Edith was stunned.

When she saw that the letter was from Anthony she expected no confession on love or longing to be with her again (even though there may have been a flicker of hope for that buried deep inside) however, nor did she expect him to have the capacity for such pillory. And the fact that it was private only made it more humiliating, they must be laughing at her in private. Together. Anthony and Lady Irene.

Edith could hardly begin to fathom Anthony Strallen's audacious attempts to hide her name with references such as "my Lady" when they both knew perfectly well that "his Lady" was Lady Irene Elspeth who was seen kissing him so keenly at the ground party only yesterday. Oh, the whole thing was execrable, it made her sound like his Mistress.

Edith couldn't help thinking that the letter was written quite out of character, which only made it hurt more as this meant that Anthony felt everything with so much passion. A passion that Lady Irene had managed to germinate, her thrilling personality and qualities made fertile soil.

So that's what Edith was, wasn't it? Dried mud. Her tears finally pooled and ran down her cheeks hastily.

She scrunched up the letter, shaking, ran down the hall and then up the stairs. The piece of paper balled up tightly in her fist.

Matthew who was about to enter the library with Lord Grantham noticed this. Something heavy suddenly fell in his ribcage. Some kind of relative of guilt, it had something ominous written all over it.

"Just a minute Robert. I've left something up stairs."

"Yes go, I'll need to find Isis."

As Lord Grantham went off looking for the dog, Matthew capered silently up the stairs, walked quickly down the landing and reached Edith's door. There were sobs.

"Edith?" He knocked.

There was no reply but a choking sound. The sort of cry that suffocates, stopping a person from getting a breath.

"Look, I'm coming in."

Matthew entered.

Edith was sat at the end of her bed, bent over, face in her her hands and shaking like there was no warmth in the world.

Matthew winced. He knew somebody had done this, and he had a feeling he knew what they had done. And possibly who had done it.

"Oh Mamma! Can't you see I want to be alone. Just leave me!"

"It's me."

"Oh," Edith turned to see view her visitor and then returned to staring at the floor through a waterfall of salty water. "I don't know why you want to see this. Just go."

"Edith, what happened...?"

She threw a balled up piece of paper at him in reply. Matthew picked it up and smoothed it out with care. It took him a minute to read and when he had done so, his hand fell and he closed his eyes willing God to give him patience.

"Edith."

"What?" she asked as she continued to jerk with sobs.

"Anthony didn't write this."

"...How can you say that? If that's an attempt of comfort then I'm grateful - but it's in his bloody writing!"

"I know, look - this is hard to explain but - " Matthew paced the room briefly. "I believe these aren't his words."

"Oh and what proof have you? Who's words are they then?"

Matthew huffed in frustration, hesitated and then left the room, Edith staring wildly after him.

He came down the stairs with less agility than what he came up with, for his anger was starting to make him stiff. He marched to the living room and entered unceremoniously, where his wife sat talking with Lady Cora and the Dowager.

"Mary. I will give you one chance to deny it!" Matthew announced madly.

"My darling what in heaven are you talki- " Mary started with alarm.

"I think me and you both know exactly what I'm talking about!"

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