Author's Notes: And the plot moves onward…
General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical homophobia, 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.
Specific Warnings: Original Characters & Crawley Family Dynamics.
SPECIAL THANKS go to the Classicist, who has built a wonderful fanon family for Anthony. Diana, her husband and children, as well as Anthony's parents belong entirely to her. Be sure to drop by and read her work as it is considerably better than mine! Charlotte and Clara are also her amazing inventions!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
November 1913
"Rosamund? What on earth…"
There was very little that could surprise Lady Violet Crawley, but the Dowager Countess of Grantham was suitably shocked by the sight of her only daughter breezing into Grantham House followed by a pale and sniffling Lady Susan MacClare. A shock greatly increased at the sight of her daughter's iron grip on the latter's forearm, or the way Rosamund roughly shoved her cousin into a seat.
"Sit down, Susan, and compose yourself."
"Cousin, I didn't mean-."
"Not another word or you will remember why you were afraid of me when we were children!"
The thing about a visit to London was that it didn't provide a person with the opportunity for true privacy, at least not in Violet's experience. Property in the city was so dreadfully expensive, and it only made sense and fit the standards of propriety to spend your time there in a family home. That, of course, meant that all the Crawley family descended upon Grantham House for the season.
Violet herself would have only spent a few days in town, under ordinary circumstances. She'd long passed the time when the glitz of London society covered the grime and rot that lay beneath the gilded surfaces. She also, quite bluntly, knew that power was best used in a reserved manner, and from a position of superiority.
Her days of true social prominence had passed. Cora honestly wielded more concentrated social power than she did and had more contacts as a simple result of being the current Countess and of an age where more of her friends were alive and well-established as social hostesses. Violet's greatest authority was vested in longstanding connections and debts owed; both things that were best used sparingly if one hoped to keep their value high.
One day Cora would see her own power fade, not that she wielded as much as Violet had in her own best years. Cora was too much of a natural peacemaker to succeed in society. It was the way of the world, that the old was replaced by the new, however, and it was Violet's hope to live long enough to watch Mary rise to a level of prominence as exalted as her own once was. She had been so relieved to finally see one of her girl's displaying that kind of drive and had such hopes for Mary's marriage. It was that very thing that had moved her to town and kept her in town to be sitting there as her niece was bodily dragged into the room by Violet's estranged daughter.
"Hello, Cora, I take it you've heard?"
"Cora, please, you have to understand I was just-."
Cora Crawley, Violet reflected, was quite American, for all that she was a rather mild mannered and ladylike member of that society. Likewise, though her daughter-in-law had adapted well to English society, that is all it was; adaptation. It was hardly a true metamorphosis.
Though Violet fully planned to leave this good earth before she mentioned it, there were times when Violet appreciated it greatly.
The dowager winced as Cora slapped Susan full across the face, turning the woman's entire head with the force of it. Violet was also somewhat satisfied. She really did wish Susan well and wished she could make her sister's child happier somehow, but none of that changed the reality of the mess Susan had caused, or the damage done.
"Cora!"
Robert, a step behind his wife, quickly took her by the wrist as she wound up to slap the cowering Marchioness of Flintshire a second time.
"Don't take that tone with me, Robert!" Cora did oblige by lowering her hand but stood towering over Violet's niece. "Rosamund may be satisfied with threats, but I find that I am not!"
Violet left her son to handle his wife and turned to Rosamund.
"Whatever were you thinking to bring her here?"
"A variety of things." Rosamund paused, then sat with a prim, ladylike wryness that Violet knew all too well. "Amongst others, that it might do Cora a bit of good."
Violet raised an eyebrow.
"How… considerate of you, dear…"
Rosamund and Violet turned and looked at where Susan was sobbing into her handkerchief, offering up a confusing and inappropriate mix of apologies and justifications as Cora Crawley's full maternal wrath descended on the woman. Though mother and daughter couldn't see it, their expressions were identical. Both looked cynically pleased with the violence.
"You have five seconds to stop blubbering and give me one reason that I shouldn't personally collect what I am owed for the shame and embarrassment you've delivered onto this family, Lady Flintshire, and I suggest you use it wisely."
"Cora, please, you can't possibly-."
"That is not a wise use of your five seconds, Cousin Susan." Robert interrupted, his dripping disapproval and justifiable hurt. "When, when has this family – your family – ever done you harm? How many times have we helped you?"
"Robert-."
"Did my parents not pay for your third season despite our own difficulties at the time? Did I not escort you to dozens of social engagements to try and help you find a husband? My own father introduced you and Shrimpy to each other with the express purpose of marriage! And you repay that by starting vile rumors about one of my children!"
"She's not your-."
Violet noted that it spoke to Cora's considerable self-control that she sat down like a lady and Susan didn't end up slapped across the face again.
"Don't you dare say it. Edith is my daughter. She is mine and has been since the moment I took her into my arms and called her such, and no one is going to tell me otherwise!"
Violet turned to look at her daughter. Ever since she'd learned the truth, she'd wondered how Rosamund had done what she'd done so easily. Not in the sense that she'd given a child up. Violet was uneasily sure that she could have done the same.
No, what worried Violet and… left her both terribly proud of her son and worried about herself in a way that she never could acknowledge aloud was the surety that she would have done everything so much more cleanly than her children had. Oh, they'd hid it well until Rosamund's scruples had revealed the family's shame to the world, but they could have easily hidden it better. After all, they'd had a distant cousin offer to take Edith on and hide her completely. There were other ways to have adopted her out to couples of no relation at all, and that was what Violet would have done in their place.
But... Violet had other children. She could have, at least. Looking at Rosamund, who'd given birth to a daughter and then seen her only child raised as her brother's least favorite child, she'd often wondered how it might have hurt her. She'd wondered, and almost hoped, that Rosamund was hiding greater feelings than she revealed. It would at least explain why some simpler solution hadn't been found all those years ago, such as taking up Matthew Crawley's father on his offer of a safer, more distant, adoption…
Now, Violet saw that… she was perhaps oversimplifying a situation that could simply never be simple. There was regret in Rosamund's eyes, but also relief. Perhaps, as she looked at Cora fiercely defending her rights as Edith's mother, there was even a hint of admiration. Whatever it was, Violet felt a tense knot somewhere behind her sternum unwind just a little, because – whatever she was seeing – it looked so much healthier than the denial she'd spent years seeing Rosamund turn towards the entire situation. Then the general mess of emotion surrounding the wedding and the other recent encounters Rosamund had shared with the rest of the family.
"But-."
"Cora's correct. The moment I put Edith into Robert's hands she ceased being my daughter and became my niece, and it is on behalf of my niece and in recognition of my culpability in bringing you anywhere near her feelings that I am settling this now."
Violet felt a flare of pride as her daughter took control of the situation, turning towards Cora.
"I do apologize for bringing her here, but Shrimpy agreed that it was best to be direct. Her things shall be here momentarily."
"Wait a moment – Rosamund!" Robert spluttered now. "You can't possibly-."
"I will not have her in my home-."
Violet brought her cane down once upon the tiled floor of the salon and the noise served nicely, as it usually did, to silence both her son and his wife.
"Thank you, Mama."
"You're quite welcome, Rosamund, but perhaps an explanation?"
"But I'm right!" Susan insisted. "She spent weeks swanning around the continent with the man with no proper chaperone! Edith is pregnant and the only-."
"One more word, Susan, and I will let everyone know about your little mistake with those papers back in 'ninety-eight."
This time Susan was silenced without a hand raised.
"Pardon?" Robert asked, confused and Violet raised a hand, gesturing lightly as if brushing away a spot of dust.
Before her, Susan was a pale as curdled milk. Her watery eyes turned pleadingly to her aunt as everyone else looked at Violet with intense scrutiny. Violet ignored it as masterfully as she ever had. Instead, she kept her gaze trained firmly on her niece and leant forward to put more of her weight onto her cane, tucked beneath her folded hands as it was.
"Ready to listen now? Good. Susan, clearly your marriage is in an even more perilous state than I suspected if you fail to grasp the idea that a woman who has been married for nearly three months could be in the family way without having taken any intimate action before marriage."
"Wait, it's not just a rumor?!" Cora finally sat down, her expression almost as shocked as Robert, who sat weakly down beside her on the sofa, facing the three other women. "Edith is expecting?"
"Yes, I had a visit from Mrs. Diana Chetwood and she gave me the news. All of the news.." Rosamund pulled a face, her tone rueful. "She was rather channeling her own Mama, I am afraid."
"Oh, how dreadful." Violet murmured and got an amused look of agreement from Rosamund before her daughter sighed.
"She was correct, however." Violet smiled at the sight of her daughter squaring her shoulders and looking to both mother and her brother with rueful acceptance. "It is high time I began to take responsibility for… cleaning up my own messes."
"I'm hardly anyone's mess to clean up!" Susan objected. "Aunt Violet, I'm dreadfully sorry that I have upset you. That wasn't my intention at all. I didn't intend to cause Edith any embarrassment, either I was merely – merely discussing family news with some friends-."
"If you are about to make a ridiculous claim, Susan, I suggest you properly organize your thoughts before you make it. That way it may at least be amusing as well as stupid." Violet cut in. "Whatever do you intend to do, Rosamund?"
"And why did it necessitate bringing that woman here?" Cora asked archly, before her expression slipped into one of worry. "Oh, poor Edith. Do you think this is the real reason why she and Anthony rushed back to Loxley?"
"It must be." Robert agreed quietly. "Quitting town over some little disagreement that a servant could handle at the girl's school is nonsensical given Mary's approaching wedding, but if Edith heard the rumors she would have been mortified. God knows that I am!"
"And after all of poor Maud's problems I'm sure Anthony is being overprotective." Rosamund agreed. "He was always a dear like that."
Cora touched a hand to her lips in thought and looked between all of them in a way that Violet arched an eyebrow at.
"It's just that, if she's so upset, perhaps I should go back to Downton for a few days… only, well, Mary does need me right now as well…"
"I'll go back to Yorkshire." Violet interrupted, though with a pang of regret. "Mary does need her mother, and it's more practical given Robert's political connections."
"I'm afraid that won't work, Mama. I came here – and brought Susan – because I need you to come with us."
"Whatever for, and where? Rosamund, what are you talking about?"
"I-."
"Susan, this might be the best opportunity you have to practice constructive silence. Do not squander it."
"Get on with it, Rosamund." Robert advised and Violet shot her son an approving look.
"If Susan and I just vanish it will spark more talk."
"That much is true." Violet agreed. "I take it you have a plan."
"Yes."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"-and this will be the most wretched distraction from our wedding that-."
"Mary, really, that's quite enough."
"Lawrence, surely."
"Mary, do shut up."
Mary's mouth snapped shut in surprise and she turned to face her fiancé. They were in the lovely sitting room she'd so approved of earlier, only now Mary could honestly say she approved of the whole house. It had the same wonderful, organized, feeling of intention no matter what room you went in. Mary could barely walk about without seeing the flow of guests during a party and how one could open and shut any door, or just rearrange the furnishings slightly and easily manage the flow of guests and conversation with it. Yet, all of this happened without a loss of comfort. If it was a stage, it was the happiest set she'd ever walked upon.
She'd even been happy to see that Lawrence had lived up to his word. There was a new secretary settled in and that horrible Chinagirl had been seen on her way out. Mrs. Hughes had even had a private chat, gathering news from the Ramsey House housekeeper and had confirmed it separately for Mary's peace of mind. Lawrence had been honest; Midori Chen was almost never seen about the place. She really had only been there in all of her unsettling glory to manage some paperwork.
The rumors about Edith, however, were another matter in a long string of distractions. The fear and terror of that horrid bombing that they'd missed only by the grace of God. All of Lawrence's business and political dealings that kept him so busy they never seemed to meet to do anything but plan the wedding or discuss social events. Meeting his friends and connections in carefully arranged entertainments. His introduction to her family's circle.
The latter of which had prompted Mary's arrival. She'd been so embarrassed when Edith and her husband had withdrawn from another of their events at the last moment! Mary was beginning to believe her sister was intentionally snubbing her. After they'd both made such progress, with Edith finally proving herself by helping with those matters that they would no longer discuss!
"Excuse me, Lawrence!"
"Mary, for God's sake, you've just spent the last-." Her future husband withdrew his pocket watch from his coat with a grimace. "Fifteen minutes going on about your sister and some silly conflict with a cousin that everyone in London and half the empire knows to be an unremittent shrew, of all the things."
"What do you mean, 'of all the things'? I would have thought you wanted to be warned in the timeliest manner possible of any hint of scandal attaching itself to one of our connections."
"If there was a scandal, I would."
"What do you mean 'if'?" Mary demanded. "There are rumors going about that Edith became pregnant out of wedlock!"
"No, there are rumors going about that Sir Anthony Strallan, of all people, seduced himself an heiress. Those are entirely different things."
"That's ridiculous."
"No, that's society, Mary." Lawrence snorted and, to Mary's shock, actually regarded her in surprise. "Mary, stop being so self-righteous and sensitive and actually consider the realities of the situation politically."
"I fail to see how politics would be so vastly different from reality."
"Shall I explain it, then?"
"Oh, please, do!"
Mary sat down primly and gestured sarcastically, letting her full disapprobation for his high-handed manner shine through. To her surprise, instead of becoming offended or drawing attention to her gesture and addressing it as Matthew might have responded to the challenge… Lawrence acted as though she were giving him his just do, and settled comfortably into the chair across from her. Perfectly calm, he adjusted his trousers at the knee as he sat, and settled back comfortably in the chair. Just… just lounging as he observed her!
"Lady Strallan is never going to escape the taint and rumors that come from her bastardy. It's too fun to the society cats to run down Lady Painswick whenever they get the chance, so they're always going to find some reason to reference it."
"Exactly, which-."
"Don't interrupt, Mary, it's rude."
Mary flushed and glared, but Lawrence just went on.
"The old ladies and gossipy women of society only have a certain sort of power, Mary, and in this case, their exercising it changes nothing for us in this instance."
Mary frowned and then outright scowled as he raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting a response.
"What do you mean?"
"Lady Strallan's past means she'll always be slightly scandalous. This isn't going to change the water level, so to speak."
"It will reduce her invitations."
"Not in any meaningful way."
Mary frowned and Lawrence leaned forward.
"Mary, think. The Strallans invitations won't change in the slightest because they're not the sort to accept invitations based on social pressure to begin with. Instead, they will carry on exactly as they have, save perhaps with a bit of weepy sentimentality on your sister's part over the sting of the rumors."
"Weepy sentimentality?"
Mary couldn't quite keep her mouth closed, though she brought her lips together quickly, to hide her surprise. It was just such a coarse way to speak about a lady's honor!
"Don't pretend you actually care about Lady Strallan's feelings, Mary. I mean, you've spent fifteen minutes ignoring any hurt she might feel and complaining how it will distract from our wedding!"
Mary struggled for a moment, then flushed darkly. Shame assailed her, unwanted, unexpected, and – until that point – utterly unconsidered. Before she could struggle through the difficult and extended process of picking apart her emotions and understanding them – something she worked hard to avoid anyway – her fiancé was leaning forward and patting her hands.
"Nor would I expect you to, Mary. You and your sister aren't close – that's all the better as it should mean that, with practice, you can make unbiased decisions for our own future."
Mary nodded, too distracted in closing all the doors and windows in her mind that had just blown open to process it all as she instead focused on what her future husband was saying as he went on.
"Nothing will change in the value of their social connections to us. His friends – who are varied and well-placed in industry, academia, and the government – are going to remain his friends and disdain the rumors. What few connections Lady Strallan has will remain loyal, and Mrs. Chetwood will cultivate further connections for her successfully without interference. Those that won't associate with her because she's a bastard won't change. Those that would value her wealth and care not a whit about how she got it won't change either. This has absolutely no relevance on their value as a connection."
"Then what about the effect it will have on Mama and I? It's embarrassing."
"Only if you let it embarrass you."
"Excuse me?"
"Mary, you do realize that seducing a young heiress half his age is only likely to improve Sir Anthony's reputation, don't you?"
Mary stared at her future husband, and then flushed in embarrassment at his wry tone.
"I-I wouldn't consider such conduct admirable in a gentleman!"
"Of course, you wouldn't, you're a proper lady, it's your job to uphold standards." He reached out and took her hand, kissing it finally and Mary relaxed slightly as he showed something other than exasperated annoyance with her and they wandered back onto more familiar social territory. "However, if you don't take it seriously, you pull the rumor's teeth. If you do let yourself get worked up about it, well, it's blood in the water."
"Must you use such metaphors?"
"Sorry, darling, too much speech writing. I do mean it. I have every plan of laughing with my friends at Sir Anthony Strallan's finally doing something interesting."
"It will be more complicated for Mama and I."
"Alright, tell me what you're going to do about that."
"What do you mean, Lawrence?"
"We're partners, Mary." He replied as if speaking to a slow child, raising his eyebrows. "I would hope you recall that from our many conversations to the effect. This is a social hurdle on your end and within your purview. I've already stated that it won't cause me any problems politically or socially – as a man, it will improve his reputation. There ends my handling of it. How are you, as my wife, how are you going to handle any problems on your end?"
"Well, I mean, it's – I didn't create the problem."
"I don't care who created it. I only care about solving it."
A small part of Mary flailed unhappily at this sudden and unexpected tangent her life had taken. She had come to Lawrence for sympathy and a willing ear. She'd wanted her future husband to accept and encourage, to support her frustration with finding that Edith's life was once again overtaking hers in an unacceptable way. That she was upset because, just as Edith's flight to America had ruined her debut, it seemed these rumors might overtake her wedding.
She hadn't come to be told that it was her mess to clean up. She didn't come to have more responsibility heaped on her shoulders. Now, however, she found those dark and handsome eyes fixed on her in expectation… and she didn't want to disappoint them. Still, that Crawley pride rallied. Being told to prove one's self was an uncomfortable feeling, but one that demanded an answer.
"I – well, I've dealt with rumors before. It's all a matter of gauging one's audience and response. Most of them I can intimidate, honestly." Mary found herself running a quick list of names through her mind. "Those that I can't, Mama and Granny can handle. It won't stop the talk, of course, but… with a balance of ridicule and nonchalance I can be so dismissive that it takes the fun out of it. No-one speaks ill of someone else in order to make themselves feel worse. If they're the ones embarrassed, they'll at least choose wisely where they repeat such things."
"What else?"
"Minimize it, as you suggested." Mary agreed with an aggrieved sigh. "If you can dismiss it with the men in such a way, I can dismiss it with the women to some extent given that she is married, no matter the timing involved."
"Good."
To Mary's surprise she watched her future husband stand.
"Good? Is that all you have to say?"
He looked regretful and embarrassed as he helped her up.
"Mary, I would love nothing more than to have some unchaperoned time alone with you."
Mary flushed darkly as she realized the other implications of her arrival without her mother or grandmother in tow. She'd just been in such a rush and her parents had still been discussing matters, all while infuriatingly excluding her from the conversation, she might add! As if being unmarried somehow changed the fact that she was older than Edith!
"But we hardly need any more rumors about the family." Mary finished and presented her cheek for a kiss. "Yes, of course. It was very nice to have a chance to talk to you without any other hangers on about, though, Lawrence."
"I look forward to decades of it in the future, darling. Just -."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"So, that's settled then."
"Perhaps you think so, Robert, but I can't be so sanguine about it."
Cora Crawley settled into her side of their shared bed and frowned down at the knitting in her hands. She vastly preferred embroidery, but embroidery at night was far too hard on her eyes even with the benefit of electric lighting. Besides, Mary needed any number of things for her trousseau and not all of it should be acquired from professionals. All of her babies had received a warm knitted cradle blanket from her hands, even Edith.
Cora closed her eyes against the memory of frantically knitting a second baby blanket when they'd planned to explain away Edith's birth as a twin to their own expected little one. Her poor baby boy. He'd never even had a chance at life, and all she'd been able to give him was a blanket…
"Cora, darling?"
"I'm sorry, Robert, it's just… all this talk and Rosamund here it's… stirred up memories."
With a sigh, she relaxed into the heavy warmth of his arms and buried her face into the mat of dark hair on his chest. Reveling in his strength, she let him hold her close in the silent golden light of the room. Her knitting rested, forgotten, in her lap over the duvet.
"Yes, well, it would. At least she's… she seems…"
Resentful as she felt, at times, towards her sister-in-law, Cora couldn't help the little flare of relief that she felt at her husband's lighter tone. Turning her head so she could look up into his face, she smiled.
"You are having a proper reconciliation, aren't you?"
"Not… entirely, but I think we're making the first steps."
Cora kissed his collarbone and hummed, prompting him onward.
"We… both apologized to each other properly. She does regret upsetting Edith at her wedding, and I think her heart was in the right place."
"It was utterly ghoulish and stupid. She could have called ahead or written or anything but sneaking up and involving your cousin the way that she did."
"Yes, and she realizes that now, but… but I think she might be right. The closure has done Edith some good, and herself as well."
Cora wasn't sure she agreed with that, but she didn't want to upset her husband so she petted at his chest hair and encouraged him onward.
"Either way, Rosamund and I had the best talk we've had in years. She really does want to do her part for the family, now, and her handling Susan will go a long way towards that – for everyone."
"I just wish it hadn't upset Mary so."
"Well, can you blame her? Now both her grandmothers are going to miss her wedding, and one of them will do so while pretending to be ill." Robert's lips turned up. "Though it does rather give you quite a bit of free reign, as the mother-of-the-bride… and with no mother-of-the-groom to contend with!"
"Yes, there are some advantages to be found." Cora huffed out a laugh and sighed as she brought the conversation back to where it started. "It is a good plan, though. I am beginning to like Mrs. Chetwood."
"Their mother was the loveliest woman." Robert murmured into Cora's hair. "I once got into a bit of a scrape with Anthony as a lad. My mother made it sound like she was sending me into a dragon's lair when she said I must go to Loxley to be punished by Lady Strallan."
"I take it that there were no dragons to be had?"
"I will admit that Sir Phillip was intimidating, but it ended up being one of the best days I had all summer."
"What happened?"
"Oh, I couldn't tell you anything specific, she was just very kind and very different. Mama would never have taken us out to pick berries and rosehips, nor let our nurses lest we get properly dirty. Lady Strallan was out with us in an old gown, though, in charge of the whole operation and happy as she could be in the midst of it. By the end of the evening there'd been cake and I'd apologized and all was forgiven. It was just… a glimpse into a different sort of family."
"My childhood was a lot like that, when we were younger at least." Cora mused softly, half-asleep. "Papa got busier and busier as we got older, and Mama became so involved in society… but I can remember them sending off the nurses and taking long walks with just the four of us, or being allowed to play quietly at Papa's feet in his office. We should have done more of that with ours. We did more of that, with Sybil."
Robert rumbled a quiet, sad agreement and they held onto each other. Finally, her husband sighed.
"At least we don't have to worry about the specter of that women getting involved anymore."
Cora winced and felt a pang of embarrassed regret. It had become clear how manipulative O'Brian was when they'd finally fully investigated things, but sometimes she still missed the redheaded woman. O'Brian had at least listened and spoken to her of all of her problems and worked to keep her informed. While her new maid was an honest, decent, and talented woman, she was nothing approaching a confidential servant. Was it wrong to wish she could have a servant she could trust as well as her husband trusted Bates?
"Yes, it's good to hear Shrimpy let her go, but it will mean more work for Rosamund's girl now that they're off to Lady Annabelle's."
"Honestly, I don't know who I feel worse for, Susan's daughter or the son-in-law who is going to find himself besieged by my sister and cousin."
"At least Annabelle is willing to help her mother."
"Annabelle realizes that it will be her and her husband's social position that suffers if Susan doesn't control her spleen. Spreading around that Annabelle is overwhelmed and needs her mother's help to set up a house, and that Rosamund intends to help, isn't the best of excuses, but it shall hold water at least." Robert huffed and tightened his hold on Cora, resting back against the pillows with a low grumble. "Honestly, Susan's been married to a diplomat for ages. I don't know what to think that she hasn't learned a thing about how to restrain herself from spreading rumors in that time."
"Yes, but she seldom travels with Shrimpy."
"Well, she will in the future. The family's in mutual agreement that she won't be left on her own again, not in London at least. I just wish I knew what mother was threatening her with. What in the world did Susan do back in ninety-eight?"
"I doubt we'll ever know, dear, unless your mother wants us to."
"That much is certain." Robert sighed. "She leaves tomorrow to begin her little charade."
"I do wish I could go as well. I should go." Cora fretted. "I don't believe at all that your mother will handle things delicately with Edith."
"It's necessary to build up the image of mother exhausting herself, to explain the trip abroad to rest properly with Susan and Rosamund." Robert shook his head. "Besides, give my mother some credit. She can be very kind if she wishes to."
"If, Robert, if."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I did nothing wrong, and I won't be told how to teach from an-a lecherous old man who is married to a woman half his age!"
"Lisa!"
"No! No! I refuse to be silent one more moment!"
Had Anthony Strallan expected a frightened, quailed woman appear before him, remorseful of her atrocious behavior, he would have been disappointed.
"Indeed?"
Miss Lisa Hart was somewhere in her late thirties to mid-forties. It was impossible to tell given how very hard life had been on her. There were several small scars disfiguring her face. Her nose was slightly squashed to the left. There was also a slight deformity pulling downwards at the corner of her eye, and her brow was lopsided where the bones of her temple had been broken at some point. She ruthlessly died her dark hair, so one could make no estimates in her age based on that. Her eyes, brown and depthless, were bloodshot with strong emotion. She walked with a small, but obvious limp.
"Yes…"
The woman's fists were clenched by her sides as she stood before him, glaring defiantly at him while visibly trembling. Her dark brown eyes didn't seem fixed on him so much as fixed through him.
"You men are all alike!" She spat out. "Utterly blind to anything but your own base wants!"
"Lisa, stop, Sir Anthony has always supported emancipation in every way, just as his mother did before him! He's-."
"Oh, shut you, you pretentious old cow!"
The scream, punctuated by a furious slash of the woman's hand through the air drew a shocked gasp from Mrs. Weingarten as well as Miss Everly. The younger teacher had entered the room not long after Miss Hart, and was watching with far more dignified distress than the tearful headmistress.
"How, how could you address me so after all I've done for you!"
"All you've done? What about all that I've done!?"
"Lisa-."
"I was the one who survived everything done to me, not you! I was the one who learned to teach, not you, and when I couldn't even read a year before you had me in front of a room of girls! Who is it who stays late and does the work? Who is it that bears the scars and fights the good fight? It wasn't you!" Lisa Hart was transported by her rage, and Anthony watched grimly as she reached out and jammed a finger into Mrs. Weingarten's chest and then whirled to point at him. "It wasn't you, either, or any of the rich benefactors who're so proud to claim all of our accomplishments as their own. As if you're anything but as bad as all the other filthy perverts of your sex! You – you – thinking you walk on water and marrying that ba-."
"That is entirely enough, Miss Hart."
Anthony's voice sounded chill even to his own ears, but he didn't care. It was what was required. Never in his life had he wanted to strike a woman, but looking at the furious woman standing in front of him, spewing venom at all surrounding her, he found himself torn. One part of him desperately wanted to strike her, and he was appalled by it. The other part of Anthony… was whispering fiercely back, echoing and distorting her own words, and in perilous league with his own insecurities.
"It is never enough! Never, never with men like you and the rest-."
"Miss Hart, whatever dislike you hold for me and my wife, what precisely do you imagine – and I use the word entirely as it is defined – this has to do with a ten-year-old child?"
"That monster is just like all of them!" She cried out, and then turned towards the headmistress again. "And you – you put her in my class-."
"Lisa!"
"Where I have to listen every bloody day and hear him in her voice! Where I have to stand there, with all of those children, and remember that mine is out there somewhere."
Anthony's words, his own cold fury, faltered slightly at the furious grief in the woman's voice. His own mind raced back. To Maud. To the children who never were. To his son who-."
"My daughter, who I never would have let sound like that, let alone be raised with such people, but who you said was better off elsewhere – anywhere – while you saved me – saved me with a life of serving you!"
Mrs. Weingarten's mouth opened and shut as she stared at the woman in front of her, a hand pressed in shock against her ample breast. Anthony pressed his lips together, furious at himself for the chaos that had descended over a scene that was supposed to be composed of him discovering and dealing with the unconscionable threat to a child in his household, under his protection, and whom he had utterly and completely failed. Instead, he lost further control over the scene as Edith strode into the room like an avenging angel.
He had expected screaming and accusations. He'd expected to have to step in and stop whatever altercation Edith's entirely impressive temper and her justifiable worry and anger over her sister's treatment produced. Instead?
"There is the woman, Dr. Clarkson."
Edith walked in with a slow, measured step, and a burning gleam of gold in her brandy-brown gaze. Anthony started at the sight of the Ripon police sergeant he'd expected entering the room. Instead of advancing, however, the man gave way before Dr. Clarkson and two burly orderlies dressed in white. Neither wore clothing or were familiar to him from the small hospital's staff. He hadn't called Clarkson, and his presence sent a jolt of fear down to his bones.
"Sweet one, is Addie-."
"In dry clothes, with a cup of hot tea, warming up with Waters watching her, Anthony." Edith answered and came to his side, slipping her hands into his arm with a poise that was entirely the result of her English upbringing and Crawley blood.
"Miss Hart, I'm afraid that you need to come with us, now."
"I did nothing wrong! What – what lies did they tell-."
"Now, Miss Hart, be calm. No-one here wants to see you hurt."
While Anthony watched Dr. Clarkson advance with the two orderlies flanking her, his voice calm and soothing. It was all ineffectual, of course, but it remained a fine attempt. One that fell through as the two younger men began to wrestle with the sobbing, resisting woman and Dr. Clarkson produced a bottle of clear liquid and a rag. A moment later, with a regretful look upon his face, Dr. Clarkson chloroformed the now hysterical teacher and the orderlies carried her out.
Anthony looked down, catching his wife's eyes, and she looked back. Silently, Anthony found himself utterly sure of what was going on, and precisely what his wife's eyes were saying.
"Sir Anthony?"
"Yes, you must be sergeant Gillet?"
"Detective Sergeant, yes."
Anthony automatically held his hand out as the quiet young man stepped forward, his suit moving around him as he accepted the firm, dry gesture and both shook on the meeting.
"DCS Fitzwilliam sends his apologies, sir. He'd have been by himself but he's in York right now with the commissioner."
"That's entirely alright, sergeant. He's spoken of you before, and I appreciate more than I can say your swift action in this instance."
"Of course, sir." The man pulled a notepad out of his pocket and cleared his throat, nodding once. "Lady Strallan met me at the door and repeated the pertinent facts. Would you mind confirming them with me before I move on to questioning the other witnesses?"
"Of course."
"Thank you, sergeant, I do want to get my sister home as quickly as possible. She's been through enough."
The younger man flushed slightly at the earnest thanks in Edith's voice and Anthony, ruefully, reflected that she little knew her own power. So used to being ignored in favor of her elder sister and her younger sister, the cousins who were the apple of their parents' eye, Edith had always been oblivious to the admiration others turned towards her. She has no idea how bright she is, how she shines, when she allows herself to care so.
"Of course, Lady Strallan." The man cleared his throat. "Sir Anthony, Lady Strallan tells me that you received news from a servant that a teacher had been punishing Miss Kavanaugh with inappropriate chores and targeting her for public insults in class."
"Yes, we were in London and returned home immediately."
The man made a note.
"And when you arrived Lady Strallan told me that she left you to handle the staff here while she comforted her sister, and saw that she was taken care of after finding that she had been left exposed to the elements, locked outdoors in the weather with no available shelter for upwards of an hour."
"An hou- I had no idea, Edith!" Anthony turned from the police officer, looked once at Edith and then turned towards Mrs. Weingarten.
His ire turned to a sort of miserable disappointment, however, upon fixing his eyes on the woman. She sat now, broken and quietly weeping into her handkerchief, upon one of the benches that the school's students no doubt used when sitting to eat. There would be no explanations, nor satisfaction to be had in further interrogating the woman. Swallowing his anger and his own distress he turned back towards the Gillet.
"Yes, sergeant, when we arrived Adelaide was locked outside in a small, empty stone courtyard. There were no eaves or overhangs for her to take shelter under, and she was soaked through."
"Had she a coat?"
"No, only the skirt, blouse, woolen jumper, and light jacket of her school uniform."
"And she was locked outside?"
"The door was locked, yes. There's a sliding bar on the door."
"Did the teacher give any defense?"
"She maintained that it was a deserved punishment." The words were bitter in his mouth, but Edith spoke up over him.
"Sergeant, you were standing outside in the hallway with me for several minutes waiting for Dr. Clarkson. You heard the – the venom she was so overtaken by as well as I did."
The man's expression was grim, and he nodded, tapping his pencil against the small notebook once and then nodding.
"That's all I'll bother you with them, Lady Strallan, Sir Anthony. We may be in touch later, but it looks like it might not be in our line at all."
"Pardon me?" Anthony's tone sharpened. "I would think the abuse of a child in a school would be of the utmost importance to the Ripon constabulary."
And if it wasn't, I would know why. The words went unsaid, but the sentiment certainly did not. Anthony gave generously to the local police's widows and orphan's fund, as well as their other fundraisers. His father had always insisted that the advent of organized policing to Britain was one of the country's greatest godsend's and stood firmly behind the establishment and its political and social needs. Something that Sir Anthony had passed onto his son, who had at odd times been called upon to serve as a volunteer translator since he was in his teens.
"Well, yessir, what I mean is that it may be more in line with your wife's thoughts." The sergeant backpedaled slightly, nodding towards where Edith was still tucked against Anthony's arm. "Lady Strallan was right, sir, to call Dr. Clarkson and him to call East Riding Lunatic Asylum. They can at least keep the woman calm and from doing herself a mischief until we've looked into things here, properly."
Understanding, only hinted at before, snapped into place. Dr. Clarkson, who had vanished with the orderlies, returned with a grim look on his face. His normally carefully parted hair was slightly disarranged and he was attempting to settle a ruffled coat.
"Sir Anthony, Lady Strallan, before the good sergeant asks his questions of me may I see to Miss Adelaide?"
Anthony exchanged the briefest, flickering, glance with his wife and, with mutual relief and concern, they led the doctor back towards the headmistress' office while Sergeant Gillet sat with the woman, listening to her tearful interview with the officer as it faded away with each step.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Edith left her sister tucked into bed with several hot water bottles and the lanky, half-grown form of her puppy pressed against her side. Barrow, who'd been hovering anxiously in Loxley's hall without even the artificial excuse of his duties, had been left to sit with her now that Addie had settled and drifted off to sleep. As Edith closed the door she pressed her forehead against the cool, polished oak and bit her lip beneath closed eyes as she fought against the mix of anger and shame that welled up behind the tears in her eyes.
"Edith?"
Edith started and turned, finding her husband ascending the stairs towards her, the long line of his face wreathed in concern from knotted brow to squared jaw.
"Edith, darling, are you well? Is Addie-?"
"She's asleep. Went out like a light as soon as she changed into her nightgown and Polly crawled in bed with her." Edith suppressed a watery chuckle that was tinged with recrimination as she pushed off the door. "The dog at least had the sense to realize something was wrong. She was waiting right at the door and knew directly what to do. Had her smiling in minutes… Barrow's sitting with her now."
Anthony frowned, his hand hovering near the door's delicate brass knob, then he dropped it. She watched with a pang as her husband reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. In that moment he looked every one of his years and more.
Look at what you've done now. He has made you so happy. He's given up so much to marry you and given you his name and his protection and so much love, and what have you done?
"Anthony I'm – I'm so sorry."
The words pushed past her teeth before she could stop them and, to her horror, were followed by a nearly silent sob and a stifled hiccup as she pressed a hand over her mouth and felt the tears that her anger had held back all day suddenly tumbling past her lashes. Before she knew what had happened, she found herself engulfed in her husband's arms and pressed to his chest. Unable to help herself, she wound her fingers up in the lapels of his suit and clung.
"Edie? Edith, are you – is the baby – what's?"
"I'm fine. The-," Edith realized with some chagrin that she's utterly forgotten about her pregnancy for hours, and felt another pang of misery at her own uselessness. "the baby's fine. I'm not in any pain I just -I – I'm such a failure."
"Edith-."
"No, look at me!"
Edith pushed back from his chest and out of his arms, suddenly overcome with how little she deserved the comfort. Suddenly afraid that Addie or, God forbid, Barrow or one of the other servants, would hear her, Edith turned and strode across the hall to the door to her boudoir. Pressing a hand to her mouth, trying to just hold back the embarrassing and sudden flood of emotions she felt washed away by, Edith fled into the safety of the room with its jumble of furnishings and decorations from her life in America and Loxley's attics.
The normally warm and welcoming room, however, was chilled to the bone. A fire was merrily crackling away on the heart, but it was a new fire. Starting as it was, still licking at pristine firewood barely scorched at the edges, and nestled in its bed of kindling, the flames hadn't yet had time to warm the room. All around her the chill seemed to settle in as if in judgement and Edith pressed her hand more tightly to her mouth to hold in a sudden sob.
"Edith, sweet one."
Anthony was barely a step behind her, and before she could think he was right beside her, hovering awkwardly with his hands up as if eager to embrace her and not sure if he should. Another shuddering, stifled, sob shook Edith's frame and she blurted out her thoughts, flushing in embarrassment.
"Oh, ignore me, please Anthony, it's just – it's ridiculous and you must – you've offered me everything and all I ever seem to bring you is – is embarrassment and scandal-."
Edith found herself crushed into her husband's arms again, dragged tightly against his chest.
"Now, not another word, Lady Strallan. Not another word."
"Anth-."
"No, I forbid it."
Edith blinked, startled into looking up into her husband's face, to find it as drawn as her own, his blue eyes fierce and bright in the light of the fire.
"Edith, look at me."
Edith did, spellbound by the earnest, searching expression on her husband's face.
"You've brought so much to my life, sweet one, you and Addie. You can't for a moment think I'm angry or I somehow regret that."
"But – there will be talk."
"Of what? The-."
"Well, among other things the fact that I – I can't even watch my sister properly! I sent her to school and-."
"Yes, Edith, you sent her to school – at my behest I might remind you – where you expected her to be educated, safe and cared for as that is what schools are for." Anthony's broad hands covered her back, petting at her spine as he turned furrowed brows on her and shook his head. "Edith, think how I feel? Rosecliff wasn't merely my suggestion, my own mother was instrumental in its founding. I have given money, time, and influence over the years to assist it as it moved from a small charitable work into a working school, and what does that say that on my watch I blithely let it turn into – into such an utter travesty?"
"You had no way of knowing, and your mother accomplished so very much, Anthony. Just having the smallest charity school open, just seeing that girls who'd been abused were given a chance at a new life – Anthony, that's no small thing."
"No, it's not. However, I believe we both know that Mrs. Weingarten's mismanagement has done irreparable harm."
Edith could hardly counter that.
"I can hear Granny's, 'I told you so', from London."
Anthony snorted in a very ungentlemanly fashion and reached up with one hand, gently framing her face and swiping at her tears slowly with his thumb.
"My dearest darling, we both know that this is-."
"It wasn't your fault. We both wanted Addie to be more independent and neither of us were – were watching closely enough to make sure that she didn't take it too far." Edith sighed. "We – it's one thing the Crawleys and the Kavanaughs have in common. We simply can't make mistakes by half."
"I think that fault encompasses the entire human race, sweet one."
Edith let out a watery chuckle and then stifled another sob.
"W-what would Daddy say, though? What – whatever would he think. All he asked is that I protect her and-."
"All parents beg and plead with the heavens to protect their children." Anthony spoke quietly, his words muffled against her hair as he curled his body around hers protectively, his great height bending like an oak at a church's door. "We rail and cry and make demands but we – we ultimately learn that no-one can do more than we can do, Edith, and you must remember, he couldn't protect her, either."
"But-."
"Your father couldn't protect your sister from being born early, or the results. All he could do was fight to keep her safe and healthy just as you are doing, my sweet one."
"We are doing."
He squeezed her tightly, his voice low and the sound of him swallowing past his own upset audible as he nodded his agreement, his breath stirring her hair even as Edith could feel pins tugging in the simple chignon she'd put it into that morning. Edith's breath hitched, then evened out. Upset as she still was, the storm was passing. Petting at his chest, she leaned up to kiss her husband's jaw in silent thanks even as she fumbled for a handkerchief from one of her skirt's pockets.
"How is she? Would – do you think it would wake her if I popped in? The telephone is a blessedly convenient invention, until it isn't."
Edith sniffed and sighed.
"She'll probably sleep right through it – but it's hard to tell. You were on the trains with us. Addie either sleeps like she's had an encounter with a bespelled spindle or she wakes up at the slightest noise. There's never any in between." Edith rallied a bit, blowing her nose and stepping back, though Anthony's hands slid down to settle on her hips. "I'm just – I'm worried sick Anthony. You've never seen her take a bad chill."
"Then tell me what to expect."
"That's the terror of it all. There's no way of knowing. She could wake up tomorrow and be rushing about as if nothing happened – though I don't think that's likely, we'll have so much to work through and talk about with what happened."
"Of course. Edith, you're worrying me. What else might happen?"
"I told you she can take ill quickly." Edith bit her lip. "If the chill settles in her chest and she takes a chest cold it might just be minor as the few complaints she had last winter were. Or she could end up with bronchitis and spend weeks fighting it."
Anthony looked at her in grim understanding. They'd discussed Addie's health before and its unpredictable nature. He took her fully into his arms again and Edith gratefully leaned into his strength, sniffing once into her handkerchief.
"Listen to me. Moaning and carrying on. I'm sorry, Anthony-."
"Shush, now, not another word."
Edith leant back to raise an eyebrow at that particular command, the second in a rather brief span. Her husband leant down and pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips.
"We've both had a terrible fright and, well, taken one to the chin." He winced. "Archie did warn me."
"What?" Edith got a terrible sinking feeling. "About marrying-."
"Gosh, darling, no. About, well, my arrogance in thinking I – I quite had this – this thing managed. Taking care of Addie, I mean." He muttered softly. "He's going to be insufferable."
"Not if I have a chat with his wife, first."
Anthony blinked once and Edith kissed his cheek, sniffling slightly and glad that her eyes were drying, if now sore from her weeping.
"Jolly good then." He offered her that dear, crooked smile. "See, you've already improved my life dramatically. Do you have any idea how long I've been on my own to face my sister's wrath, hm? Not a single ally in fighting the good fight and-."
"Oh, hush," Edith returned the favor. "Diana's a wonder."
"All of the women in my life are." Anthony insisted quietly. "Regardless of age."
Sighing, Edith rested her head against her husband's chest and breathed out, suddenly swamped by a wave of exhaustion. Silly thing, it's not even five o'clock!
"I say, sweet one, are you well?" His hand came down, settling as gently and as unsure as a butterfly in the garden. "You've had a dreadful day and Charlotte said you were to rest properly, until you'd had a chance to – that you mustn't strain yourself."
"I'm fine, I'm just tired."
"No pains?"
"No." Edith flushed, embarrassed. "I – I honestly forgot I was expecting for most of the day. I'm just… just rather tired now…"
"Then you must rest, Edie, if not for yourself or the little one, then for your poor old husband's heart?"
Edith chuckled softly and let Anthony chivy her through the door from her boudoir into their bedroom. The fire there had been laid slightly earlier, and the room was a shade warmer. Exhausted, she didn't even bother with a proper nightgown, but simply divested herself of everything but her slip and crawled beneath the covers.
"You will join me, won't you Anthony?"
Edith watched as her husband shucked his jacket, flinging it across a chair, and began to attack the buttons of his waistcoat as he sank with a groan to sit upon the mattress.
"I thought you'd never ask, sweet one."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Addie woke to the soft brush of a cold nose on her cheek and the combined feeling of being too hot and too cold at once. Brushing a hand over her face she looked around her room. For a moment she had a strange sense of vertigo and wasn't sure which room she was in. The furniture was the same and different. There was Mama's writing desk – like Annapolis – and there was the little table she'd liked with the dark, heavy whorls of grain to the top. She'd found that in Downton's attic and Aunt Cora had said she could have it, as nobody else was very fond of the three sided table with the odd faces carved into the sides. It was the bed that jarred her into realizing where she was.
She was home, at Loxley, with Edith and Anthony.
Polly's whining drew Addie back from where she'd bitten her lip and was staring down at the covers. Sniffling as her nose ran, Addie rubbed a hand over her eyes. Her face felt warm, and like the skin was too tight and small.
"Well, that's dandy, now I'm going to be sick and everybody's going to fuss." Addie muttered and reached out, petting at her dog's head and scratching her ears. "It's all gone sideways, Polly."
Polly, with the infinite sympathy and perfect understanding of the canine, leant forward and rested her head in her mistress' lap. Addie sighed and reached down, wrapping her arms around Polly's neck and burying her face temporarily in the thick fur there.
Then she sneezed.
"Sorry."
Polly didn't take offense and Addie sniffled again and wriggled from beneath the covers to get a handkerchief. Kicking one, then another, of the hot water bottles Addie huffed and fished them out of the covers to stack them on the little table. Then she had another thought and put them in a basket. By the time she was done, Addie was scowling as she shivered. It wasn't that cold.
Still, with Polly following at her heels it was enough to motivate her to tie her dressing gown on tightly and put her feet into her slippers. Normally she didn't bother with slippers. They just made extra noise… but she was cold. More than usual, at least.
"C'mon, Polly, it's not terribly late."
The clock on her mantle read eight o'clock. Addie hesitated. The kitchen would be bustling with everyone getting ready to make Anthony and Edith's dinner. She'd missed hers… but couldn't bring herself to care. She wasn't hungry. She just wanted some hot water with honey and lemon. She had a tickle in her throat from her nose running. It would be so embarrassing with everyone staring and knowing, but.. she really did want something warm to drink. Briefly she considered ringing the bell… but that would be worse.
Thomas would at least help her get her drink quietly, if he could. If she rang the bell Mr. Kerr would go straight to her sister and Sir Anthony. Then they'd want to talk about it.
"I don't want to talk, I just want a drink."
Polly gave her a look that Addie took as agreement and she carefully pushed open the door and strategically took the servants' stairs down.
"Addie?"
It wasn't as effective a strategy as she'd hoped.
Edith came out to find the kitchen far less crowded than she expected. Mrs. Bernard was bustling about the table where two trays were set up, and Sir Anthony was standing by, chatting with her and Mrs. Walsh.
"Er – I just wanted a hot drink." Addie blurted out, then, as Polly wandered forward to demand scritches from her brother-in-law, she couldn't quite help saying, "Sorry for, erm, sorry?"
"There's absolutely nothing to be sorry for."
Addie was ready to argue that point, but blinked as she heard the tall man mutter something she couldn't quite make out under his breath about apples and trees.
"But you had to come to school and you – it was awful."
"Yes, it was."
Addie felt her eyes prickle and swallowed. It was so embarrassing. Mrs. Bernard and Mrs. Walsh were there and Thomas wasn't and… Daddy didn't raise any cowards. Addie forced her chin up.
"I'm sorry, Anthony, I really did have it all handled. I shou-shouldn't have called Mrs. Hart names and caused so much trouble. I really can go to school, I promise, I don't – I don't always-."
And Addie squeaked in surprise as she found herself picked up without warning for the second time that day.
"Anthony, stop it, I'm too old for this!"
Normally Addie didn't mind that much. Her brothers had a tendency to pick her up as well. She'd grown up used to it and found it funny. Being surrounded by other girls her own age, however, had rather hammered home the fact that she was significantly smaller than they were. Though she hadn't precisely registered it, Addie had grown somewhat sensitive about her height.
"Perhaps, but it's awfully convenient, isn't it?"
Addie tried to glare, but she had to stop to cover her sneeze properly.
"Bless you."
"F'anks." Addie took the handkerchief she was offered and blew her nose as he settled her down on her feet once he'd taken the stairs quickly. She let him nudge her into the library and sat down, but huffed a little when he wrapped the knitted blanket from the back of the sofa around her. "Anthony…"
Whatever else Addie might have said turned bashful as the tall baronet turned and took her hands in his, kneeling down to her height with a grunt as he settled his weight on one knee on the fancy library carpet.
"Addie, I'd like you to listen to me very carefully for a moment. Could you do that?"
Addie nodded silently, flushing and equal measures embarrassed and a bit upset. She knew she'd done wrong. She was sure this was where the scolding came from, and she hated being scolded. She'd almost never been at home, but when Daddy did it he always meant it.
"Addie, I am sorry."
"But you didn't do anything?"
"I made you think that you couldn't come to your sister and I for help, and I'm appalled at myself for doing so."
"But it's school," Addie protested, "I'm nearly eleven now and I shouldn't need help with school!"
"Perhaps not, if those adults at your school were behaving as they ought."
"Weren't they?"
Addie was surprised. She'd known that Mrs. Hart was awful, but people were just awful sometimes. Teachers were supposed to be obeyed and you weren't supposed to be cheeky with them or ask the wrong sort of questions. Even she knew that. She had proper manners, no matter what Mrs. Hart said.
"No, they were not."
"Mrs. Everly was nice."
"Yes, she was, and it seems she taught her classes well."
Addie nodded hesitantly, not sure where Anthony was going with his words, but listening as he spoke to her in his quiet, kind voice. As Polly inveigled herself up onto the sofa (which Edith said she wasn't allowed on but Anthony always let her up on when he was sitting on it or 'resting his eyes') and settled with her head and paws across Addie's lap, she was surprised to see that Anthony's expression twisted into something she hadn't seen before. At first she thought he was angry at her and she felt a little flare of fear, and then…
"Addie, you remember that it was my suggestion that you attend Rosecliff."
"Yes?"
"Well, then I think we know precisely whose fault it is that this has gone wrong."
"What?"
"Addie, sweetheart, the way that Mrs. Hart treated you was wrong. The fact that Mrs. Weingarten didn't stop her was also wrong. Don't doubt that for a moment." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. What with being rained on, and drying it with a towel, and everything her normally loose waves and curls had frizzed up terribly. She probably looked like an offended wolf. "I sent you to Rosecliff. I vouched for the staff and, in fact, was instrumental in Mrs. Weingarten managing to acquire and retain a large enough building to run the school as more than a small charity. I am who sent you there and then was so bloody foolish as to tell you that you couldn't come to us if you needed help – which I want you to know is never to be the case, not so long as I live. So I don't want you to apologize again for something that is my fault."
Addie turned his words over in her head even as he spoke, surprised and slightly confused. While she had a little bit of a headache and her nose was sniffly, Addie was honestly used to not feeling so well. She was used to getting cold. While it had been very distressing to be locked outside in the cold rain, Addie wasn't locked outside anymore.
Addie was home at Loxley again. She had Polly with her. She was warm and dry. Addie was also listening and that part of her, a not inconsiderable part, that had inherited less of her mother's good nature than she might have wished took offense.
"Anthony, that's dumb."
His eyebrows raised and, realizing that she'd just called an adult a name for the second time in the day, hastened to go on.
"Not that you're dumb just – not everything is your fault. Or anyone's." Addie frowned. "I mean, if – if Mrs. Hart was awful, that was her fault – and everybody knows that Mrs. Weingarten never does anything. She's too nice to everyone, and so everyone does what they want."
"I didn't know that."
"Well, you didn't go there every day." Addie was rather proud of that point, especially when he looked so nonplussed that she'd made it. "Besides, you can't know everything. Nobody can. Don't you tell me that when I get mad because they're putting letters in math again?"
Addie saw a flicker of Anthony's crooked smile. The one that had made her smile back on the boat when they'd first gotten to know him. The one that said he was embarrassed because he knew how smart he was and didn't know how to take a compliment.
"You're as bad as Edith, you know that?" Addie huffed and blew her nose again. "If it's not my fault, then it's not your fault, either."
Anthony stared for a moment longer and then huffed out a laugh and, with a short groan, heaved himself up on the sofa beside her. He reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hesitating as he often had when hugging her for the last few weeks. Realization hit and Addie wrapped her arms tight around the baronet's chest. She felt a little dumb, too, for thinking that maybe Anthony wanted her to do well at school more than he wanted her to just… just be there.
"Anthony, I'm really glad that Edith married you, you know that, right?" Addie asked and, reminding herself to be brave, couldn't quite look him in the eye when she added. "I like Loxley a lot and I like you, and – and I just wanted to make you proud of me. To prove I deserve it, to be here, I mean."
And then she was being hugged just about to pieces. Addie closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tight around Anthony as well. He gave the very best hugs, like Aidan had. You could tell how strong he was, but he never hugged so hard it hurt. Not that it was bad. Sometimes you wanted a hug like that, like Daddy and James liked to give. She burrowed into the soft cables of his knit jumper and then giggled as Polly began to try and stretch herself across both laps. A moment later a soft scratch at the door brought her head up and she watched as Thomas drifted into the room with a tray featuring some of the sharp-tasting cinnamon biscuits that Addie liked and a steaming teapot beneath a tea cozy. Addie smiled a little; she could smell the lemon.
"Sir Anthony, I took the liberty of sending Lady Strallan's tray up, as requested, and yours has been set aside to stay warm."
Addie wriggled off of the sofa even as Thomas put the tray down and, tilting her head up, fixed her sternest look at her friend. He paused and looked down at her.
"You're in trouble." She stated firmly and then, before he could say something smart, she reached up and dragged him down by the neck for a proper hug.
To her pleasure, even though Sir Anthony was there, Thomas returned the hug properly.
"No surprise there, Moppet, I was born in trouble."
Addie took advantage of his distraction to reach beneath his coat to pinch the soft skin under his armpit. When he yelped, she stepped back and tried to smirk, only to sneeze again. Fishing out the handkerchief, she listened to Anthony's chuckling behind her and smiled sunnily upwards.
"We're even now."
Then she went back to the sofa and her puppy. Thomas gave her a bit of a glare, but she just counted it as a win. She was only a little mad he'd tattled. If he hadn't… She took a biscuit and leaned on Sir Anthony as he chivied her to eat. She was still embarrassed and tired and cold but… it would be alright.
"Am I going to go to a different school, Anthony?"
"Your sister and I have to discuss it. Do you wish to go to a different school."
Addie squirmed, sheepishly. Part of her wanted to say she did. It was hard to look up into Anthony's pale blue eyes and say it, though.
"Addie?"
"I don't want to just give up. It would be like they won."
Anthony, because it was one of the things that made him different from everyone else his age, took his time, sipping the hot lemon and honey water, and thought about what she said. He didn't just tell her what he thought, or what she should think, or what to do.
"Mrs. Weingarten is unlikely to be able to keep the school open much longer. She did not have enough teachers and she was already losing students – all of which she was keeping from the board of governors who oversee the school."
"You're one of them, right?"
"In a distant sense, yes. It was decided that no men would sit directly in judgement when the school was put together."
"That's fair. Boys have schools for only boys that only men teach at or run."
"My mama thought so."
"I like her picture, and your Daddy's, up in the gallery." Addie couldn't help adding. "It's like she told a joke and he's pretending too hard because he doesn't want to laugh, but she knows."
Anthony offered her up a full grin and chuckled.
"You know? I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that was exactly what happened while they were trying to sit for that portrait."
"Thank you for putting our pictures up, too."
Addie added, just a bit shyly. The big painting from home in Maryland had been put away since they'd left the farmhouse outside Annapolis. It was one of Addie's favorites, though, and had her father seated in a big red leather chair with her Mama standing beside him. It had been painted right after they were married and showed her Mama standing in the fanciest of dresses with her hair down. Addie usually only saw her Mama's hair down if she was brushing it, and the great thick fall of rich brown curls had gone past Katherine Bauer's knees.
"The gallery is for family, Addie, so that is precisely where your pictures belong."
Addie only sniffed because her nose was runny.
"But, that said, you do not have to go back to school if you don't like."
"But I want to go to university!"
"You can still go to university even if you learn at home with a governess."
"But Edith said that governesses only teach you thinks like flowers and a little French and drawing and things."
Anthony sighed and shook his head, leaning down.
"May I tell you a secret?"
"Yes!"
"That wasn't so matter of what one can learn from a governess, as what your Uncle Robert wished a governess to teach his daughters."
Addie processed that and found herself nodding, then hesitated because she wasn't sure if she could say what she wanted to. She'd gotten into enough of a mess that way already, hadn't she? But Anthony was looking at her expectantly and filling her cup up again and looking like he really wanted to know…
"Uncle Robert isn't awful." Addie said quietly. "And he can be really nice. He's awfully good about letting me do the frog surveys and helping, and he's pretty good at catching snakes – but you're a lot better!"
"Thank you."
Biting her lip and trying to be as delicate about it as she could, Addie lowered her voice and whispered.
"He's not very, well, bright, though… is he?"
Addie had no idea why that made Anthony laugh louder than she'd ever heard the kind, quiet, man laugh before… but it gave her enough time to slip the second biscuit to Polly, and it felt really good to laugh… so that was also alright.
