Disclaimer: All recognizable works belong to 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 from it.

Warnings Ch. 1: Bullying and victim blaming. Victim blaming specifically related to the sexual assault Mary suffered from Pamuk. Discussion of mental illness/behavioral disorders in children. Abusive behavior in the guardians of said children. Total failure to treat said childhood issues.


Early June

Robert Crawley's temper had taken no small amount of time and volume to spend itself, but spent it was. Sitting in his wife's boudoir with his head in his hands, his breathing was heavy but even. His color had returned to normal from the fine shade of beetroot it had managed earlier. He was finally back to discuss what had been shouted about days before.

"To put matters concisely, Mary ruined herself with an intoxicated Turkish diplomat and my lady wife and one of the maids had to carry his naked body back to his bed to avoid scandal."

"Yes, Robert."

"Cora, how…."

He looked up and met his wife's eyes. Blue and lovely and deeply pained but… entirely unapologetic. He couldn't understand.

"Cora, please, I want to understand how…"

"What wouldn't a mother do for the happiness and safety of her daughter?" Cora asked, and then looked away, clearly upset. "I was angry at her. I let her know it and she… I fear I wasn't as kind as I should be. I didn't ask - I didn't ask all that I should after she told me she'd welcomed him. I made her speak a little more later and it's clear he pressured her, though that is no excuse for capitulating…"

"She would have been ruined had she screamed." Violet replied. "She was ruined when she did not."

"Are you excusing her behavior, Mother?" Robert demanded, but somewhere within himself he found he hoped she was. That he could simply reach out and grasp some way to save the picture in his mind of the innocent, sweet, girl he'd adored since the moment she was laid in his arms…

"Of course not, Mary behaved abominably." Lady Violet's tired voice lacked none of its sharpness. "While I cannot speak for a man so obviously lacking in morals, Mary was blatantly encouraging towards him all evening. She is, and has always been, a terrible flirt when she wants something. This is the sort of thing that comes of that."

"You never discouraged her flirting when it got her the attention of eligible young peers." Cora countered, her temper flaring slightly as she looked over at her mother-in-law. "In fact, you didn't discourage it at times when she was flirting with some that were neither young nor eligible."

"Flirtation is one of a lady's few weapons in society, and when used wisely, is very valuable. Especially in a young lady of Mary's charms. Moderation and care, however, must be bywords in its use."

"How many ladies beneath the age of thirty have either of those skills?"

"Well, in my day we had rules to guide where experience could not."

"I would say experience is what-."

"Cora, mother, stop this!" Robert rose to his feet, then immediately sat down.

Cora's boudoir was a room private enough for the most sensitive conversations, but it wasn't one Robert often entered. It was her private space. They shared their bedchamber. Like his study was entirely his own, his lady's boudoir was hers and it was uncomfortable to invade it. He certainly couldn't pace comfortably on the plush rug that covered most of the floor.

"I cannot believe neither of you told me of this. I am the head of this family. I am the man whose efforts and reputation ultimately support and protect everyone with the name Crawley." He looked between them. "What have you to say for yourselves?"

"I wished to spare you the grief of knowing how Mary had fallen, and as unhappy as I was with her behavior I couldn't stand the hurt it would inflict on her for you to think less of her."

His wife's answers left him shaking his head, hurt more than he could say that… she was likely right. His mother, of course, was more practical.

"You are not good at keeping secrets, Robert, and secrecy and delay were our best options."

"Then the rush to see Mary wed was all because of this? Not the entail."

"The entail as well, but this required haste.

"It's why I invited Sir Anthony over, and Mr. Broase." Cora offered.

"And the other less-than-perfect suitors." The Dowager added under her breath before waving Cora's glare away. "Oh, I know. You were making the best of a bad situation. Mary could not hope for the same opportunities once news got out and with your funds tied up in the estate she is not a grand heiress to attract a proper title as she should."

Robert rubbed a hand over his face. It all made perfect sense. That made it no less terrible.

"I still don't know how you imagined Mary would ever accept Sir Anthony, let alone wish to lure him into marriage." Robert complained. "The man is terribly dull…"

"Given that he's tempted Edith into elopement and is quite happy to ignore rank, all matter of social manners, and basic good breeding in cutting us at the whim of an unhappy twenty-year-old girl, Robert, I think we may have to reevaluate Sir Anthony." Cora muttered and Robert shot her a pained look before his mother tapped her cane ominously.

"Whatever else Sir Anthony is, he has a title, a fine estate close to Downton, and - despite his terribly common taste in clothing and company - is one of the richest men in Yorkshire." Violet huffed irritably. "While I do wish she'd just accept Matthew and delay the wedding until after the baby is born, it remains that Mary has expensive taste. I, sadly, cannot fault your wife for taking that into account in the suitors she brought forward, Robert."

The room fell into silence and Robert closed his eyes as Cora proved, once again, to have mastered them all in bravery.

"Are we not talking about the rest of that letter, then?"

"I don't remember any of it."

Sybil fretted, twisting a poor disfigured handkerchief between her hands. Being Irish himself, Tom tried to feel bad for the linen. Instead he felt it rather lucky to be held so tightly.

Tom Branson was sitting in his shirtsleeves in the garage. He'd made a pot of tea on the hot plate they kept there after Lady Sybil had joined him in his sanctuary. He'd finished his work for the evening and was just largely enjoying the warmth of the night and the quiet of the deserted garage. Not that he hadn't been happy to see Sybil.

"Any of what?"

"The tantrums." Sybil frowned, finally settling into the old folding chair he'd settled out for her while he sat on a block of wood he'd fetched from the corner. He used it to chock up the car when the jack alone wouldn't do for some work. Now it made a good seat for him to better spare Lady Sybil's dress.

"Bad ones?"

"I don't remember." Sybil repeated, her tone upset. "I just overheard Granny and Mama talking after Papa and Mary went into his study."

"How did, erm, that go?"

Tom didn't know how it could have gone well. He hadn't yet figured out who'd heard what or spread it around, but any veneer of secrecy around the Turk being dead in Lady Mary's bed was now gone. Beyond that, he was sure it was only a matter of time before the whole of Yorkshire was wagging their tongues about Lady Edith and Sir Anthony's elopement.

Personally, Tom was rather… tickled by it. To Perdition and further with convention, grab onto your love and make the most of life! Tom approved. He hadn't known the baronet had it in him, but… it made a man think, didn't it?

"I don't know. Mary's like ice right now. You know how she gets." Sybil rubbed a hand over her face. "All the terrible things she says when she's horribly upset and doesn't want to admit it. She just… lashes out!"

"Has she gone for you, then?"

"No." Sybil sighed. "She's avoiding me and I'm avoiding her. It's just how we do things…"

Tom nodded and poured the tea into a pair of chipped cups he kept. Truth be told, he'd inherited his mother's like for fancy teacups. Not that he'd ever tell a soul, but if some random mismatched ones wandered into the garage, he made sure they were damaged so he could shrug it off as there being no loss if they were accidentally broken.

"I hate it!" Sybil complained, looking at him with wet, unhappy eyes that tore at his chest and complicated his breathing. "It's never made the least bit of sense, Tom, but it's just - it's always been that way. I - how bad a sister am I that I never really fought it? I was always just - just quiet and I let it be and I never do that!"

"I know you don't, Lady Sybil." Tom swallowed and shook his head. "Families are complicated."

"I just wish I was older. Nothing Mama or Granny said made sense."

"What did they say?"

Sybil looked down and sighed, staring into the tea as if reading the leaves. Or trying to. Tom wasn't a complete savage. He had strained it!

"Something about having to send Mary away and doing the best they can, and something about the nurses. Nurse Nelly, I think."

"That was her name?"

"No, it's what she liked to be called by the children. I think Nurse Nelly was also Mrs. Nelson but I'm not sure. She left when I was six!"

"Well," Tom couldn't stand to see her suffering, not for anything, and beyond that? He was a man who liked to solve problems, not wait on others to do the same. "You were awfully young. So were your sisters."

"And that's an excuse?"

"Now let me finish!" He protested, setting his tea down and raising his eyebrows. "You were awfully young, my lady. There were others in this house who are not your parents who weren't."

Sybil blinked at him.

"And, unless I'm mistaken, they're very unlikely to send you from a room so the adults can talk."

Sybil's smile was more than reward enough for getting himself in a bit of hot water with the butler.

Mr. Carson had already been cornered by a fiercer warrior than the young amazon who tracked him down to the Housekeeper's sitting room.

"Lady Sybil, come right in and sit down. Would you like some tea?"

Sybil had to hold in the urge to smile at that unflappable, graceful, peace that just flowed out of the room along with Mrs. Hughes's Scottish burr.

"Yes, please."

Sybil took in the scene as she came in and sat down. Mr. Carson had been provided a chair at Mrs. Hughes's little table. A chair that was settled with its back against the far wall, opposite the door. Something rather significant when you took in the fact that Mrs. Hughes's tiny frame was perched, birdlike, on her chair between the towering butler and the door.

The kestrel sat in ruddy majesty, her plumage tidy as ever. The great brown bear, graying with dignity and years, maintained its position in safety and snuck glances towards hopeful escape. Even rising for Lady Sybil's arrival granted him no reprieve. Smiling easily, Sybil gestured with her hands.

"No, please sit down, Carson, you must have been run to death today with all of the dramatics. It wasn't too much trouble for you and Mrs. Hughes to manage trays for everyone, rather than a dinner service?"

"Oh, no, dearie. It cuts down on our work a bit." Mrs. Hughes stood and rang for tea before settling back in her place, getting Sybil situated with a graceful smile as both ladies conspired to keep Carson from pulling out a chair for her. I would have allowed him far too ready access to the open door. "In fact, I've given the girls a bit of free time this evening. I believe you can hear Gwen's typing?"

"I can!" Sybil smiled warmly at the barely audible click-click-click and occasional BING echoing downstairs. "And the footmen?"

"Waiting until called for. The trays, of course." Carson rumbled. "Lady Sybil, what can we do for you? You needn't come down here when you need something."

"I know, but I like to visit now and then."

Carson immediately softened.

"And we are, as always, very lucky to have you."

"Then you won't mind answering my questions!"

Daisy delivered the tea, which Mrs. Hughes took control of with all the grace of a well-fed cat who'd just found a lovely sunny spot to nap in. Mr Carson segued from bear to disappointed toad in expression. Sybil beamed up at him, refusing to let up for a moment. She was truly a sweet, lovely, wonderful person. She also knew the absolute iron resolve that had to back that if you wanted to get anywhere.

The weight of expectation was too great. Mr. Carson crumbled with a sigh. Somewhere in Norway a glacier gave way petulantly with much the same force.

"What would you like to know, Lady Sybil?"

"What do Mama and Granny mean when they talk about Mary's 'tantrums'?" Sybil asked. "It sounds like something special, but I imagine every little child throws a few fits."

Carson, to Sybil's surprised, did not look embarrassed. He looked positively distraught. She briefly caught Mrs. Hughes's eyes, but the Scotswoman looked as shocked as she did.

"Your sister was… just the sweetest baby." Carson began, surprising her at the early date of his answer, not to mention it's breadth from the prudent, reticent man who so guarded their family secrets. Either the sherry or the entire situation had loosened his tongue. Perhaps confusion proved more alcoholic than expected. "You have to understand how delighted everyone was with her birth. Your Lady Mother and your father took some time to be blessed, and though she was a girl, it was assumed boys would follow."

Sybil nodded and the butler went on.

"All throughout her first year Lady Mary was the perfect baby. She was easily soothed. She always wanted to be with someone. The nurses and maids and everyone adored her and carried her about all day. Your sister was always laughing and I swear that Lady Mary began dancing as soon as she walked, and just amused everyone with her good nature."

"Mary?"

Sybil blinked, surprised at this image of her beautiful, but ever-so-controlled and sharp-tongued older sister. Yes, she knew all of the wonderful qualities that Mary hid - how deeply she cared beneath her veneer of aristocratic disdain, how much she felt, her total loyalty to the few people she let in - but she wasn't one to deny her sister hid them deeply. Or the fact that Mary only bestowed those good qualities on a chosen few and was very liberal with her less laudable behaviors.

"Lady Mary, yes." Carson bit his lip. "She… did not take to having a younger sibling."

"Edith."

"Yes, Lady Edith."

"Carson, I'm sorry, but I need a little more than that. Don't most first children start out jealous of their young siblings? Mary took to me fine. How could not taking to Edith before she was properly out of nappies translate to - to - to Edith and Mary?" Sybil turned to the other occupant of the room. "Mrs. Hughes?"

"I arrived not long after Lady Edith was born." Mrs. Hughes answered readily. "I was quite busy with my own work, of course, and getting to know the household, but I can agree that Lady Mary's response wasn't quite the expected thing."

Sybil waited and was rewarded as Mrs. Hughes slowly poured tea for all of them, refreshing cups as Mr. Carson busied himself with moving away the sherry and restocking the biscuit plate. Sybil immediately took one. She had gone out to talk with Tom rather than waiting for a tray.

"Lady Sybil, would you like me to send-."

"Oh, no, let me have biscuits for dinner. I don't imagine I shall ever do it again at my age." Sybil smiled at Carson to soften the words and, hopefully, do something to take a little of the exhausted hurt out of his expression.

"Very well, Lady Sybil, but if you have a stomach ache later…"

Sybil dimpled at Mrs. Hughes, who went on.

"Lady Mary's tantrums started when Lady Edith was born. No-one had quite as much time for her as before, and she was not used to it. The fits… were not normal, as you suggested."

"You have to understand, Lady Mary's birth was quite easy on your lady mother. Lady Edith's was… not." Mr. Carson interjected awkwardly. "Lady Grantham spent more than two weeks abed afterward, first with a fever and then with - other complaints - after the birth. She was too sick to tend to either of her daughters and it was shock to poor Lady Mary.."

"Lady Grantham got an infection, and then milk leg, with Lady Edith." Mr. Hudson summarized plainly, causing Carson to flush. "The doctors advised she not nurse her future children, as she had Lady Mary, for it was upsetting her natural balances."

"Ladies of good breeding are more delicate."

"Mama's grandparents were a butcher on one side and a cavalry scout on the other." Sybil couldn't help pointing out, but she was surprised. "I didn't know Mama was… that hands on with any of us. I mean, Mama is wonderful, but she's always agreed with Granny about how important nannies are."

"Yes, well, she has had reason." Carson shifted uncomfortably and left Sybil to watch as he and the housekeeper exchanged such a speaking look she was surprised that their eyelashes weren't humming. Seamlessly, as if speaking from the same script, Mrs. Hughes picked up where Mr. Carson had left off.

"Your Lady Mother largely blamed herself for Lady Mary's behavior. She had the Dowager and several experts tell her that it was her over-involvement with Lady Mary that had left her feeling such an unhealthy attachment."

"But what was Mary doing?"

"Anything she could." Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Biting scratching, kicking, screaming until she vomited, tearing her clothes off, throwing anything she could reach. The fits went on for hours. Four nannies quit in the first five months after Lady Edith was born, not counting her original nanny."

"Lady Mary simply didn't understand why she couldn't see her mother, or why things were changing." Carson interjected. "She would calm down for myself and his Lordship."

"Sometimes."

"Unless she'd been left alone to work herself up terribly, she always calmed down for me." Carson rumbled disapprovingly and Sybil began to understand how that particular bond had been forged.

"Why didn't you simply take her to mother?"

"We did, at first, but the physicians from town advised against it."

"Something about never encouraging unhealthy attachments or overwrought demonstrations of emotions in sensitive children." Carson scoffed more openly than Sybil had ever seen.

"Nor was that all." Mrs. Hughes explained, her eyes urging Sybil towards understanding. "Her ladyship was having a difficult time herself… with more than the physical discomforts. There was some disappointment that Lady Edith was not a boy."

"That was the doctor's fault. Acting as if he knew and raising expectations!" Mr. Carson rumbled unhappily. "Then that talk of a vanished twin afterward. Poppycock! Trying to save face, that's what it was."

Looking thoroughly embarrassed at having said as much under Sybil's surprised eyes at his statement, he cleared his throat and stood.

"Excuse me. I need to make sure that nothing has been… left amiss."

Mrs. Hughes stood, allowing him to leave, and Sybil took another cookie and looked at the housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes refreshed their tea again and sighed.

"The tantrums did not get better."

"How long did they go on?"

"Let's see. I got here just a few days before Lady Edith was born in ninety-five." Mrs. Hughes sighed. "You were born in…?"
"Ninety-seven, as if you didn't know."

Mrs. Hughes smiled at her.

"You were around three when they stopped, closer to four. The very last tantrum happened when Lady Mary was around eight, but it was a tempest in a teapot and it had been like that for a couple of years by then. Lady Mary had become self-aware enough to be embarrassed of such outbursts."

"But why were they so bad in the first place?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed, seriously considering the question.

"I don't know, Lady Sybil. Perhaps something was just… different in Lady Mary. Not anything bad, you understand, merely that she lacked something to calm herself the way a child ought." The older woman reached out and rested a hand on the watch pinned to her dress, stroking it thoughtfully with her fingertips as she stared into the distance. "Once she became upset, she would… climb, I would call it. Yes, climb her own upset until she got past the point where she could calm back down. She'd be sick. Sometimes the poor lamb would soil herself in the process, which upset her further. I want you to understand, none of it started with anyone's trying to cause trouble or hurt anyone else. Not even poor Lady Mary."

Sybil nodded, spellbound in shock at the picture that was being painted.

"But all my memories of the nursery… they're quiet and lovely."

"Do you know the large airing cupboard upstairs?"

"Yes?"

"It was cleared out until Lady Mary was nearly seven. We hung some old eiderdowns on the walls and put down matting on the floor so she couldn't hurt herself."

"Oh no, did she? Hurt herself?" A horrible idea occurred to her. "Did she hurt Edith?"

Mrs. Hughes' expression flattened into unreadability.

"They were kept strictly apart when Edith was very little."

"That's not an answer."

Mrs. Hughes sighed and considered, before nodding once to herself.

"A two-year-old child doesn't understand any pain but their own. Lady Mary turned over the cradle when her sister was maybe six months old. Lady Edith was fine, but after that, measures were taken to keep them apart completely."

"Oh, God." Sybil was beside herself. The biscuits were forgotten. "What - how did keeping them apart and taking care turn into - turn into Edith and Mary?"

"You have to understand, dearie, your parents tried everything. No expert was too expensive. No therapy too difficult. Your dear father spent hours with your oldest sister, soothing her." Mrs. Hughes' lips compressed. "When your sister was around four years old, it seemed… all of the experts were in agreement. Lady Mary would… not… ever be a normal child. She needed to be sent away."

"No!"

"Yes." Mrs. Hughes' lips were pressed thin against each other. "I needn't tell you, nor will I, my opinion of that. There are places… good places for those who need help. However, the best place, if the Almighty allows and your funds stretch, is always with family. Experts care a little too much about appearances, if you ask me."

"They didn't send Mary away."

"No, Nurse Nelson was hired. The Dowager's sister recommended her." Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Lady Mary's behavior improved within weeks and the progress continued until the fits vanished and she began to show signs of real self-control. It seemed like a miracle to your parents."

Sybil got a terrible premonition.

"Nurse Nelson… didn't like Edith, did she?"

"On the contrary. She insisted managing sibling relationships was essential to Lady Mary's progress."

Mrs. Hudson's tone of voice was both exhausted and quietly furious in a way that sent a shiver down Sybil's spine. In all the years of her life she'd heard a few footmen give Mr. Carson lip. It never went well, but it happened. In her entire life, she'd never heard anyone raise their voice to Mrs. Hughes, or Mrs. Hughes sound the slightest bit put out when she didn't wish to be. Suddenly, she found herself worried for where Nurse Nelly ended up after she'd left.

"I barely remember her." Sybil allowed. "Nurse Nelly left when I was six."

"Her services were no longer needed. She went on to some other family with a… special child."

"Oh, what did she do?" Sybil wracked her mind but couldn't come up with anything. "I remember she was strict, but she always seemed fair."

Sybil realized she actually didn't recall the woman that well at all. She'd had relatively little do with her. Sybil had spent more time with her young nursery assistant. She was, the young Crawley sister realized rather blatantly, sent on a great many walks or taken out with a toy to play on the grounds while the stolid, gray, nurse had been left with her two eldest sisters.

"Christ, Edith…"

They didn't make love that night. After they'd left the barn Edith had demonstrated the benefit of so many hours walking about Downton's grounds. She wasn't a sportswoman like her sister was; her attempts had failed miserably. She didn't have Sybil's natural exuberance.

What had gone unnoticed was that Edith had a characteristic perhaps best exemplified by her grandmother. She had incredible endurance. Anthony himself was an athlete. He'd rowed and played cricket and rugby at Cambridge. He was a fine rider, a good shot, and held all of the expected accomplishments of a landed gentleman in that manner. On top of that, he was more active than almost any landowner in his day and age. Long rambling walks about his estate, from cottage to farm and back, were not an unusual daily occurrence for Sir Anthony.

Edith had felt a well of pride as she'd kept up with her husband's long stride as he led her around the farm. From rolling field to woods to a secret little bend in the creek that his mother had taken him to for picnics, Edith had not flagged in the slightest. Instead, happily, she'd eaten up every tale of delightful childhood mischief and simple contentment connected to the place. In the end, it was Anthony who'd plead exhaustion, though not honestly. Now, after a fine dinner had been cooked and the housekeeper had gone home for the night, they were curled up alone in the dark, talking again.

"It wasn't that…"

Edith barely stopped herself and breathed out as her husband held her in the warm, dark, comfort of the master bedroom at the cottage. The simple brass bed was piled high with down and covered with a thin quilt and fresh sheets. With the patter of rain on the roof and her husband's arms around her, it was safe enough to speak about anything.

"It was terrible and confusing in a way, when Nurse Nelly brought me in to sleep in the big nursery with Mary. It was also… fun. At least in the beginning." Edith whispered. "At first, it was… like a game? I was told that Mary was supposed to be in charge so she was in charge. It was that simple. I remember… Mary was happy enough telling me what to do in the nursery. It wasn't anything bad."

"Then it was?"

"At first it was just putting away toys and little things. Like playing Simon's Says for a long time and Mary got to be Simon every time. Then… then I always had to do what Mary said and Nurse Nelly let her punish me whenever she got upset or I got upset." Edith blinked back tears. "I wouldn't get - I was never struck. Mama forbade that for any of us."

"But?"

"Mary could… could take my toys. Make me sit on the chair a long time or hold the stick."

"Hold the stick?"

"It was part of a broom handle. There was a line on the wall and I had to keep it level there until I was told the punishment was done. If I dropped it or didn't hold it high enough I lost my dessert or my doll or something like that."

Anthony made an outraged, pained noise and Edith let out a watery chuckle.

"You would be upset by a child being denied dessert."

"And you weren't?"

"It's stupid really."

"You were a child, Edith, and your nurse is the very person who was supposed to be protecting you. Second only to your parents. Honestly, before in most households at our level."

"Your nurse?"

"Was a lovely woman, but Mama grew up in this house. I'm reliably informed that she changed as many nappies as the nurse and, erm, a wet nurse was never hired."

"I'd like to nurse our children." Edith mused tiredly; it wasn't done but… why not?

"I'd like to watch."

Anthony's words, blurted out as his hand idly palmed her breast, broke through the ice that lingered around her wet eyelashes. Edith burst out laughing. Then squealed when her husband tweaked her nipple. Squirming commenced and Edith dug her fingers into her husband's vulnerable ribs until the dear ticklish man begged for mercy. She granted it generously, along with a kiss and they settled back down happily into each other's arms, yawning.

"Do you feel any better, sweet one? Talking about it?"

"Yes? No. I - I wish I knew why." Edith sighed and burrowed into her husband's side, resting her head against his shoulder as he lay on his back, and throwing a leg over his. "Why did they let Mary treat me that way? Why didn't they send that wretched woman away? Why did I go from having my own nanny and being happy to that?"

"Perhaps, if you wish to see them again, you may ask your parents that."

"I could." Edith whispered as her husband's breathing evened out and he began to softly snore. "I'm afraid of what the answer would be."

The idyll in Cornwall could last a month, but it could not last forever. Strallan House in London was a stern brick facade townhouse in Mayfair. It wasn't as well-located as Grantham House, and it was less than half-the-size, but as Anthony explained that had advantages. Most of which boiled down to "Taxes" and "Upkeep".

"There was a larger house, of course, back in the day. This was originally a rental purchase my grandfather made and let out to various rising industrialists." Anthony smiled as he lay sprawled on their bed and watched his wife run a wrought silver brush through her hair. "Father had the old place gutted and made over into flats. Given the luxury and the location, the wisdom cannot be argued. You're sure you don't want company, darling girl?"

"I've never actually been frock shopping alone." Edith confessed, embarrassed. "I thought it would be fun to go out, well, by myself. You don't think it's too bold?"

"I like you best when you're bold."

Edith smiled, bright and new and still delicate. Anthony hauled himself up with a small groan and came over to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Have you thought about hiring a maid?"

"I can't make up my mind. I think I can manage well enough, if you or one of the maids helps with my corsets for formal occasions. For the rest, I can manage the laces and my dresses myself. On the other hand… would I be horrible if I wanted a maid because it's the done thing?"

"Sometimes the done thing is done for a reason."

"I can't believe you just said that. You took a First at King's in languages!"

"Can't get more English than that, can you?"

Edith turned away, making a face, but laughing. She'd smiled so much since her marriage that her face seemed to ache with it. She'd laughed so much she didn't know who she was. She sounded like Sybil. Was this what being happy was? She rather thought so.

"You'll take Sean to carry your things, though, yes? I wouldn't feel right you wandering London alone, at least your first go of it." Anthony added hastily. "I don't want you to think you can't go where to choose, you understand. I'm not - it's not my intention to restrict you. I just-."

"You worry." She stood, slipping the last pin in her hair and turning to press a kiss to his mouth as the silk of her robe whispered around her and his arms slid around it, his pajamas rustling. She cast an eye to the breakfast tray sitting at the foot of the bed. "It's nice to be cared for, Anthony. That said, we've become terrible slugabeds, haven't we?"

"Entirely your fault."

"My fault?!"

"Of course."

"How so?"

Edith's demand put a smile on her husband's face that was decidedly less innocent, if no less crooked than his usual expression. Edith would go so far as to call it a smirk.

"Well, you see, Sweet One - and society would agree with me - a man my age only has so much energy. The demands of a young wife have clearly sapped my - hello now, none of that!"

Edith ignored her husband, digging her fingers into his ribs and the sensitive, ticklish flesh there. Anthony responded in kind and Stewart, who'd been approaching the door to the master's chamber, turned smartly around in the upstairs hallway, not quite mastering the smirk on his own face. Catching sight of Morris making his slow way up the stairs just as the soft but unmistakable sound of a body hitting a feather mattress, and a lady's delighted squeal carried down the hallway, Stewart cleared his throat and hurried towards the older man to save him a few steps.

"Best to delay that lunch reservation by an hour or so, Mr. Morris." Stewart's dark eyes were bright. "I'll call the dressmaker if you'll handle that."

Morris blinked once, twice, and then the stodgy old fellow shocked Stewart by smirking back.

"So we shall, lad."

The two servants were appropriately stone-faced by the time they made it down to the hall, but the occasional soft noise from upstairs did drift down to destroy Strallan House's longstanding image of propriety. The portraits of Strallans past seemed approving.


More Notes: I want to say here that I do not share these opinions of what happened to Mary with Pamuk in season one. It's clear from how he pressed that kiss on her that she was alarmed. It's also clear that he coerced her into sex when he snuck into her room later. If this had happened in the 21st century she could have screamed for help, or sprayed him with mace, and so on. He'd have been properly labeled for the predator his behavior showed him to be.

Earlier in history rape had a different meaning literally in how it was understood. This is horrible, but I'm myself nearly forty and recall conversations with grandparents who weren't that much younger than Mary and Edith were in canon. While my grandfather would have flat out called Pamuk's behavior dishonorable, he wouldn't have called it rape because his understanding of the word was that it only applied if there was physical resistance. Note how, in the series, Mary threatens to scream. Only by screaming and physically resisting would Mary have been able to make a claim that she was being forced. Moreover, she truly was damned if she did and damned if she didn't, because she had no way to prove he'd attempted coerce her. He could have just said that they'd had a tryst set up and she'd backed out, shrugged, apologized, and walked away with his reputation mostly unscathed (a rake but not a criminal). Mary would have been ruined no matter what she did. Her best hope, at that point, was secrecy.

In our minds, this shows the clear duress she was under. Given how she was raised? I believe that in her mind, as evidence by her future tearful confession to Matthew that it was "lust", Mary did indeed subscribe to the belief that not resisting violently equaled consent. That consenting was automatically lustful and, given her confused attraction, she just sank further into self-recrimination and shame. It's horrible, but it's historically accurate.

*** It should also be said that at no time in human history has consent NOT been a hot-button issue and a source of argument. Sources at the time can be found with a variety of outlooks. I'm just going with what, in general, I saw in my grandparents, great-grandparents, and have read in other material published at the time. This is not to say other people and other regions and family wouldn't have had different (hopefully better) outlooks on consent in the 1910s.