Author's Notes: And the plot moves onward…
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 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! Charlotte and Clara are also her amazing inventions!
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November 1913
Addie had heard a lot of people say that you should kill your enemies with kindness. In her estimation, it was effective… but very unsatisfying.
"And what, precisely, Miss Kavanaugh, is seventeen times thirty-four?"
"Five-hundred-seventy-eight, ma'am."
"Mrs. Hart."
"Yes, ma'am?"
There was a snicker from the back of the class as Rebecca Pretness unsuccessfully stifled a giggle. Addie, who was standing behind her desk, rigidly held in the smirk she was feeling. As it was, she couldn't quite restrain the impulse to cross her eyes as soon as Mrs. Hart's back was turned.
A soft wave of laughter filled the class as Mrs. Hart whipped around. She was too slow, however, and Addie's expression was perfectly composed and solemn again. She'd learned not to try and look innocent. That annoyed the sorry old hag too.
"Sit down, Miss Kavanaugh."
"Yes, Mrs. Hart."
Addie dropped down into her seat and winced as the bones of her hips jarred against the hard wooden chair. She didn't particularly like the school desks they all had to sit perfectly straight at. The backs were curved strangely and so were the seats. Apparently, it was to make their posture better, but it just made her back hurt. It didn't help that her feet didn't touch the ground, either. She couldn't adjust herself at all.
Addie wished she'd just get around to it and grow. She'd be eleven just after the New Year. Her Mama had been as tall as Edie and her Papa and brothers were tall, if not so tall as Sir Anthony. She didn't see why she had to be so short.
"Mrs. Hart, Addie was making faces!"
And here it comes.
Addie had expected it. She didn't so much as blink as Mrs. Hart turned a fond gaze on the three girls in the first row of class. She was used to the way that the woman doted on the Verne girls.
"Is that true, Miss Kavanaugh?"
"No, Mrs. Hart?"
"And why should I believe you?"
It was a rhetorical question. Addie had tried to answer it once or twice at first. She'd even been honest and tried to treat it like a misunderstanding, since Anthony had said it was all probably a misunderstanding and if it wasn't it was something she had to grow up and learn to deal with. Unfortunately, it hadn't been a misunderstanding.
"Well?"
Mrs. Hart blinked down at her peevishly. Addie resisted the urge to sigh or tell her that she needed her head examined. The woman was maybe ten years older than Edith. She might have even been pretty if it weren't for the terrible, pinched way she stood and held her face. As it was, there were thick lines on either side of her mouth, as if she was in pain all the time, and her brown eyes were always red and a little watery. It detracted from the pretty velvety color of them a lot.
"I can't say what you do or don't believe in, or why, Mrs. Hart. That's up to your conscience to decide."
"I find it highly irregular that an American would lecture me on conscience when everyone alive knows how very little they possess."
Addie actually felt a little better about it. Oh, the insult still made her want to yell in Mrs. Hart's face and kick her in the shins and cry. That hadn't changed. What had changed was how easy it was not to try and do anything like that, or complain to another adult. The Headmistress, Mrs. Weingarten, wouldn't do anything except make uncomfortable noises and tell Addie that she must always listen to the adults and that Mrs. Hart had her best interest in mind. Mrs. Everly was slightly better. She'd let Addie sit in her room if there was no class and she'd tell Mrs. Hart to try and, "moderate her sentiments" and "be objective, Lydia!". She treated Addie just like all her other students. Which was to say as if Mrs. Everly was doing her best but really didn't want to be there.
Now, though, Addie had learned that the best way to beat Mrs. Hart was not to react at all. The less she reacted, the angrier she got. It was as if by not giving her what she wanted she could suck the power right out of the older woman.
"Well, haven't you anything to say in favor of your countrymen?"
"A coyote can howl all it wants, ma'am, but the mountains don't hear it."
She couldn't quite keep her mouth shut, though. That was the hard part. Not flinching or crying or such, that was easy. Not backtalking was difficult.
"Wha- what in the world does that mean."
Addie's self-control, so carefully cultivated but rather new, promptly broke down and her sweetest expression settled on her face.
"It's a metaphor, ma'am. I think they're on page 37 of the primer you give us work from. You can borrow mine, if you're confused."
A full-blown giggle-fit erupted from the other girls in class, even Mrs. Hart's so-called favorites.
"Be quiet! Be quiet, all of you! Do you want to miss recess?"
Perfect silence fell and Addie was left staring at her teacher, as she'd been since Mrs. Hart had decided to ask her a math question in the middle of their English lesson, just because. Now, red-faced, the woman looked down on her. Addie wasn't surprised to see her hands clenched. Twice so far Mrs. Hart had acted like she might hit her, but she hadn't done it yet. Addie was a little afraid she would… but she almost hoped she would, too. Right now she thought she was doing what she should, and she could prove that Anthony was right to trust her and she was grown up enough to handle everything like he wanted. It was just so hard doing it when she didn't have anyone to talk to all day or play with at recess and had to leave Polly back at Loxley. Maybe if Mrs. Hart hit her she wouldn't need to figure it all out anymore.
"And you!" Mrs. Hart whirled to face her, the plain dark blue dress she wore spinning with her. She wobbled a little on her feet, Addie noticed, and there was a weird hitch to her step. She probably shouldn't have asked the teacher why she limped that day at the beginning of school. It had just made her meaner. "You li – you, Miss Kavanaugh, have been insubordinate again."
Addie braced herself for the daily litany.
"It was bad enough that you would start your day by disrupting my class."
Addie couldn't help it if she'd sneezed, so she just stood there. Mrs. Hart wanted her upset. She'd sooner go pet a grizzly bear than give the woman what she wanted. (Actually, petting a grizzly bear sounded neat. It was just that Addie wasn't stupid, thank you. Grizzly bears weren't pets… Having a zoo still sounded like a neat idea, though.)
"Then the shameless way that you insulted poor Delphine, showing a total lack of respect in Mrs. Everly's classroom."
Mrs. Everly had told Delphine to sit down and stop tattling, leaving the girl pouting. She'd, of course, run to tattle to Mrs. Hart instead. Addie hadn't even done anything horrible. Delphine was just angry because Mrs. Everly had taken a ruler to Delpine's hands for copying and then lying about it after Delphine had tried to blame it on Addie. Which was just another demonstration of how dumb delphine was because she'd even copied Addie's spelling and Addie had forgotten that the English spelled curb differently.
Not that she didn't sometimes to horrible things to Delphine. A person had to get their own back and she was the one who'd put the emetic powder in Delphine's lunch the day before, but nobody'd caught her at that. If Delphine thinks it's funny to have the lunch matron stand around and try and force me to eat the lunch food even though it makes me sick, she can just throw up too. Mrs. Walsh is smart, but she doesn't lock her medicine cabinet, does she?
"Now you just stand there and insult me…"
Addie had been trying extraordinarily hard to do what she'd told Thomas she was doing. She had gotten a lot better about not giving a reaction. That was probably why the teacher lost control of herself.
"Why am I not surprised to see such behavior out of a motherless little wretch being raised by a bast-."
"It's a pity whoever beat that limp into you didn't hit you harder. Maybe he'd have knocked the mean out of you along with the stupid. He just left the ugly, didn't he, Mrs. Hart?" Addie asked, and her voice got steadily louder until she was furiously shouting at the teacher. "'Cause that's all you are now, isn't it? An ugly, mean, stupid lady who nobody wants for anything. You couldn't even get a job at a school you liked and had to take Mrs. Weingarten's charity, didn't you?"
"How-."
Addie didn't really know. She had heard Mrs. Walsh arguing with Mrs. Weingarten after her last punishment, holding the broom up for ages in the courtyard, and the headmistress had told Mrs. Walsh that she should remember others' charity to her and extend it to others. It seemed like it would be the sort of thing a person had a raw nerve over, though.
"How does it feel to be living proof that even God makes mistakes, Mrs. Hart?"
The weird, trembling calm went away, and Addie cried out as Mrs. Hart finally moved. As fast as an angry snake she'd grabbed Addie by the arm and dragged her out of her desk. For a moment Addie was sure that she was going to get hit. The teacher was trembling and, to Addie's surprise, there were tears in her bloodshot eyes.
Instead, the teacher dragged her over towards the door to the class, spluttering around half-formed words that only resolved themselves as she pulled Addie further into the hallway, stumbling at the speed of the older woman's uneven stride.
"N-n-no place in a decent school for a wicked child like you! You can j-just stay outside until you learn some respect, you little monster!"
Addie stumbled as she found herself thrust toward the door that led out onto the smallest courtyard at Rosecliff. The little space was only twelve foot to a side and bordered all around by windows on two sides and a plain brick wall that went up about ten feet on another.
"Do I have to hold the broomstick?" Addie asked, bewildered.
She'd expected, and been afraid, that they'd call back at Loxley as soon as she'd started to speak. She didn't expect to be given the same sort of punishment she'd been getting. Though there was one difference…
"No, just stay out!"
"But-."
Addie couldn't say anything else as, without another word, Mrs. Hart flung open the door and shoved her out into the courtyard.
"It's raining!"
Addie wrinkled her nose and held her hands up over her face as soon as she stepped outside. There were no overhangs or eaves in the courtyard and the sort of steady, misty, miserable chill rain that was emblematic of Yorkshire weather was falling down. Confused and unsure of what to do, Addie stood out in the rain for a few minutes. When the door didn't open and her wool skirt and cotton shirt were soaked through, she reached for the handle only to find it locked. As she looked up towards the sky she started to shiver.
It wasn't even noon yet.
Surely they'd let her in before lunch.
It wouldn't be too badly.
They hadn't called home for anything else that happened.
It wouldn't be too bad, would it?
Wrapping her arms around herself and pressing herself against the wood of the door, which was slightly warmer than the walls around it, she blew out a breath and watched it steam in the air.
"I-i-it'll be fine." Addie muttered softly. "I can handle it. I can."
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"Archie, don't you dare look at me like that."
"Now, darling-."
"Archie."
Archibald Chetwood looked on his wife with an expression that was an odd mix of unconditional love, deep annoyance, and a certain helplessness. The latter was probably not a good idea. He watched his wife's eyes narrow.
"Truly, angel-."
"Don't you dare 'angel' me, Archibald Chetwood!"
"Diana, I'd love to send that woman to the far reaches of the empire and never sit through another dinner watching her embarrass herself, her husband, and the British Aristocracy. Unfortunately, it is not in my power to do so."
Diana crossed her arms and glared, only softening slightly when she took in the slight stoop her husband's shoulders had taken. They were both of precisely a height, and with Archie having gotten into her slippers while she hadn't abandoned her boots, it put her an inch above his level. Filled with sympathy for the exhaustion etched around his mouth, she reached out and tugged at the lapel of his dressing robe.
"Well?"
"Come and change and we'll talk about it, hm?"
Diana narrowed her eyes.
"Properly talk."
Which is how Diana found herself slowly maneuvered from glaring at her underdressed husband in her tastefully furnished sitting room, through the dining room, up the stairs, down the hall, and then into their bedchamber. There, after a bit more work, Diana relinquished the high ground – and her boots – and sat down pressed up against her husband's side on the delightfully cramped little sofa that sat before their bedchamber's fireplace. It was entirely pleasant.
"Well?"
Diana hadn't given up, of course.
"Flintshire's been off on foreign shores more often than not for the past decade plus, old girl. He's earned a few years' reprieve and that won't change. Not with other, younger, men eager for foreign postings and experience who've earned their nod waiting in the wings."
"But-."
"Harcourt's always liked MacClare and he's got the man a place in his office for at least the next year or two."
Diana frowned. She wasn't fond of the Secretary of State for the Colonies. She didn't dislike him, either. The Viscount Harcourt was simply who he was, and given his influence Diana made a point of making sure he liked her, whatever she thought of him. That was all.
"You're not seriously suggesting we're powerless to counter what that terrible wretch is bandying about town?"
"I didn't say that. I merely said that it isn't practical, or wise, to start trying to deal with Susan MacClare via her husband's job. At least it isn't for my job."
Diana scowled, but she also turned the problem over in her mind.
Getting to Lady Flintshire through her husband's job had been her first and most expedient answer. They certainly had the contacts to effect the man's career one way or another. She was fairly sure that even with the Viscount Harcourt protecting him she could exert enough social pressure to get the man moved. Looking at her husband again, she sighed.
"Cost benefit analysis?"
"Now you sound like your brother."
She pinched him, listened to him yelp, and then soothed her husband with a long kiss, petting at the soft skin of his side that she'd so roughly tweaked a moment before.
"It wouldn't be worth it." Archie grumbled after she'd kissed his pout back into a thoughtful frown. "Also, woman, when was the last time you trimmed those bear claws you refer to as nails."
"I'll have you know that my manicure is the height of fashion."
"All the tigresses are wearing them; they go a treat with stripes!"
Diana made another grab for his ribs but ended up shrieking as Archie took a few moments to pin and tickle his wife. Diana might have shared a height with her husband, but he was far more solid. After some flailing and a bit more intimate horseplay, Diana pushed him away and glared.
"Oh no, you won't distract me that easily! Truly, Archie I just – how can you be so blasé about it? That woman is slandering my brother and his wife!"
"I'm distracting you because it's been my privilege to be your sole distraction since I slid that ring on your finger, and as long as I draw breath I shall continue to do so, woman."
Archie stole another kiss, and then tugged her against him with a sigh. Diana watched the frown lines carve themselves between his brows and reached up to smooth them idly. He ignored the action while still leaning against her hand. Then her husband went on.
"The thing is, angel, that there's not going to be a simple solution to this one."
"Explain."
"Shrimpy isn't about to be shipped off. The timing is off. We'd spend more political capital than we could easily recoup and I don't want to do that right now. There are far too many tensions on the Continent."
Diana frowned, but allowed it. She felt a thrum of worry in her breast and pushed it away. There was nothing for it, but to wait and watch and listen as they always did when some other empire got uppity or unbalanced or the Balkans were revolting. She'd chosen to marry a diplomat, and that came with advantages and compromises. This would just have to be one of the latter.
"But?"
Archie grinned in a manner that the amiable man would never let slip in public. Diana felt her own lips turn up as her husband smiled not as if he wanted to shake your hand, but as if he knew your sister quite well. Then again, Anthony, I suppose he does, doesn't he?
"But, old girl, we're not out of tricks yet."
"True enough but… Archie, we've got to do something about this quickly if we're to do anything at all. You do realize how difficult it is to quash something like this, don't you?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Archie winced. "Worse still when the evidence seems to be against us… and will be until our niece or nephew is born somewhere more than forty-weeks after the poor old boy's wedding."
Diana was all set to argue, but pulled a face in agreement. She hated to think it… but Archie was right. Between the Crawley's decision to shield Lady Mary's reputation by suggesting Anthony and Edith had eloped, the other rumors, how quickly they'd wed, and everything else? It almost made more sense for Edith to have been in a delicate condition a bit prematurely. Not for the first time Diana firmly wished that the Crawleys spent a little less time worrying about what everyone thought of them and a little more time raising their children to be the kind of people whose reputations they wouldn't have to worry for.
"Should I be frightened?"
"Hm?"
"I know that look. It usually directly proceeds you doing or saying something terrifyingly forthright."
"Oh, just thinking that if I should take this mess up with anyone it's the Earl of Grantham, his mother, and wife." Diana huffed. "Had they ever treated Edith like a proper daughter, set a few boundaries for their spoiled firstborn, or spent enough time around their children to notice when one had contracted a venereal disease then none of this mess would have happened, and Anthony could have finished his courtship of Edith in Yorkshire in peace."
"Susan Flintshire would have just generated another scandal, then."
"Yes, but it wouldn't have involved us."
"Oh, don't bet on it. That woman can't abide anyone being happy, Di. Anthony and Edith are happy. They'd have been a target no matter what."
Diana opened her mouth to respond and then froze as an idea struck her. Archie, who was watching her closely also froze.
"I take it back."
"Hm? What was that, dear?"
"I take it back. That first look was only mildly concerning. It's this look, the one on your face now, that is strikingly dangerous."
Diana smiled like she was the sister he knew a little too well.
"Wife."
She dropped a kiss on his cheek and then wriggled her eyebrows, lowering herself into his lap just roughly enough that he grunted and laughed at her theatricality and overblown and sudden seductive pose. She unbuttoned his pajama top slowly, spreading his robe open with the shirt and skirting her hands through the dense mass of dark chest hair he sported. It made her think of something, and she giggled.
"Now what?"
"Oh, just thinking of something Edith wrote to me." Diana grinned. "In confidence, of course, so I'd never discuss it with anyone, even you."
Archie, who spoke of everything with his wife just as she did with him, grinned. They were good at keeping each other's secrets. And, often enough, His Majesty's as well.
"What am I not hearing?"
"Edith wrote that she was quite surprised at how much chest hair Anthony had."
Archie blinked once and then started laughing. Diana laughed with him and kissed him on the cheek. Her dear husband, who sported a five-o'clock shadow at two in the afternoon if he didn't shave twice.
"But – the man's barely got any hair on his chest? And what he does have is so blonde its nearly invisible!" Archie chortled. "We used to tease him about it at university. In the summer he'd be rowing and have a chest as bare as a schoolboy!"
"If nothing else proves she came to her marriage bed a true innocent, that does. Not a single point of comparison."
"She had brothers, didn't she?"
"Yes, but she may never have seen them shirtless." Diana sobered. "And they died young. Not even twenty-four…"
Archie's humor faded and he kissed her cheek with a sigh.
"Diana, I agree that she's been through quite enough. Edith always likely going to put up with some social pressure and snubbing. There are always those who want to make everyone else shorter just to feel tall. You know I'll go right to the very edge of reason to help you protect our family…"
"But?"
"That was still a very devilish smile for an angel like you to wear, my girl. What were you thinking before that attempt to distract me at poor Anthony's expense?"
"Well, if you really think about it, Flintshire's almost a prisoner in his own marriage at this point. You can see he's as miserable as she is, if not worse."
"Well, he can hardly divorce her. It would destroy his career!"
"There are more ways than divorce to get a lady out of the way, Archie."
"Diana, I sincerely hope you're not advising someone drop a few hundred quid down in some disreputable Irish pub somewhere."
"Don't be daft, Archie." Diana replied archly, and then smirked. "Those who make problems should be the ones to solve them, and I believe I've just figured out how."
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"Cousin Susan is doing what?"
Diana had very little affection for Lady Rosamund Painswick. They'd always had a touch of rivalry, having both been the bell of the ball, so to speak, in Yorkshire in their day. Oh, Diana herself was quite a few years younger than the redhead she was sitting across from, but that had just exacerbated things. The Lady Painswick's blossom was fading just as hers bloomed riotously and given that woman's extensive social network, well, there'd been a certain competition that had heated up once upon a time.
Now? Finding out how the woman had abandoned her child and used a grieving widower? Diana was not disposed to like her a bit better. Disrupting Anthony's wedding and upsetting poor Edith doesn't help, either.
"Your cousin is spreading about town that my brother seduced Edith and got her with child, trapping her in a marriage that your family didn't want."
"That's preposterous. Don't they know your brother?" Rosamund huffed, her chin going up stubbornly as she set her teacup down with a delicate porcelain clink. "Or, for that matter, Edith? She was always the most headstrong of all the girls in her generation. No matter how much Mary pushed she could never break her. Edith always pushed back."
Diana noted that the pride in the woman's voice was all the more annoying for being real. The question became, was it justified? Diana could almost tolerate the idea that she was listening to the distant pride of a woman who'd once loved her niece. She couldn't abide the thought that the woman was taking credit for a motherhood she'd never earned.
"Which is all well and good except for the point that they are still going to be hurt by these rumors."
"Of course, they are! Edith is – is justifiably sensitive on the subject of her virtue."
"Through no fault of her own."
"I wouldn't have suggested otherwise, Mrs. Chetwood."
Two truly formidable women stared each other down and then Diana did precisely what her family was so very good at; at least on the maternal side. She cocked her head to the side, pinned the redhead in place with her eyes, and got to the heart of the matter.
"Well, what do you intend to do about it?"
"Me? Edith doesn't-."
"I don't see where Edith factors into this. She did not make this mess, Lady Rosamund, you did."
The smaller woman reared back and, for a moment, looked like she was going to deny it. Then, after a bare second, she seemed to shrink back into herself. Wincing, the earl's daughter reached up to rub the bridge of her nose.
"I suppose I did at that. More the fool I, then. I thought that if she was compensated properly the woman could at least control herself."
"I'd never taken you for an optimist."
"We all have our moments of weakness." Rosamund was frowning in thought. "I could have a word with her. Susan is a coward at heart. She'll run her mouth right up until someone threatens her properly, then she'll tuck her tail between her legs and-."
"Deny it all in the least believable way possible and try and make amends to you by telling everyone how mistaken she was, all while making it sound like she's now trying to cover up what she was saying."
"Which shall make it more attractive as gossip. Well, Mrs. Chetwood, what do you suggest I do about it?"
"Take her off for a rest cure in Switzerland."
"What?" Rosamund stared and Diana raised her eyebrows.
"You've done it several times before. You're known to favor it."
"Yes, but not in winter."
"Then go to the Riviera. It doesn't matter where, just take the wretch and go."
"It does if we don't want it to seem like a cover-up." Rosamund glared. "My health is fine, Susan is the only constantly at the risk of falling apart, and we've never been close enough anyone would believe that I would-."
"The rest cure isn't for either of you." She raised her eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, generous soul that you are?" Diana beamed sweetly at the smaller woman. "You've decided to help repair the fracture in your family by paying for your mother to go on holiday with her favorite niece. I'm sure it will do them a world of good and you'll have so much time to spend with your mother."
"Mama will nev-."
"Your mother is who started the ridiculous elopement rumors. She can answer for it by cleaning up her own mess."
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Charles Carson roughly rapped his knuckles against the perfect creases in his trousers and let out a breath.
"I don't usually hold with gossip, you know, Mr. Carson. I merely felt it was something we should all be aware of, in case others try and speak out of turn."
"You're correct Mrs. Weatherby, you've done the right thing by speaking to me."
Mrs. Weatherby was a new and somewhat awkward addition to Downton. Since O'Brian's removal the household had run smoother than it had in years, and Carson was anything but displeased by the loss. There were other difficulties that came from the decision, however.
The first was a reduction in the general pool of funds assigned to new hires. Acquiring a trustworthy maid for the lady of the house was of foremost importance. As such, an increase in salary had to be offered. Between himself and Mrs. Hughes they had managed to balance things so that they didn't lose staff, but they had to hire at an even lower wage than they had before.
The results were much as Carson and Mrs. Hughes had feared. Their new maids were young, with little to no experience, and often lacking in either productivity or worth ethic. Likewise, Carson's footmen were not up to snuff, and he held little hope for trainability.
Bless William, really. The lad had been working twice as hard now that he was first footman, trying to make sure the house put on a good showing. They still had the other lads, but they didn't hold a candle to his turn out and dedication. Carson held in a sigh as he addressed the lady again.
"You've done right to bring this to my attention. Trust me to handle it from here."
He didn't bother remonstrating her not to repeat the things she heard while attending Lady Grantham. Carson could make no complaints about the second woman who'd been hired on as Lady Grantham's maid. She did not gossip. She did not socialize much at all, though she was perfectly polite and friendly in a distant manner.
The first maid had done well and been to the lady's preferences, but left upon another job offer with higher wages. Mrs. Weatherby was found afterward and Carson was glad for it. Sharing an age with Lady Grantham, Mrs. Weatherby was indeed married. Her husband was Downton Village's postal clerk, and she was his second wife. Their only child was gainfully employed in the York constabulary and, bored, she had returned to the career of her youth when she'd heard Lady Grantham was in need of a lady's maid.
While Mrs. Weatherby got along with Lady Grantham, she was by no means intimate or overfamiliar. She did her job and did it well, but made a point not to become too involved in the household. She was also the first lady's maid that Carson had ever met who did not take quarters at a great house; she walked in every morning from her tidy little house outside the village. Thankfully the Lady Grantham had not been upset to adjust her hours and rise a touch later to accommodate the change.
"If that's all, Mr. Carson, I'll be heading off, then."
"Of course, Mrs. Wealtherby. Have a good evening."
"And you as well, Mr. Carson."
The lady took her exit and Carson sighed and the irregularity of it. Even though she could have boarded at the house for nothing at all, she'd chosen to find a small flat for the time that the Granthams were to reside in the city. He couldn't deny that it was more seemly, what with her husband coming up on the weekends, but… it just wasn't done. Not in his day…
"No putting it off now, Charlie." He addressed himself in the vaults of his mind as the lady left his pantry. "You're thinking in circles and we both know why. Stalling won't do a bit of good."
Taking the bull by the horns, he went in search of Mrs. Hughes' stolid support.
"… I'm just barely sure what to do with it, Mrs. Hughes!"
"It seems that if it's a medical condition it can hardly be helped."
"Oh, I'm hardly blaming the man for being allergic, but you don't know what it does to me trying to plan a proper wedding breakfast the way that Lady Mary wants without poisoning her intended husband!" Mrs. Patmore had notes spread across the table in front of her covered in crossings-out and scribbles, and looked even more harried than usual. "Shellfish. Do you have any idea what that means in terms of French cookery, Mrs. Hughes?"
Carson saw, with some amusement, that the small worktable in the kitchen had not only notes strewn over it, but Mrs. Hughes' favorite teapot and two unmatched cups from Mrs. Patmore's personal collection. Years of animosity between the ladies had turned unexpectedly into a friendship in the last few months. Carson wasn't sure of the particulars, but he was sure of the origins. While reassuring Daisy she'd done the right thing in keeping the dreadful secret of Mr. Pamuk's death the way that she had, both women had forged a friendship based on offering the youngest member of the staff guidance.
Guidance which, Carson could admit, Daisy was blossoming under. Their foundling scullery maid was still rash, terribly immature, and unsure of her place in life, but she was rapidly gaining confidence in her skills in the kitchen and her place at Downton. Something Carson found himself proud of. Daisy had more than proven herself; the least they could do was equal her loyalty.
"I hate to interrupt, but do you have a moment, Mrs. Hughes?"
"Oh, I shall-."
"Go on with you. I'm sure it's more important than listening to me whine about how I'm going to replace lobster and prawns or what to do about the Earl's fondness for oysters when they can put his future son-in-law in the hospital." Mrs. Patmore began bussing her notes, tutting. "At least there's still turbot!"
"That is the proper spirit, Mrs. Patmore. We must all come together to make this wedding the success that Lady Mary deserves."
"In that case I'll just put out more of what I did for Pharoah, shall I?"
"Mrs. Patmore!"
The diminutive cook sniffed and twirled, shoving her notes into Daisy's hands.
"Put these with the others and come help me put some beef tea on to heat."
"Beef tea, is someone sick?"
"No, but they're going to be."
"How d'you know, Mrs. Patmore?"
"Because the earl had lunch at a chop house and then came home and put away a whole tier of tea cakes with his wife before all that curried fowl at dinner. Trust me, we might as well get ahead of his poor aching belly…"
Carson held in a rumble of discontent at the gossip. Not the least because he caught Mrs. Hughes' eye and the glint in those lovely blue orbs told him that she was ready with a quip at his expense if he said anything. Not that he would… Mrs. Patmore might be being inappropriate, but that didn't mean she was inaccurate in her summation of how the earl ate when he was in a temper or stressed.
"Shall we step into my sitting room for a moment, Mr. Carson?"
"Please."
With the teapot relocated and freshened up and two matching cups before them, Carson finally sat and gave his aching knees a rest.
"Well, Mr. Carson, what's the trouble today?"
"Mrs. Weatherby overheard his Lordship and her Ladyship talking earlier and wished to inform me of the subject."
"Did she?"
Raised eyebrows in a delightfully mobile face, feminine and mature and comforting; Carson appreciated it greatly as Mrs. Hughes went on.
"That's unlike her, Mr. Carson. Biscuit?"
"Please." He accepted the tin and took two, setting them on his saucer. "I appreciate her discretion, honestly, but it was the right choice to speak this time."
"Gracious, what's the newest disaster?"
Charlie couldn't quite hold in a wince.
"Lady Flintshire has been spreading false rumors that Lady Strallan is with child… and was prior to her nuptials."
Carson wasn't disappointed. Mrs. Hughes' mobile face froze and her brows lowered. Then she set her tea cup down with a delicate clink. The definitiveness of that noise could have felled trees. Canons trembled at the salute of it.
"Well, is she now?"
Carson cleared his throat, nodded, and took a bite of biscuit to forestall the need to speak. The housekeeper's considerable presence seemed to expand far past her diminutive size and fill the room around her as she stood, sweeping her hands over the table to collect nonexistent crumbs before she began to aggressively tidy the already immaculate space.
"Really, I don't know that I should even be surprised. For a woman who continually complains she can make no friends, she does very little to garner them."
Carson went to speak and then closed his mouth as she carried on.
"As if her bringing Lady Rosamund in to upset that poor girl on her wedding day wasn't bad enough, then haranguing that sweet child, the poor Lady Rose, until even the Dowager felt the need to step in – I do not believe in overstepping the bounds of propriety, Mr. Carson, and you know that – but I do wonder at how a woman of her rank ended up raised in a barn!"
"An inattentive nanny, perhaps?"
"Well, at this late stage it matters little." She sat down again, sighing and reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Oh, if this isn't a fine mess I don't know what is! Did Mrs. Weatherby happen to say what her Ladyship and his Lordship were planning on doing to address these rumors?"
"Of course not! That would have involves eavesdropping and-."
"-and I do recall a time or two when someone else of my long acquaintance has brought me critical information of just that sort, don't you, Mr. Carson?"
Flushing, he cleared his throat.
"I have no idea what you mean, Mrs. Hughes." Then, before she could counter, he rushed onward. "But I am sure Lord Grantham shall discuss it with me."
"I'm more concerned about when they'd discuss it with the other young ladies."
"Yes… that is also my concern."
"Lady Sybil will be appalled and furious."
"And just when the spotlight should be on her." He mourned. "Given her debut-."
"Oh, well, on that note matters have changed."
"Pardon?"
Mrs. Hughes pulled a face.
"Apparently after whatever upset Lady Mary suffered at her husband having an old family connection's daughter step in as an emergency secretary he compromised to soothe her spirits by suggesting that it wasn't imperative that Lady Sybil debut during the month of their wedding."
Carson's eyebrows kissed the ridges of his forehead.
"And Lady Grantham didn't protest?"
"She did, but Lady Sybil herself said she would prefer to have more time before being introduced to their majesties, and for Lady Mary to enjoy the spotlight on her wedding." The Housekeeper smiled gently. "That young lady really is too good for this world, is she not?"
"Lady Sybil is a terribly sweet child."
Carson would hardly say otherwise, though he had to bite down on the urge to tease Mrs. Hughes. She wouldn't take kindly to it. That said, he felt that history should note that he wasn't the only servant who had a favorite in Downton's nursery, and who always had.
"Yes, and deserves to be the center of attention during her own debut." Mrs. Hughes' nodded along with her own statement. "So it's just as well that they've put it off until the spring now… though it's thrown some of her ladyship's early arrangements into disarray… and I can't imagine this shall improve them further, especially with the wedding grown more elaborate. Tell me, Mr. Carson, have you even seen the guest list?"
"I have, and think it perfectly reasonable for a young woman of Lady Mary's stature and a husband of such consequence as Lord Holderness."
"An opinion that shocks me, Mr. Carson." She frowned. "Whatever shall either of them make of the rumors, I wonder?"
"That is what I wished to speak to you of, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Carson allowed. "I'm sure His Lordship shall at least offer me instructions and information on the situation in passing, so that we can handle any gossip downstairs."
Mrs. Hughes took her turn to nod.
"However…" He did hate to admit it. "While I am hugely pleased to see Lady Mary get precisely the kind of marriage she deserves, it does… leave me somewhat uncomfortable how little we know of Lord Holderness."
"Whirlwind romances are like that, Mr. Carson."
"I'm afraid I cannot say, having never experienced such, Mrs. Hughes."
"Hm, well, in that case we're working on much the same level of experience." The housekeeper hummed ruefully and then shook her head and rose, straightening her skirts. "That said, it worked well enough in the last generation. Let us hope that Lady Mary and her earl are as happy as Lady Grantham has been with her own hasty courtship and marriage."
"Yes, quite… erm, but specifically… didn't you once work in a household with a Miss Beatrice Gould?"
"Gracious! I haven't heard that name in… thirty years, at least. No, longer. Wherever did you hear it, Mr. Carson?"
"Apparently she is Lord Holderness' housekeeper here in London."
Mrs. Hughes paused in thought, then slowly nodded.
"Well, that would have suited the Beatrice I knew quite well."
"How so?"
"She was ambitious, organized, and frightfully competent." Carson felt a tightness in his chest at the softness of Mrs. Hughes' smile. "She was also the best roommate I ever had."
"How so?"
"Oh, quiet and tidy and as tolerant of me as I was of her. What else can you ask of someone who you're sharing an overlarge closet with, Mr. Carson?"
He chuckled along with her at memories of the indignities forced upon the young by their own inexperience.
"As frequently as not, Mrs. Hughes, nothing good." He cleared his throat and rose, flushing at how belated his reaction was. Dratted knees. "However… could you be persuaded to try and revive the acquaintance? I know it is a lot to ask, however-."
"It's very little to ask, Mr. Carson, and I shan't hear another word." Mrs. Hughes brushed off his thanks. "Besides, it will be good to see her again and speak to someone who can remember who I was when I was Miss Hughes."
As she ushered him out of her sitting room Carson thought wistfully, and not for the first time, that it was a pity that he had not known Miss Hughes in those days as well.
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"Addie told me that she's got a teacher punishing her for nothing and encouraging the other girls to pick on her, my lady, but it's a female teacher and I've heard naught that would have made me think it was – was that." Thomas Barrow's voice had been earnest for only the second time in Edith's experience over the crackling telephone line as he'd hastily explained to Edith all he knew over the phone the evening before. "Believe me, if someone were putting their hands on that girl and she told me, they'd not have hands nor anything else to worry about by the time you made it back to Yorkshire."
"I still think that was presumptuous of him."
Edith raised her eyebrows and Anthony offered a tense version of his usually gentle, crooked smile.
"If anything such as that were happening to your sister, surely both you and I deserve a chance to be involved in any permanent solution to the matter, don't you agree?"
"I'm just glad that – that that is not what is going on."
Edith let out a deep breath in relief but rubbed a hand over her face.
"I just – can you think of a single reason why Addie might think she had to handle it herself?"
"Pardon?"
Edith was still rubbing her eyes when she responded, so didn't see her husband freeze.
"He said something about her being convinced that she had to manage things herself in school. That it was some kind of test or responsibility. Which makes absolutely no sense. I can't – Anthony?"
To her shock, she looked up to find her husband looking utterly stricken.
"Anthony, what's wrong?"
Silence stretched out for a moment, and to her shock she watched her husband squeeze his eyes closed and clench his jaw. When he spoke, it was in a perfectly controlled, frigid tone of voice so unlike his usual self that Edith stared in shock.
"Your husband, Lady Strallan, is a prize idiot."
"I would thank you not to insult my husband. Anthony, what in the world-."
The stricken expression twisted, guilt lowering his brows as he bit his lip and shook his head.
"I'm afraid that I'm at fault, sweet one and – and I take full responsibility. My arrogance-."
"Anthony, less recrimination and more explanation, please!"
"We'd talked about encouraging her to be more independent, Edie, before she started school, remember?"
"Yes, because she hasn't had enough friends and she blossomed so much just having Rose to play with for a few days." Edith wrinkled her nose. "And, well, she really does need to learn to get along with others and not spat the way she was doing with David."
"Yes, precisely, but given the absolute blockhead that I am I assumed that however trouble she was trying to speak to us about in her first days of school was just – just typical schoolyard dramatics!" Anthony stood up and, unable to pace, simply towered in the small first class compartment.
Edith stared up at him, torn between anger, hurt, and shock.
"And you didn't feel the need to mention it to me when she's my sister?"
Anthony looked down at her, sheepishly.
"I did, darling, remember when I told you that she'd had some concerns but we spoke of them and it seemed to be resolved?"
Edith flushed as she recalled just such a brief exchange. One had in bed. Directly before, well, other things were had. Her hands went back to her face, pressing against her red cheeks in mortification.
"Oh, God, I'm – I'm a horrible sister!"
"Edith-."
"No, Anthony, I am. All this time you and I have been patting ourselves on the back for how well she's been adjusting and she's been lying while a teacher torments her because she's American or – or, I don't even know why, but the point is she's been suffering and I've been ignoring her!"
Anthony sat again and reached out, taking both her hands in his.
"Absolutely not."
"Anth-."
"No, sweet one, listen to yourself. You and I are the operative words, and the only ones worth acknowledging in that statement. If anyone has failed here, it's me."
"You-."
"I was arrogant and now she's suffering for it."
"And I was lackadaisical which is just as bad! Anthony, would you listen to the pair of us?"
"What?"
"We're arguing about which one of us we should blame more when…" Edith swallowed. "Right. Well, you won't convince me that I'm not to blame."
"Edith-."
"But I will allow that you're at least as useless as I am." Edith felt a sudden wave of helpless chagrin overtake her. "Dear Lord, you do realize we're about to have another child and we can't even parent Addie and all of the difficult parts are done?"
"Pardon?"
"Addie may be a challenge, but she knows right from wrong, she's been toilet trained, she can manage dressing herself, take care of a pet, and so much else, and our little one is going to need everything and-."
Edith found herself suddenly crushed into her husband's arms, her nose pressed to his shirt above his waistcoat as he folded himself around her.
"It will be fine, Edith. You'll be fine, and our l-little one will be fine, and nothing is going to happen to your sister." Anthony offered up. "We'll get her directly and then I will handle matters at Rosecliff."
"Oh, don't you dare."
"Swe-."
"No!" Edith pushed back and jabbed a finger into her husband's solar plexus. "Don't even let the thought cross your mind, Anthony Strallan, of presuming you can send me home to sit and wait while you deal with someone who would dare mistreat Addie."
"You shouldn't be getting ups-."
"Oh, I'm more than upset, Anthony, I'm furious and it's not up for discussion or debate." Edith huffed and then stood as the train began to slow and she looked out the window at the familiar small station platform. "I'm – two cars?"
Her distraction opened the door for her husband to get a word in edgewise.
"I had Waters bring both. We'll take the Rolls directly to Addie and Waters can take the luggage and Stewart back to Loxley in the other."
Edith took a deep, shaking, breath and reached out to squeeze her husband's hand as he opened the door to the compartment and automatically began to gently and gallantly usher her forward.
"Thank you, darling."
"Always, sweet one."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Edith might want to argue the point, but when they entered Rosecliff, he knew precisely who was at fault when his young sister-in-law was found shivering and drenched, locked out in the rain in the school's barren inner courtyard.
"Dear God!"
"E-e-d-ii-i-th?"
Anthony's heart lurched in his chest as he looked at the thin, pitiful, figure that Addie made bedraggled with rain and clutching at her sodden coat as she stared up at them from where she'd stumbled into the hallway when the door was opened.
"Miss Kavanaugh?!" Mrs. Weingarten had come out to see the source of the noise when Anthony had brought the Rolls to a rather loud stop in front of the school and Edith had all but leapt from the car and proceeded directly inside without bothering to knock, forcing her husband to scramble to catch up. She'd trailed after them, helplessly assuring them that everything was fine, only to stare in unshielded horror at the sight before her. "What in the world were you doing out there in this weather?"
"I… I… Why are you here Edi-ie?"
Anthony tore off his coat and held it out as Edith took it from his hands and began to wrap her sister in it. She already had his scarf in hand and was using it mop at her sister's face and sodden hair.
"London?"
The last time Anthony had felt half so much fury in himself, his wife was dead and he had yet another child to bury. Never again.
"You're like a block of ice!" Edith exclaimed, her voice twisted in worry, before she turned eyes as furious and molten as crucible gold on the headmistress. "Mrs. Weingarten, what is the meaning of this?!"
"Here."
To Anthony's intense concern Addie didn't even squeak a protest when he swept her up into his arms, wrapping his coat more tightly around her. Instead, she leaned against him, still shivering wildly.
"I – I don't – this is highly irregular!" The middle-aged woman sputtered.
"I assure you, I couldn't possibly care less." Edith snarled and pointed down the hallway. "A room with a stove, immediately!"
Anthony barely resisted the urge to reach out and push the woman forward – and he had never shoved a woman in his life – as she stumbled and fumbled both over her words and in producing a set of keys. Finally, however, they were back in the Headmistress' office; which did have a coal stove in the corner.
Anthony quickly dragged the visitors chair over and nodded his wife into it. Edith looked like she might protest for a bare moment, then her eyes fixed on her sister. A brief internal struggle followed, but love drew the barest lead on wrath and she sat, holding her arms out to drag her sister into her lap and then against her in order to share her body's warmth with the shivering bundle of wool.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Anthony, Addie realized, was one of those people who got very quiet when they are angry. Daddy sometimes did that, on purpose, to scare people… but he'd never done it to her or her brothers or Edie. When he was mad with family, he just yelled, and that was awful, but it wasn't really that scary. Daddy would never have hurt them.
Addie didn't believe Anthony could hurt anyone, or she hadn't, but he sounded so terribly different at that moment. Just standing there, suddenly he didn't seem big in the funny, nice, friendly way a cuddly mastiff did. It wasn't the kind of wonder she'd felt when they'd gone to the circus and she'd gotten to hold her hand out and feel the amazing gentleness that went along with the overwhelming strength in an elephant's trunk as it plucked peanuts from her outstretched hand. Addie was, for the first time, very aware that her sister's husband was a big, strong, grown man and it left her unnerved and added to her upset. He just seemed so very unlike himself as he stood there and took up so very much of Mrs. Weingarten's little office.
"Mrs. Weingarten, from this point onward I suggest utter and complete honesty."
"Sir Antho-."
"It is always the best policy to take, when dealing with the constabulary."
Addie blinked in surprise. Why was Anthony talking about the police. Worried, and more than a little confused after more than half an hour locked out in a chill rain, Addie blurted out the first thing that came into her head.
"I didn't break the law, I just called Mrs. Hart names because she called Edith a bastard!"
Mrs. Weingarten paled and Anthony, if anything, stiffened further. Edith, to Addie's surprise, barely twitched. Her sister hated that word, but she just reached up and smoothed some of the tangled hair out of Addie's face.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Addie. What else has she done?"
Addie realized it was a trap and tried to backpedal, squirming to get her hands free of the coat.
"It's not that bad. I can handle it. I really can, you know. I just – just don't like that word. If she wants to call me names, that's-."
"Has your teacher been calling you names, Addie?"
"Just Mrs. Hart, Edith. The others are nice enough." Addie assured her. "And I can-."
"I'm sure you can, but you shouldn't have to."
Addie turned and blinked and felt another shiver come and go, this one more out of relief. She was feeling warmer, wrapped in the coat and sitting in the chair with Edith by the fire. She could feel her fingers again. They hurt, but not too badly. Like sitting on your foot for a long time, nothing worse than that.
"But… I thought… I – I don't want to let you down." Addie stumbled over the words, her tongue thick with the growing warmth as much as it had been with the cold. She was getting warmer; she didn't know why she suddenly had to shiver harder.
Two big hands came out and framed her face, tenderly wiping away some of the water dripping down from her hair.
"Addie, there is no way on heaven or earth I could ever be disappointed in you."
"But you said-."
"I said that, when it's just a misunderstanding, you should try and handle it by yourself. This is far more severe than a misunderstanding, and I never want you to think you can't come to your sister and I if anyone ever mistreats you. Do you understand?"
Addie stared up at him, torn between relief and comfort at the warmth of his hands and the steadiness of his presence, and the sudden flare of her pride.
"But I can handle it."
"But today you shan't have to."
And Anthony stood back up and turned back to Mrs. Weingarten, before walking to her desk without even asking leave, and picking up the school telephone.
"I am calling the Ripon police. While my wife waits here, I will accompany you up to wherever Addie's school things are stored. Then you and I shall have a word with Mrs. Hart before the police arrive."
Addie had known that the headmistress didn't have much spine, but she was still surprised when she followed Sir Anthony out of the room sniffling, with great tears rolling down her face. Addie had always thought that grownups only cried when people died.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"You – you must understand, sir, that my aunt always intended this school as a haven for women and girls and I've done everything I can to make it so!"
Mrs. Weingarten could see the end to all of her hopes and she wept for it.
"Indeed? If that is your goal, you have severely disappointed at least one girl against your own intentions."
"Mrs. Hart is really Miss Hart, Sir Anthony." She rushed to explain just as she rushed to keep up with his long strides down the hallway to where the student's cubbies were.
Lisa Weingarten had been so pleased to see how communal the school was when her aging aunt had handed over management of the establishment to her. Her dear aunt, who'd been her only support when she'd wanted to get an education rather than marry and have children. The aunt most like her, who'd spent her own life devoted above all to women's suffrage and her fading years to the dream of building a school that could serve as a guiding light to women and girls alike. They'd both planned to make the place such a saving grace to female souls…
"And that is relevant, how?"
"She was ruined and abused by an American confidence artist who left her crippled and alone with child!"
Sir Anthony had opened the wooden door marked with a slip of paper with Miss Kavanaugh's name on it. Inside he found the girl's leather haversack and, after a moment, Mrs. Weingarten was surprised to see him open it, and more surprised to see the contents.
"Why on earth is there a second uniform there?'
"Because, as I understand it, a member of your staff has had my sister-in-law doing menial labor as punishment." He turned, and for a man who'd seemed inordinately kind and harmless when she'd met him, he suddenly looked down on her like an oncoming glacier must look at the rocks it is going to crush to sand. "As well as forcing her to eat and making her physically ill."
"I had no idea!"
"Why didn't you?"
Despite herself, she couldn't quite hold back the only proper response.
"Well, if you know, why didn't you call me so that I could address it?"
Mrs. Weingarten knew she wasn't the most brilliant of women. She was not, however, a complete fool. Though she had only run Rosecliff for five years, she had years of experience in other schools. Larger schools, in fact, and more traditional boarding establishments. Which meant knowing what the nobility were like with their children. She'd spoken with Lady Strallan when she was still Miss Kavanaugh, and Sir Anthony certainly seemed a more interested "stepparent" than most. That said?
"Because you didn't, did you?"
Those striking blue eyes fixed on her and, for a moment, she thought she might be able to reason with the man. To get him to understand that mistakes could be made. Then the slight defrosting passed and the ice settled back into his eyes.
"The fact remains, Mrs. Weingarten, that it is your job to control your employees. One of the employees under your assumed control locked a child under my care out in miserable weather, at the risk of her health – which you were warned was fragile – and that this is apparently an escalating pattern of behavior you are aware of."
"But you must understand what we're trying to do here!" Lisa implored. "All of our staff were, through charity, removed from and educated to free them of the worst sort of influences! Your mother herself helped my aunt raise money to purchase the grounds here!"
"And she would be appalled and ashamed to know that you were using those good intentions to shield anyone who would abuse a child! Listen to yourself, for God's sake!"
Mrs. Weingarten took a step back from the terrible chill tone in the quiet, clipped, voice addressing her.
"We are done discussing this. The police are already on their way. I leave you to demonstrate some competency and see that Mrs. Hart's class is covered. Then you are to bring her directly to me, am I clear?"
"I don't have to do-."
"If you were to speak to a solicitor – which I strongly advise you to – I do not believe they would call it wise to antagonize me further today, madam."
Fighting to strangle a fresh sob at the reminder of how very likely it was that Mrs. Hart's very justifiable prejudices – the very ones they were working daily to help her let go of – had doomed her aunt's dream and her own, Lisa went to get the teacher who she had sponsored from the hospital, through a late and hard-fought education, and now… to ruin…
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Author's Note: To clarify…
Addie – has been rescued and now we'll start to see the fallout.
Rosecliff –was a wonderfully well-intentioned idea and way ahead of its time. My great-grandmother briefly attended a similar school (built and paid for by wealth donors, the teachers were "redeemed" ladies of the evening) but only for a year. Everyone was so scandalized when they found out the details (after a teacher who was no doubt responding to past trauma beat a student so badly they ended up in the hospital) that the school was quickly shut down.
Anne Strallan is the Classicist's creation, but she and Phillip (Anthony's parents) have become entrenched in my fanon. I just can't help but picture them now whenever I think of this ship. Her characterization is just that good. I couldn't help but think that Anne would absolutely like the idea of offering education and a career to help young women who were abused by society free themselves and take control of their lives. I pictured her and a few other like-minded friends raising funds and helping put it together… but even when it finally came into being, decades after they first thought of it, it's a difficult concept to make work. Not the least because competent administration is not going to materialize; working at a school like this would be a career killer for a woman. Hence how it fell apart here.
Diana – is scary.
Crawley Drama – well, the Downstairs knows about the rumors now. Robert's gone to talk to Cora about them, but we don't know what's yet been said. Mary? Well, she's going to be the last to know. I somehow don't think she'll take that well…