1903
"I'm just not sure if it's exactly flattering," Mary said aloud, more to herself than to her two sisters, who were sitting on the bed patiently waiting for her to be ready for dinner. Turning this way and that, Mary scrutinized every stitch, every movement of the dress that her Aunt Rosamund had gifted her. "I'm not sure it's the best fit."
"Then don't wear it," Sybil shrugged. "You don't want to be uncomfortable."
Mary ignored her younger sister's advice; after all, Sybil was only eight, what did she know? "Mama always says that discomfort is the price to pay for beauty," she mused, once again running her hand along the itchy velvet fabric, "although I must say that this gown is not what I'd call a masterpiece."
"Why would you wear it, then?" Sybil asked, absentmindedly twisting her finger back and forth through a loose string in Mary's bedspread.
"Sybil, darling, I don't want to insult Aunt Rosamund by not appreciating her gift," Mary reasoned. The youngest Crawley shrugged, knowing that there was no point in fighting a losing battle. The Crawleys were having a family gathering that night, complete with Lord Flintshire and his family from Scotland, the Dowager Countess, and Aunt Rosamund.
Eleven year old Lady Edith stood up suddenly, slightly startling young Sybil. She made her way over to the mirror and stood with her arms crossed, assuming a silent and impatient stance no more than a foot away from Mary. Mary looked over at Edith, unfazed and emotionless. "Can I help you?"
"Mary, let me use the mirror, you've been hogging it for half an hour."
Mary rolled her eyes and continued to scrutinize herself, this time running her fingers over her meticulously arched eyebrows. She moved her hand slowly, partly to ensure that there were no stray strands, mostly to annoy Edith. Sybil watched and winced at the thought of one day having her own tender eyebrows plucked hair after tiny hair. She wondered how Mary could bear such a pain, but she remembered what had been said earlier: discomfort was the price for beauty.
"Mary!"
Mary did not flinch despite her sister's shrieks. "Who've you to impress? Patrick Crawley isn't here for you to swoon over while he's looking at me. Of course, I suppose you're used to it by now."
Sybil tried to suppress her giggles as Edith's face turned as red as her hair. "You're heartless nowadays, Mary. I'll never understand why you're so cruel to me and so nice to Sybil."
Mary turned around. "Because Sybil's not a brat, and that's that. You can use my mirror for one minute; I'm counting. Sybil, darling, come here and let me tidy your braid, Vera must've been in a rush. It's falling out all over the place."
"Look at her go, my God," the Earl of Grantham chuckled as Lord Flintshire's one year old daughter, Rose, wobbled cross the floor unsteadily.
The Earl's cousin laughed heartily. "She's quite the fast learner. She went from scooting to walking, not much crawling in between."
"Our girls did enough crawling for all of us, I suppose. Mary wasn't walking until she was well past Rose's age," Cora added from where she was perched on the sitting room couch.
"Plenty of crawling from the Crawleys," Lord Flintshire said, and everyone giggled politely at the pun.
From beside her, Edith could hear Mary mumble something under her breath about how much she hated corny jokes. Sybil giggled at her comment, and Mary's usual frown curled up a bit at the corners as it always did when she was able to make her sister laugh.
Edith felt a pang of emotion, one she felt often while around her close sisters. "Of course you hate it," she whispered gravely to Mary. "You only enjoy dry humor."
"The driest," Mary agreed condescendingly, looking at Edith with a sinister, wry smile. Edith sighed in defeat. She and Mary had never gotten along, but recently it seemed that Mary took pride in her stone cold expression and vicious comebacks towards the middle sister.
Edith observed the interactions between her older and younger sister on the couch beside her. Mary treated Sybil as if she were her own child despite the mere four years between them; she talked to her lovingly and smiled when she could make her laugh. Similarly, Edith noticed Sybil's tendency to look up at Mary for signs of approval after speaking; this was rare, considering that Sybil's rebellious personality resulted in her seeking approval from almost no one.
They were close, and Edith resented them for it.
The redhead shifted her weight on the stiff couch. It wasn't that she craved Mary's attention at all; she almost laughed out loud at the thought of being worried about what Mary thought of her. However, she didn't necessarily long to listen to Sybil's incessant questions, either. All she knew was that she felt a sting of jealousy every time Mary lifted the corners of her eternal frown for Sybil and every time Sybil looked up at their older sister in admiration.
"Edith," a voice called through the atmosphere of conversation. The middle sister snapped back to attention and walked over to where her Aunt Rosamund was perched.
"Yes?"
"Is everything quite alright, dear?" Edith's redheaded aunt asked lightly, a glass of white wine sitting delicately between her fingers. When Edith didn't answer, Rosamund tilted her head towards where Mary and Sybil were sitting.
"I knew you'd feel this way someday," she said knowingly. Edith looked down, not sure of how to answer. Rosamund ignored this and continued.
"Between you and me, Robert and I were never very close either. I suppose it might be harder for you, considering there are two of them as opposed to one."
"And what am I to do?" Edith asked quietly. "Just stand by while they push me out of the picture?"
"Nonsense, you'll never be pushed out of the picture," he aunt insisted. "They just share a… a closer bond, is all. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Think about it, dear, you're only a year younger than Mary; she never got to play mama with you, but she can with Sybil. It's nothing to fret over, darling."
And as a tree does not mourn the loss of a leaf in the fall, Edith decided that she was not going to mind the loss of her siblings to each other. Or, at least, she'd attempt to try.
"Oh, look at how darling she is," Sybil sighed, watching young Rose stumble to and fro curiously. "It must be a great joy to have a child to watch. It's like a miniature version of yourself!"
The room chuckled lightly; Mary figured they'd all had a bit too much whiskey and rolled her eyes. "Nothing to wish for at this age, my dear."
"Yes," Cora agreed, grinning, "Someday you'll have your own children to care for, but for now don't worry about such things. And that goes for the three of you."
Despite having agreed with herself not to pay mind to Mary and Sybil's relationship, she couldn't help the opportunity to comment. "Yes, Mary, you should stop treating Sybil as your own child and more as a sibling," she whispered to her older sister.
Mary looked over at Edith, a stone cold expression as usual with a bit of a smirk. "Edith, there's a difference between treating her as my child and the simple fact that I like her better than you."
a/n sorry it's been a couple weeks! i'm double posting as a sorry :)