Chapter the Second: In Which Sir Phillip Strallan Hatches A Plan
Two Years' Later…
"I wanted to bring your Christmas presents over now before I forgot." Edith Crawley was pink-cheeked with cold as she held up the basket of gifts, despite the fair-isle tam jammed on her red-gold head, her overcoat swinging open over a voluminous jumper of cream wool which swathed her torso, and the thick tweed skirt and neat brown boots that covered the rest of her. "Mama will have me fully occupied between now and New Year, I think."
"Ah, thank you, m'dear. I know Nancy has a little something squirrelled away for you, indoors. But first…" Phillip Strallan received the overflowing basket from her, set it aside on the hall table and accepted the assistance of his butler in pulling on a thick overcoat and equipping himself with a walking stick suitable for negotiating the snowfall outside. This done, he tucked Edith's right hand firmly into the crook of his elbow and wheeled her out of the house again, round the side of the house, and across the lawns to the orchard. "How's your father?" he wondered lightly.
Edith exhaled loudly. As if that weren't answer enough, she began ticking a list off on her fingers: "Cross about Sybil's political campaigning. Worried about Mary's engagement. Irritated about - well, about everything, as regards me. Need I go on?" Edith shot him a speaking look. "You know perfectly well that he's never happy unless he has something to complain about, sir."
Phillip raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "I couldn't possibly comment. Can we do anything?"
Edith squeezed his elbow fondly. Whatever she would do without the Strallans, she didn't want to find out. "No, thank you, sir. You've already done more than enough." Pausing to brush snow thoughtfully from a low hanging branch of one of the apple trees, she added, "When spring comes and you need me more on the farm, I won't be in the house so often and… it'll be less exhausting for us both." Really, the last year had been a godsend in that respect - meaningful work with people she liked hadn't been anything Edith had ever hoped to find again after university. And yet…
Phillip patted her hand comfortingly. "You may very well be right. How's the writing coming along? You can't leave that poor corpse hanging in a well forever." He shook his head, smiling dryly. "Really, in my day, delightful young ladies weren't such bloodthirsty creatures."
"It isn't," Edith sighed, waving aside the compliment. "That's the problem. Difficult to find a quiet space to work, especially with all the Christmas preparations." Edith pulled a face. "I'm sorry - I'm being thoroughly boring, I know. All I've done is complain." She tried for a smile. "How are you? And Lady Strallan?"
Phillip began to turn them back towards the red brick of the house. "Well, stay for tea and find out - Nancy would be delighted."
"Thank you." Edith had managed to retain the smile, but Phillip noted that the rest of her face was drawn and tired. "That's very kind, sir."
"Not a bit of it." Offhandedly, Phillip announced, "Our boy's at home for Christmas - you'd rub along together, I think."
"Oh, really?" Edith couldn't help a real chuckle of laughter at this. The 'boy' in question, from what she recalled, was in his mid-forties and working for the War Office - but clearly he was not yet old or responsible enough for his Papa to view him as more than a foolish schoolboy. Apparently not even a divorce could achieve that, although Edith suspected that it was at the root of Anthony Strallan's almost-permanent absence from his parents' home. There always seemed to be such a sadness hanging around the idea of him, at least whenever Anne mentioned him. But then, Yorkshire was old-fashioned, at heart, and not at all likely to forgive or forget such a scandal as Anthony Strallan had brought down on his parents' heads two years ago. Indeed, Lord Grantham hadn't scrupled to make his feelings on the subject perfectly clear when his middle daughter had found herself work on the Strallans' Home Farm the previous year; to hear him talk, scandal was more contagious than the influenza, and twice as unpleasant to catch. After all that fuss, Edith found herself rather curious to see the man himself.
"Yes." Phillip's voice was deliberately bland as he replied; anyone else would have thought him merely seeking to introduce a young friend to someone she might find interesting. Edith knew better. Wily old fox.
She raised a dry eyebrow. "I see."
Phillip gave up the pretence as they reached the terrace and negotiated the slippery steps with care. "My dear girl, you know Nancy and I worry for you. And after your young chap - "
"I'm sure you do," Edith interrupted. Heavens, the last thing she needed was someone else going on and on about Michael, and how sad it all was. "And I appreciate it, truly." Spontaneously, she bobbed up and kissed his cheek.
No need to spell out what all this was about: in a situation involving, respectively, an unmarried woman, a dead fiance, and a war that seemed determined to kill off every young man in Europe, precisely what Phillip was worried about was rather obvious. The Strallans - especially Phillip - were darlings, and it seemed that they had decided amongst themselves to take a special interest in Edith. She ought to have been embarrassed, Edith supposed, that the fact that she alone amongst her sisters was ignored and sidelined at home was widely known, but the truth was that she had too little pride to care. It was rather nice to have someone who cared about one's prospects, frankly.
Of course, no one ended up married like that these days - with it all having been arranged by one's parents. Sir Phillip was just being… whimsical and amusing, as he only ever was with people he liked. Mischievously, seeking to carry on the joke, Edith wondered, "Am I allowed to meet him, though, before you start planning a wedding?"
An exaggeration intended to make him laugh - and indeed, Phillip did chuckle. "Of course you are, m'dear. I'm old-fashioned, not prehistoric."
As he spoke, he pushed the door open and stepped back to admit Edith first into the warmth of the library. Edith went straight to the sturdy marble fireplace to warm her hands and face, pulling off her outdoor gear as she did so.
"Nancy? I found a trespasser creeping up our drive," Phillip called through the library corridor, shooting Edith a wink as he did so, "so I've apprehended her and brought her in for questioning over tea and cake."
Lady Strallan appeared in the library doorway and beamed in delight at the sight of Edith. "Darling girl! How lovely! Has he dragged you all round the gardens? And in this weather, too? Phillip, really." As she spoke, she ushered Edith into a chair. "Sit down in front of that fire and let's get you a cup of tea - it's positively glacial out there today!" Anne found a shawl from the back of the sofa and came to drape it around Edith's shoulders, giving Edith herself no time at all to either protest or reply.
"Is Anthony about?" Phillip wondered lightly over his shoulder, as he began to pour the tea.
Anne dropped a single lump of sugar into his cup and added milk to all the collected cups. Edith watched this little ritual with a hint of wistfulness. Such a lovely team they made. How common was that in married life? Uncommon enough to be treasured where it was found, she suspected.
"On his way, I think. Stewart drove him into York just before luncheon, but they arrived back about ten minutes ago." Over her shoulder, Anne offered, "Edith, you'll have some Christmas cake, won't you? Too early, I know, but Mrs Cox always bakes for the five thousand."
"Oh, yes, I - " Edith began, and then heard the creak of the library door opening again.
Anne looked across the room, smiling. "Oh, Anthony, there you are. Just in time for tea, darling, well done."
Edith turned and saw, framed in the doorway, quite the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. And wasn't that an odd thought to have!
As he advanced into the room, she had time to examine him more closely. The Notorious Anthony Strallan was quite as tall as his father, with the same bright blue eyes, his mother's dimpled chin, a long slightly crooked nose, and a rather sad smile. His right arm was held firmly across his chest in a black silk sling - a war wound? - and he wore Army uniform.
For a scandal that had shocked the county only two years ago, he looked astonishingly normal.
"Good afternoon, Mama, Papa," he said - a gentle, warm voice - but his eyes were fixed on Edith, and he hadn't sat down either, but stood a little hesitantly next to the sofa instead, as if he were not quite sure what to do or say.
Anne came to his rescue. "Anthony, meet Lady Edith Crawley, our very dear friend and neighbour - and an absolute godsend on the Home Farm. Edith, my dear - our son, Major Anthony Strallan."
The Major bowed his head politely and Edith stood to shake hands, remembering at the last moment that he would need to use his left. Awkwardly, they rearranged - his hand engulfed Edith's, warm and slightly work-roughened. Looking down at their interlinked hands, Edith noted the writer's callus on his middle finger, like the one she herself had.
"Major Strallan."
"Lady Edith."
"Well, don't stand on ceremony, Edith my dear!" Anne hooked her elbow and settled her back into the sofa, loading her with tea and a plate of cake before she had chance to move any further.
"You too, Anthony," Phillip added. Lowering his voice, he nudged his son towards the other corner of the sofa occupied by Edith, pressing a cup of tea into his good hand. "You're not on parade now, boy. Sit down and make friends."
Anthony Strallan was not the sort of man to disobey a direct order from his father, even one which was so patently an attempt to throw a potential wife at his head. Added to which, Papa - damn his eyes! - had busily engaged Mama in conversation about the Lords' second reading of the Representation of the People Act, and in conversation with each other, they could always be relied upon to utterly forget the presence of anyone else in the room.
He looked across at Lady Edith and noticed that she was watching proceedings with an amused look in her eye. "You've been… doing some work on the Home Farm for us, then?" Anthony tried, and Lady Edith turned that smile, and those warm eyes on him.
"Yes." She flushed a little. "I've driven tractors and done some of the planting work."
"Heavens! 'God speed the plough and the woman who drives it'?" And a Crawley too! One of Grantham's girls? Thinking aloud, as was his wont, Anthony added, "Not at all the sort of work I'd have expected an Earl's daughter to be doing."
Those chocolate eyes hardened suddenly and Lady Edith's pretty face closed up like the sun going behind a cloud. "Well," she said, in rather clipped tones, taking a sip of tea through pursed lips, "packing Red Cross parcels and sitting by the fire knitting balaclavas didn't exactly suit."
"I'm sorry." Anthony winced. Easy enough for Papa to demand he 'make friends', but Anthony knew he had no skill at all when it came to women - especially when it came to not upsetting them. "I didn't mean - "
Lady Edith sighed and set her teacup aside, her fingers knocking back a loose curl of hair with something that, in a less ladylike woman, would have seemed very much like frustration. "No, I know." She shrugged and confessed, "I'm sorry. I'm… stupidly prickly about it. Driving is… something I enjoy, something I'm good at, but… not necessarily something that my family approves of." The smile was back as she cast a quick look over at Anthony's parents again. "Luckily, yours do. I met your mother at the Ripon Ladies' Motorcar Association, you see. And so, after I graduated, when I was looking for something to do that would help the war effort, she suggested to your father that I might be useful on the farms, ploughing and driving tractors and operating machinery. What's your war been like?"
It was a turn in the conversation that felt like a whiplash across Anthony's face, so sharp that he had to suck in a breath before he could reply. Such a lot of information she'd given him, in such a short space of time. Prickly. Graduated. Driving. Anthony took a long draught of tea and gave himself time to consider. Of course, it was easy to see what had made Lady Edith such fast friends with his Mama: 'emancipation' had been Anne Strallan's favourite word almost from the cradle. And Papa… well, Papa was simply a man built for daughters, and despite his rather old-fashioned manners, he liked clever, outspoken women.
"Ah… went in as a Major at the start." He tapped the sling and its wretched, useless contents with the forefinger of his other hand. "Picked this up in early '15 and got invalided home. Now I work at the War Office." Of course, a handful of words weren't enough - not nearly enough - to adequately sum up the mundanity and exhaustion and bloody foulness of the past three years. No amount of words ever would be.
"Heavens." Lady Edith was cutting her cake into tiny, precise bites with the edge of her fork. "What's that like?"
Distracted by his own misery, Anthony answered without thinking: "An awful lot of beastly long evenings and an endless series of wretchedly difficult decisions." Even as the words left his mouth, he winced inwardly. He'd made himself sound disloyal and ungrateful and dissatisfied - hardly the sort of thing likely to find sympathy with a woman engaged in agricultural labour. Most likely, she would think him weak and whining, compared to her own hardiness.
To his surprise, though, her face was all sympathy. "Rather you than me! But… very valuable work, I'm sure. I - I'm sure I couldn't imagine just how valuable."
Anthony forced a smile. "Yes. Valuable indeed." A more valuable charge than rubies, and a more agonising punishment than a slow crushing by rocks.
Lady Edith finished her tea, nodding thoughtfully, and Anthony felt for a moment, most disconcertingly, that she had seen something of what he was feeling - on his face, perhaps? Take hold of yourself, man! "But not something that you can talk much about, I imagine," she finished for him.
"No. I'm sorry."
"Not at all. Perfectly reasonable, even if I can assure you I'm not a German spy." Her face creased wryly and she gave him a little lopsided smile that ought to have made her look the furthest thing from pretty. Anthony found himself unspeakably charmed. "Although I suppose that's exactly what a German spy would say!"