The maids kept finding excuses to come upstairs to admire the tree and the decorations. Edith pretended not to notice - in fact, she was glad about it: it was about time for Loxley to come out of its sleep. Maids excitedly giggling behind doors and valets bustling about were just proof the old Georgian home was coming back to life again.
After decorating the house to her heart's delight, she was now busy with the preparations of Christmas Eve dinner party. It was the first time her family came to Loxley for a formal event, and she wanted the evening to be a success, so she could prove everyone – especially Papa and Granny - that she was a capable and accomplished hostess… and an adequate wife for Anthony. She knew Granny, for one, still disapproved of her marriage.
"So how's everything going, Edith dear?" the Dowager had asked over tea, during a visit, about three days before Christmas.
"Quite well, thank you" she smiled weakly. She was in the midst of preparations, and the menu for the dinner was driving her mad.
"Where is Anthony?"
"In London. He had a dinner with some politician or diplomat or something like that. He didn't want to go, but it's part of his job for the county."
"A political dinner? Oh dear, what a ghastly thing to do during the holidays." She took a sip from her cup of tea. "Will he be home for Christmas Eve? I've seen so little of him lately."
Edith suppressed a smile. Anthony seemed to vanish into thin air every time he say Lady Grantham's car approaching. He knew Edith's grandmother looked down at him and he made every effort to avoid any unpleasant confrontation. "Of course. He'll be there in time for the big dinner."
"Doesn't he usually spend the holidays in his London house?"
Edith arched her eyebrows. "Yes, he used to - when he had no family to celebrate with. But this time is different, of course… and I hope you will all make an effort to make him feel like he has got a family, now."
Her grandmother's weight shifted on the chair and her back stiffened. "When have we ever done anything less?"
Edith tried not to roll her eyes. She knew how stiff and hostile her grandmother and Papa had been towards Anthony, and her blood still boiled at the thought of the way they treated him – her kind, understanding Anthony who never complained but, Edith knew, was nonetheless deeply hurt by their cold shoulder.
She was dying to snap back at her grandmother, but she didn't want to start a fight – not now. "Just try to be welcoming, will you, Granny? For me?"
The Dowager snorted. "I will be as gentle as a lamb."
Edith sighed. "Granny…"
"I will!" the elderly lady pursed her lips. She then changed the subject. "I see you've done some decorating – the house looks quite festive with all the garlands and tinsel hanging everywhere."
Edith came alive. "Yes. Do you like it?"
"You did a good job with what you had to work with" she said, a double-edged compliment. Edith knew what her grandmother meant: Loxley was in need of some renovating, and no amount of wreaths and ornaments could hide that. But she had a hard enough time just persuading the staff to decorate the house – refurbishing it was a battle for another time.
"How are you doing with so much change so quickly? You're a wife, now, living in a new place. You're the lady of this house now. Is it quite how you would have imagined it?"
"Well…" Edith coudn't confide in her about the difficulties she had been meeting in managing the household: she walked on eggshells, knowing Granny would have used every grievance as an excuse to gloat. The Dowager Countess had been violently against the wedding from the beginning; she was slowly coming to terms with the fact her granddaughter was now Sir Anthony's wife, but she was still sore over the fact that her opinion had been disregarded. So, now and then, when she talked to Edith, she dropped a zinger or a snide remark.
"It must be quite hard for you" the Dowager went on, without waiting for an answer. Her tone was as sweet as molasses, and Edith knew she was going to take a dig at her. "The servants must still be very devoted to the memory of the late Lady Strallan, I presume?"
Edith opened and closed her mouth. Her grandmother sure had an instinct to find her target's weaknesses. "Well, she – I mean, I…"
"Maud seems to have been so good at everything, or so everyone is telling me. She ran the whole house herself, too. I guess you're not quite there yet."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Granny" Edith groaned quietly in her cup of tea.
The Dowager smiled. "Oh, well, we can't all do everything: I suppose you'd better leave it to the housekeeper: you are very young, my dear, aren't you? No doubt, in time, when you have settled down properly, you'll be able to put you own mark on the house."
In time, yes. Edith thought, bitterly. She had decided, in that moment, it was going to happen sooner rather than later. Back at Downton, her prettier, more accomplished sisters always outshined her: she was not going to let the ghost of a deceased woman outweigh her in her new home.
She was sick of living in someone else's shadow.
…
"I'd like to serve roast quail with glazed grapes. We've had it at Lady Jarvis' house, last month, and it was just delicious." Edith didn't think they ever had quails in Downton, and she was eager to impress her family with some new dish.
"Roast quail, M'lady?" Cook – a red-faced woman in her sixties - knitted her eyebrows. "But - I've never prepared that, I'm not sure we can arrange -"
Edith was prepared to face some resisting. "I asked Lady Jarvis to send me the recipe, and I've already sent an order for the quails and the other ingredients."
"I don't think I can work from a new receipt at a moment's notice, M'lady…"
"Oh, but it doesn't look much different to prepare than a roast pheasant, and nothing can quite measure up with your roast pheasant. When Mrs Chetwood came to dinner, a few weeks ago, she said it was just divine, and you know how peculiar she is with her food!" She hoped a bit of gentle flattery would soften her up.
It did. "Well, M'lady, no one beats my roasts, if I do say so myself." Cook blushed with pleasure at the compliment.
"You must give Mrs Patmore, up at the Abbey, some advice." Edith leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if to tell a secret. "She's a marvelous cook, of course, but her roasts are a bit on the tough side, if you know what I mean."
Cook chuckled. "Aye, M'lady, not everyone can do a tender roast. Me mother taught me the secret to make 'em melt in the mouth."
"Marvelous!" Edith smiled. "After that, we'll have braised belly pork and pigs heart in red wine, if that's all right with you?"
"Of course, M'lady. Never had a problem with pork." She chuckled.
"I'm sure of that!" Edith shook her head smiling.
"Is there some difficulty, M'lady?" said a voice behind her. Edith turned to see Mrs Havers, who had just entered the kitchen. The housekeeper was staring at her with a quizzical expression on her face.
"No, thank you, Mrs Havers." Edith turned serious. "Cook and I were just putting the finishing touches to the Christmas dinner menu. I decided to add a course of roast quail."
Mrs Havers folded her hands in front of her. "Of course, M'lady." The expression on her face was incomprehensible. Did she inwardly laugh at her? Was she just surprised to find her in the kichen? Edith could not tell.
"If you wish for anything else to be changed please say so," she added, "and I will give orders at once."
"Thank you, Mrs Havers. I will."
…
It had started snowing again. It had been snowing on and off for days, and Edith stared at the lonely flakes of snow floating past the window, hoping the weather would clear. Anthony was surely on his way home, and she worried he might get snowbound. He had told her he hoped to be home in time for dinner, but not to wait up for him if he was late. She looked at the white sky for a few moments, then she resumed what she was doing. She was writing the last Christmas cards: she had mailed the ones that she couldn't deliver by hand days ago (Aunt Rosamund and Mrs Chetwood had already received theirs), but she had delayed writing the ones to give her parents and her sisters. My sincerest good wishes… The scratch of her pen on the paper rasped loud in the silence. The happiest of Happy Christmases… She stopped to brush a hand over her lids. There was so much to do, so much to organize, so many things to think about… And the big dinner was the next day.
Lost in thought, she failed to notice the sound of a car approaching the house. Only when she heard the front door close, she lifted her head. Who could it be, now...?
"…Oh, thank you, Stewart." a familiar voice said in the hall. "Where's my wife?"
"Anthony!" she put the pen down on the table, jumped up and ran out of the room to meet him. Overwhelmed by the preparations, she hadn't realized how lonely she had been without him around: but now, hearing his voice, she felt absurdly excited that her husband was home again.
"Oh, you're here, my darling. Come and say hello to a frozen old man!" When he saw her, he smiled and nodded at the garlands hanging from the stair banisters. "Look at that! For a moment, I thought I got into the wrong house"
He took his hat off, shaking a dusting of snow off of it, chucking, and Edith ran into his arms. There were flakes of snow on the shoulders of his overcoat, and he smelled like damp wool.
"It's so good to see you!" Edith kissed him and buried her face in his coat. "I didn't expect you home till this evening!"
"I left London earlier: didn't want to get stuck in the snow" he said. "But it looks like you're doing all right without me here."
"I'm doing my best." She took his hand in hers. "But I hated you being away. I've missed you terribly, you know." she said.
"Have you?' he said, smiling. "But I've only been in London for one week."
"Well, it was one week too many."
They did not say anything for a bit; she just held his hand, smiling.
"Come with me, now" she said, after a moment. "I've got something to show you."