A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to update; I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I felt the story needed a "transition installment" before the final chapter. As always, thank you so much for all the reviews and comments! You have made this so much fun!
And so they went their separate ways. Anthony returned to Locksley where, after a bath and a light dinner, he retreated into the sanctuary of his library. For the first time in a very long time, he did not sit brooding into the fire, decanter of brandy at his elbow, reliving the past and castigating himself at every turn. While he was hesitant to say they were at peace, he was certain that he had secured at least a truce with Edith. When next they met, he would no longer feel the need to duck his head and hide (or mutter expletives). It was enough to be getting on with, and he slept that night without the nightmares that ordinarily plagued his dreams.
Edith returned to the Abbey where, after informing Moseley that she would not be joining them in the dining room, she headed for the stairs, taking a brief detour into the library where she knocked back a third of a tumbler of her father's best whiskey, polished off a second, considered taking the rest of the decanter with her, thought the better of it, and proceeded to her bedroom. She did not bother to ring for Madge - she could run her own bath and dress herself – and sank down onto the bed. Unlike the gentleman who now sat in his favorite chair in his library, peacefully reading Cyrano de Bergerac, Edith's mind was in turmoil, trying to make sense of what had occurred on the train. Had she known Anthony was suffering no such agitation, she would have been sorely pissed.
She fell back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling. The same ceiling she had been staring at since she left the nursery for her own bedroom some twenty-odd years ago (minus the few weeks she slept in the Blue Room after the fire). She wondered why, in a house with as many bedrooms as Downton, she never thought to change her room once in a while. Surely she would have enjoyed a room as far away from Mary as she could manage without sleeping in the servants' quarters. Would that have been so difficult?
No, but it would have been unusual (she could just picture Carson's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline). That is not the way things are done. You start in one place and stay in that place until someone tells you when and where to move. And then you are expected to stay there until you receive the next set of instructions. What a ridiculously boring way to live. Edith wondered why she had never thought of it quite that way before.
"And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself."
Lady Deadlock's words played in Edith's mind. How similar they were: forbidden lovers, illegitimate children, living in constant fear that someone would find them out. Would she share Honoria's fate?
Edith had already broken the rules by having a job. If her family knew just how many rules she had broken…well, best they didn't know. Despite Granny's insistence that family must stick together, Edith very much doubted that it would be extended to welcoming the bastard child of its least favorite daughter. She considered, yet again, moving to London with Marigold. But the reality of life in London, away from Yorkshire and ostracized from everyone and everything she knew, was daunting. Aunt Rosamund could not be expected to take her in, not this time. And while Bloomsbury society lived by its own, considerably looser rules, she no longer had Michael to help her navigate it. And she was well aware that many at the magazine only tolerated her because of Michael. She would be completely on her own now. Bleak prospect, indeed…
No, she was far too anxious to be truly bored. Boredom bred apathy, and she could not afford to let her guard down for one single minute. She was already beginning to regret how much she revealed to Anthony.
A wildly absurd idea came to her: fetch Marigold from the Drewes and show up on Locksley's doorstep. Anthony said he would never turn his back on her again. Would he take them in, perhaps even offer marriage to Edith a third time? Legitimize the lot of them with a simple "I do"? He owed her, after all. Despite the reason behind his jilting her, she couldn't shake the notion that he stilled owed her…something. A lifetime married to a scarlet woman, supporting a child that was not his, being even more shunned than he already was. Yes, that ought to do nicely.
A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her. Perhaps she should just stop fighting the madness and embrace it like a long-lost friend.
"I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Edith Crawley what it concedes to the butterflies."
Edith fell asleep, and dreamt of foggy streets and empty mansions and German graveyards. And piercingly blue eyes looking out at her from a worried face.
Weeks passed and Edith had little time to think about Sir Anthony. She ate little and slept less, and her fashionable figure was slowly morphing into an unfashionable gauntness. Mrs Drewe had forbidden Edith to see Marigold, threatening her husband with leaving if Edith persisted. Edith began to wish she had left Marigold in Switzerland; to have her daughter so close, yet still unattainable, was an unbearable torture.
And then word came: Michael was well and truly dead. Although her intellect had accepted this long ago, her heart was quite unprepared for the news, and she plunged into mourning. His will revealed just how much he loved Edith: he left everything he had to her, with the exception of a stipend for the continued care of his wife Lizzie (Edith thanked God that the lawyer had the sense not to mention that in front of her father). She admitted to no one that as much as she mourned Michael, she grieved the loss of the life she wanted with him even more. Any hope she harbored of the three of them being a happy family died with him. She was more alone than ever.
Her parents were sympathetic in their own way. Isobel and Tom also, while Granny seemed relieved. Mary and Rose were wrapped up in themselves and their own world, so no change there. Edith knew it was too much to expect anyone to grieve for Michael, but she had hoped, rather foolishly in hindsight, for a little more sympathy towards herself. But she had to concede that no one, apart from Rosamund and Granny, knew the full extent of their relationship. Rosamund was on holiday, and Granny …well…Granny had never been the sympathetic sort. So Edith was disappointed, but not particularly surprised.
A letter arrived for Edith in the afternoon post. She recognized the careful handwriting immediately, and retreated to the privacy of her bedroom to read it:
Dear Lady Edith,
It was with great sadness that I learned of the confirmation of the death of Mr Michael Gregson. I know that he meant a great deal to you, both as a friend and as a mentor in the publishing world. It is my sincere hope that you seize the legacy he has left you, allow it to be a solace to you at this time, and use it to build your future.
Please remember what I said: I am here if you have need of me. You have only to ask. Remember, also, that you are stronger than you realize, and will emerge from this sorrow; wounded perhaps, but unbroken.
Until then I remain your most humble and obedient servant,
Sir Anthony Strallan
The letter was so like Anthony that Edith had to smile. Anyone else reading it would be surprised, perhaps, that he had written, but not suspect the truth. Brief, carefully worded, almost perfunctory on the surface, but filled with hidden meaning and depth.
You are stronger than you realize…seize the legacy…build your future…
Seize the legacy…
She could clearly hear his voice, telling her what she already knew:
Take Marigold and run!
Note: Quotes are taken from Bleak House, by Charles Dickens. The first is spoken by Lady Honoria Deadlock, and the second, somewhat paraphrased, by Harold Skimpole, one of the most annoying characters I have ever encountered.