Author's Notes: Sorry for the extended wait! First RL went crazy, then I got covid. I've FINALLY gotten over the writer's block and chest congestion, however, and think I'm ready to hit this story again. This chapter is the 4th revision and moves things along. More notes at the end.
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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Late-July 1913
"It really is just a jewel box of a city, isn't it?"
"Entirely, Sweet One. It was always my favorite city in the region, though Dresden's charms are not to be forgotten."
"But the mountains…"
"Have a very special charm, yes." Anthony Strallan finished the young lady on his arm's thought for her, sharing a crooked, delighted, smile as he guiltily raised the topfinstrudel half-wrapped in paper in his left hand and took another bite.
The crumbly pastry, which was wrapped around soft, sweetened, cheese and stuffed with raisins, promptly got its revenge. Despite being uncomfortably close to forty-six years of age, he still managed to catch a smear of cheese in the corner of his mouth and crumbs on his lower lip. Edith, who was tucked at his side, huffed out an amused breath and produced a handkerchief from her bag to dab at his lips before he could do anything about it.
"Oh, honestly, you're as bad as Addie!"
Anthony felt heat surge up his neck and cover his ears, but before he could object Addie spoke up.
"I've done absolutely nothing bad today! I've been good as gold!"
Ahead of them, Edith's baby sister turned, and the ten-year-old girl's dark auburn plaits flipped about underlining her statement. Anthony stole another bite of the dessert in his hand as Edith turned to face her sister. Edith laughed and shook her head.
"Yes, you rather have! It makes me afraid for what your behavior will be this evening!"
"Edie!"
"Really, something has to give."
"Edie, I'm being good. I did my lessons and didn't complain, didn't I? And I ate three of those little crescent cookie-things, didn't I?"
"As opposed to the – how many did you slip your uncle?"
"We shall never tell, shall we, Schnecke?"
"No!"
"Bitte denken Sie daran, einige von uns sprechen kein Englisch!"
"Es tut mir leid, Omma!"
"Ich entschuldige mich, Frau Bauer."
"Tausend Entschuldigungen, Dame." Anthony tacked a thousand of his own apologies onto Edith and Addie's apology for having slipped entirely into English and watched the scene before him with all the satisfaction his soul could contain.
It was a beautiful summer's day in the shadow of the Alps. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was warm without being hot, and breezy without being windy. Around them, the quaint medieval architecture of the shops and homes in the center of Salzburg seemed to hover in a kind of idealized historical stasis.
In Paris, Anthony had led a stunning young beauty less than half his age to the symphony. They had been housed in a hotel synonymous with luxury. Art, culture, and sophistication surrounded them at every turn. The finest chefs cooked in the hotel's fabled kitchens. The finest linens graced generously proportioned furnishings.
In Salzburg, Anthony's host was a chemistry professor who lived in a comfortable upper-middle-class home of red brick built maybe twenty years before Anthony was born. The plumbing could have stood an update and there was only one toilet to be found in its closet: just outside the back door. Of the five bedrooms only four were larger than a proper airing cupboard, and Anthony was sharing one of those rooms with his valet. Each were relegated to a pair of narrow beds normally reserved for university students who rented from Professor Bauer, both absent for the summer. Anthony's feet hung off the end of his bed and the brass frame rattled ominously if the baronet put his full weight upon it abruptly. He was better off than Barrow, who was relegated to the smallest room; a cubicle so cramped that its single bedstead had to be angled to fit at all.
Anthony knew which accommodation he preferred, and it didn't come with room service.
"Omma!" Addie turned her attention away from her sister to the far rarer company on offer.
"They're just precious, aren't they?"
Edie's soft whisper put a smile on his face and, tucking the last of his pastry away, he nodded in agreement as he chewed.
"I'm a little jealous, you're so comfortable here." His sweetheart went on as she held his arm, her boots falling softly against the cobbles as they turned down a cramped side street. "I always get second looks whenever I speak, I keep mangling my tense, and you sound like a local!"
"Ah, well, I did spend quite a bit of time here in my younger days, Edie." Anthony felt a little thrill at not only openly dropping the "Miss" from her name, but stealing away with her nickname as well, all without Miss Edith Kavanaugh batting a single eyelash. "It's nothing exceptional."
"You sound like Mama after she's conjured some lavish party out of no time at all, forgetting all it takes for a proper entertainment at home, or Sybil when she does something spectacular and shocking and then skips off as if it's nothing." Edith tugged his arm and shook her head, the modest brim of her straw hat bobbling and the fresh lilacs twisted around the crown wafting a cloud of summer around them both. "I call foul, Anthony, you know very well you've got a gift for languages, and I find you extraordinary quite beyond that."
There had to be some point in his life where he would grow too old to blush so, but the heat in his cheeks and ears said that was not going to be the day for it. Anthony shrugged awkwardly beneath his linen jacket and shook his head slightly.
"Go on, be modest. I know who you are, sir, and that is not an unexceptional man."
"Well, then I shall count myself lucky to be part of exceptional company. It's not every day a fellow like me squires such a beautiful young woman about, now is it?"
Her blushes came out to keep his company and she wrinkled her nose at him, looking away, but didn't answer. He knew how hard she still found compliments directed at her looks. He also had every intention of changing that. As he considered it, however, he watched her the happy lines around her pretty little mouth fall into a more serious mien and followed her dark eyes to the current source of pique.
It was late morning. Mrs. Bauer's charwoman came twice a week, and on those days, it was considered only polite to vacate the home for a time to allow her to work in peace. In the handful of weeks that they'd spent in Salzburg so far, they'd spent the time wandering the city. Before, it was usually the verdant gardens that the municipality was famous for that gained their attention. This time, it was a leisurely stroll through the shops for souvenirs. It was their last week in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In eight days' they would begin their return trip to England and the idyll that this family visit had turned into would be over.
"You're still worried about Branagh."
It wasn't a question and Edith didn't treat it as such, even as she lowered her voice and sighed. Like the woman he was not quite engaged to marry, he cast his eyes carefully on the half of their party proceeding them. Adelaide remained in the thrall of her grandmother, and both had stepped into a cabinet maker's shop that had a window display of music boxes decorated with delicate marquetry. Professor Bauer had followed them, offering bad advice as to what people he didn't know might enjoy as gifts and being contrary for his own amusement.
"Yes." Edith tore her eyes away from the postman on the other side of the street and looked back at him, biting her lower lip briefly and pausing, as if she'd intended to say something and thought better of it.
"I am sorry. I had thought-."
"Don't you dare apologize, Anthony. Not again. I knew there'd be some trouble at what I did, I just thought I could – could control it, and I didn't see another choice. Now it's just a matter of accepting the fallout and dealing with that."
"Yes, but I hate to see you distressed." Anthony's mind fell back into familiar tracks as he ran a few calculations. "Branagh won't have gotten my latest letter, and his last telegram was much less strident. Perhaps there's still hope he'll agree to simply let things, well, settle. Surely there's been some progress?"
"Perhaps there's been progress in the sense that he no longer thinks I'm running wild, but that hardly changes the fact that he now believes I'm somehow Mary's pawn or that there's something malignant going on with my relations in Downton!"
Anthony winced and let out a breath as he nodded slightly in agreement. He also felt obligated to acknowledge another recently clear truth. At least that put a smile on her face; even if it was wry.
"Cartwright is as wretchedly unpleasant as you said he was."
"Well, I'm pleased you admit I wasn't exaggerating in adolescent pique."
"I said no such thing."
"Your eyebrow did."
"My eyebrows do not speak."
"They're as fluent as the rest of you." Edith Kavanaugh sniffed, and a hint of her former good humor snapped golden sparks in her dark eyes. Then she sighed and, tugging his arm, they resumed their walk down the cobbles, window-shopping as they went. "Cartwright is at least honest, even if he has no respect for my gender, at least he never does anything behind my back. Papa was not best pleased with his letter, though."
Anthony cleared his throat to cover a laugh.
"Yes, well, that's a rather… mild way of describing Lord Grantham's reaction."
Anthony Strallan could only imagine the volume that Robert Crawley had reached in person given the stridence of the writing in the letter that had arrived at the Bauer residence the day before. Whether you considered Edith the man's daughter or his niece, the scathing letter the earl had received from Branagh had clearly struck a nerve. The earl had been incensed to have his value as a parent so openly impugned. Anthony was just pleased that he'd written to Edith to pass on his outrage rather than blame his adopted child for the embarrassment.
"Well, as lovely as it is here, I do miss Britain."
"Even the chronic understatement that passes as humor?"
"Just a bit."
Spying a familiar sign ahead and noting the day and his other task of the morning, Anthony turned and caught Adelaide's eye as the little girl came out of the shop with a moderately sized, carefully wrapped, brown paper package in her hands and a smile plastered across her narrow features. Catching her eye, Anthony tilted his head towards the sign ahead of them. Addie's eyes widened, and the girl pelted forward.
"Edie, look at what I found for Sybil!"
"Oh?"
"Yes!" Addie enthused, demanding her sister's attention. "Help me unwrap it so you can see. It's a music box, but there's a false bottom you can pull out and it's got a knife in it!"
"Edie, if you'll excuse me? I need, ah, a moment…" Anthony offered up a sheepish expression and cut his eyes towards the alleyway as he crossed his fingers in his pocket.
As he'd hoped, embarrassing as it was, Edith immediately took his meaning. Not surprising, as she was responsible for a child and that did bring certain things to prominence in a lady's mind. With a barely audible mutter of, "I told you that you shouldn't have had so much tea before we left", she gave her little sister her full attention.
Ignoring the alleyway, Anthony ducked into the shop. The jeweler's shop was not crowded, having only just opened. Polishing the glass counter, a young man of perhaps fourteen stood, frowning at a smudge that resisted his every effort. At Anthony's quiet greeting the young man looked up, eyes widening, before they both spoke over the other in his native tongue.
"Sir Anthony! Grandfather stayed late to finish your parcel."
"I don't suppose your grandfather completed my order?"
Both the adolescent and the man offered each other awkward smiles, bowing like scarecrows in the wind; just barely at the waist. The boy, scrambled through the door into the back of the shop. Anthony moved further in away from the window that could so easily give him away.
"Here it is, sir, and grandfather is sorry for the time it took."
"That is very well, Ari, one cannot rush perfection." Anthony cleared his throat at the boy's surprised expression. "You are Ari, are you not, Mr. Hirschman?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, sir. For remembering, I mean. And your patience. And-."
"Settling the account, yes." Anthony agreed, his eyes turning up as he removed the banker's cheque from his billfold and handed it to the young man before clearing his throat and holding the small box of plush purple velvet aloft. "May I?"
"Oh, please."
Anthony permitted himself to open it for just a moment, letting the sparkle and gleam within beguile him. A deep breath of appreciation and relief left him. Stowing it away in the safest inner pocket of his jacket, he reached out and offered the surprised young man his hand.
"Please, convey my deepest appreciation to your grandfather. His work is every bit as fine as it was twenty years ago."
"I shall do so, Sir Anthony. He is happy to have your business again."
With that, Anthony made his escape. A quick look proved his accomplice was yet as effective as he'd hoped, as he approached, he caught an amused look from the professor over top of Mrs. Bauer's head as the three ladies engaged in a spirited debate on the appropriateness of concealed weaponry as a gift for young ladies.
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"Terrible to have everything you wanted and be bored out of your mind, isn't it?"
Thomas Barrow let his lip twist up into a snarl and leant back against the warm brick wall of the Bauer residence. He took an aggressive drag of his gasper. He also refused to dignify the man's response with an answer when an opportunity for insult presented itself.
"Not worried what that'll do you to your hands, then? Pity if those callouses caught on a silk tie and ruined it."
Nicholas Stewart didn't even give him the satisfaction of bringing the axe down with any more than the usual force. The man remained the most aggravating individual of Thomas' acquaintance. The valet continued to stick to him lie a burr and there was precious little he could do about it. In fact, now, all Thomas Barrow was doing was sitting on a cast iron garden chair behind a modest, four-story brick house in Salzburg. It was… jarring.
Downton wasn't quite the grandest house he'd worked in. He'd started service with the Duke of Crowborough and the man's ancestral castle wasn't staggeringly lavish, but it was larger and more ornate than Downton. It had also been steadily declining for years and he'd be shocked if it was still standing in ten years. No matter that the thing had been built back before Richard III's name was blackened. Crowborough was going to have to sell out eventually, then the coal beneath it would be more valuable than the castle itself.
The fact was that Thomas took reasonable pride in working in great houses. Oh, he wanted out of service and the endless drudgery of it. He was tired of being professionally looked down on, but he had figured there were advantages to getting in on the ground level, as it were, with a woman in Miss Edith's position. He hadn't even been wrong, for all he was still processing this whole second chance she'd offered him and trying to see the angle of it.
What he hadn't anticipated were the differences that came with it. He was a butler and paid better than Carson, but it didn't look like he'd be running the same kind of household. Edith was talking about maybe needing a footman and a maid, but what kind of house was that? Three, maybe four servants! It was middle class, was what it was. Moreover, if she married Strallan, where the hell was he going to go then? The man already had a butler and clearly didn't like or trust him. Questions danced in his mind, underlined by how extraneous he'd found himself once they'd stopped traveling and arrived at the moppet's uncle's house.
Thomas, caught in a brown study, jumped at the sound of more wood being racked. He looked up at where the valet stood and noted with resentment that the man didn't make an unpleasant picture standing before him in only a vest and corduroy trousers, his braces up over his shoulders as he chopped wood. The range and hearths were coal fed, but a storm had taken down a beech tree of some antiquity next door and, in return for helping dissect the thing, the Bauer household had been awarded a portion of the wood.
Middle class.
Thomas Barrow was a blue-collar boy, same as anyone, and he had no shame in that. He just wanted to do better. That said, it left a nasty taste in his mouth to realize that maybe some of the glass ceiling wasn't being dropped on his head. Maybe he was carrying a bit of it himself. Wasn't that just a kick in the arse?
"Any particular reason you're not out seeing the sights today, Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas looked up and glared, jarred out of his brown study. Stewart simply picked up the recently split log and deposited the six pieces located around the chopping block in the neat stack growing to his left along one of the garden's brick walls. Not about to let the man get the last word in, Thomas stood up and loomed. It would have been more satisfying if the shorter man would just react to it.
"I've walked about every garden path in the city and don't feel like wasting my money on anything else. Why aren't you out and about, social gadfly that you are."
The man shrugged easily and set up another log to split. Thomas pulled out another cigarette and lit it, taking a drag on the gasper with all the agitation he didn't want to show elsewhere. The other man brought the axe down with a cutting thud, and then tapped the thing hard, head and log merged, until the log split fully. Thomas watched him pick up another piece.
"Split a lot of lumber in Canada?"
"Yes."
Thomas blew out a thin stream of smoke, briefly wreathed in the scent of burnt tobacco like a vexed nicotine dragon. The man would give monosyllabic answers that weren't good for anything, wouldn't he? Pulling the gasper from his lips and flicking the ash from the end he sucked in fresh air and glared again at the shorter man wishing he had something cutting to say.
The problem, Thomas reflected, was that there was nothing to talk about. He'd gone from the formality of service to a tag-along on a family holiday! What was there to discuss? Most of the time he didn't even speak the language everyone was conversing in, and when it was translated it was either an academic conversation, something to do with politics a man like him had no say in anyhow, or it was positively hours of Mrs. Bauer describing distant family members or offering washed-and-worn advice to the young ladies about how to treat a husband and raise children!
"If you don't mind me saying, Barrow, I don't understand you."
Thomas jerked his head up and narrowed his eyes.
"And if I did?"
Stewart had the gall to stop and consider it, settling the axe over his shoulder as he brought up another section of log to split. Then, fixing his dark eyes on Barrow, he shrugged. The number of damns not being given in the tidy little back garden was staggering.
"Well, that's more than you've said to me in the space of a month." Barrow muttered and crossed his arms. "What's not to understand? My fantastic good-looks or my incredible intelligence?"
"What do you want, Barrow?"
"Excuse me?"
Stewart stopped, setting aside the two sections of lumber he'd just split and running his wrist over the sweat on his brow. Barrow really did hate to admit it but looking at the man was no hardship. He wasn't that tall, but his arms were corded with solid muscle, and his skin was buttery smooth, the color of café au lait in the right light. In the sun he was as bronze and shiny as a fence lizard and Barrow would have enjoyed the scenery if it wasn't galling to know the man knew and in no way shared his predictions. He didn't even have the pleasure of being judged for it so he could hate the bastard; Stewart had the gall to dislike him for himself.
"What do you want?"
"For dinner, for Christmas, what are you talking about?"
Steward leaned against the pile of wood and put his fingers up to brush at what Barrow had taken to be a stray twig. He started to see a slender grass snake slip down out of the ricked wood. Lazily, it twined through the man's fingers, then began to make its slow way up his arm towards his shoulder.
"I take it you're volunteering for the next Downton reptile survey?"
The valet smiled at his scathing comment but offered up no other reply. Instead, he concentrated on his new, legless, friend. Thomas watched him coax it back down his other arm, unafraid and unbothered by its progress over his bare brown skin.
"What do you mean by it?"
Raised eyebrows were met by a scathing glare. Finally, the shorter man offered up a small smile.
"What do you want?"
"Right now I want you to stop being a pest."
"I'm hardly holding you captive." The fingers flicked towards the garden gate, the snake balancing his head on his knuckles. "All of Salzburg awaits and I don't recall you've any duties requiring your attention."
"That's the problem. Some of us aren't used to being idle."
"Strange, I thought that the punishing hours and overabundant duties at Downton was something you were eager to be free of, Mr. Barrow."
"I am – was, I mean."
"So. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"
The snake's black tongue danced across the other man's wrist.
"What I mean is that – I –. You just have an answer for everything when you finally open your mouth, don't you?"
"No."
Thomas sneered at the ready answer.
"Personally, I'm amazed you're still here. You think you'd be a little more grateful for that."
"Yeah, because I deserved to be thrown out on the street?"
"Having been there, I can't think of many deserving of that."
Thomas blinked in surprise, but the moment was ruined by Stewart's smirk as he gently lifted his hand to let the snake wend its way back into the wood pile to look for lizards.
"Even thieves and liars."
Thomas stood up to his full height.
"Say that again."
"You're a liar and a thief, Thomas Barrow."
Thomas was already moving, his fist clenched and rising as his bent arm straightened.
"Then again, so am I."
Barrow was so shocked that his step hitched, and his fist wobbled, stuttering, for a bare second. That was all it took, and the smaller man stepped forward, caught him by the elbow, and shoved him forward. Overbalanced, Barrow went lengthwise on his side on the grass, sprawling in an elegant line. Not that he could appreciate his own grace as he found himself roughly turned onto his stomach, his arms twisted back and a pair of hard knees balancing on his back, pressing down with bruising force.
"Oi, let me up you-."
"Dirty Indian bastard?"
"W-what?"
Thomas spit out a mouthful of dirt, grass, and wood chips. The pressure increased, and – infuriatingly – so did the hint of humor in the man's bland tone.
"Iroquois son of a bitch, perhaps?"
"I don't kn- what the hell's Iroquois?"
The weight vanished and the man stepped back. Thomas rolled over, ready to fight, but keeping a close eye on the smaller man. The bastard moved like lightning and fought dirty. He was going to have a bruise that was the precise imprint of the man's shoe-heel at the top of his ass for the next fortnight. Stewart crouched nearby, watching him with all the emotionless focus of the snake hidden in the stack of firewood behind him.
"The Iroquois are a nation of Indian tribes. They used to control most of New England in the States as well as a good portion of Eastern Canada." A hand came out and turned palm up. "Now they're starving to death in filth on tiny reservations in the middle of nowhere, on the least airable ground possible, and the government is taking their children away and sending them for an education that is largely comprised of violation, beatings, starvation, and fatal illness at the hands of various churches."
Thomas sat there, staring and wondering, his mind trying to turn the new information over and find some use in it.
"You're one of them, then?"
A nod.
"You don't sound it."
"Sir Anthony and I spent the entire steam back from South Africa polishing my accent. I have it on excellent authority that my French is still appalling."
Barrow snorted and looked at the other man, his breathing slowly falling level.
"What the hell does that have to do with me?"
Stewart adjusted his seat, moving to put his back to the wood pile and sit. He drew his knees up and balanced his forearms across them.
"I enlisted under a false name and age and was sent to South Africa. I met Sir Anthony in the Boer War where he recognized my youth. I was still causing and getting into quite a bit of trouble."
"And?"
"And he could have turned me in, but instead he gave me a chance." The older man offered quietly. "I took it and I now have everything I wanted: a good job, friends, safety, and the respect of those around me. You want those same things, and this is your chance to have it."
"I know that."
"Then either leave or stop sabotaging yourself."
"Excu-."
"No-one here is an idiot, Thomas Barrow." Stewart interrupted, his level tone finally going sharp and hard as he pointed a finger rudely at the other man's face. "For the last three weeks here you've been crawling out of your skin with boredom. When you're bored, you cause trouble. When you're insecure you look for enemies, and when you look for enemies, you will find them. Stop."
Thomas wanted to spit out insults and refute the man's words, but his own got caught behind his teeth. He had been bored, but that made sense. He had nothing to do. Yes, he'd been stirring up trouble. Mainly by trying to distract Adelaide with alternate plans whenever Sir Anthony proposed some "family" activity with both misses Kavanaugh. He'd had some success, but not much. He had thought he was subtle. Miss Edith hadn't said anything.
"You don't trust me. Neither does Strallan."
"Sir Anthony has no reason to trust you. Give him one."
"Like you did?"
"Yes."
"You likely saved his life in the war or something. You have no idea how sick I am of hearing that shit."
"Anyone who knows what a war is should be sick of it. If they're not, they're an idiot." Stewart snorted and then shook his head. Finally, he went on, his tone quiet and just a touch amazed. "He took reason to trust me from the fact I wouldn't let them overload the mules."
"What?"
"A mule can carry up to about twenty percent of its weight without doing it harm. I wouldn't let them overload the mules we were using."
"You cared about the mules?"
"I liked mules better than people back then."
"And now?"
"Mules are still superior, but I'm willing to make exceptions."
A totally improper joke about the valet and donkeys was on the edge of his tongue, but Thomas let it go. The back part of his mind that should have been trying to figure out how to turn this to his advantage had fallen silent in the face of the focused darkness in the eyes fixed on him.
"Consider this your fair and only warning, Mr. Barrow." Stewart stood. "You have a chance to work towards whatever it is you truly want. If you decide to throw a lit match into your situation, don't expect anyone to come by with water when there's petrol on hand."
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"Tom!"
Tom Branson couldn't quite hold in a grin as he caught sight of Lady Sybil Crawley striding towards the open door of the garage across the green. Then he froze as he realized what sort of picture he painted. It was an unusually hot and muggy Yorkshire day. He'd just finished giving a proper spit-shine to the family's main auto. Now, however, with the motor done he was attending to the messier job of cleaning out the engine of one of the estate trucks. It had backfired and the cylinders needed looking after.
As such, Branson had stripped to the waist. Figuring that nobody would be back to bother him, and not seeing a reason to stand on ceremony in such hot weather, he had his braces over his shoulders, and absolutely nothing else but his trousers and shoes to cover his indecency. With Lady Sybil of all people baring down on him in a graceful white lace-trimmed blouse and a proper green skirt.
"Just a moment, my lady, just a moment!"
Frantically, he dived behind the truck for his vest and shirt, cursing himself as a fool and a cad. What would his mother say? Worse, what would she do? Mrs. Branson hadn't raised her sons to make spectacles of themselves and if they did, she'd let their backside and a switch discuss it at length!
While Tom was mentally tangling with his mother's temper, Lady Sybil was rather blissfully enjoying the eyeful he'd accidentally given her. She'd never seen a living man shirtless before. At least not without a vest from anything but significant distance. To her rather eager eye, Tom presented a wonderfully compact image, with just the right amount of flesh and muscle arranged in precisely the way she wanted it underneath a set of delightfully square shoulders.
Thankfully for Tom's composure he had no idea that the lady in question was wondering if his nipples had the same texture that hers had. If he'd had the slightest idea what was going through the lovely brunette's mind only two things could have happened. He could have only responded by either running away like a scared rabbit or by kissing her, and at this point, neither would have reaped good results.
"I am sorry, my lady, for my – my state of – well, for no bein' decent! It's just so bloody – forgive me, I mean, it's too hot for a wool jacket, I mean."
Sybil, just noticeably pink about the cheeks to match his own flaming face, shook her head.
"You're just trying to work, Tom, it's hardly your fault I came back here. I just wanted to know if Waters has passed you anything for me, since Mrs. Chetwood visited this morning."
"Right, yes, he did! She did, rather, and he gave it to me. Solid fellow, Waters, for an Englishman. Not that I hate the English. Well, I mean, I do but I – I'm going to be quiet now." Tom bit his own tongue, then turned around and undid himself. "Everything, erm, well up at the house?"
Resisting the urge to beat his head against the garage wall, Tom retrieved the neatly folded newspapers, pamphlets, and one thin book that Mrs. Chetwood had passed along. Most of it was specifically directed towards suffrage, but the book seemed to have to do with a woman's access to careers and basic independent economy. He wouldn't have minded reading it all himself and, if he asked, would likely enough get a chance to. As it was, he was too addled by the idea that he'd been half-dressed before the young lady to consider asking.
Fortunately, Lady Sybil was not so stricken. Instead, the merry expression fell off her face. With her good humor, his embarrassment fled. Concern had replaced it.
"Lady Sybil, is everything alright?"
It was no secret Downstairs that Upstairs was going through some upheaval. Some aspects of it were murkier than others, but it was clear that the Upstairs at Downton was a veritable hornet's nest and quite concerned for the two daughters out and about on the Continent. As far as he could tell, Branson figured it was a tempest in a tea kettle just as Mrs. Patmore maintained.
Mrs. Hughes and Carson were presenting a united front pushing the narrative that Lady Mary had been a bit too fragile and needed some time at a spa to rest her nerves and Miss Edith had generously, if a bit too precipitously, volunteered to help her get that time as a way of mending past differences between the cousins/sisters. Personally, Branson thought that was hogwash. He'd talked to Lady Sybil enough to have a better picture of things and he figured that Lady Mary had taken advantage of the younger girl by implying she'd interfere in matters with Sir Anthony.
"I do wish they'd leave the poor gentleman and the girl alone. She's already been through so much; who should care if she's finding happiness with a man a few years older than her? What business is it of anyone but theirs that they're happy. If they do elope, I say that's just fine for them." Their redheaded cook was more direct, with less emphasis on it not being "their place" to question the goings on upstairs. With the other two, a bit of information just eeked out. Either way, Branson figured it was more in Lady Mary's nature to push a bit of advantage than not, and she'd just have to deal with the fallout later when Miss Edith was a married woman and didn't need her for anything.
"Lady Sybil?" Tom's vague disinterest in the matter evaporated at the concerned look in a pair of pretty blue eyes. "Is there any way I can help?"
"No, not really, it's just… honestly, I think I'm being a terrible spoiled brat."
"Not possible."
She spared him a smile and, when he cleared the single chair in the garage of rags and such, she had a seat.
"Tom, you know that I know how privileged I am. Surely it would just make it worse to complain that I'm not quite getting the attention I expected right now, wouldn't it?"
"Hardly." Tom grinned at her sideways look and shook his head, leaning against the truck. "Not a bit, Lady Sybil. Really, I'm the youngest two so perhaps I'm a tad spoiled as well…"
His tongue-in-cheek comment earned him a smile and he went on.
"But I'm not the favorite, either."
Sybil had the good grace to blush.
"I think that's rather the problem. I've always been Mama's favorite and Mary's been Papa's and, well…?"
"Poor Edith?"
Sybil winced and then ventured a sheepish chuckle.
"I don't think it's accurate to refer to Edith as poor any longer, do you?"
Tom didn't bother to hide his smirk. He'd found it rather satisfying that the girl had come back richer than the rest of her blue-blooded family, after being outed as the family bastard. Adding in the fact that, apparently, America had changed her for the better as far as the inherent classism of her people went? Tom was disposed to like the Kavanaugh girls better for it; not the least for being Kavanaughs.
(He was still a touch miffed that the Earl had put an end to his hope of getting a charitable donation from the girls. Contrary to Grantham's belief the hospital fund did pay for medicine and nothing else. If it still went to the IRA, well, their people needed medicine too, didn't they? He wasn't going to take money from a child to build bombs, for Christ's sake!)
"Nah, not that, but it's different now." Tom nodded and gestured slightly, hoping that the lady would trust him enough to tell him more. "You're not used to fading to the background and right now your parents are alive with worry. Though, really, I don't see why. Lady Mary's safe enough and it's not like Sir Anthony's a bad choice, is it? Excepting his age, I mean."
"I think Mama's feelings against Sir Anthony were mostly her trying to make up for not treating Edith the same before she left the first time." Sybil's reply was thoughtful on the back of a sigh. "She wanted to prove that she loved Edith as much as Mary and I, and I think she thought the best way to do that was to get her as titled and wealthy a husband as possible or something of the sort. Granny, of course, has her own opinion of what makes a good marriage."
Canting his head to the side and grimacing, he nodded.
"As for why they're worried about Mary, well, that's a lot more obvious now."
"Oh?"
"Yes, they sent Matthew out to check on her but, well, we all know what everyone's hopes there were with how they'd seemed to be warming up to each other a bit before she left."
"The tidy solution to the entail, you mean?"
Tom watched Lady Sybil wince with sympathy as the lovely brunette sighed.
"Well, Mary won't have it. She's sent him back. He wired Papa from France to tell him that he'll be home in a while, but then, well…" Sybil threw up her hands and stood, shaking her head. "I'm not sure if Papa's more disappointed that Mary wont' have him or happier because Matthew agreed to work with a friend of Papa's and become a barrister. Of course, we're all sad that means he'll be staying up in London, but there you have today's petty drama!"
"Well-."
"That and Mama's let Mrs. O'Brian go."
"Pardon?"
Tom's interest in the family's affairs derailed. He might have asked more questions and looked for more details, if only to set Lady Sybil's mind at ease. As it was, the introduction of that topic, far closer to his personal situation, attached his attention completely.
"Papa and Mama were talking with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes all morning and went over the books. Papa's still furious that Edith's keeping Barrow in her service, but he says he won't abide a thief in the house and Mama agrees."
"I don't know what to say."
"Oh?"
"I can't abide stealing, either, but if she's got no reference it'll be hard for her to find another job. Nobody deserves that."
"I know, I don't like any of it, either." Sybil sighed, then looked up and offered him a wan smile. "Well, I wanted things to change, didn't I?"
Before he thought better of it, he reached out and squeezed her hand. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, not just for his forwardness, but for the grease stains he'd left on her soft white skin. Before he could speak, however, she squeezed his hand back and offered him up a smile of her own.
"Thank you, so much, Tom. Here you are with work to do and I'm making you listen to my problems – and you and your people have so much more to worry about than this!"
"Well, yes, but – we're all people, aren't we?" Tom swallowed, resisting the urge to press his hand against his heart as she let it go, every nerve in the appendage tingling with memory of how soft her skin had been. "My problems and your problems – inherently equal?"
She beamed, dimples everywhere, and his heart soared.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I feel like the worst sort of fraud, Mama."
"I know darling, but you've done the right thing."
"Tom's been a good friend to me."
"And he's still being a good friend to you by helping your sisters." Cora ran a brush through her youngest daughter's hair as they sat together after dinner, and relished the quiet of this little supper.
It was a rare treat, bad as it was for a lady's figure, but Cora felt the need for the familiarity of it. As such, set out on a small table in Sybil's room were the remains of cold fried chicken and home fries with onions. The recipe had come with Cora from Illinois; a parting gift from the cook who'd served in the Levinson house all throughout Cora's childhood. Prescient as she often was where food was concerned, Mrs. Patmore had known just what to send up when she'd heard that the lady hadn't eaten much at dinner and would be taking supper in Lady Sybil's room.
"Yes, but I'm lying to him."
"No, you're not." Cora kept her voice level.
She might have been more concerned about the friendship between her daughter and the driver, but between her concern for her other daughters and the nostalgia for her own childhood generated Edith's return from America, she was viewing the friendship through rose colored glasses. Needing to feel secure in her parenting somewhere, Cora dismissed the friendship as one of joint political and academic feeling. Liberal politics and suffrage went together hand-in-hand, after all, and Edith spoke of at least one male friend she'd made in college. Cora had not deliberately decided to be obtuse on the matter, but a mind will do interesting things to defend itself.
"Mama…"
"No, really. You've never said a single thing that's untrue to him." Cora turned sybil to face her and smiled. "Mary is incredibly distressed and the time she is taking will do her good; both medically and emotionally, I am sure."
Sybil said nothing, but didn't look convinced, so Cora went on, her lips thinning.
"O'Brian was also fired specifically because she stole. Her attempting to dig into Mary's situation and the fact that Barrow's confession included the fact that she'd been pressuring Daisy – confirmed by Daisy I might add – trying to get her to speak on the subject? That was just one more nail on a complete coffin."
"And the fact that you provided a reference just to keep her quiet, lest she say something out of spite?"
"An unfortunate necessity."
Sybil sighed and Cora drew her daughter into a hug she needed as badly as Sybil did.
"I am sorry I've been neglecting you-."
"Mama-."
"No, don't look at me like that. I know I have, and so has your Papa. We've both been wild with worry about your sisters, but thankfully, that is almost over."
"Mary's due back at the end of the month." Sybil agreed, and then frowned. "And – Mama, you will stop worrying about Edith, won't you? She's just terribly in love with Sir Anthony, I mean, and-."
"One day you'll understand that it is a mother's job to worry about her children, Sybil, especially daughters." Cora paused and added, wryly. "I just hope yours don't give you as much trouble as mine have."
"With one obvious exception?"
"Oh, not even for a moment! You my dear, need to worry less about injustice and more about your debut!"
"Mama!"
Cora grinned as her daughter laughed and then shook her head and squeezed both her daughter's hands. Pausing to frown as she looked down in the lamplight.
"Whatever do you have under your nails?"
"Engine grease, I think." Sybil spoke with a short flush. "I wasn't watching where I put my hands and picked up some of Tom's rags. He was working on the estate truck's engine."
"Oh, did he tell you why?"
"I'm not Edith, Mama! I'm perfectly happy he's proud of his job, but that doesn't mean I need to know how a car works!"
Cora laughed, delighted, and sat back. If she could just take a few moments to bask in Sybil still being a girl, and not running wild? Cora knew it would do her a world of good. She was about to start a proper discussion, one she had been putting off for far too long, about Sybil's debut and shopping and a thousand other happy details when Sybil decided that it just wasn't to be.
"Mary's really thrown over Matthew, though, hasn't she?"
Cora sighed.
"That really is going to have to be none of our business this time, Sybil."
"I know, Mama, I just worry."
"Oh, Sybil, you have no idea."
Cora's worries about her eldest were myriad and intense. She would, however, shield Sybil from them if she could. As such, she stood up and gave her daughter a proper kiss on the cheek.
"Make sure Gwen gets the dishes before the mice do. I know you hate to ring for the maids late, Sybil, because they're trying to eat their dinner, but do take care of it directly?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Thank you, baby girl." Cora smoothed her daughter's hair again and smiled. "You've all grown up so fast. I think just yesterday I was visiting you in the nursery sometimes, then I turn around and you've all grown into beautiful young women."
Sybil hugged her, but said nothing, and Cora made her retreat. Getting herself ready for bed was a new experience, but she managed it. She already had the advertisements written up, though having to fire a woman she'd thought loyal after finding out such wretched things… It was another painful reminder that you never could really know your servants, or understand their minds. Climbing into bed, she waited for her husband in the warm lamplight. When he finally entered from his dressing room, Robert settled into bed as the very picture of exhaustion but still raised his arm for her to curl up under, her head upon his shoulder as she waited.
She didn't wait long. Resting his head back against the pillows he let out a deep sigh. She stroked her hand over the soft cotton of his pajamas as he began to speak.
"Well, that's taken care of."
"Matthew?"
"Yes," Robert's age, usually somewhat masked by his boyish features and good nature, weighed heavily on his face with the lines deep around his eyes and mouth. "he'll come back to Downton to speak to his mother, and to tie up a few things with his current office. Then he's up to London and Ernest's place to begin study for his placement test and then join… well, all that goes into being a Barrister, basically. You don't need to know the details."
Cora gently kissed his neck.
"Have you secured him a flat?"
"Yes, we talked about it. Shame to spend all that to open Grantham House for just him." Robert agreed, though shook his head. "Still, seems so odd to have my heir in a flat in London."
"I'm sure it does, darling, but think of how much, well, freedom it gives him." Cora was determined not to let her husband dwell. "It would be rather like your time in the military, wouldn't it? I mean, if he's to be in a building with other young men in law?"
Robert visibly perked up at the idea after considering it for a moment.
"Now that you mention it, Cora, he will be at that. I hadn't considered it in such a light, but it might be just the ticket to get over his… current disappointment… to be out with young men like that. Of his own age, or nearly so, and sharing his interests, I mean."
"And that should be good for him."
"I think so, yes." Robert lapsed into silence and Cora was considering reaching for the light when her husband shifted and, quietly, exclaimed. "Dammit, Cora, forgive me but why in all that's holy can our girls never see their way to easy happiness?"
"Robert-."
"No, Cora, really!"
Robert heaved himself up and turned his own bedside light on as well, doubling the golden illumination casting his face into harsh relief. Sitting back against the headboard he gestured broadly. It was as if he was trying to pull reality from around him and draw it towards him to make something in his world show some sense.
"I acknowledge our failures with Edith. We didn't treat her as we should have, not once we accepted her as our daughter. It would have been different, if we'd made other promises, but we failed her. I can admit that."
"I know, darling, and I know how hard it was to do that after everything we did for her."
Robert pressed a distracted kiss to her forehead, but it drug against her hair as he shook his head.
"The thing is, she came back and we patched things up and were doing well and why in the world would she fix on a man my age to marry when she could have nearly anyone else she wanted?"
"I know, Robert."
"I can't make head nor tails of it. I was boggled enough that you would want me, but Edith's unfathomable if she really wants Strallan – and it seems she does – over so many others." Realizing how he sounded, he immediately backpedaled. "Not that I don't like the man or that I begrudge him anything. He's gone above and beyond for our girls and I appreciate it more than I can say. I just want to understand Edith, just for a moment."
"I know, Robert, I never have been able to, either." Cora sighed, and closed her eyes. "But, in this case, I think I shall have to rely on my mother for advice."
"And that is?"
She smiled at the suspicion in his voice.
"You don't have to approve of your children, agree with them, or fail to let them know that you don't – but you do have to love them. That's enough."
Robert's sigh further mussed her hair, but she hardly minded. Stroking his chest, she looked up at his boggled, exhausted, expression and kissed his chin.
"Darling, shouldn't we go to sleep? You look as tired as I feel."
"You look ravishing, sadly, you're right. I'm knackered."
Cora smiled at the rare break into less-than-aristocratic expression and raised one of his hands to kiss his fingers. He stroked her face and when he spoke, his tone was quiet and tired.
"And Mary, I just don't… I worry so, especially now."
"And you think I don't?" Cora was a little nettled, for all that her tone was gentle. "The whole family is worried, Robert, and working together to shield her. We've got your mother and Diana Chetwood running this like some kind of – of spy operation with layers of different excuses to cover Mary's absence, for goodness' sake! First your mother has to imply Edith's eloping – leaving her no choice if she changes her mind. Then she goes and agreed with Diana and Sybil about needing more than one option for the worst of the gossips, and they use her rejecting poor Matthew to suggest she ran off because we wouldn't stop pressing her to marry him?"
"Do you think that's why she refused? That we put too much pressure on her?"
"No, I think that Mary panics when she is not in control of a situation and tries to reassert control by acting contrary to others' wishes or harming them."
"Cora, really?"
She pulled back and gave her husband a stern look, but he raised his hands.
"Just because neither of us cared for the psychoanalysts doesn't mean that they weren't often right. Especially about Mary's contrary tendencies."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry…"
"Besides, I thought you were as concerned for the entail as you were for Mary, at least in terms of her potentially marrying Matthew and given the sometimes-damaging nature of her complaint and its treatment."
The accusation put a horrendously pained look on her husband's face, but Cora was angry and hurt enough in remembering his prevarication over the subject not to apologize. Crossing her arms and sitting back against the headboard herself, she waited. To her surprise, rather than attempting to justify himself as he had before, Robert visibly deflated.
"It was horrid of me to even think of the entail before out daughter, Cora, I know. Blame it on a lifetime's training if you wish, or – or anything. Even me. I wish I'd never thought it."
"I do too. Now I'm worried." Cora swallowed back tears and dared to say what she's argued so passionately with her husband about before. "What if – Robert, what if you're right? What if what that monster did to Mary means she's never a mother? How can she possibly be happy?"
"We'll… just have to pray."
Cora slid back into her husband's arms after turning out her own light and, wrapped up in each other, they slowly fell into another night of uneasy sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The noise that Addie made should have fractured every window in the Bauer residence. As it was, her sister fell to her knees, hands out, with an expression on her face of such absolute and unrestrained love and joy that it was to no-one's surprise when she immediately burst into tears. Conveniently, the puppy began licking them off immediately as Addie drew it into her arms.
"I thought I specifically said not to get her something that would get bigger than she is, Klaus."
Edith's attempt to shoot a severe look at her stepmother's brother was a failure from the beginning. First, he clearly did not care. Second, she couldn't stop smiling. Finally, the man was quick to defend himself.
"You also agreed that Addie is too wild for some little lap dog. I mean, she'd run a pug to death!" The professor replied, soto voice, and turned towards the other gentleman present for assistant. "Sir Anthony, you agree, yes?"
"I do agree that a pug would be a poor choice for a young lady of your niece's energy."
"See, Edith?"
"However, I do wonder if she'll be able to handle a shepherd of that size. How big was… hm, Addie, have you got a girl or a lad there?"
Anthony shot Edith a grin and, with a slight grunt, lowered his lanky frame to the carpet beside where Addie had fallen. Surrounded by her skirts and lace with her pinafore thoroughly ruffled, Addie sat with her puppy in her lap, still sniffling as she cuddled the fuzzy baby. Edith felt herself melt as she watched the blonde man just tower over her little sister, leaning down eagerly to scratch at the floppy triangular black ears of the puppy.
"I-I-I don't know!"
"A girl." Klaus laughed as he lowered himself into his favorite chair and Edith skirted behind the huddle on the carpet to sit with her shins at Addie's back, perched on the couch in the parlor of the Bauer residence.
"She's about what, seven weeks old?"
"Six weeks and two days. I might have left her longer, but I thought it best if you had a week or so to get to know each other before you leave. What do you think, hm?"
Addie's reply, delivered into the squirming puppy's fur, wasn't intelligible. Edith begin rifling for a handkerchief as she watched Anthony curl an arm around her little sister's shoulders.
"There-there, Addie, it's alright."
"I'm happy!"
A snort came from the side of the room and Edith turned to see Barrow leaning in the kitchen doorway, grinning broadly. She briefly caught his gray eyes and watched as the man's expression shifted into sudden indecision. She held in a sigh; still unsure of her decision in that regard. A lack of certainty underlined when Addie let out a stuffy noise and lifted the puppy up.
"T-t-homas, look at my puppy!"
"I see, Moppet," the grin was back and Edith felt a little more sure of herself, "she's a fine one. Bet she runs circles around Pharaoh in no time."
"What are you going to name her?" Anthony asked then, and Edith had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing as she watched Addie's still-watering eyes widen dramatically in realization.
"Oh, oh, I have to think about that. A name's very important."
"Oh, I should say so." Anthony agreed with utter seriousness; something neither Edith nor the chuckling Klaus could have managed. "Perhaps something regal?"
"Daddy liked to name dogs after Roman generals."
"He also named horses after stories, and pigs after politicians." Edith added, her heart tightening as Anthony shot her that broad, boyish, grin of his with its two dimples. Klaus, of course, chuckled and got his own two cents in.
"Katherine told me he named milk cows after queens."
"The chickens were referred to as 'the ladies'."
"That I remember, schnecke."
"The more I hear about your father, Edith, the more I wish I could have met him." Anthony's words tightened Edith's heart for a whole new reason and she sniffed once herself before standing up, suddenly struck so hard by how happy she was that she was desperate to leave before she began bawling.
"I should help with dinner. Addie, why don't you come and show your Omma your new puppy?"
That was all the encouragement that her sister needed. Addie scrambled to her feet, still cradling the puppy in her arms. Edith spared a moment to wonder if the puppy would ever get a chance to romp about or end up in a doll carriage; not that her sister had ever been much for dolls. Either way, she followed her sister into the kitchen, sparing a moment to smile as Barrow vanished – likely outdoors for a cigarette – and Klaus and Anthony returned to an earlier political conversation about the tensions with the Serbs. Edith herself had found the discussion fascinating and wondered if the current heir to the Holy Roman Empire and his reforms would make a difference. Archduke Franz-Ferdinand wasn't a royal she knew much about, but judging from Klaus' enthusiasm, he was well-respected and liked.
Mrs. Bauer was, as Edith expected, cheerfully gave the polished wooden board over to Edith as she turned to her granddaughter to exclaim over the puppy. Edith was grateful for the rising heat of the day as she turned to the board before her. The morning had been absolutely perfect, with a bit of walking about and shopping, even if Anthony had overindulged in tea again when they'd stopped at the café. Edith herself was becoming a bit addicted to the local coffee, so she couldn't judge.
Still, it was warm enough that Mrs. Bauer hadn't wanted to stoke up the stove in the kitchen. As such, they were enjoying a variety of open-faced sandwiches for dinner. Edith made a point of putting together one sandwich of the very thinnest slices of breast meat and the finest grained bread for Addie. Trial and error were helping them sort out her stomach, but Edith was determined to be properly vigilant. She would never become lax again as she had before.
"Bringen Sie den Welpen nach draußen, um den Garten zu bewässern. Edith soll nicht die ganze Arbeit machen! Hilf beim Tischdecken, Kleiner!" Mrs. Bauer was laughing as she spoke, kissing Addie's cheek and then turning her by the shoulders towards the back door. "Zeigen Sie Thomas Ihren Welpen!"
Edith smiled as well at her sister's doting grandmother. Mrs. Bauer was just worlds away from Granny. Always a warm laugh in her voice, and constant affection. She balanced reminding both Edith and Addie of the importance of housekeeping – something that never failed to make Edie smile – with teasing warmth. Just as she did at that moment, telling Addie to tend her puppy and reminding her to come in and set the table all in one breath.
"Ich bin gleich wieder da!" Addie promised on the same breath as she scampered towards the door, still holding the puppy in her arms. "Thomas, Thomas, look what I've got!"
Less than an hour later they were all crammed together, elbow to elbow in Mrs. Bauer's spotless dining room. It was such a world of difference from what she was used to in Downton, and the rhythms and patterns of life with the British aristocracy. At the same time, the way it reflected that lost house on the Chesapeake Bay and Katherine Kavanaugh, née Bauer's warmth as a hostess… Edith relaxed into her evening with a smile, thinking regretfully of how soon it would all be over.
"I was thinking that we should have a holiday before your holiday is over. One more, as a family."
Over chocolate and apricot cake and coffee, Klaus Bauer surprised her by speaking in English, as he usually conversed in German with the rest of the household, leaving Edith to work to keep up. Edith wondered if the plan was one of Anthony's manufacture, but looking over she found him looking equally surprised, and unable to answer with a mouthful of chocolate cake. Mrs. Bauer was smiling, undisturbed by her lack of English in a way that suggested she already knew of the ambush as well. Suspiciously, Edith set her coffee down.
"Like what, Onkle?"
Addie, of course, looked up curious from her place on the floor. With no interest in dessert, she was sitting with her puppy on the floor, tugging on one end of a bit of frayed rope that had been found and repurposed into a puppy toy. Sitting on the floor with her, armed with a rubber ball he'd procured from somewhere, Stewart was clearly fighting a battle against the urge to try and tempt the puppy away to play with it himself. Edith, who only knew Anthony's valet in passing, had been amused to discover that the restrained, stone-faced fellow was nearly as excited about the puppy as her sister had been. Barrow had excused himself for an evening out and Edith tried not to fret about that. The house was terribly crowded, and she could see how the situation would be dreadfully awkward for him.
"I was thinking a weekend in the mountains." Klaus smiled. "Kronberger, he works in theoretical mathematics, owns a little cabin on an old mill pond, and said he'd be happy to let us have the loan of it from Friday to Sunday this upcoming weekend. You are leaving Monday, yes?"
"Could we go swimming?"
Edith smiled at her sister's priorities, but cut her eyes towards Klaus to see if he knew what he was doing. Of course, the man smirked back at her. She wrinkled her nose at him and cleared her throat. Time to be the responsible adult.
"We have more people here to consider than just ourselves, Addie."
"I'm sure Sir Anthony wants to go swimming too! Don't you, Sir Anthony? Did you pack a bathing suit?"
Edith felt herself flush as her hopes for an affirmative, which had been only mildly engaged before, accelerated. Anthony cleared his throat and set his fork down, dabbing at his lips.
"Er, no but I'd love to spend a weekend in the mountains. I'm sure Stewart can find us both something appropriate."
"Just wear your pants, it's what I do."
"Professor-!"
"Onkle!"
A spate of protesting German was soon exchanged between mother and son, adding to the din. Mrs. Bauer might not have understood the content of her son's speech in English, but she knew the man well enough to know that he'd said something inflammatory to send his niece into an outraged fit of giggling. As Addie fell over laughing, Stewart took his chance and picked up the puppy for a quick cuddle, prompting momentary outrage and Edith found herself laughing helplessly as well as Anthony took stock of the situation and, instead of commenting, chose to avail himself of a second piece of cake.
Now if she could only forget her worries about what was waiting for her back in England, everything would be perfect.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Oh, bless you, Mrs. Patmore."
"I put a nip of whisky in the tea, so bless me all you like I'm sharing it." Mrs. Patmore lowered herself into the chair opposite the housekeeper in the brunette's sitting room, and the redheaded woman allowed herself to finally let out a great sigh of relief. "Well, I say that that was well-done, if not quietly done."
The housekeeper managed a nearly inaudible huff of laughter and Mrs. Patmore freshened up the cup that the other woman had drained upon being presented with it. Clucking to herself, Beryl looked with some concern at the woman who was oftentimes her nemesis. All things considered, if there was anything good that came out of the Great Mess they were cleaning up, she reflected it was nice to have come to such a firm understanding with the other lady. It'd been too long since she'd had someone nice to chat with her own age.
"I'm afraid I won't call it done until I'm sure we've seen the proper back of that woman."
"You think O'Brian will try and stir up trouble for the family?" Beryl fretted. "You don't think she knows anything, do you? We kept it from her proper, I'm sure of it – for all she tried to stick her nose in, anyway. Daisy's a good girl, to hold onto things so long, upset as she was."
"Daisy is, and the family shall bless her silence in years to come, I am sure."
"But?"
Beryl prompted the other woman. She didn't feel an iota of shame in it, either. In her mind, it was about time that they handled the whole messy lot tied up in Lady Mary's unfortunate situation. She was rather proud to hear the rumors dancing about now, putting down that wretched Turkish devil's name. It was about time that the man got in a bit of trouble, in her opinion, and she wasn't afraid to say it to Mrs. Hughes, since she knew what needed to be known to understand the opinion. That said, she felt that it wouldn't do any harm for Mrs. Hughes to talk a bit more. It wasn't healthy keeping things locked away like that; look at how her cataracts had eaten at her until the situation had been dealt with!
"But I'm afraid that what she doesn't know she might simply make up."
"Yes, but to tell who?"
"Anyone she thinks will do the worst with it, I'm sure."
"Yes, but not at her own expense." The cook huffed, pouring more tea and reflecting that a dram more whisky might have done it – and them – a world of good. Oh, well, horses and stables and running and such… "Whatever can be said – and a lot can be said about that woman – you can't say that Sarah O'Brian ever stopped looking out for herself. At least not until she overreached with her tales to Carson, leaving out her part in them. Who would have ever thought Thomas would have made a clean breast of it? You don't think he's going to take terrible advantage of those two girls, do you?"
"I don't quite know what I think of that, but that he seemed genuinely fond of little Miss Addie."
"Oh, of that I don't doubt. He'd get so worked up about it when she was off her food, remember?"
"Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes sighed the name, rather than said it, "is of the opinion he was concerned more for the place the little miss' affections assured him. A ploy he believes has proven effective."
"Hah!" Mrs. Patmore scoffed and settled out some more biscuits, taking up another and waving it as she shook her head. "Mr. Carson doesn't know all there is to know about anyone, especially Thomas Barrow."
"And you do?"
"I know honest affection when I see it, and that boy might not care much for anyone else, but he's very fond of that girl." Beryl sighed and shook her head. "Sad really. Poor thing, trapped as he is. No wonder he flails about a bit out of place in the world as he is."
"What do you mean?"
Beryl firmly put the biscuit in her mouth, gesturing with her hand to wipe the comment away. Mrs. Hughes' eyes were knowing enough. There was no need to say it out loud. To admit it was as good to bring the courts into it, in her mind. That's what euphemisms were for.
"Best leave well enough alone."
"In this case… perhaps." Mrs. Hughes frowned and took it upon herself to adjust the teacup in front of her until it was perfectly in line with Beryl's, then smiled softly, prompting Beryl to sit forward.
"If that's some good news, you know, I'd love to hear it. After all the drama and nonsense, we've had, a little cheerfulness would be much appreciated!"
"Oh, I was just thinking. I've my half-day coming up this Saturday and was to meet with Mrs. Walsh at her husband's pub for luncheon and a chat. Would you care to join us?"
Beryl blinked in surprise. As the cook, and without a proper undercook, she rarely got a half-day off. However, this Saturday, she was indeed getting a rest between breakfast and dinner. The household planned to be at the Dower House for that time period. Originally she'd thought she'd spend it having a good long nap, lovely and rare as such things are. That said?
"Really?" Beryl was shocked. "You and she wouldn't mind?"
"Not a bit, you'd be very welcome."
"Oh, well, then… if you're sure…" Beryl found herself smiling. "Well, having someone else cook me luncheon shall be a nice change! How's the ale there?"
"Oh, quite good, the man and his sons brew on site."
"I'll look forward to it, then. Erm, is there any particular reason why?"
"Oh, not much – though what with the expected question and where it leads, Mrs. Walsh was just a bit curious about where the likely future Lady Strallan had grown up."
"Oh, well then, in that case perhaps I should go." Beryl perked up further, smiling. "You know Miss Edith wrote me personally a few days ago? To ask me about what I've been fixing her little sister, since she's gained a bit of weight at Downton and all. Apparently, they saw some specialist in Paris for her being off her food and her problems with her belly and he said I was right about getting her to nibble a bit all day and seeing if we couldn't get her to take more broths and the like for nutrition."
"I'm just glad to hear Miss Addie and her family is alright."
"Oh, I am too, of course. It's just nice to have a little acknowledgement, isn't it?" Beryl raised an eyebrow. "You can't expect me to think you weren't pleased at that long talk you had with her Ladyship, sorting things out."
"I have absolutely no expectations towards your opinions, Mrs. Patmore, I know you'll inform me of them on your own and can wait until then to avail myself of them."
Beryl narrowed her eyes, but chuckled after a moment, raising her teacup in acknowledgement. Both heard a noise and stopped, listening to see if the light tread of a maid was heading their way. When it wasn't, Beryl turned back to the other woman.
"Speaking of managing things, is the Lady Mary coming home soon? Or, for that matter, have we heard anything official about matters upcoming from Loxley? If I've a hasty wedding breakfast to put together for one lady – or two – I should like to have some warning."
Mrs. Hughes winced and Mrs. Patmore froze.
"Not more trouble?"
"No – yes, rather, I thought you'd heard."
"Obviously not, then, don't keep me in suspense!"
"Sir Anthony's written to say he plans to propose soon and Miss Edith wrote her Ladyship to say they've an understanding and she's expecting a proposal, so all's well there. However, the Lady Mary…"
"Would cut off her nose to spite her face." Beryl drawled. "That's to say if she'd take the risk with her looks. It's not Mr. Carson you're talking to about his precious angel, you know. You can be honest with me."
Mrs. Hughes' expression suggested that the cook not push things too far, but she caved too quickly for it to have much meaning. She also took the last cookie that Beryl offered her by way of slight apology and bit into it with real feeling.
"She's utterly refused Mr. Crawley."
"Well, I don't know whether to suggest Mr. Matthew might come to be relieved for that, or just be worried about the eventual change of guard when the heir marries. If I'm still around that long, God give the Earl his health."
"Quite."
"But?"
"But, well, there's the expected fretting about it upstairs." Mrs. Hughes allowed. "That young lady's got too many skeletons in her closet. If she wants to get settled she'll have go about it quickly, and then there's Lady Sybil's debut that her sister needn't be overshadowing… it's just a lot of uncertainty for the ladies upstairs to worry for, I think."
"Personally, I think this will turn out for the best for everyone."
"How so, Mrs. Patmore?"
"There comes a time in a woman's life she's got to make some decisions for herself, and not simply because someone tells her to." Beryl considered her words as she spoke, leaning back into the hard wooden chair as she thought. "Everything Lady Mary's done so far has been because she was told to do something. Flirting with the Turk, well, that came because her mother told her to catch that Lord, Napier. Then, well, she'd been getting on with Miss Edith well enough by avoiding her after the Dowager made them have it out but after she was upset – and we know why now and I feel for the poor girl, I do – she lashes back out at her cousin, sister, ooh, whatever you want to say about that the point is that Lady Mary was lashing out because she was told not to. One thing after another, she gets told one thing and does another."
"Reacting, not acting."
"Yes, a proper way to put it without me running on at the mouth, thank you Mrs. Hughes!" Mrs. Patmore agreed, smiling at the succinct way the other woman had with words. "The point is, if she's finally ready to make up her mind? Well, maybe Lady Mary will learn how to find and live with what she actually wants, don't you see? Her first grown up responsibility. Like her first job. You remember how that grew you right up, don't you? I know I do!"
"I do know what you mean Mrs. Patmore."
Mrs. Hughes paused, both women hearing Carson's heavy tread approaching them and standing up.
"The thing is, I also remember how poorly I often made decisions way back then. Don't you?"
Beryl bit her lip as Mrs. Hughes opened the door, leaving Mr. Carson to step back and allow her to slip out around him. Over her shoulder, she tossed her final advice.
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, but it's the mistakes what made when we're young that teach us how to live with being old, isn't it?"
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More Notes: For how quietly O'Brian left I wrote a few dramatic blow-up scenes and they didn't fit. Then I thought, wait… if she was dismissed? It really wouldn't have been dramatic. She'd have just been told to pack and sent on her way and it would have been a tense, but quiet scene. Far better to just shuffle O'Brian off… and bring her back later to cause trouble! So that's what I intend to do.
I know this was a boring enough chapter, but it covers what I needed it to move things along for the next bit.
Matthew's quiet exit was another thing I thought about. I decided that, in the end, there was no point in writing out repeated verbal wranglings between him and Mary because everything I needed to say had been. Mary is thirsting for independent choice. Matthew wants to save her. They're at different places in their lives here and as a result the fracture happens earlier, but like in canon it is based on Mary's need to protect and control. Before it was protecting Matthew (and herself) from the knowledge of her "affair" with Pamuk. Here, Matthew and Mary have processed and know of what happened and that it was assault. The difference is that Mary longs to take control and be independent of it while Matthew wants to treat her as a victim in need of the protection of his name.
As such? Matthew is taking a direction I had expected to see historically in canon at the time. A solicitor is an embarrassing profession for an Earl, but a barrister is not. Robert nudging him towards a different level of law career makes sense, so here that's where he vanishes to rather than the war, which is a year off.
Coming up… In the next chapter Anthony proposes to Edith! Addie continues to dote on her puppy, who shall acquire a name. Thomas reflects on his life in Service, and we see more of his dislike of it from Season 1 Canon crystalizing as he reflects on things with more personal honesty. Mary will return home and announce her Grand Plan.