Author's Notes: Settling in…
General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical homophobia, 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. Be sure to drop by and read her work as it is considerably better than mine!
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Early September 1913
The second threshold that Anthony Strallan carried his lady across went far more smoothly than the first. Edith was now wearing a simple dark mauve skirt and pale ivory blouse that she had worn before, along with a favorite brown traveling coat and a reliable, small-brimmed hat. With her arms around her husband's neck, grinning, he stepped far more easily through Loxley's broad doors, expertly maneuvered her into the familiar hallway, and set her down with a quick kiss to the cheek.
"A moment."
Edith caught the brief look of annoyance on his face as he turned and the hall filled with the sound of childish laughter and the scramble and noise of a happy, excitable, puppy.
"Thomas!"
Barrow had picked up Edith's suitcase in one hand, leaving the other two larger cases for Stewart and Loxley's single footman to manage. In his other arm, held around her middle like a sack of potatoes, was Edith's sister. Despite the fact that he'd obviously annoyed her husband by picking up Addie and carrying her into Loxley, Edith couldn't quite help smiling even as she raised her hand to hide her teeth. Her sister was too-obviously enjoying herself, and there was no mistaking the fondness that their somewhat weaselly servant was displaying as he carted the girl inside.
"Your baggage, Lady Strallan."
The new under-butler announced without so much a flicker of an eyelid as he settled the girl's feet on the floor and she shoved ineffectually at him as she stood up, adjusting her dark blue plaid coat and the maroon beret she'd become overfond of in France. Addie's hair was unbound today and fell in heavy waves in every direction, framing her face and emphasizing her grin there as she scrambled forward to dart under Anthony's outstretched hand and wrap her arms around his waist in an exuberant hug that clearly delighted the baronet.
"You put up the hat stand!"
Edith turned and her good humor turned to chagrin as she saw the object of her sister's delight.
"Oh, Anthony, no."
"It's a family heirloom, Edith!"
"It's a travesty, Addie. Anthony…" Edith turned to face her husband as she looked back and forth between Addie's nervous expression and Anthony's excessive innocence.
The object in question had stood in her father's office for untold years. Mainly because neither of his wives had been willing to keep it in any room that saw respectable traffic. If he wanted to show off his bad taste to his business partners, that was Zachary Kavanaugh's business. The ladies in the family – at least the grown ladies -had better taste.
Fully seven feet tall, their father had made the stand as a young man out of the trunk of a desiccated mesquite sapling he'd found. Then, with all the skill of a man who was far more a banker and a businessman than he'd ever been a cowboy, but all the spirit of any native Texan, her father had proceeded to collect as many cattle horns and pronghorn antlers as he could find. Affixing these firmly to the trunk, he created what Edith thought of as the ugliest tree in existence.
Which was now standing proudly in Loxley's elegantly paneled entry hall. The marble bust of Cicero sitting on its stand opposite the thing seemed as dubious about its presence as Edith was. Right by the door, no less! Where nobody could miss it…
"Anthony…"
"Come now, Edith, it is a family heirloom. Tradition is important to us Strallans, you know."
"And you're a Kavanaugh too and this is ours! Isn't it nice to have something of home right by the door, Addie?"
"What about the big celadon vase that your mama kept her umbrellas in?"
Edith reached for sanity one last time but was met by her husband stooping down to kiss her cheek.
"Knowing how much you like it, Addie and I thought it might be best kept in your boudoir."
"Which we should go up and see!" Addie was bouncing on her toes now. "Come on, Edie, I want to see my room too!"
"We're not done discussing that." Edith leveled a threatening finger at the hat stand even as Stewart quietly accepted and stowed his master's hat on the miserable thing. She did, however, let Addie take one her hands and tug her towards the stairs even as Anthony tucked one of his into the small of her back to propel her forward. A moment later and her husband was very effectively chivying them all up the stairs, beaming at everything like the happiest of kings in the most contented of kingdoms.
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"That wasn't quite well-done, Mr. Barrow, but I find I can't blame you for it."
"Oh?"
Mr. Kerr was a small, bent man of considerable years and a personal gravitas that didn't quite hide the kindness that projected from so much of what he did. Unaccountably, despite having greeted Thomas' arrival with a gentle enthusiasm and genuine acceptance… he made the younger man nervous.
"Yes, it would have been the proper thing to let the master handle it. Sir Anthony shall be as good as her father, and it was his place to bring her into his home."
Thomas held back a scowl and bit his tongue and was glad he did as the man went on.
"That said, the girl did go straight to you and it is clear she considers you a special friend. It would have been wrong to reject her."
"It seems a situation where I wasn't blessed with a single correct course, Mr. Kerr."
"Most of life is that way, son. Just do your best." The old fellow patted Thomas' shoulder and he held in a twitch. "Come along then."
With nothing else that he could do, Barrow did just that. Thomas soon found himself standing in the bustle of the kitchens. Loxley's downstairs was smaller – as was the entirety of the house – than Downton, but seemed less crowded.
There's just fewer people here and less stepping on each other over it. Thomas' thoughts turned ruefully to the fact that there was less stepping on each other in general. Sir Anthony seldom entertained, didn't have a political career, and wasn't exactly social. Beyond his duties as a landowner, the expected county things, and such? The man didn't do much and Thomas didn't know how much being married would change it. Miss Ed- Lady Strallan didn't exactly have a bustling social life herself.
Thomas didn't know what he thought of it. For the last few weeks he'd been drafted into a dozen different jobs between Crawley House and Loxley to prepare for the wedding and the ladies' arrival to the house. He wasn't sure where the place would go now that they were in residence.
"If you will mind our end of the dinner preparations, Mr. Barrow, I'll mind the silver. After you've met with Mrs. Bernard and Mrs. Walsh, you and I can go down to the cellar and talk through this evening's wines."
At least I'm not unsure of my place in it all. What there is of it.
Mr. Kerr had welcomed him as underbutler with undisguised relief. The old man wasn't ready to retire and confessed that, as he'd long ago lost his wife and only child to a "summer ague", he had not much else to look forward to.
"I often look back and think that, perhaps, I should have tried to remarry. Then again, it was so very long ago… I shall instead save my relief and invest it in Sir Anthony. His mother and father would be so happy to see him safely wed again, and to such a lovely young lady. Oh, but it will be good to hear children in this house again!"
The change between Mr. Kerr and old Carson was staggering and left Barrow truly wrong-footed. The diminutive bloke was just to damned nice. Oh, he wasn't an idiot. Barrow had found his affront over not being left alone with the silver or given a key to the cellars utterly disarmed by the fact that the man had invited him in to speak with him over tea and sandwiches that very first day back in Yorkshire and so much as told him that he'd have to work to earn complete trust "given his past". Thomas might have bristled or thought of some avenue of revenge but the man was just… he was just so honest. He'd said it all in a gentle manner, and offered up encouragement through all of it!
Thomas wasn't sure he liked being surrounded in just this much goodness, honestly.
"Barrow, are you sitting on your behind again when you oughtn't not be?"
"The young man and I were just seeing to the division of duties, Mrs. Walsh."
"Hmph!"
Mrs. Walsh was a full six feet of sturdy, dusky, Welsh temper. Barrow reflected that it was like God had taken all of the temper and height he'd denied the Downton housekeeper and stuffed it into Loxley's. Either that, or he was making up for Mr. Kerr's good nature. However, you looked at it… Barrow had the most enormous fun twitting the woman.
"Am I inconveniencing you again, Mrs. Walsh?" Thomas put a hand over his heart and affected his most exaggeratedly heart-broken expression. "Perish the thought! I long for nothing so much as to be of service."
Thomas took a hasty step sideways. Mrs. Walsh was the housekeeper, but despite her rank she still wore an apron. One that was spotless, edged in fine lace, and clearly as much a sign of her rank within the household as her chatelaine. She also kept a tea towel tucked into the ties of that apron and was quick to snap it at those she deemed in need of direction. The maids looked at that tea towel the way some Regency buck's team had once regarded his whip.
"As bad as my own husband you are!" The towel was patted, but left in place as the tall woman reached out one square hand and flapped it at him. "Come along then. I must go and sort out the laundress again. Foolish girl couldn't find her own nose with a map and a trained collie. Mrs. Bernard's sorted out the menu, but wants that you should organize feeding it to everyone."
"Haven't you usually done that, Mrs. Walsh? I would hate to step-."
"My toes are in good sound boots, Mr. Barrow. Step away! Now, get on with doing that so I don't have to."
And off she bustled. Mr. Kerr settled into the butler's pantry with everything out he needed to do the polishing; as it was one of the few jobs he did easily these days. Thomas smoothed his new, nicely sharp, jacket and entered the kitchen.
That was a world of difference all on its own. In the place of Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and the other transient, underpaid, kitchen maids of Downton? There was Mrs. Bernard. A sweet, smiling, Frenchwoman of a little over forty with a sharp scar twisting her left cheek and a decidedly crooked nose. The mousy blonde had nothing like a redhead's temper, and besides that? She sang hymns while she cooked!
"Oh, there you are Mr. Barrow!" Her softly accented voice greeted him softly over the equally restrained bustle and clank of the kitchen.
Assisting Mrs. Bernard was Lydia. The twenty-year-old widow of a factor worker at one of Sir Anthony's manufacturing interests, she'd been given the job at Loxley out of charity two years before when it had come to the baronet's attention that she had no pension of any kind and was already pregnant with her second child. She lived in a small cottage with her mother, who occasionally charred at the house when extra hands were needed, and was another quiet, cheerful presence beneath the vaulted brick ceiling of the kitchens that was utterly unlike anything Barrow had ever seen in the houses he'd served in.
Then again, the houses you served in underpaid and overworked everyone in them. You're making decent money. You're not being asked to do more work than you've hours in the day for. Neither are they. Is it any wonder it's a happier house downstairs?
Anthony shook off that thought and stepped forward with a winning smile. The cook and her assistant, both easily charmed, soon handed him a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea for his trouble while Mrs. Bernard fretted over whether or not her luncheon plans would come off, as she'd had no time to discuss them with Lady Strallan and she knew how very important it was that everything went smoothy today for Sir Anthony.
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Anthony was more than a little annoyed at Barrow, but he pushed it aside easily. It was hard to be angry at anything, honestly. Who could be, on such a day?
"You remembered Polly's pillow!"
"But of course." Anthony reached down and patted the lanky, growing, pup as the little black and tan shepherd rubbed against his shins before darting after her person once more.
"Oh dear, hair everywhere already."
"German shedder." Anthony chuckled under his breath, looking down at his wife's warm eyes for a moment before his own were drawn back to the happy child in their midst.
Anthony resisted the urge to sigh, but gave into the urge to smile until his cheeks hurt. How long had he wanted this? To hear Loxley ringing with a child's laughter and to watch one scramble about in delight over a room he'd planned?
Oh, it was hardly a nursery (though, of course, there was yet time and he and Edith… well…) but it was a child's room. Anthony had not bought most of the furniture, as that had come from Downton and America before that. What he had done was gleefully fill in every gap he could even think of.
"Sir Anthony, thank you!" Addie threw herself down onto the duvet covering her bed, patting it happily. "Polly, up Polly, look now you have room!"
"Oh, Addie, that's why we have the pillow!"
"But, Edie, she gets lonely on the pillow."
"Yes, but-."
"And she keeps me warm!"
Edith's mouth snapped shut and Anthony reached out and touch her hand, shooting a sideways look at where Addie was playing with her puppy up on the bed. Lowering his voice, he leaned down closer to his wife's height.
"I had a man come in and put in a proper stove." He nodded towards where the restrained but, cheerful, marble inset and its polished oak mantle now featured a small black wood stove fitted in place where there'd previously been an open fireplace, and then towards the windows. "And this room gets the least wind. Not a draft to be found, sweet one."
It had been a concern, one of the first, that Edith had shared with him. Anthony had taken it utterly seriously, as he would any concern for a child's health, let alone his child's. Addie did poorly in cold, damp weather and they were in England. Normally, in the winter months, the Kavanaugh family had decamped south to either Texas or South Carolina for the worst months. Edith had feared they would need to do the same, perhaps to southern France.
Anthony had advised that they use the previous winter and spring as a measure of how Addie's health would handle Yorkshire's weather. She'd arrived in February, and while there had been a sore throat or two and some sinus complaints, vigilance had kept her out of the rain and well-wrapped against the damp. Addie had fared well and Anthony was determined to make sure she continued to do so.
"You'd also mentioned Cornwall?"
"Yes, perhaps for Christmas if we notice any change."
His lady wife – and wasn't it fine to look down on her lovely face and be able to think that? Edith smiled at him and bobbed up to kiss his cheek in thanks for his consideration. Then they were distracted by Addie again.
"I like the rug very much too, is it new? I don't think the bed is, Sir Anthony."
"The rug is indeed new, I found it in a catalogue and thought of you."
"I wonder why?"
Edith's rueful comment had Anthony faking a cough even as Addie shot her sister a very droll look.
"It's a fine rug, Sir Anthony. Absolutely wizard." Addie tossed her curls and wrinkled her nose at her sister. "It's not in your room so you don't have to like it, Edie!"
"And it's a good thing as I do not!"
The rug was a collection of rather poorly rendered exotic animals, mainly of the sort found in the savannahs of Africa. Each was picked out in a square and then joined together into a large rectangle of clashing colors and imagery. It was… not a very attractive rug. It was, however, precisely the sort of thing Anthony would have coveted at ten years of age.
Addie continued around her room, enthusiastically touching this and that thing, moving a bit here and there. He'd made sure that the bookshelf from her brothers' room had a good place against the wall, but that there was another mirroring it. Katherine Kavanaugh's dainty antique French writing desk had pride of place on the right side of the hearth.
The tour continued and Anthony found himself warmed to see both his girls so happy with how he'd worked their possessions into what he gloried in thinking of as their home. He'd enjoyed joining the hat rack conspiracy, but he'd enjoyed more the simple act of meshing their families together so obviously. The half-tester bed he'd put in Addie's bedroom had been his boyhood bed when he'd moved out of the nursery. Edith had come with a nearly complete set of curly maple furniture for her boudoir, but he'd enjoyed having the sofa and chairs from his mother's day reupholstered in peach and added to the furnishings.
"Oh, Anthony!"
Edith's eyes misted a bit and Anthony cleared his throat and flushed as they entered the library.
"Well, that couch in here was painfully old, wasn't it?"
Addie went straight to the shelves, visibly surprised.
"You added in our books? I mean, the family books, not Edith's or mine?"
It was one thing to remove the fifteen-year-old couch he had left in the Library and replace it with the heavily carved walnut and overstuffed leather sofa that they'd brought from America. Anthony had wondered at the article for five seconds, then he'd found that the overstuffed couch was a) sinfully comfortable as it contained a fine mesh of modern springs beneath the stuffing, and b) the oversized thing was long enough for even his own lanky frame to sprawl out on full length. The sofa might needs its leather redone in fabric in time, but it definitely wasn't going anywhere beyond that.
"I – well, yes, I thought – if it was presumptuous of me I will be happy to have them – what I mean is…."
Addie stood there, looking at the books as if she wasn't sure of what she thought, then turned back to look at her sister. Anthony stared at his wife as well, biting his lip at the thought of having overstepped.
"Well, of course he did. This is our family's library now. Where else would all the books go that aren't especially ours?"
Addie's expression relaxed and she nodded, turning back to begin a closer perusal of the combined offerings of Loxley's overstocked library. Anthony turned to his wife and lowered his voice again, his hands finding hers.
"How is it that, when all my words fail me, you find exactly what it was I wanted to say?"
Edith opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it and tried again, her own words failing before his wife got up on her toes and he bent down for a kiss.
"Ewww, can't you do that when I'm in another room Edie?"
Anthony jumped, his face red, and Edith laughed and… stuck her tongue out at her sister.
"I'm married now, thank you, I can kiss my husband whenever I want!"
Anthony flushed deeper as embarrassment and happiness at the compliment of her affection battled it out above his collar.
"And don't roll your eyes, it's rude!"
"You do it too!"
"I know, and it's a dreadful habit I shall have to get rid of now that I've picked it up."
"Are you going to get all fussy now that you're married? You're not old, Edith!"
"Perhaps my husband's rubbing off on me!"
"Now just one moment!"
Anthony flushed yet more darkly as one half of him tried to take offense and laugh at the sally at his age and the other promptly went right into the gutter as it purposefully misconstrued Edith's meaning.
"Sir Anthony's not old!" Addie protested, then looked at him and amended. "He's not that old."
"Thank you, I think, Addie." He reached out and tipped his wife's chin up, narrowing his eyes at her and getting a cheeky smile in return. "We shall discuss your opinions on the subject later, Lady Strallan."
"Speaking of titles," Anthony allowed himself the pleasure of sitting in his own armchair, his knees thanking him after spending nearly two hours touring the house with the girls, poking into nooks and crannies and chasing Addie and her puppy about. "you don't have to call me Sir Anthony, Addie. We're family now."
"What should I call you, then?"
Anthony bit his tongue against impulse and Addie went on, frowning.
"I – I thought I'd call you Anthony like Edith does, because you're my brother now but Lady Grantham said it would be rude because you're so much older."
"Mama said that?"
"Yes, Aunt Cora." Addie pulled a face. "She was trying to be nice, but she said I should call you Uncle Anthony."
Anthony wrinkled his nose and Edith made a face.
"Let's not."
"I told her that Mama might have been from Austria, but we weren't the Hapsburgs."
Once he'd stopped laughing at that little he cleared his throat.
"Perhaps just 'Anthony' for now, and we'll go from there?"
After all, she had a father she adored, old boy, and you're married to her sister. It's enough that you get to take care of her. No sense in being greedy about it.
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"I heard you had an unwanted visitor at the train station."
Thomas jumped and glared at the smaller man at his elbow. Stewart didn't respond to the other man's annoyance beyond dipping down to pick up the hard rubber ball that the other man had missed.
"Throw it hard, Mr. Stewart!"
Stewart gave it as hard a lob as he could and watched, satisfied, as it bounced a goodly distance down the lawn with Addie and her puppy in hot pursuit. The former, Stewart noted, was dressed well against the slight chill of the fall evening. Behind them, Sir Anthony's tall form passed in a few long strides as he jogged into view.
"Is this an open game, or does one need an invitation?"
"Catch, Anthony!"
Stewart watched as the girl, distracted, heaved the ball towards the baronet. It didn't make it but half the distance, but the tall man made a dash for it that was going to leave him a touch winded. Either way, he heaved it back and the girl chased it, laughing, as her puppy beat her to it. Just as it should be. He noted Barrow's slight frown as his place in the game was usurped. Also as it should be.
"Come inside."
"Where's Miss Edith?"
"Lady Strallan is getting a little writing done before tea, now that luncheon's over and such a success."
Barrow looked torn between smugness and aggravation and cast a glance back at the game he'd been edged out of, but went willingly enough back inside the servants' entrance. As Stewart had arranged, hot tea and their own luncheon awaited them in the servants' hall. He'd missed his over the luggage, but he knew Barrow had chosen to put his off to offer to take Addie outside.
Stewart found himself of two minds on it. On one hand, he understood the man's fondness for the child. He even understood how precious that could be for a man not likely to ever have children of his own and deprived of family. Barrow deserved some time with the girl he referred to as "moppet" when he thought nobody was listening.
On the other? Today was different. Sir Anthony had been alone too long and Stewart knew better than most was a good man he truly was. He deserved to have a family of his own, and that meant time to make that family. Today was the ladies' first day at Loxley and Anthony's day to introduce them to what was now their home. It should belong to the three of them. Barrow would have his time.
"Does she really think that's going anywhere?" Barrow snorted and took a sip of tea, raising his eyebrows. "They don't even wait until the girls' out of the room to kiss. If they don't have the first of their own before nineteen-fourteen's done and dusted I'm a monkey's uncle."
"I'm sure Miss Adelaide would be fascinated at the zoological ramifications of that."
"You think that's bad, ask her to tell her the story about the farmhand named 'Sheepy'."
"Pardon?"
"Ask."
Stewart looked at the taller man and knew, immediately, that he did not want to ask that question. He weighed his options. With a touch of mischief that Barrow wouldn't believe he possessed he decided to mention it as vaguely as possible to Sir Anthony. His employer's curiosity and habit of worrying over everyone would prompt the question soon enough. With any luck, Sir Anthony's sense of timing would make it hilarious for all involved. With more luck, Stewart would be in earshot.
Stewart cocked his head to the side and got back to the point.
"Yesterday, before Lord Flintshire and his wife left on the train, the latter's maid cornered you in Downton Village."
Thomas made a disgusted face, but didn't deny it. Instead he took an overly aggressive bite of a watercress sandwich. Stewart allowed him to, but pressed on with a significant look.
"I was waiting until the mo-Miss Adelaide went to bed." The taller man scowled. "Then I'll tell Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan."
"Tell me first."
"And why should I do that?"
"Because I need all of the relevant information before I go to Downton to find out what trouble she's tried to stir up there."
Stewart watched Barrow chew on that for a moment, the sandwiches forgotten. Then the man cast a sideways look and shook his head once. The message was clear; not here. The servant's hall was too public? Ah. Of course.
"Sir Anthony is planning on purchasing Miss Edith a pony or a small horse in short order."
"Good, he promised to teach her to ride."
Stewart bit back the urge to remind the man that Sir Anthony Strallan had nothing to prove to him and Barrow had a great deal to prove to Sir Anthony Strallan. Instead he finished his sandwich, downed the rest of his tea and stood.
"He's left some information out about the different animals he's considering. You know her well, would you care to look it over? Your opinion could be useful."
Barrow knew nothing about horses and Stewart knew this. It was as good an excuse as any. Barrow downed his drink, stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth, and followed Stewart to Sir Anthony's dressing room. The papers in question were tucked onto a shelf beneath a pair of shoes, but neither man reached for them.
"I was out with Mrs. Crawley and the two girls, seeing Mr. Crawley off back to London." Barrow could be direct when he wanted to be. "O'Brian was following us and I didn't want either Lady Rose or Addie exposed to her – God alone knows what she might say."
"No sense in having the girls upset."
Stewart's quiet nod of agreement seemed to lower the other man's hackles slightly as he went on in a less formal tone.
"I gave her a light behind the post office, back where nobody stands near the rain barrel. She was as sickly sweet as you'd expect."
"And?"
Thomas shuffled uncomfortable.
"She blames me for her losing her position. Me, as if she wasn't the one blabbing her mouth, making me out to be a thief-."
Stewart raised a single eyebrow and got a snarl in return.
"I hadn't done anything since Miss Edith and Addie got to Britain and she knew it was true. She went after me because I wouldn't use Addie, that's why, and it has nothing to do with my – my anything! So you can take that eyebrow and-."
"Use Miss Adelaide how?"
"To figure out what happened with Lady Mary and that Turk." Thomas replied smartly, and then pulled a face and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I… I've no wish to see anyone ruined for a rumor. Leastwise if it's true. I know the… risk of that. I didn't say anything then. I haven't now."
"And you won't."
Stewart believed that much about the man. Thomas Barrow was on a knife's edge between who he was and who he could be. Stewart had walked that tightrope. He didn't wish a fall on anyone. That said? If there was anything genuine about the man, it was his affection for the girl. Stewart even understood it. Sir Anthony had treated him as if there was nothing wrong with being a broken, scarred, mess of a human being and helped him pull himself up by his bootstraps to become the man he was now. Stewart would never forget that. He could only imagine that, in Barrow's place, the weight of having anyone tell him that there was nothing wrong with what he was… well, it mattered.
Stewart also had no scruples whatsoever about using that loyalty when it was the only lever at hand.
"Just so you know it, Stewart."
"Did she threaten to expose you?"
"Not in so many words, but she implied she'd tell the Strallans." Barrow snorted and his lip curled. "Wouldn't that be something?"
"It would mean the loss of a useful advantage."
"What do you mean?"
"If she thinks she can blackmail you where there is no risk, she won't attempt to move against you where there is."
Barrow was no man's fool and his eyes only widened a fraction before narrowing as he nodded.
"You mean… let her think she's got me scared?"
"When are the Flintshire's going back to London?"
"They're taking an early train day after tomorrow. Lady Rose is to come here in the morning, then be taken back after tea. There's an invitation sitting on the Lady's desk for a farewell dinner at Downton tomorrow that would fit neatly on the end of that schedule."
Stewart nodded in thought at that.
"Well?"
He looked up at Barrow and shook his head.
"Talk to Sir Anthony." Stewart checked his watch. "I've time to go to Downton before Sir Anthony changes for dinner, if I hurry."
"What'll you do there?"
"Have a talk with Carson or Mrs. Hughes – whoever has the time – behind closed doors."
"It'll drive O'Brian mad that she doesn't know what you're saying."
"Which is why I shall also frown consideringly at least once while looking directly at her."
Barrow's lips twitched and Stewart opened the door, leading them both out of the room and back into the hall and then the servants' stairs. Downstairs again, he fetched his coat. As he left he heard Mrs. Bernard calling on Barrow for some detail about the dinner service that had been left unattended as Mr. Kerr had laid down for an afternoon nap.
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"Anthony where on earth did you find this bed?"
"A barn not far outside Cambridge." Edith could just hear the grin in her husband's voice; sheepish, crooked, and as gleeful as a naughty little boy with frogspawn in his pockets. "It was covered in about half-an-inch of old paint, if you'd believe it."
"I'd believe it dates from Henry VIII's great progress north!"
"It does!"
Edith broke down into giggles as she touched one of the four massive, heavily carved oak beams supporting the canopy of the Tudor style bed. The oaken behemoth was simply ridiculous. Ten feet on a side, the enormous thing was blessed with what she was sure was a custom mattress and a great pile of featherbeds atop that. The crisp linen of the sheets was turned down and the deep wine-red of the duvet matched the brocaded hangings perfectly. It was all so very Anthony.
Still laughing, Edith crawled beneath the covers, happy for the warmth. They'd retired early and the fire hadn't been freshened until just moments before they'd entered the room. As a result, her first glimpse of her husband's – their -bed chamber was a chilly one.
Addie was already tucked into her new bed. Piled beneath a deep blue duvet and an extra quilt for warmth, with Polly sprawled across her feet, her sister had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Edith had found herself profusely grateful for that even as she was grateful for the quiet dinner she'd shared with her husband after Addie went to share her supper with Thomas.
Now, smiling, Edith turned onto her side and bit her lip as she watched her husband slide beneath the covers beside her. As she shifted to get closer to him, however, Anthony let out a soft groan as he settled back against the pillows. One that wasn't offered in passion.
"Anthony, darling, are you alright?"
He shot her an embarrassed look even as he wrapped an arm around her and drew her close as she settled against her side, as had become customary between them in the few days they'd shared a bed in York.
"Yes, yes, just… well… I probably should have left more of the running about to Barrow. My knees and back aren't, erm, feeling quite the thing at the moment after that game of catch."
"Roll over."
"Hm?"
Edith tugged at his pajama shirt and got him to do so. Then, with a sigh of pleasure at the broad expanse of strong bone and muscle beneath her hands, she dug her fingers and pushed both her palms against the strained muscles on either side of his spine, running them upwards towards his back. Anthony's eyes closed and he let out a low hum of startled appreciation.
"Edie, sweet one?"
She kissed the back of his neck and watched him shiver.
"Well, I recall promising something to the effect of cherishing you, no matter what condition you might be in. I think that covers a sore back, hm?"
"I'm going to fall asleep, then I won't be any use to either of us."
Edith snickered at the threat in his voice, which went on, its tone muffled by incipient sleep.
"I'm serious… make you… regret marrying this old man when… young and beautiful."
Edith yawned.
"Addie could run a steam engine into the ground. Go to sleep, husband. You can make it up to me in the morning."
"Jolly good…"
After her husband was safely snoring Edith felt safe to curl up beside him and risk doing the same.
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Barely a word.
Nearly a fortnight in Downton and she'd barely had five words conversation with any of them. Damn them anyway! Sarah O'Brian stewed in furious indignation at the great cloak of slights that had settled over her at her former place of employment.
Carson and Hughes watched her every moment and when they weren't hovering over her, they set that little whisp of nothing, Anna, on her. O'Brian hadn't had any concrete plans as to what she was going to do to get her own back from the Granthams, Thomas, and the rest who'd been so set to throw her out onto the street without even a reference, but she'd known she was going to get her due somehow. The problem was she was no closer to knowing how.
Oh, the most obvious way was to just let out Thomas' dirty little secret. She doubted that he'd have a heartbeat between an old stick like Anthony Strallan hearing of his perversions and a trip to the train station. That was if he was lucky. He could end up straight to the penitentiary if O'Brian played her cards right.
The only problem was proving it. It irked her that she'd told Lady Grantham a thousand lies and the woman had sucked them up like a pig did slop, but now that she had a damning truth? She'd be dismissed as a liar with sour grapes and a vendetta if she didn't have proof to go along with that truth.
Which she did not.
That was what stayed Sarah's hand and stilled her tongue. With that duke's letters burned and no access to Thomas' things she couldn't rifle through them looking for something else incriminating. This was her only winning hand and she wasn't going to overplay it again. Not now. Not when Thomas Barrow was going to taste what it felt like to realize you were the next best thing to homeless with nowhere to go, branded a thief!
Though she did think Loxley had potential, in terms of revenge. Stewart, the stone-faced valet that served the dull old farmer, had come by and spent no little time talking to Carson. She hadn't been able to get close enough to eavesdrop by the door, but he'd given her a disturbingly long, searching look before he left. She'd have dismissed it as Barrow blackening her character at the baronet's estate, but she'd overheard Daisy and Mrs. Patmore blathering about how it was bound to annoy Sir Anthony if Barrow kept acting more like the sickly little ragamuffin's kin than he did…
"It's got potential…" She mused, drawing on her third gasper of the night before she was startled by a sudden nervous tapping. "Here now, don't go skulking about. Come out!"
"Sorry, ma'am."
Liam was the new footman at Downton. O'Brian knew next to nothing about him, as she did most of the new servants. Not that she expected that to change, what with orders in effect that they were to stay clear of her. Standards are going down, she mused mockingly as she took in the young man's appearance.
Oh, on the surface he was tall enough, with lighter brown hair and features. Less the look that Barrow had cut so finely as a footman and more like William. Well, at least the footmen matched now.
O'Brian hadn't noticed anything odd about him before. He'd seemed young, handsome, calm, and utterly lacking a personality from what she'd seen. Even the maids mostly ignored him. Now?
Now Sarah watched as the man scowled and muttered down at a paper wrapper in his hands. Frowning powerfully, he removed a tin from his jacket pocket and opened it. Along with the smell of tobacco, the strong smell of Laudanum, or some other tincture of opium.
"… always making a spectacle. Never enough to be beautiful. Have to let you know it. Own the world…"
The muttering, low and quiet, was oddly staccato. The hair on the back of the Irishwoman's neck rose, but her interest went with it. A lifetime's experience with being in the inherently dangerous position of the powerless in a hierarchical society, combined with an inborn nose for trouble, stood up and howled. If Sarah O'Brian had been looking for trouble in Downton, she'd found it.
"Are you alright, Liam?"
He looked up at her and she pitched her voice to her most compassionate. Quiet, tender, and unthreatening. She kept her shoulders down and let her head drift to the side as she'd once done when listening to the Countess' troubles. The man finally got his cigarette rolled and put the tin away. She offered her own gasper's red coal for a light and he accepted it with a relieved look.
"Thanks. This'll do me right. Nerves." Liam took a drag of the thing and then, with disgust, added. "My mother's parting gift."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Did she have a nervous condition?"
"No, just… always picking. Never satisfied. They're all like that. Ladies." Liam scoffed, then fell utterly silent.
For a moment, O'Brian was tempted to draw him. She bit her tongue instead. Leaning against the stone wall behind her in the servants' courtyard, she smoked another and waited. The redhead was on the verge of giving in when she was rewarded for her patience. The man finally finished his noxious smoke and looked at her with hooded eyes, his expression calm to the point of being a non-entity again but his barely-visible smile almost dreamy.
"You're a proper woman, though. No lady, hm?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you work. You don't… leech and dither and flutter. You're not… painted. A real person. Human, like we are. You bleed."
The man's voice, suddenly earnest, as if he were reaching through the dark for understanding from a fey place… it nearly put her off. A shiver went up her spine without her consent, but she kept it invisible through iron control. Her instincts were screaming danger at her… but she wanted that danger to live right here in Downton, didn't she? It wasn't like she lived here, and while the lightning fast connections her mind could generate couldn't scare up a connection to Barrow…
It wasn't Barrow who'd dismissed her without reference, was it?
"I've worked every day of my life since I was twelve years old, and I sewed piecework before that."
A jerky nod.
"Yes, you see, you're real. My mother… never was. Thought she was better than that, even if she were nothing but a pipefitters wife. When Pa died, even with the insurance, she never let up. School this, manners that, above herself and wanted to shove me up. Didn't care if I broke it all and men don't fly."
Crazy as a bag of cats. No wonder he never opened his mouth. O'Brian stared at the man and wondered that he managed to work at all. The way he moved and his eyes jerked about them… she seriously doubted that it was just the spiked tobacco. If anything, now that he'd smoked the thing, she was watching as he progressively grew more normal.
The muttering to himself had stopped. He was answering her questions. His hands barely shook and were calming as she watched. His entire body language changed to that of sleepy complacency. Had anyone at Downton seen him when he wasn't drugged into a kind of working torpor or did he get through each day like an automaton?
"I'm sorry if the others have got to you, then. There are plenty of real women out there. Who in particular's been bad to you lately?" O'Brian gently hinted him on and the man huffed.
"Oh, they're all bad, but the fading ones are the worst. Realizing they can't get it with looks anymore. All that fake sweetness. Poisoned candy."
Even O'Brian couldn't figure out what to say to that. She found she didn't have to. The man simply stamped out the tiny sliver remaining from his hand-rolled cigarette, and then went inside. Calm again, his hands steady, Liam Mills walked back into the servant's entrance with his shoulders back and his face a blank, pleasant mask. Perhaps not the most talkative or friendly of footmen, but normal enough in that he could do the job. You didn't need conversational skills to look good and carry things where told.
"Apparently you don't need sanity, either." Sarah O'Brian muttered as she reentered the house and the room where she was all but locked-in at night. "Always was a madhouse here."
Now all she had to do was figure out how to use it.
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Author's Notes:And we're at Loxley! Next up, Mary continues making her own choices rather than letting others make them for her. We shall see where this leads her. Addie is due at her first day of school and the most human interaction and the only exposure she's ever had to a rigid schedule in her life. Anthony and Edith are in love, happy, and yet still have a LOT to balance and process. Perhaps the most significant being that they do need to address the gap in their ages and where they are emotionally within their family structure. Anthony 100% feels like a stepdad and is all for it. Edith is Addie's sister. Adjustment is needed.
As for Thomas, he's trying to be good but he's got very little experience. He's also got an enemy who knows his most desperate secret. Fortunately he's no longer alone in this (though that also worries him). Problems? Erm, Thomas isn't very good at sharing and Addie is important to him.
Special Note: One of the sad realities of 1913 is that there is no good mental healthcare. Mental healthcare is in its infancy, honestly, and half the time the approaches used then did more harm than good. Liam is definitely emotionally disturbed and needs therapy and a good modern medicine regime to help him handle it. As it is he, had none and is doing the best he can with self-medication to deal with his issues. I'm basing his behavior off of a classmate in college who the American healthcare system failed. He could only afford 3 months of medication to treat his bipolar disorder and paranoid delusions a year. He did his best and, wherever he is, I hope he's doing better.