"Peterborough. This is Peterborough."
The deep sound of the station master's voice called out through the crisp mid-morning air rousing Edith from her slumber. She'd not been asleep as such but the rocking of the train had forced her eyes closed into a comfortable doze. There was a hum of activity outside of the window as new passengers boarded, the squeak of a luggage trolley as it transported its hoard of bags and cases, but inside their compartment all was still. She regarded her husband sitting opposite her, his legs stretched out to one side to avoid colliding with hers, the morning newspaper open on his lap, just the hint of smudged ink from its pages on his fingertips. His little curl of a smile enticed one from her in return.
"Feeling rested, darling?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," she started, "I didn't mean to ignore you."
"I didn't think that you were," he reassured.
He pushed the paper to one side and shifted to come and sit beside her. Taking her hand he brought it to his lips and then leaned closer to steal a full kiss from her.
"It's to be expected that you'd be weary today given..." he hesitating briefly, half whispering, "Given last night," and then delighted as the memory of their evening together had her cheeks turning a delicate shade of rose.
"Mmm," she responded warmly, "Something for which I hold you entirely responsible," her playful tone complemented by her reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand, enjoying the closeness of him.
Berite knew his own eyes were dancing, what man's wouldn't at the knowledge that he'd brought such pleasure to his wife. He moved to capture her lips once more and feeling brave, given the glass windows on their compartment, dared to trail a path across to the soft spot just in front of her ear eliciting from her a near-silent moan. The sudden jerk of the train moving once more shocked them from their affections and they were forced to settle apart but together, their fingers entwined. He shifted his leg so that it brushed up against hers, the warmth of it wonderful through her stockings and she smiled.
The dining car was near full by the time they entered it. They'd made their way slowly, the swaying of the train requiring careful footsteps so as not to bump against the teak walls of the corridor. The jolt as the wheels passed over numerous sets of points had Bertie reaching for her hips for fear she'd tumble and Edith had no mind to correct his thinking, enjoying the sensation of his touch. He'd had the foresight however to ensure a table was reserved for them so when they did arrive they were ushered straight through.
Crisp white linen tablecloths set off the apple green livery favoured by the London and Northern Eastern Railway, the polished silverware and sparkling crystal glasses belied the fact that they were travelling at speed, rather than in the static environ of a London club. He held out her chair and waited for her to sit comfortably before taking his own. Menus perused and orders placed with the young and perhaps too eager waiter, they sat watching the miles of wintery trees and fallow fields rush past them. The occasional glimpse of a stone cottage or country lane were the only obstacles to break the expansive view as the train crossed through the flat lands of Lincolnshire. Wine served and glasses clinked as they toasted one another, their conversation turned to thoughts of what was waiting for them when they arrived. They'd need to change trains at Newcastle but given they were expected a car would meet them at the closest station to Brancaster to take them the final distance. Edith admitted she was feeling rather nervous.
"Nervous? Why, my dear?" Bertie questioned. "They know you now and mother has certainly come around."
She nodded, "Oh yes, and that is a reassurance of course. But they know me as Lady Edith Crawley, not their new mistress, the Marquess of Hexham. It will be quite different, I expect."
Edith had been pushing aside her growing concerns regarding her new role ever since she'd accepted his proposal, the second one at least. Brancaster was such a huge and important estate, and came with a huge burden of responsibility. Mary had been training for that her whole life but as a second daughter no one had ever contemplated that she too might need those skills one day, that she should be schooled in the art of managing a considerable household with the strength and compassion that it required. And then there was dear, sweet Marigold who, no doubt, would miss her playmates of the Downton nursery considerably. She was relieved that Mrs Pelham knew the truth about her daughter. It had been one of the biggest mistakes of her life to keep it from Bertie, and Edith learned from her errors, always had, and was emboldened by their teachings. It hadn't been easy to confess her sins to her future mother-in-law but it had been right. She couldn't help but think how Marigold might be taking to her new grand-mama in her absence.
"I wonder," Edith reflected, "If it will be best to start quietly. Let the housekeeper show me her ways before I give any thoughts about changes. She's always seemed to me to be an efficient and together sort of a woman."
Bertie agreed, "Indeed. Mrs James has had the measure of the house for a long time. She won't make it difficult for you, I'm sure of that." He reached for her hand across the table, his thumb giving the back of her a gentle rub. "But it is your home now, so you must run it how you see fit. You have my support."
Edith smiled, she knew that she did and was extremely grateful. She was going to need it, of that she was certain. The monumental task of learning who everyone was, their role and their history was not to be underestimated. Over the last decade, unlike at Brancaster, the number of servants had diminished at Downton and she'd become used to it. Her own modest flat in London was run on a skeleton staff. What did she need in a lady's maid, she'd concluded, dressing herself was hardly a challenge. Although she did miss having someone to fix her hair. She considered that there was nothing quite as soothing as the feel of a brush expertly manoeuvred to gently tease out the tangles at the end of a long day, the soft bristles giving the lightest of massages to her scalp. She sighed audibly at the thought and had to correct herself when she saw the questioning look Bertie was giving her. She momentarily struggled as to what her husband might make of an explanation that would reveal the indulgent nature of her personal musings. But she was saved by the arrival of their lunch, smoked salmon so thinly sliced it seemed translucent on the bone china plates, its accompaniment of capers, shallots and crème-fraîche providing the perfect balance.
With coffee being served as they pulled into Newark, they had ample distraction from one another. Stations were a constant source of fascination to Edith. Where was everyone going, she puzzled, the journalist in her keen to know each and every one of their stories. How, for example, did the small boy visible to the right of their window, dressed in a smart navy coat, its bright buttons neatly fastened, come to find himself hugging a brown teddy bear tightly to his chest as an older child fussed with their luggage by his side. Did the scruffy gentleman, pipe wedged between his teeth with a canvas pack slung over his back and leaning casually against an iron railing, not have an urgent train to catch? It appeared not. And what about the occupation of the lady dressed in attire not dissimilar to that she herself wore when visiting the offices of her magazine? She looked well heeled, a woman of means for certain, but what was her purpose for the day? Edith could only speculate and did so out loud once or twice, noting Bertie's amusement that this was how the mind of his wife was currently occupied.
"The boy there does remind me that you will have one new project to tackle with Mrs James," Bertie offered. "She should have had ample time by now to have shortlisted candidates for the position of nanny. Now, that will be something you can tackle together on an even footing."
He leant back in his chair, pleased to have found a solution to her earlier concern. He'd clean forgotten that he'd tasked the housekeeper with this, just one of the many things he'd done in preparation for their return and her welcome into Brancaster. Lifting his cup to his lips, he caught sight of something on his wife's face, confusion perhaps.
"Marigold will need someone to look after her, dearest," he said, seeking to clarify his meaning.
Edith nodded slowly, but couldn't help but frown. It was clear from his words and manner that he'd expected this to be good news but she found herself aggravated by it. The notion of employing a nanny hadn't been anything they'd discussed previously. It had been decided about her coming to live with them, of course, she'd never leave her at Downton so far away from her. But a nanny? She wasn't sure she wanted that. A small part of her had been secretly hoping that perhaps she'd be able to look after Marigold herself for a bit, be a real mother like the ones she'd envied in the village. She felt a growing anger in the pit of her stomach at his presumption to do this without consulting her. Marigold was hers. She should be the one to take decisions on her welfare and education, and her alone.
She cleared her frown and tried to smile but she simply couldn't. The air between them felt unsettled suddenly. She knew she should say something, that he was waiting for her to, but what could be said that wouldn't reveal her thoughts and risk a disagreement that she didn't want. The time since their engagement, the run up to the wedding, and the last four wonderful weeks had all been like a dream. In this moment however she feared that the honeymoon period of their new lives together was now, rather abruptly, concluded.
