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).

7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: The story carries on and Edith and Anthony finally have a good talk. Thomas can't quite help himself. Things are revealed that were secret, and logic is given a little exercise.

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.

SPECIAL THANKS go to the Classicist, who has built a wonderful fanon family for Anthony. Diana, her husband and children, as well as Anthony's parents belong entirely to her.

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June 1913

"Good evening, Mademoiselle. Shall we sort this out before the night gets any older?"

Dr. Claude Mercier was perhaps fifty-six or fifty-seven-years-old. Small, thin, and wiry there was something birdlike about him. Though he was fine boned, with a delicately featured face, he didn't remind one of a sparrow or wren. Instead, with his small, thin-bridged nose and sharp hazel gaze, there was a definitely shade of kestrel about the man.

"Good evening, Monsieur." Edith greeted him in return as Barrow let the man into their suite. "I am very sorry to bother you like this."

"It is no bother at all." The man offered a ready smile under a thick, uncombed shock of gray hair. His English was impeccable and his French accent soft with rounder vowels than the Parisian accents that had surrounded Edith of late. "Do you have any idea how long it has been since I have had a chance to drag Sir Anthony out of his fusty English academic shell and force him through a night of actual entertainment? The price of my house call shall be an absolutely wretched hangover, I am afraid I must be ungentlemanly enough to tell you, Miss Kavanaugh, and I shall collect as soon as we've handled matters here."

Edith tried to summon a smile but was afraid that she could not. She'd ushered Anthony out of her suite after their exchange, but she'd hardly had time to process it. The door had shut behind the baronet not ten minutes before and between her earlier fears that her sister was potentially poisoned, probably blackmailed, and who knew what else, Edith could hardly be expected to categorize what she felt about a declaration of love atop it all!

One thing at a time, Edith reminded herself firmly, Addie first.

"Just so you know, our anxious mutual friend spoke to me on the way up." Mercier went on as they slowly crossed the room, and the man patted her hand comfortingly beneath a wry smile. "As I expected, his initial panic was simply that."

"You must think me terribly silly."

"You're hardly the one who called me, cloaking panic in a long recitation of very pertinent information that has nothing to do with what I actually need to know, Miss Kavanaugh."

"Yes, but-."

"Ah, none of that!" He waggled one slender, tapered finger at her and shushed at her with a clearly gallic verve adding light to his greenish brown eyes. "Things happen with children. Adults panic around them. Then, in the end, it is usually alright – as I should well know as my wife has blessed me with eleven of the terrors!"

"Oh, my."

"Quite my reaction, but I don't suppose I can wholly blame her for their existence, despite my best efforts."

Edith managed a wan smile at the humor and then gave up all pretense of anything but cooperation. Knocking quietly, she led the man into the bedroom. Addie was still sitting up against pillows propped on the headboard. Her sister looked drawn, tired, pale, and decidedly annoyed. Edith sent a quick and humble plea to heaven that her sister would just cooperate with this doctor for once.

"Addie, this is Dr. Mercier, Sir Anthony's friend. Doctor, this is my younger sister, Adelaide Kavanaugh."

"Miss Kavanaugh the Younger, yes." The doctor settled a battered black bag at the foot of the bed and, without asking permission, pulled a chair from the wall, turned it so that its back faced then bed, straddled it, and then sank down with his arms crossed over the back. "How do you do?"

Edith blinked and shot Barrow, who had followed them into the room to stand unobtrusively beside the door, an arch look. Internally, she was of course annoyed by the lack of manners. Externally she was merely surprised by… everything.

Truly, everything, that had happened to her in the last not-quite-four-days had left her in a state of shock. What was one more thing?

"Very well, thank you, how are you doctor?" Addie answered politely by rote, as she was taught, but she was casting a suspicious look at the older man. "I'm fine, really, Sir Anthony and Edith overreacted."

"Well, have not had the benefit of knowing you or your sister well enough to say, but overreaction is something that occasionally plagues my friend Sir Anthony. I believe it is attributable to his habit of worrying for anyone and everyone around him. I have tried to get him to relax and accept the inevitable pitfalls of life, but what is a man to do? I have come to believe that c'est la vie is antithetical to the English constitution."

Addie didn't seem to know what to say to that anymore than Edith did, though Edith was tempted to take up for her countrymen. As it was, the older gentleman had more to say.

"So, Miss Kavanaugh the Younger, allow me to tell you what I know and you may tell me if I am wrong, yes?"

"I can do that, sir."

"Well, the data I have been given is as follows:" The man raised his hands and leant forward until his chest pressed against the padded oval chairback and began to tick points off on his fingers. "Earlier you ate a larger meal than usual, of more varied composition, and were very sick perhaps halfway through."

"Yes."

The man reached out then, snagged his back, and withdrew a small notebook. Fluttering the pages, he opened it to a point and then handed it to Addie. Edith watched, surprised, as this action produced cooperation from her sister. Oh, she still looked suspicious, but Edith began to feel the first hint of real relief in the evening as her little sister willingly looked in the book and then back at the physician for further instruction.

"This is what we had for dinner."

"Yes, Sir Anthony made a point to tell me over the telephone when summoning me from my own dinner." Mercier scoffed and fans of wrinkles compacted around his eyes with a smile. "Is it accurate?"

"Yes." Addie agreed, frowning consideringly as she passed the little notebook back. "But I'm not sick anymore. I just feel a little queasy and I'm tired. I haven't been poisoned so I don't see why I need a doctor. You are a doctor, aren't you? Sir Anthony said you were more like a scientist."

"Like a scientist! Oh, I shall have at him for that indignity." Mercier, who was wearing a rather modest sort of gray suit, tugged at his tie and muttered lowly in offended French to himself for a few seconds before resuming his comfortable reverse slouch over the chairback. "Miss Kavanaugh the Younger-."

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Because it is accurate, it amuses me, and I can see in that mirror over the vanity to your left," Mercier pointed and all eyes in the room suddenly met his in the mirror. "that it makes your sister smile."

Edith blinked in surprise.

"And I do enjoy seeing people smile."

Addie's lips twitched upwards, just barely, and slightly unwillingly. The older man blazed onward without a hint of worry or any of the normal wise and grave bedside manner that physicians used to impart the seriousness of their professional dignity to Adelaide.

"Now, as I was saying Miss Kavanaugh the Younger, I am indeed a scientist. To be precise, I am a Professor of Biological Chemistry at the University here in Paris."

"But you're a doctor too?"

"My main work is in developing medication, so I thought it behooved me to learn how it would be used so I might understand my work better."

"That makes sense."

"I rather thought so."

Edith had sincere doubts about the idea of the man before her living live as a non-practicing doctor. The bag he carried was far too well-worn to sit on a dusty shelf. He also handled himself with a confidence that, to her, she didn't think would come to a man who was faced with a sick child after years in a laboratory. Taking up a seat in a chair tucked against the wall, however, Edith made herself small and quiet. She had no intention of interrupting success in the making.

"I don't want to take any medicine. Everything I've ever been given has made it worse."

"Made what worse?"

Adelaide stared at the older man as if he'd just asked if the sky was blue.

"My being sick and never hungry and all of that. You know, what Sir Anthony called you over and all of the grownups are always making such a fuss over."

"True, but you are the one who is sick and that makes you a far better source of information, does it not?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"Data is the driving force of science, Miss Kavanaugh the Younger, don't ever forget that." Mercier's jolly, teasing, exterior grew serious. "Accurate, varied, and plentiful data is how we learn everything about the world around us, or, in your case, the world inside us. That is why I need you to tell me precisely what was worse."

"And then?"

"And then what?"

"That's what I want to know!" Addie huffed, scowling again with her thin little hands fisted on the silk coverlet over her lap. "Dr. Mercier, every time I have to talk to a doctor something happens and I want to know what it is."

"I cannot make a hypothesis until I have the data, but may I ask another question."

Addie's mulish expression punctured and deflated all of Edith's hope, but Mercier did not seem phased.

"When you say that something happens, do you perhaps mean something is done to you?"

"Isn't that what doctors usually do?"

"I have never concerned myself overmuch with what others do." Mercier shrugged, but sat back slightly, then nodded to himself as if he had come to a decision. "Miss Adelaide, you are familiar with the term diagnosis."

It wasn't a question, but Addie made a rude noise and Edith was on the very edge of correcting it when she caught a tiny, nearly invisible, hand gesture from Mercier waving her not to. She clamped her mouth shut and watched.

"I've had dozens of them."

"And yet you still complain of nausea and lack of appetite."

"They haven't changed anything?"

"No."

"And the treatments that I have no doubt followed?"

"They just make everything worse!" Addie glared as if the man's breathing offended her. As Edith expected, after the stresses of the day, an explosion happened. Sitting up straighter, her little sister's fists unclenched, and her hands fluttered up to rush about fluttering like a startled covey. "If it wasn't paregoric, it was purges – as if I wasn't throwing up enough – or castor oil or fish oil or powdered nicotine-."

"Pardon?" Mercier's amusement turned to unfeigned alertness. "They put you on powdered nicotine?"

"An expert from Boston suggested it to encourage her appetite three years ago." Edith filled in before Addie could get too deeply buried in her outrage. "I tipped it down the drain after the first dose. Her heart raced, her breathing was shallow, and she was dreadfully sick and lethargic."

"God has created some wonderful things, but the diversity of his idiots astounds me." Mercier huffed out, startling a laugh out of both Edith and her sister and a suspicious huffing sound from Barrow, who was still standing at stiff attention beside the door. "Miss Adelaide, all humor aside, allow me to assure you that I will not be poisoning you tonight under the guise of medicine."

Edith's sister blinked at him awkwardly.

"Thank you?"

"You are most welcome. Now, will you tell me what has helped?"

"Oh, uh…" Addie turned and Edith caught her sister's eye, smiling encouragingly.

"Go ahead, Addie, you're the one who doesn't feel well. You tell him."

Edith sat back and listened as her sister spoke and wondered if she was one of God's diverse idiots. In all the years she'd been part of the Kavanaugh family – fully half of her sister's lifetime – they'd fought so fiercely to see her get the best treatment. They'd called in every expert. They'd done whatever they'd been told and attempted every treatment. What they hadn't done, Edith realized, was offer her sister some control over what was being done to her. No wonder she always fights.

Part of that had been their father. Edith loved and missed Zachary Kavanaugh deeply. Nothing could have made her happier than her father's lanky, loud, stride carrying him into a room, or hearing the sound of his deep Texas drawl creeping into the room on a cloud of aggravation again. The fact that she would never have that hurt like a broken bone hurt; set wrong and never quite healing.

That did not make him a perfect man. Edith and Adelaide's father had, at times, been intolerant of change or other opinions. His ferocity in defending what he cared for made him the best of friends, but it could also make him overprotective. He'd hated feeling powerless and, as a result, refused to allow himself to feel that way. Which, in turn, meant occasional overinvolvement.

Edith had tried to ease away from that somewhat. She had ceased consulting experts on her sister's health and talked to Addie about it personally. The only time she wavered is if her sister started losing weight, and then she only spoke to Clarkson, who she knew and trusted to some extent.

This, Edith acknowledged as she listened to her sister describe her symptoms hesitantly to Mercier, is better.

"Hm." Mercier mused on what had been said to him, taking a few more notes in his notebook and tipping it as he did so in order for Addie to see his writing. Writing, Edith noted, he was specifically making in English despite some of the other notations she'd seen having been in French. "Miss Adelaide, to be honest, studying digestion puts medicine and science at a disadvantage. You see, we cannot view the process."

"Well, no, it's inside people. Though I've seen x-ray pictures before."

"As have I, and they are a fascinating new technology. No doubt to be of great use, as we grow more familiar with how to use it." The older man agreed. "But they are far better for bones than soft organs like our stomach or intestines."

"Yes, they would be."

"As I was saying, we are at a disadvantage here, but I think we can make some conjectures, hm?"

"Guesses."

"Educated guesses. That is what the data is for!" Mercier chided, then swept on. "You, Miss Adelaide, feel full after only eating a little bit. You also often vomit when you eat too much, or food that is too heavy. Nor do you relieve yourself as often as others."

Addie nodded, though she looked embarrassed. Mercier ignored this. Instead, he tapped his finger thoughtfully on the notebook as he sat, focused on Adelaide as if she were a colleague he was discussing a problem with.

"I see two possibilities. One, the food may move more slowly through your body. Two, your body may simply not be able to process the food you consume well. Do those things make sense?"

"I suppose so… most of the other doctors thought my stomach was too small and I needed to stretch it."

"I am going to develop a low opinion of the physicians of America if you go on much longer, Miss Adelaide." A highly patriotic, French, smirk followed. "They can keep the Englishmen I already disdain company, hm?"

Addie, who always enjoyed a good insult thrown at a doctor, nodded and smiled.

"Well, there we have it then!" The man rose, turning the chair back around and replacing it in its original position. "We have two hypotheses. That leaves us to gather more information to support them and, perhaps, test them later in some way. Data first."

"How are we going to get more data, though? I already know how my stomach works!"

"Yes, but now we shall collect it properly." Mercier turned to Edith then and gestured between the sisters with a quiet level wave of his hand. "Miss Kavanaugh the Elder, I suggest you acquire a journal for your sister. In it, she needs to record what she eats everyday and how she responds to it in detail. Miss Kavanaugh the Younger, you must make sure your recordings are honest, even when they are embarrassing such as regarding the regularity of waste management, if you take my meaning."

Addie made a face, but nodded with a sort of surprised agreement.

"You're not giving me medicine or a new diet or putting me on bedrest?"

"I suggest you rest until you feel better and have a good lie-in tomorrow. Then again, I always suggest a lie-in. I can't have one, so someone should enjoy the privilege."

Behind Edith, Barrow snorted in amusement, then tried to turn it into a cough.

"The only thing I need from you, mademoiselle, is a blood sample." Mercier smiled and gestured to his case. "If you would allow it, that is."

"What would you do with a blood sample?"

"Test it, of course, to see if the parts of your blood are balanced and even, or if there is anything unexpected chemically."

"Could there be?"

"Possibly, but not likely." Mercier smiled in his easy, mischievous way. "However, no matter what else, it is more data. I can always use more of that, even if it does not help us determine why you feel as you do, perhaps it shall help me in some other way while studying some other thing, hm? You never know."

Adelaide, after a moment's thought, proffered her arm and began to roll up the cotton sleeve of her nightgown. Mercier, efficient to the last, produced the appropriate paraphernalia from his bag. A few moments and a plaster later and Edith was seeing the doctor out as the man refused any offer of thanks or payment.

"Nonsense. I will not hear of it." Mercier chuckled. "Your sister is a fine young girl, and you are a delight for my sad old eyes and heart. I am pleased to have met you both and I am walking out of this room with a free blood sample to study to my heart's content and knowing that everyone I leave here feels better, not worse. A fine day's work for which I will be amply paid in excellent spirits by my overly worried friend."

"But surely-."

"Ah!" Mercier waved an index finger at her with mock threat, then with an audacious wink, the older man snatched up Edith's hand, pressed a dry kiss on her fingers, and had opened and closed the door behind himself before Barrow could see to it. Edith let out a sigh and, behind her, heard the butler echo it. Closing her eyes, she noted that her night wasn't nearly done.

"Barrow, I'm going to get Addie properly tucked in and settled for the night. Afterward, I would care for some tea and something light from the kitchen. Please have something sent up."

"Of course, ma'am."

And then, Edith thought grimly, we shall also have a touch of conversation ourselves.

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"Well, out with it!"

Anthony glared, but Claude Mercier was not the least bit fooled or persuaded to silence. While the older man had shed the slightly clownish air that he'd put on around the young ladies, the sharp energy of the smaller man had remained. He put it to use staring down the Englishman, who was a full foot taller than he was. Anthony caved with a soft huff.

"You really are intolerable, Claude."

"Says the man who I caught twice in bed with my sister."

Anthony flushed darkly, but was hardly going to deny the charge. It was entirely accurate, however. Still, pride demanded some response.

"I do not believe that either of us possesses the hypocrisy necessary to pretend that your older sister was in some way disadvantaged by our mutual association."

The French scientist and physician let out a chuckle and his sharp dark brows rose from their accusatory glower to rest daintily above his bright eyes. Shrugging, the man reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered silver cigarette case featuring the image of an equally worn saint. Withdrawing a cheap cigarette, Mercier accepted a match from Anthony with a nod and lit the gasper, taking a soft draw and then blowing out a thin stream of smoke.

"No, we do not. If anything, I should have taken Lisette to task for taking advantage of you. Had I realized she would do so, I might not have invited you to begin with." The older man mused, then huffed and shook his head. "That is not honest, either. I believe you and Lisette were good for each other."

Anthony allowed his expression to serve as a soliloquy of silent doubt. Mercier pointed the two fingers gripping the gasper at him. The red coal at the end drew a brief glowing impression upon the dim air of their lair.

In this case, the lair was a nearly forgotten club. Not a nightclub in the evolving modern sense, mind you. There were no questionable musicians. There was no burlesque floor show. There was a profusion of alcohol, but that was all that was questionable about the place. Halfway between a club of the sort real gentleman quietly retired to escape the pressures of the world and a bohemian café, the club was a tucked away secret of 19th century Paris that had nearly run its course. The bright young academics and scientists growing in the city had more exciting places to argue their theories and waste their nights than the faded Moroccan red leather booths with their velvet privacy curtains. As such, only a loyal and aging few still attended the place and its staff had shrunk accordingly.

It remains one of the few public places in Paris to have an entirely private conversation, however, and so why not reminisce and retain your privacy at the same time, hm?

"Do not pucker up so, Anthony!" Mercier shook his head and drew a red rectangle in the air before taking another drag of the cigarette. "Lisette felt old, used, and miserable after that wretched fool left her for good. You reminded her of what it was to be young. She was happier for it, and found another life for herself after the inevitable end of your affair."

"I had not thought of it as a transient affair, Claude."

"Which is the only grief to be had out of the whole thing."

Anthony shook his head, casting aside a mostly forgotten complaint with it.

"Everyone is young and foolish, once." Claude raised an eloquent, steel-gray eyebrow. "I take it that this is also what was behind your rather frantic call to me earlier?"

Anthony winced but when he went to demure, his friend sat forward in the booth, all gallic lounging abandoned.

"No, Anthony, I appreciate the English need for repression as much as anyone of sense can, but I insist. You called me at dinner with my family, demanded my attendance on a small child that might have been poisoned, and expressed fear for the safety of a young lady. I may not have been born a gentleman's son, but I hold myself to have earned the rank myself. What goes on here?"

Anthony winced and weighed what he could and couldn't say before sighing and taking a deep sip of the fine brandy that served as the bill for his friend's house call. He considered his words carefully.

"Miss Edith Kavanaugh is an extraordinary young woman and, finding a family member in a situation which required assistance, rendered it to the best of her ability despite having no personal reason to show any kindness to this individual."

"In other words, someone was cruel to her and she showed them kindness at her own expense, which led her rather hastily to France, hm?"

"Quite."

Anthony pulled a face and, after days of stress and quite a bit of excellent alcohol, allowed himself to relax into his exhaustion. He could all but feel the lines on his face tugging downward and his years falling across his shoulders to weigh heavily there.

"It was such a bally mess, Claude. She wouldn't trust me! I could tell that she was in trouble, and God alone knows that her – the relative in difficulty – has never shown the slightest regard for her feelings or safety. I knew there must be some trouble."

"And so you raced to save the damsel in distress, of course."

"How could I call myself a decent human being, much less a gentleman, had I not?"

"I am not judging you, merely stating the facts of the situation. You did race off to save the young ladies, did you not?"

"Well, yes." Anthony warmed up to the subject as the alcohol began to warm him. "They left precipitously from an engagement with my sister in London with only with a single servant promoted past his experience for the dubious reasons of availability and the fondness of a ten-year-old girl."

"The disturbingly handsome young butler?"

"Barrow, yes."

Claude Mercier grinned broadly.

"Given your age and clear tendre for the elder of the girls, I would have to say I would have shared your dislike for the man!"

"That – Claude, that had nothing to do with it!" Anthony spluttered. "Edith and her sister were supposed to remain in London with my sister as guests, and spend an evening or two at my own home, and they were clearly afraid and upset and Edith was unwilling to confide in me! My only concern was for Barrow's trustworthiness not some – some petty jealousy!"

"Say 'insecurity' instead, Anthony." Mercier huffed and sat forward, pinning Anthony with a raised eyebrow as he refreshed both of their drinks from the bottle on the table. "Come now, it's obvious that you're in love with your golden-eyed Edith."

Anthony flushed and sat up to his full height, looming with the sort of aggression that was normally utterly contrary to his nature. Claude, who was loomed over by simply everyone, was unmoved. If anything, he was rather tickled by it, as his smile indicated.

"Now, don't be so English about it. What have I said to suggest I disapprove, hm? Every man should be so lucky as to attract the admiration of a woman less than half his age!"

"Claude-."

"Am I wrong, or are you courting the girl?" A gallic hand waved through the air with haughty dismissal. "No, forget I spoke. Foolish words, those. If you weren't courting her, you would have hardly had her over at your sister's, or have invited her to your London home for the evening, or chased after her so. Informed her parents, yes, had a few contacts and friends keep their eyes peeled, but this flight to Paris? Non, mon bon ami, vous êtes certainement amoureux."

"Oui, et un imbécile. Comme nous le savons tous les deux." Anthony sighed and rubbed a rough hand over his face. "Claude, I – I adore her, and now I've made something of a hash of it. Not that I could do anything else…"

"But?"

"But it's rather a mess, isn't it?" Anthony shook his head and put back the rest of his brandy with an appreciative wince. "Still… Claude, I thank you for your care, but I won't gossip about her any further, you understand."

"Certainly. One does not stay married for forty years without knowing the limits. That said, you do intend to marry her."

"In the unlikely event that she'd have me. Especially now that I've mucked… anyway. Allow me to take advantage of your distinctly scientific ethics. Tell me about Miss Adelaide."

"You wish me to ignore the confidentiality between a doctor and a patient?"

"I'm quite well aware of how many interesting documents have changed hands out of your portfolio when you travel for conferences, Claude, so let's just let your ethics pass without judgement."

Mercier chuckled and shrugged, sitting back and stretching an arm along the worn red velvet plush of the booth's back.

"I took a blood sample and sent it to my laboratory to be stored until tomorrow, but I can tell you now that there will be nothing unusual in it."

"There is something wrong with the poor child's health, though, you cannot debate that."

"No, nor would I. However, I did speak to her sister." Claude raised a hand and began to tick off points on it. "It is not cancer or a physical malformation of a critical level. If it was, she would not have survived so long."

Anthony gritted his teeth, but tilted his head in grim acknowledgement.

"It is instead one of the myriad of chronic gastrological complaints that science has not identified, or is too vague to be identified specifically. One which, I gather, has been subject to all manner of quackery from so-called experts in the field."

"Celebrities who expend more effort on their social lives and reputations than science and actual patient care."

Mercier raised his glass and tipped it towards Anthony to acknowledge the unusually bitter sentiment even as he sipped the amber liquid and returned its vessel to the worn table between them.

"What she needs is a specialist with academic, rather than popular, appeal and to have her condition managed, my friend. They have done well so far. Anxiety seems to exacerbate it, as does poor weather, and certain kinds of food or eating patterns. Let the child document it under her sister's supervision, and cater to her needs. Do that and you will see her health continue to improve as it often does with these complaints. Though, I stress again, that an appropriate physician would do wonders."

"You had no problems? She can be a touch antagonistic to members of your profession."

"No doubt why you said lead with science. Which I did, and all went well enough." Mercier shook his head and checked his watch with a sigh. "I must be for home, it will be dawn soon enough and my dear wife shall have my head on a platter if I am not there before the children wake."

"Your wife is an angel and you are a lucky man."

"And so too shall you be, soon enough." Mercier stood, clapping his friend upon the shoulder as Anthony sat, enjoying the rare moment of standing over the much taller man. "Do not leave Paris without giving the angel a chance to feed you dinner, and put away your anxieties, my friend. Paris in the spring? What better place to cement your courtship, hm?"

Anthony bid his old friend goodbye and hauled himself, slightly unsteadily, from the booth. A cab waited for him, as had been prearranged, to take him back to the famed hotel. A few moments later and he was back in his suite. Unsurprised, he found that his valet was waiting for him.

"I thought I told you not to sit up, Stewart?"

"I didn't sir." The younger man replied calmly and tapped where he was wearing a simple, quilted gray dressing robe over a set of simple red flannel pajamas. "I had the front desk ring me when your cab dropped you off."

"I should have expected as much. Thank you." Anthony sighed and let his valet help him undress as well. He'd take a bit of sleep, and then get up and meet Edith. He realized belatedly that he had not asked her when she might expect to meet. "Stewart, you don't by chance know when the ladies are taking breakfast or where?"

Not that it would be appropriate to meet them so early, but…

"I have it from an acquaintance on the hotel staff, sir, that the ladies shall not be leaving their suite tomorrow. Meals will be called for, and a hotel maid is to be put on call tomorrow while Barrow devotes himself to making their travel arrangements."

Anthony twisted even as he shrugged into his pajama shirt, having luckily already secured the trousers.

"They're leaving early?"

"That I have not gathered."

"So, Barrow is no longer relying on you for assistance."

"No, sir, he's regrettably discovered the existence of all the various travel agents, consultants, and other staff available to a man in his position and a lady of Miss Edith's wealth." Stewart shook his head slightly. "While it had not escaped him that he was doing the work of two footmen, and occasionally a hall boy and man-of-all-work besides at Downton, his resentment didn't stretch to the realization that Carson often forays into the territory of a private secretary and half-a-dozen other household jobs besides, when the situation calls for it."

"Until now."

"Until now, sir, yes."

Stewart's tone was rueful, and Anthony sighed in agreement. Having been able to get something over on the butler had been useful. It had not only allowed him to keep Edith safe by knowing where she was and what was happening in her life, but it had allowed his valet to keep a close personal eye on the man. One that Anthony was still loathe to part with.

And not because I'm jealous of his looks or youth, honestly!

"Forgive me if I am overstepping, sir, but it strikes me that Miss Edith was entirely too forgiving and permissive with the man."

"Oh, I agree entirely, Stewart." Anthony huffed out a breath and sat down on the bed and gestured his valet towards a chair. Stewart gave the informality the barest moment's consideration before sinking down opposite the baronet as they both settled comfortably into the quiet strategy meeting with the slow red glow cresting the horizon seeping through the cracks between the curtains.

"It's not the man's personal situation." Anthony went on, scratching thoughtfully at his ear. "I have nothing but sympathy for his abuse at school. In too many schools a blind eye is turned, or it's encouraged by the worst sort of staffing choices, and the vulnerable suffer."

Anthony didn't need to say that Thomas Barrow, as a scholarship boy with a working-class background and a chip on his shoulder, would have been an instant target in any sort of public school. To add to the danger, he had no doubt that Barrow had been a pretty lad. Having inclinations of his own, well, an actual target on his back wouldn't have been any less obvious. Anthony was genuinely sorry that Barrow, or anyone, had to suffer through that in a place meant for safety and education.

That said, the Crowborough situation bothered him. It was another case where Barrow had undoubtedly been the victim. Crowborough was not much older than Barrow, but between those few years, his rank, wealth, and having been Barrow's employer the entire affair – and Anthony did not doubt that an affair had been precisely what occurred given Crowborough's reputation – was murky as the Thames at low tide. The boy had clearly been used, led into unfortunate situations, and then discarded. It was a pattern with that ducal lout.

"Stewart, forgive me for asking, but what is your particular opinion on the man?"

His valet sat back slightly in the shadows, his fingers threading together over his stomach in thought. With the dark tones of his night clothes and the dim light filtering through the curtains the only light in the room beyond a single distant lamp near the door, it threw the younger man's features into a relief so severe he was nearly silhouette. It also emphasized the man's normally ambiguous features.

To even the most practiced eye, Nicholas Stewart's face was impossible to read and his features impossible to place. His broad, highly arched nose could pass easily for middle eastern heritage, but the thickness of his black brows and the dark shadow of his beard had fooled more than one native into thinking his antecedents from the Carpathians. His melting brown eyes had fooled Indian, Arab, and Spaniard alike – and Anthony had once shared a good laugh with Stewart over a rather pushy Greek woman who'd thought Stewart her long absent son.

The truth, however, was that Stewart had been born in Eastern Canada. His heritage was Iroquois, and he had his own troubled history with charity schooling. Driven away from his culture by years of absence in said schools, he'd enlisted young in the British Army under a new name and Anthony had been lucky enough to cross his path then. Luckier still, the younger man had come to trust him enough to speak of his past, and while Anthony wouldn't breath a living word of it, he did feel it was warranted that he speak to someone who truly understood whatever Barrow's situation must have been.

"My particular opinion on him as he is, or his past, sir?"

"Both, if such a question is not overstepping."

"Not at all." Stewart considered and then shook his head, light from the window carving red wings under his cheekbones. "I don't know him well enough to say, but regarding his being drummed out of school after that 'older boy' did him harm? It can go ways and ways, sir. Sometimes it gives you a sense of protectiveness towards others vulnerable like you were. Sometimes you become a monster yourself."

"And your feeling on Barrow?"

"Walking straight into the employ of a chaotic disaster such as the Crowborough family couldn't have helped. You're aware of the rumors about the late duchess' lover and the fact that the current Duke's father had to sell his pictures all throughout the current Duke's university years."

"Then Crowborough himself must be considered."

"You learn how to be a man from the men around you when you're young." Stewart agreed, frowning to himself in thought. "You can choose to be better, sir. I do not know that anything I've heard of Barrow suggests he has."

"And what have you heard?"

"I've spoken a time or two to John Bates in the village. He isn't one for gossip, but he's said a few things."

Anthony gestured and Stewart went on.

"He told me that Barrow was making trouble for him. That he'd happily climb over his dead body to improve his position."

"Well, that fits well enough with taking your help and then keeping it from Edith. He should have told her immediately we were following."

"Quite, sir." Stewart cleared his throat and, slowly, let more speech pull itself past his teeth. "Bates did, add that his one redeeming feature seemed to be his fondness for Miss Adelaide, sir. Said he was quite protective."

"I would like to think so, but that could be put down to protecting his inroad to a better position, couldn't it?"

"Very much so. Bates also said that Barrow has been something of a boon companion to Mrs. O'Brian, the Countess' maid."

Anthony frowned immediately.

"The one who got Mr. Dunlap's daughter dismissed from her place at Downton?"

"The very same, sir."

While it had hardly been the scandal of the county, it had certainly been the scandal of Loxley three years previous. One of Anthony's most tenants had seen fit to place his daughter in service. The girl had been keen to gain some independence and had little interest in schooling. She'd started as a scullery maid, but had enough skill with a needle that she'd almost immediately begun to work with Lady Sybil's clothing while the other maid, Anna Anthony believed her name was, worked with Lady Mary. Not long after the girl became something of a favorite she was accused of stealing a piece of Lady Sybil's jewelry. It was found amidst her things after Mrs. O'Brian spoke of having overheard the girl bragging of it, and Miss Underhill was dismissed.

"Well, that is hardly a friendship that recommends itself." Anthony breathed through his teeth and set his pounding head backwards against the headboard of the bed. "Mr. Dunlap was, if I recall, indignantly certain that it was all a ploy to get her out of Downton because the girl had overheard Lady Grantham's maid speaking ill of her employer."

"Mrs. O'Brian isn't one to hold back on her contempt, nor is her reputation in the village particularly pleasant."

Anthony rubbed a hand over his face. When Stewart spoke again, his voice was quiet and the caution in his nature even more firmly imbedded in his tone than was usual.

"Sir Anthony, forgive me, but why do you think Miss Edith was so forgiving?"

"Edith is a wonderful woman, Stewart."

Anthony bit down on his tongue and refused to wax poetic like the fool he was for her. Instead, he focused on speaking with actual meaning and content.

"But… it may be several things. Shock and sympathy derived from finding out something jarring about poor Adrian Kavanaugh. Concern for causing her sister further distress." The sigh that followed whistled through Anthony's teeth like hot wind through a canyon. "Perhaps even a desire not to seem to… bow to my desires or direction on the matter. I have overstepped terribly with her, haven't I?"

"Everything you did was out of grave concern."

"That doesn't change the fact that I am not her husband nor her father to be doing such things."

Stewart, Anthony noted wryly, had no answer for that. Neither did Anthony, for that matter. Shaking his head, Anthony looked towards where the curtains edges were glowing a soft, golden-orange and groaned.

"Well, this is doing us no good and quite a bit of harm, my friend. Let's get what sleep we may and… and I'll speak to Miss Edith again tomorrow."

Anthony went to sleep reminding himself that he really must remember her title, as was only proper, and trying not to think of the declarations he'd made that evening, or Edith's response to them. Most specifically, all the things that hadn't been said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Addie was in bed, asleep, and Edith was facing the shambles of her evening with the kind of exhaustion that called like a siren to just let it be for a few more hours. It would be so easy to just let it carry on, wouldn't it? Sadly, Edith found that it simply wasn't in her nature to do that, and she'd fallen out of the habit nearly six years before.

"Barrow, let's step into the maid's room for a moment. We need to have a discussion."

Her butler, and it was so strange to think that and she hadn't had time to adjust to the idea at all, started and looked at her with the kind of tense nervousness that even Barrow's impressive stone-face couldn't hide. Ignoring it, she walked through the sitting room, and to the small room set aside for the lady's maid she did not yet have. Considering the simple room and its furnishings for a moment, Edith's mind stalled.

What would Daddy do? The words rolled through Edith's mind, and then, like automobiles piling up on each other in a city accident, it was followed quickly by others. What would Granny do? What would Papa do? What would Mama do? What would Katherine do? Edith froze for the barest second of indecision and then caught sight of her reflection in the small, plainly framed, oval mirror hanging over the simple washstand, basin, and pitcher the room held.

Earlier in the evening, going down to dinner, Edith had been shocked at how fine she looked. Her hair had been fashionably arranged. Her dress was the very cutting edge of fashion, and perfectly set upon her figure to compliment it for once. The touch of makeup she was wearing had even made her seem pretty, and her jewelry had gleamed so becomingly. She hadn't felt like the ugly sister; she hadn't felt like a bastard.

Looking in the mirror at that moment her hair was ruffled and out of place, the rumpled waves disarranged and nearly hiding the little gold and diamond diadem. Her gloves were gone, and time and kneeling to help Addie had tugged down the already low neckline of her gown to a rather dangerous point. Her eyes were tired and her makeup had worn away.

Edith expected to find confirmation of her worthlessness in the mirror. Instead, she felt herself buoyed up by the image of herself she saw. She still looked like a fine lady, in a way, but she also looked like, well, herself. The young woman looking back at her didn't look like Lady Edith. She wasn't part of the fiction Edith had never lived up to. Instead, she looked precisely like Edith Kavanaugh, should. Looking back at her from the mirror was all of her father's stubbornness. She'd earned that exhaustion taking care of her sister. If her hair was ruffled, well, it usually had been frantically running between classes or after the twins had dragged her outside to swim or search out lizards in the bushes with Addie when she was a laughing little thing half the age she was now.

"Miss Edith?"

"Oh, do sit down, Barrow, I've had quite enough standing at ceremony for a lifetime and more than enough excitement for one evening."

Edith gestured to the room's one plain wooden chair and sat down on the bed, not caring a whit that she wrinkled the perfectly stretched and pressed coverlet. Beside her, Barrow blinked at her for a moment and she watched the way that the tension around his mouth eased slightly. She almost felt bad knowing she was about to destroy that tiny modicum of comfort he felt. She'd never had a servant who answered directly to her, then there was Addie's feelings to consider, but more than anything? Edith just hadn't done this sort of thing before. Then again…

"You know, after the first few times, a body gets rather good about jumping into the unknown. There really are only so many options."

"Ma'am?"

"Well, you can plummet to your death, hit the ground and take your licks, dust off, and get on with it, or you can fly." Edith offered a crooked smile. "That's what my Papa told me, anyway, the first time I had a good cry because I got properly snubbed for being a bastard."

"I see, Miss Edith."

His tone clearly said that he did not.

"I can only imagine how much more difficult if it was illegal to be a bastard. It's rather difficult to get around existing in terms of legal complaints. At least without doing irreversible harm to one's self for the benefit of those who, frankly, don't deserve it."

He was staring at her like she'd grown a second head, so Edith went right on, just like Granny would. Not that she imagined Granny would have been anything but appalled by this interview, but that wasn't her problem.

"What I mean is, Barrow, you're not in any trouble or danger because of your inclinations. I – I won't like that it's a shock, and I imagine I'll get all knotted up that Adrian didn't want to tell me earlier, but – but knowing doesn't make me miss him any less, so I think that's a fine demonstration of how much worrying about it is worth."

"I…"

For a moment the man's considerable social armor cracked and she caught a glimpse of something beneath it. It wasn't a proper view, and she wasn't sure what she saw, but it was something besides Thomas Barrow's usual projection of a perfectly cool, collected, proper servant. Good. If I can't get him to be honest it is going to break Addie's heart.

"Thank you, ma'am." His gray eyes fixed on her, sharp and wary beneath a polite, relieved, expression. "While I am grateful, may I ask what has inspired this… usually permissive attitude?"

Edith had been expecting that question. She didn't expect him to go on.

"I understand it in Addie. She's young, was barely in frocks when she found out about it, and her brothers kind of eased her into seeing it as normal before the world could tell her otherwise, but you? You were raised in Downton."

"I was, and as a result, being raised as if there is something fundamentally wrong with you and never being told why, is something I'm passingly familiar with." Edith drawled, barely resisting an unladylike snort. "Quite beyond that Katherine, Addie's mother, was in the theater for years. She had a very broad sort of outlook on life and probably the kindest approach to humanity in general I've ever experienced… I had reason to be very grateful for it myself, you see, and I have no reason not to, well, model it here in the midst of what might otherwise be confusion."

At the bare hint of a surprised smile on the tall brunet's handsome face, Edith felt awful for having to derail the otherwise pleasant talk.

"So, I want you to know that there is no way I shall dismiss you for the scandal of your behavior, though there is little I can do to protect you if it ever comes to a matter of law, so I do need you to carry on being discrete, for everyone's safety."

"I've a lifetime's experience at that, ma'am."

"Good, I'll have a talk with Addie on the same subject." Edith added. "Adrian had a certain amount of protection due to rank and wealth. You don't, so she'll have to know to be careful even among family."

Barrow looked entirely relieved at that, so Edith struck.

"I will, however, dismiss you without reference and leave you here, alone, without the slightest compunction before you can blink for lying to me, manipulating me, or doing anything behind my back regarding my sister."

Barrow's chin, which had sunk slightly in relief, snapped up and his gray eyes went wide. Edith smiled, and didn't even try to keep her teeth out of it.

"So now is the proper time for you to tell me precisely everything you've been hiding from me, and anything you might have done that requires a little more transparency, Barrow, because I won't give you a second chance."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Like most things that seemed too good to be true, it was.

"I – I, pardon my lady?"

"Ma'am, please."

Barrow closed his mouth and swallowed.

"Ma'am… what exactly do you mean?"

He'd thought it was all over when that geriatric busybody had laid down his past like a winning hand of cards – or was it a headsman's axe? Anyway, Thomas Barrow had seen everything he'd ever done to wring advantage out of his cursed existence tumbling down like melting icicles coming off church eaves. Then, out of nowhere, the jury set to condemn him had declared a mistrial. Or, rather, had called the charges specious and dissolved the trial. Could juries even do that? Wasn't that what judges were for.

Well, we're in session now and her honor's on the bench. Barrow should have known something was wrong when she'd told him to bypass the sitting room. There was no chance of waking Addie or her sneaking out to eavesdrop with the sitting room between her and them and two closed doors besides.

"What I mean, Barrow, is that I know you're no saint." Edith Kavanaugh went on, her golden-brown eyes sharp and bright as they fixed unblinking on his. "I had Mr. Carson insisted on taking me aside five times over the course of our first month back in Britain to air his concerns about all the time I was allowing you to spend with Addie."

Barrow bristled. Who was surprised, though? He knew what that tired, fusty, old fossil thought of him. Wretched, feelingless automaton. The only things that man cared about were protocol and Lady Mary. Well, Barrow hoped he was suffering through every single second of not knowing what was going on with his little princess!

"Miss Edith, whatever else you think, I would never do Miss Addie any harm."

Barrow… meant it. He wasn't even surprised to find it so, anymore. He didn't even need the fingers of one hand to count the times that he'd run into someone in life he could actually trust, and he wasn't surprised that most of them belonged to children. You get someone over a certain age, then they lied just to lie. Children, unless there was something wrong with them, might lie, they might be cruel, but they were usually honest about it. There was no hypocrisy in children.

"From the minute I met her in the kitchen at Grantham House, I've been good to her and she's been good to me. I'd not hurt her."

"I know, that's why I ignored Carson." Edith replied levelly and sat back slightly on the bed, leaning on her hands. "Given your situation, I don't think you'd have risked exposure for almost anything, and I'm not stupid enough to have missed the fact that you were angling for a good place in our household. Addie, after all, told me who was hinting to her that it might be nice if we had our own place outside of Downton."

Thomas opened and closed his mouth. He did feel slightly betrayed at that. Mostly, however, he just felt foolish. His employer emphasized this by plowing onward.

"Why wouldn't she, after all? Addie likes you and trusts you and would give you credit for any good idea you had. So, I know very well that you've been encouraging her dislike of Mr. Carson and Bates and some of the other staff."

"Ma'am."

"I didn't discourage it because, frankly, everyone in that house rushes to report to Lord and Lady Grantham and I wasn't sure, at first, if they were going to try and interfere with my responsibilities towards my sister. I also have reason not to trust Mr. Carson's bias where Lady Mary is concerned."

"I – I see."

Thomas didn't have a great deal of experience with being on the wrong end of tongue-tied. He prided himself on always knowing what to say and being able to slither out of every situation. Unfortunately, he found himself in a situation he'd never been in before. Safer and more vulnerable than he'd ever been before in equal measure, wrongfooted and disliking it, he cast around for anything to take Lady Edith's sole attention off of himself. The problem with that, of course, was that all of his usual strategies were clear out.

There was nobody else to blame. Not for his little joke in driving a wedge between Addie and the other staff. They were in Paris, for Christ's sake, and he was the only servant in the household! There was no great upheaval, nothing to push Lady Edith towards to distract her. There was no event he could step into to save the day or garner some appreciation. O'Brian wasn't there to talk to about it; not that it would have done any good. She'd been plain cold to him since he'd really started pushing his advantage with the Kavanaughs.

"Barrow."

His eyes, which he hadn't realized had slipped down and to the left to stare at a bare patch of floor as if it held the answers, jerked back up to Lady Edith's strong-boned face. He realized, belatedly, that she wasn't so much plain as different. Lady Mary and Lady Sybil looked like Lady Grantham: they had that Gibson girl chin and dainty nose and big eyes. Lady Edith's eyes were just as large and bright, but her features were sharper, more patrician. It was like comparing a Roman bust to a soap advertisement: both were beautiful, but one was enduring.

"I'm not threatening you." Her voice was low and a little amused. "I'm asking you to tell me the truth."

"Confession is good for the soul?"

"Can't have a fresh slate until you've wiped the previous mess away."

"I… erm, see…" Thomas frantically tried to stall and finally got a totally unladylike eye-roll for his trouble.

"Barrow, I just said I'm not going to sack you unless you lie to me or deceive me where Addie is concerned. This is when you tell me if you've done anything I should be unhappy about so we can get on with it and not do it in the future." She flutter a hand at him. "I want to go to bed, Barrow. There's no noose here and no axe. Out with it, alright?"

Despite himself, a small huff of laughter tore itself from his throat.

"That's a… lot to believe."

"That's the same thing I told my father when I got to America and he acted like – like he'd been waiting for me all along."

"What happened?"

"He said I'd learn in time. Then my brothers threw me in the Chesapeake Bay on the principle that, if my five-year-old sister enjoyed it, so would I."

Thomas' lips twitched and he tried for a distraction.

"I've heard the story. The way Miss Adelaide tells it, ma'am, you were invited swimming and simply require a bit of help to learn how to get in the water."

She didn't smile back and Thomas swallowed as she just looked at him, expectantly. What was he supposed to do?

You might consider telling her the truth and taking her at her word. Before he could consider the appalling reality that he'd just heard Mrs. Hughes' voice despite being hundreds of miles away, and that the mental phantom was correct? Thomas found himself speaking.

"I did, erm, talk the others a bit down now and then. Mainly to see Miss Addie smile." He cleared his throat. "And I didn't know Bates and half the others agreed he was suspect, ma'am. As for the others, I was honest. Mr. Carson does speak poorly of Americans and Mrs. Hughes doesn't want the staff bothering the family."

"Thank you for telling me, Barrow, but I specifically meant what I was unaware of. For instance, your trip to Hastings?"
"Right." Barrow felt himself sitting up straighter and his pride rebelled. "It was a secret, ma'am, and not mine to tell."

"I gather that, and thank you for your loyalty to my sister, but her safety is my responsibility and that means I will not be left unaware of what goes on in her life, Barrow."

"Your brother didn't want anyone to know, ma'am, and he had that right, didn't he? What about his – friend? You know as well as I do that if anything gets out his life is as good as over."

"And it won't get out from me." Edith Kavanaugh was now visibly vexed and leant forward, giving him an exasperated look. "What I mean is: did she pay you? If she did, I expect to know how much and when. I also want to make it clear that there will be no under the table payments or trips from here on out."

"Of course not, ma'am." Not like you have another invert brother for her to try and cover for. "Erm, we did basically what we told you, ma'am. We went to Hastings early in the morning and I kept a close eye on her on the train. She was safe the entire time, and I kept the money on me, just in case."

"And when you got there?"

"We went to his place and got back on the train in less than an hour, ma'am."

"Did he – did he say anything about Adrian?" The hard expression cracked and the brandy-brown eyes blinked rapidly. "Were – what I mean is, was my brother happy with him?"

"The smart ones don't talk about it much, ma'am, and he was smart about it." Barrow felt his heart twist in jealousy as he realized that here, against all odds again, he was seeing a sister that cared more about her brother than his inclinations. It pushed a few more words out of his mouth. "But judging from the photographs we handed back, and that picture in the watch that Miss Addie kept, I'd say – I'd say that they were that lucky, for a while."

"Good, I'm glad. Adrian was – he – he deserved good things. Better than he got."

"Don't we all?"

She blinked at him then, and let out a huff.

"After your errand, then?"

"I took her to Brighton like I said. Tried to cheer her up with the rides and such."

"It must have worked, she didn't come back too distressed." The strawberry blonde rubbed both her hands over her face, smearing what was left of the makeup around her eyes. "Not that I would notice with all the madness that descended. At least we have that handled."

"I'm sure the Lady Mary will be fine."

"She'd better be, I think I'm done saving people for the next, say, twenty years or so."

Barrow snorted, then cleared his throat and sat up straighter under Miss Edith's sardonic eyebrow. He was suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of the Dowager.

"Right. Well done and thank you, Barrow." She looked up at him. "What else?"

"Pardon?"

"What else should I absolutely know about my family's butler before we go on in our situation together?" She made a beckoning gesture with her hand. "I'm not entirely naive or overcome with goodness. I am going to be writing to Lord Grantham, so if there's anything he might find out and send word back to me of that the other staff tell him?"

"Right…."

For a moment everything stretched out awkwardly and Barrow perched on the edge of a knife, between two decisions. He could try and keep his secrets. So much of what he'd done could be deflected or just wouldn't be known. He could even make the most of his situation and then cut and run when the time came. There was a hell of a lot he could do, but…

But…

For the first time in his life Barrow was staring a hint of safety in the face. Not just that, but acceptance. There was nothing wrong with my brother! He'd had that refrain playing in his head since a tearful, mourning, girl had all but screamed it in his face. It had been unanticipated. He hadn't known how to fit that kind of thing into his mind, let alone his world. There were people who'd ignore it if you didn't shove it in their face, yes, but they were rare. The only two real groups in his mind were them – hiding, running, desperate and kicked by life until there was nothing left for them but spitting blood and getting their own – and then there was everyone else – that did the kicking. Now you're staring at another one: one that isn't ignoring it, they just don't hate it.

"I – I – you know Lord Grantham pays us not much more than half of what other houses do?" He finally blurted out. "He can because none of us have perfect references and the like, and we can't easily leave, but he doesn't pay us our due and we all do more than we ought."

Edith blinked and him for a long moment, opened her mouth, and then closed it.

"I knew he wasn't exactly paying competitive wages but – half?"

"A little better than."

She winced at the bitterness in his voice and then an idea seemed to strike and dismay her.

"Barrow, I'm not underpaying you, am I? I know that I've asked you for some nonstandard duties, but given our small household and odd situation…"

Thomas shook his head, even though it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest a raise.

"No, Miss Edith, you're paying me right. I can't complain, and… well, unusual situations happen."

"Right. Well, glad we got that out of the way. What was it leading to?"

Barrow winced but… honesty? Dammit.

"I've never taken altogether much but… I've… O'Brian and I've made free with Lord Grantham's wine a few times."

Her eyebrows rose and he let out a breath and sat his chair with more rigid awkwardness.

"William, the other footman, can be so damned, pardon my language, but so tiresome sometimes that I've… maybe stirred up trouble with him a time or two."

"I see."

Looking at his shoes Barrow gritted his teeth.

"I've been at Downton for years, ma'am, and it was my turn to take my step when Bates came. I resented it."

"That's not a secret, Thomas."

"We, O'Brian and I," I'm not sparing her if I have to come clean. God knows she's said enough that was more than nasty about the Kavanaughs, and they've done naught to her. "we tried to frame him for stealing a snuffbox. It was stupid and petty and it didn't come off."

Her expression grew more grim and Thomas gritted his teeth. Here's where the hypocrisy comes in and that offer of understanding dries right up. Second chances; sooner catch something on a snipe hunt! Now for the last of it. Might as well get it over with. He drew himself up definitely as he went on, a touch of anger in his eyes if not his voice. This would be when it blew up in his face, like trusting anyone always did.

"When Mr. Pamuk was there, I helped him have a tryst with Lady Mary." He gritted his teeth. "O'Brian was on about trying to dig into it, since it seemed Daisy saw something, but I wanted a job with you and your sisters, so I left everything that happened after be."

"What?" Edith's mouth dropped open. "You helped Pamuk?"

"He as blackmailing me!" Thomas winced, and balled his fists on his knees, gritting his teeth. "You know what they say about Orientals!"

She looked at him blankly and he gestured helplessly, his hand flapping in front of his chest.

"You know! That they're all bent or, that they'll switch about and – anyway, I tried to – to give him a go and he threatened me. Said that he'd forget it if I showed him to Lady Mary's room that night because they had a tryst set up." Thomas gritted his teeth but the tide of words came out. "She'd been as sweet on him as cane sugar all day, and was on him like sticky toffee at dinner. Then, after, she went off alone with him for a bit. I made sure to check that he wasn't lying about the flirtation, but what was I supposed to do? Get sacked and risk prison because Lady Mary couldn't arrange her own trysts without servants setting it up!"

Miss Edith was now staring at him with her mouth hanging open. For a bare moment she looked upset, then she just… looked… well, exasperated. Angrily she stood and Thomas leaned back as she put her hands on her hips and stared down at him the same way he'd seen her stare at Addie when the girl had gotten caught sneaking a bucket of frog spawn into the house.

"I'm not sure where to start. No, let me try again. Firstly?" She poked him in the chest with one delicately tapered, white finger. "No. More. Stealing."

"Uh – yes, that's – I wouldn't-."

"Secondly, Mr. Barrow, there was no tryst and Pamuk was a blackmailing liar who got a death far too good for his worthless, dishonorable, deplorable, miserable – mangy hide!"

Barrow gawped and got poked again above the neat creases in his white vest.

"Finally, you're not the only one that Pamuk blackmailed. Mary had told him off earlier and tried to send him away that night, but he told her that if she screamed he'd ruin her and that he wasn't leaving off unless she screamed."

Underneath his heart, which was nowhere near as black as he'd thought it to be, Thomas Barrow's stomach shriveled.

"What?"

"I said, he blackmailed Mary and forced himself upon her."

Horrified realization washed over him.

"Dear God, m'lady," Barrow hissed, standing up and forcing her back, his hands opening and closing beside his sides in furious agitation. "I didn't know. You've got to believe me, I'd have not taken him there had I thought for a moment that he'd wanted anything but a tryst. I'm not – I'd never let that happen, nor participate. I've not done right, I admit that, but I've got some honor."

She stared at him for a long moment, some internal struggle going on, and then Miss Edith Kavanaugh sighed heavily an pointed at his chair again, sinking back to sit on the maid's bed and casting a hopeless look at the darkness outside the window. Automatically, he checked his watch.

"Half-past one, ma'am."

"Thank you, Barrow." She replied tiredly and, after a moment's quiet reflection, turned back. "Thank you for being honest. I – I'm not happy with any of this, but I asked for honesty and I got it and I won't go back on my word. I also believe you about Pamuk, his threats, and that you're mistaken but… I think it's best if we don't mention this again and, in the future, under no circumstances are you to escort anyone about any house at night for less than respectable purposes. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Then, because it did that, his tongue ran away from him a tad. "Unless specifically instructed otherwise?"

She looked at him in mild outrage, and he cleared his throat.

"Such as our little trip here, I mean."

She flushed.

"Well, yes, something of this nature would be the exception, Barrow." Looking a touch lost she reached up and mussed her hair further, muttering and beginning to unpin her diadem. Her next words were spoken more to herself than to him. "I trust there is nothing else you need to say?"

Thomas' vexation with how neatly Strallan and his butler had trapped him returned and with it a new sort of satisfaction. One where he did precisely what was honorable and right and still got some revenge out of it.

"Well, ma'am… I – you'll have to forgive me but when I was first trying to make our travel arrangements I was at a loss as to how." Thomas squirmed a bit under her gaze, just a touch theatrically. "I figured it was easy enough when I saw Carson make his calls and the like, but your family doesn't travel much and I, er, got underwater pretty quick."

"Then how did you get around it?" She frowned at him and he shrugged uncomfortably.

"Mr. Stewart showed up and helped me with it, but, er, forbid me from saying anything."

Her eyes widened and Barrow felt a moment's delightful, petty, satisfaction at the spark of anger in her eyes that was not directed at him.

"So, they were following us from the very beginning."

It wasn't a question, but as shamefaced as possible, he hung his head and answered.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right, well, I'll deal with that on my own, Barrow." Lady Edith rose and shook her head. "Go and get some sleep in your quarters. Tomorrow I expect you to make arrangements for the rest of our trip according to the itinerary I gave you this morning. Without Mr. Stewart's help, I should add."

"Happily, ma'am."

"The hotel should have resources. I relied heavily on my solicitor in New York to get to Britain, and I know Papa should have a secretary for such things, but doesn't so I imagine that Carson has various travel agents and others he calls. The Ritz here should have contacts you can use to the same end."

"Should I attend you and Miss Addie tomorrow? Do you have any plans out in the city?"

"No. Tomorrow we'll stay in. Addie's diet will need a close watch, she'll need to rest, and she's going to get punished for lying to me." Edith's lips turned up. "What do you think: Piano, mathematics, or both?"

"It's not my place to say, Miss Edith."

"Too right!" She snorted and gestured for him to proceed her. "Sleep well, do remember this little talk, and I will see you briefly tomorrow before you go about your duties. Anything we need the hotel staff should be able to handle."

And Barrow found himself heading to sleep, tired enough to manage it despite the myriad of swirling chaos in between his ears. If nothing else, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he wasn't the only one who'd get to enjoy a good raking over the coals…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The greater Chetwood household decamped to Loxley with the boys' summer holidays having finally started. First was the train ride to endure. Then there was everything else. Exasperated in the extreme, Diana saw her boys and husband settled in the lovely old place, checked up on everything her brother had left at odds and ends when he rushed off to France, and then girded herself to make a morning call she could have absolutely lived without.

"Forty-six years, almost, of being the reasonable child while I was the wild one, and he picks now to swap roles with me!" Diana complained as she changed from her travelling clothes to her visiting clothes. "Really, Archie, when Anthony gets back, he shall have considerable explaining to do!"

"Now, Diana, I thought we'd both agreed that the circumstances were highly extenuating."

"Oh, I wasn't saying I think he shouldn't have gone. I'm just saying he's going to have to pay for it, darling." Diana pressed an idle kiss to her husband's cheek as she secured her hat and turned to and fro before the mirror. "I'm going to rearrange all of the books in his private study, I think."

Behind him, her husband visibly winced at the idea.

"Really, Di, isn't that a touch-."

"Every one, Archie, every single one."

Her husband took one look at the mixture of laughter and coldblooded feminine vengeance in her eyes and nodded placidly.

"As you will, my angel. If you don't mind I think I'll take the boys out fishing today."

"Capital idea."

A quick kiss, and then Diana found herself being helped out of her brother's car by old Mr. Carson at Downton before she was ready for it. The place really was a miserable mausoleum. It was nearly four times the size of Loxley, and you couldn't really compare them in grandeur. It had always struck Diana as terribly cold, really. Downton was a place to impress; a stage dressed for power and pomp and ceremony. Loxley, thank goodness, had always been a home, even if it was a grand one.

"Mrs. Chetwood, what a lovely surprise. Are you up for the summer, then?"

"We are!"

Lady Sybil, by some grace, was in the entry hall when Diana entered and she managed a genuine smile. Edith's sister/cousin really was a delightful young lady. She was quite pleased to know her and more than happy to exchange a gentle press of hands and allow Sybil to take over escorting her inside from Carson, who looked rather stuffed at her visit. Does he also look desperately interested? Well, that's no surprise. Edith said Mary was his special favorite and he's an old enough retainer that he might be in on at least some of what we've passed to the Earl so far.

"Is your mother in, Lady Sybil?"

"Yes, she is, and Granny as well."

"Well, my delight at hearing that is precisely fifty-percent of what it was a moment ago."

Lady Sybil covered her smile with a dainty hand and Diana took a moment to be glad she'd inherited her family's height. She stood quite a bit over the young brunette and would positively tower over the Dowager and the Lady Grantham. It gave her at least a small advantage as she was swept into the sitting room for the usual small talk and pointless greetings.

Now, if only I had any use for any of that right now…

"I do hate to be rude, but I'm afraid this isn't simply a friendly visit." Diana offered up briskly after less than two minutes of the usual inanities. "I've some information from Anthony that I'd like to pass on. Would it be possible to have Lord Grantham join us?"

"Of course." Lady Grantham looked positively melted with relief. "Sybil, would you go find your father? Afterwards, please-."

"I am not going to go and sit in my room while you discuss whatever is wrong with Edith and Mary. You've done your best to protect me, and I know you have good intentions, but my ignorance does nothing but put everyone at risk of my saying the wrong thing. I'd also point out that I have the right to know what is happening to my sisters, Mama."

"Sybil, your father-."

"Can hardly defend his latest stupidity if he's not here personally to do so, Cora." The Dowager interrupted with her inimitable parenting style, Diana noted, and gestured towards the door. "Do go get your father, Sybil, and come back with him. Then we can all sit back and allow our family drama to provide further amusement to our neighbors; this time without the tedious delays of the postal system!"

Diana sipped her tea, considered waiting, and then decided she was too much of her mother's daughter for it. Smiling sweetly, she turned towards the dowager with her most practiced expression of annoying good cheer.

"I heard that Lady Rosamund has been in Yorkshire recently. Did she have a nice visit home?"

The Dowager's expression immediately soured, but Diana did feel a touch of shame at the tense expression that it generated on Lady Grantham's already worried features. Though she didn't think much of the woman's parenting of her second daughter, she was less biased than her brother. It was clear that the Crawleys had been trying very hard to be a proper family to Edith since her return. If it was a bit late and far too little… that was also expected.

"She was with her family, what else needs to be said?"

"I do imagine that says it all, Lady Grantham." Diana agreed, her expression safe for all manner of churned dairy products.

Lady Sybil chose that moment to return, her father in tow wearing a tense expression. Carson had already reappeared, hovering at the edge of the scene. It was hardly her place to send a servant away, so she assumed that he was in on the veritable flotilla of family secrets she was about to launch into the tea and refreshments that had been called for upon her arrival.

"Mrs. Chetwood, how do you do? How's your husband?"

"I'm well, my sons are well, my children are well, and my brother is off chasing your children about France, so what do you say we get on with it?" Diana smiled gently even as she picked up a verbal machete and prepared to cut through the pointless underbrush that was threatening to grow up around the objective of this trip. "I've had some communication from my brother and he asked me to pass it onto you, Lord Grantham."

"Indeed, and is there some reason that Sir Anthony cannot send communication through the normal channels? Last time I checked the British Postal System could still handle letters with some competency across the channel."

"Out of an abundance of caution, my dear anxious brother likes to send sensitive information under diplomatic cypher." Diana smiled sweetly at the acid-tonged dowager and reached down into her bag to retrieve a couple of open envelopes. "But, by all means, I can leave them with you to parse out. I hadn't realized you were familiar with cryptography, Lord Grantham!"

"Er, that won't be necessary." Lord Grantham interrupted, sending his mother a quelling look that she ignored with an expression that held more disdain than a sniff could have ever managed.

"Mrs. Chetwood, please, how are my daughters? Is Mary alright? What is Edith doing?" Lady Grantham interrupted and Diana softened, reaching out to pat the other woman's hand gently.

"Lady Mary, oh dear… Well, there's no gentle way to say this." Diana sighed and Lady Grantham pressed a hand to her mouth, choked, as the circle paled and Lord Grantham closed his eyes with a wounded flinch.

"Then she… was… expecting…"

"What? No, no, not that!" Diana realized that, at some point, communications must have gotten crossed over the channel. "Lady Mary is off in a perfectly reputable clinic to treat a different complaint, though derived in the same manner."

Three sets of blue eyes stared at her blankly and Diana barely resisted rolling her eyes. She also abandoned all pretense. Euphemism is right out, too. Oh, well, Mama always did say that it was best to be direct with recalcitrant titles…

"Lady Mary has picked up a venereal disease from her encounter with Mr. Pamuk." Diana's expression hardened. "For which I feel nothing but sympathy for the young woman as, though I gather it to be treatable, it apparently grew extremely uncomfortable as she put off treatment for so long out of shame and ignorance. This is likely the reason for the girls' hasty departure."

Around her expressions of unstinting horror spread over three noble faces. By the door Mr. Carson gasped. Then, though he recovered his usual settled expression, a pained noise followed.

"Oh, God, poor Mary!" Sybil, who had been allowed to stay mainly through sheer stubbornness, blurted out with a hand pressed to her mouth.

"Very much so, however, I would point out that everyone should take this as instruction." The Dowager rallied to a stern expression, her eyes cutting towards her free-spirited youngest granddaughter. "Our choices have consequences and one should consider what is expected of us before we act."

"Something I imagine would be far easier had Lady Mary been given a choice in the matter."

"What?"
Diana turned the back of her head towards the Dowager and instead took Lady Grantham's hands, looking at the misery and horror in her expression and feeling her heart go out as one mother to another.

"According to Anthony there was coercion involved on the late Mr. Pamuk's part. Lady Mary had little choice."

Diana jumped as a crack sounded across the sitting room, not unlike the shot from a gun. Turning in startlement with the four Crawleys to where Mr. Carson, standing by the door, was now looking in chagrinned dismay at the severed doorknob he was clutching in his hand. The old man looked down at his hand, looked at them, and then the butler cleared his throat as he slipped the doorknob into his jacket pocket.

"Do forgive the disturbance."

"Easily, Carson, please carry on seeing we are not disturbed."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Yes," Lord Grantham croaked. "entirely understandable."

Diana turned again and was surprised to find the man still sitting on the settee beside his wife. Now, however, he'd opened both his hands and settled them backwards across his knees. He was staring unseeingly at his palms, upon which several bloody tracks had been raked by his own fingernails. Lady Grantham gave a soft cry at seeing her husband's hands and pulled out a handkerchief, blotting softly at them as she pulled the right across her own knees.

"Oh, Robert…"

"No, it's… it's…" Robert could barely breathe. "No. It's nothing. Cora, we've bigger concerns." He turned imploring eyes towards Diana. "How did your brother find all of this out?"

"Some of it had only recently from Edith herself. He's caught up with her in Paris, you see, and they had a long talk." Diana explained. "He sent a telegram to us this morning, and we caught it right before we came up to Loxley. I came here as soon as I got the boys and my husband settled."

"For which we owe you considerable thanks."

"Don't put yourself out, my lady." Diana replied unthinkingly to the dowager, and turned back to the worried, grieving parents. "Cora – may I call you Cora, my lady."

"Oh, but of course."

"Good. I hardly know how to have this conversation, let alone formally." Diana squeezed the countess' hands again, which she'd ended up with again after Lord Grantham got his wife to leave him be. "The simple fact is that Anthony isn't without experience in certain matters. He'd helped the diplomatic corps out a time or two, you see, and he rather used that experience to, well, track down your daughters when they left my home."

"You mean he's using espionage to follow the girls?"

"Hardly that." Yes, what do you think a man who speaks that many languages and that good with math did in the Army, especially when he didn't volunteer, you great dumb oaf? "The thing is, Lord Grantham, that Lady Mary and Miss Edith aren't familiar with how to travel about quietly, or how to travel about at all. So Anthony basically… tidied up a bit after them, so no-one else could follow them as he did."

"Isn't that almost a relief?"

Diana just ignored the dowager this time.

"Will Mary be alright? Is Edith alright? What about Addie?" Sybil, however, managed to retain her focus on important matters.

"Are they being blackmailed?" Lord Grantham asked and Diana sighed and cast her eyes towards heaven.

"No. That was Anthony being the poor worried dear he always is. Miss Edith just took out too much money to deal with the situation. That is all. She reassured him when he caught up with her at the Paris, Ritz." Diana's lips twitched. "You know how young girls are dramatic. Well, they quite catastrophized the situation, you see, and assumed that simply sneaking Lady Mary off to the clinic and pretending she was at a normal spa wasn't enough. As such, Lady Edith is going on with a more lavish visit to Paris to serve as a distraction. From there, she and her sister will indeed go on to Austria to visit Miss Adelaide's aunt and grandmother."

"Well, that at least is a relief." Cora breathed, then put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. "Oh, my poor child. What was I thinking? I just assumed – she acted – oh, but that's no excuse! Robert," She turned to her husband, "Mary's been blaming herself all these months and I've made her feel worse and she was-."

Robert Crawley, for all his faults, was not a poor husband. Diana politely looked away as he wrapped his arms around her and offered her quiet reassurance. She met the Dowager's eyes in the process and received a queenly not of acknowledgement. Which, well, meant absolutely nothing to her. Ignoring it, she turned to Sybil and took her hand to pat it reassuringly.

"How are you holding up, dear? I understand you had a nasty shock at that rally, and now your sisters running off and learning all of this. You must be quite thrown."

"I am, but mostly I'm furious that they left without letting me help, or telling me the truth." Sybil shook her head and bit her lip, looking towards her parents, then back at Diana before going on. "Our Cousin, Matthew Crawley, left with Mary's maid to go track Mary down. You don't – he's going to find all of this out himself, isn't he?"

"I have no idea, but if he's determined he might very well."

"I would say we've released a cat amongst the pigeons, but after this profoundly doubt there shall be any hunting." The dowager turned to look at her son, her eyes sharp. "What did I say about sending him, Robert?"

"Dear God, Mama!" Robert Crawley turned to his mother, his face reddening. "After what we've just found out you're ready to worry about Mary's prospects with Matthew? She's been-."

"What's happened in the past can hardly be changed, it can, however, be hidden. Something I would think that you understand very well, Robert, given your efforts regarding Edith all those years ago."

Diana decided she'd done everything she should, save one thing, and cleared her throat. As all eyes snapped towards hers, she smiled warmly and pushed onward.

"Anthony also wished to convey that he's got his suspicions about Mr. Barrow's trustworthiness and Miss Edith's acceptance of him as her butler. There was apparently some trouble in his past that Anthony is concerned about, but that Edith rather lightly dismissed. He was hoping you might ask about with your staff for any more information that might be available on the young man's character."

"Of course, we'll ask directly." Cora agreed and Diana rose, smiling and offering the woman her hand for a brief, polite, farewell.

"Well, then, I'll let you all discuss this as a family." Diana breezed onward with her day. "If I find out anything else, I'll be in touch directly, and I'm just down the road at Loxley if you need anything."

"Before you go I have a question to ask."

Of course, you do, you rotten old harpy. Diana's thoughts were a touch uncharitable as she turned back to the formidable old lady.

"How may I help, my lady?"

The dowager's expression suggested she was not fooled by the sweet tone. Just as well, Diana didn't care a jot if she was or not.

"What are Sir Anthony's friends and such saying about his rather abrupt departure? Not to mention his courtship of my granddaughter in general?"

So now you're paying proper attention to her? How refreshing!

"Nobody's said a word, actually. You know what a quiet life Anthony leads. I doubt anyone but the family has noticed he's gone."

"I find that hard to believe, considering that Sir Anthony has suddenly developed so many interesting hobbies and talents just in the short time he's been courting Edith." The Dowager was not giving up. "Do tell us if you hear anything? I will, of course, drop by to visit if I should hear anything in turn."

"And Loxley will greet your appearance with all of the delight it always has, Lady Grantham." Diana smiled and, finally, made her escape.

On impulse, later that night, she decided she'd rearrange all of her brother's desk drawers along with his study's bookcases. Served him right, too!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

More Notes: Alright, my kind readers, we've made some progress!

Barrow – is having to make some decisions about his future and was off-balance enough to make some fairly good ones. He's still Barrow, however, so even in being entirely honest he is going to try and get his own back. We'll see more characterization progress and growth with him as the trip goes on. (I find it particularly funny that, by hanging out with Addie all the time and keeping his nose mostly clean to take a shot at a job with Edith's little family, he's accidentally reforming himself out of self-interest.)

Edith – Is not as innocent as all that. She is laying down the law with Barrow. Perhaps not as much as she should, but we have to remember that she is vulnerable as well right now. She just found out that one of her twin brothers, who has been dead just a little more than a year, was gay in a time when that's a fraught thing. She's just found out he didn't trust her. Anthony and she made their feelings clear to each other. A lot has happened to Edith and she's got a lot to process and she's naturally inclined to be more forgiving here because of what she's been through. She's still going to be collecting information on Barrow and watching him very closely. She's also quite vexed with Anthony's rather high-handed, stalkerish, behavior - as well-meant and, frankly, reasonable as it was. Yay, drama! (Not too bad, these two are just naturally too compatible for it to go totally sideways.)

Anthony – Went out and got a little drunk with an old friend. Has oodles of suspicions about Barrow's nature – which are, honestly, more than a bit justified. He's going to keep digging into Barrow's behavior, determined to protect Edith! Will probably get a little reminder that Edith's a rather independent young lady… Stewart will of course remain his right hand.

Addie – To clarify, while it is not yet diagnosed by science at this point in time, she's suffering from a moderate case of gastroparesis. The vagus nerve in her stomach does not transmit properly. As such, she's often not hungry when she should be. Her stomach fills up and empties very slowly and ineffectively, and she's subject to nausea now and then. The best treatment for this is a diet low in fiber and fats and frequent small meals to encourage the movement of food through the digestive system. They've mostly already hit on this through trial and error. The problem largely lies with a history of very poor medical advice from what amounts to celebrity doctors of the early 20th century. Dr. Oz ripoffs aren't the best medical option in any time period. These largely 19th century physicians were of mixed opinions on her issues but would have suggested such contrary things as force-feeding her, heavy, fatty, diets to make her gain weight, huge meals to force her stomach, which may have been presumed undersized, to expand, and "better discipline" since this sort of thing was often said to be the result of poor upbringing creating spoiled, picky eaters. Addie went through a lot of that in America over the early years of her life, but Edith and Anthony shall do better. (Also, can you imagine Barrow's reaction if someone tried to stick a tube down Addie's throat? She's literally the first person in his life who, if indirectly, told him that there was nothing wrong with being himself. There would be bloodshed.)

Diana – We'll hear more from her and see what some of Anthony's friends are gossiping about. But for now, she's done her duty as a sister and a messenger! That said, Anthony's going to be looking for some things for weeks when he gets home, and spend months reordering stuff that his sister has randomly moved around the house to vex him. She's a good little sister that way.

The Crawleys – Are dealing with everything in their usual manner. Violet is looking down on everything and everyone, Cora is wondering where she went wrong as a parent, Robert wants to hit something, and the Downstairs is enjoying the show.

Matthew & Mary – I've just realized that my vague plan for their storyline won't work with a few changes I've made for them. So I'd love some reader input on the following. Tell me what you think of the following!

- Matthew goes and finds her at the clinic and Mary basically chases him off, creating an earlier version of the proposal-split that happened canonically after series 1 and led to season 2.

- Matthew offers to keep Mary safe by marrying her, though they don't know each other that well yet, and Mary accepts him and they wed in France and start off together in true awkwardness.

- Matthew offers Mary the safety of an engagement with the understanding that Mary can break it off after a few months and the talk has died down and they fall for each other while they're engaged.

- Matthew becomes part of Mary's cover by "visiting" her at the Spa, with Anna posing as Mary now and again to add credence to this, and they grow closer as he helps her.