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).

4. Chapter 4

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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Anna was adjusting the hem on one of Lady Mary's dresses as Mr. Bates sat across from her, carefully polishing a pair of his lordship's shoes. Both were quite comfortable in the shared silence, and each supposed the other completely oblivious to the looks they occasionally snuck at one another; mutually admiring.

Thomas Barrow entered the servant's hall looking more put out than usual. Anna caught Mr. Bates' eye, but he just shook his head. Thomas really had been better since Miss Edith had gotten back. He'd stopped trying to sabotage things for the earl's new valet. He was still always baiting William, but he had less time to do it since he was often chasing after Miss Adelaide.

Anna would never mention it, but she found the whole thing rather cute. She didn't understand why the little girl had latched onto Thomas Barrow, of all people, but in her opinion, it had done both a world of good.

"Everything alright, Thomas?"

"No, everything is not alright." The man's scowl deepened as he rifled around the room and then walked across into the kitchen.

Alarmed, Anna looked over at Bates. The older man sat back, looking amused. Then he did what she wasn't about to; he raised his voice in warning.

"Mrs. Patmore only stepped out a minute. I wouldn't go rifling her kitchen if I were you."

"Miss Adelaide wouldn't touch her luncheon or the tray I brought up an hour ago." Barrow shot back. "If she wants to tell me I can't find any of that ginger candy that the moppet likes, she can go ahead and tell me not to herself. Do you know if she made those cinnamon biscuit things lately?"

"No?" Anna looked at Bates, who was now wearing the subtle smile that did things to Anna's stomach.

"I don't think so, but Miss Adelaide will eat cheese and crackers often enough, won't she?"

"Not when she's off her food, she won't. What do you know about it? You don't have anything to do with her, Bates."

Unperturbed, the stockier man reached up and removed a smaller jar from behind several larger jars of flour and the like. Quietly, he held it out to Barrow. The younger man took it and looked in it, frowning at the valet as he retrieved some butcher's paper and folded it into a small bag. He filled the bag with the ginger candy, then shoved it into his pocket with a grudging look sideways.

"Thank you."

"Miss Adelaide is quite welcome."

Anna hid a smile as Barrow shot another glare at Bates, then went about preparing a tea tray. Mrs. Patmore entered about halfway through it and gave the footman no little grief for making a mess of her kitchen and moving her jars about, but she softened just noticeably when she found out why. Barrow almost escaped the kitchen without being snapped by a tea towel, his hands full with a tray now piled with a variety of little treats in the hope of tempting the girl's appetite.

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Edith arrived back to Downton flushed and happy and barely on-time for dinner. She handed the car over to Branson and hurried to the house. Barrow intercepted her at the door, and she felt all of the bittersweet delight that the drive had settled into her bones evaporate.

"Is Addie alright?"

"She's been off her food all day and hasn't wanted to go outside." His tone was the measured politeness of a professional servant, but she could feel the judgement in it. "I believe she's upset."

Edith's stomach imploded into a pool of self-recrimination. You never should have left her alone. What were you thinking? What kind of sister are you?

"Is she in her room?"

"Yes, I-."

"Thank you, Barrow, truly. Please tell her Ladyship I'll be dining with Addie tonight and ask Mrs. Patmore to send a tray up for us."

"Of course, Miss Edith."

Edith offered him a tense smile and then jogged up the stairs and walked as quickly down the hallways as possible. She was slightly out of breath when she opened the sitting room door and walked to her sister's connecting door. Rapping gently, she bit her lip.

"Addie, Can I come in?"

"Yes."

She opened the door and stepped inside her sister's room. It was a lovely room. Not so big that it would swallow her sister or her things, but not so small as to be cramped. The simple Shaker bedstead and wardrobe looked out of place in grandeur of Downton, but it matched the blue and white chintz of the counterpane nicely. The brightly colored rug that covered most of the floor with its geometric patterns had been purchased in Mexico by their father for the nursery.

A carved ebony chest served as a toybox, mostly empty, and stood against one wall. A rather delicate gilded table and chair set stood in front of the fireplace, amusing Edith. They'd been scrounged from the attic and apparently had been a wedding present that her Granny had never liked. A game of dominoes was in progress on the table; Edith was losing, badly.

Her sister was curled up on the bed, over the covers but underneath a knitted Afghan that was usually on the sitting room sofa. Her shoes were nowhere to be seen. Edith's heart twisted as her sister peeked out at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, Addie, I'm sorry I left-."

"It's okay, I said you could. I wanted you to. The car was the-their present and you should have go-gotten to drive it and – and…"

Edith didn't wait to hear more. She walked over and gathered her sister up into a hug, curling up on the bed with her. When Addie burst into tears Edith followed, despite her best efforts to remain the calm adult in the situation.

"Did you find any letters?"
"No-no." Addie shook her head roughly. "No letters at all. Not from Aiden and Jamie ha-had a bunch of half-written things and they weren't to me because he'd probably already mailed those. There were pi-pictures, though, and their clothes and I could smell them again and Jamie took Daddy's cigarette case, it was in his things, and their watches!"

The last word rose in a wail and Edith knew, knew she should be doing something to help. She absolutely did. She should be singing into her sister's hair, badly as her singing usually went. She should assure her that the boys loved her and were in a better place. Instead, all Edith found she could do was hold on and sob helplessly into the tangled auburn curls under her own cheek. It was all too much, the highs, the lows, Sir Anthony, the car, and in one week it would be a year to the day that wretched ship had taken them away from their family and destroyed their father's will to live…

"Edith, Adelaide, are you alright?"

Edith had very few memories of being comforted by her parents as a child. Part of that was their class. As a rule, a nurse who always presented her charges to her employers sobbing and upset couldn't expect to maintain her position or career for long. It was in their best interest to present pretty, clean, children who at least acted perfectly happy to the earl and countess, so that is what they did.

The other reality had been Mary. Edith would, in time, grow to understand a little more about Mary. It would never be true understanding. It wouldn't even be forgiveness so much as acceptance. It would be decades before anyone really put any proper methodological effort into wondering why some children just have a harder time being children.

The fact Mary Crawley had repeated, violent, tantrums – often for what seemed like no reason -as a small child was just taken as fact by the nursery maids who managed her day-to-day. They were not allowed to beat her, which was the standard approach to such behavior in most families. Instead, they struggled to keep their positions by finding some way to placate the wildly emotional little girl and teach her to manage herself.

So, when Mary and Edith were very small a pattern started. Edith watched as - upset by her older sister's tantrums, and sometimes actually hurt by them - her mother was only called on at last resort to comfort Mary, while she was shunted aside. Mary, who was struggling with emotions she could not control, resented her little sister for taking attention away from her and for often unintentionally triggering her tantrums in the first place. Either way, it had started a cycle where Mary was taught to bottle up her emotions – or take them out on others – rather than manage them in a healthy matter and Edith was taught that her needs did not matter.

Just shy of Edith's twentieth birthday, Cora Crawley had finally figured out precisely what to do in this situation, for at least one of her daughters.

"Oh, darlings…"

Walking forward without the slightest hesitation, ignoring utterly the fact that tears were likely to mark her silk evening dress and her husband and mother-in-law would both be somewhat put out at any disruption of dinner, Cora walked over and crawled onto the cramped single bed and stretched until she could get her arms around both of the sobbing girls on the bed.

"Oh, I know it's horrible dears, just let it out. I'm here, I promise."

And, for the first time, unreservedly, she was as Edith sobbed into her shoulder and a motherless daughter clutched at her helplessly looking for reassurance.

"It's alright to be sad and it's alright to miss them." Cora sighed into their hair, pressing kisses against cheeks and not caring that she hadn't birthed either of the girls; just wanting them not to hurt so much. "Just think, dears, how happy they'd be to know you'd gotten their gifts."

The crying got worse before it got better, but with the wordless noises and soft, implacable, warmth that only a mother could offer, she gave the one thing most desperately needed in that room.

Comfort.

Edith woke up first, for once. Her arm was burning with pins and needles and looking over, she could see why. She'd fallen asleep fully clothed in Addie's bed, holding onto her sister. Her little sister had somehow ended up laying with her full weight across Edith's left arm. Edith gently pulled it free, so she didn't wake her sister up and turned to look at the clock on the little bedside table. What she saw beside her left her gaping in the moonlight threading through the open curtains, and her mouth outpaced her brain.

"Mama?"

Lady Grantham, who was dozing in a comfortable chair beside the bed, startled awake.

"Edith, are you alright?" She whispered, leaning forward and Edith felt her throat all but close in shock.

"What are you doing here?"

"What I should have done a lot more of a long time ago."

Edith had no answer to that and just sat there on the edge of the bed while Cora brushed a hand at some of the disarranged hair at her face.

"Darling, your hair is a mess."

"Pins." Edith agreed weakly.

Without another word, Cora's graceful fingers began to pluck at the pins holding the loose strawberry blonde curls back. Tugging carefully, she barely pulled as she removed the pins and Edith's hair slowly descended around her shoulders. Edith stared without comprehension at her aunt – and the only mother she'd ever known. One who'd seemed to let her go with so little care, and yet who received her with such kindness.

"Ma- Au… Why were your letters so…" She didn't even know what to say they were. They'd been kind and empty and meaningless and it had hurt all the more to get them. Cora swallowed visibly and reached out to take both of her hands.

"Mr. Kavanaugh was hurt and angry. He'd – he'd missed most of his daughter's life because of choices we made. He had a right to be angry, but…"

Edith shot a worried look at her sister and, silently, both slipped out of the room – Edith carefully tugging the covers over her sister as she slept – and into the sitting room. Neither lit a lamp. Both were afraid that light would chase away whatever they were finding.

"Mr. Kavanaugh got lawyers involved. He threatened to make an even worse scandal if we didn't stay out of your life."

Edith felt something inside her twist in a strange mix of happiness and pain. Having someone, anyone, want her as badly as the way her Daddy had meant the world to her. She'd spent so much of her life feeling unwanted that his bloodyminded desire to fight for her was the best feeling in the world. At the same time…

"You wanted to write? Did -."

"Your papa missed you, Edith. We – I know that we didn't treat you the way we should. Once we called you our daughter, we should have treated you the same as the other girls, and we failed at that." Edith stifled a sob at hearing those words actually said aloud. "Your father simply wouldn't hear of any real reconciliation. I barely convinced him to let me write and even then, he read all of the letters-."

"What?"

Edith hadn't known that.

"He was trying to protect you, I'm sure."

That much Edith could easily believe. If there was one word for how Zachary Kavanaugh treated his daughters, it was protectively. Rabidly so, to be honest. He'd let his sons have all manner of adventures, but he'd kept a close eye on his daughters. Even when she'd gone to university with his support – and she was afraid, a good amount of bribery to make up for the deficiencies in her education and the timing – there'd always been eyes on her. It had been infuriating and satisfying in a strange way, as she dealt with the care she'd never had before and chafed under the restriction. He'd just gotten sick so quickly, and they'd lost Katherine, that there was never really time to think of rebellion and he encouraged her so much…

"I miss him too much to be angry." Edith confessed. "And I'm – I'm tired of being angry over it all. I don't even know what to think. I just wish they were all here."

"I know."

Edith hesitated and then, for the first time in a very long time, she reached out towards Cora and Cora had a chance to reach back. They met in the middle of the sofa, holding on tightly. Cora crooned wordlessly and petted Edith's hair while her daughter just breathed, cried out as the grief began to settle again.

"So, what… now?"

"I put you to bed and tomorrow I'll come down for breakfast. You'll bring your little sister, and we'll carry on as family should."

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Breakfast was awkward but survivable the next morning. Mary was angry that her mother was making over Edith because she'd gotten crates of gifts from the Continent when she was still suffering after shaming herself. A man had died in her bed for God's sake, and Cora was sitting there – and her mother had never come down to breakfast – and joining Edith and Sybil in chivying that rude little chit to eat.

She was also… relieved. Her mother hadn't fought with her again. Papa, thank God, knew nothing. They weren't even talking about it. Two weeks had passed, and she felt in a terrible sort of limbo. Shamed beyond words, feeling… unworthy was new and horrible and she just wanted to fight and kick and scream until it would go away, and she couldn't. She'd learned that a long time ago.

"Offloading your emotions on Edith or anyone else does not free you of them."

Mary loathed psychologists. However, she… could admit that not everything he'd said was manipulative misery incarnate. Some of it had been… somewhat useful.

"I'm going to go riding after breakfast. I may be gone quite a while."

"Is there anything you need, Mary?"

She shot a relieved look at her father. Lord Grantham didn't say a word about her responsibilities. She knew she couldn't shirk them everyday, but one good thing about Edith leaving and that wretched man coming over to pry into her brain and her business had been a little more space appearing in her life. Edith had been able to vanish as much as she wanted out into the grounds during their childhood. Now, Mary found she could do the same at least some of the time.

"I'll just ring down to the kitchen for something I can put in a saddlebag and a thermos of tea, Papa, it'll be fine."

"I'd be tempted to join you, but there's always something." Lord Grantham smiled and looked over. "What are the rest of you girls doing today?"

"I have some correspondence to catch up on, then I may do a little writing." Edith offered. "Probably a long walk in the afternoon."

"Can I go with you?"

"If you go with me, you'll have to leave Thomas alone this morning and do your lessons, Addie."

"Piano too?"

"Piano, like sums, is not going away."

Mary stifled a chuckle at the disgruntled expression on the child's face. She felt a moment's sympathy even though the child hated her. She'd flatly refused to learn the piano and paint and such. Singing had been a compromise. She watched the child struggle for a moment and knew why as soon as she glanced her way and then looked away.

"You've been down at the barn a lot lately, Adelaide. Are you going to learn to ride?"

The little girl turned hopefully towards Edith and Mary noted with amusement she'd caused trouble at the annoyed look her sister gave her.

"We talked to Dr. Clarkson. He doesn't want you on a horse until you gain at least five more pounds."

"But what does how much I weigh have to do with it? Jockeys are supposed to be light!"

"Yes," Sybil leapt in as peacemaker. "Addie, but you do need muscle, or the horse can get away from you. You need to gain a little more muscle before you can ride. Did you want me to go out and throw that ball around with you a little more today? A long walk with Edith can't hurt, either, you know what a good walker she is."

Mary pushed herself up from the table.

"Well, I'm ready to go."

And she left, feeling slightly better at the thought of some time spent without her mother's judging, watchful, eyes on her. If nothing else, maybe she could stop thinking of that fact that now her mother wasn't even fighting the entail. Why should she? If Mary couldn't even keep her legs closed, she'd never manage something requiring as much forbearance as running an estate!

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"Thomas, would you help me with something?"

"Depends, Moppet, what's in it for me?"
"I've got ten pounds saved up."

Thomas hissed as the baseball impacted his chest and fumbled for it. Despite their best efforts, baseball was making a comeback. Football was still popular, but for the last two weeks Adelaide had determinably wanted to throw the ball around daily. She'd also been, more or less, off her food.

"What?"
"I've got ten pounds. I'll pay you that, if you help me and – but you can't ask any questions."

Thomas stared down at the little girl, who looked back at him with the kind of serious expression that she seldom wore. Her grave, thin, face stared into his intently.

"If you can't, that's okay, I'll ask Branson. He sends money back to his people in Ireland, and Daddy said that the Irish know how to keep their mouth shut."

"Kavanaugh's an Irish name."

"That's how he knew." Addie scuffed the ground with her foot and bit her lip but didn't look away. "I can get more, but it'll take a little time. I have to write to Mr. Branagh and get it without him telling Edith, and he'll have to think it's a present, and I'll need a reason for that."

Thomas goggled at the girl. Ten pounds was two months' salary for him. There was no reason why not to take it. At least, there wasn't, ignoring the sudden suspicion creeping up his spine.

"No questions asked? Sounds kind of cloak and dagger."

"It's not bad, I just can't tell you about it."

"I don't take jobs without knowing what I'm doing."

"That's fair."

He waited and she held her glove up. Tossing her the ball again Thomas tried to be patient. He also tried not to be annoyed at the sudden urge to go talk to Miss Edith about this. He was still more than a little pissed about the blonde going off and leaving her sister alone with the trunks like that. Whatever Addie agreed to, her sister should have known better. She was old enough.

"C'mon."

Addie gestured for him to follow her and Thomas, amused, walked out of the grassy sward they'd been tossing the ball about on and into the shade of a small stand of trees. Thomas restrained a snort of amusement as she gestured for him to crouch down to her level.

"I need to take a trip."

"A trip where?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"You need to make a secret trip and you don't know where you're going?"

"I don't know where I'm going yet. I'm still figuring it out!"

Thomas put his hands up to ward off the angry glare and cleared his throat.

"I get it, just take my pay and keep my mouth shut…"

It worked. The moppet immediately looked contrite.

"You're my friend, Thomas, not just… I'm sorry. It's just ever so important, and Edith can't find out."

"A body's entitled to their privacy." Thomas settled on the grass beside her when she crouched down, tugging at the grass restlessly and setting her glove and the ball aside. "You can trust me."

"I know."

A hint of unease crept up his back at the earnest reply. It was one thing to say it. It was another thing to have the moppet agree with him.

"It's private, though. It's not – it's not my secret."

"Alright, then, how far off is this place you're not sure about?"

"Maybe Brighton? Maybe London. I'll let you know. It should only take a day, and I could tell Edith I wanted to go see the museums or that I want to go to the beach. Daddy used to take me to the shore when I went off my food bad. If I pretend I'm off my food some more, she'll probably let me go, but I can't do it too bad or she'll come with me."

"Wait, you've been doing that on purpose?"

"Only sort of."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"It's important."

Thomas stared down and her and wondered how the hell he'd gotten into this. If he went off halfway across the country with this kid he'd end up dismissed without reference. Worse, they could think he was kidnapping her. It was stupid. He should just go tell her sister and let Edith handle it.

"I don't have anyone else to help me."

"Alright," Agreement tumbled unwillingly from his lips, "but once you figure it out you've got to tell me more. You're too young to know how to handle this kind of thing."

"Alright, but you can't ask me why."

"And you're not going off your food."

"But-."

"We can tell your sister you are, but you'll eat as much as I say you will when you're with me."

She frowned.

"What if I'm really not hungry?"

"You still have to eat."

"Fine."

"Good, now let's go back in before it rains." He stood up and frowned up at the sky. "Looks like there's a storm coming."

"Miss Edith, Miss Adelaide!"

Edith looked up from the two books in her hands and smiled broadly as she caught sight of a familiar tall figure entering the bookstore.

"Sir Anthony!" Addie immediately turned from where she was holding her own small stack of books and ran over to stand in front of the baronet, bouncing on her toes with her hands too full to reach for his. "How do you do?"

"I'm absolutely jolly. Lovely day, isn't it?" Sir Anthony Strallan smiled with lopsided warmth down at the little girl and automatically reached down. "But who's left you to lug that great stack around?"

"I've got it!"

Edith decided to take both books and turned, tucking them underneath her arm as she joined her sister and Sir Anthony in the open area near the counter in the cramped little Ripon bookshop. She was pleased to see her little sister light up the way she had.

"But what kind of gentleman lets a lady carry her own book?"

"Boys take your books and then pay for them. I'm not fooled. I know how this works. I have my own allowance, thank you." Addie turned and lugged the stack of books over and plopped them up on the counter in front of the amused shop-owner and began to rummage in her pockets for the money she'd brought for the trip. "I know how boys are!"

Sir Anthony and the clerk were both fighting laughter, the former's blue eyes sparkling like clear aquamarines as he cast an amused look at Edith.

"Well, I can't fool her, now can I?"

"No, I'm afraid she's still got a few years before she loses immunity to masculine charm." Edith laughed and preventatively slide her own books onto the counter, shooting him her own suspicious look as he twinkled at her. "It is good to see you looking so well. I hope you're recovered from my driving?"

Sir Anthony flushed but his eyes, if anything, seemed brighter.

"Entirely, Miss Edith, and you're too hard on yourself. I'm sure it takes great skill to control a car at those speeds."

"Nearly equal to the constitution it takes to put up with it?"

"Very nearly."

"Edith got tickets and had to go to traffic court back home!"

"Adelaide!"

Edith turned red as Sir Anthony laughed at her sister's cheerful tattling.

"We don't want to keep you from your business, though…"

"Oh, I took care of that ages ago. I'm afraid I'm just wasting my own time at the moment, not to mention yours."

"You're hardly a waste of my time, Sir Anthony." Edith argued and Addie nodded enthusiastically as she paid for her books and gathered them back up, and Edith did the same. "If anything, I'd worry about the reverse. We're the ones who are just here to have a day out. You came to Ripon for a useful purpose, I'm sure."

The truth was, Edith had just wanted to offer her sister up some distraction. Addie had been bouncing back and forth between happiness and irritability or listlessness since they'd finally gotten their brothers' things. She was also off her food again and had lost weight. Edith was starting to worry given how little luck both she and Thomas were having.

She'd hoped that switching out of mourning would help. Edith had expected more emotional turmoil over it, both on her side and her sister's, but it had mostly gone smoothly. The clothing they'd ordered had been finished, fit, and delivered, but most of what she'd seen in response had been positive. Her sister seemed happy with her more colorful wardrobe, and Edith knew she felt brighter.

She certainly felt less dowdy to go along with dour. She just wished she'd known that Sir Anthony would trip over them in Ripon. There was nothing wrong with what she was wearing, but it was terribly practical. A plain light tan day dress. There was a little pleating at the skirt and the collar and cuffs had the smallest amount of lace, but it was the sort of thing you chose because of road dust not because you wanted a gentleman to see you in it. Even the simple, flat-brimmed felt hat she was wearing had been chosen because it had an elastic band that she could tuck beneath her hair to hold it on while driving.

"We're useful. Fun is useful!" Addie argued as she took Edith's books and added them to her stack.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Adelaide." Sir Anthony agreed and reached out, neatly scooping the books right out of Addie's hands and tucking them under one arm over her protests and Edith's laughter. "Miss Edith would you and your sister consider doing me the favor of being of great use to me and helping me make my own selections? And, of course, if it's not too much trouble – I know a lovely little bakery nearby."

"Do they have croissants or just cakes and sweets?"
Addie's suspicious question left him assuring her very seriously that they were a bakery, not a confectionary, and Edith followed along with her entire day suddenly feeling warmer despite it being unseasonably chilly April.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hastings."

Thomas looked up from his cigarette and huffed out an exasperated breath at the sight before him.

"Moppet, are you trying to catch your death?"

"I don't have much time! Edith's hovering."

"What'd'ya think she was going to do with you going off your food and moping about?"

She pouted up at him and Thomas hauled off his coat and dropped it over her firmly. The cream colored frock she was wearing was fine for in the house, along with the light shoes, but going out without a coat?

"You need to grow some sense." He grumbled and crouched down next to the girl in the small kitchen courtyard. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"We need to go to Hastings." She insisted. "That's where I need to go to – to handle it, and I wrote about needing money to get Omma and Onkle Klaus presents. So, I've got plenty of money to get us there once I figure out what to tell Edith."

"First you need to figure out what to tell me. Not to mention discussing my fee."

"Ten pounds is two months salary!"

Thomas grinned.

"Shouldn't have told you that, should I?"

She looked at him earnestly and shook her head, prompting a chuckle from Thomas and a pleading look from her.

"It shouldn't take too long-."

"Hastings is on the south coast, moppet." Thomas shook his head and looked about, chivying her closer to the door. "It'll take most of a day to get down and most of a day to get back, forgetting any time that business of yours is going to take."

"I'm not sure…"

"Why don't you tell me, and I'll tell you how long it should take."

She wouldn't look him in the eye and Thomas let out a huff of breath and stamped out the gasper. Then he nudged her into the door and tugged her aside into the laundry after making sure it was properly empty. Kneeling, he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Addie, I can't help you if you don't let me help you."

She looked up at him and Thomas felt an uncomfortable twist in his chest. Not at his words. Not at manipulating her. Instead, he was uncomfortably aware that he meant what he was saying.

"Are you in trouble?"

"No."

"Did one of your brothers owe someone money."

Tears rose in her eyes, and she blinked aggressively, biting her lip and then looking back at him defensively.

"Addie, if they did, they're gone-."

"There was nothing wrong with Adrian."

Thomas stared down at her in confusion.

"I'm sure there wasn't."

"There wasn't!" She whispered back, hard. "He was the very best. He was almost a doctor and he was going to save people like he and Daddy and James saved me. He never hurt anyone! Nobody has a right to say anything – nobody has any right!"

"Alright…"

Utterly boggled, Thomas wondered what in the world he'd stumbled into for about two more seconds, and then something in his stomach imploded as she sniffled and stepped closer to him, curling one hand in the lapel of his dinner jacket.

"A-Adrian didn't go to France with Jamie. He – he had a friend here."

"A friend?"

"A special friend."

Realization hit like a steam engine, and he stared in shock at the girl as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a man's gold watch. Beautifully made, with thick scrollwork etched into the watch's lid and a brilliant cut diamond glinting from the crown. Popping it open, she held it cradled in both hands like it was precious and turned it so he could see the photograph cut and fitted into the lid.

A tall, handsome dark haired man Thomas' age was visible sitting in a large wicker basket chair in the image. The man shared Miss Edith's nose and Miss Adelaide's chin and was clearly one of the twins from the mantle pictures in the girls' quarters. Crammed into the chair with him and smiling broadly, was a shorter man. Trim and fairer than the first, his arm was wrapped around Adrian Kavanaugh's waist and Adrian's arm was around his shoulders.

"Adrian was paying for his university."

Thomas jerked his head down to look at her again, wrenching his eyes away from the picture and taking in the utter vulnerability in the teary smoke blue eyes she'd fixed on him.

"And… nobody is now?"

"I don't know, but he's in Hastings and not at university in London." She fretted. "He only has a year left. I got enough money for that for the presents, and – and I took the letters and things from Adrian's trunk and hid them. I lied to Edith. I know I shouldn't but – but Adrian didn't want to tell and I think his -his friend should have them and their pictures back."

"He should." Thomas said weakly, staring in shock down at the girl. "And you're – do you understand-."

"There was nothing wrong with-."

"Shh, shhh, I know…"

But he didn't, did he? Suddenly Thomas found his arms full of girl, and automatically hugged her back as she squeezed him, tightly. Did she know? Was that the only reason-."

"Thank you, Thomas." He could barely hear her whispering into his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you for – for not… It's not anyone's business if nobody's hurt and – and it was our secret."

"Your secret?"

"Me and my brothers." She pulled back and sniffed and Thomas scrambled numbly for a handkerchief. "Nobody else knew. Daddy w-wouldn't have understood and Edith… she's… Adrian didn't want to tell, not yet."

"But he told you?"

She looked sad and shook her head.

"Only because I saw him kissing his other friend when I was little."

"You're still little." He replied automatically and covered her head with his hand like a hat as she batted at him, still sniffing. If his voice was a little shaky…

Dear God, what the hell? What does the kid know about me?

"Why'd you tell me?"

I need to know.

"You're my friend." She stared at him like he was mad. "And you don't like it when people make stupid rules about stuff that doesn't matter."

Helplessly, Thomas Barrow let out a snort of laughter and reached into his jacket for another cigarette. He needed it. God, he needed it, and he was going to have to go in and serve dinner in forty-five minutes. Damnation…

"Life's full of stupid rules." He agreed. "Smart people learn how to get around them. Now, head on up, and when I bring you and your sister the tray of food, eat all of it."

"All of it?" She looked up at him in horror.

"You're more likely to get a fun day for a trip to the beach by yourself if she's not worried about you, aren't you?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sir Anthony asked you to a concert?"

"You don't have to act so surprised, Sybil!" Edith huffed, offended, as she put her hands to her waist. "Can you maybe get the corset just a little tighter Anna?"

"Now, darling, tight lacing is not good for you." Cora Crawley huffed out a breath as she slipped into the room. "It's rather the wrong time of the year for a concert, isn't it?"

"Only in London, if you're being stuffy about it, Mama."

The last word was said softly, hesitantly. A new thing only returned after a few tries, intermittent at best. Even as Edith said it, she couldn't help glancing towards her sister. Addie, who was fiddling with the knob on the safe in her wardrobe, looked up and gave her a hesitant smile. They'd talked about it too, and Addie had insisted it was alright.

Cora, for her part, instantly smiled back, her eyes soft.

"Where's Mary?"

"Your sister isn't feeling well this evening." Cora replied, not addressing the fact that – after prodding of her own – Edith had extended the olive branch and asked Mary to come joins her and the rest of the girls as she got ready to go out that evening. "Oh, I haven't seen that one before."

"It was a present!" Addie piped up. "I picked it out. Edith likes to wear pink and peach, but doesn't she look nice in blue?"

The dress was beautiful, even if the back was entirely open and the short puff sleeves hanging off her arms. Peacock blue satin which shifted under the light formed the main part of it, but an underbodice of pale golden satin was shown to advantage beneath a false vee neckline cut to nearly her waist. Golden embroidery swirled over the satin, and just enough lace touched it around the neckline and shoulders to keep the low round neckline from being shocking.

"Just a little tighter." Anna agreed quietly and Edith sucked in a breath while she worked the laces. A moment later, the maid began buttoning up the back and Edith let out a relieved breath when it fastened snugly, the velvet and satin perfectly smooth.

"Oh, much better, thank you, Anna."

"You look beautiful, Edith." Cora's praise, not so rare as it once was, put a smile on Edith's face as she sat back down at the vanity and bit her lip as she looked over her image. "Though I don't know about you going out without a chaperone."

"Oh, Mama, it's nineteen-thirteen, for goodness' sake!" Sybil laughed. "And besides, it's Sir Anthony."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Addie asked, taking offense on Anthony's behalf, and Edith held in a smile.

"Nothing, I'm sure he'll be a complete gentleman. That's why I said it!"

"That's alright then." Addie glared. "He's not boring!"

"I wouldn't ever say he was!" Sybil held up her hands in surrender, her blue eyes bright with amusement.

Adelaide was mollified, but Cora was not. Edith caught the worried blue gaze in her mirror and immediately looked away. She didn't want to fight with Cora.

"What jewelry did you pick, Edith?"

Addie's question immediately provided a distraction.

"Yes, I didn't even know you had a safe!"

"Daddy thought that jewelry was one of the few actual investments a lady could make without agents or middlemen."

"And he liked to buy it."

"And he liked to buy it." Edith agreed, turning to her littlest sister with a grin as she opened the three individual velvet jewelry cases waiting on the vanity. "Help me get this into my hair, Anna?"

"Oh, I'll do it, Anna. Why don't you check on Lady Mary for me and see if she needs anything? Perhaps she feels like a tray for dinner if she's unwell and wants a lie down."

"Of course, my lady."

Edith felt unaccountably nervous as she opened the first box and heard her mother's little intake of breath. It was also very satisfying. Not the least because Sybil got up and came over to coo at the tiara as well. Her mother's unconvincing neutral expression even shifted to interest when the box opened.

"A kokoshnik?"

"It's a little old fashioned, but I like it." Edith shrugged uncomfortably and touched the geometric lattice of diamonds. The crescent shape rose more than two inches in the center and then melded into the base smoothly at the sides. Mounted in the center was a central aquamarine cut into an oval the size of a robin's egg.

"It's beautiful, Edith."

"Thank you."

"Are you wearing the bracelet too?"

"Yes, both of them." Edith flushed. "You don't think it's too much with the necklace?"

"Which necklace?"

Edith sat awkwardly, worried for reasons she couldn't really frame, as the woman who was her mother and wasn't, gently settled the tiara in her hair and began to pin it in place. Addie, less hesitant, reached around her and opened the other boxes. Sybil got up and moved over to look and Edith suddenly found it difficult to just sit still and breathe. She wasn't used to so many people around her. She wasn't used to the attention. Was this how Mary felt? Smothered and like there was no way to say anything about it without being wrong.

"Oh, I like the necklace!"

Edith took a deep breath and smiled at Sybil's enthusiasm. The necklace was special. A laurel wreath made of many jointed pieces of silver neatly linked together, set with hundreds of tiny diamonds. In sheer carats, it wasn't nearly as valuable as some pieces the Crawley girls owned. In craftsmanship, however, it was equal to anything the Dowager or Countess could produce from their collections.

"It's my favorite." Edith allowed. "I never get to go anywhere I can wear it, though."

"Sir Anthony's rather a homebody, you know." Cora murmured and Edith frowned.

"Well, I'm not a social butterfly, so that suits nicely."

"The bracelets are nice too, but I think wearing both of them is too much." Sybil went on with real determination, picking up the line of emerald cabochons set in gold. "And this one doesn't match."

"I know, but I do like it."

"She's right, just keep the aquamarine beads. They're really pretty."

"Et tu, Addie?"

"Listen to your sisters, darling."

Edith huffed but found a little of her good nature returning as she pulled on her gloves and let Sybil fasten the bracelet with its fat pale blue beads and little spaces of silver and diamond in place around her wrist while Addie handled the necklace.

"Don't you have a wristwatch?"

"Daddy thought they were tacky."

"Nobody's perfect." Sybil declared amiably, turning her own wrist to show the delicate leather band and narrow square golden face of her watch. "They're convenient. I can't wear it to dinner, but I never take it off during the day. I love it."

"I'm glad you liked your birthday present, dear." Cora added as Edith stood up, glancing at the mantle clock. "Nervous?"

"No, I just don't want to be late."

"Sir Anthony's very punctual." Addie said as if bragging about her own virtues and Edith laughed, reaching around to poke her sister in the arm.

"Don't let Sybil stay up too late or eat too much candy, Addie."

"Hey! I thought I was in charge!"

"We just let you think that to keep you happy."

Edith turned and slid out of the room, allowing herself to laugh at her mother's concerned expression. Surely it would turn out alright. Her mother just needed a little more time to get used to the idea of Anthony. He was older, but that wasn't a bad thing. He knew who he was. He knew what he liked. He seemed to like her, for herself. It would work out in the end, wouldn't it?

Besides, it would probably do the countess good to get caught in one of Sybil and Addie's pillow fights.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"At risk of wanting for modesty, an excellent turnout, sir."

Anthony turned and smirked at his valet, who remained stone-faced in response, and then turned back to the mirror. Nothing could change his sad age. Nothing would take the slight stoop out of his shoulders that over-studiousness had given him. Still, he stood at his full height and looked himself over.

"Not too shabby, Stewart." He allowed with humor, the slightest anxiety leading him to fiddle with his cufflinks. "Certainly, better than the showing we put forward for the picnic."

Stewart colored and Anthony allowed himself to bask, briefly, in having come away a winner in one of their exchanges. He didn't often manage it against the younger man. The sheer competency of his valet could overwhelm almost any attempt at opposition. Unfortunately, it hadn't quite been equal to anticipating a Modern Woman.

That first drive with Edith, holding on for his dear life, and nearly losing his hat as she pushed the Bugatti to its limits had been one of the best days of his life. When she'd finally slowed down and they'd just meandered down the backroads of Yorkshire, they'd really talked. She'd talked about the family she'd lost. He'd talked about Maud and the strange sense of humor they'd shared, and she'd looked at him like he'd held the world in the palm of his hand. It had been a bittersweet day for both, but more unbearably precious for it.

That day had alleyed so many of his fears. He'd worried so badly that he was imposing. That she only had looked at him and seen a father-figure who didn't threaten her heart, as her uncle did. That it wasn't possible someone as young and lovely as Miss Edith Kavanaugh could ever look at all of the endless possibilities her life held and want to tie herself to an old man like him. The way she'd looked at him, that she'd come to him for comfort when all of her losses had returned to weigh on her, had reassured him.

Anthony wasn't deluding himself. It was a genuine courtship now and better for it. She was so young, and inexperienced. It was essential that he not push her too hard. So, he'd kept things quiet. He had made sure to include her little sister; he wanted the little girl to know that he had no interest in stealing what was left of the child's family away. He just… wanted to become a part of it.

"I had not anticipated the involvement of farm equipment, sir."

"My own fault, Stewart, I'd forgotten about the bet."

His valet side-eyed him at the idea that he was making wagers with a young lady, and Anthony cleared his throat.

"It was more of a joke that I let get a bit far perhaps."

When Anthony had invited Edith and her sister over for a picnic and joked that they'd have to chose wisely or risk dust from the fields, as they were ploughing in a few locations, he hadn't taken her threat to help seriously. Then he'd found both young ladies arriving, not in dresses suited to the spring weather, but denim trousers and smiles sharp enough to cut yourself on.

"Lady Edith did cut a fine figure in those trousers, didn't she?"

"It's hardly my place to say, sir." The younger man's delicacy was unquestionable, but he cleared his throat. "She was certainly a startlingly becoming sight on the tractor."

"She gave old Nichols a shock." Anthony chuckled guiltily as he thought of his estate manager's response. "I think he liked her better for it, by the end?"

"It's hard for a farmer not to admire a lady who can handle a tractor."

"Indeed." Anthony cleared his throat and checked the gold cufflinks again, then his watch, ignoring his valet as he did the unnecessary fiddling. He finally took his gloves and headed out of the dressing room. "Tell Mrs. Walsh not to wait up for me on any account. I'll let myself in when I get back; the concert's likely enough to run late, and then there's dinner after."

"Of course."

His butler, the last member of the household present from his father's day, stood waiting at the door with a solemnity not quite matched by the verdant bouquet of pink and cream colored tulips overflowing from his arms. A slightly more restrained bouquet of daffodils was also waiting. Anthony made a point not to meet Stewart's eyes as he accepted them. It was only polite to bring the Lady Grantham flowers when he picked up her daughter/niece. She was the lady of the house and one had to observe the niceties.

"Mr. Kerr. I'll let myself in, please lock up at the normal time and turn in whenever you see fit. The staff deserve an evening off at least as much as I do."

"Very good, sir. Is there anything we can have ready for your return, or arrangements for tomorrow?"

"None we can't discuss in the morning."

Anthony was soon cheerfully ensconced in the Rolls. He was at Downton almost before he was ready to be, despite his eagerness. Still, he climbed the steps with exuberance, and greeted the Grantham's butler with a crooked smile.

"Good evening, Carson, I trust you're well?"

"Good evening, Sir Anthony, and we are all, at present, tolerable. I trust you're the same?"

"Entirely."

Stepping into the Hall he was greeted by the unquestionably delightful sight of Edith Crawley walking towards him quickly, her eyes bright and a smile on her face.

"Sir Anthony, punctual as always."

"One does ones best. I must say, you are looking very lovely this evening, Miss Edith."

She colored beautifully and he reminded himself that he was far too old for impulsive behavior as he watched the flush spread down to her neck and across the soft swells of her decolletage.

"Are those for me?"

Anthony recalled the flowers his arms were full of and fumbled with them embarrassingly for a moment, before passing the larger arrangement to Edith with a clumsy flourish and slight bow.

"Yes, I thought you might enjoy them. You were admiring the tulips in the gardens, after the picnic, and I thought – well, you might enjoy them."

Well said. You sound like a proper idiot. What was that about not being a callow boy again? No fool like an old fool, indeed!

"I love them!" Edith beamed at him, however, and some of the sudden tightness in his chest eased as she took a deep breath of the bouquet and turned to catch sight of a redheaded maid quietly easing through the background. "Gwen, would you put these in water up in my room? There should be a crystal vase on the mantel there… you'll just have to pour out the candy Addie's been hiding in it and pretending to eat. Feel free to make sure it doesn't go to waste."

The young woman curtseyed and took her new burden with a slight smile at the lady. Anthony was left with the second bouquet. Lady Grantham, who usually made a point to greet him, was nowhere in sight.

"Erm, I brought these for the Lady of the House. However…"

"I can take them, Sir Anthony." Carson volunteered from where he'd been hovering, and Anthony handed them over.

"Aunt Cora isn't feeling quite the thing." Edith replied and Anthony blinked, a strange note of tension in her voice he couldn't quite pick out, and then she stepped forward and her proximity distracted him. "Shall we go? I've turned Addie over to Sybil for the evening, so if there's a disaster, it's now Uncle Robert's problem."

"Jolly good!"

Reaching out his hand for her coat, he retrieved it from the footman who had appeared, and relished the warmth radiating from her nearly bare shoulders as he slid the garment into place. Yes, the evening was looking very promising, wasn't it?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Something had to go wrong eventually.

The concert was lovely. Anthony had the best box, not necessarily for being there and being seen, but certainly for acoustics. She knew because he'd pulled one of the tiny notepads, he almost always had on his person out of his inside jacket pocket and a pencil stub and sketched out a brief outline of the theater and explained how its acoustics worked!

"Every time I think I'm done learning something new about you, you surprise me."

"Says the young woman who drives like she's aiming to get up on two wheels and can plough a field as well as any of my tenants."

"That's hardly fair to your tenants." Edith made a face. "We both know my rows weren't entirely straight. Besides, I'm the family-."

He shot her a severe look and she reevaluated her language.

"Peculiarity. Think of how wild and uncouth everyone says America is. A girl's bound to pick up a few unusual skills there." Edith teased.

"Such as driving tractors."

"Driving in general. It's a big country."

"Still, it's rather special and I am well-informed that I'm the most boring man in the county."

"You're fishing for compliments, Sir Anthony." She countered as they walked out of York's concert hall, and she resisted the urge to hug herself closer against his arm; it would be utterly inappropriate.

"Well, I'd better stop. Who knows what else I might catch?"

Edith blushed and looked away from his eyes. She looked down at her bracelet and smiled. The brilliant, pale, blue gems weren't nearly as bright as his eyes beneath a full moon and streetlights as they waited for the car to be brought around.

"Thank you, though. For this, I mean. The wonderful concert and – the evening. I mean, I haven't had a night out like this in – ever, really."

"Surely your father took you out in America?"

"Daddy wasn't very social. Usually when there was entertaining to be done, it focused on business. Other than that, he liked his family to stay at home. He and Katherine – Addie's mother – went out, but they did that alone." She bit her lip, not wanting to ruin the evening but unable to stop herself from adding, "And, well, you know about how – how few invitations I've been getting socially, and why of course."

"You're not responsible for the foolishness of others, but if you're ready to come back out into society now…."

"Addie and I have come out of mourning, so I suppose we are." She smiled shyly down at her shoes. "Poor thing. Mama and I dressed her up like a doll. She whined. A lot."

"My mother used to do that with me. Thank God I got my hands on those little lord Fauntleroy photographs before Diana did."

"You -."

"And burned them."

Edith was outraged and amused in equal measure.

"Shame on you! I bet you were darling!"

He made a horrified face and she tugged on his arm.

"No, really! I bet you had the most golden curls-."

"I'm afraid my hair started out white and is probably going to return to its natural state sooner than I'd like."

"And the biggest blue eyes."

"Ah, well, guilty."

She stared up into those eyes as he looked down at her and she found herself with nothing to say.

"And yourself? I imagine there are some absolutely darling photographs of little Lady Edith somewhere?"

"I do not photograph well."

"Poppycock."

"No, really. My nose looks enormous, and it took forever for me to grow into my teeth-."

"Hush."

Edith's eyes widened as a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He colored and dropped his hand but went on briskly.

"If I wanted to hear Lady Mary Crawley's conversation, I would spend more time with your sister. As I do not, let's not invite her in, hm?"

"I – all right. What do you want to talk about?"

"Let's talk about your literary career."

"Oh, Sir Anthony, have you been talking to Sybil or Addie?"

"I can't talk to both, or either?"

"Well, if it's Addie, stories that impress a ten-year-old who only wants to read about zoology are hardly a sign of great literary talent. I did rush my degree horribly and a lot of the girls said-." She swallowed the strong implication that her father had bought her degree. "And Sybil's not a great literary critic, either."

"Lady Sybil is not a literary critic, no, but your sister is a very passionate and bright young lady." Anthony raised both his eyebrows. "And I hate to warn you, but I take very strong offense when someone speaks unkindly about a lady I'm escorting out for the evening, Miss Edith. So, let's not hear anything else about that degree of yours unless it's to talk about how absolutely impressive it is that you got it so quickly and with so much resting upon your shoulders and heart at the time. Hm?"
Edith looked away.

"Lady Sybil told me you'd written several articles and letters to newspapers on the subject of women's suffrage."

"Oh, written, yes, but I haven't sent them, and they're not published."

"Well, if you don't send them, how can they be?"

"Very practical, but can you imagine Lord Grantham's face?"

"Miss Edith, that's more than half the fun."

Edith burst into giggles at the conspiratorial tone he took with her and looked away. When she looked back, her heart stopped at the way he leaned down. For a brief, hopeful, terrifying moment, she wondered if he might kiss her. Then the car was brought around, and Sir Anthony straightened his back.

They slid into the car and the evening was still perfect. He took her to a one of York's finest restaurants. The dining room was as packed as such an elegant establishment eve became. Edith felt positively glamorous, walking in on such a distinguished gentleman's arm, as he pulled out her seat and she settled into her chair, and the dinner wore on. Clad in velvet and diamonds, the warmth in Sir Anthony's eyes was unmistakable, and even better? He talked to her like she mattered. Like he wanted to hear what she thought. Like her life and thoughts and mind mattered.

"Do you think it would be presumptuous to establish our own household – just a small one? Not move away from Downton, I mean, just the household." Edith asked, changing the subject from all the writing she did and all the nothing that came from it. "I don't want to offend Lord Grantham, but I think I'm going to need more than a lady's maid – for Addie if nothing else."

"Reconsidering school?"
"No, but she's just bonded so with Thomas – the footman?" Edith received his nod of understanding and went on. "I don't want to – to poach, but we've got silver to look after that's our own and clocks and Edith likes to ramble. Having a six-foot-plus footman go out with her makes me feel a lot more secure than sending her out with an aging governess would. Now that she's eating better and healthier she wants to explore. See more of England, I mean, and we're used to traveling between three houses in the States… I can't go everywhere with her forever."

"That's true enough, and she gets along with him. You have no questions as to his character?"

"No." She laughed. "He's… he's very smooth. Perhaps he thinks a little too much of himself, and sometimes I worry about Carson not liking him much…"

"But?"
"But, well, Addie still seems to think Carson's some secret axe murderer and she adores Thomas." Edith shrugged. "He's good with her and he's been a footman for years. He could still serve at dinner and other things, to help with things at Downton, but I was wondering if it wouldn't be presumptuous to have him as our butler in the same house?"

"It would definitely be novel, but not unheard of in a multigenerational household. Usually in larger households, mind you, or the larger palaces and castles, but it's not entirely unheard of."

"Well, as long as it's only novel, I can probably manage it without making too many waves. We don't want much anyway – just a general maid and a lady's maid for myself and then Thomas as butler. Though that's not helping me find a maid who'll actually work for me."

"Whyever not?"

"Well," She shrugged awkwardly, "talk gets around, and I'm going to sound horribly paranoid, but I think Mama – I mean, Lady Grantham's maid has been interfering."

He looked at her in surprise, frowning.

"How?"

"I don't know." She made a face. "It's just a feeling. Have you ever just had a feeling something was wrong and didn't know what it was? Like a premonition of trouble?"

As if summoned by that invocation, trouble arrived.

"I say, Edith! It's been ages."

Edith turned and blinked in confusion as she looked at the slender, handsome man who was advancing on their table. Beside her, Sir Anthony stiffened in his seat, though he did rise.

"Your Grace."

Memory clicked into place as Edith hastily rose as well. The Duke of Crowborough wasn't a man who'd ever given her more than the barest notice in her life. Not that he'd paid too much attention to anyone. Mary had a look or two in her time, and she'd heard something about him leading Mary on from Sybil but hadn't really paid attention.

"Lady Edith, the New World really did suit you well, didn't it?"

Edith flushed as she felt his eyes rake over her body. Did she imagine it, or did his eyes linger on her jewelry? It didn't matter, she didn't particularly want his company.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Are you here with friends?"

"No, no, out alone again I'm afraid." He smiled winningly and finally turned to Anthony with a bland smile. "It's very kind of your uncle to see you out for the evening, however? Or a friend of the Earl's? May I beg an introduction?"

"Sir Anthony Strallan," Edith fumbled, "this is, "Oh, God, she didn't know his name, did it matter? He was rude and annoying. "The Duke of Crowborough."

"A pleasure, Your Grace." Judging from the bland tone of the baronet's voice, it was not.

"Quite," The Duke was, rudely, still focusing on Edith. "It is lovely to see a new face out in York. It's such a small town. I'm surprised, hearing what I have of your situation, that you aren't maintaining a house in London. With Lady Rosamund, for instance?"
Edith flushed, darkly and beside her felt Anthony stiffen further. She hardly wanted to be outright rude to a Duke, but this was miserable. He'd just – just wandered over and interrupted their dinner and was now staring at her like she owed him something. Now he was bringing up Aunt Rosamund like he had any idea what was going on. Like he'd been there when she'd realized that the truth changed nothing. If anything, it had put a distance between herself and her aunt that hadn't existed before she'd learned…

"I don't care for town." Edith rallied every last hint of disdain her Granny had shown over the years and stood up straight. "I'm quite happy where I am, thank you."

Beside her she felt Anthony shift and, to her shock, felt a flood of warmth as his hand spread broadly over the small of her back.

"Speaking of, while we're honored by the visit, Your Grace, surely your table is waiting?"

The younger man blinked once, then his lips turned up in a slight sneer.

"Of course, forgive my rudeness."

He offered his hand and, reluctantly, she put hers across his. She was grateful for her gloves as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her fingers. Just two years ago she'd have been mad to have a Duke kiss her fingers. Now? She was tempted to pull her gloves off and shove them in her clutch.

Edith shivered a little when Anthony's hand briefly brushed across her back again, and then touched the thin line of skin between the little puffs of sleeve on the dress and her long white gloves as he helped her back into her seat. The waiter, who was hovering in the background, rushed forward awkwardly with their first course.

"I am sorry about that, Sir Anthony. He was…" Edith colored, mortified and not sure what to say.

He leaned forward, his dear, kind face softening.

"Don't think on it a moment. The rudeness isn't yours to own." He picked up his silverware and lowered his voice. "Besides, it's not a secret that he'll be the Duke of a cramped house in Wales at most if he doesn't marry well enough to dig himself out of debt. You are not responsible for the cad's behavior."

Edith relaxed slightly, but her comfort was gone. She felt nervous now and wondered what those well-dressed couples and groups clustered at tables around them were saying. What's worse, as she helplessly felt drawn to eavesdropping, she did hear her name pop up.

"Better than three million pounds…"

That was Crowborough, who had joined a group of men at another table.

"… Lady Rosamund doesn't say a thing about her. You'd think that once it was out, she'd have stopped playing Auntie, but if you talk to Painswick about it, all she does is say that she made the best decision for everyone…"

"What? Who? I've never heard of her."

"I don't know how nobody guessed it. She doesn't look a thing like Lady Grantham or the other two girls."

"What's she doing out with Strallan? The man's old enough to be her father."

"Well, we don't have to ask why he's with her – or anyone else would be. Plenty of reasons in the bank."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on it. I heard that he's-."

"Yes, but she is young enough to be his daughter. There's the usual reason a man is out with a girl half his age."

"Maybe she takes after her mother!"

In the end Edith barely touched the delicious meal that Anthony had paid for. She felt miserable and began to wonder which of the whispered conversations was real and what was creeping up out of the dark parts of her own mind. Only pride kept her head high and planted a smile on her face as they skipped desert and left the restaurant. Miserably, she remained silent as he helped her into the Rolls and shut the door, before getting in and putting the car in gear. Tense silence carried on until she couldn't stand it anymore, and as they got out of town she blurted out an apology.

"I'm so sorry, Sir Anthony, if I'd known how – I never would have – you must be so embarrassed-."

"On behalf of my fellow Englishmen and woman I am appalled, Lady Edith, but you did nothing wrong." He turned towards her briefly before training his eyes back on where the car's lights illuminated the deserted, and progressively more rural, roads. "Crowborough has always been a cad. Don't pay any mind to him."

"There were others-."

"Busybodies with deeper tastes than wallets and catty old women in miserable marriages who wish to share their burdens to lessen them."

"They weren't wrong about my past-."

"Last time I checked, Lady Edith, everything they wish to blame you from happened before you were born. While such is in the past, it is assuredly not yours to own.""

"You're just determined not to let me apologize, aren't you?"

"For things that are not your fault? Entirely."

Wetly, Edith laughed and fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief.

"Between Downton and everyone there at least trying – even Mary – and then how wonderful you-."

"Oh, I'd hardly-."

"Don't interrupt, Sir, it's rude."

Sir Anthony flushed and a surprisingly wide, boyish grin touched his face, making her feel slightly better even as she sniffled into her handkerchief.

"As I was saying, Sir Anthony, you and everyone at Loxley are wonderful. Diana's lovely. I just – I suppose I forgot what it could be like outside."

"Well, now you know why I'm the most boring man in Yorkshire." He offered after a moment, his tone gentle. "It's entirely too much trouble to be polite to everyone who thinks they're interesting. Far easier to stay home."

"Daddy said it was a great way to avoid bar fights."

Sir Anthony spluttered.

"Did Zachary Kavanaugh end up in a great many of those."

"Apparently the eighteen-eighties were quite a time in Houston."

"Entirely too wild for me, I'm afraid."

"Daddy never really told stories about his misspent youth to Addie or I. I don't think he realized that anything he said to our brothers was going to be repeated so dutifully once we were all out of earshot." She laughed weakly and wiped the last of the tears away, taking a deep breath. "Sir Anthony, thank you. Unwanted visitors at dinner aside, I had a – a lovely evening… and it was entirely the company."

She watched, charmed as his ears reddened and he cleared his throat. Looking at her briefly before he turned back to the road, she felt her heart warm as he almost hesitantly made an offer of his own.

"Perhaps you'd care to spend next weekend in London, then? My sister is having a party and I know she would love your company – and I can guarantee you will find a higher class of guest there than you did at that unfortunate establishment. If Grantham House is too much trouble, Diana's already said she'd be happy to host you. Positively bent my ear demanding I pass along the invitation…"

"That sounds wonderful." She hesitated. "Shall I bring Addie and… maybe make a bit of a holiday of it? Oh, and tell Diana not to worry about putting us up. I needed to go up to town anyway and she shouldn't go to any trouble."

"You're never the least sort of trouble." He insisted, and the warmth in his eyes nearly undid her. "You really must bring Miss Adelaide, though, I couldn't stand the thought of you leaving her behind – at least not for more than an evening." He turned again, his eyes violet shadows in the dark. "A family should, in my opinion, be a matter of addition instead of subtraction."

"The feeling," Edith managed to whisper back, "is entirely mutual."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Robert Crawley was in something of a quandary. One he didn't like to be in and one he didn't enjoy given he'd been warned it was coming. He'd already talked it to pieces with his wife, neither of them agreeing on what was appropriate or right. Now he had no recourse but to go to his other best source of advice on matters men honestly were better shot of.

"Well, Robert, I do hope Sybil hasn't been attending anything else radical and dangerous?"

"Sybil won't be putting her toe out of the house or off the grounds until I say otherwise." Robert lowered himself into the chair opposite his mother on the terrace behind the dower house and rubbed a hand over his face. "She and her mother are both currently cross with me because I cancelled her little trip to London with Edith."

"Well, good. It's about time both of those young ladies were brought into line. Edith at least has the sense to not get involved in public spectacles and social issues, but I don't see how unchaperoned weekends in London would help the reputation Rosamund cheerfully passed down to her."

Robert sighed.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Violet's eyebrows rose high and her eyes sharpened, leaving the earl with a deep-seated desire to squirm in his seat.

"Has Rosamund finally made some overtures to Edith? Is that why your wife-."
"No, mother, and I beg you to leave that well enough alone." Robert scowled. "Edith has just… We're just repairing all the damage done to our family, Mother. When I told Rosamund that I would take Edith as my daughter, I meant it. She is my daughter and Cora's and it's not something that can be revoked."

"Tell that to Zachary Kavanaugh."

"I can't. He's dead, and we're all better for it." Robert bit out and picked a scone up off the table to bite into it just as deeply. His mother frowned at his manners but poured the tea and waited. "What do you think of this – this thing with Strallan?"

"Mrs. Chetwood? I can't say I favor either of the girls paying her mind or the reverse. She's entirely too much like her mother."

"No, not the visit to his sister." Robert chewed on his lip and sighed. "Edith is… she seems to be welcoming Sir Anthony's courtship of her."

It was seldom that Robert – or anyone – saw the Dowager Countess of Grantham remotely startled. She had the kind of self-possession that most battleships envied. In that moment, however, she looked up at him in clear surprise, and then frowned.

"I was under the impression that it was a – a fatherly connection that was forming. Rather avuncular, I believed you called it a month ago?"

Robert winced and sighed, looking away guiltily.

"I rather thought that was what it was." He defended himself. "Strallan's always wanted children, and with Maud dead and how long he mourned her, and then how kind he was to look after the girls on the ship, I just thought he'd… I don't know, he'd enjoyed looking out for Edith and Addie."

His mother frowned, as she often did at mention of the American girl. Robert could hardly blame her. While his mother was prickly, she had a strange habit of getting on well with children. Perhaps the innate, often cruel, honesty she had in common with children of a certain age had something to do with it? Unfortunately, that hadn't been the case with Edith's youngest sister and the results had been unpleasant enough that Robert had fully agreed to Edith's plan of mutual avoidance. It worked well enough to keep Mary and the little girl apart, after all.

"That young lady could use a bit more structure in her life. Tell me, Robert, what do you plan to do about that?"

"She's not mine to manage, Mother. Edith has custody and responsibility for Adelaide, and I know better to interfere in that. When she asks me for advice, I give it."

"You mean in the unlikely event she ever does."

Robert colored and glared at his mother, who just returned the look more effectively.

"I was wrong, Mother, and Cora was right. Sir Anthony… has intentions towards Edith. He took her to a concert recently and she and Adelaide are going to be staying at his sister's for four days and attending one of the Chetwood's parties in town."

"Well, as good as it is for Edith to get out a bit in society in a crowd that is unlikely to behave poorly to her, I do hope you realize that this is not a positive development. Goodness, Robert, the man's as old as you are!"

"I'm aware of that."

"And while it would be a fine marriage if she hadn't a fortune to speak of, considering the unique circumstances of her birth, I don't know what she's thinking given her inheritance."

"Which is precisely what I said to her." Robert stood up to pace irritably around the small wrought iron and glass table. "What we said to her."

"Yourself and Cora, I trust."

"We really did try and handle it delicately, Mother." Robert looked down at her, pained. "We discussed it first. Edith is just being… utterly willful and intractable!"

"Not unusual in girls a week off their twentieth birthday. I trust you reminded her she is not even of age?"

"Yes, and she reminded me that I was not her legal guardian. That privilege rests shared between two solicitors in London and one in New York City."

"Do stop pacing and sit down, Robert, you are not a tiger in the zoo."

Robert Grantham sat and looked expectantly at his mother, who merely freshened up the tea and looked at him as if he was failing to complete simple sums again, despite having a more than adequate tutor to explain them.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Robert? Be specific, I don't have the time for generalities and if you do, I would posit that there is a nice middle class boy in need of more tutoring in how to be an earl out there who could take up more of it."

"Mother, I am asking for advice on how to handle this situation with Edith and Sir Anthony." Robert grumbled in frustration. "I – I do not want to push so hard that we lose her again. Cora couldn't bear it."

"You really must stop underestimating that stout red blooded American constitution of hers, Robert." The Dowager drawled and then sighed. "Has it occurred to you that you are approaching the entirely wrong party about this matter?"

"Pardon?"

"Sir Anthony's head may have been turned by youth and whatever other qualities in Edith he's attracted to, but he's a decent enough man to see why he's unsuitable. She has the fortune to make any match she wishes, barring a very few who will be more conscious of her birth than wealth. A proper marriage will save her from Rosamund's mistakes and Kavanaugh's cruelty in revealing them to the world in general. She will be able to retake her place in society. Remind him of that, and I am sure he will properly cooperate. Edith can hardly do anything if he refuses her company, can she?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edith had never occupied a first-class train compartment tenser than the one she was currently sitting inside of. Beside her, Addie was scowling fiercely and clutching her hands together roughly while she stared at them in clear anger. Across from Addie, Thomas Barrow sat tensely. Besides the Grantham's first footman sat their eldest daughter, chin held high in frosty, prideful silence.

Edith hadn't known what to do when Mary had simply invited herself along on their trip, and in the grip of confusion and Mary's usual masterful behavior, she'd caved utterly. Which had led to more fun as Mary found out they were staying at neither Grantham House or a Hotel and she'd just rudely imposed on the Chetwoods by taking Sybil's place with no warning, Addie repeated the rudeness of it endlessly, Mary got catty in return, and it descended into a spat between a ten-year-old girl and a twenty-one-year-old woman that neither came out of looking mature for their ages for having engaged in.

Poor Thomas just sat there looking massively uncomfortable. Edith felt horrible. He'd seemed alright with her assertion that another passage would be a waste of money when she already had the entire compartment secured. Why shouldn't he? Not only was it a better part of the train to ride in, but it wasn't unusual for a lady to bring along a male servant to discourage male passengers from being a bother. With Sybil there, it likely would have even been fun. Mrs. Patmore had sent along enough for six grown men in the lunch hamper and he'd definitely get to share in the spoils, and they'd brought a deck of cards.

"I think everyone here owes everyone else an apology, except Thomas." Edith put on her best older sister voice and got a look of astonishment from Mary that she returned sharply. "He, after all, can't get up and leave if he's uncomfortable."

Adelaide looked up from her hands and softened, her face flushing as she looked up at the footman.

"I'm sorry, Thomas, you shouldn't have to listen to me argue with people."

"And?"

Addie looked at Edith blankly.

"I may not know whatever those words mean in German, Addie, but that is a stark reminder not of my limited vocabulary, but of the considerable chance they run of being utterly inappropriate."

Her sister's pink blush turned red.

"So, unless you want me to ask Sir Anthony what they mean when we see him tonight at dinner-."

Addie's eyes grew enormous and desperate, her next words blurted out at considerable speed.

"I'm sorry I called you names, Lady Mary, I just really don't like you because you're mean to Edith and it's not her fault there's something wrong with you."

"Addie, that is not an apo-."
"Apology accepted." Mary spoke over Edith and the blonde stared at her sister who cleared her throat and managed to look queenly and regal even while blushing. "I apologize for interrupting your holiday and – and getting into a verbal wrangle with someone half my age."

Addie looked away and Mary looked away and Edith sighed heavily and caught the footman's eye pleading for help. He looked back at her as if she was insane. Edith resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at everyone and told herself she was far too mature for any of this. Even, or perhaps especially, if she'd played an unfortunate and not insignificant part in all of it.

"Can we go to the beach?"

"What, Addie?" Edith blinked.

"Most of what you're doing in London I can't do." Her little sister argued, looking nervous and upset. "I can go to the museums with Thomas and things, but we've done that, and I want to be outside. We haven't been to the beach in ages and it's only an hour by train to Brighton or a little more to other places. I looked it up. There are places with rides like a proper carnival, too. Could we go?"

Edith ran over what she now realized was a packed schedule of meetings with her agents and solicitors about her own business and about Addie's welfare and education and began to realize that outside of her evenings she didn't have any free time for her sister.

"I could take her."

Edith turned and looked at the tall footman, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

"What I mean is, I could escort Miss Adelaide to Brighton, if she wants a day at the shore, ma'am."

"I don't see why not." Edith agreed, relieved that at least that was taken care of, and offered a small smile. "What do you say?"

"Thank you, Edith, thank you, Thomas!"

Edith was just happy that the tension had eased slightly and turned to Mary reluctantly. Her sister looked back just as suspiciously. Oh, this was lovely. What to do?

"When all else fails, to hell with 'em. Say what you mean."

"Mary, you don't know Mrs. Chetwood and don't like Sir Anthony and you don't particularly like me." She sat back and spread her hands. "So why are you here?"

Her older cousin/sister looked at her in blank astonishment at her rudeness. She looked right back and waited and wondered how the hell to even deal with it if Mary answered. It never went well. The whole reason things were going well between her, and Mary now was that they'd been trying to avoid each other.

"Papa asked me to come and remind you that you have a great many options before you and shouldn't make hasty decisions based on schoolgirl crushes."

Trust Mary not to be daunted by anything.

Edith glared back, and beside her Addie had puffed up in offense. Barrow was looking on, his blank face now sliding into an expression of pure fascination. Edith supposed someone should get some amusement out of the show they were apparently going to put on.

"Edith's grown up enough to take care of me!"

"Yes, and that's clearly going very well given your manners."

"At least the people Edith fancies don't drop dead!"

Mary reared back and, for once, flushed in mortification and instant response.

"I wouldn't count on it, considering the geriatric natures of Edith's preferences."

Edith was flushed now and well, and she'd had more than enough.

"Addie, one more word and I'm having Barrow take you back to Downton at the next stop. I hope I am clear?"

Addie stared at her in shock, then her mouth snapped shut and she sank back into the seat. Turning to face Mary she was surprised when her sister spoke first, the only other brown eyes in the compartment turning away and refusing to meet her own. To think; she'd once thought she and Mary had both gotten their eyes from Grandpapa Levinson…

"Addie, Edith, I'm sorry there was – that was insulting and rude."

Edith stared.

"Yes, I can apologize when warranted." Mary replied testily. "I just… I'm not. I don't want to talk about that."

"Of course, you don't." Edith went on sharply. "Nobody wants upsetting things rubbed in their faces."

"Sir Anthony's not going to die."

Addie's furious, upset muttering was barely audible but it froze Edith in place. To her shock, it also produced an expression of complete regret from Mary. Who took a deep breath and appeared to reach within herself for… Something? Edith wasn't sure what.

"Adelaide, I am sorry." Mary's voice, unusually gentle, prompted the little girl to look up at her. "Sir Anthony is going to be fine, you're right. That was petty of me, as I already said. I didn't come to argue or – or even to play mouthpiece for Papa. Even if that's why he was happy to have me go along."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because I'm quite tired of Mama throwing me at every eligible man of any age she happens upon." Mary replied, huffing slightly, and looking upset. "If he weren't already set on you, Edith, I'm sure she'd have thrown me in Strallan's way as well and hang what I want anyway. It's just – I'm very frustrated with it, right now."

Silence fell as the three females all looked at each other and Edith glanced at her new wristwatch to see how much longer they had until they reached London.

Hours.

"Right." Mary apparently came to a decision. "Enough of all of this… meaningful conversation. I don't suppose anyone had the forethought to pack anything to keep us occupied, did they?"

Edith, who'd had the privilege of a much-younger sister for several years now, rolled her eyes and pulled a deck of cards out of the oversized purse she'd taken to carrying in university along with a bulging bag of candy.

"Addie, divide the candy four ways please." Turning to the two brunettes, Edith smiled tensely. "Thomas, care to join us all in a nice round of poker?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mary had assumed that someone as daft as Sir Anthony Strallan seemed would have a sister whose household was lax as well as kind. Instead, she found the Chetwood residence to be exactly the opposite. It was all she could do not to scream.

The Chetwood house was a handsome white stone townhome at a good, if new, address. Not as large nor as grand as any of the London Homes Mary was used to, it was still more than appropriate for someone of their class. Mrs. Chetwood had received news of her guest-swap with perfect grace and a warm welcome despite the somewhat sharp-eyed look Mary had found herself on the receiving end of. A look which grew more uncomfortable as she realized that the small house was ably staffed and Diana herself seemed to be everywhere at once.

What am I to do now?

Mary tried not to panic but it was difficult. It had been two months, and something was very clearly wrong with her. She couldn't deny it, but what was worse is that she didn't understand it. It would have been a nearly incomprehensible horror normally, but with something wrong about it on top of it all…

"Mary?"
"Yes?" Her head jerked up as she turned, trying not to be sharp.

Don't raise suspicion. Don't be too nice. Don't be too nasty. Don't be anything. You're just here to get away from Mama's matchmaking, remember that.

"Originally Addie and I were just going to share the room with Sybil, since there are two beds."

Edith looked both hesitant and oppositional, as if she expected Mary to make a fight of things. Mary wished she'd been less confrontational for the last few weeks. It had clearly done her no good and, bitterly, she had to admit that it didn't make her feel better like it used to, either. What would have happened if Edith hadn't left? Just an endless painful cycle where nobody was happy?

"But," Edith went on, "since you and Addie have trouble getting along Mrs. Chetwood suggested putting her up in the nursery and I said yes. I thought it would be easier if it was just us in here."

The room was smallish, but handsomely put together with its two single beds. Mary tried not to be too upset. Sharing a room would make things impossible. Still, she had to manage.

"Probably for the best." Mary forced herself to smile. "Do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Given how well you've gotten her trained for defense, don't get your baby sister a Doberman for Christmas?"
To her surprise Edith looked more apologetic than amused.

"I am sorry, Mary. I haven't been – I haven't disciplined her properly, and it's largely my fault-."

"Edith… whether you're my sister or my cousin or nothing at all to me I am… just… desperately sick of being so careful about everything, and I hate apologizing. What do you say we just… start over?"

Edith stared at her in shock.

"I mean, not try any of this sisterly nonsense or any of those utterly insipid thought-exercises Mama goes on about when we have a harmless spat, but just get on with it."

Mary went on, surprised to find she was being honest, not just trying to get Edith to shut up and leave her alone. The Edith who had come back from America, confident and different, was… somehow easier to be around than the sister she'd always known. Mary hoped that was it at least; she hated the thought that Edith leaving had changed her. It was too much like that wretched head-shrinker was right.

"What I mean is…" Mary summed up, carefully putting the last of the things from her small case into the small wardrobe behind her bed and not meeting Edith's eyes. "You can deal with whatever rudeness Adelaide generates from now on as if it's the first time she's done it, and I'll let you deal with it without wrangling with the child. I mean, honestly, as annoying as she can be… I can't pretend some of the things she said weren't funny or useful."

"Useful?"

Mary's lips turned up.

"You should have seen Bridget Dormer's face when I used that "gender of dogs" comments on her at the Evans shindig two weeks ago."

To Mary's shock, Edith's response was to return her smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I see your guest list has amended itself."

"Anthony, you have no idea."

"Enlighten me."

"I can't, I don't have any idea, either."

Anthony, standing in his dinner things and handing his coat off to his sister's butler, stared down at Diana Chetwood with expectant eyebrows. She looked back at him and pulled a face. Anthony spent a moment wondering how Archie was doing, as his brother-in-law had clearly been left to fend for himself with the other guests who'd arrived early. As he'd expected, that was all the prompting it took for her to go on.

"Apparently Lady Sybil got herself on punishment for something or the other and couldn't make it, so Lady Mary was sent down instead." Diana pulled a face. "I can't complain about her manners, she's been positively charming, but I would have enjoyed it far more if I could say that all that charm wasn't clockwork and automation."

"She's not particularly sincere." Anthony agreed, but that was hardly his real concern. "Is Edith holding up well? How's Addie? They don't get along at all."

"Well, there's some tension between the cousins, but Addie's mainly just glaring at the eldest Crawley suspiciously and getting on with it." Diana smiled. "She's apparently planning to run that poor footman ragged seeing the sights. Edith said that tomorrow, while she's handling business all day, I'm not to worry at all about my youngest guest as she's off to Brighton to enjoy the games and rides with her burly escort."

"Well, that's a pity."

"I know." Diana all but pouted despite her age. "Here I am, surrounded by men, not a daughter in sight, and I have a perfectly good chance to live vicariously through an adorable ten-year-old girl and what happens? I'm supplanted by good planning and a footman."

"How do you think I feel?" Anthony huffed. "I wasn't even asked."

"And it's just been ages since you've gotten to take a little sister to the fair, isn't it?"

"Diana."

Grinning, his little sister carried on without a pause, linking her arm through his and leading him into the hall and from there, the drawing room.

"You do realize that when you rob that cradle, you're going to get a little sister-in-law thirty-three-years your junior, don't you?"

"And we both know I'll be far more a father to her than anything else, just as Edith is having to be sister, mother, and everything else." Anthony replied quietly, trying to temper how much he liked the idea. He felt like a ghoul trying to replace the dead. "Now, enough of this. They're alright?"

"A little tense, but that could be the company, the nerves of a new courtship by a desperately handsome and distinguished older man-."

"Diana."

"Or my husband being a terrible ogre and making everyone feel horrible."

The affable diplomat looked up from where the sturdy, dark-haired man was cheerfully telling a funny story to the three girls and two other early guests, drawing laughter from everyone at once.

"Do I hear my wife's dulcet tones describing me in glowing praise?"

"I've never said anything nicer about you, dearest, rest assured of that." Diana abandoned her brother to press a kiss to her husband's cheek and he cheerfully intercepted her.

"I believe it wholeheartedly, wife."

Smiling at the ready and affectionate exchange, Anthony's heart caught when Edith drifted over and smiled at him with the kind of sweet nervousness that twisted somewhere beneath his ribs. Reaching down he decided to be daring. Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her gloved fingers as he took in the delicate rose colored gown she was wearing.

"Edith, you are…" His mind fumbled and he cursed himself silently. You speak more than a dozen languages, man, get yourself together. "Perfectly lovely."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You know you could have almost anyone you wanted."

The dinner had been a delight. Mrs. Chetwood's guests were drawn from a wide range of people. There'd been a conservative and a liberal MP present, as well as a professor at the University of London and his wife, two young naval officers who were distant cousins of Mr. Chetwood, some friends of Mr. Chetwood and Anthony's from Cambridge who were just charming, and several others who ranged from businessmen to bureaucrats. All had more than their share of lively conversation. None had seemed to care a whit about The Scandal of Edith's birth.

"Mary, you've always been able to have anyone you wanted, any time you wanted it." Edith pointed out, tiredly, into her pillow that night when everyone finally settled in. She hadn't shared a room with Mary since Mary was Addie's age. She did not miss it. "Is the concept that hard to apply to others?"

"Don't be snide, Edith, I mean it."

Edith rolled onto her side and looked through the dark of the room and the dim light of the streets filtering through the tiny gap in the curtains and caught side of Mary's silhouette, facing her across the space between the two beds. She couldn't make out Mary's expression. Edith decided that was a blessing.

"I'm not. Mary, what do you want me to say? You can have anyone you want because you're you. I can have anyone I want because my scandalous origins are tragic now that they've made me rich rather than shameful. I mean, I can't have whoever I want, Daddy's money can."

"If I could have anyone because I was me, I'd be a duchess right now."

"Duchess of a small house in Wales, maybe." Edith huffed. "Crowborough isn't a loss."

"Stop being flippant." Mary's voice was sharp and resentful. "Not all of us have the resources not to worry about the future."

Edith swallowed another retort as she realized, belatedly, that Mary sounded… worried. Maybe even a little jealous. She tried to stifle the little thrill of pleasure she got at that thought.

"Cousin Matthew's sweet on you. If you wanted-."
"If I wanted I could, probably, maybe – but I – Edith I don't know what I want, but I want it to be mine." Mary's tone was tired and irritable. "My decision, if nothing else, is that so hard to understand?"
"Considering that it looks like every relative over the age of thirty is going to line up and tell me how to live my life, no, Mary, it's not."

Silence fell for a long moment as both tried to process their apparent agreement with each other. After a while Edith's guard lowered and she began to drift to sleep. She'd gotten to dance with Anthony, and it had been divine. Her feet hurt. She was tired, but only in the most delightful way.

"Why do you want him? Strallan, I mean."

Edith sighed.

"He's only a few years younger than Papa and he looks older. He's just – all he does is farm and study farming and apparently learn extra languages. How do you look at that and see – see a future you want when you could do anything else you wanted. Travel. Not marry at all. Marry up, even, and rub it in the faces of everyone who smeared you over it for all eternity."

Edith tried to think of an answer to that. She flushed as she thought of the warmth of Anthony's hands on her back when they dance. The warmth of his breath through her glove when he kissed her fingertips. The exhilarated smile he'd bestowed on her, not frightened at all, and relishing her daring as she whipped him through Yorkshire in the Bugatti. The warm feeling of protection she'd gotten on the ship when he'd stepped in and, with no reward or expectation of payment, put himself between her and Addie and that pestering lout. His concern for Addie when she was nothing to him. His concern and caring for everyone. The innate sweetness and intelligence that hid beneath his plain tweeds and homely attitude.

It was far too new and far too precious to trust Mary with.

"In the last five years I learned I was my aunt's bastard. My sisters were my cousins and I finally understood why our parents never treated me the same as you and Sybil."Edith said instead. "I traveled alone across an ocean with only the word of a man I'd never met that there'd be help at the other end and Papa saying that if I left, he'd disown me ringing in my ears."

She could hear the weight of Mary's absolute silence across from her.

"In that time, I buried a stepmother who treated me like her own even though she had no reason to. A year ago, I buried the father that loved me unconditionally even though he'd never known me. I didn't even get to bury the brothers who showed me the same unconditional love. Why? They drowned and froze to death with no hope of rescue."

"I am now solely responsible, ignoring the financial advisors present, for my ten-year-old sister, who was born prematurely and whose health I have ample reason to fear for."

Edith closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Mary, revenge is too much effort for no good reason right now. I don't have time for it. No offense."

The silence ticked away for a moment, and then Mary replied in a quiet voice.

"None taken."

"Thank you." Ingrained manners were what they were, but now Edith pulled the covers up further and glared across the room, too awake to sleep. "What about you? If we're not going to constantly sabotage each other, what are you going to do for – well, for yourself?"

"I suppose I'll find a husband. Someone I choose." Mary's voice was lackadaisical. "But for now, I'm going to go to sleep."

Edith grumbled and rolled over onto her stomach, stuffing her face in the pillow.

"You started it."

"And I'm ending it. Do be quiet, Edith."

Edith groaned into the pillow. Some things never changed. Mary's ability to make everything someone else's fault was one of them.

"Did Thomas and Addie get away alright?" Diana asked as she made use of the sideboard in the breakfast room.

Edith, who was making nearly equal use of it and trying very hard not to yawn, nodded.

"Nothing's going to be open in Brighten when they get there, I did warn them, but Addie's always been up with the dawn – if not preceding it."

"Anthony's like that. Truly dreadful trait in an older brother. He used to roust me out of bed just to bother me when we were children. Anyway, whatever will they do there so early?"

"Edith will drag him all over the beach." She chuckled. "I don't imagine he'll mind. Ignoring the very tidy sum he's made in addition to his wages this year, it is a day at the beach."

"You've got an excellent point, Edith." The older woman chuckled almost sadly. "I do miss the boys all the more whenever I see her running about. I keep reminding myself that they'll be underfoot for summer holidays soon."

"Anthony says you often come to Loxley during the summer. Perhaps we can set all three of them loose there and enjoy the chaos?"

"Sounds horrifyingly. I love it. Let's spring it on Anthony without warning." Diana sipped her tea. "I do have a question, though, if you don't mind?"

"Not a bit."

"Does your cousin always wear that much perfume?"

"Hm?"

"Does Lady Mary always wear that much perfume, Edith dear?"

Edith paused and felt uncomfortable. Mary was soaking in a bath right now, claiming her feet were hurting after dancing last night. Edith couldn't argue with that. As usual, Mary had been the absolute belle of the ball and gotten most of the dance offers. Edith found she couldn't mind; there'd only been one partner that she'd wanted, and she'd gotten his undivided attention. Mary could have her fun.

"I'm not sure." Edith was honest. "She's been doing it for the last couple of months at least. We… this is the first time we've really been… sharing a lot of our time."

"Of course, dear." Diana was nothing if not understanding. "It's probably a new fashion, though, how mortal an offense do you think she'd take if I had a word with her about it?"

"Blood would run down the walls, and we'd have to ward the house with salt and brick dust."

Archibald Chetwood, who'd been reading a paper and eating his breakfast in total innocence, promptly spluttered out a mouthful of kedgeree onto The Times and strangled on his tea.

"That's what you get for eavesdropping!" Diana advised her husband mercilessly while slapping his back solicitously as Edith stuttered an apology. "Never you mind, Miss Edith, it's all lovely, and you've got a full day ahead of you."

Embarrassed at her sarcasm and nearly strangling her host, Edith retreated upstairs quickly after that. Too quickly, unfortunately. When she walked into the room she found her sister kneeling on the floor of the room. In front of Mary Crawley was the room's pretty Chinese basin, half-full of water, where the lady was frantically scrubbing at a pair of knickers marked with pungently discolored, bloody, discharge.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mary, did Pamuk hurt you?"

Mary wasn't even sure what vicious, venomous things she'd said to Edith or Edith had said back to her initially were. It was as if her mind was a slate and those words wiped it clean. They weren't spoken gently. They were harsh and sharp and – and underneath them was an anger that stopped Mary where she was.

"Mary?"

She looked up from the floor into Edith's eyes – a lighter brown than her own – and watched her cousin – or was it sister now? – bite her lip. There was nothing unusual about Edith staring in her face with fiercely whispered anger. It was… very strange for that anger to be directed at anyone but her.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because he's the only one who – unless it was Napier?" Edith seemed shocked and even more worried. "Was he angry you were favoring the Turk and-."

"No!"

"Mary! For God's sake tell me! That – that isn't normal!"

"I know that!" Mary hissed back, crouched on the rug in her dressing gown with a rag stuffed between her legs and nothing else, her damp hair all around her shoulders. "You think I don't know that when everything hurts and it's not natural or right and it's my fault?"

"If he-."

"I let him!"

"If you didn't invite him, then let has nothing to do with it!" Edith shot back, then paused, unsure of herself. "You didn't, did you?"

"I may as well have, I enjoyed it, once I – once I let him start."

Even Edith, family bastard that she was, looked at her in shock and horror. Mary turned away and resisted the urge to hurl the wet knickers now clutched protectively against her chest at Edith's face. That would not do.

"So, Edith, you can just – just stop. It's not your affair to worry about. I'm sure you're perfectly delighted to be the good daughter now-."

"I was stupid in university. A – a boy told me he loved me, and I nearly ended up – something nearly happened to me."

Mary froze and looked at Edith, her sister's pale face flushed and tense, her lips barely moving as she spoke. Spellbound, Mary actually listened.

"We'd all gone out in a group, me and three girlfriends, because I'm not actually a complete idiot." Edith went on, sliding closer until their bent heads were only a few inches apart. Neither could see where the light creeping through the curtains struck Edith's hair, sending a sunset halo of light around her and her sister both, or where the pale glow of Mary's perfect complexion seemed to cast a pearly light on her sister's face. "He got me alone when we were out for ice cream. It was after a lecture we'd all gone to and my slapping him for being fresh didn't do any good. He pushed me up against a wall and," Edith swallowed, "he put his hand up my skirt and grabbed me. It was horrid."

Mary thought about the sick twisting in her stomach when Pamuk appeared in her room. The excitement mixed with dread. The way she'd felt trapped and wanted him and wanted him to just go away all at once. How she'd felt like she had no choice and enjoyed it anyway and hated it more for having liked it all.

"It is." Mary whispered back. "But you – you fought him off."

It wasn't a question. She could sense it. It was in the way Edith's shoulders were still straight and she didn't look away.

"No, I froze. My friend Eva-Mae always had the wickedest hat pins and wasn't afraid to use them. She'd realized we were both gone and went to look for us."

"She stabbed him?"

"Ruined his trousers."

"Did she?"

"In the bum, but she got the thing hilt-deep, so it had to hurt."

"Good!"

Both young women stared at each other for a long minute and Mary could barely hear herself when the next words come out.

"Edith I – I'm ruined."

"No-one-."

"Blood and – and this putrid – it's coming out of me!"

Mary looked down at the wet knickers in her hands in fury, refusing to look at Edith's shocked face.

"I think it – it was a baby but now I hurt all the time and it's just – something's not right."

"That's why you came to London." Edith stared at her in horror. "Does anyone know?"

"Just Anna." Mary bit her lip. "I wanted to bring her with me, but you wouldn't-."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know!"

"I didn't want you to! You wouldn't if you'd just knock like a civilized person."

Edith looked sheepish but, as always, wouldn't just leave it alone.

"What are you going to do."

"You-."

"Look, you're not – I don't know if you're my sister or my cousin, but I didn't go to university just to – to be all puritanical about this." Edith's words shocked Mary, but not as much as the sincerity in her eyes. "I'm not Granny!"

"Thank God." Mary bit her lip and thought. Did she want to do this alone? Could she? "Anna gave me – gave me a place I could go. It's in a terrible part of town, but she found me some clothes at one of the poor shops to wear."

"I brought some of my older things to wear if I had time to take Addie to the beach. She always gets everyone near her covered in sand."

The exasperation in Edith's tone brought a slight smile to Mary's face. This was Edith. Short-tempered. Annoying. Always underfoot. Now she had to deal with a little sister just as bad as she was. There was some justice in the world, apparently.

"Edith." Mary swallowed. "You'll help? Truly?"

"Yes, what do you need?"

"Money." Mary couldn't keep the relief out of her tone, and it stung, but not as much as other things. "I – I brought some jewelry and Anna told me how to pawn it, but-."

"Come with me to the bank. We can wear the old clothes under something nicer and looser and change in the powder room at a Lyons or something." Edith volunteered, chewing her lip in through. "I can have my bank meeting, but I'll send a message that I can't see Mr. Branagh until tomorrow. We can go wherever you need to after that, and I can get plenty out at the bank. I never spend much of my allowance, I've got enough saved to cover anything we need to do. Can you find the place?"

"Give me some credit." Mary huffed. "Anna drew directions on a map for me."

Edith and Mary stared at each other for another moment, then, with a nod, they both got up and began to change. Neither knew what else to say. For the moment, it was enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The worst moment had been when they'd gotten off the train at Hastings and there'd been a two police officers, in full uniform, right there at the station. Thankfully, the older of the pair had roughly demanded the younger's attention when the constable turned his sharp blue eyes towards Thomas and his charge. He'd hustled Addie onward quickly.

That just left the rest of it.

He was carrying a bag with three hundred pounds in it, along with incriminating homosexual letters and a number of photographs. Nothing obscene, but along with the letters and the money and everything else some kind of criminal charge could be put together. It didn't matter that he wasn't in the pictures. Addie was a child, she was caught up in it, and if someone looked hard enough at his past…

It wasn't a long walk from the train station, thank God. A few turns down quaint little streets and they came to the boarding house they were looking for. The place was shabbier than the other houses around it, but not bad.

Why are you even doing this? There's three hundred pounds in the bag. With that you could - . Thomas' hindbrain asked, sharply. He pushed it away and knocked on the door. An old woman opened it, her rheumy eyes explanation enough for the dust he could smell wafting up in the air behind her.

"Is Harold Ulverston in?"

"Hm?"

"Is Harold Ulverston in?!" Addie raised her voice loudly and Thomas winced, feeling as if every eye in the pointlessly sleepy little seaside town was turned on them. She'd been loud enough to wake the dead under the fields of Hastings with that call! They'd have Harold's ghost demanding they shut up the racket at the piercing volume that could be generated by a nervous ten-year-old girl's voice.

"Oh, yes, Harold's here." The old woman smiled. "Who're you to him, darling? Are you American, then? I can't tell, my hearing's been off for years."

Decades, Thomas thought helplessly.

"She is, ma'am." Thomas answered, pitching his voice to be heard the way he did with some of the Dowager's so-called friends. "My stepsister and I are looking for Harold. He's a friend from University."

"That's very nice. Poor lad doesn't get many visitors. Come in. I don't get up the stairs anymore." The crone shuffled backwards from the door, pointing up the hall stairs with a twisted, arthritic hand. Too bad she was deaf. If she had sisters, they'd be a sure thing for parts in the next production of MacBeth. "Top floor, dears, door in the left. Knock hard. Good sturdy old doors in places like this, you know."

Places like this had weak gas lights that were unlight in the day but dirty windows that barely let any light in. Thomas kept a grip on the bag and Addie's shoulder as he nudged her up the stairs. Soon they were at their location, and he knocked firmly on the door. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

The door opened and the man from the photograph appeared; wiry and short, lightly built with Apollo's complexion and spring green eyes, there was a gentle sort of beauty in Harold Ulverston's face. There was also a pleasant sort of confusion until he looked down at Addie. Instead, a kind of horrified realization began to spread, along with a sickly green pallor.

"Best let us in." Thomas advised lowly and watched as the other man stepped back and did just that, pushing the door shut behind them and locking it as they went.

"Well?" Mary demanded, humiliated, as she lay on the pitted oak table in the kitchen of the row house she'd been directed to. Her skirts were rucked up and there was a midwife poking between her legs, and it was the most humiliating experience of Mary's life. She halfway hoped it would all be fatal. It would spare her so much shame and explanation. "Have I – have I lost it?"

"You were never pregnant, lamb." The older woman stood up; her tone tired but not unkind.

Stocky and gray from her eyes to the curls atop her head, the midwife Anna had sent them to was stern and simple in her speech and her actions. She'd let them in without question. She hadn't asked any names. She'd taken the money Edith had passed her and pulled them into a back room with a table in the middle and a chipped sideboard against the wall being used to hold medical tools, jars and bottles of various sorts, and a large basin and two jugs.

"What?" Mary stared. "What do you mean-."

"You never had a baby, lamb, you've got the clap."

Mary stared at her, confused, and looked at Edith whose expression was equally boggled. The midwife sighed in exasperation. Putting her fists on her hips, she adopted a stance inborn into mothers and teachers the world over.

"The clap, gonorrhea, a social disease." The woman explained, going over to wash her hands very thoroughly with soap and shoot Edith a sharp look. "You've not touched her body or her underthings, have you?"

"What? No!"

"Have you shared a bath?"

"No?" Edith stuttered. "I mean, we've used the same bath, but not the same water or at the same time."

"It shouldn't be a problem but scrub out the bath with something nice and strong." She proceeded to list several chemicals. "I'm going to give you a soap to use, and I want you to both wash with a separate bar of it and keep the bath scalded between uses. The soap'll cost extra."

Edith got out more money immediately.

"You'll wash your hands now, too."

Edith did, as directed, precisely and energetically. Mary felt she could sink right into the table. She'd thought pregnancy was the worst possible reality of what she and Pamuk had done. Not that he hadn't told her he wasn't going to get her pregnant, but he might have lied, and it wasn't like she or Edith had been precisely sure what or how pregnancy got started in a particular detail. Now?

"Can it be cured?" Mary demanded.

"Yes, but you've let it go too long." The old woman gave her a stern look. "It'll take several treatments and time."

"How?" Mary blurted out. "Do you think I have infinite time to do this? Do you have any idea what will happen if – if word of this gets out."

The woman gave a droll look.

"There's a reason why I'm discrete, lamb, but I'm not a doctor. I can help with certain problems, in a real pinch, but I can't get the right kind of medicine. You're going to need a clinic, and if you want a discrete one, you'll probably want one across the channel. I can name a few places. They're expensive, but you two don't sound like that's a problem."

"I can't go to France!" Mary gritted her teeth as she yanked her knickers back on and began to fix the dreadful clothes she was wearing.

"All you need to go anywhere, Mary, is money and time." Edith shot back. "We've got both."

"Mama and Papa-."

"Can't do anything if we've already gone."

"You can't be serious."

"Watch me." Edith put her chin up and Mary stared at the Midwife until she left the room. Realization set in and Mary breathed out, her own desperation and sense of daring pricked. To just run off to France… something inside herself hummed at the idea even as the reason why destroyed even the slightest illusion of adventure or romance.

"What about Addie and Thomas?" Mary winced. "Barrow would have to tell Papa."

"Not if I hire him away as our butler." Edith shot back, looking sheepish. "I was going to ask Papa first and… do the thing properly. Addie likes him so, but now I think – if he's going to gain that much from it? He'll keep quiet."

"Yes, but how are you going to keep your sister quiet? You can't even get her to stop insulting me over tea. The child hates the very air I breathe!"

"I'll just have to keep her distracted. Thomas can see you back and forth to the clinic, or you might just stay there. I don't know how these things work!"

"Neither do I!"

"I know that! Either way, we'll be at a hotel-."

"Where the entire staff will know?"

"Okay, I'll rent a cottage or something! Either way, I'll… run her around until she's too exhausted and excited to think straight." Edith offered. "We'll make it work."

Mary bit her lip and thought.

"We'd have to leave right away. If Mama or Papa caught a whiff of it, they'd stop us."

"Then we leave on the first boat we can get passage on."

"But," Mary was overwhelmed and upset and finally just relieved. Surprisingly, her poor injured conscience demanded she say something about the other obvious problem with this plan. "what about Sir Anthony and his sister?"

Edith's expression fell but, to her credit, she shook her head.

"I'll… I'll think of something."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Addie had expected that they'd cry and hug or something. That someone who was so special to Adrian would at least want to talk to her. That he'd want to talk about Adrian.

Harold had barely talked when she'd explained why she'd come to visit him. He hadn't said anything when she'd told him that her brother had loved him, and she wanted to do the right thing for him. He'd cried a little, but she'd cried more.

In the end he'd hardly said anything. Just that he missed Adrian – as if anyone couldn't – and thank you when she'd given him the pictures and the letters and the money. Addie felt hollow and angry and cheated. It hadn't been like getting Adrian back for a little while. Her big brother was still gone. Harold had meant so much to him, and he hadn't been important enough for the other man to even hug her.

"It's not fair."

"Hm."

"It's not fair, Thomas." Addie gritted her teeth and kicked the road as they walked back towards the train. He looked around and lowered his voice.

"Careful, moppet. We talked about this."

She nodded but couldn't help herself.

"I'm not going to… I just… he should have cared. It's not fair he didn't. My – Adrian deserved better than that. He loved… Why didn't – why wasn't it the same both ways?"

Thomas stared down at her and she was surprised by how lost the older man looked suddenly. Adrian and Jamie always knew what to do. They'd taught her to swim and catch frogs. They'd put worms and minnows on her hooks because she hated the way they squirmed and felt bad for them when she went fishing. They'd saved her along with Daddy. Thomas was like that. He always had a plan and was confident and smart and sneaky.

Thomas Barrow was looking down at her like he'd lost a brother. His eyes were wet, and he kept chewing on his lip. Adelaide Kavanaugh stared at the footman, her friend, in shock. She was too young to understand, so she just nudged him with her arm and slid her hand into his, wanting to know.

"Some things." He started really quietly and stopped, going on even more quietly as they walked down the sunny street with the sound of the ocean close by. "Some things hurt too much, some things that should be safe and easy are too dangerous to show anyone. Not even if you want to. Not even if you should. It's not safe to trust like that."

"But I'm Adrian's sister!"

"Yes, but you're not him."

Addie sniffled, offended and suddenly swamped again by missing her brothers. Thomas squeezed her hand and she looked up again.

"He cared, moppet. Trust me. He cared more than you'll know for – for a long time."

"But I will?"

"One day. A long time from now. Hopefully."

Addie managed to give back a reflection of a grin at his own weak smirk and she rubbed her knuckles over her eyes just once. He didn't offer her a handkerchief. She was glad. That would have been embarrassing. She wasn't crying really. Not enough to count.

"What now?"

She'd thought it would take longer. It wasn't even time for luncheon. They weren't expected back in London until pretty late. Not dark-late, but late. The train rides weren't that long.

"Now we go to Brighten." Thomas replied, his tone a huff of sudden snootiness. "I was instructed, Miss Kavanaugh, to give you a day of entertainment at the beach and the carnival. There is to be an excess of cheap food and games and rides. Anything less would be an abrogation of my duty to the Granthams, and that would be unacceptable."

Addie was snickering wetly at Thomas' impression of Mr. Carson when they climbed on the train. As she turned around, she caught sight of the mean-looking boy Edith's age in the police uniform who'd glared at Thomas while they were boarding the train. His blue eyes caught hers, steel meeting ice, and Addie frowned. Then, very deliberately, she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at the constable before Thomas pulled her into the train.

That's what he got for staring!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Omma's hurt?"

Edith felt like a monster. It was the best she could come up with on short notice that nobody could disprove, however. Nobody in society knew Addie's grandmother. Old Mrs. Bauer would never be in contact with anyone the Crawley's knew, save Edith, and it was the best possible excuse to leave Britain quickly.

"Not badly, she just had a fall and won't be able to come to us." Edith reassured her sister, feeling horrible. "So, we're going to leave a little early and go to her."

Addie did not look reassured, and Edith promised herself that she'd clear this up as soon as they'd left London.

"But-."

"The doctors agree she'll be fine." Edith assured her, kneeling to embrace her sister. "It's going to be alright. This just means we're going to get to see her a little earlier. Make her feel better, alright?"

"Yes…"

"And you wanted to go up to the mountains, didn't you? Go back to Salzburg like you did when you were little." Edith smiled. "We'll make a nice trip of it now and you can show me the places your Mama grew up in."

Addie perked up and Edith hugged her again, then stood and turned to Mrs. Chetwood with sincere regret. She couldn't help the resentment she felt towards Mary for the disruption she'd thrown into her life, again. Five years ago, she'd have gloried in Mary's downfall. Now? Bitterly, Edith noted that this happening right after she'd returned to the family would certainly shift the blame, and she had Addie's reputation to consider as well as her own.

"I'm so sorry to just abandon you like this, right before the party and after you've been so wonderful to us."

"Think nothing of it!" Edith felt a wave of surprise, and then affection as she was wrapped in a hug by the taller woman, pulled into and wrapped up in motherly concern. "I feel terrible for Mrs. Bauer and her son."

"They'll be fine. She just doesn't need to travel to France to see us." Edith lied, feeling horrible with each word. "And, besides, Salzburg is lovely this time of year. We may go on to Vienna."

"Surely the Granthams will worry? You can't possibly go alone."

"We'll have Thomas with us, and I've travelled before." She offered up her best bracing smile. "It will be fine, Mrs. Chetwood, please don't worry."

"A mother can hardly help it. Would you write? Put my mind at ease." She smiled naughtily, her eyes bright. "Not to mention Anthony. You know how he frets."

Edith felt herself color and tried to stifle the wave of regret that washed over her. It was one thing to be separated from her friends; to leave them so rudely. It was another thing entirely to just… run away when everything with Anthony was going so well. She wanted to be his wife one day. Maybe not too soon – that's what a courtship was for – but… Of all the men who'd ever looked at her, he was the only one she felt looked at her.

Behind her, Thomas was coming down the stairs with the two suitcases that made up their entire luggage. Edith had just put her and Addie's things for the long weekend together; they hadn't needed much. Trust Mary to have been more prepared for what was actually going to happen; she had her suitcase packed to the hilt.

"I want to apologize as well. First, I arrive with so little warning, in Sybil's place, and now you'll have to reorganize the seating for your party. I feel I've been a terrible imposition."

"Nonsense, Lady Mary. You're more than welcome, and I hope to see you all again soon."
"Yes, thank you for having us, Mrs. Chetwood. I'm sorry we can't go to the museums together again."
"As am I sweetheart!"

Addie smiled a little as she got folded into Diana's arms as well. Edith adjusted her coat and hat and was checking her watch just as the Chetwood's butler opened the door behind them. She turned and her eyes widened as she saw the tall figure slipping into the room and she froze as his worried blue eyes settled on her.

Diana's call had interrupted a moderately quiet afternoon at Strallan House in London. Anthony's greatest concern at that point had been the fact that he was hosting his in-laws and their guests for dinner. It wasn't an enormous concern. He trusted his household. A man could not help being slightly nervous, however, when he was hosting the lady he was courting at his home for a formal meal for the first time. Thank God it was just Edith and the one sister old enough for a formal dinner. A nice trial run for Loxley and inviting the whole Grantham clan over at some point. Trying to entertain that lot was bound to be interesting. In the Chinese sense, mind you…

The last thing he'd imagined was that everyone's plans would be so upset by a random event. Not that he could blame Edith for her concern. A woman of Mrs. Bauer's age could die from the result of a bad fall. Given how much family Adelaide had lost and the plans already in place for a family visit in France, it made perfect sense to accelerate them. Anthony's greatest concern was the idea of two unmarried young women and a child traveling alone, save for a footman, on a moment's notice, all the way to the Alps.

Well, it had been his greatest concern until he found himself standing beside Edith in his little sister's foyer, utterly certain he was being lied to.

Edith could barely meet his eyes. She kept shooting him guilty, regretful looks. Her explanation, though delivered evenly, was not delivered with anything approaching innocence. Worse, Lady Mary kept staring at Edith with clear frustration and more than a little anger as he delayed them both with practiced skill – neatly hidden, of course, behind a bit of awkward verbal fumbling – and drew Edith apart to speak to him privately in the drawing room.

"… so you see, I really can't delay. Not for Addie's sake."

"I can completely understand how distressing such a circumstance would be, Miss Edith."

She relaxed and smiled at him a little tremulously and Anthony felt a flare of real guilt as he took one of her hands firmly in both of his and looked down at her with all of the authority the gulf between their ages gave him.

"I just wish you would tell me what was actually wrong."

"I – I – excuse me?"

"Miss Edith, surely if your plans are changing so dramatically you would have to make some arrangements. While you can send for luggage from Downton, it makes more sense to have it packed and shipped to you and leave in a day or two, not immediately. Likewise, you're not of age. You said that you'd already finished your financial meeting when you were informed of Mrs. Bauer's accident. When are you informing the solicitors and other parties of this trip? I know you had to make arrangements with them before you traveled from the States here."

Edith grew paler with each statement, and he stroked his fingers over hers as gently and reassuringly as possible. Edith had beautiful hands, a pianist's hands. Long, pale fingers, delicately tapered. Edith was not a short woman, though nearly a foot shorter than he was. However, her hands felt tiny beneath his.

"What about your passports? What about Lady Mary and her parents' reactions? I've known Lord Grantham since we were both children, my darling girl, and I think we both know that he's about as likely to allow any daughter of his across the channel without his direct involvement and control over the planning as he is to grow wings and fly."

"Sir Anthony," Edith was looking at him helplessly, tugging at her hand. He let it go with a sudden flare of regret, and fear that he'd mishandled things terribly as she stood up, "I – I'm very touched by your concern and – and I hope I understand it's source, but this is a family matter. I'm sure everything will be fine and-."

"I notice you're not denying that this isn't about Miss Adelaide's grandmother."

"Of course, it's about her accident!"

"Mis-."

"We have to leave." Edith murmured quickly, upset as she stood up and stepped back and Anthony cursed his clumsy handling of things. He'd wanted to take her aside so she felt safe. Now she was all but running away from him! "I'm – I'm sure we'll see each other again very shortly. I hope we will, that you'll still-."
"Edith, you're worrying me."

She bit her lip and took another step back as he rose towards her.

"Edith, is it something Lady Mary has done?"

"No!"

That, he noted, was an incredibly quick refusal. Her brandy-brown eyes widened in alarm. Yes, something to do with Lady Mary. He felt a flare of relief that it wasn't something directly involving Edith or Addie, but what in the devil was going on? Anthony was distressed enough that he failed to realize he'd forgotten to address Edith Kavanaugh as "Miss".

"No." She went on more calmly, rallying herself and putting on a brave face again. "It really is just a minor family emergency, exactly as I've said. Just like I talked about earlier, we'll be back in England, safe and sound, before August."

"Then allow me to drive you to your ship. You've already had your man make arrangements? Since you heard while you were at his offices, after you went to the bank this morning. It's the least I can do."
"That's really not necessary." Edith replied and the confidence and strength he'd come to so admire in such a young woman came back to her voice. "Sir Anthony, I thank you so much for your concern. You don't know what it means to me."

I had hoped I did.

"But Mary and I have this, and Adelaide, entirely handled. Thomas is going with us and he's more than enough deterrent against trouble. We'll be just fine and – and I'll write you immediately, before anyone else, to put your mind at ease. You have my word."
Anthony resisted the urge to exercise some of his less appropriate vocabulary in Italian – memory of his father's sense of discipline was more than enough to discourage such language use in the King's English – as she pulled away from him.

"I'm glad to hear that, but surely-."

"We really must go, however, and I can't allow you to put yourself out driving us. Thomas has already secured all the transportation we need to the train station. We'll be off from Portsmouth in the morning. I'll have a letter in the post as soon as we get to France, I promise."

"Of course, but you must stay safe, and allow me to take my leave of your sister?"

Edith agreed and Anthony came out to offer a very formal handshake to the agitated little redhead. Meanwhile, his mind was already moving. Yes, he knew precisely what he had to do.

Loxley was one of the first great houses in the region to have a telephone installed. Lord Grantham, always slow to accept new trends, had not yet bowed to the inevitable and had one installed at Downton Abbey. A fact that left Mrs. Walsh extremely displeased upon receiving a call upon the device when Mr. Walsh was in town with the master and was not able to deal with it himself.

Letting her mind center on precisely how she was going to remonstrate her husband's decision to leave her grappling with the beast, she picked up the handpiece from its cradle and lifted it to her hear, leaning down suspiciously towards the receiver. Then, as only a woman of nearly seventy years, a great deal of dignity, and very little patience with contraptions could manage – she yelled majestically into the device.

"Hello? You have reached Loxley House. Who is speaking?"
"Are you having trouble hearing me, Mrs. Walsh?"

She nearly dropped the thing when Sir Anthony's voice came out of it, coming to attention naturally and fumbling with the too-short line on the handpiece. Recovering, she went on in a slightly more deferential tone.

"Sir Anthony, gracious, I hope everything is alright to have you calling at this hour?"

"No, things are somewhat disturbed here, Mrs. Walsh." The baronet went on, his tone direct and earnestly concerned. "I'm afraid I'm going to ask something rather irregular of you, Mrs. Walsh, but would you be so good as to get pen and paper? I need you to transcribe my message precisely."

"Of course, sir."

Pen and paper and a strange sense of excitement were acquired. Mrs. Walsh had always been a great fan of certain detective stories. In that moment, she felt a touch like Mrs. Hudson must have in assisting her fictional tenant in his urgent business. Not that she thought Sir Anthony would ever be caught up in any kind of unfortunate business. She was aware, however, that her employer did assist the foreign office upon occasion and had spent his very limited time in the army working in intelligence, where he retained a few very interesting friends. Dutifully, she transcribed down the message, growing more concerned by the moment.

"Sir Anthony, I do hope both young ladies are alright?"

"I am afraid that I share Mr. Branagh's suspicions."

"Oh, dear, what shall you so, sir?"

The idea that her employer would do nothing while a young lady he was courting was in danger was ridiculous in Mrs. Walsh's mind. It did not, in fact, occur to her as a possibility. After what he'd told her, of course, her master intended to do something. She should know, after all, she'd started to work at Loxley as Miss Addams not three days before the gentleman in question was born. If anyone should know his character, it was her.

"First, I need you to take my news to Lord Grantham."

"Very good, sir. I will, directly."

"Have Traveler drive you. It's not time of night to be wandering about."

"Of course."

A few more instructions followed, and Mrs. Walsh hung up the contraption with far more confidence – and a greater sense of distraction – than she'd had a few moments before when picking up the telephone. With a renewed sense of purpose, she went in search of the estate's driver, who spent far more time acting as a mechanic than piloting his employer's vehicles, and her coat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Good gracious, Mrs. Walsh, I hope nothing's amiss at Loxley?"

The words were barely out of Mrs. Hughes' mouth when she realized that it had been rather pointless to say such a thing. Surely something was amiss if the housekeeper of that house was visiting Downton at nearly ten o'clock at night. After all, being between her own age and the Dowager Countess', Mrs. Walsh wasn't precisely a spring-chicken amongst the serving class and was well-known for being part of a household rather mired in propriety.

As much as she did like the man, Sir Anthony's reputation for being rather dull hadn't popped into existence at the behest of the fairies.

"Oh, everything's fine at Loxley, but I'm afraid that our households have come upon something of a joint concern in London, Mrs. Hudson." The tall older woman lowered her voice even as she allowed the smaller woman to take both her coat and hat. She lowered her voice in a confidential way that only added to the Scotswoman's confusion. "You see, I must speak to Lord Grantham immediately!"

"His Lordship?"

Mrs. Walsh produced a folded sheet of simple stationary.

"I've had a phone call from Sir Anthony about the young ladies in London."

"Young – you mean Miss Edith and Miss Adelaide?"

"And Lady Mary, yes."

"And what precisely does Sir Anthony think is happening in London involving the young ladies that his Lordship must know about before he's finished his after-dinner drinks?"

"Well, that would be for his Lordship to hear." Mrs. Walsh looked down at her severely, though her face softened, and she added, in a lower voice. "Though, after so much excitement, a cup of tea and a chat with you would not be amiss after I've done my duty."

"Of course, Mrs. Walsh, I understand completely." Mrs. Hughes rose and nodded once, then paused. "I'm not wrong in thinking that the young ladies are in a spot of trouble, am I?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I do wish you were."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charles Carson had never been so tempted to read a letter before he placed it into Lord Grantham's hands. A telegram was one thing. A folded sheet of stationary delivered firmly into his hand by a woman he knew to be of excellent character and long service was another. Especially when Mrs. Walsh was fixing him with that look and stubbornly remaining in the service stairs insisting that she would need to be called upon for clarification.

So, he did what duty demanded.

"From Sir Anthony Strallan, sir." Carson cleared his throat uncomfortably as every eye in the drawing room turned to him. "It seems that it may be urgent sir. Mrs. Walsh herself delivered it."

"I shudder to think what Sir Anthony considered urgent." The Dowager huffed out a breath, her expression unhappy as she traded an unusually sympathetic look with her daughter-in-law. "Perhaps the newest innovation in harvesters has reached a truly startling point in development?"

Carson's eyes were glued to his employer, however, as the Lord of the manor set aside his after-dinner drink and unfolded the paper. Lord Grantham's blue eyes flickered over the paper, as if scanning it, and then riveted to the letter. As his employer's eyes widened, they tracked over the paper twice more, each time more rapidly and showing more alarm.

"Robert?"

"Well, don't keep us in suspense?"

"Papa, are Edith and Mary alright? Nothing happened to Adelaide, did it?"

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Mother."

The last two comments, provided by Mrs. Crawley and Mr. Crawley, respectively, did not change the tense look upon the latter's face. Mr. Carson, who did rather wish Lady Mary took as much care of her heart as she did her ambitions and pride, couldn't help liking the young man more for his obvious worry. Unfortunately, it was wholly eclipsed by his own.

He hadn't liked Lady Mary's decision to go up to town one bit. She hadn't been herself since that unfortunate diplomat's death. Watching her struggle and being unable to assist had been horrid for them all, but at least while Lady Mary was in Downton, Carson had felt she was safe.

"Robert, what's happening." The Dowager demanded but her son was already striding out of the room, clearly alarmed.

"I haven't the slightest idea, excuse me while I find out!" The earl bit out. "Carson!'

Barely a step behind his master, the butler strode from the room and into the master's small, seldom used study, tucked away in a slightly inconvenient corner, and serving as the earl's office as Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Walsh both slipped inside from where they'd politely tucked themselves out of sight until called.

"Mrs. Walsh, can you tell me what's going on?" The Earl asked, agitated. "This is highly unusual."

"I am sorry, Lord Grantham." The statuesque woman offered sincerely as she was ushered into a seat, her back ramrod straight and her hazel eyes sharply kind. "Sir Anthony dictated that message to me less than an hour ago, and he was quite unhappy to have to do so."

"I'm sure but – could it possibly be a misunderstanding?"

"No, sir. I don't believe so."

"Good God." Grantham looked around his office and, to Carson's shock, muttered. "I should have just gotten the bloody telephone. Carson! Have you heard anything of this?"

"No, sir, may I ask-?"

Wordlessly the earl passed him the note and began to root around in his desk, obviously searching for something and just as obviously not finding it. Carson held the letter at a readable distance and scanned it, his eyes widening in alarm with each word. Without thought, he bent down and tilted the letter so that Mrs. Hughes could read it as well when she rose to stand on her toes at his elbow.

Lord Grantham, forgive my rudeness but I must be brief. Both Miss Edith and Lady Mary intend to leave for the Continent on the first available ship, taking Miss Adelaide and with Mr. Barrow as their only company and protection.

Miss Edith has just offered me an explanation that is clearly a lie created under duress. She is claiming that her sister's grandmother was injured in a fall, and they must rush to Salzburg to visit her. The story does not fit with what I know of the situation, and Lady Mary appears considerably more agitated and in a greater hurry than her sister.

I managed to get through to Mr. Branagh despite the late hour. He did not convey the message that Mrs. Bauer had been injured, despite Edith's claim that he was her source of information. He did confirm that she had taken out a considerable sum of money from the private savings she maintains from excess allowance. He also confirmed that, independent of that, Miss Adelaide had pressed him for an unusually large sum to spend on presents and such for the expected summer trip to France.

Add in the odd behavior my sister said she witnessed in all her young guests this morning as they embarked on their tasks, and I fear that we are looking at some kind of blackmail. I am taking immediate measures to see to the ladies. I realize that this is not appropriate, but I fear that it would be a grave risk to wait. They will be in France by the time you arrive in London if you choose to follow. I will pass on more information as soon as I have it.

"Dear Lord." Carson looked up from the letter to his employer, horrified.

"Those poor girls." Mrs. Hughes murmured and looked up. "Sir, what may the staff do to help?"
"Robert, what's happening? Is it the girls? Has there been an accident?"

The lady of the house was shoving the door open roughly, and Carson looked and saw that Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley had deigned to join her. He supposed that either the Dowager's knees, her dignity, or her strong desire to detain Mrs. Crawley, had compelled her to remain in the library. At Robert's nod he passed the letter to Lady Grantham, who shared it with her youngest daughter. Carson scowled at the sight of Matthew Crawley going on his toes and putting a hand on the doorframe so that he could read over the ladies' shoulders.

Really, even a solicitor should have better manners than that!

"Carson, where the devil is the train schedule?"

"I have it, Papa." Sybil darted from the room, calling over her shoulder. "I'll be right back!"

"Christ, do you think it's some trouble from America following them over? Or something from their brothers' tour?" Mr. Crawley asked, his expression alarmed and yet his eyes thoughtfully calculating. "I cannot think it is Edith herself. Has she been anywhere since she arrived but here or Loxley?"

"Who knows what she does or where she goes on those drives she takes with her sister? Or the ones she takes alone. Then there's that education. I told anyone that would listen that-."

"It's not Edith, Robert."

Carson looked, taking in the pallor of the lady's face along with the gravity of her tone, just as Sybil arrived with the schedule in hand.

"What?"

"We need to talk privately."

"Mama, you can't expect me to just walk away if both my sisters are in some kind of trouble!" Sybil protested as she came back with the schedule in hand. "We need to go after them. If we hurry-."

"Sybil, you are going nowhere except out to Granny." The earl replied, implacable despite the several attempts at argument that followed. "Now, off!"

Stomping away, Sybil left them, and it was Matthew Crawley's voice that intruded next, though at a reasonable and level volume that should have really alerted everyone to be more careful. It was easy to forget, given that he was so new at being a gentleman, that Matthew Crawley was a solicitor. It was easy to miss the fact that he was an excellent solicitor given the fact that no-one at Downton Abbey had ever seen him at work. Given his expertise was less a matter of the courtroom and more a matter of contractual settlement, that very silence was downright ominous. A contractual lawyer who lived a good life without anyone the wiser was someone whose work wasn't contested.

"Look, fine!" The earl barked. "Cora, Matthew, both of you stay. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, please take Mrs. Walsh and see to all that needs seeing to. Mrs. Walsh, you have my deepest thanks, as does Sir Anthony."

"Of course, sir, thank you."

"If he calls you again, you will pass it on directly?"

"Immediately, your Lordship."

"Thank you."

And Carson could do nothing but escort the ladies out while Matthew Crawley shut the door to the study and access to information that Carson desperately wished to have.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Someone must have found out about what happened with Mr. Pamuk!"

Daisy's blurted out words drew every eye in the servant's hall to her. Thankfully, those eyes included only Mr. Carson, Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Walsh, and Mrs. Hughes. O'Brian and the others had, with a great deal of effort, been sent off by the Butler and Housekeeper, the stubborn lady's maid only leaving the scene of potential grief because the countess had rung for her.

"Excuse me?"

Daisy squeaked and Mrs. Patmore, who'd had quite enough of the drama and, decided it was time someone got things done. Putting her hands on her generous hips, she stepped forward.

"Daisy, nobody's going to be mad at you for having seen something and kept a secret. Keeping the family's secrets is part of what we do. My guess is that if everyone'd kept their mouth shut the way you have, there'd have been no problem like this one. Am I right?"

Daisy stared at her in shock and Mrs. Patmore felt a little twinge of guilt that the girl was frightened of her. Then again, she should be, shouldn't she? God above knew she'd been properly frightened of old Monsieur Ballard when she'd been a scullery maid. A little proper fear taught you the value of hard work and respect.

"I…"

"Daisy, come here and sit down." Mrs. Hughes offered more gently, pulling out a chair while Mrs. Walsh quietly dismissed herself with a tact that exceeded good sense in Mrs. Patmore's opinion. She would have stuck around to find out more.

(All parties were unaware of the fact that Mrs. Walsh decided to linger outside the closed door for a little while before proceeding to the garage and her ride back to Loxley.)

"Now, Daisy, maybe it would help to tell us whatever's on your mind." Mrs. Hughes went on.

Daisy, who'd spent the last two months with O'Brian leaning on her mercilessly and her conscience dunning her, folded like wet cardboard. The story that poured out left Mr. Carson sitting weakly on a chair, his knees having given up on him, and both Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes holding one of Daisy's hands, looking equally upset.

"Through the halls in nothing but a sheet, you say?" The cook asked weakly, and Daisy nodded.

"I didn't know what to make of it, only that the poor man was dead, and they were moving him, but then there was that sheet missing from the linen closet – remember, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I – I do."

"Well, I found some strange ashes, like burned fabric, in the fireplace in Lady Grantham's boudoir the next morning." Daisy bit her lip. "And you said yourself that her Ladyship and Lady Mary weren't acting right afterwards, didn't you, Mr. Carson?"

Carson, pale as milk, rallied enough to clear his throat and rise.

"I did, Daisy, but I'm sure there is – there is some better explanation."

"There's only two explanations for a man being in a lady's room, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes' tone was soft and implacable. "Either the lady invited him in, or he invited himself."

"You don't think that Lady Mary-."

"I don't know what happened, and neither does anyone present, Mr. Carson."

"But it's as likely as anything bad, no matter who knows what!" Mrs. Patmore replied and looked at all of them, her tone quiet but exasperated. "It doesn't matter who went inviting who where. That foreigner brought nothing but trouble with him and was doing narcotics until it killed his worthless self. If I've learned nothing, it's that a bad men don't stint at nothing while being bad."

Three pairs of eyes at different heights blinked at the cook, but she held her head high and went on.

"Lady Mary could have used a few more good swats on her bottom as a child, and I'm not going to be shy about saying it, but that doesn't change that we don't know, and a decent person doesn't assume about these things or – or blame. It can happen to any woman, and who your father is don't mean anything when it comes to being the sort of man who'll do it. So, I think the less said, the better!"

"I – I agree entirely, Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Hughes said while poor Mr. Carson stood, his expression consumed by terrible worry. "Daisy, thank you for your honesty and for your discretion."

The scullery maid looked miserable.

"You don't think there was anything else that happened to Mr. Pamuk, then?"

"I think the poison he'd put in his own body was more than enough to go on with." Mrs. Hudson soothed, her tone tired and kind and brisk in a way that immediately set the young girl at her ease. "Daisy, his own embassy agreed with the doctor about how he died."

"But not where."

"No point in worrying about that if it's just going to make the whole sorry mess worse. A man who sneaks into unmarried ladies' rooms at night is better dead, if you ask me." Mrs. Patmore huffed. "Now, come along, Daisy. For tonight – just tonight – I think it'd be best if you had a cup of tea and a bite while I handle the washing up."

Daisy's eyes grew huge as she was chivied out of her seat by the redheaded cook.

"Really Mrs. Patmore?"

"Well, bad as you're shaking, you'd probably just drop everything anyway and then I'd have more mess than I do right now!"

"I wouldn't-."

"Shush!"

"Mmph."

"Now, come along."

Mrs. Hughes watched as Mrs. Patmore shuffled the girl out of the room, fussing at her the entire time, and let out a deeply shaken breath. Looking up, her heart hurt at the expression of recrimination on the tall butler's face. Deciding that Mrs. Patmore might have the right idea, she took the reins.

"Come along, Mr. Carson."

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"We've had a nasty shock and the family upstairs will ring when they need us." Mrs. Hughes slid her hands into one of his, ignoring how his digits dwarfed her and tugging him towards her sitting room. "I estimate we have time for a wee dram of something stronger than sherry and a biscuit or three. Things are going to get busy. We'd best be ready to handle them."

"I really should go back upstai-."

"Not right now, you shouldn't."

For the next fifteen minutes, that was that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"If any of you leave in a great hurry, there will be no hiding it." Matthew went on, his tone even and persuasive, just enough care in it to move a person but not so much he'd seem overly wrought or dangerously caught up in his own feelings. "Think of the family's reputation."

His words finally calmed the quiet, but fierce, debate that was raging between Lord and Lady Grantham about who would be leaving, immediately, to try and take control of whatever dangerous situation the family's eldest daughters had landed themselves in.

"Matthew, I can't ask you-."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." He countered. "I can leave directly on business, and nobody will ask a question or speak a word. The office will think I'm leaving on your business. Everyone you know will assume I'm leaving for the job they don't understand the details of having in the first place. To anyone on the train, I'll be another middle-class traveler in a cheap suit, and nobody will look twice at me. I haven't been social enough for my face to be recognized, either."

"The boy's right."

The Dowager, who'd insistently inserted herself into the conversation as soon as she'd been able to leave Sybil to sit and pout with Matthew's mother, proved an unexpected ally.

"Right now, as far as we know, Mary's reputation is safe." Lady Violet went on. "There hasn't been a hint of rumor beyond a few murmurs about the flirtation, and that's hardly done any harm. Half of Britain has tried to start a flirtation with Mary at some point."

Matthew tried to hide the pique he felt at that. He utterly squashed everything else he was feeling. The idea that Mary had just given herself to some dirty, drug-addicted, spoiled-brat from the God-Forsaken Orient…

Come now, Matthew, we both know you're not that much of a bore.

Matthew wouldn't have cared if the man was the crown prince. What mattered wasn't who it was. What mattered was that it wasn't him.

"While I would normally say that Sir Anthony Strallan is the last man I would choose for a hero, in this situation, he is eminently placed to be just that." Violet went on firmly. "The man's reputation is above reproach and the idea of him involving himself in some sort of scandal is ridiculous. Society would laugh itself silly at the idea. His involvement alone makes the entire thing utterly mundane – which is exactly what we want."

"I thought you had agreed with Robert and I that Edith can do so much better?!" Cora asked, clearly irritated.

"Oh, I do. A fortune like Edith's shouldn't settle for less than a Marquis, unfortunate details of her birth included." Violet Crawley replied primly and shot a look at her daughter-in-law. "Had more care been taken to keep an eye on Mary, given her impulsive nature and the behavior we all saw during that unfortunate hunt, I would be doing my utmost to discourage the man. Unfortunately, what is done is done, and Edith and this entire family are going to have to make sacrifices for Mary's sake. Sir Anthony's continued involvement may well be one of them."

"Mother, Cora, please stop speaking as if I am not here!" Robert Crawley, red-faced and barely holding onto his urge to bellow, gritted his teeth and rejoined them. "I am their father, and I will decide what is to be done here!"

"Yes, Lord Grantham, you will." Matthew interjected. "I am asking you to decide to let me help you."

Robert turned to look at him, his expression unsure.

"Matthew should this turn out poorly everyone's hand could be forced in ways we can't yet know. I don't want you to feel obligated, given Mary's shameful behavior-."

"I'm not obligated to do anything. My cousin," Matthew's old professors would have been delighted that his delivery came without a hitch, flawlessly flowing as he spoke, "is in trouble. Three of my cousins are in trouble, as far as I am concerned, and as family and the gentleman you want me to be, I wish to help."

Silence fell and he breathed out, feeling that shift in the air and the tiny change in Robert's posture that told him he finally had the "jury" where he wanted them.

"All I need is the funds to do it, that train schedule, and your permission."

There was the barest pause, and then Robert Crawley's head inclined.

"You have it, then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What?"

"Omma's fine, Addie, and I'm so sorry I worried you." Edith apologized as soon as they were all in the cramped quarters she'd found them on the trip across the channel. The sun was rising, Mary was asleep in the small bedroom, and Thomas had stepped out for a smoke with her blessing.

"But you said – why-."

Now came the difficult part. Edith pulled Addie beside her on the shabby sofa and wrapped both of her little sister's hands up in her own. The look of upset suspicion on her baby sister's face warred with confusion and relief and Edith reflected that Mary owed her. Edith found she couldn't think of a single thing she needed from her sister and instead decided that debt could be paid by a good ducking in a pond. She hadn't done that to Mary since they were Addie's age and then she'd missed dinner for three days after as punishment. Now, Edith thought gleefully, nobody would be able to do a thing about it.

"Mary's sick."

Addie's expression shifted further into confusion.

"Mary's sick and she needs to get treatment in France." Edith hoped her precocious sister would, for once, accept the easy explanation. "So, we left fast so we could take her to a doctor."

"So, we're not seeing Omma and Onkle Klaus?"

"No, we are."

That much she and Mary had decided after a quick conference.

"What do you mean, Edie?"

"We're going to find Mary a good place to get better." Edith explained. "But we're going to leave her to get better on her own. Then Barrow, you, and I, will all go on to Salzburg to visit your family there."

"So, we aren't staying in France?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, it'll be nice to see everyone back where Mama grew up again, it's just…" Addie sat back, trying to process it all. "It's so strange!"

"I know-."

"And you should have just said something!" Addie's eyes filled with angry tears and Edith watched her dash them away on her sleeve and automatically began to root in her pocket for a handkerchief. "Why'd you have to lie to me and to everyone else? Mrs. Chetwood's our friend, isn't she? And you lied to Anthony and I thought he was your beau now!"

"I know!"

"Well, why?"

So much for the easy explanation. Edith decided that this time, Mary didn't get to make this decision. Not even though she'd made every possible argument and made them well. She'd gone far enough for Mary's sake.

"Addie, I know you don't like Mary, but what I'm about to tell you is a secret. Truly a secret, not just something we're not telling anyone just because. If you say anything, Mary will get hurt and you and I will be hurt."

"What do you mean?"

Edith tried to think of how to explain it to a ten-year-old who was as sheltered as her sister. In Downton, she'd been raised every day with the knowledge of how precious and precarious a woman's reputation was. She'd had it drilled into her since infancy what it meant to have a duty to uphold the family's honor.

Edith's sister had not been raised the same way. Her father grew up in a different place, time, class, and culture. He'd also been a stubbornly independent man who, for all his love of family, had a habit of isolating the women in his life out of his desire to protect them. Edith had seen the dichotomy of it when she was in university; how Zachary Kavanaugh had thrown himself entirely behind her education with breathtaking support. Then, in the same moment, wanted to have complete knowledge and control of what she was doing while she got that education.

Despite her father and brothers' involvement with the parts of society men involved in the world of banking and commerce moved in and his wife's duties as a hostess, he'd kept his life rigidly compartmentalized. Addie's childhood had been rural, idyllic, and disconnected as she'd been moved between family properties, enjoying all the privilege of wealth and very few of the onerous social realities. Like Charlemagne, Edith had an uneasy suspicion that Zachary Kavanaugh would have been happier with spinsters as daughters. Now, it looked like Edith was going to be the one to have to break down all the glass walls protecting her baby sister.

"A woman's life isn't like a man's, Adelaide." Edith explained and breathed out. "We want it to be more equal and we're working on it, but we're a long way from being able to do the same things."

"I know that." Addie frowned at her. "William laughed at me when I told him I wanted to be a veterinarian. He took it back later, but he laughed in the stable right in front of everyone and he was the one who was supposed to be taking me to see the horses and letting me feed them and things."

Well, that explains how she got off on the wrong foot with our sweetest footman.

"Which was wrong of him, but there are worse things that can happen." Edith breathed in again and tried to think of what to say. "One of the worst things that can happen is that, well, when a man does something to you, you're blamed for it because you're a woman."

Addie stared at her without comprehension, her little brows knitted in confusion and unhappiness. If Edith had any idea how often she'd turned that expression on her mother, she might have had a moment's deep fellow-feeling for Lady Grantham. It was strangely intimidating.

"How can what someone else does be your fault?"
"Because it's easier to blame you than change a man's behavior. Or, really, the behavior of a lot of men who are all powerful and older."

"Like what happened to Buddy?"

Edith winced. She'd only heard about the incident through letters, but it had left her with a terrible taste in her mouth. A year or so after she'd moved to America, her father had hired a black driver. The new chauffer had gotten accused at one point of behaving inappropriately towards a white maid. While looking into it had quickly revealed that the maid had been stealing and trying to cover it up by redirecting blame, the chauffer was still dismissed. It was easier to find a new driver than deal with the inevitable fallout and rumor had they kept the black servant on after such an accusation.

"Like what happened then, yes." Edith rubbed a hand over her face. "Which shouldn't have happened, just like Mary should just be able to go to a doctor in England and everyone mind their own business, but that isn't what will happen."

"Mary's reputation would be ruined if they knew she was sick?" Addie looked at her, frowning, and those steel-colored eyes widened as her voice lowered in horror. "She's not pregnant, is she? You're not going to – to-."

"No!" Edith assured her sister quickly, petting at her and drawing her into a hug. "No, Mary wouldn't do that. I wouldn't help her. It's against the law."

"Oh, because I heard that some girls up in the mountains in Virginia use sticks and-."

"Who on earth told you that?"

"Mrs. Franklin said that poor white trash-."

"Mrs. Franklin is lucky she didn't come to Britain with us, because I'd have dismissed her, and she'd have had to find her own way back to Maryland." Edith huffed. "Can you imagine Mrs. Hughes ever saying something like that?"

"No." Addie made a face and looked away. "But – but Mrs. Hughes is always looking at me like she knows things about me that she doesn't. Mr. Carson is worse. He's always judging you with his eyebrows, and Thomas says he doesn't like Americans."

"Yes, well, that doesn't mean he doesn't like you." Edith couldn't help accepting the moment of levity greatly. "Mr. Carson seems like he's a great serious owl looking down on all the barn mice, but he's really a kind man."

Kinder to some than others, but everyone in that house plays favorites.

"That's not important right now, though." Edith went on, pushing away the past. "What's important is that you know we can't talk about Mary being sick, but that I didn't want to lie to you. I just had to be careful that nobody else overheard when I told you."

"Are we telling Thomas."

"We're not telling him anything specific." Edith hedged. "But he doesn't need to know what Mary's doing, because he's our butler now, right?"

"Yes!"

It was just the right note. Addie's possessiveness totally approved. She had been delighted to hire on her friend as their butler.

"Alright then, you know what we're doing." Edith went on. "We're going to drop Mary off and if anyone asks, she's at a spa enjoying herself in France while we go on to Salzburg."

"Where we'll see Omma and Onkle Klaus." Addie agreed, dismissing Mary now that she had greater concerns and amusements before her. "Can we go to Vienna too? When are we going back to Downton? Are we going back to Downton or getting our own place, since we have our own butler?"

"We'll be staying at Downton, but we're not going back for around two months." Edith promised. "It's May now, and we need to get back by September so that you can start school, remember?"

Addie paused and some internal battle seemed to be going on. Edith raised her eyebrows. Her sister caved with visible reluctance.

"We didn't bring any of my books are school things. Are we skipping lessons since we're on holiday?"

Edith groaned as she realized another thing they'd forgotten.

"No, we're going shopping. We'll just… add school things to all the clothes and luggage we're going to need."

"Books?"

"Of course."

And Edith noted that she hoped everything on this mad trip resolved itself as easily as Addie's worries.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thomas Barrow reflected that he might have slightly overestimated the ease with which one might preform the greater duties that came with the greater pay and prestige of certain household positions. Not to mention the cost of currying a certain sort of reputation. Namely, working as hard as he had to convinced Adelaide that he knew everything there was to know about handling things. She'd helpfully passed this confidence onto her guardian. Looking down at the list in his hand, Barrow took a deep drag of the gasper he'd just lit and started marshalling his scrambling thoughts.

Accommodations in Le Havre. On the modest end, DISCRETE.

Send 5 telegrams - destinations 2 Downton, 1 each: Loxley, London, Salzburg.

Post letters – 5 total.

Arrange light shopping, Le Havre – immediate clothing needs. Ladies & yourself.

Arrange transport to Paris.

Arrange accommodations in Paris. As expected, no need for discretion.

Arrange shopping, Paris.

Arrange transport and accommodations – Paris to Salzburg. Route undecided.

This was the list Miss Edith had put into his hand. A list that Barrow could admit resembled the vague lists that he'd seen the earl hand Carson before. There was only one problem.

Carson had decades of experience working with the Granthams. Anywhere the earl's family went they had either referrals or a history with some established hotel or shop. There were introductions to be made. Local society to be visited. There were connections to draw on.

Fidgeting with the pencil he'd lifted from an unwatchful clerk on the train to Portsmouth, Thomas began to frantically scribble on the stationary list. He needed so much information. He needed to ask questions, but it would hardly do any good to ask, would it? Miss Edith had no more idea than he did, and it was his job to know. He'd been angling for this for months. Was he going to fumble the first challenge?

Oh, wait, there was a second problem, time. It was currently early afternoon. They were to arrive in Le Havre in two hours. By that point, he was supposed to have wired ahead via the ship's systems and gotten their accommodations settled.

His mind tugged at him to figure out why they were going on this crazy trip. There was something up with Lady Mary. For instance, why didn't his list include arrangements for her spa holiday? Did they expect him to believe Lord Grantham was paying for it? Did they expect him to believe that Edith was paying for it out of the goodness of her heart? Just because Mary felt under a little stress to marry? After that whole mess with the Turk, no less, and Thomas knew more of that than they knew, or at least suspected a few things.

He resisted the urge to ask Lady Mary if he should be planning her way to Switzerland. Instead, he took a deep breath and tugged on his tie briefly. He didn't speak French. What did he know about Le Havre? He remembered the places in Paris that were in Carson's book. He'd spent long enough rifling through the thing and copying it down, but there was nothing for the coastal city. What was he supposed to do?

Flicking the finished stub of cigarette over the railing, he pulled another from his pocket and reminded himself there were bright points. He'd be getting some new clothes – both livery and personal -, courtesy of his new employers. He wouldn't be paying for them, either! Patting himself down looking for another book of matches he tried to look up on other levels. They were going to Paris. Not an unfriendly city, to unfortunates like him. Certainly, better than dour Hastings was for that poor bastard, Ulverston.

Ignoring the wave of sympathy that hit him, he checked his coat pockets too and resisted the urge to curse as he held the unlit gasper between his lips. He couldn't find the damned matches. He couldn't forget the utter devastation and terror in Harold Ulverston's eyes. He couldn't forget Addie's disappointment that the man hadn't offered her some kind of explanation or – or something.

There was nothing wrong with my brother!

The words kept inching into his mind whenever he was quiet for a few minutes. The tearful defense. The hopeful way she'd looked at Ulverston, like he was someone to her, not just her brother's dirty secret. Adrian Kavanaugh had paid for his lover's university, and they'd lived together in London while James Kavanaugh pretended his twin was wandering Europe with him. Both the siblings he'd told had kept his secrets. Had backed Adrian Kavanaugh to the hilt.

Was it the money? Was it America? Were you better than me? What the hell did you do to get that from them when my own father would rather have had me dead, and my sister pretends I am most of the time?

A book of matches in a neatly kept male hand appeared at the edge of his vision and Thomas let a breath out and looked up, reaching for it.

"Thanks, mate."

"Entirely welcome, Mr. Barrow."

His eyes met the bland, unreadable, brown gaze of Nicholas Stewart and Thomas Barrow resisted the urge to curse as the Valet met his gaze levelly.

So much for discrete.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"See, I told you Thomas could do it."

"Barrow could do it." Mary corrected the girl automatically. "He's your butler now, it's only polite to use his surname now."

She got a sideways glare for her trouble, but she did note it wasn't quite as virulent a glare as it had once been.

"He's my friend too."

Mary was about to correct that when Edith's somewhat harried voice interrupted.

"We'll let Barrow decide how he wants Addie to refer to him. He's a grown man and more than capable of making up his own mind."

"And of finding all the things we need."

"And that too."

Satisfied, the girl turned back to examining the book spread out in front of her. The Wildlife of the Alps had been found in a bookstore during Barrow's foray out into town after they'd settled into their hotel. It had been a godsend in Mary's opinion. Requests to go exploring had stopped. The girl's requests for Edith to translate every sign or snatch of overheard conversation had stopped. The energy had cut off and Edith's little sister had mercifully sprawled on the small sofa and buried her nose in the thing, sparing them more of the energy possessed by a ten-year-old girl.

"Barrow is an excellent butler." Edith agreed with that calm that Mary was starting to understand the source of; she needed it while responsible for a small human being. "That said, it's nine o'clock."

The girl groaned and Mary could have wept as she watched Edith stand up and chivy the girl off to bed. Getting up from the small, uncomfortable chair she'd been occupying, Mary threw herself down onto the sofa that the girl had vacated. It was much more comfortable than her proper perch.

Their accommodations were, Mary noted, not quite something she'd wrinkle her nose at, but they weren't first water, either. She was satisfied that they wouldn't be seen before they wanted to be, however, and she was more relieved than she could say that she was going to be alright.

Tomorrow. You'll go to the clinic tomorrow. Edith wired the money to the spa, too. If asked they'll neither confirm nor deny you're there and with their reputation, everyone will take that as confirmation I'm having rest and beauty treatment in Bordeaux. In a month at most everything will be fine again, and I'll never have to experience this pain or humiliation again. I can go home and get on with my life.

Reassured that the telephone calls, telegrams, and everything else she and Edith had scrambled to do before leaving Portsmouth had borne fruit, Mary relaxed a little, staring at the pattern of light off the street behind the sheer curtains. Edith returned. Mary watched her sister collapse into the chair she'd vacated.

"What are you thinking?"

You're far more my sister than my cousin, even now, and I don't deserve it and how can I live with owing you so much?

"I'm thoroughly angry that I'm going to spend the next month wearing whatever a treatment frock is courtesy of the clinic laundry service while you go shopping in Paris."

"I've already decided that I'm going to send Sybil at least three pairs of trousers."

Mary let out a soft laugh despite her exhaustion and the pain she was in.

"Papa's probably verging on apoplexy, Edith, let's not push him all the way?"

"Alright." Edith's lips turned up. "I'll send them to Branson and let him smuggle them to her. Papa will be none the wiser."

"Hasn't Sybil gotten the poor chauffer in enough trouble?"

"Probably, but the man must enjoy it if he's still willing to take Sybil to political rallies." Edith yawned widely, barely getting her hand up to cover her mouth. "Sorry."

Mary could have commented on that bit of poor manners… but she was exhausted as well. It wasn't even past the dinner hour! She felt a million years old and… used.

"How are you feeling?"

Mary sneered at her automatically.

"Oh, I'm just wonderful. Our parents are probably worried out of their minds. Goodness knows what kind of rumors are going to come from this even with Mama likely trying to pass it off as youthful adventuring, and in case you haven't-."

"Mary, how are you feeling?"

"Like dirty laundry."

Edith looked at her for a long moment, then stood.

"I don't think they've had their wiring looked at since Edward VII's coronation, but their plumbing is quite nice. Hot bath?"

"You're running it?"

"Yes, Mary, I'll run your bath for you. I'll even lay out some towels and help you with your corset."

Edith's tone was less than kind.

"Don't put yourself out."

Mary's wasn't a bit better.

Edith stared at her. Mary stared back. Slowly, the older woman felt her face heat. Could she have made a more ridiculous statement as a put down? Especially considering everything Edith had just done for her. Edith's lips began to twitch. Mary tried to stifle the urge to let out a hysterical giggle. To her horror, it came out of her nose as a porcine snort. Edith immediately began to giggle.

"Don't worry, Mary, I'm sure that once you're feeling more yourself, you'll be so much more insulting."

"Oh, I will."

Mary's promise produced more laughter and neither girl was willing to disrupt the fragile soap-bubble of fellow feeling with another word. Edith did indeed run Mary a bath – if it wasn't quite as warm as Mary liked, these things happened and could be blamed on French plumbing – and help her with her corset. Then they both retreated to the small rooms attached to the little sitting room to get some sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, Stewart?"

His valet offered him a small, tight smile as he settled in across from his employer at the taller man's invitation. The shared room that Anthony had secured quickly in Le Havre was modest and comfortable, tucked in an out-of-the-way nook that was difficult to find. Undecorated by signage, it was no more apparent than any house in town. Besides two single beds – one of which Anthony would have preferred was at least a foot longer – it also had two comfortable chairs facing each other across a small table.

"I was correct, sir." The younger man didn't waste a moment or a word in describing the situation. "Mr. Barrow is sharp as they come, but that can't make up for having no French and no experience."

"He accepted your assistance?"

"With the absolute worst grace possible and just the right note of unwilling desperation."

"Desperate men are dangerous." Anthony pointed out, then let a breath out. "We know their plans now?"
"You were right about the Lady Mary splitting off and going elsewhere. Miss Edith and Miss Adelaide do appear to be going to Salzburg to visit her relatives there after a stay in Paris."

"I would say that's a relief, only I made inquiries of my own."

Technically he'd bribed a pair of clerks Edith had used when making arrangements from Portsmouth. As he'd suspected, they involved the Lady Mary. As he'd expected, they'd also been the sort of thing that needed to be hushed up. As expected, Anthony was mortified to know any of it.

He was also a little bit proud of how Edith had tried to cover her trail. She'd done a fairly good job of it, but he'd made a point to obscure things further. It was one thing to cover things up to the extent a parent might not be able to follow his children's progress. It was another matter to cover things up well enough to dissuade a determined man with some experience in such things. Such as a society columnist.

"I hope Lady Mary is alright?"

"The lady shall be fine."

From what he'd gathered she was headed to a very discrete little clinic an hour or so north of Le Havre by auto. Not the spa that her telegrams had suggested she was residing in. Lady Mary would be picked up and transported there the next morning. Where, gathering from what he'd knew of the place's very quiet reputation, she would receive treatment for a complaint better not mentioned.

He had warned Robert that Mr. Pamuk was as well-used as an old hansom cab.

"Anyway, that's not our main concern." Anthony said firmly. "She'll be quite safe at the spa she's staying at, and I've already sent off a telegram to Lord Grantham. She's his daughter and he's responsible for her welfare, so he can deal with her slipping off like this."

"Very good, sir." Stewart cleared his throat. "And the rest of the ladies?"

Anthony shook his head and scowled.

"Getting Lady Mary settled is just part of this. We still don't know why Miss Edith, or her little sister saw the need to have so much cash on hand. Their travel arrangements," excluding the clinic, "and costs of this trip can all be done without needing a note on them. Lady Mary is physically safe, but that doesn't mean that there isn't more going on. For one, why Paris?"

Stewart nodded seriously and Anthony was all too grateful to pour them both a good measure of the brandy he'd secured for their room. Not enough to reduce their capacity, but enough to help both of them sleep. Exhausted though he was, Anthony's mind was rushing onward through every possible danger that Edith and her sister might be facing.

Given that it appeared someone was aware of Lady Mary's likely indisposition blackmail still seemed very likely. The question was, who? Did that necessitate their trip to Paris, which Anthony had advised against, and Edith had agreed likely wouldn't be good for her sister's health.

"What's your feeling about Barrow?"

"Too slick by half, sir." Stewart didn't even hesitate. "He was as slippery as an eel when it came to their plans until he realized there was no way to get away from me on the boat over. Then, when he realized he didn't have the experience or the skills to do the job he's managed to get himself into, he was more than willing to keep our presence secret in return for help – not that I don't think he'd turn around and betray us as soon as breathe if something was in it for him."

"Do you think he could be caught up in this?"
"Could? Yes, sir." Anthony's man made a face. "But as for knowing? That I cannot say."

Anthony rubbed a hand over his face and ran what few facts he had over in his mind.

He knew that Lady Mary Crawley had reserved a space in a highly discrete private clinic that specialized in treating social diseases. While this alone might have prompted a trip to France, it certainly didn't require all of the girls to leave at once, in his mind. The Crawley family could have handled it discretely on their own, not the least by having Mary escort her grandmother to France for a vacation. Such an event was understandable and far more in line with the hostile relationship established between Edith and Lady Mary.

He knew that Edith had lied. There was no evidence that Mrs. Bauer was injured, and while it appeared that plans had been changed to visiting her in Salzburg where she lived with her son, Professor Klaus Bauer, the reality was that there was no reason for that. Plans were still being made for both the Bauers to come to France and meet the small Kavanaugh family there in June. A full month later than their current travel arrangements.

He also knew that they hadn't merely lied to him. They'd lied to Mr. Branagh. A man who had some very real influence on their lives as the most senior of several financial agents and solicitors involved in watching over both ladies, with considerable emphasis on Miss Adelaide's arrangements until her sister came of age in a year. The solicitor had been led to arrange that the changed plans originated on the Bauer's end of things, owing to Mrs. Bauer's reluctance to travel.

Then there was the money. Anthony was fully aware of Miss Edith and her sister's inheritance. He was also aware that neither of the ladies used anything near the full amount of their allowances, which were, in turn, rather beneath the actual income from their fortunes. That was largely the reason why Edith had been able to arrange the trip so easily.

Last year, according to Mr. Branagh, the monthly allowance allotted to Miss Edith alone was just over a thousand pounds. The monthly allowance atop that coming from her sister's accounts, was over four-hundred pounds. That was a total of fifteen hundred plus pounds per month.

Anthony himself was a wealthy man. His income from his estate and his investments was actually slightly higher than that amount. It was not more significant than the total income from Edith's half of the Kavanaugh fortune would be when she either came of age or married.

There will be arguments over whether you are more of a cradle robber or a fortune hunter.

Anthony rubbed a hand over his face and reminded himself that, last year, even with the expenses of moving house, Miss Edith had lived on considerably less than the fullness of her income. Her total expenses, excepting funerals, taxes, moving, and all the exceptional expenses she'd incurred recently would probably come out slightly more than a thousand pounds a year.

Either way, allowance funds she didn't spend were more easily accessed for the girls. Edith had complete access to the accounts that they were stored in. Which had made withdrawing more than a thousand pounds from one of those accounts a simple matter of walking into the bank and doing so.

Which brought him right back to needing to know why and the terrible certainty that the threat that had forced her to do so was in Paris.

"I think we'd both best turn in Stewart. We'll have a full plate tomorrow." Anthony stood up, wincing as his knees cracked.

"With any luck, you'll hear from your friend in Scotland Yard, sir?"
"Yes, with luck." Anthony agreed. "If Thomas Barrow's ever been in trouble before, he'll find it."