Their comfortable conversation resumed as the train continued its journey northwards, the unfortunate misunderstanding at lunch forgotten, or at least resolved. The landscape was changed now, no longer the open expanse of field and meadow, but rolling hills interspersed with villages and towns. Edith and Bertie hadn't altered their positions, choosing to stay close. Throughout their engagement, she'd spent many hours imagining how they'd be with one another, if it would remain as it had been before they were married. She had no point of reference beyond what she'd witnessed in her parents and sisters' marriages. They'd hardly been ideal for all sorts of reasons and in all sorts of ways but they'd been absolutely routed in love. She'd looked on with all consuming envy, experienced a desperate longing to have the same. She'd admit that, on occasion, she'd persuaded herself to feel more than she did just to have the slightest chance at something more. Not with Anthony or Michael of course, she'd felt the hallowed depths of the loss of both of them; anger, sadness and shame all tangled up with never ending loneliness. But now she had Bertie. Third time lucky, isn't that what they say?

She tried to pay attention as he told of some of the problems affecting their tenant farmers. Oh, how ordinary that sounded to her, so grown up. She was transported back to a time when she'd sit in the Downton library taking tea, the fire roaring as they sipped delicately from bone china cups, her father trying to engage them in tales of the estate. She'd taken her lead from her Mama who'd listened patiently but had not required any particular level of understanding. And now it was her turn to be a sounding board of sorts; not that she imagined Bertie needed her input. His experience of managing Brancaster was vast and so, like her mother, she considered her role was to listen and to reassure. She let her mind wander a little and was surprised to notice he'd stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry," she said guilty, "I got distracted. What was the question?"

He smiled, "I said how wonderful it would be to take you out on a drive tomorrow, or the next day if you need to rest. There's a decent pub in the village and we could combine that with a tour of the estate."

She laughed, "Oh darling, I can't go in there! What would they all think, the new Marquess sipping half a stout!"

The hilarity of the idea quite took her over until she saw his face. "Bertie, you can't be serious?" she said astonished.

"Well, I was rather," he huffed, "But I see your point."

She regarded him with bemusement until a thought occurred to her. She went to speak but was interrupted by a polite tap to their compartment window, the endearing face of Tony Gillingham regarding them with concern. He slid open the door and hoovered.

"Apologies for the intrusion but we're approaching York and I wanted to check you were alright, Edith."

She stood and went to him, the lightest pat to his arm as a thank you for his thoughtfulness. She reassured him that she was.

"Mabel not joining you at Downton?" she inquired, realising now that she'd been too distracted earlier to ask after his wife.

"No, not this time. The children needed her," he paused as they felt the train slow, marking its approach into the station. "Well, safe travels. And um, best of luck, I suppose."

He tipped his hat as he departed. Edith looked on as he made his way towards the vestibule at the end of the carriage, the dark brown of his overcoat still visible as he turned and waited for the train to come to a complete stop. She couldn't directly see what he was doing but in her mind's eye she had a clear picture of him lowering the train door window and leaning out to turn the exterior handle, stepping down to the platform, is eyes searching for the exit. What platform were they on, she wondered, straining to look. Ah, platform 3. By now he'd now be striding to the footbridge to cross to platform 7, hurrying most likely, the connections at York were always perilously tight. Did he have a case with him? She hadn't seen one but perhaps his valet had sent it on. No, that couldn't be right; Tony hadn't had a manservant for years. Well, a bag would slow him down for certain, so perhaps he wouldn't make it after all. Although there was always that handy little station tearoom if he did, the one with the huge current buns piled up on a cake stand, their sticky icing and glace cherry tops squashed slightly under the glass cover. She closed her eyes briefly at the memory and felt herself self consciously wrapping her arms around her middle.

Eventually she sat down, sighing and resting back on the high head rest. She rolled her head over to smile warmly at her husband, recalling she'd been about to say something before Tony's interruption, but what that had been was quite lost to her now.

Bertie returned her smile. "Where were you? You disappeared on me for there for a moment."

"Mmm," she replied, "Oh, I don't know." She shook her head, "Just being silly." She sat forward, keen to focus her attention back on him. "Now, what about this tour of the estate?" she probed, pleased when he took her hint and took up again with sharing his plans.

The whistle blew, the ash-laden steam bucked up against the windows once more, and they felt the familiar shudder of movement resume. London to Newcastle was a good six hours but the departure from York was a significant marker of their progress. Bertie was happy enough to talk of the estate and share his speculations as to how to spend the first few days there. He imagined mother had plans for them, and of course there was Marigold, and the wider household to consider. He'd long considered it his home but he wasn't naive, Edith was going to need plenty of time and space before she got the measure of it all. She'd hinted at her worries earlier but she was so capable that he didn't share them. Still, she'd only visited what, twice more since their first meeting there, hardly anytime at all. He called to the conductor to place an order for tea and watched as she reached for her book, searching her small travelling bag for it and was forced to remove several items first as it had sunk to the bottom. He sensed a distraction from her but couldn't place it. Locating the novel she moved to open it at the place she'd marked, its green fabric cover contrasting with the pale hands in which it was held. She scanned the page but he could tell she wasn't taking in the words, her blue eyes hazed with quite different thoughts to that of the escapades of the hero and heroine contained within.

"Of course, there is no reason not to delay our plans for tomorrow," he offered, hedging his bets that it was their earlier conversation that was in her mind, "There's no rush, we have plenty of time for all that."

She looked up and smiled, she knew he was desperate to show her everything. She felt that during their engagement he'd been holding back on talking to her of Brancaster. At first she wondered if it was because he'd been having second thoughts about the whole thing, but hearing him talk of it over the last month she'd realised he'd been holding back for quite a different purpose.

"No, I think it's a fine idea. Like we said, we'll spend the morning with Marigold and then we can make a start. Before too long I'll be consumed with the tedium of linen rotas and menu planning," she laughed lightly at this but swallowed hard at the thought.

She looked out of the window. They'd picked up some speed once more, the familiar curve of the river long since disappeared. Her attention was held by following the endless lines of dark steel train track that ran alongside theirs, branch lines disappearing every now and then off to the smaller towns and villages of the county. And then she saw it. The sight of the smart white signal box with its black painted roof was enough to make her gasp but then all too quickly it slipped from view. It was the junction that she knew was the route back to Downton, to her home, to her source of familial comfort and childhood angst, to the deep-seated memories of loves and losses. And now, it was gone. It had passed.