Chapter 3

Anthony decides to be a bad-arse baronet in this chapter. But then Sir Richard Carlisle does have that effect on some people.

Edith put her arms around Mary, who was sobbing. She led her sister gently to one side.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Sir Richard was moaning about never being rid of Matthew and he made some reference to my past," Mary was aware that Anthony did not know about the Kamal Pamuk scandal so she erred on the side of caution, unable to vouch for Anthony's discretion.

"And then what happened, Lady Mary?" Anthony asked, fixing Richard hard with a glare that would have curdled milk.

"He shot Matthew, insists it was an accident but I know different."

"The burden of proof is on you, Mary," Carlisle said coldly, "You have to prove intent."

Matthew, lying in the mud, began to moan and then let out a scream as he moved. For a brief moment Anthony was frozen in time, paralysed by recall of his own injury and the moments after he had sustained it. He prayed that it would not be the same for Matthew, for he was a young man. The scream tore through them and Edith cradled Mary, whose body was tensed rigid with sobs.

Anthony crouched in the mud beside Matthew but did not take his gaze from Carlisle.

He gently moved him and felt his shoulder with his good hand. He was aware of Matthew's warm blood seeping through his clothing.

"Edith. go and find your father. Tell him what has happened and have him send for both Dr Clarkson and the police."

"No, I'll go." Mary dabbed at her eyes, "I want to be as far away from that," she jerked her head towards Carlisle, "as I can."

"Well, someone needs to go, and quickly." Anthony snapped.

Mary ran off through the trees in the direction of Downton Abbey. Edith crouched down and removed her shawl, with which she tried to bind Matthew's shoulder.

Anthony moved towards Carlisle, pointing his service revolver at him. He kept going until Carlisle was backed against a tree. Anthony was a good few inches taller. He pressed the cold muzzle of the weapon against Carlisle's throat. They both heard a hiss as Carlisle inhaled sharply. Sir Richard's gun was in the grass and Anthony kicked it away from him.

"I won't shoot you Carlisle, because it would be an inherent waste of ammunition."

"I never did tell you Lady Strallan's dirty little secret did I?"

"Lady Strallan has been dead these last ten years," Anthony said, "Anyway, I know she had a fling with Viscount Henley, that really is no secret and it was before we married anyway."

"But you don't know about Lady Mary's dirty little indiscretion." Carlisle taunted.

"It would make not a bit of difference to me if I did know," Anthony said coolly.

"But Sir Lancelot here doesn't know," Carlisle retorted, "I would be free of him if he did know, because he would not touch her.

Anthony was no fan of Mary's but he felt for her and sensed that something beyond his comprehension held her to this snivelling weasel before him. He had read of Mary's engagement to Carlisle in the society press. Mary left him cold but Anthony was a gentleman and hated men who blackmailed women by holding past indiscretions against them. He despised the double standards of the times in which they lived. He had to admit his reasons for his current behaviour were not entirely altruistic. He knew that Mary was Lord Grantham's favourite and if he could get rid of Carlisle, help Mary and save Matthew then it might earn him valid points when it came to Edith.

He had decided that he wanted Edith. He was going to prove to her family that he was good enough for her; although he sensed that he already held her heart in the palm of his good hand, metaphorically speaking at least.

"Anthony, Matthew's losing more blood than I can stop!" Edith wailed. She took off her coat and wrapped that around him as well.

"Do the best you can, Edith." he said, wanting to put his good arm around her and hold her close to his warm body with every fibre of his being.

Carlisle stood there smirking as both Edith and Anthony were possessed with a fervent desire to wipe that smug look off his face. Permanently.