Then again, Marigold knew blood wasn't everything. After all, she looked much more like Nigel than Oliver did, and she was adopted. And her Mama and Aunt Mary were natural sisters but didn't resemble each other very much in the eyes of both strangers and those close to them.

To Marigold, Ellen didn't really look like Sybbie, but there was something in her chin that reminded her a bit of Uncle Tom.

"What's the verdict, Marigold?"

It was his voice that startled her from her thoughts. His eyes twinkled, "Shall we keep her?"

"She'd be rather difficult to send back," Marigold mused, eliciting a chuckle from the grown-ups.

"We would not dream of it," Maud added fondly.

Aunt Lucy chuckled, reaching her arms out. "Bring her to me Marigold."

Marigold obeyed dutifully and was pleased when Aunt Lucy patted the spot next to her. She slid onto the settee and though the rest of the children (excluding the baby and Sybbie) went out to the garden to play, Marigold was content to spend the rest of the visit chatting with her aunt and listening to the rest of the grown ups talk.

"I think Ellen is quite a lovely name, Aunt Lucy. Good for formal times, but nice for leisurely moments as well."

"What are you talking about, Marigold?" Sybbie rolled her eyes. "It's name, not a dress."

Unusually eager to explain herself, words fell from her mouth in a great burst.

"Some names are harder for some situations. My friend is called Louisa Antonia. I think her name very pretty but it can sound rather grand. And she does not enjoy it to be shortened. Which is all well and good, to sound so grand."

She paused for breath, feeling suddenly awkward, and added softly, "Excepting it is rather difficult to call out to her quickly during sport and games."

"I imagine it would be," Tom said amiably, holding his arms out for Sybbie to come to sit by his side.

The older girl obliged, but not without adding a final remark, "Sometimes you do say the strangest things, Marigold."

Letting the comment slide, Marigold turned back to Aunt Lucy.

"Ellen suits her. That's all I mean."

Lucy smiled and placed a hand on her knee, "I'm glad you think so. It would be quite unfortunate if her name didn't suit her."

"Indeed," Edith turned form her conversation with Granny Cora, having overheard Marigold's words from the other side of the room. "Ellen is well equipped for both the schoolroom and sport and game days."

The mostly comfortable chatting continued, though Marigold felt confused because every time she tried to look at Sybbie, the older girl looked away without so much as a smile, even when Uncle Tom nudged her.

At length, Maud commented, "I must say, the Catholic baptism is rather..."

Her face seemed to falter in discomfort before she was able to continue.

"It's rather more similar to an Anglican christening than I imagined. I don't know what I expected, but I am not ashamed to say I found that a rather comforting surprise."

"Yes," Robert agreed. "One can't be too hasty in assuming the worst."

Mama, Granny Cora, Granny Isobel, Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom all regarded him in wide-eyed surprise.

"I thought Catholics were a different tribe?" Uncle Tom quipped.

"Really Papa?" Edith Mama chuckled. "Didn't you once say you thought attending a mass was like gymnastics display?"

Donk cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, "A man can admit when he's been wrong."

"Not often," Aunt Mary whispered to Granny Cora under her breath, both biding their lips to keep from laughing.

Sybbie laughed, even smiling at Marigold, seeming happier than she had all luncheon, "He's right though! About mass. There is a lot of up and down."

By the time the afternoon sun shone through the windows, it was decided that the majority of their party would return to the big house, leaving Sybbie, Ellie, and the new parents with Maud Bagshaw in Victoria Grove.

Children and adults alike dutifully shuffled to the foyer, collecting coats and hats and handbags.

As Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy didn't keep servants like at Downton, Sybbie helped match the coat with it's owner. She was tense again by the time she got to Marigold's however.

She handed over the coat roughly and muttered, "Lucy is my step mother, you just write to her to her. I see her everyday."

"What?" Marigold replied confused, but in the shuffle was pushed aside and was outside with Mama getting into the car before she knew it driving back to Downton.

The next day, Mama, Marigold and the boys made their way back to Brancaster and Papa. He'd been unable to get out of council business, and so was glad to hear about the photo session, no matter how chaotic.

"I'll be able to see a bit of what I missed!"

In the days that followed, Marigold could almost forget her cousin's surly demeanor towards her.

Almost. Most of the time.

Being 10 years of age, old enough now that she didn't need Nanny Atkins to watch over her all the time, it had been decided that Marigold was old enough to have her very own room in the family living wing of the castle. Her own private place to sleep away from the boys and their mischief.

Bertie and Edith had given her the choice of 3 appropriate rooms and Marigold had happily picked the one facing the north lawn, just across the hall from the nursery. How could she not? It had an alcove with a window that was be perfect for reading. It also had the view of the main gate, so she could observe many comings and goings.

Marigold was allowed to decorate it as she pleased, Mama's only request being that the fireplace be left blocked up and modern heater installed instead, for warmth. So Marigold had picked purple linens and asked for a shelf for her own books and toys.

Her friend Bessie had moved to a new bedroom as well, as Bertie had hired her Papa to work as an auxiliary ground-keeper, which entitled he and Bessie to one of the estate cottages, much closer to Brancaster than their old house. Bessie had Marigold and Louisa Antonia to tea at the new cottage, giggling over their biscuits, each in their matching ribbons.

She wrote her updates as usual to Aunt Lucy, understanding of course that with a new baby at home, Lucy was busier than she had been in the past. Her replies still came, if only slightly less frequently. Marigold was happy to read about Ellen's first smile, Tom and Henry's participation in the county car show, and Sybbie's success at school.

But she slowly stopped receiving her own letters from her cousin anymore. And Marigold remembered her disquiet at the baptism, feeling confused.

She'd always felt a special closeness to her two older cousins, due to having lived with them in the nursery at Downton when she was small. Sybbie had always been a confidant and a friend in their time together, though being older, sometimes it felt like Marigold was being shepherded rather than confided in from the older girl's end. Sybbie was the one she turned too when George got out of hand.

Marigold mentioned the odd turn of events to Mama in the study, not long after copies of the christening photographs arrived.

"That doesn't sound much like Sybbie," Edith had soothed. "Perhaps with a new baby, things can get very busy. Especially as Tom and Lucy are not employing a Nanny..."

Later, Nanny Atkins had counseled Marigold to remember that Sybbie was now a teenager and that often times that involved moodiness and making regrettable statements.

Marigold wasn't so sure.

On the next visit to Yorkshire, Marigold, Nigel, and Oliver had time visiting their grandparents, while Edith and Bertie visited London for business. She'd hoped that Sybbie would come up to Downton for a visit as well, but her hoped where dashed when none of the Bransons came up from Victoria Grove.

On the last day, she asked George about it as they walked from the big house to the hospital in Ripon to meet Grannys Cora and Isobel as well as Aunt Mary. George always went to his Granny Isobel's for Saturday tea, but today there was some sort of a hospital function before hand, involving the other two ladies, and George had asked to for Marigold to join as well.

It was a brisk walk, but they were big enough to do it now. One way at least. At the close of the car shop, Uncle Henry would drive them all back home.

Her cousin knew Sybbie best, Marigold figured, so hoped he might help her understand.

"I don't think she means anything by it," George said, hands pushed deep into his pockets, after Marigold explained her confusion and distress.

Marigold scuffed at a pebble with her shoe, "It feels like she is mad at me."

"It's just a bit difficult, I think."

"Why?"

George frowned, removing his cap from his head and twisting it in his hands. His gaze met hers apologetically, "Only, you do get on very well with Aunt Lucy."

Marigold kicked the stone far down the lane in front of them.

"Sybbie gets on well your mother. You get on well with mine."

"Yes, but that's different," George countered.

Marigold sighed. Aunt Lucy was their newest grown-up, and in a way quite unlike the other aunts.

"Do you remember before your parents got married or before your Nigel was born?"

"Yes," Marigold replied quickly. "I remember my dress from the wedding. And the flowers."

"Oh," her cousin seemed surprised. "I don't remember Mama's wedding at all. I only remember a little bit from before Caroline."

"You telephoned," Marigold added, lips pursed as she recalled that time. "When Caroline came. Well, Donk put you on, I expect. Then, I believe I hung up on you."

"I don't remember that," George chuckled. "I think I remember Mr. Barrow being ill. And possibly a pig show..."

"I remember licking spoons in the kitchen with you. I don't quite remember meeting Mama, but I can sort of remember when I started seeing more of her..."

George nudged her, impressed, "Your memory is very good. Lot's of people forget things from when they were little."

Marigold shrugged. She only knew her own mind, it was hard to gauge what other people did or didn't remember.

"But Sybbie?" George continued as they reached the end of the lane the gate that separated the lane to Downton from the main road. He picked up a tall stalk of grass, as they turned right, towards Ripon.

"Sybbie is the eldest, isn't she? She can remember before Caroline or Nigel or Oliver, and she told me she can even remember from before you came to live with us. She remembers before Mama or Aunt Edith were married. A bit at least."

Marigold's brow furrowed.

"It has been just her and Uncle Tom, for a very long time," George's words were punctuated by the stalk of grass. "And now she's got a new stepmother, a new house, and a new sister. It's a lot to get used to. Imagine if you were just by yourself until you were two years older than you are now and then Aunt Edith got married and had Nigel?"

"Oh," she regarded her knuckles guiltily, not yet having put the situation into quite that view. The parts of what Nanny Atkins and Mama said fitted in well with George's assessment.

"That would be difficult."

"And before the wedding Sybbie always seemed worried about impressing Aunt Lucy. Because she saw her Papa was starting to love her ever so much. She didn't want to make trouble and tries her best. I do think they get on. But then you come for visits and write your letters, and it's like jam to bread."

George mimed breading jam on bread in the air with his hands.

"I personally avoid writing letters," he added proudly.

Kneeling down to pick up a pretty rock on the pavement, Marigold frowned.

"It's not as though Aunt Lucy likes me better than Sybbie. She always says in her letters how impressed she is with Sybbie's school work and kindness. How helpful she is with the baby."

"Still..."

The rock was cool and smooth in her hands.

"So, you think she is jealous?"

"I dunno, maybe a little," he shrugged. "She's been short with me lately, also. It's a bit lonely without her at the big house. Caroline can be rather-"

Marigold snickered, "Don't say dull."

George only tilted his head to one side, eyebrows raised.

Marigold was stuck again by how unpredictable blood and appearance really could be. Everyone said that her cousin was the spitting image of his late father Matthew Crawley, but moments like this, Marigold could only look at him and see his mother, Lady Mary.

"But you go to school and have visits don't you? With Sybbie."

"Yes, of course," he answered. "But she's in the grammar school now and doesn't want to play as much as before. Sybbie fancies she's quite the young lady now."

Reflecting on her cousin's words carefully, Marigold resolved to try to be more understanding of their oldest cousin and to try to speak plainly about it the next time she had the opportunity.

Marigold regarded George approvingly. Or her cousins, she often viewed him as the more active playmate. Running across the lawn, climbing trees, teaching them all questionable words. She never considered him to be overly perceptive.

"This is very helpful, Georgie."

"Such surprise!" he feigned indignation, but couldn't hold the expression at all before they dissolved into giggles.

They walked for the next few minutes in companionable silence, arriving at the out skirts of the village. George's demeanor grew somber and his hands returned to his pockets.

"Next term, I'm to start boarding at Eton College."

"All the way in Berkshire?" Marigold asked, wide-eyed.

George made a dramatic face, "I might actually have to write letters."

Marigold rolled her eyes.

It already felt as though George and Caroline and her grandparents were very far away even just being in Yorkshire. Granted, it was still fairly easy to get to and from Downton by train. Mama and Papa were proof enough of that. Still, would Eton allow for occasional weekend visiting Marigold was accustomed to while George lived at Downton?

She felt a pang of disquiet over the impending change.

They'd nearly made it to the central square, and moved from the road to pavement, weaving carefully between other pedestrians. Many in the village recognized George as the heir to the Earl of Grantham and a few greeted him with nods.

"It's Donk's old school. And the school of many a Talbot," George explained. He rolled his eyes. "Including the bishop."

Marigold could see through some of her cousin's false bravado. She didn't think she'd enjoy being away from her family for the entirely of a school term, and she could not imagine that George felt any differently, no matter he joked his about his sister. And her cousin seemed keenly aware of the many men who'd gone there before him.

They were near to the hospital now, making their way across the green that housed the great war memorial.

"Are you frightened?"

Again, the boy tried to play it off. "Clearly. They have truly awful uniforms."

"George."

He bit his lip and replied more honestly, "I'd rather go to the grammar school here, but I am to be the next Earl, so I must go to Eton. Donk says it is only half about the education anyway. The rest is 'rubbing shoulders and forging friendships with your peers'. "

Her cousin sounded anything but enthusiastic.

Even though she knew that in the aristocracy an Earl was lower than Marquess, sometimes it seemed as though her grandfather (and to a lesser extent her Aunt Mary) cared more about all of that, the status, the schools, the tradition, than her Papa did. Then again, he'd been a more distant heir, growing up a cousin with Peter, his Uncle and his own father each between him and the title. He'd missed out on the preparation that Donk had had and what George was getting.

And yet, without that, Bertie was as good a Marquess as any, in Marigold's eyes. The best, in fact.

When they stopped to wait out the cars before crossing the street to the hospital, Marigold put her hand on George's shoulder to comfort him. She only wished she could do more. He didn't say anything, but lifted his hand to cover hers in thanks.

They arrived at the hospital, sliding through the front doors just ahead of a pair of laborers carrying boxes to deliver and made their way through the lobby to the reception desk to inquire whether their relatives were ready. In the moment, Marigold paid no notice to the way the younger of the workers seemed to stare at them. After all they had rather rushed in front of him, and she already knew the her cousin was well known in the village.

The reception desk was located at the left side of the lobby, around a corner. It wasn't in it's own room, but the shape gave the impression of a separate room, and certainly offered some manner of privacy. George and Marigold approached the desk and the laborers paused just beyond the corner, unaware of the lack of door.

"Eddy," the younger voice could be heard. "You see those little toffs? Bloody horrible lot, that Crawley family. My Aunt Margie used to live on the estate. One of the girls is a bastard."

Marigold barely registered that anything had been said at all, let alone parsing out exactly what had been said, but George was already gone, rounding the door-less corner at a run. She ran, skidding on her feet trying to keep up with him.

"George!"

"You take that back, you big prat!" the boy shouted as he launched himself at the laborer, who dropped the boxes he was carrying. George swung out his arms and legs, aiming punches and kicks wildly.

"Oy!" the younger worker shouted, trying to push his attacker back. Their shoes squealed on the shiny hospital floors. "Get off me!"

Up close Marigold could see that he was not much more than a boy himself, but was clearly much older and stronger than Georgie. For a moment, she was too stunned to react and could only stare in horror. She looked to his partner and found the same panicked confusion in his eyes that were certainly in her own. She stood their, jaw hanging wide, completely at a loss as to what to do. The old man set down the boxes he was carrying and tried to pull George and his companion apart.

"Stop it!" Marigold finally screamed, fearful that her cousin might be injured by the larger boy. "Stop!"

The commotion drew the attention of hospital orderlies, one of whom managed to join the older laborer in pulling the pair apart. The younger man stood next to his colleague, body still, but eyes glaring. George was still restless and struggled in the arms of the orderly. The orderly beckoned and a man in the suit that Marigold didn't recognized emerged from the other side of the hall.

"What's all this?"

"He came at me, sir," the laborer explained to the new arrival. "I didn't touch him."

George twisted unsuccessfully, still held back, "I'd do it again! Let me go!"

The older man gestured to his companion and the pair stooped to collect their discarded boxes. He seemed afraid of the new man and turned to him.

"Just a misunderstanding, eh?" he tried to smooth things over. He glared pointedly at the younger worker. "Right, Cal?"

The youth ground his teeth as he gatherer his load but didn't reply. That answer seemed sufficient and the man continued.

"We'll be moving along now. We've got deliveries to make."

The pair and their boxes made a hasty exit. The orderlies only released George when he seemed less likely to chase them. It turned out that the last man to arrive on the scene was the acting hospital director and he'd been called away from the very same benefit that Marigold and George's family had attended. He led them to a bench outside a the auditorium where their Granny was finishing her speaking and told them to wait.

George scowled and sat on the bench with his arms crossed. Still shaken, Marigold cautiously slid to the spot next to him. She fought the unexpected urge to suck her thumb and instead found herself chewing on her nails, a sight Nanny Atkins would scold her for if she saw it.

At that thought, her hands dropped and she pulled the shiny rock from her pocket and ran her fingers around it to keep them occupied.

The scene played out in her head over and over again. It had all been so fast. Geroge flew into a fight as soon as he heard that word. With the B.

Bastard.

Marigold wasn't sure that she'd never heard it before and she knew it was a swear. But she didn't know what it meant. She would ask George, but he didn't seem interested in talking. Normally, George seemed to revel in the transgression of a swear, but this had made him fight. And made Marigold uneasy.

Neither of them said a word.

George was still red-faced and disheveled when Mama, Granny Cora and Granny Isobel arrived, each in their own way a picture of concern.

"George!" Aunt Mary demanded. "What's this I'm told about you fighting in the lobby?"

At the same time, Granny Cora leaned forward to inspect his askew jumper, "Are you alright?"

The boy only nodded.

Granny Isobel addressed Marigold, "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly, still shaken.

It wasn't until they'd settled in at Granny Isobel's house that George began to open up.

"He deserved it! I couldn't just stand by," George explained over a cup of tea. "They were talking about Aunt Lucy. They called her..."

His eyes darted around the table, seeming uncertain as to whether he should repeat the word.

"A bastard," Marigold supplied, brow furrowed.

She hoped they wouldn't scold her for the swear, given it was just explanatory.

Granny Isobel gasped, while Aunt Mary and Granny Cora exchanged unreadable but distinct glances. Marigold was equally surprised by his recount of events, as she hadn't thought the youth in the hospital was talking about Aunt Lucy. One of the girls, he'd said. Could Aunt Lucy be called a girl?

"I know she is illegitimate," he explained quietly. "I overheard you talking to Barrow about it, Mummy. When Cousin Maud updated her will. Because it has to stay a secret, but she still wants to look after Aunt Lucy."

Aunt Mary pursed her lips, "I told you no good comes from eavesdropping."

"Is that what it means?" Marigold asked. "That word?"

"Yes," Isobel answered, matter of fact as ever. "It's a degrading word to describe the child of unmarried parents."

Marigold knew that people were meant to be married when they children (though she was still curious to know exactly how that came to be once one was married, she did know more than when her brothers were born and that kissing was involved). The vicar in Hexham handled weddings, christenings and funerals- preferably in that order. Everyone she knew had married parents, except apparently her Aunt Lucy.

It made Marigold wonder.

"It's not a fair insult. The parents are the ones who didn't get married, not the child," George mumbled, as his hand worried the napkin next to his plate.

"That's very astute," Granny Cora complimented softly and the women at the table all nodded.

"It's not the preferred circumstance for having a child, and many in society condemn it cruelly," Granny Isobel continued, explaining more to Marigold.

Her thoughts were racing.

She had only the vaguest of recollections of her life before moving to Downton. She was more a girl than Aunt Lucy? Had her other parents been unmarried before the Pelhams adopted her? She felt such a part of Bertie and Edith and her family that she'd never had cause to ask. The details of how she came to be with her family seemed immaterial, given she was with her family and she loved them. She wasn't sure how but she knew that, unlike many adopted people, she wasn't a proper orphan. She knew there was a before, but in her life it hardly mattered.

After all, in the eyes of the law, Marigold was a Pelham.

"That's why there's a swear for it?"

"Well, yes," Cora reluctantly answered, eyes kind but somehow also probing. "I believe a lot of it is to do with shame. The world wants to shame anyone who hasn't followed the church, though it isn't that simple. But as with all swear words, it's not something said in polite company. And it certainly isn't kind."

"And to George's point, he is entirely correct. It's not a very fair or modern way to look at it," Isobel stated proudly, patting her grandson's shoulder. "I've known women who have had a child out of wedlock, and I believe they and their children deserve kindness and opportunity as much as anyone."

George ducked his head and half smiled at the praise.

"Besides, times are changing," his grandmother continued. "After all, Princess Charlotte, Duchess of Valentinois was born bastard and she is now the sole heir to the principality of Monaco."

Cora and Mary murmured in agreement and sipped their tea. Marigold's eyes narrowed as she observed their apparent unease. It wasn't the first time Granny Isobel had seemed more free minded about a societal topic than the rest of the family, (though the friction most often occurred with her grandfather and late great grandmother) so perhaps their reaction was down to that.

Or, Marigold mused, there was more to be said on the subject. Perhaps.

"While your intentions were admirable," Aunt Mary lectured her son. "You cannot go around hitting anyone who says something you dislike, George. I certainly don't want you to do so at Eton. I understand what happened and I am sympathetic but you will face consequences for this. We'll discuss what they are at home."

"Yes, Mummy."

Discussion during the rest of the tea turned to other topics, but Marigold didn't particulate as her thoughts remained turned inward.

The man in the hospital had said girl, not lady.

He'd been disgusted by the Crawley family, and as much as she loved Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy and as much as the family included them in everything, even Marigold knew the Branson's were a bit different. Only Sybbie, through her mother, was related to the Crawley's and she didn't expect a stranger in the village to know that many details about the inner workings of the family.

Then again, even if he was speaking of Aunt Lucy, how was he to know? Unlike George he couldn't have overheard the discussion of Cousin Maud's will.

A question began to form in her mind. Caroline was most definitely legitimate. And Sybbie and Ellie too.

Marigold was largely silent on the ride home as well. Her quarrel with Sybbie seemed a minuscule thing now.

Henry seemed rather impressed at George's scuffle so the boy say up front as they discussed something about weight and mathematics involved in kicking someone tall. Their voices filled up the car and covered up the fact that the feminine riders in the back were silent. Aunt Mary and Granny Cora seemed to speak to each other without speaking, eyes shining.

Unable to distract her hands with her pebble souvenir, her nails were at her lips once more. Her eyes flashed to Aunt Mary and she could tell the older woman noticed, but she did not scold her. Instead, she extended her hand and gently pulled Marigold's fingers into her own, holding her hand the rest of the way back to Downton.

That, as much as anything else, solidified the weight of the question in Marigold's mind.

When they arrived at Downton, George decided to join Henry in parking the car in the garage, leaving Marigold, Cora and Mary at the front door. Barrow smiled and ushered them in through the front door, but Marigold could not bring herself to smile back as he collected the hats and gloves of the older women.

She followed them through the Outer Hall listlessly, as they made their way to the stairway, until she could not bring her feet to take one step further. Marigold looked up from the bottom stairs.

"I am not stupid."

"No," Aunt Mary agreed voice trailing into a sigh as she uneasily paused on the third step before turning to face her niece. "Far from it."

Granny Cora retreated down to Marigold's side, pulling her into a sideways embrace.

"That man," Marigold continued hesitantly. "The man George hit. What he actually said was..."

Her eyes cast to her shoes once more, suddenly unable to hold their gazes. The shoes were dusty and scuffed from the long walk to the hospital.

"He said one of the girls."

Her heart thudded in her chest.

"Aunt Lucy is not a girl. If he meant a girl, then..."

Marigold's voice wavered and she looked up into her grandmother's eyes.

"Did he mean me?"

Granny's embrace grew tighter and her chin felt wobbly.

"Is that why my first parents couldn't keep me?"

"Darling," Cora kissed the top of her head and rocked her gently. "I think this might be a better discussion for you to have with your Mama."

It was answer enough for Marigold.

Lost in her thoughts, she allowed her aunt and grandmother to lead her up the stairs and into her mother's old bedroom. She accepted Granny's offer to have Baxter draw her a warm bath and was glad to be excused from dinner. It would have been hard to keep up a normal face with everyone. She was fine to take the dinner sent up by Mrs. Mason. Donk would be certain to try to find a way to cheer her up, but Marigold wasn't sure that was possible.

She needed to think and so think she did.

She was not legitimate. Perhaps, it was the shame of that that made her real parents send her to live at Downton to be adopted. If it was such a shameful thing, then perhaps they could not abide to keep her. Marigold wasn't really sure what happened in those sorts of situations. She supposed she could ring or write to Aunt Lucy to ask but she found her self as though glued to her bed.

If it was true, then Marigold's adoption by Edith and Bertie was that much more generous. It was their reputation already in Hexham, but it would be that the tenants and villagers did not even know the half of it.

Marigold didn't even know the half of it.

On reflection, she realized that she'd never really had cause to thank her parents for adopting her. Not properly. Where would she be, had her Mama not come across a babe in need of a home and been generous enough to try to give that to her? Or if her Papa had not wanted to adopt her after the marriage? Who would she be?

These questions had never crossed her mind.

In the eyes of the law, Marigold was a Pelham. Even though she knew she was adopted, that was her name and how viewed her self. Did it matter where she came from before?

To the family? To the world?

To Marigold herself?