Inheritance

by QuestionableRelevance

I've always been fascinated by the fandom theory that Edith Crawley is actually Lady Rosamund's illigitimate daughter. This is my take on that in my usual verbose, meandering style. Now Rated M, for Marriage (and the things married people do).

2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Hi all! I went through my past story file and found this. It's not completed, but there are well-over 100 pages of it, so I decided that before I went back to the Cantata series. I thought I would finish this one. I've always found the idea that Edith is secretly Lady Rosamund's bastard child interesting, so this is my take on it.

General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical 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 Child Characters & Crawley Family Dynamics.

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"Oh, now that's precious."

"That is ridiculous. How old is that child again?" Mary cut across Cora's observation, and she shot her daughter a look that had Mary quickly turning her brown eyes away.

While she could allow that ten-years-old was a bit on the mature side for a child to be plucked up by anyone, two factors rather mitigated it. One being the child's small stature and the other being Sir Anthony Strallan's height. Given how mild mannered he was, it was easy to forget that he was a good handspan taller than Cora's husband and Robert was a tall man himself.

As it was, the scene was adorable. Sir Anthony was standing on the platform in his usual overcoat and tweed. He'd crooked one arm and, sitting in his elbow like a younger child, was a girl who Cora could only imagine was Miss Adelaide Kavanaugh. She was rubbing a hand over her eyes as she pried herself off the baronet's shoulder, obviously recovering from having drifted off on the long train ride from Liverpool.

Cora's eyes and thoughts were mainly focused on the woman holding onto Sir Anthony's free arm. For the first time in years, she had laid eyes on her middle daughter. What she saw led to two contradicting thoughts overlapping in her mind. Unsurprisingly, Mary and Sybil each voiced one.

"Oh, Edith looks well, doesn't she Mama?"

"She looks like she hadn't slept properly in a month." Mary didn't even bother to moderate her volume. "And it's been nearly a year, what's she doing wearing full mourning? No doubt eager for the atten-."

"Mary, if you cannot say something nice, keep your mouth closed, please."

Cora's eldest flushed darkly at her mother's words and harsh tone. She regretted it instantly but stood firm. Perhaps, had she done that years ago, she'd still have three daughters in her home. She never should have listened to Violet.

Let the nurse handle it, Cora, she is the expert.

As it was, Cora was satisfied that it worked. Mary turned away quickly and quietly. She knew others in the packed station had heard the scold. Very little could motivate her daughter, but embarrassment was one thing that did.

Dr. Armstrong's advice had been correct, and Cora was determined to follow it. Mary had never learned to manage her temper as a child and the nannies had done the wrong thing in handling it for her. By allowing her to take her temper out on Edith they'd created the worst sort of situation. One where her eldest daughter sought to regulate her emotions by inflicting them on others. Her beautiful, composed, charming eldest daughter had become a spoiled bully and it was their fault.

It had become apparent soon after Edith had left that something had to be done. Only, again, Cora and Robert had failed to address it for far too long. Embarrassed and upset at the upheaval and rumors flying at the time and without Edith to take it out on, Mary had first attempted to turn her dismay on her mother, then Sybil, and finally begun to lash out at the less senior members of their staff. It had been a disaster of such magnitude that it had precipitated Cora going behind Robert's back to talk to a specialist. She'd had to do something before their family fell apart around her. He'd eventually come around, but Mary… was not cooperative.

"Now," Cora lowered her voice as Sybil dashed ahead of them and caught her husband's arm before he strode through the crowd. "please, please remember Dr. Armstrong's advice. Edith's going to be grieving and she's going to need support, but she may feel threatened if-."

"I know, I know, Cora." Robert grunted back, his ears reddening at the mention of Dr. Armstrong. "Do you think I don't want it to go well?"

Biting down on a response every bit as negative as Mary's might have been, Cora kissed her husband on the cheek instead. Mary wasn't the only one who'd found herself with a shorter temper without Edith there to serve as a repository of family tension. Edith wasn't the only one who needed support. This would not be easy for any of them.

None of the truly worthwhile things were. Cora took her husband's arm and followed along as Robert pushed his way through the crowd. Her daughters followed behind.

"Edith!"

At Robert's call, all three of the small party turned to look. Cora frowned in worry before she could help herself at the wary surprise in her daughter's face. The little girl looked… well, just this side of hostile. Sir Anthony himself, who generally looked agreeably pleased to see anyone, looked surprisingly blank at their arrival, though he did muster a crooked smile.

"Lord Grantham, I – I didn't realize you'd be meeting us here." Edith's response was stilted as she looked at him and then took in Cora's presence and her sisters with an expression Cora couldn't possibly decipher.

"Didn't you get my telegrams?"

"No. You sent a message?"

"I sent three."

Silence couldn't descend through the thick noise of the crowd, but it did try.

"You didn't receive any of our messages?" Cora asked and Edith was about to answer when jostled by a rude passerby.

Sir Anthony, she noted, moved automatically to put her daughter in a position to better shield her and, reluctantly, set down the girl squirming in his grip. The girl promptly turned and positioned herself on Edith's other side, seizing Edith's free hand in her own. Cora noted that Edith and her half-sister shared the same chin and there was a slight resemblance in those brow… but that was all. They did have the same stubborn carriage about themselves, however, and it left Cora feeling even less sure of herself than she had a moment before. She wanted her daughter back but… would that be possible with the endless reminders that Edith had never been her daughter?

"I – no, the last message I had was Lord Grantham's letter before we left port."

"Bloody wireless system. So much for the reliability of new technology." Robert huffed out and shook his head, stepping forward. "Well, that's that, then. Edith, we did send you messages. Everything's set up to receive you and your sister at Grantham House. It's all sorted. I do thank you for all the help that Edith's obviously pestered you for, but there's no need to bother Sir Anthony further or engage rooms anywhere."

"I have to disagree, Lord Grantham, Miss Edith is nothing resembling a pest." The taller man replied and turned to look at Edith. "Is this quite alright?"

"I – yes, it will be. But, I wonder, Uncle, I mean, if the hotel wouldn't be easier. We have quite a bit of luggage from the house, and we didn't talk about storage-."

"I'm sure the arrangements you made on the way here will hold just as well if you're at Grantham House." Robert paused, worried. "You did make arrangements?"

"Yes, Sir Anthony helped me-."

"Well, you've certainly made yourself free with his assistance-." Mary began and before Cora could say anything, the gentleman himself interrupted.

"It was my pleasure to assist Miss Edith." Sir Anthony turned again and caught Edith's eye. "I hope to see you both soon in Yorkshire?"

"Certainly, we'll only be here a week or two at longest." Robert answered for Edith and Cora sighed in relief as – for once – nobody said anything to contradict.

Perhaps they could finally put things right.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith had no idea why it had seemed like a relief to gain Anthony's help and it seemed like a grave imposition to accept her Uncle's, but it did, and she rather resented it as she found herself parted – kindly, with a warm squeeze of his hand around hers – from the baronet and thrust into her uncle's care. Not that she needed care, but it had been nice that Sir Anthony had taken such. Now she found herself, well, back. And yet, wasn't it nice too? She'd missed Sybil so much and… and what?

"Miss Kavanaugh."

"Yes?"

Carson, who'd stepped forward to greet the family on return blinked as Adelaide took it upon herself to answer his greeting like a query before Edith could stop her. Addie had been worryingly silent since they had left the station. Now she was still holding onto Edith's hand, making no move to remove her coat and hat, and generally being… worrying. Curious ten-year-old girls were not often detached. She was beginning to suspect that she should have gone to the Ritz.

"Carson, this is my little sister, Adelaide. Maybe Miss Edith and Miss Adelaide from now on would be the most convenient form of address for all of us?" Edith offered and received a rare smile in return.

"Of course, Miss Edith." He nodded his head in solemn, uncomfortable greeting at the change in titles. "And Miss Adelaide, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Adelaide frowned up at him and Edith tugged on her hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Carson."

"He's our butler, Addie, I've told you about him, and Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore as well." Edith tried to rally and was relieved at a fractional softening in her sister's features as Edith reached down and took her sister's coat and hat herself before there could be any dramatics of any kind. A handsome dark-haired footman with sharp gray eyes took their things and the staff introductions followed.

Then, thankfully, the awkwardness was delayed. It was past luncheon, but too early for tea. However, there was no reason that something couldn't be sent up on a tray for herself and Addie. She leapt at it, offering up the usual excuses of tiredness and fled upstairs with Addie in tow. Considering how expansive Grantham House was, she'd forgotten how the walls seemed to close in once her family was with her.

But they aren't really your family, are they?

"Why don't we just stay at the hotel? Edith, why do we have to stay with them?"

Edith had barely gotten the door closed when the question was out of her sister's lips. She lowered herself into the chair beside the bed in her old room and wondered where her mother was planning to put her sister. They'd need to be close in case there were nightmares. Not to mention the fact that Adelaide knew exactly no-one, and wasn't it a bit odd to just shove her back in her old room anyway? She'd been to university and had a new name and…

First things first.

"Because they're my family too, Addie." Edith took her sister's hands and drew her into a hard hug, getting one in return that pressed bony elbows into her ribs. "Things aren't… perfect, but they're still family."

"They took you away from us!"

"Yes, but – but with the way that Lord Grantham was raised, he thought he was doing the very best thing he could. He wanted to see that I was safe and had a home. It wasn't the right decision, but they did do what they thought they should." Edith pushed onward. They'd talked about this. She could say it again. Being here didn't change any of it, did it? "He and Aunt Cora care about me. You've read some of her letters, haven't you?"

"Uncle Klaus' letters are better."

"That doesn't mean they care less, just that they express it differently."

Adelaide didn't look convinced. Edith had to admit she didn't sound convincing. She offered up a smile instead, and hoped it was stronger than it felt.

"We're both tired. Let's just… see how it looks in the morning? You did want to meet Sybil, didn't you?"

Addie frowned, shuffled, then nodded. On the drive over there had been a barrage of questions and information that Edith hadn't felt at all equal to. It had also interfered with her attempts to introduce her two little sisters properly.

Most of it had come from the Earl, but plenty had been fielded by his wife and Edith just felt like a wrung-out washrag. She hadn't answered some of them, of course, since it wasn't their business, but others had come so fast she'd answered by rote before she could think about it. She'd barely gotten a moment to talk to Sybil, who'd seemed like the only one who was worried about her and not solicitors, estates, and whether anyone from the press had tried to talk to her.

Mary had been blessedly silent. It was a change that should have been nice, but Edith found suspicious. Like the quiet was a prelude to some big cat's sneak attack in the jungle. Or, maybe, the squeamish disquiet that rumbled in your belly, after you'd eaten and just before the real symptoms hit.

"Edith?"

"Sybil? Oh, gosh, you've grown!"

Relief washed over her, and she got up, leaving Addie standing by the bed as the brunette knocked at the door. Throwing the door open Edith squeaked and then laughed as her little sister – cousin – wrapped her arms around her and squeezed. Sybil then kicked the door shut and trundled her over to the bed, sitting down next to her before grinning at the room's most suspicious occupant.

"Oh, it's so good to meet you at last Adelaide!" And Sybil was taking both her littlest sister's hands and squeezing. "I've heard so much about you in the letters. Do you still want a puppy for your birthday? Because I was talking to Papa about it, and he was downright enthused."

God bless Sybil.

Addie immediately softened, looking up at the taller brunette and offering up a hesitant smile and a nod.

"Edith said I had to wait until we were settled…"

"Well, that won't be long then." Sybil smiled and her own blue eyes were nothing but warm. "I'm so glad that you're both going to come home with us. Just – I wish it could have happened in a better way."

Addie blinked but held it together with a nod and Edith repeated her blessing and hugged them both again, managing to draw Adelaide into a reluctant hug with her other little sister without going all to pieces herself.

"Now, you both have to tell me everything." Sybil went on, totally unphased by a maid coming to the door with a tray, save for offering cheerful thanks. "Your last letter said that you finished your degree, Edith? I'm so jealous!"

For just a moment, Edith smiled and dragged Addie up into the bed with her, bracketed by sisters and with everything right in the world.

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"Who are you fretting about now, dear?"

"Would it do any good whatsoever to tell you I am not fretting, Diana?"

"None."

Anthony watched as his younger sister arranged herself firmly on the sofa and pointed imperiously at the chair opposite her perch. He gave in gracefully, a smile playing about his lips. She had always been the social, gregarious one out of the two of them. Not to mention having a sort of naturally dictatorial mien he had to admire. Obey, no. Humor, sometimes. Admire, yes.

"Remember the fuss that got brewed up over the Earl of Grantham's second daughter?"

"You mean the niece?" Diana frowned and sat forward. "Yes, I think everyone heard about that. Not the least when Grantham had that blow up with Lady Rosamund over the whole thing that Christmas. Lady Simpson couldn't stop prattling on about it. You think she'd hosted the cast of King Lear, not a modestly wealthy Earl and his family."

"Well, I've met her. Miss Edith Kavanaugh, I mean." He explained. "She was also travelling on Mauritania."

Diana's eyebrows made steady progress towards her hairline, but she restrained herself and only made a gesture beckoning him to explain. Anthony sighed but felt lighter as he did so.

"She's a delightful girl, almost twenty, and has custody of her little sister."

"Not Lady Sybil?"

"No, a Miss Adelaide Kavanaugh." Anthony sat back, a smile playing across his lips. "They really are the most delightful girls. The younger is only ten and, God bless her, Miss Edith has found herself her sister's guardian at barely twice that age. She's doing a fine job of it, but constantly seems to doubt herself. Who can blame her, after all she's been through?"

Diana made a sympathetic noise and Anthony found himself slowly but surely regurgitating the entirety of his journey. Meals shared with both ladies were gone over in detail as Diana played interrogator, dragging out every scrap of data. His irritation with Houghton and dealing with that situation was explained thoroughly. Finally, he settled on the matter at hand.

"And, you see Di, I'm not at all convinced that there isn't something fishy about Grantham's claim that he was attempting to contact them. Even if he was, I worry that the man will bungle this like he seems to have done everything else with Miss Edith. I mean, the man raised her for fifteen years. She was his child, to just walk away from your own child? Or what it says that Miss Edith just walked away from her entire family on the unsure promise of a new one across an ocean…If you've been so blessed as to have children, I cannot imagine how..."

"I'm not sure there wasn't more to that than there seemed, Anthony. I heard something about solicitors being involved." Diana interrupted, but she was smiling at him brightly despite that. "That said, you can stop fussing! I'm happy to call on them and offer your Miss Edith a bit of support."

"She's hardly mine-."

Diana made a great show of checking the mantle clock in her parlor. Then of sitting back, arms crossed, and smirking firmly at him. Anthony looked up and felt his face and ears heat as he took in the time.

"If she isn't, then why on Earth have you been talking about her for the last two hours?"
"I mean – I say, Diana, that's hardly fair!" Anthony protested.

"Anthony, you spoke for two solid hours. You barely speak at all some days."

"That's neither here nor there, Diana. Any gentleman worth the name would have helped a lady in need, to say nothing-."

"Anthony."

He scowled at her, and she just laughed, as irrepressible at thirty-eight as she'd been at fourteen. He accepted his hug with good grace. He even laughed a bit into her own blonde curls as he did so.

"Well… I've made a proper fool of myself. Is it so obvious?"

"Entirely, and I can't even think to say how glad I am to hear it." She reached up and tugged at one of his ears. "You've been alone too long, big brother. Though, really, cradle robbing-."

"Now, just a moment, I'm – I'm fond of Miss Edith's company, I'll allow that, but I said nothing about doing anything about it."

"Oh, honestly, Anthony!" Diana wasn't having it and she stood up to her full and not inconsiderable height to glare down at him. Anthony thwarted her by standing up as well and looming half a foot over her. "Anthony, really. It sounds like there were absolutely no complaints issued by either of those two young ladies at your presence for an entire week. Not even when you were eating practically every meal together and taking walks on the deck in between. Tell me, just what percentage of your day was spent in their company?"

"I would counter that the sample size available isn't sufficient to call it a proper experiment."

"Anthony."

"Really, a ship – even a large ship – is such a closed environment. Especially in first class, Diana. You know as well as I do that the matrons would be horrible to her for, well, things over which she has no control. Then there's the usual stuffiness directed at foreigners, and atop all that the company on this voyage wasn't the best. I told you how crassly that group of young cads was referring to the poor girl's inheritance."

"You did, and I accept that there may be one or two other men in England, of varying ages, that might gain Miss Edith Kavanaugh's good opinion and perhaps even the admiration of her charge as well. That has no bearing on whether you have already gained it or should make the most of it."

"Which I-."

"Why not let her decide?"

Anthony shut his mouth and sighed, wandering over to stare at the pictures on the mantle. A watercolor that Diana had done of their mother, ages ago, smiled out at him expectantly. His mother's laughing eyes seemed to be in agreement with her daughter.

"And don't even think about changing the subject to my awful sons. You know very well how they are, and you are more than capable of dropping them a letter at school. Give me one good reason that you shouldn't be the one checking up on things at Grantham House, hm?"

"My age?"

"No."

"The appearance of being not only a fortune hunter, but a ridiculous one?"

"Anyone who knows you knows very well that doesn't apply in the least."

"The fact that I will feel like no gentleman at all if I seek to take advantage of not one but two lonely young women in mourning?"

Diana sighed, heavily.

"Anthony, you couldn't take advantage of someone if you tried. It's not in your nature."

Anthony spread his hands.

"Either way, you will call on them while they're in London. I'm afraid I'm going to be up to my ears with the diplomatic corps over that nonsense in America and then I really must get back to Loxley."

"Archie will ask, what did come of that?"

"Absolutely nothing. I have no idea why I was even asked to go there. So, of course, it is going to take me a good week to properly communicate that to the powers that be."

"Poor old thing, too useful to be the bibliophilic agricultural recluse your nature desires."

Anthony submitted to having his cheek kissed and allowed himself to be shuffled off to the dining room with promises that Diana would call on Grantham house the very next day, just to check up on the Kavanaughs. As that was his objective, he considered the visit a great success. Even if Diana had decided to get herself involved in his nonexistent romantic interests, well, that was to be expected. She was, after all, a terrible little bossy boots.

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Adelaide was bored.

Her room was beside Edith's, which was a good thing since she wouldn't have trusted the Crawleys not to try and break up their family (again). There was even a door between them, which was nice, since it could be left open. Which meant that, well, if she had the sinking dream again, she could always go crawl into bed with her sister. Edith didn't mind, even if Adelaide was too old for that sort of thing. So was Edith, and she'd had the nightmare too.

It wasn't so bad taking dinner in her room. She got to eat earlier, which got it out of the way, and Edith sat with her. Besides, it was hard for Edith to fuss about how much she ate when Edith was only having a cup of tea and a snack since she was eating with the Granthams later. They ate formally, after all, and that meant that there were no children at dinner.

That was fine. Addie didn't want to eat dinner with them anyway. Lord Grantham was horrible, and his wife's smiles were fake, and Lady Mary was a soulless witch.

Sybil was alright, though. Addie was fair. She could admit that Sybil Crawley was a nice, fun person. She'd written to Edith since the beginning, and she'd sent Addie some post cards. She hadn't had to do that. Sybil was going to go to the zoo with them when the weather was a little better. She'd agreed that wombats were fascinating.

Still, Addie had woken up early. She usually did, but the sun wasn't even up and when she held up her alarm clock to the streetlights glowing through the window, she saw it wasn't much past four. She hated sleeping in a new bed. She didn't like staying in bed after she was awake. Edith was always telling her to stay in bed until five, but she felt kind of queasy and her head hurt. She wanted a cup of hot water with dried lemon and honey, or ginger in it.

It wasn't hard to find the servant's stairs, and kitchens were always near those. She changed into the black frock Edith had laid out the night before but left her stockings upstairs. Her toes were cold as she crept downstairs in search of a kettle, some water, and something to put in it. She peeked around the corner when she noticed a light on through the only open doorway.

The tall man – well, the younger one – who'd taken their coats last night was sitting at a well-scrubbed table and reading a paper. He had a cigarette hanging from his right hand and an irritated expression on his handsome face. He was already dressed for the day.

"Which door is the kitchen?"

Just like her brothers had, the footman gave out a delightful yelp of surprise. He also jumped and dropped his cigarette on the paper and then had to swat it out. She put her most innocent expression on as he turned to glare at who had startled him. She watched as his expression warred between annoyance and the polite blankness of service and felt a flash of shame. Daddy said that any man who did an honest day's work deserved the same respect as any other.

"I'm sorry I startled you." Abby offered up with honest apology and a thought struck her. "Would you like me to call you Thomas like Edith does, or should I call you Mr. Barrow?"

"I'm a footman."

He said that like there should be an "and you're an idiot" tacked onto the end of the statement. Addie reminded herself what Daddy always told her about how you acted around an employee. You buy their service; their respect is not for sale. You earn that.

"You're also grown up," Addie pointed out as fairly as she could. "I'm ten. Do you want to be Thomas or Mr. Barrow?"

He seemed to process that for a moment, then his lips twitched.

"Thomas will do when I'm working, Miss Kavanaugh."

"You can call me Miss Adelaide, or Miss Addie. Everyone does. It's too confusing since Edith's Miss Kavanaugh too."

Adelaide wanted to keep that very clear. They may have come back to England and Edith's other family, but Edith was not theirs.

"Miss Adelaide, then." Now he took a few steps forward out of the room and into the hall with her, looking down at her curiously. "What are you doing out of bed and padding around barefoot?"

She wriggled her toes experimentally. They really were quite cold.

"I don't like stockings. I was looking for the kitchen." She shrugged and tugged on her frock. "I wanted something warm to drink and didn't want to wake anyone with the bell."

"That's what the bell is for."

"Doesn't change the fact that I didn't want to ring it. Kitchen?"

"This way, Miss Adelaide. Is your sister up?"
"No, but there are noises coming from Lord and Lady Grantham's room." Addie offered. "I'm not sure if that means that there will be need of a tray sooner or later, but then again I'm not supposed to know about that sort of thing anyway."

Which was just silly. She'd grown up on a farm. They'd had cows. It was kind of hard to miss where calves came from when the bull let it all hang out and then chased the cows about, wasn't it?

The tall footman snorted as he led her down the hallway towards another door and she sighed in relief. Not all kitchens look the same, but they were all kitchens. Warmth washed over her, the range was banked and still emitting a lot of heat. Her feet weren't as cold, nor were her hands. Spying a kettle hanging on the wall, she reached out to drag over a stool to grab it, only to find a long arm reaching over her head.

"Here now, Miss Adelaide, I'm almost positive that guests are not supposed to fix their own tea."

"I didn't want tea, I wanted grated ginger or lemon and honey in hot water."

"I'm a footman, not a cook, but I think we can manage that."

"I'll grate the ginger, then."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and Addie found herself smiling. He looked so skeptical. She liked it. Jamie liked to look at her like that when she said she could do something he thought she couldn't do. It was like a dare. Adrian always winked and encouraged her to do it. She missed them terribly.

"What did I just say about that?"

"That was tea, besides, you said "we can manage", and that means both of us, doesn't it?"

"You have sharp ears, don't you?"

She grinned a little more broadly and, when he handed her down a jar, she took out a small nodule of ginger, and accepted the grater and the saucer he passed her.

"So, how do you like England so far, Miss Adelaide?"

"The weather's awful."

He seemed to find that funny, and Addie made a face at him. That wasn't something to be proud of. The English were weird. Even Edith, but allowances had to be made for sisters. Thomas was not her sister, however, so she pressed onward.

"London smells awful, too. Did you keep the Romans' sewers and forget their baths?"

He definitely found that funny. She decided to push the limits a little. He was a footman, and not in charge of things. Best to test things from the bottom up. She'd learned that ages ago; brothers were far safer to tick off than fathers.

Not that you have to worry about that ever again, do you?

Adelaide shoved all the hurt and the urge to cry far away. She wasn't going to cry anymore. She wasn't a baby. She reached for something satisfying instead. Like saying what she really thought.

"Lady Mary's face looks like she forgot which end of her was supposed to pucker."

A loud spluttering came from the door and Addie jumped, nearly dropping the ginger and the little grater she'd been handed. Standing in the doorway in a fussy old-fashioned dressing gown was the butler from the night before. Uh-oh.

"Miss Adelaide, whatever are you doing up so early?" He glared at the footman like it was his fault. "Thomas?"

"He didn't wake me up." Adelaide put on her most innocent expression again and tried the line from earlier that had Thomas looking green. When all else fails, distract the fussy adult! "There were noises coming from Lord and Lady Grantham's room."

The butler turned red.

"Thomas was helping me get a hot drink." She offered up quickly, before he had a chance to marshal a response and, to her pleasure, Thomas jumped in right after her. She wondered if he had little sisters.

"I thought it was best if we just got her settled, Mr. Carson, and even better if she wasn't trying to boil her own water."

"Yes, of course, well done, Thomas." The older man turned his rather fearsome eyebrows on Adelaide, who wisely took a slight step sideways further into Thomas' shadow. He obligingly stayed put and allowed her to hide as the butler went on, his smile obviously meant to be reassuring. She wasn't going to trust it. The witch was his favorite; Edith said so. "You're very welcome, Miss Adelaide, but we'd be happy to bring you anything you need if you just ring the bell."

And then a rather loud redheaded woman, who seemed to be the cook, entered along with a scrambling maid and several other servants. Adelaide shuffled out of the way, the object of all attention. She obviously had not woken up early enough. The queasy empty feeling got worse.

"Miss Adelaide, why don't I bring your drink up to your room for you. Maybe with some biscuits?"

Adelaide shot Thomas a grateful look.

"Yes, thank you."

Then she fled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And what was that all about this morning, now?"

Thomas drew in a breath of smoke and held it, letting it out through his nose and lips with a shrug. O'Brian shot him a sharp look and he smirked. She rolled her eyes at the younger man and crossed her arms.

"Some particular reason you're trying to get in with the little Yankee ragamuffin?" The countess' maid prompted. "If it's a matter of career opportunities, I doubt she'd live long enough to give you any job security and apparently that family wasn't rich enough for a nurse to teach the girl manners."

Thomas could have countered that, but he'd learned better than to give Sarah O'Brian that kind of trust. Oh, she was still the most likely if he needed something, but that was a different kettle of fish from trusting the woman. Especially with certain critical information.

Such as what had been in the paper, he'd handed Daisy to burn that morning after Miss Adelaide's little visit downstairs. He was glad the girl's ears were sharper than her eyes. Miss Adelaide Kavanaugh didn't need to know the paper he'd been reading when she'd happened on him was an older New York Times. Specifically, an issue that Mrs. Levinson had sent her daughter. One that hadn't quite made it to the countess' hands.

"How's Lord Grantham's concern going for him this morning?" Thomas asked instead and got a satisfied smirk back.

"Miss Edith is quite sure that she and the solicitors have things well in hand."

"Bet he took that well."

O'Brian snorted and her thin lips turned up in a smile.

"Oh, just like you'd expect. Went on to tell his niece extensively about how she absolutely didn't know what she was doing, was too young and a girl, besides, and – do you know – that it was his duty to manage things."

"How'd Miss Edith handle that?"

"She didn't get a chance. Her ladyship interrupted."

"Good timing."

"She had me waiting outside the door to tell her if things went badly, so I'd say it was a little less providential than that. They're in the lady's boudoir now, having some kind of talk about it. We'll see how well that goes, but if you ask me? The family bastard and her waif aren't going to be here long."

"Well, that won't do at all."

"What do you mean?"

Thomas had already turned, intent on doing something. It wouldn't fit his plans at all if Miss Edith left. At least not before he'd decided exactly what his plans were.

"Thomas?"

Shooting O'Brian a smirk over his shoulder, Barrow went back into Grantham House.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cora busied herself with the tea tray that Mrs. Hughes had brought up and getting Edith settled. She had not just gotten her daughter back to have her walk out of her life again in a huff the first day because Robert had no patience or subtlety. She loved her husband dearly, but she did wish he would think things through a bit more.

"Please, Edith, I do know what your Papa can be like. Sit down for a moment and calm down. Have a biscuit or two. You are too thin."

"I've grown three inches and gained fifteen pounds since I left England."

"And you wear it all very well, but allow a mother her foibles?"

Edith looked uncomfortable as she sat, but she did finally take a seat and a teacup from her. Cora was pleased to see that, if all else had failed them, Edith's her manners as proper as could be. If she was a little bolder at times, Cora couldn't help being pleased and saddened by it. She could see the stamp her country had made on her daughter, and she'd had nothing to do with it.

"What exactly made Uncle think that was remotely appropriate?" Edith finally burst out after her fist sip of tea, putting the cup and saucer down on the tray with an agitated rattle. "Daddy and he loathed each other. He's barely cold in his grave – how could I possibly give a man who he – he hated some say in his estate?"

"I think that in matters like that it's more important to consider the needs of the living, but nobody is looking to steal your inheritance or your sister's. You have to know that, Edith?"

"I don't think anyone here is a thief, but you have to know that Daddy at least thought you all guilty of kidnapping."

Cora looked away at that. She had been the one who'd written to Zachary Kavanaugh after Edith had left. Robert – that would have been worse than a lost cause. Far worse, after Kavanaugh's solicitor had contacted them and made it clear that any attempt at communication from Robert would have resulted in as large a public scandal in the papers and courts as the man could possibly stir up. Thankfully, Kavanaugh had been slightly more open to a woman's pleas. After a few months he'd allowed her to write, though Cora had found it all very difficult, knowing that whatever she wrote was being read first by the man himself.

Not that she entirely blamed him. It had seemed like the only possible or right decision at the time. Rosamund had put all of them at risk with her stupid affair and it was a great matter of luck that Marmaduke had taken it the way he had; understanding his own affairs had precipitated it and willing to start again, if only the child weren't his responsibility. Both of their marriages had grown stronger for it, Cora reflected. She and Robert had pulled so close together after she'd lost their second born. The son they'd both so desperately wanted, and the title had needed, but he'd never blamed her. Not once, and especially not given the circumstances.

Edith should have filled that void, Cora knew. She'd promised herself, told herself, that it was God's way of providing. Her poor son, born… incomplete… had gone on to heaven, and instead of an empty nursery and her shame over it all, she'd had a healthy new daughter to love, hadn't she? Cora knew now that she could have done it better, thought of Edith as her daughter first and not some – some insufficient consolation prize. Not that she'd ever really thought those words. Never. It was just what went on silently, inside of yourself…

Besides, Cora reminded herself, none of that mattered. She had Edith back now. It was a new start, and Edith needed them. For a child so independent, who it was so hard to understand, Cora grasped this like a lifeline.

"I know, and if someone had kept one of my daughters away from me, I would feel the same." Cora replied earnestly and reached out to take Edith's hand, hating how awkward it felt. "I did feel the same, when you left us."

Edith looked away and Cora rushed onward.

"I understand completely why you did, but we missed you. Don't think that we didn't."

Edith looked for just a moment as if she was about to speak, then Cora watched her daughter visibly close her mouth and look away. A moment later the blonde was smiling back tensely.

"Let's not dwell. I'm sure he'll be back eventually, and it won't change how I feel. I – I was thinking of taking Addie to the zoo but not right now. She needs fresh air, though. Do you have any other suggestions, knowing she's just not used to English weather?"

"Well," Cora smiled brightly, her mind fixing on her daughters' dour clothing, "there's always shopping!"

"She's just so bloody minded stubborn." Robert complained on the blasted telephone.

Cora had been… well, his wife was in all ways wonderful, but sometimes she was excessively American. She was also, he thought, perhaps a little too quick to want to give Edith what the girl wanted rather than what she needed. Contrary to Cora's belief Robert knew, better than anyone, just how badly they'd failed her. It had been Robert she'd quarreled with. It had been Robert to whom his daughter, barely fifteen, had vented years of frustration and hurt. He'd heard every accusation. Just because he wasn't willing to discuss it in-depth with some so-called professional didn't mean he hadn't understood just how poor a showing he'd made as Edith's father.

That's the problem with always thinking of yourself as her uncle, isn't it? Then she comes along and repeats it, and your heart is in your stomach.

Still, he felt allowances should be made. If nothing else, he felt he deserved the chance to prove Edith's accusations – not wrong, precisely. He should be allowed to make up for his mistakes, shouldn't he? They were honestly made with the best of intentions…

"I do wonder where she might have learned that from." His mother's voice came along the line unhappily; she did not favor the new telephone technology, but the dowager was making an effort for her only son. Robert appreciated that. "You were aware that this would be an uphill battle when you invited her back, Robert. You must be prepared for a long and ugly fight."

"But you don't think I'm wrong, do you, Mother?"

"Of course not. A girl not even twenty cannot possibly understand the difficulties and dangers she is now facing. She is not legally of age, though what the law knows of proper maturity I cannot fathom." The Dowager's words reassured him greatly and he found himself relaxing his posture as he held the infernal contraption. It would never replace a face-to-face conversation, of course, but it was passably convenient. "Especially considering she got herself involved in that university nonsense. I'm sure it's put nearly as many dangerous ideas into the girl's head as being removed to America did. I have always been entirely against it, if you recall."

"I recall, Mother."

"A matter I might have better expressed had I been aware of the matter, I would add."

Robert winced. They'd managed to keep Rosamund's perilous situation hidden from his mother at the time. An easy matter when Cora's pregnancy was going so poorly and Rosamund herself had barely shown any sign at all. It had been a mere matter of careful substitution and none the wiser, until all of that had blown up rather spectacularly in their faces. By the time the Dowager had realized what was happening, Edith was already out the door.

"I've apologized before, Mother, and Rosamund as well."

"I would not call what your sister did an apology."

"What would you call it?"

"As a lady, I'm afraid a proper response is outside of my vocabulary."

Robert hit himself in the nose with the earpiece as he went to cover his face with his hand. Sighing, he tried to redirect the conversation. Assuming it was possible to direct his mother anywhere.

"Anyway, Mother, you should be thrilled. I'm calling to ask you what I should do."

"Well, I shall have to write it down in my diary!"

"Mother, you've never kept a diary."

"Of course not. Dreadful things, and incredibly pretentious."

"Mother, please?"

"I would think the solution entirely obvious, Robert."

He sighed loudly enough to be heard over the phone, entirely on purpose.

"Don't be dramatic, Robert, it doesn't suit a gentleman and you are far too old to be considered a boy." The scolding tone was very satisfying. "You must obviously help Edith, but you must from somewhere summon a bit of tact and subtlety about it. You may start by talking to Sybil."

"What? Why Sybil?"

"Because some of us, Robert, sought out information rather than giving our temper free play and refusing talk of Kavanaugh in our presence. Had you shown that forethought you'd already know that Edith was neither mistreated nor unhappy in America."

Robert Crawley winced and pulled a face but nodded obediently along with his mother's pronouncement.

"So, take Sybil out for the day, concoct some reason, and have a good long talk with her about Edith. Proceed from there, tactfully, keeping in mind that gentleman do not speak ill of the dead."

"Yes, Mother."

"At least not where you may be accidentally overheard."

Feeling distinctly chastened and bolstered in the manner only his mother could provide, the Earl of Grantham hung up the telephone feeling better than he had when he'd asked Carson to place a call on the thing for him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello, Miss Adelaide."

Addie looked up and smiled when she saw who was visiting her. She had a room of her own but there was no school desk in it, or a school room set aside in Grantham House, so she got to do her lessons on the floor. In Adelaide's estimation, this was by far the best situation. She had all her books and her papers scattered out over the rug, and her lap-desk set out in front of the fireplace. She'd discarded her shoes and stockings, and her frock was now a thoroughly wrinkled mess.

"Hello, Thomas. Can I help you?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd check in and see how you were doing."

Thomas, Addie had decided, was a solid sort of fellow. He'd been fun that morning, helping her out when everyone had come down into the kitchen, and Addie didn't forget that sort of thing. He'd also been who'd come up with her breakfast later, and if the big plate of bacon and eggs and toast had gone down mostly uneaten that wasn't her fault. Really! It wasn't reasonable to expect a body to eat all of that.

"Edith made me do arithmetic first before she had to go, but it wasn't too bad."

"Where did your sister go after she and Lady Grantham were talking? If you don't mind my asking."

Addie didn't mind at all. She was pleased that he'd bothered to ask. Sybil had come by earlier and checked on her. Addie didn't mind that because Sybil was nice about it and didn't linger unless you wanted her to. She'd been less than enthused when she'd found her lessons spied on by three other people.

Mr. Carson had made a great effort to be friendly, but Addie hadn't recognized it. Having grown up less formally, with a father of the newest sort of American money and a mother of rather bohemian nature, Adelaide Kavanaugh found the older man's starched formality more threatening than reassuring. Had the circumstances of her reentry into the house been different, or had Edith been there to witness and assist the butler's attempts at friendliness it would have been a different matter. As it was, the butler's visit was now characterized by suspicion in the young girl's mind.

Mrs. Hughes had fared slightly better, having the kind of natural warmth that normally set anyone in her presence at ease. Unfortunately for Mrs. Hughes, she'd arrived on the heels of Mr. Carson and so her presence was infected by proximity. Adelaide, who had perhaps not been socialized as keenly as a child should be given her family's protectiveness, had retreated into her lessons and apologized for not having time to talk.

In a huge turn-around from the expected, the Earl's visit had been the most successful. Mainly because he'd been looking for Edith and had excused himself immediately with an apology for disturbing her lessons and no attempt whatsoever at conversation. Given Adelaide's entirely negative opinion of the man, a quick retreat and polite apology was the absolute best thing he could have done. Her hackles had sunk a few millimeters.

Thomas, however, was another matter. The tall, dark-haired man was approximately the same age as her older brothers. In a girl raised largely in a house dominated by loud, opinionated males, two of which were notoriously troublesome and one of which had been compared regularly to a rattlesnake in temperament, Thomas Barrow's sharp gray eyes did not seem hostile. If anything, they seemed familiar and reassuring. Starved for companionship and desperately missing her brothers, Adelaide happily reached out for what looked to her to be her most likely new friend.

"Edith went to speak with our solicitors about Estate things. Like our income and allowances and things like that." Addie put her pencil aside along with her primer. She enjoyed English, if not so much as history or the natural sciences, but she was mostly done. She could take a break. "I think Lord Grantham tried to go along with her and she told him to stay out of it."

"Well, that can't have made him happy."

"We're not here to make him happy. Edith wanted to come back to England because she was being bothered at home, and I wanted to come with her."

"I'm sorry the weather has been such a disappointment."

"Well, I was warned." Addie could be a good sport about it, and she got up curiously as he set a tray on the table.

"Mrs. Patmore thought that, since you didn't have much breakfast it might be best if you didn't skip luncheon."

"I don't each much." Addie felt a wave of embarrassment. "Please tell your cook it's not her fault. I mean, she's obviously a good cook. She works for an Earl. I just don't – food and I don't get along much."

"Ah, well, I took the liberty?"

He removed the cover over the tray and Addie looked curiously down at a rather large array of fancy little sandwiches, a couple of different little bowls of soup, and a veritable pile of different cookies. There was also a perfectly nice little tea service.

"Since we don't know what you like yet, I told Mrs. Patmore we might have a sort of test run." Thomas was grinning out her conspiratorially now. "Just to see what you do and don't like."

Addie looked at the great pile of food nervously.

"But won't it mostly go to waste?"

"Well, that would be a pity."

"Could you stay?" Addie asked, suddenly hitting on the meaning behind the footman's playful smile and delighting in the feeling of conspiracy behind it. "I mean, I know this is your job and not for visiting but it's far too much food and I don't want to eat alone. I could give you permission?"

"Miss Adelaide, I would be honored."

She snickered at the pretentious little teasing bow he gave her and cheerfully claimed control of the teapot and cups away from the footman. They'd only ever hired on footmen temporarily, for parties, and her Daddy hadn't been fond of them. She knew how to serve tea, thank you, and was rather proud of herself for claiming the right.

"Mama, then Edith and I, always did tea. We had Cook over for luncheon and dinner, most days, but breakfast and tea were our responsibility. At least until we lost Mama and Edith went to college, then Cook was there a lot more."

"So, you and Miss Edith can cook, then? Well, that's not your usual lady's accomplishment."

"What are fine ladies usually good for?"

"Not much, if it's just between you and me."

Addie cracked up at the conspiratorial little joke and, with Thomas plowing through a plate piled high with snacks felt under little enough scrutiny to enjoy a sandwich of her own. She didn't like the smell of the various fishy sandwiches, or the heavy ones with eggs and too much mayonnaise. Addie found, to her delight, that the ones with watercress and butter suited her well. The onion soup, sharp and salty and strong, was also very good.

"And did you make any friends on the ship?"

Addie, who was pleased to have someone fun to talk to, didn't notice as Thomas cheerfully teased information out of her.

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"Mr. Houghton was horrible." She made a face. "Just a chubby little nobody who wanted to bother Edith and thought she'd be stupid enough to marry him. My sister is not stupid, and she doesn't need a dumb husband too lazy to make his own money, either!"

"Who does?"

"I know." Addie made a face. "I'm never getting married. I'm going to go to university and study animals and be a naturalist or a veterinarian or a doctor. Probably a veterinarian, animals are better than people. Edith said I could have a puppy in a few months if I was good!'

"That is excellent. The Earl has a dog."

"I know, his name is Pharoah and he's at Downton Abbey." She fidgeted as she mentioned the name.

"Are you looking forward to seeing the Abbey?"

"I kind of thought Edith and I would get our own place. We still might."

"That'd be expensive, though, wouldn't it?"

Addie sat up straighter, her pride pricked – just as intended. Mr. Carson had, in his attempt to reassure her everything would be fine, informed her that she and Edith would be "taken care of". It had been meant well, but in a suspicious and agitated frame of mind, the ten-year-old had taken it as an insult against her father.

"Papa saw we were well taken care of, and if – if my brothers were here, we'd still have all been taken care of!" Addie insisted, upset. "Only better because Aidan and Jamie would have made sure everything was fine themselves. We don't need anyone's money."

"Well, it's never a bad thing-."

Shooting Thomas an obstinate look, she interrupted.

"Daddy left us all – with the boys g-gone, me and Edith have more than three million pounds each."

She laid the words down like a winning hand of cards, or a gauntlet thrown.

"We can have our own house if we want it!"

"Of course, you can, Miss Adelaide. I just wanted to make sure you and Miss Edith were going to be alright."

Looking up at his contrite expression and being rather too young to spot the deception on so practiced a face, Addie sat back down, embarrassed.

"Oh…"

"You didn't tell me about any friends you made, though, just that someone was being a right… well…"

Addie sniffed and rubbed her sleeve over her eyes and nose, then paused, realizing she should not have done that. Thomas seemed to be very busy putting an entire cookie into his mouth, however, and she didn't think he had seen her. Relieved, Addie went on.

"We did! We met Sir Anthony Strallan. He lives nearby Downton Abbey, Edith says, and he was just wizard."

She had no idea why Thomas looked confused at this statement but decided to enlighten him.

"He chased off Houghton and had luncheon and tea with us lots, and dinner with Edith a bunch of times. He knows a lot about farms and animals. He reads a lot too and shared one of his books about reptiles in India with me – they've got a lot of snakes! Sir Anthony has stories about the Boer war too, including one about a lion and a really good one about a honey badger – I want one, but he says them smell and are ill-tempered and Edith says I can only have one pet otherwise I'd have a zoo. Which I think is cheating us out of a perfectly good zoo. What do you think?"
"Grown-ups."

"I know." Addie completely missed the fact she was talking to one. "But Sir Anthony is just the best. I liked him. He likes cars and machines too, like Edith, they talked about those along with everything else, but mostly at dinner because I like animals better. What's your favorite animal?"

He blinked at her, whether surprised by the question or the sudden barrage of information, Addie was too pleased with what she took to be an excellent turn in the conversation to care.

"I've always liked cats."

"I like cats too, but if I can only have a kitten or a puppy, I'd prefer a puppy."

"I would think that with three million pounds you could have both if you wanted."

"That's what I said." She sighed. "Edith gave me more arithmetic."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Carson?"
The butler turned away from where he'd just managed to corner Thomas Barrow for a discussion at the sound of Lady – Miss Edith's voice. The strawberry blonde was peeking slightly awkwardly around the corner and his mind flashed back to a hundred such instances in the girls' upbringing before Downton's three daughters became two. He squared his shoulders and offered the warmest possible smile.

They were trying to repair the damage to the family. The damage done to the Grantham reputation by the revelation of Miss Edith's origins being revealed couldn't be reversed. That genie would not be going back into its bottle. However, the added damage of her choosing to abandon them for her blood-father could be somewhat repaired. Unfortunately, little as it should work that way, when there was no managing proper behavior there was at least the ability to brazen it all out with your head held high. It shouldn't happen, but when it did, one must maintain one's pride.

"Miss Edith." He offered up a smile. "How may I help you?"

"Oh, I just wanted – Thomas!" And she offered up a broad smile that had Carson blinking, unfamiliar with the expression and uncomfortable to realize it. "I was actually looking for you."

"Of course, how may I help Miss Edith?"

"Oh, I just wanted to thank you! Addie told me that you went up and had tea with her, during luncheon I mean, while I was busy. Better yet, she told me she ate something. Did she really put away two whole tea sandwiches?"

"And about a quarter of a bowl of onion soup."

Carson felt his eyes narrow at the smugness in the footman's voice. Thomas Barrow was certainly one of the more competent young men he had seen rise to first footman in his long career. He was also probably the least trustworthy.

"Well, thank you, you have – you have no idea how difficult it is to get her to eat. I'd hoped Mrs. Patmore's cooking - but I'll thank her for that myself." Edith shook her head and paused. "I don't know if it would interfere with your duties, but…"

And now Carson found her soft brown eyes turning towards him.

"How may we be of assistance?"

"Well, I was about to have a talk with Mrs. Hughes about it, but since you're here and Addie's decided she likes Thomas so much, I was wondering if he could have tea with her tomorrow at a more normal hour?" She asked hesitantly. "The thing is, you must understand, Adelaide is always off her food. You, well, you can see how thin she is. I've been so worried since we – since the Titanic and everything that happened after."

Carson's heart ached a bit. He wasn't one to look too kindly on Mr. Kavanauch's actions. Whatever he thought, however, it was apparent now that his family had loved him. A person – any person – was entitled to grief. To lose so much family in such short a time… Carson would not wish such a thing on anyone.

"She's very young to have been through what she has been through, as you are yourself, Miss Edith." Carson replied understandingly. "Anything we can do to be of assistance. We are, after all, entirely at your service."

That smile was back, though shyer, and more familiar.

"Then that's what we'll do. If Lady Sybil or I are unavailable for tea, or if she's taking luncheon while working on her lessons and Thomas doesn't have duties elsewhere, he can keep an eye on Addie for me." Edith went on briskly. "I'll make sure there's something more in your salary for it, Thomas, as well. If – I don't want to take up more of your time?"

"I'm delighted to help."

Carson saw things quickly slipping out of control and immediately stepped in.

"I'll make sure that Miss Adelaide is taken care of, Miss Edith. If Thomas is otherwise occupied, I shall see that one of the maids steps in."

"Thank you."

"Are you sure that Anna wouldn't be more appropriate company for a young lady?"

"No." The denial was emphatic. "We both miss our brothers terribly, but Addie was especially close to Adrian. I – I think having a young man that age about is helping. You're sure you don't mind, Thomas?"

"Not in the least."

"Well, that's settled then."

Carson watched the blond vanished and turned to where Barrow was almost holding in his smirk. Noting that he was beginning to get a headache, Carson cast a glance heavenward. He'd talk to Mrs. Hughes about it all later. Surely, she'd have some advice on the situation.

Despite feeling as though he'd taken a jarring step off a pitching deck and onto dry ground, Robert managed to get himself back into Grantham House. He felt a rush of relief when Bates met him at the door instead of Carson. He felt less of a need to stand on his dignity. His valet had seen him through battle; being wrong-footed wouldn't produce any odd looks.

"Bates, is Lady Grantham free?"

"I last saw her and Lady Mary discussing the Rawlings' ball in the drawing room, my lord."

"Ah, good, could you have my wife – actually, ask both to come up to my study? Is Sybil here? And where is Edith?"

"A Mrs. Chetwood visited earlier, and it turned into an outing to the Museum, sir. Lady Sybil chose to go along with her sister and Miss Adelaide." He cleared his throat. "They were all planning to dine out for dinner. Anna's sent dresses over to the Chetwoods and they'll change there but be back before supper."

"Chetwood, as in Sir Anthony's sister, Mrs. Chetwood?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Lady Grantham approves?"

"Yes, sir." His valet hesitated.

"Bates?"

He watched his man make a face that Grantham knew all too well. Women.

"There may have been some… maneuvering involved." Bates lowered his voice. "It was a bit too feminine to be entirely decipherable, however, I feel that Lady Grantham would have enjoyed being included in the outing."

"Ah." Robert winced the wince of a hundred generations of husbands. "Well, it may be better for it. Please ask my wife to – actually, ask Lady Mary to join me in my study as well."

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you, Bates."

Up the stairs and comfortably settled in his desk chair, Robert sipped a much-needed scotch while he waited for his wife and daughter. Both joined him quickly. He stood and got Cora settled as Mary sat down and poured them both a small glass of wine from the tray he'd rung for.

"Papa, did you get to the bottom of whatever Edith's situation is?" Mary asked immediately. "She must be desperate if she came back after all of the horrid things she said."

"Mary-."

"Oh, Mama, you've said as much yourself! Edith's only come back because her new family couldn't-."

"Kavanagh's estate was valued at we just under seven million dollars, after taxes, when he died last May."

Robert dropped the truth like an anvil and watched as his daughter and wife's eyes widened dramatically.

"Robert?" Cora choked on her wine a little. "How did you find out?"

"I went to see that solicitor she met yesterday." He breathed out. "As… little as I want to say anything complimentary about the man… Kavanaugh knew what he was doing. There are several different trusts involved for Edith and the girl, more than one agent to keep an eye on things, and the people retained are – are as solid as you could like. Excellent firms."

"Mama did say we'd be surprised after she helped sort the estate out." Cora offered weakly. "Oh, I'm going to skin Harold for that foolish accident! Had he been here he could have told us!"

"Yes, I'm sure." Robert took the better part of valor in discussing his in-laws as he pulled a face and kept them on topic. "However, I'm at least… reassured that Edith's not in any kind of danger financially. From herself or others."

Mary had been sitting speechless as her parents spoke. As they paused, his eldest finally mustered a response. Robert wasn't surprised to find that it was outrage.

"Are you telling me that Edith and that little waif are some of the most substantial heiresses in all of Britain right now?"

"Yes, I suppose I am." Robert huffed. "Mary, it would not harm you to be glad for your sister's good fortune. Especially considering the entail."

"The entail you refuse to break!"
"Mary, we've discussed this, there is no legal way to-."

Mary stood up roughly, two spots of color on her glacial cheeks and her beauty sharp as daggers.

"Do you have any idea how humiliating this will be for me?"

"Mary, darling-."

"Mama, you're the one trying to marry me off like I'm halfway on the shelf!" His daughter wasn't placated by Cora's gentle tone. "Do you have any idea how this is going to look? First, she abandons us, leaving Sybil and I to manage the shame of her bastardy, and now she's going to have every money hungry heir in the Empire sniffing around her skirts while Sybil and I do what exactly? Stand on the side like wallflowers? Well, at least we know why she came back now, don't we? She can finally have her revenge!"

"Mary, for God's sake, not everything is about you!" Robert's temper snapped and he immediately wished it had not as his daughter glared at him and then swept furiously from the room. Sitting down heavily in the chair she'd just left; he rubbed a hand over his face. "That… could have been handled better."

"Mary won't be hurt by being less of the center of attention for a while." Cora replied, though she looked distinctly uneasy. "She does have a point about her lack of dowry, however, compared to Edith. Is there some way…?"

"Never." Robert bit out. "I am not asking for a handout-."

"Is there a way that we might keep this quiet for a few more months, Robert?"

"Right, sorry." Robert sat down again and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not going to publicize it and it seems Edith doesn't wish to, either. However, it's not a secret across the pond…"

"And news does travel." Cora sighed. "Well, don't worry. I shall handle everything on my end of things."

"Hm."

"Well," Cora smiled, "at least you know that Edith wasn't lying when she told you that she didn't need our help if it was a burden."

"Oh, don't underestimate Kavanaugh's bloody-minded hate for me, either." Robert huffed out a breath both amused and disgusted. "Most of their inheritance is tied up in trust, but he left precisely two-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds separate from their inheritance as a dowry for each of them."

Cora's eyes widened at the significance of the number. It was, Robert noted, precisely what Cora had received from her own father when Isadore had died, leaving fifty percent with his wife and the other half split between his two children. There was no missing the distinct note of nasty triumph in the man's parting gesture.

"Well…" Cora cleared her throat and came over, sitting beside him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "It's just as well that we can leave all of that worry behind us. You've enough on your plate managing the estate and helping Matthew adjust. Knowing Edith's inheritance shall keep her comfortable and that it is in good hands is nothing more than a weight off all our minds, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Now, Mary's run off to sulk and our other children have abandoned us, Robert. Whatever shall we do with our afternoon?"

Lord Grantham informed Carson that Lady Grantham would be lying down with a sick headache, and he'd chosen to keep her company. No-one was in the least bit fooled. The needs of propriety had been met, however, and that was more than good enough for Robert.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sybil was having the best sort of day possible. She was still terribly jealous that Edith had gone to university, but she was also reaping the rewards of it. Her sister had come back so happy and so different, but the same in all the best ways. That sweetness that had always lived under the hurt and the jealousy was now far more developed. But along with that, Sybil found that she and Edith finally really had things to talk about. Even better? She'd made an older friend who felt the same way!

Mrs. Chetwood was in her middle-thirties and as respectable a lady as you could wish. Her father had been a baronet and neighbor. Her husband was in the diplomatic corps and a friend of Cousin Shrimpy's. She was a well-known social hostess in London and was very well-connected. She was also so modern once you got underneath that oh-so-proper surface!

"Once we got the possum in the pillowcase it all turned out." Edith was explaining. "I can't believe Sir Anthony remembered that story so well!"

"Oh, don't be surprised, my brother's got a wonderful memory." The older woman laughed as they settled in over soup at a lovely little vegetarian bistro that their mother never would have gone to. They'd still dressed for dinner, but it was so different to sit at a table in a restaurant you went to just to eat and not be seen. Sybil had never had dinner out like this before, and they'd even taken Adelaide!

"He tells the best stories."

The girl herself added, shyly. Sybil had watched Adelaide blow a little hot and cold over the day, and she seemed to have settled into a kind of shy happiness by the evening. Which had pleased Sybil to no end, since she'd wanted to befriend the girl since Edith had written about it. She'd always hated being the youngest, and it was the right thing to do.

"He does." Edith agreed, her own cheeks pinking a bit. "I was surprised how different he seemed from when I'd met him before at our parents' parties."

Sybil listened curiously. One thing she'd understood about Edith's journey was that she'd spent a great deal of it in Sir Anthony's company. Sybil had been rather boggled by it. As far as she knew, Sir Anthony Strallan was a nice man, but incredibly boring. He'd always seemed so… out of place whenever she'd met him before, if unfailingly polite.

"Oh, Anthony hates big parties. He took after Papa that way." Mrs. Chetwood went on breezily. "He's always so uncomfortable. It really doesn't show him off to his advantage. He's much better around friends, and – pardon me – but we've never really travelled in the same circles that your parents have outside county things."

"What kind of circles do you favor, Mrs. Chetwood?" Sybil pounced.

Over the afternoon they'd discussed plenty of art, history, and even some zoology to keep Addie engaged. However, they'd discussed far more. Sybil had drawn Edith into talk of the Vote quickly and been surprised and delighted when she found that Mrs. Chetwood was firmly on their side. She'd been a little more disappointed when she'd found out that both Edith and Mrs. Chetwood agreed that some of the more radical suffragettes didn't meet their approval, but it was still the best discussion she'd had about her passions since the last time she and Tom had had time to really talk.

"Oh, academics and endless diplomats with my husband's work, of course." Mrs. Chetwood replied with dancing blue eyes. "And, of course, where you have academics, you have artists and writers and all manner of bohemian people popping in."

"Yes, Anthony mentioned he knew Virginia Wolf?"

"He does, Edith, though not that well." Diana Chetwood grinned. "I introduced them. Though I shouldn't brag, as my brother introduced me to my own husband!"

"Really?"

"Yes, they met at a cricket game in university. Or, rather, the fight afterward. Anthony felt the need to buy my poor husband a drink after knocking him down, and then that led to an invitation to Loxley after they became friends, and – being the wise woman I am – I promptly decided to keep him."

"I'm sure he's been suitably grateful since."

"Quite, Miss Edith, but we were talking about my brother, weren't we?"

"Again." Sybil bit her cheek and added.

"Sir Anthony is wizard. We like him." Addie insisted, then paused. "Can we talk more about the giant snake skeleton, though? That was the best thing ever!"

Sybil held in a laugh at the expression of mirth on the older woman's face and Edith's longsuffering look. Served Edith right. She had been obsessed with steam engines at that age, from what Sybil remembered. Having to deal with a child who wanted to talk about the natural sciences was just the right kind of revenge.

Mrs. Chetwood elegantly turned the conversation back to equality, however, and Sybil admired how she managed it without upsetting their youngest number. Sybil, so focused on the vote, was surprised when talk instead turned to compensation.

"Equal voting is important, but in the day-to-day life of people working to survive, equal pay shall be proven far more essential and far uglier a fight in time, I think." Edith was frowning in thought as she spoke. "It's something everyone talked about in college. Most of the girls at Vassar were going to be married, of course, and not have to worry – but a few were planning careers. A woman is paid a little less than half of what a man is for the same job – when she can get a job a man would normally have at all!"

"Quite right, my dear, money is independence." Mrs. Chetwood agreed. "It's also what carries the most weight with any politician."

"But if we have the vote, surely they'll want to keep their position and income first and foremost?"

"Yes, Sybil, but a woman who depends on husband for shelter, food, and the basic necessities of life isn't going to take up a political position against him." Edith pointed out.

"And a man who isn't afraid to use violence against his wife is not going to pass up a chance to either suppress her desire to vote or use it to double his own."

"That's horrible!" Sybil argued. "A woman should be able to leave a man like that!"

"A woman can leave, but how, if she doesn't have any money?" Edith provoked with a confidence that still shocked Sybil. "And what if she's got children? Won't her husband automatically get to keep them?"

"It's not quite so automatic anymore, in the courts, but it's not fair, either." Mrs. Chetwood shook her head. "On matters of custody a woman can now have her day in court; it's just not likely to turn out the way she hopes."

"I need to read about this more."

"Unfortunately, I can't send you inflammatory American pamphletry from down the hallway."

"Then we'll have to go find it together!"

"Can I come?" Addie asked and Edith equivocated while Mrs. Chetwood smiled into her coffee.

"Well," As dessert arrived their hostess grinned brightly. "that's just another lovely reason to have another visit, isn't it? I do enjoys days out like this, surrounded by men as I am."

Sybil sighed in delight over her chocolate raspberry torte and agreed most vehemently as Edith tried to convince her other little sister to at least try her dessert.

"That's right, you said that you have two sons?"

"Two sons, a husband, and a brother." The older woman sighed. "My nearest female relatives are all over seventy-five and none of them favor town! So, girls, while you're here I hope you and your mother would be willing to save me from the helpless sea of masculinity I'm adrift in."

"How is Sir Anthony?" Sybil shot Edith a look and chose mischief. "I've heard so much about him from Edith and Addie now that I feel like I know him."

Mrs. Chetwood raised an eyebrow.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lady Sybil, but haven't our families known each other since the Restoration?"

Sybil colored and Addie snickered at her as she took the single reluctant bite of chocolate torte that would serve as her dessert.

"What I mean is that I feel I really know him." Sybil wasn't one to give up and shot Edith a triumphant look. "Before I just knew him as a very nice man. Now I know he speaks German and is very well-traveled and he supports women's education."

"Oh, Anthony supports education in general." Mrs. Chetwood's eyes danced as she leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "According to my mother, he tried to teach his spaniel to read when he was seven."

"That is so sweet!" Edith blurted out and then looked terribly uncomfortable as the rest of the table, barring Addie, laughed at her.

"Sir Anthony's German is really very good." Addie commented enthusiastically. "And he speaks Italian and French, too. I only speak English and German. Edith speaks French, too, but her German's pretty awful."

"Thank you so much for that vote of convince!"

"You're welcome!"

"Well, you're all doing better than I am." Sybil interjected. "Now I feel lazy for ignoring our governess. I barely remember how to say Bonjour and merci!"

"Oh, Anthony speaks more languages than that." Mrs. Chetwood added with the air of someone settling in for a good gloat. "He read modern languages at King's. That was before he went Heidelberg."

"He studied engineering there as well, didn't he?"

"Yes, Miss Adelaide, he did."

"No wonder you and he had so much to talk about, Edith, you always did love mechanical things." Sybil stuck her tongue firmly in the side of her mouth as she watched her sister's blush grow brighter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thomas carried the supper tray up to Miss Adelaide's room with a smug flourish, leaving William to glare at his back. How was it his fault he was better at recognizing an advantage when he saw it? Popping one of the biscuits in his mouth as he went. The girl had her supper and got ready for bed while the rest of the family was dining. As first footman he should have been serving at the table, but…

"Anything that makes the poor dear more comfortable is a good thing, Carson." The lady of the house had insisted in her usual gently implacable way, earning a rare smile from her blonde not-quite-daughter. "I agree with Edith that her little sister shouldn't eat alone. Until Edith's had a chance to settle in and make more permanent arrangements, Thomas can keep her company every now and then so Edith can join the rest of the family. We'll need him back when entertaining, but it won't be that long until Adelaide is older and ready to join us at the table on evenings without guests."

Thomas was still smug over the dyspeptic look on the old man's face at that! He couldn't argue with The Lady, now, could he? Things would likely undergo some shift at the Abbey, but Thomas was determined it would all fall in his favor. He'd already seen his opportunity to be the Earl's valet stolen. This wasn't going to pass him by as well.

He knocked on the door and paused when he didn't hear the usual quick response. Balancing the tray carefully on one hand, he opened the door and peeked inside. Frowning, he crept in as silently as possible. What he found tore a softer smile from him than most would expect.

"Hey now, Cinderella, I don't think this is your bed."

"Hm….?"

Adelaide Kavanaugh had fallen asleep on the hearth rug while reading. Spread out in front of her was that big book on Australian animals. Her face had been pillowed on one arm and when she looked up the lines and folds of her sleeve were pressed in red lines across the left side of her face.

"Thomas?"

"It's dinner time, Miss Adelaide."

"M'not hungry."

"Yes, but I am. You're not going to make me take the tray back, are you?"

"M'no…"

Thomas liked kids; they let you know what they thought. While he'd have taken advantage of any chance for advancement, he had to admit, this chance suited him more than most. How promising had that little observation about Lady Mary and puckering been? Her natural distrust of Carson was just a hilarious bonus he enjoyed exacerbating. This, though? This was just cute.

"Up you get." Putting the tray down, Thomas half-lifted the girl onto her feet and settled her in her chair at the small table. Grabbing another and pulling it over with a foot, he settled into it and pulled the cloche off the tray with a professional flourish. "Dinner is served, Miss Adelaide."

So, what if he chivied her into eating while he put away the rest of it himself? The kid was too thin, and he had a stake in her health, didn't he? It wasn't self-sacrificing or saccharine. Besides, Mrs. Patmore's cooking wasn't to be sneered at and he benefited as well. Nursery fair, even if not in the nursery, was simpler than what they family were getting at the table, but it was still a sight better than their usual. The glazed pork roast and garlic potatoes were fine. So were the roast brussels sprouts. The cook claimed she'd drizzled vinegar on them, but it didn't taste like any vinegar he'd ever eaten.

"No cake?"

"I don't like sweet stuff much. Eat my piece so Mrs. Patmore's not upset?"

"It's a sacrifice, but my duty is clear."

"You," The little girl pronounced gravely, "are full of it."

"Tsk, language."

"None of those were bad words!"

"I think your sister would argue that the meaning wasn't proper."

"Edie's not here, though." Addie looked decidedly shifty, "You are."

"Full of charm and verve? Yes, yes I am."

She snickered and then seemed to remember something. Still yawning, she got up out of her chair – Thomas rose out of instinct, but the plate of cake went with him as did his fork – and went over to the bedside table. She came back with a striped paper bag.

"Do you like toffees? I don't like candy much, but Sybil got me a whole bag as a surprise today. I don't want to hurt Sybil's feelings or waste them."

"No, you don't." He agreed and carried on with his agenda. "What about Lady Mary?"

"If you're going to share with her, spit in the bag first."

Thomas snorted and tucked the bag into his pocket for later.

"Do you think she'll believe you ate the whole bag?"

"I think she'll believe I ate some of it when I told her I shared the rest with the staff."

"Not a bad plan but try and think it through. If you're going to tell a tale, don't leave holes in it." Thomas advised. "What happens if she asks someone else if they got any?"

She looked nervous.

"I'll give a few out to Daisy and a couple of the other maids." He offered up, by means of instruction, not weakness. "If Lady Sybil asked, well, you just gave them to me and asked me to share so nobody'd be uncomfortable downstairs."

She visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, Thomas."

As good a time as any to strike, Thomas pressed on.

"What do you think of moving to Downton?"

"I don't know. It's nice enough."

"Pardon me, Miss Adelaide, but you don't sound so excited."

"I'd hoped we'd get our own place. I mean, I want Edith to be happy. If – if she's happy and they treat her right here, I'm not going to be – be small about it or act like a baby. Lady Grantham's okay and Lord Grantham… doesn't seem evil. I like Sybil."

"But you hoped you'd have your own home with your sister."

"Yes, I mean, there are places in Yorkshire we could let. And we still have to visit Onkle Klaus and Omma!" She shuffled about near the fire, tugging at the fingers of one hand with another. "I mean, we're going to we just haven't decided when. We have decided to meet in Paris, but not soon because Omma doesn't want to travel until some of the snow's melted in the mountains. So that means spring? Unless they put it off until summer, and that would be awful. Have you ever been to Paris, Thomas?"

"No, last time the Family went I wasn't working at Downton, and I doubt Carson, or the Earl would want me to go anywhere on a long trip. After all, I do work for them." He said it as casually as he could, letting sadness overlay his tone as he put the emphasis where it belonged and watched Adelaide's reaction. "A pity. I'd never pay for a trip like that myself, and I've always wanted to see Paris."

He'd hoped she'd take the bait, but she just frowned a bit and nodded thoughtfully. Then, with the randomness of children, she decided to show him a couple of the pictures in her book, namely the Tasmanian Tiger. She had some considerable worry that they were going to go extinct. Personally, looking at the teeth on the thing, Thomas didn't see why anyone would be opposed to that. In the end, he didn't get anything concrete out of his hinting, but he did see that she ate as much of her dinner as possible. Then he made sure the moppet got into bed before he went downstairs with the tray. O'Brian caught him on the landing.

"Well now, how's your new best friend, Thomas?"

"Miss Addie is doing very well, thank you so much for your deep concern for the girl."

The older woman huffed but looked amused as she offered him a drag from her cigarette. With Carson upstairs, why shouldn't they indulge? There was no one to catch them on the back stairwell. At Grantham House, there were two servants' stairwells and this one was nicely back and away from the kitchens and dining room. Tiny, cramped, and oddly placed, it made a fine location for a quiet conversation. He didn't offer her any candy.

"I heard something interesting today, while I was passing by outside his lordship's study."

"Oh?"

"It seems that the late and unlamented Mr. Kavanaugh wasn't a poor man by any means."

Dammit.

Thomas turned and looked into those shrewd dark eyes and did the only reasonable thing; he smirked at her.

"No, he wasn't, was he?"

"Is it true that he left those two girls millions?"

Thomas weighed the value of lying and came up blank. O'Brian was the closest thing to a friend he had. She'd helped him the past. They had similar goals and interests. He didn't necessarily want to share this chance with her, but he also doubted she'd manage to make anything of it. She was too old to draw in either Adelaide or her sister. They had no reason to trust someone who was very much Lady Grantham's woman. Especially not when he was going to be doing everything in his power to hammer a wedge in between the prodigal daughter and the Crawleys.

"Something over three million apiece." He allowed and watched O'Brian's eyes widen. "The estate here's worth more altogether, what with everything in it, but you've got to keep running the place and that takes nearly all of what Lady Grantham's dowry brought in from what I know. What the family bastard's got? Is free and clear."

"Well now, no wonder you're so friendly." O'Brian glared. "Planning to share this, were you?"

"No, why would I?"

She glared and he smirked and eventually she unbent, her eyes sharp and her mind ticking away mechanically behind them.

"You'd think they'd have come here with a bigger household, with money like that."

"Kavanaugh came up from nothing and didn't like servants. Same with his wife." Thomas explained, taking the gasper back for a drag and setting the tray down in the wall nook that had once existed to hold a kerosine lamp. "Apparently, they kept a maid and a cook, and the cook only came for dinner and baking. They'd hire in temporary staff for parties."

"What about someone to help the ladies dress?"

"Mrs. Kavanaugh had someone, but she's been dead years now." He smirked. "Anyone's sister can tighten a corset, apparently, and a modern girl does her own hair."

"Maybe in America, but it'll hardly hold up here." O'Brian countered. "Miss Edith's dowdier than ever. If she's going to be out and about with her family here she'll need proper turn-out."

"I'm sure Anna will be happy to help her with that." Thomas replied, his lips turning up at her scowl as he lowered her voice. "Or, of course, she can hire her own household, can't she?"

O'Brian was nothing if not shrewd.

"More than, I'd say. She at least needs a nurse or a governess or something for the girl. Unless that's the job you're after, Thomas."

"Why think small when you can think big?"

And with that, Thomas turned and headed down to the kitchen to join the rest of the dinner service. There should be another course or three to go. He already knew he had an in with Miss Adelaide. What he needed now was to figure out where Miss Edith stood. He'd need all the information he could before he acted on that end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mary slipped into Sybil's room to talk to her sister before dinner. She hated fighting with Sybil. She never intended to say anything sharp to her baby sister. It just kind of came out and she couldn't stop it.

It wasn't her fault everything had gone so wrong. Mama and Papa were acting as if she was the only reason that Edith had been miserable. Mary could admit that she'd never been kind. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't lying to herself. Mama's professional could go hang, for all she cared, because this wasn't about her. She wasn't anxious. She was not insecure.

Mary could admit that some of it had gone bad. That the nannies shouldn't have played favorites. That she should have started to leave Edith alone more as she got over, but Edith was guilty too. It wasn't as if her sister ever just turned the other cheek when she had at her. Edith gave as good as she got.

"Besides, I wasn't the one who was horrible when it all came out." Mary bit out as Anna brushed Sybil's hair.

"Oh, really?"

"Look, I admit I shouldn't have said what I did about her looking like Aunt Rosamund, not when we found out, and – and I shouldn't have called her a bastard." Mary huffed. "But Mama and Papa refuse to take responsibility for what they did!"

"Mary-."

"They took a child that wasn't theirs and claimed it was, Sybil. Without telling the father."

Sybil looked nearly as uncomfortable as Anna.

"Sybil, look me in the eye and tell me that was right?"

"They did the best they could, Mary." Sybil replied, catching her eye in the mirror. "I think we both know what it's like to do the very best you can and still have it all go wrong."

Mary looked away, angry.

"Did Edith tell you how much money she and that brat have, then?"

"First of all, don't pick on a ten-year-old-girl, it's beneath you. Second of all, yes." Mary's head snapped up again to look at Sybil. "I've known for months."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"I didn't think Edith's family affairs were any of our business, beyond how we can help her."

"Sybil, don't be naive! Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is going to be for us?"

"I'm not embarrassed, and I don't know why you would be."

"Because the second it gets out you do realize that her bastardy is going to be forgotten in a puff of smoke and we'll be the poor relations?"

Anna made a slight noise and Mary turned to look at the maid. The blonde promptly became very involved in putting the last comb in Sybil's hair. Mary, for her part, flushed just slightly. Not the least because Sybil was now laughing at her.

"Mary, we do have trusts!" She pointed out. "We may not be heiresses like Mama was, or Edith and Addie, but we're hardly poor and I think saying that makes you look worse rather than better. Besides, when was the last time anyone ignored you for Edith?"

"Never, and I'd like to keep it that way!"

"Come on, let's just go down and try and enjoy things." Sybil turned and rose, now fully dressed as Mary was. Her tone was almost pleading as she threaded her arm through Mary's and the older sister all but melted into the warmth her sister showed her. Mary didn't mean to pick at Sybil, and being forgiven was a good feeling. "Edith hasn't been picking at you now, has she?"

"No, but only because she's avoiding me."

"Why not try and start over?" Sybil pointed out. "I mean, if you weren't a very good sister, you could try and be a good cousin, couldn't you?"

Mary bit her lip and looked away. She could remember telling Edith she wished she wasn't her sister back when they were still playing with blocks and cloth dolls. Now? Now it hurt every time she heard Edith call her parents aunt and uncle. Now it stung not to be her sister. Unfortunately, when Mary got hurt, she got angry.

It was not when she made her best decisions.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith felt better than she had in ages. In the last few days her sister had only skipped two meals, and Addie was visibly warming up to the footman, Thomas. Edith had been so worried her sister would keep closing down on people, refusing to engage. It had been that sudden suspicion that had prevented her from hiring anyone on the trip over, afraid she'd upset Addie further and make things worse.

"Clearly I just didn't think it through." Edith told Cora as they settled in at dinner. "She was so happy to have a sister, but she was always so close to the twins. Especially Adrian. It makes sense she'd unbend more around a male servant than any of the maids and such I tried to interview in New York before we left."

"I'm just glad she's starting to settle in, dear."

"You will need to hire a governess, though, not a tutor." Lord Grantham offered up by way of a joke. "Granny's eager to help, and sorry she didn't come up to town with us, but she wanted to, erm."

"She wanted to get a good grip on the Yorkshire gossip first, I know. She wrote." Edith huffed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes; she'd picked up a few bad habits in America. She changed the subject, however, bracing herself even as she sipped her wine. "I'm thinking of sending her to school."

"Oh, dear, I don't know if having her board right now is a good idea."

"I meant day school."

Dead silence, and then, of course, Mary decided to comment.

"While I'm sure it appeals to your humble American roots, Edith, let's not be ridiculous." Those sharp cold tones cut through years of Edith learning her own self-worth like a knife through butter. "Everyone here knows what the girl's worth. Are you honestly going to send an heiress to the village school?"

"Mary could be more polite, but she's right. Edith, that's simply not an option."

"Given that she's my sister and I'm her guardian, I imagine our options are what I decide they are." Edith replied, and then went on before her father could get started, prompting a shocked look as she cut him off. "Besides, Addie's too isolated. She won't have any children her own age at Downton, and she needs friends."

"I think it's a fine idea." Sybil replied, then even she looked a little nervous. "Though, the village school might not have as many, erm, options as you think."

"I meant the new school. The one outside of Ripon." Edith took a breath and explained. Don't get defensive. It doesn't help in a debate. Remember what your professors taught you. "Rosebridge."

Sybil looked confused but Robert looked deeply unhappy. Cora looked curious and Mary? Well, Edith noted bitterly, Mary could never keep her mouth shut.

"You mean the one started by that old suffragette? The Welsh Viscount's daughter?"

"It has an excellent reputation, and it offers boarding and day school." Edith went on. "It also offers a lot of classes in the sciences and languages. Adelaide wants to study Veterinary medicine-."

"A female veterinarian?" Cora blinked. "Oh, Edith-."

"She loves animals." Edith tried to joke. "Besides, think of the money it could save if she marries a landed gentleman."

To Edith's shock, the earl managed a laugh. Though he looked tense, he did smile at her. She caught his blue eyes in surprise, and he cleared his throat.

"Well, I don't think anything will come of it – but if it does it is a nice bit of economy, and at least it shows you've got your mind to a proper future for her whatever you're doing with school."

"How would you plan to get her there?" Mary countered. "It's at least ten miles from Downton."

"I'll buy a motor and drive her myself." Edith shot back. "Some of us can actually take care of ourselves."

"Some of us had better, given how self-sufficient old maids need to be."

"Some of us don't carry our entire self-worth around in a mirror."

"Good, you'd be hard pressed to find any there!"

"At least I'll still be myself in thirty years." Edith felt her face reddening and viciously stabbed at her dessert as she accepted the extravagant souffle from a rather shaken looking William. "Who will you even be when time's had its say, Mary?"

"I won't be a bastard."

Edith wanted to say so much to that, but her throat just closed up. She wanted the last word desperately. She wanted to pick up her fork and jam it into Mary's perfect cheek. She wanted to slap her across the face. She wanted to scream. Somehow, somehow, Mary still had the ability to just tear her apart, however.

"Mary, go to your room, now."

The Earl of Grantham's voice, usually raised in temper when he was angry, cut through the room low and rough and utterly serious. His daughter jolted to her feet.

"It's tru-."

"A lot of things are true, Mary, and no-one needs them thrown in their face. Especially by family." The Earl stood up as well, towering over his daughters; Edith realized blatantly she'd stood up as well. Cora and Sybil both stared awkwardly at their pates and the servants at various points on the wall. Poor Carson looked mortified. "I'm not going to make anyone give an insincere apology, but I'm also not going to have my dinner table turned into some common free-for-all. In three days, we're leaving for Downton, and I expect our first dinner there to be civil. Until then, I think it best if you take your meals on a tray and consider your – your attitude, Mary."

Head held high; Lady Mary Crawley swept from the room. Falling back into her seat, Edith stared at her uncle – the man she'd called Papa most of her life -and wondered what had happened. Everyone else went back to finishing a silent, uncomfortable, meal. Edith just tried to process the fact that, for the first time in her memory, Mary had been punished for something.