Author's Notes: As said in the summary. I've decided to post this story in sections. Part 1 is complete and deals with Edith and the Crawley family beginning to reconcile. The natural progression of Edith's marriage is also seen, but a show-level 2 year time skip has occured.

General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical ableism, lack of good mental health care or even understanding of the concept, childcare concept we would find appalling, classism, sexism, and victim blaming. Not to mention different concepts of things like consent. I will try to post specific warnings per chapter.

Disclaimer: All recognizable works belong to BBC, Julian Fellows, the wonderful actors and actresses who brought Downton Abbey to life, and a number of other people. This work is produced for entertainment only and no profit is made from it.

Warnings Ch. 1: Mentions of past emotional abuse. Adults with childhood emotional disorders processing the damage done by them; to themselves and others. General bad family dynamics being sorted out. Lots of feels.

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April 1916

"There's a problem with my ticket." Lady Mary Crawley, flustered and determined, approached the uniformed man behind the little window with every ounce of haughty superiority flowing through her veins.

The station attendant looked back at her with the level of disdain that can only be reached by someone with a secure pension and a lifetime in the service industry. In the face of it a mere hereditary aristocrat didn't stand a chance. It was impressive that Mary managed not to wilt entirely.

"How may I help you, miss?"

"Lady."

"How may I help you, Lady."

The word did not return to her sounding like a title. Mary put her chin up. Blank composure greeted her. Holding onto her temper by the very tips of her fingernails, Mary repeated herself.

"There's a problem with my ticket."

"What might be the problem?"

"It was supposed to be a ticket from London to the Downton station, but I was told it's only to Leicester." Mary explained shortly. "I need a new ticket that gets me to Downton."

"May I see your ticket, Lady?"

Mary handed it over and the old man hummed at it and nodded.

"This is a ticket from London to Leicester, but I'll offer you a ticket up to Downton station at half-off for your trouble."

Mary flushed darkly and tightened where her fingers were wound through each other. The leather of her traveling gloves squeaked.

"I'm afraid that won't do. The ticket was purchased in advance and paid in advance."

"I'm sorry, Lady, but I can't give you a second ticket for free."

"Then you'll need to issue the ticket on credit and I'll settle at the Downton Station."

"Can't do that, either."

"My father is the Earl of Grantham."

Quietly and very obviously, the man in the blue uniform looked first left and then right after leaning out of his little cut-out window.

"Then, my lady, where's your maid?"

Mary flushed and swore to herself that this was the last time that she ever tried to travel alone.

"I do not require a maid to travel."

"But you need an earl to handle your tickets?"

Mary opened her mouth to retort, but one calloused hand waved in front of her before she could respond.

"Next!"

Mary found herself letting out a gasp of shock as the roughly dressed man behind her shoved her out of the way with a shoulder, and then the other four people waiting in line stepped forward. Standing there, helplessly, she looked about her and then strode back further onto the platform. Looking left and right, Mary found herself sincerely hoping that her luggage had had a better time of it than she was. Of course it is, you sent Anna home with the luggage yesterday. Mary ground her teeth as she recalled sending the worried blonde home with an airy statement about Lady Harris' maid seeing to her the next morning. Everything will be fine, I'm a grown woman.

Now, here she was, stuck in an unfamiliar place with no way to get home and no idea of how to go about it. She needed to let everyone know what happened. She needed help. Mary simply didn't know how or where to find it when she didn't even have the money for a telegram!

The station was the usual wartime bustle. Men in green uniforms at every turn. Women of all classes bidding farewells or ferrying children about or, in these difficult times, traveling alone from one part of the country to another. Which was all Mary had wanted to do. Just to prove she could. When she saw a woman her age, dressed all in black, sitting alone in the shadows against one wall, Mary looked away quickly. She wouldn't think of Matthew. After all, what right do you have? You ruined it. Focus on what you can have.

"-nd you must be careful, Anthony."

"Sweet one, I shall. Now, shh, please, you mustn't cry."

"I'm not crying."

Mary froze and found herself to be a comet caught in the gravity of some passing celestial body, turning against her will and taking the three steps needed to come around a small tower of luggage. From her new vantage point, Mary found her target visible. Before she could think, she stepped closer and watched, hidden by the luggage.

It had been almost two years since anyone at Downton Abby (save for Sybil, who Mary was positive was visiting Loxley in secret) had seen Lady Edith. Her sister had not returned to them after the garden party. She had not written. The Crawleys were not received at Loxley.

They'd heard through connections when the Strallan family relocated to their London house, and learned it was because Sir Anthony had been given a rank and position within military intelligence. Mary was so caught up in what she was watching she didn't even think of the myriad of jokes that had been made regarding the use of the word "intelligence" at the expense of Sir Anthony or her sister.

Sir Anthony stood, his shoulders and head bowed, and his arms wrapped tightly around his wife. Mary found herself helplessly taking in every detail. Sir Anthony, if anything, looked more worn than he had when they'd last seen him. His height and breadth, however, seemed emphasized by the familiar green uniform and the cap he wore, and the way he folded himself around his wife.

Edith's hair glinted brightly in the light, and if Mary's eyes automatically found the thinness of her lips and the bumpy line of her nose, they were forced to track a few other things that had changed. None of those things, however, caught her attention as much as the tiny hand peeking from between the two bodies, waving up near Edith's ear. That development Mary had heard of, but until that moment it hadn't seemed real.

Strallan leaned up slightly and Edith stepped back just the tiniest bit, and while the man kept his arms around her sister, Mary bit her lip as she got a better look at the baby Edith was cradling. Well, not precisely. She had one arm wrapped around the baby's back, her hand steadying the little one as it sat on his mother's other forearm. Little white-stockings and black slippers covered his feet beneath the usual white gown. A cap rather devoid of lace but featuring a line of little yellow ducklings embroidered about it covered a surprisingly thick mop of towheaded curls intent on escape.

"Dada, da! Dada!"

Mary took a rattling breath, realizing she had been holding it only as her nephew patted at his father's face, wriggling for attention. She watched as the baronet blinked heavily and changed his grip, reaching out to take the baby and press a kiss to his head, getting a sloppy kiss to the cheek in return.

"There's my boy." Sir Anthony reached up and cradled the back of his son's head, pressing him close. "Now, Philip, you're going to need to be a good lad and take care of your mother while I'm gone. You are man of the house, you understand?"

"Da, ba-choo!"

"Good, I know I'm leaving your Mama in very capable hands and you'll - you'll keep things running ship-shape while I'm gone." Another kiss to the boy's cheek and then Mary's eyes left Edith's shaking hands - reaching up for her child - and were drawn to her sister's face.

Longing, fear, hurt, love - it was all wound up together in an expression that shouldn't have surprised Mary. After all, nobody could go anywhere these days without seeing it, could they? In a mother's eyes as they frantically read the casualty lists in the papers. At every train station in the country searching for one of the lucky ones sent home. Still, Mary unconsciously clutched at the front of her jacket as she watched her sister.

"I - I don't want you to worry. About Loxley or the tenants or - or anything but getting home to us, Anthony. I want you to -." Edith's attempts to shore up the man she was obviously bidding goodbye to collapsed even as she gathered the softly babbling baby against her. "Oh, God, Anthony, why did you-."

"Needed to be done, darling, I know. I know." And Mary watched as he gathered his wife and son close again. "I'm sorry. So sorry, my sweet one."

"Don't be sorry, just come home as soon as you may. Just come home." Edith's response was quiet in the rush of the station, but Mary heard every word. All around them, people politely turned away from the couple as they took their leave. Mary found that she couldn't do the same. "I- I love you and you' mustn't - I."

At that point Mary's jaw dropped open in shock as she watched Anthony Strallan lean down and press his lips to his wife's mouth and Edith fall into him, all but crawling into his coat in what was the least appropriate kiss Lady Mary Crawley had ever seen in public. Let alone one managed with a baby between the people doing the kissing! The generally indulgent crowd at the station began to look slightly uncomfortable at the open-mouthed display of affection. One older lady tutted loudly.

Neither of the Strallans seemed to notice. Both pulled back just slightly, and it was only when another uniformed man, who Mary recognized as Strallan's valet, came forward that they began to reluctantly separate. The baronet leaned down to cup his son's chin and plant a kiss on the baby's brow.

"I love you both more than the world. Take care while I'm gone. Don't go out if the weather is foul, Edith, and please mind your driving. Listen to Nichols about the estate but trust your own judgement. If you need any help, write to either my aunt or the Gervases. And me, I shall need every word, dearest darling."

"I will. I will, just – just don't you dare do anything heroic."

"Never crossed my mind, sweet one."

"Anthony, I love you."

Another kiss, this one quick and hard, and then Sir Anthony Strallan stepped back and boarded the train. Mary stood in the shadow of the luggage like a thief peering around a corner. As she watched, Edith stood there and held her son in her arms, helping him wave his little hand at the train as it began to pull out of the station, heading south. The little boy's piping cries of, "Bye-bye!", cut like razors.

"Ouch!"

Mary cried out in surprise as the stack of luggage rattled backwards on its trolley. As her hiding place deserted her, the carpet bag perched precariously at the top fell down, knocking Mary's hat off, the pins tugging painfully as it broke free, and cracking her firmly on the back of the head. Stooping to pick up her hat she shot a sharp look at the fellow moving it.

"Sorry, lady. Maybe don't hide behind the luggage next time?"

Setting her hat back firmly on her head, Mary stepped back and paused. Frozen in place, two pairs of brown eyes, one as dark as coffee and the other brandy-brown, locked on each other. As Edith stared at her in shock, Mary mustered up her courage.

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"Good morning, Lady Strallan."

"What are you doing here?"

The words tore out of Edith's mouth, and she tightened her grip on her son even as the back of her mind informed her she was being silly. Mary was hardly going to snatch her son out of her arms and toss him onto the tracks as she'd done with that stuffed bunny all those years ago. Still, Edith couldn't quite help the prudent half-step back she took as she adjusted her hold on Phillip.

"I… I'm trying to get home." Mary replied sharply, then cleared her throat. "There's been a problem with my ticket, however."

"Oh?"

"Well, the servants didn't get me the correct one and I need to purchase another, but you know how father is!" Mary shot back and, reluctantly, Edith found herself nodding.

"Ladies do not carry cash. Besides, it's dangerous to go anywhere alone, so why would you need it?"

"Yes, exactly. If you need to go somewhere, we'll make arrangements beforehand."

It took a moment for Edith's mind to catch up to her quotation. Then she realized Mary's problem. At the same time, she blinked in surprise. Surely she was wrong…

"Mary are you traveling alone?"

Her sister's exasperation burst out of her with a dismissive and agitated hand-wave.

"I sent Anna home yesterday with the bulk of the luggage. I'm a grown woman of twenty-three, for Goodness' sake. I'm old enough to get from London to Downton, I should think." Mary huffed, then tapped her foot and looked away in barely concealed and badly agitated distress. "With the correct ticket, mind you."

"Yes, that does help."

They stared at each other, at a silent impasse. Edith looked at her sister and found nothing about her she could call a change. In Edith's eyes, Mary was still as pristinely beautiful as she always was. Her hair gleamed like polished walnut as it framed her face, tucked backwards into a neat chignon. She was wearing a creamy silk shirt; Edith could just see the collar beneath the neat charcoal colored jacket her sister was wearing. A long skirt in lighter gray wool complimented it and the toes of relentlessly shined black short boots peered out from beneath its hem. With demure gold earrings in each ear and a beautifully turned hat, her sister was - of course - the very picture of elegance.

Edith had no way of knowing that her own appearance had surprised her sister. Of late, she'd taken to wearing her hair in a slightly looser style, with its curl emphasized rather than straightened. The knot was just her plait, neatly doubled-over and pinned in place with the ends tucked beneath.

If asked, Edith would have said that her appearance had, if anything, simplified. The practicalities of having a one-year-old child saw to that, if nothing else. Her own skirt with its dark blue suit wool was not particularly fancy. The jacket was well-cut and fitted, but hardly spectacular. The shirt beneath it practical cotton. Her boots plain and brown; Edith's fashion choices were nothing to write home about, and surely anyone would find the significant leather handbag suspended from her elbow dowdy. The only thing mildy fashionable about her was the avant garde cloche hat she was wearing, and that was a choice made as much of necessity as preference. Phillip had a far harder time yanking one of those off her head than a broader-brimmed model.

A part of her - a large part of her - was waiting for Mary's first cutting comment. So, she had absolutely no idea that Mary had taken in the clothes - better tailored and chosen correctly for her figure - or her hair - softer to frame the angles of her face - and admitted with the grudging approval of an artist, that all of it suited Edith very well. At least not until Mary opened her mouth and pigs began to fly.

"You're looking well, Edith."

"I - thank you."

"Marriage seems to suit you."

Edith almost winced, her heart catching as she thought of her husband. On a train currently barreling away from her and bound for the bloody killing fields of France. Duty. He's going to do his duty. She corrected herself silently. It does no good to think terrible thoughts.

"Thank you." Edith cleared her throat and spoke to the present problem. This one she could cope with. Mary no longer had any power over her and for the moment... For the moment it was something she could do. Something that, reluctantly, she felt she had to do.

"You need a ticket home?"

"I - yes." Mary finally frowned at her. "Did that somehow escape your attention?"

Edith bit down on her impulse to leave her sister at the station. Mary was most emphatically not her problem. That said, who left a young woman alone at a rail station? Edith didn't want to be the answer to that question. That left her one option, and besides… Mary's sudden appearance felt like some kind of celestial challenge, and Edith was determined not to be cowardly in the face of it. Not as she was facing so many fears so much worse than this. Edith adjusted her son on her hip and shifted her bag so she could get into it as she turned towards the obvious task at hand.

"No. The train North should be here in about twenty-five minutes, assuming it arrives on time. I'll spot you a ticket."

"T-thank you."

At least she has as much trouble saying it as you do!

Edith resisted the urge to buy her sister a ticket that would have her rubbing elbows with the very sort of people they'd been raised to avoid. Instead, she purchased another first-class ticket and placed it into her sister's hand without any fuss. Well, only some fussing, but it wasn't hers.

"Come now, Sunshine, let's not."

"Tuck!"

"You don't need to drool on anyone's ticket today, young man." Edith huffed and bounced on the balls of her feet, settling her son. "Why is it that the more suspect the item, the greater your desire to chew on it?"

"Dada!"

Edith's heart lurched. In her arms her grizzling son looked around, having only just now realized that the other figure around which his life orbited was absent. Before, the hustle and bustle of the station had distracted him. Now, gripping two little fistfuls of his mother's jacket and hauling himself up to look to and fro, he realized that Daddy was nowhere in sight. Fear and confusion crossed his cherubic face and he aggressively patted at his mother's collarbone.

"Dada? Dada! Maaa? Mama, Dada!"

Edith swallowed against the threat of her own sudden tears and immediately gathered her son closer to her, settling his head against his shoulder and shushing him softly as several sets of eyes around the station turned towards her. Understanding lit the faces of several men and women. Finding it invasive and entirely too much, she turned towards the nearby wall and cuddled her son, doing her best to shush him as his crying worked its way up and down the ladder of infant alarm, punctuated by her assigned title and Anthony's.

"Do - would you like me to-."

"No!" Edith winced at the sharpness of her tone as she turned and saw Mary draw back, a look of shame flickering across her features and startling her sister. "No, I… we're fine."

"Are you here alone?"

"No." Edith breathed out carefully past the knot in her throat and kissed her son's forehead, rocking him against her shoulder as his tears turned to sniffling. "My secretary is down at the shops; she'll be back in a moment."

"You're secretary? Did you open up an office in between marriage and children, then?"

"If I did, at least I could say I've made my time useful, don't you think?"

"I think Granny would have something to say about the idea that a lady needs a use like a rake or a shovel."

"Mary, take your ticket and shut up."

Her sister gawked at her in shock. Edith turned away and found a bench, settling her son in her lap. Silence, awkward and thick, fell between them as Mary hovered nearby. Edith let it as she smoothed Pip's gown and tried to keep him occupied. She finally distracted him from his search for his father with the advantageous arrival of a passenger carrying a crated hen. The indulgent older farmer in question beamed and was more than happy to hold his own charge so that the baby could feel its brown feathers and coo in delight at its clucking.

"You're very comfortable with that."

Edith refused to take it as an insult. Resettling her son on her lap as she retook the bench, she turned and looked her sister in the eye. She was a wife and a mother. She was happy. She had nothing to fear from Mary Crawley's wit.

"Anthony's a much more involved landowner than Papa, and quite happy up to his elbows on the home farm. A hen in a crate is hardly one of the maharajah's caged tigers."

"I meant motherhood."

"Oh." Edith had no idea what to say to that, but Mary wasn't finished. Instead, she went on, her tone hesitant and almost… nice?

"It suits you." Mary offered up again, hesitating then ploughing on. "I mean, you're looking well."

"Are you dying?"

Mary was too much a lady to snort but she huffed out an incredulous laugh. Edith refused to blush and shrugged instead.

"Not that I know of." Mary smoothed her skirt and then looked up. "I mean it. How - how old is he? I didn't mean to - to overhear anything with you earlier. I know that sort of thing is - must be very private. But - Phillip?"

"Me!"

Her son, who'd subsided into leaning sleepily against her collarbone, now turned in her lap to look more fully at Mary. He also, as he often did at mention of his name, pointed the fingers of one hand firmly inwards and patted his chest. Edith couldn't quite help the pride and happiness that overflowed her at that.

"Yes, you. What a smart son I have!" Edith smiled down at her son as she answered her sister. "He's just had his first birthday two days ago. I'm… very glad Anthony was here for it."

"So am I." At Edith's incredulous look Mary finally mustered up a proper glare. "Really, I'm not a total monster. I - I hope you're happy with Strallan. I mean, you - you are obviously. I -really, the way you two - in public? But forget that. Just…I wish you both well. Very well, especially given that he's…"

Silence fell. Edith found herself marveling. It had been years since she and her sister had sat in the same room. Now Mary was being almost presence. She doubted absence made the heart grow fonder, but maybe the knowledge that she wasn't going to be a daily annoyance made it grow civil? She never answered that letter.

Well, if Mary could be civil, so could she.

"Thank you." It got easier to say with repetition. Now just what to say next. Well… "Have you heard from Cousin Matthew? He writes now and again, from France, but I imagine he writes Downton more often."

"Yes, he writes. Papa mainly, but you know Sybil. She's nearly as obnoxiously excessive in her correspondence as you are."

Edith bit her tongue at that and was surprised at the barely audible addition Mary tacked on, her sister's face turned away as she spoke.

"We all want everyone to come home alright. This dreadful war. All the killing. It's just -" Mary cut her off, hard, but added. "And I want him to be happy, of course. Matthew, I mean."

"Of course." Edith allowed, wondering what to even say to her sister when there was no animosity between them. Should she try the weather?

The awkward silence returned, but thankfully was broken up by the arrival of her secretary. She'd been so startled by Mary's decency that she hadn't thought to prepare her sister. Not that she would have. Just because she didn't want to fight with Mary didn't mean she was a saint.

"There you are Lady Strallan."

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There was a scale to everything in life. This includes beauty. Lady Mary had always been very highly rated on that scale. Her grace and demeanor, her finely grained skin and lovely bone structure, her slender form and excellent bearing all combined in an elegant package that got instant admiration from almost every man she met.

There was another kind of beauty, however. One that did not reign as the loveliest in a county or a small social circle of the aristocracy. A beauty that, frankly, eclipsed attractiveness and moved on to being downright threatening. There was beauty for a ballroom, and then there was beauty that was meant to be preserved in marble and bronze. Beauty that came along not once in a confined geographic location, but once in a generation.

Standing before Lady Mary Crawley was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Only an inch or two shorter than Mary, the woman was a tribute to proportion. Everything delicately curved, even the simplicity of her grace skirt and white cotton blouse did nothing but highlight her perfection. Her skin, the color of old ivory, stretched flawlessly over artistically high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face. Small full lips balanced a delicate, straight nose, and huge tip-tilted eyes of a luminous turquoise eyes contrasted faultlessly with the inky black hair drawn up at the back of her head and fixed there with a jade comb.

"I've seen to everything for the trip back." This arresting interloper held up a modest shopping basket, slightly bulging with wrapped paper parcels.

Poor Mary was gaping, and Edith guiltily enjoyed every moment of it. Despite being dressed quite simply for traveling. Despite the plainness of her brown coat and the simple hat she wore. Despite everything going on in the busy rail station, Midori Chen had unerringly attracted every eye in the station as her sensible, low-heeled boots clicked lightly on the boards beneath their feet. To their left a constable who'd just walked onto the platform visibly licked his lips. Edith sent him her most scalding motherly glare – she'd only had a year to practice, but Mrs. Walsh assured her it was coming along nicely – in his direction and was rewarded when he looked away.

"Thank you, Midori." Edith let out a breath and turned, catching Mary's eye. Her sister looked distinctly unhappy and flustered. Edith squelched a smirk; even Midori's voice was an exotically accented purr. "This is my sister, Lady Mary, and she'll be traveling back in our compartment."

"Very good, Lady Strallan. I've gotten enough treats for everyone."

"Tees?"

Edith sighed as she suddenly had a very wiggly child on her hands. That was one word that her one-year-old had learned quickly.

"He's inherited his father's sweet tooth along with his eyes." Edith offered as she rebalanced her son and, thankfully, the train chose that moment to arrive.

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Mary wasn't precisely hurt that she was never offered a chance to hold her nephew. She hadn't spent most of nineteen-fifteen stewing in her own juices, as Sybil had said to her. I had a lot to deal with and I dealt with it, that's all.

She'd done cruel, childish things to Edith. A lot. Maybe even systematically. Mary refused to crawl under a rock or wear sackcloth because nobody had known how to deal with her when she was a child, or because her parents had entrusted the to the wrong nanny when their children were at their most vulnerable. She wasn't going to point fingers and blame her parents, either. Not when supposed and so-called experts had thought she was some kind of clinical idiot because she was upset.

It had just… done her good to have a few frank conversations with her parents and Granny. That was all! Mary had been a child and it was impossible for her to remember and understand, as an adult, what was happening to her when she wasn't even six years old. Now, looking back and knowing, things were easier to understand.

Mama and Papa could have sent me away to some asylum. That would have been as good as signing my death warrant and everyone knows it. They sterilize people in places like that. You have no education or society or hope there. Of course, they did whatever they had to do to save me.

Mary didn't intend to pretend that it made how they'd treated - how she'd treated - her younger sister right. It was, however, life. She had been the one in danger of death and exile as a little girl, and if Edith had gotten the short end of the stick because of it? Well, you could hardly blame Mary for being relieved at her own salvation. She also refused to bow down and pretend she was a wretched villain in some horrid melodrama. Things happened. You survived. Besides, if Edith needed her revenge, she's had it.

So, Mary could do what that letter had asked. She could be civil. She wouldn't comment on the fact that her nephew was always kept firmly out of her reach. It wasn't an issue. Really. She wasn't even going to comment on Edith's absolutely ridiculous secretary. As if any woman of intelligence would want a woman like that in her house! Really, what was Edith thinking? She bit her tongue on a comment that sprang to mind about the intelligence of keeping a maid like that anywhere near a husband who'd already shown a predilection for younger women.

"So, how have things been at Loxley?"

"About the same as everywhere, I'm sure. Not enough men, struggling to keep everything on track." Edith offered carefully. "I'm sure Papa's talked about nothing else."

"Well, yes. That and trying to find some way to join the rest of the men off at war."

Edith blinked, paused, and then adjusted her hold on her son.

"Yes, I suppose Papa would."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Mary couldn't help the sharpness of her tone and ignored the scowl that the oriental directed at her. After they'd settled in the compartment, she'd set her basket aside and drawn a small embroidery hoop out of the worn leather bag she carried. At least she's quiet. The girl had settled in the corner nearest the door and her needle had flickered away as she became properly invisible. Not possible, really, as gaudy as she looks.

"I only mean that Anthony spent little time in the Army and never enjoyed it." Edith explained, her tone brittle. "But he still felt it was his duty to serve, however they need him, even if that means going - going to the Front when his age should let him stay. Papa enjoyed it, so he'd be keener."

"Oh."

Mary winced at her own ineloquent reply.

"Right, well… Yes, it's been about the same at Downton." The brunette pushed onward. Better than awkward silence, or the sense of something missed or lost Mary got watching Edith silently dance the stuffed rabbit she was holding about in front of the giggling baby in her lap. Or, worse, the urge to glare at the servant sitting with them for no reason she wanted to think about. "You've been at London more than Loxley, I imagine? That must be exciting."

"Not hardly." Edith huffed and shrugged. "You know Anthony and I aren't very social, and he's been frightfully busy."

"I'm sure." Mary saw Edith's look. "I mean it. Matthew's last letter spoke of how - how important intelligence is. Especially good intelligence."

Edith sighed.

"If it was anything like our last letter from Matthew, it specifically mentioned it in relation to how damaging false intelligence or bad intelligence is. Awful mess. Poor Anthony had nothing to do with what he wrote about, but it still sent him in circles trying to figure out who had and where the breakdown was. It's not even his section-."

Mary felt an unaccustomed wave of sympathy for her sister as she looked away. Edith looked… not older, precisely, though she was. More mature, Mary decided. Mary hoped she did the same but was distracted by noticing that the blue-green eyes of Edith's maid – and really, the secretary thing was pretentious – were now examining them. Mary sent her the glare that she'd learned from Carson, but the creature had the gall to give her a slow blink before turning back to her work. Mary turned back to Edith firmly.

"Anyway, how have you been?"

"Oh, well enough."

Silence fell again and Mary cast around for something to say before giving up. She looked out of the window instead and cast the occasional sideways glance out of her eye. The servant carried on her embroidery despite the train's rattling. Edith got her son settled in her arms and Mary watched the little boy curl up in the blanket Edith had pulled from her ridiculously voluminous handbag to wrap around the child. In short order, the boy was asleep, and it proved all the excuse needed for everyone to be quiet for the next hour.

Unfortunately, that ended with crying, a rather pungent odor, and Mary observing in shock as Edith excused herself to the ladies' with her son and a second, this time plain canvas, bag in hand. She looked over at the servant in astonishment. The cheeky thing kept embroidering.

"May I be of some service, Lady Mary?"

"Not to me, but surely Lady Strallan might want some help?" Mary prompted frostily. "Is the nanny afraid of trains?"

"Lady Strallan doesn't trust nannies very well, Lady Mary." The tip-tilted eyes flicked up and Mary realized, somewhat scandalized, that she was wearing some kind of powder on her eyelids! "I can't imagine why, can you?"

Mary felt herself flush, but didn't waste her time glaring. Not when curiosity was tugging at her and the servant wasn't backing down. She felt an uncomfortable skitter up her spine. It had been a friend's servant who'd stranded her with the wrong ticket – likely at her so-called friend's behest. She had no say over what one of Lady Strallan's servants thought or did. The sense of aloneness from the station, the vulnerability of being away from home with no-one to help and no money to get help, came back. Mary quashed it down, gritted her teeth, and demanded an answer.

"Edith doesn't have any help, Miss Midori?"

Mary found herself utterly unable to imagine Edith, who was so highly strung and bounced back and forth from rambling around the grounds alone for hours to clinging and whining, changing nappies and everything else a baby needed.

"Lady Strallan has Sir Anthony." The needle flickered as her eyes glanced back down at her work and away from Mary rudely. "And it's Miss Chen, if that pleases you, Lady Mary."

"That isn't what my sister called you."

"No."

Mary found she didn't have a reply or an answer to give. It was hard to bite back against a one-word response. Peevishly, she carried on. Her fingers, displaying her nervousness and tension at the entire situation her first foray into independent travel had devolved into, twisted the drawstrings on her purse roughly.

"I doubt Sir Anthony is much good at changing nappies."

"On the contrary, he's grown rather skilled at it." A flicker of something fond and amused briefly surfaced on the perfectly composed face of the China Doll opposite her. "Though he keeps putting things in the nursery on high shelves and it gives the rest of us no end of trouble. Last week he absentmindedly put the stepstool atop the hall bookshelf after he tripped over it."

"Really?" Mary goggled at the idea and found her lips turning up at the mental image this presented. "Imagine."

"Yes, quite." The other woman's lips twitched, then she turned back to her embroidery. "Lady Strallan is a wonderful mother."

And don't you dare imply otherwise, was clearly underlined by the woman's calm, level, threatening tone. Mary refused to acknowledge the unspoken message and looked out the window. She ignored the flicker of guilty jealousy that went through her. She'd never imagined Edith would be the first of them to be a mother. She certainly never imagined she'd be the first married. Made sure she heard you when you said it, and got everyone to agree with it too, didn't you?

"There we go, all decent again!" Edith's announcement as she came back in, juggling in her son in her arms and beaming down at the giggling little ball of flailing sunshine. "Someone needs tickles!"

"Nooo!"

"Oh, don't, you'll end up having to change him again. Remember Sybil?"

"Oh, I do!" Edith laughed but turned her son around on her lap and offered him the rabbit instead. Mary was offered an expression of surprise, as if she couldn't imagine that Mary had remembered. Mary narrowed her eyes. It wasn't as if everything in the nursery had been a horror for them. There had been good times. Usually when they played with Sybil, but… it hadn't all been terrible, had it?

"Aren't you going to ask how Sybil is?"

The flicker in Edith's expression confirmed it.

"Oh, I knew it." Mary crossed her arms. "Having Branson teach her to drive was a cover, wasn't it? She was at Loxley."

"Only when we were down from Town, and you know that wasn't that often." Edith huffed out, not bothering to deny it and glaring at Mary for having worked it out so neatly. Edith had never been particularly hard to read. "And she did learn to drive. So did I, for that matter, though it was Anthony teaching me."

Chen tutted and Edith flapped a hand at her, in some inside joke.

"Are you going to rat her out to Papa?"

"Why would I?"

Edith raised her eyebrows and Mary shrugged and smoothed her skirt.

"If Sybil is happy then it's none of Papa's business. Are you going to ask after anyone else?"

Phillip was willingly passed to Chen at that point, and there were a few minutes break in conversation as some old tea towels and other things were spread about and the complex process of feeding a year-old child tinned peaches was gotten into. Mary deliberately thanked her sister, rather than Chen, as she accepted the butcher-paper wrapped sandwich she was offered. Still, she couldn't help feeling more than slightly angry at Edith's refusal to engage or even to ask. Didn't she care? Sharply, Mary went on without prompting.

"Mama's fine, but she misses you and she was hurt when you didn't tell her she was going to be a grandmother."

"For the moment, she isn't."

Mary stared in shock at Edith's answer.

"Come again?" Mary huffed. "Who exactly is that then?"

"Until Mama and Papa earn my trust, I don't want anything to do with them." Edith took a deep breath and kept feeding her son with the little silver spoon as he sat in Chen's lap, held firmly upright. "Until then, it's best for everyone if we just pretend, I wasn't born and there's no connection."

"Do you really believe that?"

"We have enough problems with the war on the Continent without starting another in Yorkshire."

Mary snapped her jaw shut, flushing at that answer. She bit back the urge to cut Edith down to size. What good would it do her? She'd just end up alone in the compartment – or worse, sent out to find another. What would that help? Did she want to help?

Without Edith there, Mary had spent several days insisting everything would be better. She'd thrown out every nasty comment she could down about the Strallans and how they were going to be quite happy without having either of them in the family. She'd ignored her mother's unhappiness and done what she could to work up her father's temper.

Then?

Then Mary Crawley had found herself strangely afloat. Suddenly, Mary was snapping at and putting down Sybil. She'd been rude to Mrs. Hudson and Carson. She'd nearly made Anna cry. Two months in and it was getting worse and Mary hadn't known what to do. She'd tried to stop the comments, the hurt, the anger but the more she tried to stop it the more it felt like the whistling tea kettle in her chest was trying to go up like an over-pressurized boiler. Usually Edith was there to focus on when she felt things spiraling out of control, but suddenly she was gone and Mary didn't know what to do.

It had been Granny who'd dealt with it. Grandma Martha had left Downton basically as fast as she'd arrived. After Edith's dramatic exit she'd tried a little to patch things up, visiting back and forth from Loxley, but after butting heads with Papa and Martha's own frustrations with Mama's refusal to do the same, their indomitable maternal grandmother had headed back to New York after the usual spats with Granny.

Granny's response to Mary was to arrive at Downton one morning with instructions for Anna to pack Mary's things and prepare herself for a trip. The Dowager hadn't listened to a word her granddaughter had said or offered a word of explanation. She'd simply taken control and both Lord and Lady Grantham had let her. In fact, Mary found that all of them had colluded nicely.

"Did you know Granny has a house in Bath?"

"No." Edith blinked, confused at this sudden shift in topic, then quickly redirected her attention when her son spat his mouthful of peaches back into his mother's open, hovering hand. "Phillip Edward Anthony Strallan, we do not spit."

"Ahhhh!" He opened his mouth like a little bird and Mary made a face as he waited and got his ejected mouthful of peaches restored.

"Ew, Edith!"

"If you don't like messes, don't have children."

"That's what Nannies are for."

"Because that worked out so well for us?"

Edith's question, sharply asked, left Mary wrong-footed. She looked out the window for a few moments. Then, deciding that this wasn't the time and she didn't know if there would ever be a time she pressed onward as if the exchange hadn't happened.

"Granny has a little townhouse in Bath her grandmother left her. She usually has it let. We spent two months there, last fall. It's out of fashion, but really quite nice."

"I've never been." Edith went on after a moment, her voice carefully controlled and neutral. "Very Austen, isn't it?"

"Which means you should like it."

"I… probably would."

Mary threaded her fingers together and pushed onward. No need to mention that those months were spent with Mary struggling with how upsetting she found the changes in her life. Not with how she'd been torn apart by Matthew's leaving her and having to give him and their future at Downton up. No need to let her know how Mary had found it all just sort of… dragged out of her, bit by bit, until she felt empty and bare and so much lighter after weeks of arguing and screaming and sometimes crying and just… just defusing slowly bit by bit everything she felt like she'd had bottled up since forever.

"How is Granny?"

Mary accepted the olive branch for what it was. It saved her from thinking about her mad scramble since the return from Bath. The social whirl – and the attendant disdain as the Pamuk rumors still flurried about now and then – she'd had to wade into like some medieval melee. The desperate search for a proper husband of any kind who'd have her and the realization that she would never have the future she'd always been told was a given with her breeding and beauty.

"Oh, Granny never changes. She's doing very well, save for the usual complaints about her arthritis and everything else in creation."

"Good."

"Papa's beside himself about not being allowed back in the Army." Mary found herself going on, quite apart from her intentions. "He's frustrated all the time, short tempered, and just - just upset. Lost. I hate to see it."

"I'm sorry." Edith mustered a crooked, tense second-cousin to a smile. "A pity he and Anthony cannot switch places."

"I love Papa but - Intelligence?"

Edith huffed a laugh that was almost a snort and rather unladylike. For the first time, Mary discovered she felt no need to sneer at it. She did, however, have to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying something unkind automatically. God, Granny was right. She didn't even think about it, she just... She'd given everyone else power to make her inito… Civil. You can be civil. It's your tongue. Your words.

"What - may I ask what Anthony does, exactly? I - I suppose we never bothered to get to know him well."

Edith observed her for a long, searching moment as she finished wiping up her son and transferred the now sleepy little fellow back into his blanket and her lap for a cuddle.

"I can't say much - I don't know anything specific anyway. We can talk about anything but the war." Edith allowed. "But I can say it has to do with languages, mostly."

"Languages?"

"Anthony took a First in Modern Languages at Kings."

"Oh." Mary was embarrassed at her own eloquence again and cleared her throat. "Does he speak German?"

"German, French, Italian, and several others." Edith had grown pale and blinked rapidly as she looked out the window. "He was also working on an engineering degree in Salzburg when his father died and he had to return to Britain, years ago. They say his accent can fool a native Austrian."

Mary felt her stomach condense into a ball of lead as she realized the dangers of having that particular talent. It made sense, given his rank and wealth and age - really, Edith's husband was old - to keep a man so talented at home, didn't it? Unless, of course, not sending them was a danger in itself. Papa had explained the concept of calculated risk.

"I understand." Even Mary was surprised at the kindness in her tone, but she felt a flare of relief that it had come out like that. "Let's not talk about the war. Have you seen Bitzy Preston-Brown lately?"

Edith blinked at her twice, then her lips turned up in a kind of bemused pleasure.

"I have."

"Have you seen her hair?" Mary gestured. "I've heard of the Castle bob, but that cannot possibly be what was intended."

"Clearly no-one with hair that curly should try it." Edith agreed and Mary nodded emphatically back, thinking of the horrifically embarrassed look on the other young socialite's face when she'd removed her hat upon visiting that day a month before. "Still, I imagine it's comfortable."

"What's uncomfortable about proper-length hair on a lady?"

"Say that when you've got twenty-five pounds of infant dangling off your plait."

Mary huffed out a laugh at the image of Edith with a screaming infant doing just that. She bit her lip and resisted the urge to ask to hold the sleeping child. Her pride wouldn't care for refusal, thank you. Still, she couldn't quite resist…

"He's the very image of his father." Mary murmured. "He has beautiful eyes."

Edith positively beamed at her and something inside Mary twisted and bit. She couldn't recall ever seeing that expression before. Certainly not turned on her…

"Isn't he?" Her sister's smile shrunk and turned lopsided. "He was ten-pounds-four-ounces at birth."

Mary's face puckered in sympathy and beside her Chen chuckled. Edith made a face at her servant, then carried on their quiet conversation over the sleeping child.

"Oh, yes, I know. My own fault for marrying a man built like Anthony."

"Were you very sick?"

"Not even once. I had a few nosebleeds, in the beginning, and then was a little lightheaded in spots, but that was all." Edith positively bragged, then paused. "Except one time. They tried to serve me oysters. Go nowhere near mollusks while in the family way, Mary. Nothing good can come of it."

"Well, when my time comes, I hope I have as much luck." Mary allowed, then reconsidered. "But a rather-smaller baby."