Chapter The Fourth: In Which Our Couple Endures Christmas

"Edith, are you really going to spend all day sulking in a corner?"

Edith looked up briefly from her book - a ridiculously over-the-top Edgar Wallace - to raise an eyebrow at her older sister. "I'm not sulking" was the reply which both jumped to mind first, and was also the very one which would make her appear as childish as possible. Damn Mary and her sniping.

"She's not sulking," Sybil intervened, slipping into the window seat next to Edith and sliding a defensive arm around her sister's shoulders. "Don't be cruel on Christmas Day, Mary."

Mary made no reply, simply rolled her eyes and swept away to warm her hands at the fireplace. Sybil tilted her head to rest it on Edith's shoulder. "You must be missing your work," she murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without the hospital."

Edith fingers tightened on the pages of her book. If only that were all, Sybil! "Yes, I am a bit."

"Not enough excuses to visit Locksley," Sybil sympathised. "How was tea the other day? Isn't their son staying with them, just now?" Sybil dimpled mischievously. "The scandalous one?"

"Not all that scandalous," Edith cautioned. Thankfully, Papa wasn't in the room - the mere mention of the name 'Anthony Strallan' was enough to make him scowl and mutter. "He is a Major in the British Army, after all."

Sybil stuck out her tongue, in most unladylike fashion. "Spoilsport. Did you see him? Speak to him? What was he like?"

"Very nice, actually. Quiet. Polite." Edith paused, and then admitted, "Terribly good-looking. Don't say anything in Papa's hearing, but I - I rather think from something that Sir Phillip said that he… had it in his head to try to… engineer something."

Sybil's eyes sparkled with delight and her fingers squeezed Edith's shoulder lovingly. "Good." Her face grew more serious. "Darling, I know you loved Michael. What happened to him was… simply terrible, and I know you must miss him… but I'd hate to think of you living your life alone."

Edith forced a smile for her sister and pressed an impulsive kiss to her cheek. She wouldn't say anything about Michael - awful, complicated mess! - or about her suspicions that Sir Phillip had probably just been idly jesting, but she adored Sybil and the way her little sister seemed to adore her right back. "I know. I do love you, Syb."

"Good," Sybil said again. "Then you won't mind me borrowing those navy shoes tonight, will you, darling?"

Such a scene was rather typical in the life of Edith Crawley, whether it was Christmas or not. But such was the fate of a spinster: no matter how clever or well-educated she might be, she would always be forced to be dependent on her parents and their aegis. Visits to Locksley, and weekend trips to Michael's - her - house in Manchester were lovely escapes, but escapes were all they were. Not real life. At least, Edith tried to cheer herself, she had friends who understood her situation all too well.

"Why on Earth would Sir Hugh and Lady Gervas invite you to their party?" Mary wondered, wrinkling her nose as Edith pulled on her gloves on Boxing Day evening. "Why would you want to go?"

Edith picked up her bag, refusing to look into that question too closely. She had a feeling the answer wouldn't reflect terribly well on either of them. Still, she couldn't help a little waspishness from slipping into her reply. "Most of the car club are going. And I don't particularly want to spend another evening watching you and Richard and Matthew glare at each other from opposite corners of a room." Really, the last few days had been like trying to relax in a roomful of gunpowder while Guy Fawkes himself set about striking matches. Ever since Matthew's injury and his return to Downton, Richard had seemed to want to treat him as a rival for Mary's affections. Quite frankly, Edith found it exhausting; why Mary couldn't simply make up her mind one way or the other, Edith would never understand.

Mary's eyes flashed spitefully as she drawled, "Well, at least it's better than knowing so clearly that one has no hope of catching a husband that one ensures it by becoming a bluestocking instead."

Once, Edith would have been hurt by that. It was, after all, a hurtful thing to say. But acquaintance with Anne Strallan had had numerous benefits for her, not least of which was learning how best to annoy those who tried to make one feel inferior.

So Edith beamed a warm, apparently genuine smile at her older sister and said, as she passed her in the doorway, "Have a lovely evening, Mary."

If it wasn't too strong a word to say that Anthony Strallan was a pariah in much of Yorkshire, then it was at least true to say that one of the few houses in the area under whose roof he was still welcome was that of Sir Hugh and Lady Gervas.

This wasn't, after all, very surprising. Hugh Gervas's overriding characteristic was, and always had been, his loyalty, and he and Anthony had grown up together as boys, which, in Hugh's book at least, made them as close as brothers. And Claudia Gervas hated to be one of the conventional crowd, and loved her parties to be talked about.

So as things were, Anthony had allowed his mother - one of Claudia's fellow members at the Ripon Ladies' Motorcar Association - to persuade him to come along to this gathering. "Darling," she'd said, "Papa and I can't possibly leave you on your own at Christmas-time", as if he were fourteen rather than forty-seven, and because Anthony wanted her to have an enjoyable evening, he'd agreed to come too. Such was the lot of an only son. Privately, and not for the first time, he cursed Diana and her diplomat husband, a continent away - a tremendous excuse for not returning to the family fold at Christmas-time. Besides which, no amount of long, affectionate letters and thoughtfully chosen gifts could make up for the absence of Diana herself, in person - her kindness, her hilarity, the way that she would always, unquestioningly, in any given situation, back him to the absolute hilt.

Anthony would never admit it, but it was so very much harder to be brave with his little sister half a world away.

So after greeting the Gervases, he hovered at his mother's shoulder, slowly drinking a glass of champagne and allowing the flow of laughter and gossip to wash over him. If one ignored the fact that the ladies outnumbered the men four to one, it could almost be one of the heady parties they'd all enjoyed before the war.

"Is that Flora Millbanke over there?" asked Lady Hepworth, gesturing to a tall, willowy blonde in purple. " Such a sad story - only three years married and already a widow. And two little ones to care for too, Lord only knows how she manages."*

"Oh, yes," Anthony's mama replied lightly. "But she and the children are staying at Orton Park for a few months, which must be a great help."

"In some ways, perhaps." Lady Hepworth's smile was false and cool. "In others, I can't imagine how association with Veronica Orton could be helpful. One must always think of one's reputation, after all, Anne - as I'm sure you're well aware."

Anthony noted that his mother's shoulders had gone suddenly rigid. No need to wonder why, of course. When he was in London, Anthony could try to forget the avalanche of disgrace his divorce had dragged down on his parents' heads, and the aftershocks which still reverberated through their lives. In Yorkshire, such a pretence at ignorance was utterly impossible.

Evidently, Papa had noticed the same thing, because his hand had settled just at the crease of Mama's shoulder and neck, and Anthony, standing behind her, could see his father's thumb stroking soothingly back and forth against her nape. "Then thank goodness reputation is based on what we say and do, Lady Hepworth, rather than on vicious rumour and cruel gossip," Sir Phillip intervened smoothly. "Nancy, my dear, shall we go and say hello to Edith?" Firmly, as Mama rose, he added, "Come along, Anthony."

Edith.

Lady Edith, Anthony hastily corrected himself. He hadn't had any idea that she would be attending this evening, although he oughtn't to be surprised. She was, after all, a member of the car club, too - why wouldn't she be here? With a hasty, polite, utterly undeserved nod to Lady Hepworth, he followed his parents towards the ballroom doors, where Lady Edith was in smiling conversation with their hostess.

"Edith, darling," Anthony's mama beamed and kissed her cheek. "How lovely you look. And of course, you remember Anthony."

"Of course. Hello, Anne." She turned faintly smiling eyes on Anthony himself. "How nice to see you again, Major."

"L-lady Edith. What a… charming surprise." Charming was an understatement. Lady Edith was dressed in something flimsy and fascinating and definitely French. Her hair was curled and shining and her eyes… Surely Anthony was mistaken, but it looked as if those warm brown eyes were looking him up and down with something like appreciation.

As his father intervened to shake Lady Edith's hand and compliment her dress, Mama slipped her hand under his elbow and squeezed tightly. "Dearest boy," she whispered, not looking at him, "don't listen to a word a viper like Lady Hepworth says. Nor all the other vipers."

"Mama, I'm so so-"

Her fingers closed, if that were possible, even tighter on his elbow. "Don't dare to apologise, my most darling boy. It isn't your fault that some people were born with no manners and no compassion." Chancing a glance down at her, Anthony saw that her eyes were flashing crossly at his apologies. Papa really would have a devil of a job trying to calm her down later. The least Anthony could do, after causing all of this, was to prepare the ground for him.

At this moment, however, his father seemed to be much more interested in conversing with Lady Edith. "Shall we go and find some food, Mama?" Anthony wondered.

"Edith, my dear," Phillip murmured as the Major and Lady Strallan turned away, "terribly stuffy in here, isn't it? What about a walk on the terrace?"

He was right - it was rather stuffy in the room, a combination of Claudia's love of roaring fires at Christmas-time, and all the people crowded into her ballroom. Added to which, Edith didn't particularly like the idea of hovering at the fringes of the room, looking even more like a wallflower than usual. She nodded. "Yes, all right. That would be lovely."

Together, they slipped out on to the terrace. Sir Phillip led Edith to the balcony, leaning one arm against it and rummaging in his pocket for his pipe with the other. As he tamped tobacco down into it and struck a match to light it, he offered, "I'm glad to catch you on your own for a moment, my dear."

Edith chuckled. "I think you rather engineered that, sir!"

"Well, perhaps I did," Phillip nodded thoughtfully, and puffed a cloud of smoke rings into the night air. It was comforting, that, the smell of his tobacco - Edith had always thought it. "Look here, m'dear, it's nice of you to have let us introduce Anthony to you, but… well, the other day… I hope I didn't give the impression that I was… trying to arrange matters for you. You know, lay down the law." He paused there, as if he expected Edith to interrupt, but she remained silent, if a little wide-eyed, and after a moment, he pressed on. "Of course, Nancy and I would be happier than words can say, if something did come of it. I hope you know how much we both think of you. But… if you don't think Anthony would be the right chap for you, then you mustn't listen to a word we say."

"I see." Edith's voice sounded, to her own ears, barely above a whisper. "Then… you weren't jesting, the other day. Heavens."

Phillip reached out and covered her hand, resting on the balcony, with his own. He squeezed her fingers gently. "My dear, I never jest about important things. Are you terribly shocked?"

"Well… yes. But… not in the way you think. From what I've seen, the Major is… very nice." Phillip looked down at the top of her red-gold head, and saw Edith swallow a little anxiously. "But I don't think that I could be as… as useful to you - or to him - as you suppose."

"Well, that's quite all right, my dear," Phillip answered smoothly. "I didn't raise the idea because I thought you would be useful. Put it this way: Nancy and I would like you to be happy, we suspect you and Anthony could make each other happy. But… we wouldn't take it at all amiss if you decided otherwise. I want you to know that you'll always be welcome at Locksley."

Edith swallowed back tears. If only the rest of Yorkshire knew that staid and serious Sir Phillip Strallan could be as sweet and affectionate as all that! It would be a scandal almost as bad as that caused by his son! Added to which, she wasn't sure anyone had ever shown such confidence in her before now. "Th-thank you, sir."

"Yes, well…" Sir Phillip coughed. "That's all I wanted you to be sure of." A breeze blew across the terrace, making Edith shiver a little, and they turned, by mutual, unspoken consent, to go back inside.

At the terrace door, Edith laid a gentle hand on Phillip's arm. "Sir…"

Phillip looked down at her, kindly and questioning. "My dear?"

"Did the Major love her?" Edith bit her lip. Heavens, whyever had she asked that ? What did it have to do with her? But now she had to press on with it. "His w-wife?"

"Yes." Sir Phillip's voice was quiet and sad and he could no longer meet her eyes. "He adored her. God help him, he simply adored her."

How odd it was, when a war was going on, when less than a thousand miles away, men were fighting and dying for their country, that others could drink and dance as if nothing were happening at all. Anthony stared bleakly out at the dance-floor, where women in floating, sparkling dresses danced with the few partners still available. The only thing, in fact, that even hinted at wartime, rather than peace, were the red mess dress uniforms worn by most of the younger men.

Anthony himself shifted uncomfortably in his own scarlet jacket. He'd had more than a few looks that evening - some merely curious, others outwardly hostile, and it was growing rather tiresome. Mama had stood with him through some of it, but really, it was rather humiliating to have to be protected by one's mother, especially at his age, so when Lady Flora and Miss Orton, and Mrs Bentley, the vicar's wife, had invited her to make a four at bridge in the card room, Anthony had coaxed and reassured and encouraged until she had allowed herself to be pulled away.

Just now though, he was thoroughly regretting it.

"Penny for them, Major?"

Her light, half-familiar voice was so close at his shoulder that only Army Intelligence training prevented him jumping with the surprise of it. He managed to turn, smoothly, and give her something approximating a smile. "Lady Edith. Hello. I - I hope my father wasn't… haranguing you, earlier." Certainly, Papa had had that determined set to his mouth that always seemed to mean trouble - at least where Anthony himself was concerned.

Her eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Haranguing? Not at all. We... just went for a breath of fresh air."

"I see." And then, simply because she was a friend of his mother's, not at all because he wanted to, he added, "You look… very nice, if I'm allowed to say so, on so little acquaintance."

For a moment, she pretended to consider, her head tilted to one side like a bird's. At last, she smiled cheerfully. "Oh, I think I can allow it." And then: "Would you like to dance?" she asked. "Not terribly ladylike to offer, I'm sure, but I would, and I don't know any of the other men well enough."

Anthony swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He hadn't danced since… well, for a very long time indeed. Surreptitiously, he cleared his throat. "My father would happily wheel you about, I'm sure."

"I'm sure he would," she agreed, "but he's already taken." She nudged him back to face the dance-floor where his parents were swaying happily together. Clearly, Papa had stolen Mama away from her bridge game. "I love so many things about your parents," Lady Edith murmured wistfully, almost to herself, "but most of all, I love how much they love each other."

Anthony's chest tightened. Not everyone had always approved of his parents, after all. Not everyone approved now, even so many years after their marriage. Yorkshire was old-fashioned, in so many things - and one of those things was their views on whether or not the daughters of impoverished Cornish curates ought to be allowed to marry baronets. On the whole, the view was not. Anne Strallan was a begrudging exception to that rule, and she'd had to fight hard even for that. To hear someone else voice what Anthony himself had so often thought was surprisingly… well, nice.

"They're very lucky," he agreed. And then, impulsively, "Come along, then - do you think you can manage the arm?"

"Of course I can." Lady Edith slipped her hand into his sling. "I wrestle with farm machinery on a daily basis, Major Strallan. You'll be no trouble at all."

AN: *There are some people who, whatever universe, place or time you dump them in, will always, always, always find each other. Anthony and Edith are like this, of course, and in my mind, so are Flora and Veronica. Sometimes it just takes an ill-advised marriage, two kids, widowhood and a lot of mutual pining to get there…