Author's Notes: Part 3 is going to bridge episodes 2-3 of Series 2, so it will run between April and July of 1917. Six months have passed since Anthony returned to the front and closer to seven for Matthew.

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

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and plot in this work belongs to the 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.

Warnings Ch. 2: Period typical racism and sexism. The horrors of warfare. Mentioned minor character death.

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"Well, we'll have Fletcher over for dinner more often, of course, and the young men now and then, but not always." Edith decided as she let Midori fuss over her hair. "We won't do anything with Winslow, however. As far as I'm concerned, he can rot. Anthony agrees. Did I tell you I got letters?"

"You did. I have one too."

"Only one?"

"Stewart can say a lot with a little."

Edith raised both her eyebrows and Midori looked away.

"Is it wrong of me, this… waiting?" The younger woman, and sometimes Edith forgot how young being not-quite-twenty was compared to being nearly twenty-three was when compared to that. Just four years, but so much time. "I mean, am I stringing him on like O'Brian says? I don't have any other beaus – I mean, I don't have any beaus because we're friends. I just…"

"If you're not ready, you're not ready." Edith countered, reaching back to pat Midori's hand. "You've got a right to wait if you want to. You've been honest with Stewart. Anything he decides to do as a result, is his decision. He's a grown man."

"I know, that worries me a little."

Edith blinked, surprised that, after all the time that had passed, this was when Midori decided she wanted to talk about the non-courtship she'd shared with Stewart since a few months after her arrival at Strallan House. It really was the tank of the house, in a way. Stewart walked her home as often as she'd let him. They'd gone out and eaten together, and yet… Midori refused to let him pay for her meal or her drinks. She kept strict lines drawn about when and where they spoke. She was more strict with the man, in fact, than her mother, who'd decided to summarily adopt Stewart without asking just weeks after first meeting him.

Then again, who am I to comment about odd romances or strange families? If it works, don't fix it.

"As long as you and Stewart are pleased with how things are going, it's none of anyone else's business."

"Right. Of course." Midori rallied, muttering around one of the pins in her mouth. "I'm sorry, Edith, I'm just in a fretful mood today. I don't know why. I think mother's up to something."

"Is she plotting Major Clarkson's demise?"

Midori winced and Edith wrinkled her nose in apology. Despite having had a talk with Isobel months before, things had gone precisely how Midori had predicted. Isobel had taken her enthusiasm for some of the traditional Chinese medicine that Suyin Chen was schooled in to Dr. Clarkson. The doctor had been polite and kind about it, but clearly and utterly disregarded the idea that there could be any basis of fact or use in the treatments.

And so, another war had started. This one right in Yorkshire. With Cousin Isobel's connivance, Mrs. Chen had begun to make frequent trips to the hospital. There, under the guise of therapy, she was administering various teas, ointments, and had begun giving massages to some of the recovering officers. The Major's disapproval should have nipped it in the bud, but the fact was that the officers themselves had made enough of a ruckus for it to carry on. Edith didn't know enough about any of it to have an opinion, other than the fact that it was disrupting her childcare schedule, and she felt guilt about even thinking that given what those poor men had been through.

Oh, God in Heaven, protect him…

"If Ama wanted him dead, he'd be dead, Edith." Midori stated with the wry, but utter confidence she had in her mother. "No, it's something else. She's made some kind of new friend. They keep having tea, but she's not being specific about it."

"Do you think she's found a beau."

Midori hesitated.

"I wouldn't mind if she did. Baba's been gone so long now. I mean, it would be… an adjustment, but it's not my place to speak on it. Do you understand?"

"I do." Edith agreed. "So what do you think it is?"

"I don't know. Ama usually just says. I mean, she tells me. It's this secrecy that has me nervous."

"Maybe it's a surprise for you."

"You know how I feel about surprises."

Edith stifled a laugh and it came out as a very unladylike snort, but at least it cut the tension.

"Right, that's the Dower House lot sorted." Edith decided, putting a hand on her belly and petting where the baby was wriggling under her hand. Boy or girl, Baby Strallan was active between tea and dinner. "We still have to figure out something for the Tenant Tea, and then there's that favor for Papa."

"I talked to Mrs. Edwards. Her eldest is back and she thinks he's recovered enough she can send him over to Mr. Drake to handle the tractor." Midori confirmed. "Mr. Drake needs to be ready with pencil and paper, though, because his hearing's no better."

"So, they think he's permanently deaf?"

"Yes, poor chap."

"At least he's alive." Edith breathed. "And intact and – oooh, bugger."

"I'm a terrible influence on you, my lady!" Midori offered a watery laugh. "Thank goodness I haven't done your makeup yet, here!"

Edith accepted the handkerchief and gave in, having a good cry. In a true testament to pregnancy and the British need to carry on, she kept going through the tears and sniffles.

"Right. M-m-moving on! We'll have the tenant's tea next Sunday, if Mrs. Bernard thinks we'll manage on her end."

"Mrs. Bernard will no doubt agree and move heaven and earth to have what we need."

"Good, then that's settled. I don't know what to do about the ferreting."

"It'll be all the lads holding it, not a one over twelve." Midori paused. "I don't know either. I'd never heard of a ferreting before this job. Have you ever handled one?"

"No, Anthony's always taken care of them, and Nichols managed the last, but he's just got too much on his plate now." Edith fretted, and finally gave in. "I just don't know if I can do it. Being outside all day while they're out dealing with rabbits and the smell of the ferrets. I mean, they're fairly cute with their little noses, but they stink and you know how sensitive I am to that when I'm like this."

"Yes, my lady. Maybe your father?"

"He always has our agent do the ferretings at Downton."

"What about Tom?"

"Branson, the driver?" Edith stared.

"All we need is a man, who isn't too fussy, and who we trust with the prize money." Midori pointed out. "He's as much Lady Sybil's friend as I am yours. He's a good, honest man even if you don't like his politics. Your sister could ask him, and I bet he'd agree. Just because he doesn't want to go to war for England doesn't mean he doesn't want to help people who need it."

Edith turned the idea over in her head. It was totally nonsensical. It certainly wasn't traditional. That said… Who else was she going to ask? They were dreadfully short on men in general, and just about out for male relatives.

"I'll think about it." Edith sniffed and dabbed at her eyes one last time. "I think we can finish now."

"Are you sure you feel well enough to go to dinner at Downton, Edith? You've a perfectly legitimate reason not to."

"Mary wants me there and, well, it's the first time she's asked for anything."

"I'm shocked she has the gall."

"We've been doing really well at being civil." Edith countered. "I mean, yes, it's mostly based on avoiding each other, but I wouldn't feel right. I mean… if I hadn't written that letter she'd have plenty of suitors. It's not so much to just – just eat dinner and be pleasant. I've met Carlisle before. I don't know him, but he doesn't seem like he's particularly evil. What do you think?"

"I think you should stay home and take a long soak in the tub, and then sleep until noon." Midori dimpled at her. "After all, if you do it, I get to as well!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was all a bit of a mess. Edith had wanted to take some paperwork to have a look at after dinner. She'd be parked in a corner in a chair, anyway, and was sure no-one would care. The Dowager and Lady Rosamund would no doubt give their full focus to Lady Mary's suitor. Sybil would want to talk about the hospital with Mrs. Crawley.

Then Edith had found herself wearing, rather than eating, the sauce meant for that evening's first course. They'd gotten Carson sorted, but Edith hadn't brought a change. Which had, of course, led to their current situation.

"Oh, must you go?"

"Do you want me to attend the rest of dinner in one of Papa's robes, Mama?" Edith was too tired to care. She was currently wrapped in just that, a dressing robe of her father's. Her dress was in the laundry, soaking. "I'm six months pregnant. There's nothing for me to wear, and I'm tired."

"I'm sure we can manage something. Can't we O'Brian."

The lady's maid, for all her endless confidence, did not look so sure. Edith's months long prohibition against anything approaching rudeness to her family cracked. Everything was just so difficult. It didn't matter what it was, or how simple it should be, Edith found it all piling up around her like a flood washed debris against a fence. Eventually, it toppled.

"Mama, I have more important things to worry about than Mary's latest beau." Edith bit out. "Sir Richard is a grown man and more than capable of deciding what he wants, and Mary is more than capable of making a man want her. She doesn't need my presence to do that, as she's amply reminded me for most of my life!"

"Edith, there is no need to get nasty. I haven't even mentioned your sister." Cora's face flushed and O'Brian, standing off to the side, took a step back. "In fact, I've been nothing but considerate about that for months. I barely mention Mary in your presence!"

"And it's worked wonders! Mary and I have been perfectly polite to each other for months."

"You barely speak!"

"Do you expect us to be friends?'

"I expect you to be sisters?"

"Then you expect too much!" Edith's temper frayed. "Mary and I haven't done anything wrong, for once, and I don't know what this is about. She asks me to come, and then she doesn't say five words to me, and you say you need me here, but all you want to talk about is Pip!"

"Is there some reason I can't talk to your about my grandson?"

"No, of course not, but I don't see why you need me at a formal dinner for that. Can't you come by Loxley?" Edith's anger and confusion danced together, each pushing the other to go faster. "Or I couldn't come over to tea? Mama, I'm busy-."

"Too busy for your family?"

"This is your family, Mama, I visit!" Edith bit out.

Cora drew back as if she'd been slapped, but she rose to her full height, her blue eyes flashing.

"Is that why I'm not to be trusted alone with my grandchild? Tell me, Edith, are you going to let me hold this one when it's born, or am I going to have to wait until they're old enough to run away?"

Edith had been sitting down for all of this. Worn out by a very long day, and with ankles that ached after spending too long in delicate evening shoes, she'd just been unable to stand. Furious at having her parenting questioned, overemotional from hormones and overwork, Edith shoved herself rapidly to her feet, and promptly fainted.

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"Oh, Sir Richard, you flatter yourself. It takes a good deal more than that to shock me."

Mary held in a sense of triumph at his wry little smile. He enjoyed being talked back to. That was something, wasn't it? She didn't mind his company. She even enjoyed it, despite his rough edges. Surely that mattered.

"Is there some particular reason your sister wouldn't stay the night?"

"It was just a funny turn. Edith has them when she's expecting." Mary dismissed Sir Richard's question as they walked the estate, surprised that was the direction he'd decided to take after she spoke of 'testing', casting a careful eye back to where her parents walked some distance behind them. "She said herself that it wasn't that serious, and she could rest more comfortably in her own home."

"Most people consider the home they were raised in sufficient for that."

"I do hope you don't consider the ladies of my family merely sufficient."

"Not at all." He carried on. "In fact, I was most impressed with your sister the last time I met her."

"The way Edith tells it she was about as entertaining at that party as the arrival of a zeppelin."

Sir Richard actually chuckled at that and Mary shot him a surprised look. He responded with slightly raised eyebrows and that condescending expression he had that she did not enjoy. Sometimes he looked at her like a spoiled child. What's worse. She felt like one.

"A woman whose husband's made a mother out of her isn't unappealing to most male eyes, Lady Mary."

Mary had no idea how to take that.

"Lady Edith isn't a beauty, not to your standard, but a man has to admire a woman who'll sit and speak – intelligently, I might add – for over an hour with her husband. Most husband's can't get ten minutes of their wives attention unless they think they can increase their allowance out of it." Sir Richard shot her a look. "I didn't have much discussion with either of them, but I did notice that Sir Anthony made a point to explain his investments and his estate to his wife, and that she seemed to be taking equal interest and equal part in the proceedings."

"And you find that appealing?"

"If I wanted a purely ornamental wife, I could have had one twenty years ago, Lady Mary." Sir Richard's next words left her confused. "Your youngest sister's a nurse, and passionate about what she does. She took the initiative to go out and learn and make use of herself, no matter who opposed her."

"And Edith?"

"Decided she wanted a man and eloped to have him." Sir Richard's approval was obvious and apparent. "Since then he's gone off to war and she's been running his estate, and doing it well."

"And how can you be so sure?"

"I inquired."

"You asked about Edith?" Mary felt a flare of irritation. He was there for her, wasn't he? Why was he doing that?

"Of course. She's your sister and barely a year younger than you are."

"So, we have to have a lot in common?"

"Don't sisters usually?"

"Not Edith and I." Mary bit out, annoyed. "And your research doesn't seem to have been as exhaustive as you think."

"Oh, if you're speaking about the estrangement, everyone knows that the Strallans and Crawleys went two years without speaking." Sir Richard chuckled. "I was particularly amused by the story of your sister's housekeeper throwing your father out of Loxley."

Mary flushed darkly and found she had nothing she could say. She'd been a little amused, under her offense, at that mental image. That said, the idea that a man she wanted to marry – or at least wanted to ask her to marry him – knew about it was humiliating.

Suddenly a terrible wave of fear overcame her.

Did he know about her fits?

"Lady Edith is a good mother, too." Richard approved. "My mother had no maids or nannies and did well by us. Lady Edith's managing well."

"Oh, please!" Mary glared at him, which seemed to amuse him further. "I can believe you're aware that Edith and Strallan are utterly ridiculous with each other. All it takes is five minutes in their presence to see how they hang off of each other's every word in the most embarrassing fashion. I can even allow that someone so interested in commerce as you are would know about the estate and investments and the like. You cannot possibly know anything about how my sister runs her nursery!"

"It's hardly difficult."

"Oh, then enlighten me."

"There are no few poor widows of a certain class in England, Mary."

"What?"

Sir Richard Carlisle smiled, supremely confident and a man in his element. Mary would think on it, much later, when it did not matter. Then she would realize that he was, like all others of his sort, a man. He enjoyed, in his own way, showing off.

Matthew had first really beguiled Mary by explaining Law to her. By the way he could passionately break down his cases to her in terms she understood, then act them out in a way that made them seem exciting. At the time, she'd been so pleased to be included and treated like an equal in his world. In truth, she still was, if she'd allow herself to be. That said, Mary had later realized that, in terms of being a solicitor, Matthew as confident. It was a good career. It was a worthy thing for a man to do, and he'd felt proud enough of it to show it off to Mary. He'd wanted her to, in some small way, see him at his best, in his element.

Now, Richard Carlisle was doing the same.

"Not all men of your class plan well for the future. Indeed, most seem to believe it doesn't exist." The older man gestured around them. "There are dozens, if not more, ladies of your grandmother's generation who've been left with almost nothing. Now their husbands are dead and their children are living their lives and cannot usually afford to support their parents and grandparents."

"How dreadful."

"Entirely, but it shows you what bad planning and hidebound thinking get you." Richard snorted. "As I was saying, these ladies are struggling to keep themselves in a state of genteel poverty. You'd be surprised what they can find out, and will find out, if given a bit of monetary incentive to be social."

Mary was appalled.

"You're using grannies as spies."

"With a grandmother like yours, are you really that surprised they're good at it?"

Mary closed her mouth as Sir Richard laughed at her.

"Anyway, one of the ladies who I occasionally employ for my papers – social gossip sells."

Mary felt a chill creep over her at his tone and the rising clamor of her own secrets.

"I'm sure it does."

"Quite. As I was saying, one of the little old ladies on my payroll is a friend of one Sir Anthony's last remaining aunt. A lady who is all to happy to talk expansively on the subject of what a wonderful mother Lady Strallan is."

"That would be Lady Stowborough." Mary shuddered. "She came and spent two months at Loxley during Sir Anthony's last leave."

"Which I presume was held about six months ago."

"Obviously." Mary glared. "Anyway, she's absolutely horrid. I avoided tea like the plague after that. I think Granny went just to prove she couldn't be chased off. Poor Mama was all but in tears after one visit."

"That was likely the point." Richard agreed. "Tell me, why does your sister go by Lady Strallan rather than Lady Edith."

"Because she prefers to, one presumes."

"It usually takes an act of Parliament to make a noble lady give up rank, and yet your sister – an Earl's daughter- purposefully eschews a title she has a right to. It makes a man curious."

"I get the feeling you're constantly curious, Sir Richard."

"I don't like to go into any venture uniformed."

Mary offered him a sideways smile as her parents jointed them, changing the subject.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My Sweet One,

My sources, which are considerable and classified, have informed me that you've been pushing yourself too hard, and I won't have it. I may be far too distant for either of our happiness, and cannot deny my situation is less comfortable than your own, but I beg you to remember that your situation is no less perilous. The Spartans didn't allow their women lost in childbirth to be buried by men lost to war for nothing. They recognized the danger.

It haunts me, that I cannot do anything to protect and care for you here. I vowed to love and cherish you, to protect you, and I meant every word I said over that anvil. It is bally nonsense that to do one duty, made necessary by the cruelty and stupidity of others, I must abandon a duty I long to do like nothing else. Forgive me for leaving you alone to deal bring another child into the world, may darling girl.

You're doing entirely too much, with the refugees, worrying about matters of new concern on the estate, and the estate in general. I do like your plan to have Branson handle the ferreting. It's not optimum, but all the situation really requires is a man you can trust to hand out the prize money, as long as he has the ability to put down a pint with those involved. As he's Irish, I trust he has the skills needed. Still, you've pushed yourself too far.

As such, I have to ask for your forgiveness. I can't abide the thought of you doing so much and putting yourself in such risk. It's keeping me from what little sleep I can have, so I'll prevail on you to accept my underhanded and overbearing actions out of concern for your husband if nothing else. In short, my dearest, you're going to have a holiday. As little as I can do to protect you from so far away, I can arrange this by post alone.

I've asked Hugh Jarvis if he might step in for a while with the estate and he was amenable. I trust him, and I know that you do as well, as he's written me about a few times you've turned to him. Just a little break, until Baby Strallan's born and you're out of harm's way, I promise, and then I won't meddle again. I know you're doing everything and handling it at least as well as I would, if not better, but I can't stand the thought of you at any kind of risk, Edith. I am determined to survive this blasted war and come back to you and our children, but I could not survive losing you…

Edith set the letter down and mopped at her face with her handkerchief. She had three other letters. It was a small packet, by Anthony's lights. It had come to her in a wonderfully prompt manner, however, and the aching, terrified, place in her heart reserved for his safety had relaxed a little to see his familiar handwriting spread across the sheets of paper. For the moment, at least, her husband was hale and whole amidst the malignancy that had engulfed Europe.

"Mummy?"

Edith looked down and smiled.

"Yes, Sunshine?"

Pip had only just moved from calling her 'mama' to 'mummy' and she found it endlessly charming. Nearly as much as when he reached out and patted at her belly, looking curiously at her changed body. She'd explained, but he was two.

"Baby soon?"

"Not quite soon, but only a bit longer." Edith leaned down and, with a grunt, heaved him up onto the sofa beside her.

It was Saturday, and as Sunday, Mrs. Chen did not come over to watch the boys. Instead, John spent his entire day at the Chen cottage. Midori often worked Saturdays, but this weekend she had not. Edith spent a moment hoping that she and her mother and baby John were having a nice time of it. She also hoped that Mrs. Chen could be convinced to cook on Mrs. Bernard's half-day next week. She would just die for some of her noodles.

"Baby. Hello, baby!" Pip patted at her belly, smiled, and then kissed the material of her dress and Edith positively melted into goo.

"Oh, my sweetest boy!" Edith dragged him into her arms and planted a series of kisses on his cheeks that had her son squirming and laughing, kissing her back and in general being darling.

She knew that this was likely the source of his affection for his upcoming sibling. That said, Edith was determined her boys would be close. She wasn't going to have her children at war. Oh, yes, she'd read as many books as she could. She knew they would fight – children did. But Edith wasn't going to have them hate and hurt each other. God willing, whatever had been wrong with Mary wouldn't creep into her family. It was a frightening enough thought, that it might be hereditary, that Edith prayed about it.

"Lady Mary Crawley, Lady Strallan."

Edith blinked in surprise and glanced at the clock. It was Saturday and it was early. Surely Mary had better things to do than visit her even with Sir Richard leaving early?

"Show her in, Mrs. Walsh, and if you could?"

"Of course, my lady." Mrs. Walsh's broad, handsome face creased in a happy smile and she plucked up Phillip and carried him into the other room as she stepped back to allow Mary to enter.

"Forgive me if I don't rise."

"I will, but I shan't if you fall down!" Mary shot back. "You gave Mama a terrible fright."

"Well, yes." Edith shrugged uncomfortably. "It doesn't happen often but it does happen."

"Can we all expect such joys from motherhood."

"Well, you could have the morning sickness, massively swollen ankles, and odd bodily odors instead if you wanted. Diana's written me all about those!"

Mary looked at her in either disgust or stifled amusement. Edith couldn't tell which. Mary hadn't really visited her at Loxley in nearly a year. Their truce had largely come to depend on the steady, comfortable, reliability of avoiding each other, after all. She found that Mary's presence in her library made her nervous.

"Still, Mama feels terrible, and Papa isn't helping." Mary added. "What in the world were you and Mama arguing about anyway?"

"Nothing that mattered, and I told her so." Edith would be firm on that. "It was just a stupid spat. Most of it was Baby Strallan making me ornery. It didn't mean anything."

"Well, Mama thinks it does."

Edith shifted uncomfortably as her unborn child put a knee somewhere in the vicinity of her small intestine and jiggled it.

"I'll talk to her next time she comes over." Edith huffed. "Though it shall have to be soon."

"Why?"

"Anthony's decided I'm doing too much and is shipping me off to get some rest."

"Aren't you already in the countryside?"

"Yes, he's sending me to Cornwall." Edith couldn't quite help the words that slipped out. "It shall be dreadful. We had our honeymoon there."

"In Cornwall?"

"In light of recent events, I think we can both agree it's best we didn't go on a tour of the Continent."

"As if you'd have had time."

"Is there some particular reason you've visited, Mary, or are you just here to judge my husband's holiday planning skills."

"From what I can see he doesn't have any, but no, that's now why I'm here."

Edith waited and, to her surprise, her sister fidgeted as if nervous. It made Edith anxious. Mary not getting to something couldn't possibly be a good sign.

"Sir Richard has a high opinion of you, Edith."

"I can't imagine why, we've hardly spoken twenty words to each other!"

"That's probably why."

"Very droll." Edith glared and was about to tell Mary that if she'd come here to insult her she could take herself right back to Downton, but her sister, finally, got to the point.

"He thinks highly of your marriage. How… equal it is. How good you and Anthony are for each other."

Edith closed her mouth as son as she felt it hanging open. Then she flushed. Because, well, it was very obvious how good she and Anthony were to each other, wasn't it? They were a month off their third anniversary and already onto the second child, for goodness sake! The only person who hadn't teased her over it was Aunt Stowborough, and that was because she was too busy crowing happily over the expansion of the Strallan name!

"Anyway, the point is that he has a high opinion of you. Anything you say could affect his opinion." Mary shot her a sharp look. "I'm sure you can see what I am getting at."

"I do, and you've nothing to fear from me." Edith wanted to snap but she reminded herself that she wasn't innocent. This was a… small thing, wasn't it? To apologize for that wretched letter. "I'm not out to ruin you, Mary."

"You were, once."

"Once, yes." Edith agreed. "But not any longer. If he asks about you, I'll be honest."

Mary's hurt expression prompted a laugh, which made it worse.

"What I mean, Mary, is that I'll be honest about the two of you, and I think you're perfectly well-suited, you'd do well together."

"Oh, well, thank you."

They sat there for a moment and Edith felt a flicker of real accomplishment. Mary had asked her for something for herself this time. Not for their mother or anyone else. Mary had asked, and Edith… didn't feel the least bit tempted not to give her what she wanted or to hurt her or anything at all. No revenge. No bitterness. Certainly, no jealousy.

"He's likely to fish for information. He has to know things." Mary paused. "You won't believe what he told me."

"About what?"

"He's hiring old ladies – real Ladies, but elderly, I mean – who are down in the heel to get him society gossip."

"That's-." Edith paused mid-outrage, blinking. "Actually, that's very clever."

"Yes, but it's hardly decent." Mary huffed. "Can you picture Anthony doing it?"

Edith bit her tongue. Everyone in the family was aware that Anthony was in Intelligence, but she also knew that – Papa aside – most of them had absolutely no grasp of what that meant. Polite conversation and polite society pretended that the espionage services didn't exist. Espionage in general was a dirty word to those in society.

There's a reason why spies are hung or shot on sight.

Edith held in her shiver, but only barely.

"Anthony would find it dreadful." She answered instead and got a nod from Mary. For a bare second she almost asked about Matthew. About how Mary felt. Then Edith reminded herself that it wasn't her place and best to keep a safe distance. "Anyway, it's easy enough to be polite and honest with Sir Richard. You're both ambitious and know your minds. I think you'll suit well."

Edith knew her sister had qualifications for marriage she placed higher than love, after all. She'd already demonstrated it once. If Edith was uneasy about it. If Edith was afraid Mary had made a mistake? Edith was determined not to be the one who anyone found at fault should the reconciliation fell apart. That meant not getting involved in Mary's business.

"Yes, of course, thank you." Mary huffed. "You wouldn't be too offended if I suggested you were the last family member I expected to understand and support me, would you?"

"No, it's fairly accurate." Edith reached out to the papers that were sitting on the low table in front of her. I was just a rough outline for the next story, but picking it up reminded her of something. "Oh, Mary, did Mrs. Hughes find the bag I left last night? I rang about it earlier, but she said that the staff hadn't placed it yet."

"What? No, if she did she didn't tell me. What was in it?"

"Not a change of clothes, unfortunately." Edith paused, then shrugged. "Nothing important. Just the spare copy of some writing I've done. Nothing I can't recreate."

"Alright then. I'll just – well… one more thing?" Mary, already risen, paused and Edith gestured for her to go on. "If Richard hears any rumors about – about the nursery can you tell him to talk to me about it?"

"Why, what are you afraid I'll say?" Edith's good mood and good intentions soured immediately.

"The same thing you said once before," Mary shot back, "the truth with no regard as to the damage it can do."

Edith flushed and glared.

"I've apologized for that letter. I can't recall you apologizing for literally everything else."

"I won't apologize for being sick."

"Generally speaking, when one is sick all over someone else, an apology is expected."

"Thank you for comparing my childhood to vomit."

"Well, I would compare mine but that would elevate it somewhat, don't you think?"

"Look, I'm not asking you to lie, I'm just asking that you let me mind my own business!"

"Fine, happily!" Edith glared back, hauling herself – slowly – to her feet. "Should Sir Richard ever ask if you made my life a misery as children, or that you spent a year or two genuinely deranged, I shall refer him back to you."

Both sisters glared at each other furiously for the few seconds that passed before Mary turned and stalked out of Loxley House. Edith, out of sorts and annoyed, heaved over to ring the bell. She and Pip would take luncheon as a picnic in the orchard; the weather was nice enough. She could watch him run about and laugh, Charris could come along if there was a need to chase him – and there would be – and it would all turn out fine.

Mary's problems were none of her concern. Let Mary sort them out. Really!