Author's Notes: There we go, another chapter! I have to apologize, but RL is getting a little hectic. I've got a new job starting soon and need to move for it. So there will probably only be one update a month or so for the foreseeable future. 😊 Next up, Matthew begins Barrister training in London, Edith & Anthony return and meet Branagh to arrange things, and Mary's hellbent pursuit of her place in society continues…
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
The promised cottage in the mountains was precisely as advertised and Thomas found himself hovering between further alarm at the tight quarters and a kind of helpless pleasure at the scenery. The cottage, or cabin, depending on whether you preferred American or correct English, was in and of itself a fine building. If you were a party of, say, three close family members or a larger group of friends.
Built with heavy stone foundation that projected up to about waist height and then finished in squared timbers, the heavily sloping roof and carved patterns on the doors and lintels the place was a staple of Germanic cliché everywhere. The "main" part of the building was a square structure which contained a pair of sofas, two battered armchairs, a large, plain scrubbed table, and a considerable coal cookstove for warmth and function. At the back, a door opened to a compact room featuring two full beds with mismatched brass frames and a washstand. A door to the right led to a lean-to containing an old-fashioned bound wooden bathtub that likely still had to be bucket-filled.
To the left a narrow door opened outside to a well-graveled walk. This walk split in a T-shape. One section went back to a separate outhouse. The other branch went to a narrower building. Like the other, it had strong stone footings and was topped by heavily jointed timber. Unlike the other, there was almost nothing in the way of decoration. Inside it featured a central pot-bellied stove and along the walls were bunks. Twelve in total, the bunks were in three stacks of two and had obviously been hand-made from local lumber by a carpenter more concerned with strength than aesthetics. A metal footlocker of considerable size stood against the far wall beneath some shelves containing a couple empty tins, two old fashioned glass oil lamps, and a broken fishing reel.
"Home sweet home!" Klaus Bauer announced in his crisply accented English as he proceeded them inside. "I have ceded the main house to the ladies, as they will be doing the cooking. I assume you've no objection to the bunk house, gentlemen?"
"None whatsoever!"
Thomas barely restrained a groan at the cheerful enthusiasm that the baronet directed at the room, happily poking about. He shot a sideways look at the only other man in service present as he contemplated the even more awkwardly close quarters he'd just been assigned, but found Stewart unaffectedly claiming a bunk for the luggage and checking to see if the iron he'd brought with him would slot into the pot-bellied stove effectively. It did. Bully for Stewart, then.
"At least you won't be forced to sleep sideways, hm?"
Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand landed bracingly on his shoulder and turned awkwardly to find the professor standing beside him. It was yet another awkward reminder of how odd his situation was that, here and now, with the Bauer family… he was addressed more like one of the man's wayward students than a servant. Not a bit of professionalism to be found, and what am I doing? Complaining that I'm finally being treated the same as everyone else. O'Brian would bellow like a laboring cow over this.
"Yes, Professor, sir."
"Professor is enough, or Klaus for that matter. I am on holiday and grading no-one's work."
"Of course, Professor."
Dammit, just call the man Klaus! Thomas berated himself even as part of his mind wondered if this was yet another layer of some trap meant to catch him out. How could… everything be… how it was? Even Stewart's "advice" the day before just made him jumpier. In Paris, Thomas had been almost giddy with relief of it all. Now? Every day went by and with it came more nervous anticipation. More fear that this would be the moment when the real sting of betrayal was revealed. The other shoe had to drop sometime, didn't it?
"I'll just go check and see what I can do to help." Thomas went on. "The ladies with their luggage and unpacking, I mean."
"My sister would not have a child in her house she didn't teach how to manage something as simple as unpacking a bag." Klaus Bauer sneered and then shook his head, setting his own valise upon a bunk. "Let the ladies manage themselves. Mutter will have at you, Thomas, if you interfere. I would have hoped you noticed that by now."
Thomas felt his ears heat up and shot a murderous glare at the valet. Stewart was stone-faced, but he could feel the man laughing at him as he opened the footlocker and began to retrieve bedding and pillows.
"May have, Professor, a time or two."
"Just be glad I have no nearby cousins. That women would marry off the dog if given a chance."
"Speaking from experience?"
"I've spent thirty years defending my bachelorhood, young man, and I thank you not to make light of it!"
Despite himself, Thomas chuckled a bit and wondered, again, if the professor might share his predilections. He'd never gotten a whiff of interest from the man, though, and it didn't feel the same. He was hardly going to stick his neck out and find out, either.
Thomas unrolled the mattress on his chosen bunk aggressively. Thoughts of Pamuk threatened to invade, and he fought them with everything he had. Barrow still felt queasy just at the thought of it. He'd seen Lady Mary and the Turk flirting, and he knew what the Quality were really like, most of the time, for spreading their legs. Given how she acted so jaded he'd assumed that Lady Mary had experienced. He had no reason not to think that Pamuk wasn't honest about it being a tryst. He'd never – even with the man's threats he'd have not taken him to her room if he'd thought the man was going to harm a woman.
The other, insidious, buried source of unease that had haunted him since Paris gnawed away at Thomas Barrow. He could lift a few wine bottles and his conscience had nothing to apologize for. He'd taken from the Earl of Grantham, in his opinion, no more than he'd been shorted on decent wages. He'd felt no guilt for trying to oust Bates. Why should he, when he'd worked so long in that house that he was damned well owed a new and better position? The idea that he'd led a man to a woman's door and all but opened it so that he could force himself on her… it made Thomas Barrow sick inside.
You're not like that. Thomas' inner voice whispered, angry and hurt and cornered. What else could it say? He'd never been the sort to push and go where he wasn't wanted. Maybe make an open invitation or two. Be a little daring now and then, but he'd learned not to do that, hadn't he? Pamuk's threats had taught him caution. Pity they did that too late for Lady Mary, didn't they?
A rapid-fire knocking on the door suddenly cut through the quiet conversation in German that Bauer and Strallan had fallen into as they drifted about the room, arranging things idly as Stewart and Barrow pulled out bed linens and arranged the luggage. Chuckling, Sir Anthony reached out and opened the door, revealing Addie. The young girl was grinning fit to split her face and bouncing on the balls of her neat brown boots.
"Edie says we can all go swimming and we're going to change now, did you want to come with us?"
"I say," Sir Anthony, who'd just taken a pocket square out to wipe at his brow, grinned back down at her. "I think that's just the ticket."
"Thomas, are you coming too?"
"Er, think I'll put my head down for a bit, Moppet." Thomas found himself answering and shrugged, refusing to meet any other eyes that turned his way and focusing instead on the genuine concern in the little girl's smoke-blue gaze. Staging a shudder, Thomas wrinkled his nose. "That train ride through the mountains is a bit much if you ask me."
"It's a long way down in some places, but people almost never fall off and die, so that's alright. I've got to put my bathing dress on, last one in is a big warty toad!"
Addie darted off, the puppy that was toddling about her feet pelting after her, and the professor let out a low laugh and shook his head as he cracked open his valise
"She has inherited her father's gift for reassurance. I remember him telling me that alligators are lazy creatures until they are hungry. I forget how some of the trains seem, to those who are not used to the Alps. You are entirely well, Mr. Barrow?"
"I'm fine, sir, just figure I should take the time to catch some shut-eye while I may." Thomas offered up with a shrug. "I'll be chasing after her soon enough."
The older man chuckled and reached out, patting him on the shoulder again, and leaving Thomas once more wondering at the casual contact and trying to frame the equality of it without finding offense he didn't even want.
"You are too good with her, young man. I thank you." His expression grew pensive and whatever he was going to say was put aside as he pulled a black swimming costume from his bag and shook it out. "For now, we are on holiday and it is a fine day. Why not enjoy it?"
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Anthony Strallan's heart stopped for approximately five seconds as he watched Adelaide Kavanaugh throw herself with a scream from the end of the uneven stone dock that projected out into the pond. It wasn't just the abruptness of it.
Klaus had described the body of water as an old mill pond, though if it had once been such it was likely enough at a time that the Plantagenets held power in Britain. Since that time whatever the original, manmade shape of the pond was, it had been reclaimed by nature. The mill stream had expanded and eaten away at its once-designated banks. It now possessed perhaps five times the total area of a cricket pitch and its sides were precipitously steep, if often deceptively grassy and verdant.
Located as it was in the middle of a dense evergreen forest in a high meadow, the place was as idyllic as any postcard. It was also, as Klaus had seen fit to warn them, a bit perilous. They were all warned that, barring the narrow stacked-stone dock jutting out at the end of the worn cottage path and the handholds it presented, it was exceedingly difficult to climb back out of the pond if they fell in. Klaus had framed the caution as a directive towards his niece to watch her new puppy with eagle eyes, but Anthony had assumed it was a reminder to the adults present to keep a close eye upon the vulnerable child in their midst. He'd rushed through dressing to get down before Adelaide did, just in case, and had hoped to ease her into the water somewhat. They'd already had enough health scares for the girl for one summer, thank you very much. Instead?
"Eeeee, it's cold!"
Adelaide's head popped up above the crystal blue waters, reflected clouds framing her face, and Anthony halted in his aborted attempt to jump after her from the bank. Staring down into the water he blinked to see the ten-year-old girl competently treading water and watched as she shook her head, her auburn hair plaited and then wound around her head to keep it out of the way also preventing her from flinging too much water about.
"Sir Anthony, aren't you swimming?"
"In just a moment, are you entirely sure you're alright in the water?"
"Yes! Watch this!" Addie nodded back, bobbing in the water and then, as neatly as any otter, twisted around and vanished under the surface, the white soles of her feet flashing at him as she dived.
"Well, then…"
A moment later, and some distance away, the girl popped back up. To his wary eye she was swimming very strongly. He found his mind darting back to his own struggles to learn in his childhood and his father's considerable patience and he shook his head. As the baronet contemplated his apparently irrelevance as a lifeguard the sound of feminine laughter distracted him.
"I could have told you not to fret. I swear she's half-otter."
Anthony turned, smiling at the warmth and affection radiating from Edith's tone, and it was on the tip of his tongue to respond before all intelligent thought promptly fled his mind with the veritable force of a shotgun blast.
"Anthony?"
Sir Anthony Strallan would admit that it had been a few years since he'd been to the seashore. He was more of a country soft of fellow and, frankly, was quite comfortable being so. He didn't need the gaudy entertainments of Brighton, or the fashion of the Riviera to engage his mind. He was happiest in his home, comfortable as generations of Strallans before him had been.
As such, he'd admit that his knowledge of ladies' bathing fashions was probably… well, now that he thought of it? His idea of what ladies wore at the beach was a good fifteen years out of date, if not farther.
Anthony Strallan was not prepared to face the most modern of Parisian bathing fashions as had been purchased just weeks before by his sweetheart. He was also unaware that, having always purchased bathing costumes with the watchful eye of an overprotective father in mind, and having done so in rather puritanical America? Edith might have gone a touch overboard in embracing the avant garde.
Edith Kavanaugh's bathing costume left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He was beyond shocked. Reduced to staring his mind, usually so able, began to grind like the gears on a poorly fitted piece of machinery.
He could see knees and calves and dainty white feet and even toes. Great dear God in Heaven, he could see nearly half of her thighs. Her arms, from shoulder down were on display, and the material of the thing clung.
Edith Kavanaugh's bathing costume was composed of an overtunic of dark blue silk accented with white silk ribbon. Two straps covered her shoulders and, in truth, very little decolletage was revealed at all by the gathered square neckline. That blare glimpse was more than enough to fire Anthony's already overactive imagination.
Fitted very closely to the waist, it flared over her hips in a short, gathered skirt that hung down to offer some protection and obscure the lines of her lovely derriere. A pair of brief leggings of the same closely fit material were worn beneath the tunic, fitted to a few inches above the knee and held closely to her legs with white ribbon lacings along the side. The costume was quite average by the standards of many French beaches in the year 1913. To a man born in eighteen-sixty-eight, however, it was positively scandalizing.
"Anthony?"
Finally, his mind wrested control back enough that he tore his eyes away from the feast before him and met Edith's wide golden brown gaze. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly. Her eyes were so bright. Anthony began to realize, to his alarm, that some of the blood that should have been going to his head was traveling elsewhere and, given his own hastily procured bathing costume, he was without camouflage or recourse.
To their left, beneath the shade of an elm tree of considerable size and antiquity, Anthony could hear Mrs. Bauer tutting to herself in her native tongue about the shame that was modern fashion. Stewart, apparently roped into assisting her, was nodding in agreement despite the linguistic barrier as he helped her spread two large blankets out upon the ground in the shade. Klaus Bauer was approaching, the as-yet-unnamed puppy tucked into his elbow for its own safety until it was deposited with Mrs. Bauer to stay under her watchful eye on the blanket.
"Edith, you look -that is a very fetching…" Anthony had no idea what to even call it.
"Sir Anthony, do a cannonball, do a cannonball, Onkle!"
With his own mind far too sluggish from blood loss to find a proper excuse, he sent thanks heavenward for the unintentional salvation provided by childhood. With a crooked smile of apology at his sweetheart, Anthony Strallan hurtled himself off the edge of the deck like a much younger man, tucking himself into a ball before impacting with the absolutely frigid water waiting below. The old mill pond turned small lake was, like all waterways at such an altitude, fed by glacier melt. Anthony noted with a mix of chagrin and relief that it provided an instant solution to the most pressing aspect of his current predicament.
A moment later a yell followed, and Anthony ducked to the side with a laugh, barely avoiding impact with Klaus as the professor threw himself off the dock with considerable energy. A child's shrieking laughter sounded behind him and he turned to see Addie treading water towards him.
"Don't let him dunk me!" Addie begged as she approached.
It turned out to be a ruse; a moment later he was spluttering water and laughing as the girl used him as a platform, energetically climbing up to leap from his shoulders into the water. Then, when he'd recovered from that, Anthony was shocked to find himself staring at Edith, her brilliant hair red-gold when wet and plastered to her skull as she swam towards him. He extended a hand as he treaded water and was beguiled as she approached like some mermaid tempting a sailor. She proved almost as dangerous and Anthony soon found himself retaliating against his sweetheart's guile attack, using his greater size and leverage to dunk her beneath the lake's surface in return.
The rest of the early afternoon was as close to perfection as he could have imagined. Addie did not calm down, just as Edith had warned him, she might not on the ride into the mountains. For four solid hours she wanted to jump from the dock or their shoulders and into the water. The only improvement on this activity was if she could persuade her uncle or Anthony himself to physically throw her some distance from the dock.
Being in the water with the young lady was a blatant invitation to play. If you were large enough, you were another platform to dive from. Something Anthony was amused to find himself the frequent victim of, and even more amused to find he could turn into an ambush of his own by simply slipping under the water and taking the laughing child with him. Thankfully, he was only the second favorite victim of Adelaide's attacks. Her uncle bore the brunt of her cheerful attempts to at drowning others.
Anthony found Edith to be a strong swimmer, though less so than her overly exuberant sister. As they made a few lazy laps together around the pond he slowed his long stroke to her level, listening as she twisted about to float in the center of the pond, right where the sun hit the strongest and the contrast between the heat of its rays and the cold of the water was most euphoric. There she told him of learning to swim from her brothers, and how they had taught her sister to swim. He'd already heard stories of lazy days on the Chesapeake Bay at the House in Annapolis, but lounging about with her in the water and playing with her sister the stories felt so much more real now. Anthony ached for Edith and for what she and her sister had lost. He missed his own parents dreadfully, for all the years that had passed since he had lost them.
Still, Anthony couldn't maintain any kind of sadness. Not in the face of such an idyll. Anthony found his mind turning towards the large pond in the garden at Loxley. It wasn't nearly as deep as their current water hole. It certainly wouldn't safely support the energetic diving that Addie threw herself into. That said, there was a perfectly good swimming pool in Ripon. The pond could also be deepened with relatively little effort. Then, of course, there was his mother's farm in Cornwall. He felt almost giddy imagining the pleasure of taking them there and watching Addie's reaction to the sea and the pleasure of cavorting about in real waves. Not to mention that they weren't far from the river there and numerous other swimming spots to appeal to what was obviously one of the child's more beloved activities.
"Don't worry, the moment she stops moving she'll fall asleep."
Mrs. Bauer had finally laid down the law. More than four hours after entering the water, she evicted her granddaughter from it with a few firm words in her native tongue. Addie had attempted to weasel, "just fifteen more minutes", out of her grandmother, but the woman had been resolute. Addie had climbed out of the water with a sigh, and then immediately begun cavorting about with her puppy, darting towards the house in an uneven zigzag with the pup at her heels.
"Oh?"
Anthony was very carefully not looking at Edith. Her clothing, already so titillatingly brief, was plastered like a second skin upon her body. There was literally not a single safe place to look, save for her eyes. Not that they were safe, truly, but they were better than any of the tantalizing topography below.
"Yes." Edith laughed; her voice low. "I think that it's one of the reasons why she was encouraged to swim. Not only did it make living near the water less dangerous; it was also one of the few things that got her to slow down when she was truly little. If you think she's wild now, you should have seen Addie at five. Into everything doesn't even begin to describe it."
"Were you the same?"
"I – I can't say I really know. Things were different in the nursery at Downton."
Anthony, whose good mood was like a hot air balloon, began to deflate and cursed himself for the question. He simply couldn't help looking down at Edith and seeing so much warm and light and wonder as his imagination conjured up the image of a different little girl. One with golden hair and Edith's laughing sweetness and, perhaps, his mother's dimples?
"Anthony, stop."
"Stop what?" Anthony blinked, surprised, and looked down to find she'd insinuated one of her hands within his own, and her slender white fingers squeezed his, hard.
"Fretting. You needn't worry about me. I'm – I'm worried about Branagh and Cartwright and all of that mess, and I will be until we sort it out, but I couldn't be happier. I've had an absolutely wonderful day, haven't you?"
"Oh, the best in ages, sweet one." Anthony affirmed instantly. "I just worry-."
"Constantly."
"More or less." He admitted with a crooked smile. "Experience and inclination have rather taught me to be on guard, but – but I do want to thank you."
"Whatever for?"
"This."
The word came out with near-silent fervor and he lifted their joined hands, gesturing around them. The heady brightness of the sun broken by great white clouds overhead. The fresh scent of evergreen and the great shade trees that surrounded them. The quaint cottage that stood before them. The sound of the Bauers and Addie cheerfully conversing in German.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to thank a slightly higher source for the glories of creation, Anthony." Edith teased him back, then surprised him by bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "And you have no idea how much of this we owe to you."
"I say-."
"No, let me, please."
Anthony fell silent and, without realizing it, stopped walking to look down at Edith as she gathered both their hands together and he automatically wrapped his larger digits around hers. She smiled at him, and he was worried and shocked to see the crystalline sheen of tears gathering in her lashes.
"Totally ignoring every single wonderful thing you've done without reason since the moment you met us on that ship, Anthony, right now I don't think you even grasp how you – how you simply make things better by being here."
"Ed-."
"Let me finish."
Anthony closed his mouth and offered up another sheepish half-smile, beguiled breathless by the affection radiating from her face as she stared up into his.
"If you were not here, you think nothing would change, but that's not true. Klaus adores Addie but he'd never let either of us near the water without another adult male present, just in case. Mrs. Bauer, bless her, is lovely but convinced that no unmarried girl my age could possibly raise a child. She would either be trying to marry me off or get Addie and I to stay so she could handle things, but she trusts you are old and grown enough to do everything I apparently cannot."
"That's poppycock. Edith, you are doing an absolutely splendid job with your sister and, furthermore, it's not as if I – I have any more personal experience raising a child than you do, is it?"
"That's immaterial, Anthony. The point is that none of this would be possible without you." Edith insisted, and his heart lurched as she brought his hands up and, flushed, dropped a quick kiss on his knuckles. "Beyond that, in case I haven't said it enough, you make me happier simply by existing. So… stop fretting and just – just enjoy it. Please?"
"I shall certainly try."
"Edie, I found a lizard!" Addie's delighted cry layered over the sounds of the puppy's enthusiastic yips and drew them both from the momentary bubble of privacy that they'd found. "No, don't try and eat it! Anthony, come see my lizard!"
Edith heaved a sigh as, with a grin, Anthony turned and released her hands to go. Grinning, the sun on his hair, feeling a much younger man than he would once the aches of four hours of swimming caught up with him, Anthony Strallan strolled along behind his sweetheart and admired her figure as he listened to Edith putting up the considerable stubborn restraint that was required in keeping her little sister from acquiring another pet.
Twenty minutes later, as Anthony emerged from the bunkhouse in dry clothing, he found Edith and Mrs. Bauer setting out bread and cheese. Adelaide, so animated just ten minutes before, was sprawled out in the grass beneath the nearest tree, her puppy tucked beneath one splayed arm, sound asleep.
As he watched Edith mouth, "I told you so!", at him it was all that he could do not to kiss her.
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"Oi, quit it!"
Thomas Barrow muttered as he tried to pull his bedding up over his head. He needed to escape the persistent, wet, tongue that was now invading his ear. Turning he glared at his assailant and the mastermind behind it all. Addie, her hair plaited about her head and wearing a striped swim costume, grinned at him broadly.
"Are you going to just sleep your whole holiday away?" She accused, crossing her arms over her skinny chest. "That's a terrible way to waste a holiday!"
"Not when you're in service, Moppet." Thomas groaned and flopped over onto his back, scooping up the puppy and idly scratching its ears as he blinked blearily at her. "What're you on about?"
"It's time to go swimming!"
"Where's Sir Anthony, then? And your uncle, for that matter."
"Onkle has laid down with a migraine and Omma is taking care of him."
"He alright then?"
"Yes, he just needs to lay where it's dark and quiet." Addie paused in thought and lowered her voice. "So, we can't yell while we're swimming."
"Who says we're going swimming. Your sister told me that I had the whole weekend off if I wanted it."
"Don't you want to go swimming? Why wouldn't you? Can't you swim?"
"I can swim."
"So, you will? Come on, Thomas, I know you want to go swimming! Come swimming, come on!"
Thomas Barrow looked up into the eager face of the girl and couldn't quite hold back a smile. He'd determined that, with nothing else better to do, he'd catch up on his sleep during this little "holiday". Part of it was, he knew, the worst kind of rebellion. There were miles of gorgeous mountains around him, and it wasn't exactly like he was ever going to see the Austrian Alps again, was it? So, really, by sulking in bed he knew he wasn't doing anyone harm but himself. He just couldn't seem to stop it. There was no risk, sulking in bed.
"Where's Sir Anthony and your sister. Why can't they take you swimming?"
Addie positively beamed and lowered her voice.
"They're going on a hike and a picnic, but Sir Anthony's going to propose and – Thomas, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
The problem with lying, Barrow reflected, was what happened when you got caught. He'd spent years thinking of ways to get out of that for all kinds of minor infractions and no few that were major. He'd never, however, had to do it while under the concerned gaze of a ten-year-old girl who unfailingly referred to him as her friend. Moreover, one who knew him and had proven it.
"Thomas?"
Heaving himself upright and idly planting the puppy upon the floor and off his bunk, Thomas Barrow ran a hand through his black hair and looked down at Adelaide helplessly. She continued to look up at him, those smoke-blue eyes only a shade off his own light gray filled with worry. Resistance crumbled like dry sand beneath the weight of actual care.
"Nothing you did, Moppet. Just… having a bit of trouble adjusting to a casual holiday. This isn't what I'm used to in service."
"Oh, well, it's not bad is it?"
"Nah," And it's not, you're the one with the problem. "I'm probably just doing it wrong."
"You really are, but that's alright. Sir Anthony said you probably haven't had a proper holiday in ages, and I can show you!"
"What?"
"Sir Anthony said that a lot of people don't pay their servants enough or give them time for holidays." Addie explained without hesitation, frowning. "Which is just wrong. People should at least have a weekend off for the beach now and then, or to visit family."
"My family's not exactly eager to see me, Moppet."
There, harsh and grating as it was, it finally eked out of him. Thomas Barrow had never cared much for the truth. It was, he found, as bitter as the last time he'd tasted it. Looking down at Addie's open expression and seeing surprise and sympathy play out over it burned. He didn't want anyone's pity, not even hers. Then, to his surprise, her expression went… mulish?
"Well, that's their loss, then. I think you're wizard."
"Like Sir Anthony?"
Thomas Barrow wasn't sure about the company he was keeping if she was lumping him with the old farmer's union's favorite representative. Addie was going on, however, her big eyes bright and earnest.
"If your sister – you have a sister, don't you?"
"Er- yes?"
"Well, if your sister is stupid, Thomas, it's her fault, and your parents too. We know you're nifty." Addie nodded to herself, a gesture that he'd seen writ large and far more adult and threateningly focused on Miss Edith now and then. He shouldn't have been surprised when she reached out and grabbed his hand. "That's fine, though. People have a right to be stupid, they just shouldn't whine when other people take advantage of it. Right, Thomas?"
"Right."
Laughter, quite unavoidable, managed to work its way out of his chest and he found himself tugged to his feet.
"Let's go swimming. I'll show you how to have a nice holiday, since you've never had one before. Not really, I mean. We did have a nice day at Brighton after – after…"
"After." He agreed, not wanting to watch her struggle with the emotions that still often overwhelmed her when she dealt with anything related to her lost brothers. She looked up at him with grateful eyes and then reached down, picking up the puppy as it gnawed on one of the bunks' legs.
"No chewing, Hippolyta."
"Hippolyta?" Thomas' lips twitched as he looked at the little puppy. Black over the head, back, and chest. The thing was adorable from its floppy triangular ears and enormous brown feet. Reaching out he scratched at its equally tan belly. "You named this little bit after an amazon queen?"
"She'll grow into it. Now stop stalling and put your swim things on!"
"Can't, don't have any."
"Then just wear your pants." She advised him, utterly unphased.
"And your Omma and sister aren't going to have a problem with that?"
Thomas fought a laugh at the way she stuck her aristocratic little nose up in the air at his scoffing.
"When Omma was growing up boys just swam in the altogether. As for Edith, she's not here, is she?"
"Speaking of, you think – how do you know that the old man's going to propose?"
"Because he told me so." The little imp looked incredibly proud of herself and terribly excited. "It'll all be just lovely, you know. Edith and I talked all about it. I know you're worried about it being different and all and Sir Anthony being in charge, but he's just prickly because he doesn't know you yet. Once he gets to know you he'll like you just as much as we do, and he needs a new butler anyway because his is so old. Plus, if you don't like it there you won't have to wait too long, because you'll come with me when I go to university, won't you?"
"I – what?"
Thomas Barrow had barely woken up and here he was, sitting in his pajamas, staring at the girl as she tugged at his sleeve, setting her puppy down again to do so.
"I'm almost eleven. That means just a few years of school before college. You know I'm going to be a veterinarian."
"I – well, yes?"
Truth be told, Thomas found it just about adorable that the girl kept saying that. On one hand, he probably should tell her that girls didn't become veterinarians. On the other?
Looking suddenly cagey, the skinny little thing looked left and right. Thomas watched as her hair, liver dark, shined in the morning light playing through the bunk house's windows. The plaits worked around her head fitted like a wood nymph's mahogany crown, but when she turned and looked at him with a grin? She was just a little girl, smiling unreservedly at him and nobody else. Leaning forward and lowering her voice, Adelaide Kavanaugh added.
"None of the good universities in England would give me a proper degree, you know, just some kind of certificate saying I went." She complained. "But they'd let me be a proper doctor in Trinity in Ireland, Mr. Branson said so to Sybil when we were talking, and he was driving us into Ripon back in March."
"Did he now?"
"Yes, but you know where else I could go?"
Thomas shook his head as the girl grinned at him conspiratorially.
"I could go to university in France, and you could come and be my butler and even – even find a friend and nobody would arrest you there because of stupid laws. Wouldn't that be the best?"
His mouth dry, Thomas Barrow stared down at Addie and, for the barest moment, had the urge to scream or run or something. Anything, really, any way he could respond and push away what the back of his mind screamed had to be the worst kind of trap. The only problem?
That voice that he'd relied on for so long. The voice that pushed him further and harder and farther into trouble. The one that scrambled for food when he was hungry (and he was always hungry), the one that scrabbled for better things (because nobody had ever offered him anything good on their own, now had they), the one that was his only warning when someone, something, anything was out to destroy him? That voice, like a dying wind, fluttered into stricken silence in the face of a truth he'd spent weeks now unable to accept.
Thomas Barrow did not trust Edith Kavanaugh. He didn't trust Anthony Strallan. He did not trust that damned valet or anyone else huddled in this strange little mess of a family cobbled together out of the ruins of lives.
He did trust the little girl grinning up at him. It was rubbish. He knew that all happy endings were. Addie, however, was absolutely sure that her unlikely, untenable, grand plan was absolutely going to work. What's more, looking down at her, Thomas Barrow was finally able to accept that at least one person in his life meant it when they said they cared for him. That they didn't care about his perversion. After more than half a lifetime of fear, self-loathing, and skin more alike to a chameleon than a man, someone had finally seen Thomas Barrow for the man he was and, for no discernable reason, been glad for it.
"Yes," His voice was quiet too, no doubt taken for secrecy and not the strangled inability to draw air past a throat clogged with feeling. "that would be the very best, Addie. For now, though, let's go swimming, hm?"
With a quiet squeal of agreement, she tossed a comment over her shoulder about waiting at the pond, and with a small, furry, Amazonian warrior queen upon her heels, the girl darted out of the room.
Damn them all, Barrow decided, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he peeled off his pajama shirt. Damn every one of them.
He might not know what he wanted. He might not know what to do. They could all go to hell, though, if they thought he didn't appreciate what he had when he had it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Edith wasn't entirely blind to the obvious. She and Anthony had spoken of their understanding with each other, and both made their feelings and intentions clear. She knew she could expect a proposal before they returned to England, so when he suggested a picnic alone and Mrs. Bauer didn't make any noises about chaperones? Edith had a fairly good idea what was coming.
If only she could tell her nerves that, hm?
She'd once tried to explain to James and Adrian why she always was at her most anxious just before something good was supposed to happen. Her Daddy had understood it, and Katherine had been everything you could ask for from a stepmama. Even if she hadn't understood it, she'd offered instant comfort. Her twin brothers, however, had always found Edith's terrible nervous energy and the anxiety that overtook her whenever something wonderful was on the horizon boggling.
She'd tried to frame the way her life had gone to them. How she'd been the least favored of the children at Downton. How her needs and wants were simply behind those of her sisters/cousins. How Mary had used that to her advantage and how Edith's needs, looks, and hopes were the source of amusement rather than an upwelling of support in her childhood. Beloved as they were by doting, if demanding, parents… the twins had simply never grasped it.
The closest she'd come was when she'd gone to New York with Katherine and Daddy to purchase her wardrobe before she left for university. Technically speaking, it was her "coming out" wardrobe. It was what she'd always hoped for and thought of when she'd dreamt of having supportive, loving, parents leading her to her social debut.
The only difference was that there was no debut. Edith's life… carried on. Her family was wonderful in Annapolis. She enjoyed sharing that rented house with the scholarship girls that her father had arranged. Edith had been happy, but…
But.
That feeling had been the gulf that she could not bridge with her brothers. Two boys wanted so badly since birth, gifted to be part of the "stronger" sex, with an incredible inheritance, and as the product of a lawful union, James and Adrian Kavanaugh had never experienced the rejection Edith found at Downton, and then in society as a bastard. Even a rich bastard could expect a certain amount of backlash, after all, and her lack of a proper debut or welcome into society was just the most glaring of the rejections that had built up for years like razorblades in a wall, cutting Edith every time something good was offered to her.
Which was why, to Edith's deep chagrin, she was currently overcome with anxiety when her nerves should have been riding a glistening cloud of butterflies to an emotional Shangri La.
"Sweet one, you're looking – well, you're beautiful as you always are! It's simply that you're a touch pale and I wondered if perhaps the swimming was a bit much for you, yesterday."
"I'm always pale, Anthony, it comes with walking the line between blonde and ginger." Edith offered up her best smile but could tell that it didn't quite translate the way that she wanted it to when she saw the familiar worry line deepen between his brows.
"You're not fretting overmuch about Mr. Branagh?"
"No, not that." Edith, realizing how poorly her mood was impacting Anthony, rushed to reassure him. "His last letter wasn't thrilled but it was less focused on my decisions than his deep suspicions about everyone at Downton – oh, speaking of which, Mary should be home before we are, thank Goodness."
"I'm sure she'll be very relieved to be home safely and, well, with her current unhappiness firmly behind her."
"I'm hoping she pretends that none of it ever happened." Edith confessed and got a raised eyebrow in return.
"You're not hoping that this shall make for a more sisterly relationship between the two of you?"
"I couldn't trust it."
"Whyever not? You helped her with little enough reason and at great personal cost! You would think that Lady Mary would appreciate that."
"Oh, she will, but Mary deplores owing anyone, or having someone see her as anything less-than-perfect."
"Hm?"
"Sometimes," Edith went on, sliding her hand into his without thought and feeling her soul ooze down her arm to rest against the comfort of his rough, raised, writing callous. "I think that's why she never could tolerate me as a sister. You see, Mary was always throwing tantrums in the nursery or having crying jags when we were little and I knew. Sybil was too young to really remember them, so I was the only witness who wasn't biased in her favor."
"That seems a rather elaborate reason for a toddler to resent their sibling."
"It's nicer than the other likelihood."
"Which is?"
"That Mary always knew I didn't belong." Edith shook their joined hands and blew out a breathless laugh. "Listen to me, though! As if today doesn't have absolutely everything to recommend itself and here I am, worrying about Mary of all people!"
Anthony inclined his head, but worried his lower lip and Edith felt her heart twist in self-recrimination. Just like you, isn't it Edith, to not only spoil the loveliest day of your life but to ruin it for someone who's done nothing but put himself out for your benefit from the moment you met! On this particular day, the annoyed voice in her head sounded less like Mary and more like Granny. Edith tried not to be overly cowed by it and stubbornly ignored the way her face flamed as she brought Anthony's hand up and dropped a kiss against his knuckles, silently marveling at how his hand overwhelmed hers.
"Everything shall be just fine." Edith went on sternly, offering Anthony a far better smile. "Truly. Mary can handle her own problems from here on out, thank you very much, and I absolutely refuse to worry today."
Anthony's lips ticked up on one side in that wonderfully endearing half-smile she'd fallen in love with before she'd even realized its impact.
"Oh, really, now?"
"Yes. Entirely."
Edith's hair was mostly loose, for once. She normally hated having her hair loose as the thick strawberry blonde waves tended to cause her all sorts of grief if left to their own devices and the wind. Mrs. Bauer had insisted that a lady's hair was the most fetching thing to a man's eyes and that, today, she had to wear it as loose as she could stand. Edith took advantage of the fact that it was only drawn back from her temples and tossed her hair over her shoulders. She was pleased when her beau smiled further at her coquettishness.
"Well, sweet one, who am I to argue with such decisiveness?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Stewart was having a perfectly lovely day. He currently had a blanket to sprawl out on set beneath a perfectly good chestnut tree. He had actually received a tip from Miss Adelaide, as well as her gratitude in return for watching her puppy (which was currently snoozing sprawled across his lap) and he was content in the knowledge that Sir Anthony's planned proposal would be met with acceptance and happy success.
"Throw me farther, Thomas, throw me farther!"
"Oi, I'm going to put out a shoulder, you little maniac!"
"Come on, Thomas!"
Stewart's lips twitched in amusement and he found himself reluctantly abandoning some of his displeasure in Miss Edith's choice to retain Barrow's services. For the past hour the man, normally so above himself, had been swimming in his underwear. Thankfully there was nobody about to be properly scandalized by the way that the man's white pants had gone half-transparent.
Nicholas Stewart hadn't lost his shame in the army because, as far as he remembered, he hadn't had much. At least not where nudity was considered in most circumstances. He'd worked hard and developed a valet's finely honed sense of what was appropriate for anyone to wear, and he was proud of his skills. That said? You didn't grow up as he had and retain any missish-ness when it came to human anatomy during a routine thing like a swim in a pond.
Stewart manfully resisted the urge to wink at Barrow when the man had shot him a narrow-eyed look earlier. He had no inclinations towards his own gender. Had he been born with them, frankly, he was quite sure that some of the treatment he'd received in the Indian Schools would have put paid to them out of the joint miseries of physical pain and mental agony. That said, you didn't spend your formative years as a prisoner of deadly discrimination and all the evils of its bureaucratization without building up a proper sympathy for society's other rejects.
Stewart hoped he'd gotten his point across to the other man properly. Neither he nor Sir Anthony would care a jot about the man's inclinations, but he wouldn't accept dishonesty or theft when it came to Barrow's treatment of the Kavanaughs. The man clearly had a few dozen ready persecution complexes to support his bad habits. The question was whether he could leave them behind.
Lazily, Stewart pulled his watch out and checked the time. Then he glanced towards the cottage. Mrs. Bauer had tied a handkerchief around the doorknob and said that she would untie it when her son's migraine had subsided. Until then, they were supposed to keep the young lady and her puppy occupied and out of the house.
Three hours, Stewart mused and held in a wince of sympathy. While he'd never been prone to migraines, nor had Sir Anthony, Mrs. Chetwood suffered from them sporadically. To his recollection, none had ever lasted so long.
"I wonder how long we can leave her in there?"
Stewart cast a critical eye towards where Thomas Barrow had obligingly heaved his young charge out into the pond. Her head had popped up from the water again and she was stroking her way very competently back towards the dock. Barrow threw himself into the water at that point, raising a great splash and earning a tide of squealing commentary from Miss Adelaide that had Stewart chuckling as he heaved himself up from his comfortable sprawl.
"Miss Adelaide, Mr. Barrow, I do believe time is up."
"What do you mean, Mr. Stewart?"
"I mean that Miss Edith was quite firm that you weren't to spend longer than three hours in the water."
"But I haven't spent three hours in the water!"
Stewart raised his eyebrows, but as she paddled forward and clung to the edge of the stone dock, the girl's tone turned wheedling.
"I mean, I've had to spend at least a half-hour running up and down the dock or being thrown in, haven't I? Added together, I mean. That means I only spent two-and-a-half hours in the water! The rest was up in the air!"
"A most excellent argument should we ever bring this matter to trial."
"Thank you!"
"However, sadly childhood is not based on rule of law or democracy." Stewart went on cheerfully. "The only higher power to appeal to is the one who said you've had quite enough. Out you get."
Stewart was aware that this would be a fine first test. Casting his eyes back to where Barrow was treading water, he waited. Just as he thought, Addie turned back to her partner in crime to make her appeal.
"Thomas, tell Mr. Stewart it's fine and I can stay in another half-hour! Please?"
For a moment, Stewart watched the man's dislike of authority fight the briefest battles, though he wasn't sure with or against what it fought. Then the man shook his neatly trimmed head of black hair, water spraying out and leading to a squealed protest from the young lady as she moved closer to him, treading water as she plead her case.
"You're not tired, are you Thomas?"
"Not tired? I feel like I've been throwing three-stone of dead weight off a dock for the last three hours?" Dramatically, the man let himself bob downwards in the water until his outraged second statement gurgled. "Are you looking to drown me? And after the friend I've been to you!"
"Noooo!"
"Well, then, let's get out and dry off!"
"But-."
Thomas' head bobbed under the water and he flailed with all the melodrama of a second-rate Shakespearean. Adelaide, who was swimming nearby him, got dunked by the ankle for her trouble, but as she came up spluttering and squealing with laughter, Stewart watched Barrow expertly herd the girl back towards the dock, chivy her onto it, and then follow her up with the air of a man greatly relieved that his "entertainment" was coming to a close.
"Come on before you drown me, you little heathen."
It was on the tip of Stewart's tongue to comment on that dubious term of endearment, but he let it pass when it produced a wave of giggles in the young lady.
"Get your frock on while I change and no peeking."
"Eeeww, why would I peek? Thomas, you're gross."
Stewart settled the puppy on the ground, as Hippolyta had awoken and begun to yip and wiggle. He watched, amused, as the girl collected her underthings and the simple white frock of the day and threw herself down on the quilt he'd been sitting on. Then, adding to the hilarity, he watched as the girl rolled herself and her clothing up in the quilt like tobacco going into paper.
The little shepherd puppy could hardly let such amusement stand in the face of affection for her person and puppyish curiosity.
"No, Polly!"
Stewart chuckled as the puppy crawled into the rolled quilt and the whole thing convulsed with giggles and yips and childish protests against nipping, licking, or otherwise being in the way of the already convoluted dressing process. Hippolyta finally toddled out, draped in Addie's sodden swimming costume, and some of the quilt's convulsions stilled.
"Is everybody decent?"
"I've got my trousers and vest on, though I don't know that some of us will ever achieve full decency, Moppet." Barrow quipped and the quilt unrolled, revealing Miss Adelaide dressed in her thoroughly wrinkled frock and clutching her shoes and stockings in separate hands.
"Don't worry, Thomas, I'll pray for you."
Stewart was forced to feign a rather severe coughing attack and watched as the tall footman-turned-butler fought to maintain his glare over his obvious amusement.
"I'm not putting my stockings on wet feet. There is nothing worse than wet stockings." Addie declared as she stood up. "I can dry off first, can't I Mr. Stewart?"
"I heard no mention of stockings from your sister, Miss Adelaide, or footwear."
Addie brightened and Stewart felt not the least little bit of shame for enabling further scrambling about shoeless. How long did the girl have before she had to give up the schoolroom and all of its joys for the drawing room anyway? With a fortune like hers, Stewart was afraid she was in for a rude shock all too soon.
"Good! Are you going to wear yours, Thomas?"
"Not for a minute." The butler snorted, picking up the canvas bag that Stewart had transported the quilt in and nodding towards the damp blanket. "Help me fold this, hm?"
Stewart took a step to do so but was surprised when the young lady turned and automatically did so herself. He fought a small smile and noted that the young lady, though noticeably spoiled, was good-hearted. She'll do well at Loxley and be nearly as good for Sir Anthony as her sister, Stewart thought to himself. Mind, there will likely enough be an adjustment. She's been too long without much structure and school and a new steady and proper home will give her a shock.
Barrow stuffed the blanket in the bag along with the shoes and stockings and then raised it to his shoulder, smirking at Stewart as he left the heavier picnic hamper for the smaller man to carry. Amused, Stewart did the one thing that he knew would annoy the man most: he kept his face utterly impassive and silently picked up the hamper without complaint.
"I'm not at all tired, Omma hasn't moved the hankerchief, and Polly wants to play. Can we walk around a bit?"
"I think it might be a better idea to head up and have a lie down at the bunkhouse." Stewart offered quietly. "If I recall, Miss Adelaide, your sister did infer that it's best to take a nap after such a nice long swim, and none of us have had lunch yet."
"I'm with the Moppet; it's too fine a day to go inside yet."
Stewart held in a frown as the anticipated contrariness in the other man finally reared its head.
"Yes, just a short walk Mr. Stewart and then we'll have lunch in the meadow. I'm hungry!"
Stewart had absolutely no doubt that there was a healthy dose of manipulation in that little proclamation, but it also put paid to any hope of going inside. The girl not only had backup that she would follow before and over his instructions, but his orders from Sir Anthony and Miss Edith were utterly clear on the matter. Anything that encouraged the young lady to eat her frequent, small, meals in their recommended amount was to be embraced.
"Very well, then, to the meadow Miss Adelaide." Stewart, who'd spent the last three hours napping with a puppy rather than being run ragged by a small child, offered up a small smile that was as sincere as the smirk in his eyes was not, as he focused the obnoxiously bland look on Barrow. "Last one there is a rotten egg!"
Stretching out into an easy lope he heard the young lady squeal in delight and rush after him, her puppy scampering at her heels and yipping in delight. He also heard what Barrow muttered about him under his breath as he forced the man to exercise his already abused muscles further to catch up. Takes one to know one, Mr. Barrow…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Oh, champagne? Mrs. Bauer didn't pack this, wherever did you get it, Anthony?"
While Sir Anthony Strallan wasn't entirely sure who owed whose life more thoroughly to the other from their brief and unpleasant shared experiences in South Africa, he was utterly sure of who he owed the success of his proposal to.
"Stewart is a man of many talents."
"Including the culinary?"
"Well, between the two of us he's certainly a better cook than I am."
As Edith laughed at his rueful tone, Anthony spread the quilt out with a flourish. Mrs. Bauer had supplied that much of his needs, at least, and done it with the enthusiasm of a true romantic. The quilt was new and patterned like a white lattice gate overtop of a riot of mismatched blue chintz pattern pieces serving as a background. Winding through and around the white fabric "gate" in heart-shaped, interlocking, curlicues, were green vines. Sprouting from those vines were red fabric roses in full bloom. It was, without doubt, a wedding quilt and no doubt Edith's intended gift from months before her visit.
"Oh, how lovely." Edith smoothed her hands over the fabric and lowered herself gracefully onto the quilt, smiling up at him warmly as Anthony put far more effort into sitting gracefully than he normally did.
While he knew that Edith was well aware of his age and loved him no matter such mathematical details, he couldn't help feeling concerned about it now and again. The last thing he wanted, even if she did not care, was a background symphony of crackling joints as he made his proposal. Thankfully, Edith was rather distracted by the basket of goodies and when one of his knees creaked ominously, she missed it entirely.
Anthony sat forward and helped Edith spread out the various cheeses, crackers, and toasted bread that Stewart had provided, along with the selection of smoked Italian hams and three jars of different olives. The small, covered basket of fresh fruit went to the side and a purely masculine smugness descended over him as Edith's face lit up at the gilt-foil box she withdrew last.
"Ooh chocolates! With orange essence and coconut? Anthony, how did you know? I haven't had these in years."
Miss Adelaide had, of course, shared with him the story of how anything at all to do with the tropical fruit was banned from the Kavanaugh home after her mother's death. Chocolate, while not entirely banned, was curtailed in terms of type. It was an edict that no-one had dared cross during Zachary Kavanaugh's lifetime.
In truth, Anthony's heart went out to the man. Katherine Kavanaugh had been younger than her husband, and she had been his second wife and the third woman he had loved. After Rosamund's manipulations and his first wife's death… Anthony knew what it felt to find love when it was least expected. He could well-imagine the horror and grief that had descended when, in less than a week, the healthy and vivacious woman to whom he'd been married for twenty years had sickened and died in the grip of what was either an ague, a flu, or potentially meningitis.
In the end, the cause had mattered little. Katherine had once had a sweet tooth and loved fancy chocolates. Dotingly, her husband had made sure there was always a box of such sweets available in her boudoir.
"A man must protect his informants, Miss Edith, if he expects to keep the chain of information intact and properly covert."
His protestations were met with a laugh as, after pause and glancing at the spread before her, Edith picked up a single coconut filled morsel and broke the chocolate in half. Anthony watched with deep appreciation as she popped it into her mouth and her eyes fell half-closed in delight as she chewed. Tugging at his necktie, Anthony swallowed roughly at the exquisite image of sensual pleasure before him as he wondered what other situations she might appear so transported in.
To his surprise, as she opened her eyes, Edith shyly raised the other half of the treat to his own lips in offering. Anthony blinked once and then, slowly, leant forward and accepted it. As his lips dragged over the pad of her thumb he watched her shiver and held in his own as he chewed. For once, he barely noticed the taste of the sweet he was enjoying as he sat there across from Edith, even her freckles painted gold by the sunlight.
"This really is the loveliest spot. Will you pour?"
"Certainly, and it is."
Anthony agreed as he took up the bottle of champagne that he'd had Stewart acquire and secret amidst their luggage on the way up into the mountains, along with the other picnic supplies. Tearing his eyes away from Edith, he studied the view. Edith did the same, sighing.
They were perched on a small, flat, area standing like a shelf against the side of one of the ridges framing the high valley that the cottage and its little lake were nestled in. There, green grass had sprung up, dotted with tiny golden and blue flowers. Shaded by shivering aspen trees, the tiny plateau served as the perfect resting spot as they gazed down at the scene below.
"Oh, look, I think that's Addie!"
"As well as her faithful Amazonian companion." Anthony agreed, amused, as he squinted over the edge from beneath his hand.
He could just make out Edith's little sister darting through the tall grass at the edge of the meadow. While he couldn't make out the puppy bounding about her feet, the erratic path she was taking seemed to confirm "Polly's" presence.
"I'm more relieved to see that she didn't give either Barrow or your poor valet the slip." Edith's voice took on a maternal frown and Anthony held in a chuckle. "Is she wearing shoes?"
"I'm afraid these old eyes couldn't possibly tell at such a distance."
"Oh, well, they seem quite happy." Anthony shared a smile with Edith as she turned back to him, leaving the view for another time. "Whatever shall we talk about that isn't fit for a ten-year-old's ears?"
"Well," It's the perfect opening, you old fool, take it, "perhaps the next Downton amphibian survey?"
Anthony cursed his sense of humor, but Edith only flapped a hand at him as he popped the champagne with a satisfying hiss. She held up two coups and in short order they were enjoying a meal as wonderful as any they'd shared. As always, Anthony was caught up in wonder at how easy it was to talk with her.
"So, Sybil quite agrees I should do more writing but I'm so nervous. You just know that if I send something in that they're going to bring up the whole mess with my – my origins in the papers."
"At which point I would clarify to all involved that, as you hardly had a say in the circumstances, that mess is certainly not yours to deal with and direct their inquiries to your Lady Aunt."
"Thank you, but you do know it will distress Mama and Papa terribly." Edith bit her lip. "Which is a mess because I've only – only just rather allowed myself to think of them that way again."
"Whatever Lord and Lady Grantham think and feel, Edith, they love you." Anthony replied, quite sure nobody in the world could do less than love this woman. "Which means that underneath the bluster and idiocy – assuming they've learned anything – they will feel nothing but pride as they watch you live up to your limitless potential."
"Really, is that all you would feel to see my name in the papers?"
With those words, for once, Anthony Strallan knew just what to say. Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his and guided it down, setting her champagne aside. Taking that hand and raising it to his lips, he turned, working to get his knees properly arranged.
"Actually, Edith, I was hoping to see our name in those papers."
Despite his fluency in so many languages and all of the accomplishments that led him to in the future, on the rare occasions that the humble man could be led to brag about his linguistic skills it would be this incident that he spoke of when prompted. Kneeling before Edith as she sat on one hip, her legs curled off to the side in the perfect demure posture of a lady on a picnic, Anthony knelt, captured her hands, and kissed her fingers repeatedly as he spoke.
"Edith, my dearest darling, I don't know if you understand the life that you've brought into my life these last few months. I realize that, in some ways and to some, it might seem entirely too soon and I know that I am entirely too old and you could do so much better than a fusty old codger such as myself-."
"Anthony-."
"No, let me finish." Anthony insisted, squeezing her hands in one of his as he fumbled with the inside pocket of the carefully chosen linen jacket he was wearing. "Edith, when a person is young they assume that happiness, marriage, children – all of it is some God-given right rather than a delicate privilege. As you age and life goes on and you see the essential cruelty of it as life denies you these things. I'd – I'd quite given up after Maud or any thought of, well, of life going on as anything more than the same."
"Then you were literally shoved into my life and I've been grateful every day since for the fact that it was my lifeboat that Addie decided to hide behind. Edith, you've given me my life back when I'd barely realized that I'd forgotten how to live it. Would you do me the honor of being my wi-."
He didn't quite get the all-important question out when he found himself toppling backwards onto his rear-end, his arms full of sobbing young woman. Flailing, he barely managed to get his arms up and around her, desperate to hold on both for balance and out of joy as she took firm hold of both of his ears and drew him into a frantic, delightful barrage of closed-mouth kisses.
"Oh, yes, yes, Anthony, yes, of course I'll marry you!"
Anthony got a hand up to cradle the back of her head, fingers winding happily through the tangled waves of her loose hair as she adjusted her hold, cradling his jaw as he drew her into a deep, lingering kiss. Though he'd feel a little bit ashamed for it later, as he sat there with a delightful lapful of the woman he adored more than his own life, he even began to softly school her on how to properly introduce one's tongue into such matters.
Finally, breathless he pulled back.
"Y-you're sure, sweet one?"
"Anthony, darling, yes."
"Jolly good." Anthony breathed thoughtlessly, stealing another kiss before realizing his oversight. "The ring!"
"Hm?" Edith blinked blearily at him from over kiss-swollen lips and grinning like an idiot, Anthony fumbled back into his disarranged jacket and retrieved the small box from his pocket.
With immense satisfaction, he popped the box open, withdrew the article of jewelry, and slid it home upon her left third finger. With a smug smile he noted that it was a perfect fit.
"Oh, Anthony, it's beautiful!"
"The chap I had do it for me in Salzburg does wonderful work. I got a few things for Diana and Mama from him while I did my university year abroad." Anthony agreed, pleased beyond words by the delight radiating from her face as she turned her hand, letting the sunlight catch and sparkle on the stones. "I'm pleased you like it, Edie."
"Like isn't the world. What is it?"
"A padparadscha sapphire from Sri Lanka. Named after the lotus blossom for its color, though I think a sunset would better suffice."
The ring was a lovely thing. The central stone was six carats, cushion cut, and held firmly in a bezel setting flanked by a shield-cut diamond on either side. Sturdy and made for a woman who wrote and used her hands daily, the ring was still feminine and delicate as the setting was filled with delicately cut away patterns to let light pass through. With the blushing orange-pink tone of the central stone, the contrast between it and its platinum setting was the perfect note of coolness amidst the fire.
"Oh, Anthony, I hope you didn't spend-."
"Worthy every penny." Anthony maintained, stealing another kiss, but his nature demanded one last question. "Are you sure-."
His ears were misused for another, quite drawn out kiss, and by the time it was finished Anthony found himself every bit as rumpled as his fiancée, who drew back from him to sniffle before falling into a helpless, near silent, giggle against his shoulder.
"Edie, darling?"
"I think you're wearing more of my lipstick than I am now."
And so, their engagement started much as their friendship had; in laughter, comfort, and the kind of synchronicity of nature so rare that in the face of it objections crumbled to dust and happiness bloomed, verdant, from the wreckage.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Lady Mary Crawley returned to England with more fanfare than she left it, but not much. Her father picked her up, Branson driving them, and there was only one tense exchange between herself and the Earl regarding the unfortunate situation that had driven her to France, or the man he'd sent chasing after her.
"I do hope Cousin Matthew wasn't too distressed by the circumstances."
"I'd say he rather was, Mary, but if your feelings haven't changed then I don't suppose there is much point in discussing it?"
"Certainly not, Papa." Mary replied, surprised and relieved that there would not be a greater wrangle between them over it.
She'd had weeks to think of what she was going to say and, as she was led silently into Grantham House's most private sitting room to face her mother and grandmother, as well as her father, Mary found that she felt better than she'd expected. Surer of herself, at least, in the face of all of that painful concern and the terrible naked feeling she got from everyone knowing something so humiliating and intimate about her as everything connected to Pamuk was. She credited it entirely to Anna's influence and to the fact that, for the first time in her life, Mary Crawley had sat down and faced the inevitable pitfalls of reality with a plan.
"Oh, Mary, my poor darling, are you alright?"
For all that she didn't let it show on her face, nothing had ever felt so good in that moment as her mother's arm wrapping around her in unconditional concern, support, and love. Returning the hug, Mary stepped back.
"Of course, I am, Mama. You act as if I barely avoided my own funeral, Mama!"
"A funeral barely avoided would be far less interesting than the metaphorical bullets you've been dodging, and, as such, preferable."
"That you, Granny, for your endless encouragement."
"You are welcome."
There was the barest pause as Mary sat and she realized, with a certain dread, that the awkward silence she had feared was descending. The control she'd felt she had taken of her life in Paris, planning the future with Anna's support, began to fray at the edges and slip through her fingers. Her heart sped up.
"Well, shall we all sit around and stare at each other until the maids must come in and dust us like museum pieces or shall we get to the point of it?"
God bless you, Granny.
The woman herself turned her gimlet gaze on her granddaughter and adjusted her grip on the cane she held before her, like a swordsman at rest, as she raised a deadly eyebrow towards Mary.
"You won't take an earldom – your father's I might add – as it comes with an otherwise perfectly acceptable young man. So, Mary, what particular brand of spinsterhood or whatever the modern sobriquet that Sybil is peddling this week, are you espousing?"
"The only thing I desire to espouse is an independent man of means and title befitting my station, Granny." Mary couldn't have hoped for a better opening even as her father shot her a shocked look from beneath beetled, hurt brows.
"And in what way isn't Matthew those things? I realize he can be a bit rough around the edges and earnest, dear girl, but he kno-."
"Exactly!"
Mary's harsh exclamation cut across her father's words, but she refused to be cowed by good manners or polite speech. Gritting her teeth and gripping tightly to every ounce of haunter she possessed, Mary leaned forward slightly and gestured around them, as if pulling an unwilling and unruly truth from the salon's air.
"Papa, I am not going to take an offer issued in pity that will be held over my head for the rest of my life."
"But-."
"But nothing." Mary clung to a hundred whispered conversations, secrets, she'd exchanged like a blood transfusion with her maid. A woman who, without her fully realizing it, had become her best and first true friend. One day she would fully realize what that meant, but for now she was utterly focused on the one task that was of critical importance, beyond all others, to her. "Papa, Mama, I want you to understand."
"Yes, of course, Mary that's all we ever wanted." Mama spoke first, resting a hand on her husband's forearm to quiet him and cutting her eyes narrowly towards her mother in law before returning that loving blue gaze for Mary to drown in.
Mary treaded emotional water as if her sanity depended on it. Honestly? She believed it did.
"Mary, we want to understand and support you. We realize it is not your fault-."
"Which is why I refuse to be stigmatized for it. That includes through Matthew's charity." Mary interrupted again. "Mama, thanks to Edith and… awkward as it is, Sir Anthony, my secret is safe. There is no reason or way that anyone who doesn't already know ever shall and I trust those who do not to ruin me."
"So you just want to go on as if nothing happened?" Granny interrupted softly and Mary hesitated, surprised by the gentleness in the old woman's tone and the soft regret in her eyes. "Oh, Mary my dear, I do wish I could reassure you on that front but… In my considerable experience the one thing that never happens, is nothing."
"Granny, I'm sitting her telling you that I want to do exactly what you have always wanted me to do, are you truly displeased?"
The Dowager frowned thoughtfully and Mary quickly turned to her mother. This was the coup de grace. This, Mary fervently hoped, was where she would win.
"Mama, you were right and I was wrong. So was Papa, though Matthew just didn't work out."
There was a beat of silence and then the dowager tapped her cane against the floor once in emphasis.
"See, as I said: the one thing that never happens is nothing. Take right now for instance. Mary has admitted she was wrong. I am sure there is a winged pig circling parliament as we speak."
"Mother." The pained tone that the title issued with said everything about her father's feelings and Mary felt her lips fighting to smile as her father, boggled and clearly unhappy with it, turned to his daughter. "Mary, I – what precisely are you saying?"
"I'm saying that Mama and Granny are right. My position is precarious and I have always been exactly who I am." Mary sat up to her full height. "The daughter of an Earl, a beautiful and self-possessed lady who can and should expect the best that life has to offer. To have that, I must marry, marry well, and marry soon. All of which my own actions have stood in the way of."
"Matthew-."
"Is out of the question. I won't have a husband who, for the rest of my life, will judge me as either a harlot or a victim because of something that was done to me, against my will, and for which I refuse to accept blame or responsibility." Mary pushed the words out passionately, standing up and turning. "Mama, Granny, will you help me? I promise to be the opposite of an obstruction from this point forward."
"Of course we will, Mary. Oh, my darling, come here!"
"Well, obedience." Granny huffed softly. "Do close your mouth and order tea. Perhaps that is one novelty we can cultivate in all of the family's children from this point onward."
"I trust you're not including me in that, Mother."
"I've warned you before about misplacing your trust, Robert, I shan't repeat myself again. Tea, please."
"I doubt we'll be able to recover Evelyn Napier, but there are several other options we could consider, now that we aren't so pressed for time or other fears." Mary settled back onto the sofa, tucked beside her mother, and relaxed into Lady Grantham's eager words as the countess turned towards her mother-in-law. "What do you think about George Blakely?"
"His father's quite young, isn't he?"
"And on that grisly note, I shall excuse myself. Mary, we'll talk later, yes?"
"Of course, Papa."
Mary watched her father exit as her grandmother and mother carried on.
"Yes, Lord Blakely is rather young but he's also a determined widower." The countess caught her daughter's eye and smirked. "So, no mother-in-law!"
The Dowager's response was everything one could have expected and Mary allowed herself to laugh, her determination settling down into uneasy rest beside the laboriously rebuilt pride that was its bedfellow. In a year, Mary promised herself, I will have my own establishment, title, husband, income, and will never have to beg Edith or anyone else to save me again.
"-but Edith said a small wedding, Mama."
"Pardon?" Mary was jarred from her thoughts to look between her mother and grandmother as they spoke.
"Do stop woolgathering, Mary. We've barely gotten started, don't embarrass midges and African fruit flies with your attention span if it can be at all avoided."
The countess sighed and shot a sideways look at Lady Violet before patting her daughter's hand and smiling tensely.
"Edith has written. She has accepted Sir Anthony Strallan's proposal and, after whatever necessary speech must be had with that frightful Branagh man, they hope to marry in early autumn."
"An unfortunate necessity given the connections she could have afforded previously, but it is the price of what we owe him for his assistance with other unfortunate matters."
"Mine, you mean." Mary swept her hands down her skirt, as if straightening it and brushing her grandmother's words away in one movement. "That's utter rot, Granny. Edith's never known how to make an intelligent choice in her life, so it should hardly surprise anyone that she's madly in love with the boring old thing."
"Mary…"
"It's not that I'm ungrateful, Mama, merely honest!" Mary protested. "I'm not blind, and if anyone else is here, that is not my fault. Edith is in love with Strallan. Surely you and Granny have noticed how ridiculous they are around each other?"
"A girl is often ridiculous around her first infatuation. It is her family's job to direct her towards better choices."
"Well, Edith's is made and there's nothing else to be done for it." Mary dismissed the situation with a wave. "Let's focus on your unspoken for daughters, Mama, yes?"
"Which is precisely why I pointed out that Edith's wedding is an excellent way to draw in young men for Mary to meet. People go all to pieces and the little good sense that God graced them dribbles out of their ears at weddings." The Dowager tapped her cane again for emphasis just as the tea arrived. "Oh, Carson, thank you. As I was saying, the sentimentality makes it the perfect place to strike, Cora. I'll have a word with Edith when she returns."
"I'm sure Edith won't mind." Mary added, actually sincere for once. "She never had a proper debut. What other chance is she going to get to properly introduce herself to society?"
To Mary, the idea made perfect sense and offered up an efficient way to see her own needs fulfilled. With that in mind, she fell to discussing the particulars. With the ruthlessness of an assassin, Mary Crawley turned towards her past with knives flashing in hand. Slicing and tearing, she began to pull from it everything that gave her grief, determined to only look towards the carefully constructed, shining, future she'd cast herself into.
Determined to rebuild herself, she didn't notice that tide hovering on the horizon waiting to come in, or the dampness of the silica grains beneath her feet.