Author's Notes: Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Things have gotten rather hectic involving gainful employment and real life remains far less interesting than fiction. :)
General Warnings: Because this story is set during the early part of the 20th century, be prepared to occasionally run into period typical homophobia, ableism, racism, sexism, lack of good mental health care or the concept thereof, common childcare concepts we find appalling, classism, and victim blaming. Not to mention different concepts of things like consent. I will try and post specific warnings per chapter!
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and plot in this work belongs to the BBC, Julian Fellows, the wonderful actors, and actresses who brought Downton Abbey to life, and a number of other people. This work is produced for entertainment only and no profit is made.
CONTINUAL THANKS go to the Classicist, who has built a wonderful fanon family for Anthony. Diana, her husband and children, as well as Anthony's parents belong entirely to her. Be sure to drop by and read her work as it is considerably better than mine! Charlotte and Clara are also her amazing inventions!
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Just outside of Downton,
February 1917
"Anthony!"
Relief and delight rushed through Major Anthony Strallan with much the same force as an errant tornado. It possessed a similar sense of dislocation as well as, for the first time since Christmas, Anthony laid eyes on the child in question.
"Addie, my dear girl, shouldn't you be in lessons?"
Anthony's gentle parental admonishment lost all weight as he reached out and seized her in a hug every bit as fierce as hers was. Given that she'd thrown herself into his arms violently enough to rock the much larger man back on his heels. Letting out a soft "oof" at the impact and drawing her close, Anthony tucked his chin and breathed in the scent of shampoo, mint, and hay coming off of her neatly plaited auburn hair.
The road from Downton station wasn't precisely bustling on the cold, clear hour of eleven-forty-two in the morning, but there was a bit of traffic to and from. Enough that Anthony had kept himself firmly to the trodden grass at the edges of the narrow road out of an abundance of caution. He'd been passing one of the hedge-lined walking paths between fields that ran along the borders of Downton and Loxley when he'd heard Adelaide's enthusiastic shout and the bark of an excited dog.
"Lieutenant Cooper's having a just plain rotten day, so we decided we'd just do today's lessons tomorrow and Friday's on Saturday and have a Thursday off instead. How are you? Where's Mr. Stewart? How long is your leave? Did you get my letter about Thomas?"
"I did get your letter, and judging by your expression I imagine the prognosis is very good indeed if you are so unworried for your friend."
"Thomas will be fine."
There was no mistaking the relief in her face, though she squeezed Anthony tighter about the ribs and made no move to remove her nose from where it was pressed next to the brass buttons running up the center of his jacket. Not that you mind a bit, old thing, she looks so well… and so very grown doesn't she?
"Oh?"
"Yes, his hand is going to take forever to heal because the bullet broke the bones, but the bullet that went through his bicep didn't do much damage, and the broken ribs a terrible nuisance, but he's home now and we can take care of him."
The last was mumbled into Anthony's buttons, and he leant down to press a kiss into her hair. He tried not to despair at how much less distance there was now than there had been when he'd met the girl who was not, and yet was, his daughter. How could time creep by so achingly slowly when one was alone and miserable with it, yet race by so inexpressibly fast when you were happy?
Tucking a stray whisp of curl behind one of her ears, he tugged the smoke-blue woolen bonnet she was wearing further down over her ears. He was pleased to find she wasn't cold, having worried over the ever-present risk that a chill presented to the girl. Despite that… Anthony couldn't deny that Adelaide Kavanaugh was a healthier fourteen-year-old than she had been a ten-year-old. Speaking of which…
"How are you Anthony, and how long do we get to keep you?" Addie reiterated, pulling her head back to look at him, her expression a jumble of happiness, caring, and adolescent entitlement.
"You shall have me for a fortnight." Anthony promised and offered up a crooked smile. "Almost enough time to make up for missing your birthday, perhaps?"
Having said so, he reached into the pocket of his woolen greatcoat with an excess of properly restrained British theatricality. Well-trained as she was, Polly had been lingering near the hedge, sniffing idly and watching the exchange with clear interest. When her person stepped backwards, the shepherd happily inserted herself beneath Addie's left hand, settling into her rightful place at the young lady's side. Anthony was pleased to see that the friendly, but markedly intimidating, canine shadow remained Addie's constant companion.
Sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Addie's face, which was undergoing a vivid and terrifying shift from girl to woman before his very eyes, reflected nothing but childlike glee at the promise of a present, Anthony settled the small box in her hand. While doing so he reflected on his own hypocrisy. He owed his father an apology. It was utterly possible, even unavoidable, to violently lament a girl's growing up… all while gleefully spoiling her with the spoils of that same metamorphosis.
Addie carefully unwrapped the plain brown paper and string tying up the little bundle, tucking it into her pocket with proper wartime frugality. Her lips formed a soft 'o' of pleasure at the sight of the small, deep wine-red leather box. With purely feminine pleasure she peeled it open and squealed at the sight of its contents.
"Thank you, Anthony, but you needn't have! Edith gave me a very lovely new pair of boots from the both of you."
"I know, but I wanted to."
Anthony accepted another hug and leant down to get a kiss on the cheek. Ruefully he noted that she hadn't lied when she'd proudly proclaimed that she was – finally – five feet tall. Edith had jokingly written to him to inform him that they'd measured her sister with her shoes on. His wife had also added that she wasn't holding out much hope for Addie to grow any taller than she was, and Clarkson had confirmed it, but given how the girl had desperately feared she'd be under the sixty-inch mark when measured against the well-notched doorway in Loxley's kitchen, Anthony was hardly going to mock the achievement despite the sixteen-inch difference between their heights.
"It's a very nice bracelet, Anthony, and the charms are ever-so perfect." Addie, with the greed of the young, had pulled her gloves off and shoved them into the pocket of her woolen navy coat and was fastening her gift about her wrist.
Anthony reached out and, shucking his own gloves, assisted her in fastening the sturdy clasp.
"I thought a curbed bracelet, with a nice thick gage, would survive the sort of wear and tear something more delicate would not. The charms are soldered, as well, so you don't have to worry about losing them about the barns or the hedges."
"Wizard Anthony…" She sighed and jangled her wrist a little, holding it up in the clear winter sun. "And it's such a pretty color, too… Is it rose gold? Is this a badger?"
"An asp, a trout, a badger, a frog – of course – a salamander, a lizard – different things after all – an owl, and a turtle. Didn't miss any of our favorites from the surveys, did I?"
"No, it's perfect."
"Excellent!" Anthony basked in parental success, but reached down to pinch the dangling edge of her gloves from her pocket and retrieve them, fussing lightly as he propelled the slender, ivory appendages back into warmth and safety. "However, I have it on excellent authority that there's a very pleasant, warm house, less than a mile up the lane from here and don't see too much sense in standing out here all alone when there are such lovely people waiting there for us?"
"Oh, of course not!"
Addie patted her thigh and turned to walk up the lane beside him. Anthony slowed his long stride and Addie's naturally fast-paced tread made up the difference. The baronet threaded his fingers through the thick fur between Polly's upright ears as the shepherd pushed in between himself and his sister-in-law, demanding her due of attention.
"Where is Mr. Stewart? Is everything alright, Anthony?" An idea seemed to occur to her and please her in equal measure. "Is he eloping with Midori?"
Anthony spluttered and took a step back, his eyebrows rising even as he fought a laugh.
"He had best not be!"
"Mrs. Chen would hurt him." Addie nodded rapidly. "But I thought that, since I know she went to London to visit with Lavinia and Baby George and took John with her, perhaps it would make it a particularly convenient time if they wanted to elope."
"Perhaps… but they shall not."
"Well, alright then."
"Very good…" Anthony shook his head slightly, noting that he was wasting time to gather valuable intelligence before certain questions could be overheard by other parties. Clearing his throat, he looked sideways at Addie. She looked at him and her somewhat vulpine features fell into purely cunning lines. "Shall we have our own report before I show up for my proper duties?"
Addie's brilliant, naughty, grin crafted its way across her face and he noted with some despair that she was definitely shading more towards slender than thin these days. Yes, terribly grown up. I shall soon have to brace myself for suitors… of all the pestilential things!
"Everything is ship-shape in the nursery, just as it should be, Anthony. Pip's going to be three in June, can you believe it?"
"Indeed not."
Anthony's somewhat resentful muttering was ignored as Addie blazed onward, doing her due diligence as his agent in the household.
"He's not had even a sniffle all winter, for which I'm jealous, but rather pleased. He's mastered his colors and is quite good, in my opinion, at block towers, and the matching picture game Mrs. Levinson sent over at Christmas. William's almost walking, but not quite."
Anthony blinked back tears at that. He'd nearly missed Pip's first steps and might well miss William's. His son's first birthday was less than a full month away and how much of that had they spent together? The occasional weekend? Resentment for the great line of political failures that crumbled like dominoes across the world, causing this war, bubbled up inside of him. He pushed it back in the face of the warm little hand that wriggled its gloved fingers into his own so very happily.
"He's quiet in a way Pip never was, but I actually think he's got a larger vocabulary. He never bothered with 'Deedee' the way that Pip did, before he could manage my name. Just stared at me with those big blue eyes of yours until one day he pointed to at me and called me 'Auntie', clear as day, last month."
"Yes, Edie wrote of it." Anthony grinned to himself in fatherly pride, passed all the missed chances. "So did you, for that matter, and my own sister. Though multiple sources of information are excellent for verification purposes. Now, how is my wife?"
Addie hesitated and Anthony frowned, worry immediately closing in. Her letters were, of course, perfect and a godsend to him as always, but he didn't see his wife in London nearly as much as he once had…
"Edith's fine, Anthony!" Addie rushed to assure him. "Or, well, she's not happy but it's nothing to do with you or the boys or me or anything else anyone can do anything about. Things are just a bit difficult at Downton right now."
Ah, well that… made… an unfortunate amount of sense… Still, Anthony frowned.
"Yes, I imagine… though I've read very little about it in your letters."
Even Diana's letters had been rather sparse on some fronts.
"It's hard to describe."
Addie's words, spoken quietly but earnestly, did nothing to reassure him. With her hand still tucked into his, silence lapsed. When it drew on uncomfortably, Anthony resolved not to let it taint his time with his family. You knew you were walking into another kind of warzone getting onto that train, old boy. With grim determination, Anthony shielded his unease and turned his questions back towards Addie's lessons, her newly acquired one-armed tutor, and all the endless questions a man could ask his child when he couldn't have the natural state of sharing a home daily with his family.
Addie, for her part, crossed the fingers of her other hand within her coat pocket and swore she'd actually go to church properly – Mass and everything – if she could get away with her little fib of omission. Things were difficult at Downton, but how much so felt… rather private. Even from Anthony.
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Sybil Crawley winced with everything she had at the sound of her father's voice, raised, furious, and thwarted as his temper bubbled over yet again. Reaching up, she tugged her thick dark hair over her shoulder and reached out for her hairbrush as she sat before her vanity and stared into the mirror. The face that looked back at her was alien and familiar in the same moment. Since the war started the last of her baby fat had melted away, and there was some hidden feeling in her eyes. Something she couldn't call entirely wholesome.
A rapid tapping on her door jarred her out of her thoughts.
"Come in!"
"Ready for your laces?" Edith asked, breezing into the room, and already adding more words to the first in a rapid-fire display of verbiage that all but radiated jangled nerves. "I say, we really must get you a real lady's maid, Sybil. I am happy to help you dress for dinner – and thank you for not fighting Mama on that – but it's rather a lot of juggling to get someone up here to lace you up some nights, what with the maids so busy."
"You don't have a maid, Edith."
"Firstly, I'm an old married lady and hardly need such attentions when my husband is posted to London and I am in Yorkshire. Secondly, Midori more than handles thing in a pinch. Finally, you're out and at some point should think about doing something about that – hopefully after we win this bloody war… and don't tell Mama I said that in front of you."
"I won't, and you're hardly old at twenty-two, Edith!"
"Almost twenty-three, and age is just a number – especially when you've two children at home."
Sybil smiled slightly as she stood and presented the back of her corset to Edith. Her sister dutifully tightened her laces, and then helped her into the plain dark blue evening dress that they'd chosen. It had some pretty black lace and jet beading on it, but Sybil could only silently reflect that she was terribly tired of so much darkness in the house. It was enough that the dress was modest without being prudish and completely inoffensive.
"Are you sure you're alright, Sybil? You're terribly quiet."
A dozen things hovered on the tip of Sybil's tongue. She'd never been one to shy away, be afraid, or hold her peace in a situation where injustice was at hand. Now, however, as she listened to the tense silence from her parents nearby bedchamber once again blow up into furious, one-sided, bellowing… Sybil found she had nothing to say about the situation.
"It's just… it's very difficult, but I needn't tell you that. How are you, Edie? You look exhausted."
"Just what every lady hopes to hear."
"Edith."
Her sister, already wearing a very pretty, but equally restrained and slightly out-of-fashion rose-pink frock, lowered herself onto Sybil's bed and allowed her younger sister to wrap an arm around her waist. Both girls, momentarily far younger, leaned their heads against the others' shoulder in a mirrored pose any pre-Raphaelite would have longed to sketch.
"I'm just tired, Sybil. It's… it's a lot, given that Mama has to concentrate on Papa right now and that's left so much of, well, the agricultural side of things in need of a steady hand. Loxley does not run itself, and Anthony's so very busy, and Downton's…"
Sybil bit her lip and nodded.
"You don't have to say anything. I understand."
Edith looked up at her gratefully and the two young sisters embraced, neither thinking for a moment of the now-distant fact that they were technically cousins.
"At least I have help. Midori is such a saving grace with all of the office work. She's a wizard with letters and so very good with numbers."
"She is an accountant."
"Yes… I've half a mind to sneak the books out of Papa's study and over to Loxley to let her have a go at them. They're organized but there are so many areas where the estate could improve and…" Edith bit her lip and shook her head, accidentally mirroring her sister's earlier expression. "Let's let Mama be right? I think that there shouldn't be any shop talk. Not at the dinner table in the evening. I certainly get nothing but at every other hour of the day!"
"I'd almost prefer a chance to talk about the hospital. Sometimes I feel so bottled up about it!"
"Well, we can always talk at any other time, when it won't get Papa so worked up? Aren't you still talking to Branson?"
"Oh, yes, he's a very good friend."
Sybil felt her face flush but was dealt a kind blow by the hand of fate. Tired as Edith was, her sister didn't notice. Instead, she just smiled and reached up to start winding her sister's hair into a tidy chignon. It was the perfect excuse to turn her back to her sister and save her own embarrassment. Before Edith's time in America, she would have no doubt deeply disapproved and been utterly confused by Sybil's friendships amongst the staff. Having formed friendships with the daughters of self-made men, or self-supporting girls of more modest background during her time in University, Edith hadn't thought much about Sybil's friendship with the Irish chauffer.
Sybil didn't hold out much hope that such magnanimity would extend to the courtship Sybil still wasn't sure she would agree to. It seemed like such a selfish thing. How could one think of romance, especially one that would tear a family apart during a war? Especially a war that was tearing their family apart.
If it weren't already in pieces…
"How's Barrow?"
"Oh, very well – Well, not very well. He's still injured, but Barrow is recovering and far more comfortable now that he's home. Though I don't know how long his patience will tolerate Addie's fussing over him. I'm afraid our fussing over her has turned her into a terrible little martinet of a nurse!"
"I am remarkably unsurprised."
The two sisters shared a smile before the sound of some thrown object impacting a door led Sybil to clear her throat and try again.
"It was very nice of Anthony to use his influence to get him back to Loxley the way that he did, so he didn't have to recover in that overcrowded place in Sussex." Sybil lowered her voice. "But… but don't you think it might have… have helped Papa if he'd been allowed to do the same? I mean, to choose where he recovers? He must feel so terribly powerless…"
"I know, but you heard the all of the doctors and you remember what happened?"
Sybil nodded, not at all sure what she thought of it. Looking away from her sister as she was, she couldn't see that Edith mirrored her sister's uncomfortable expression. With the sounds of the one-sided row slowly fading, neither had the courage to look at each other. After all, what was the point? They didn't know what to do – who could? – and Mama and Granny were so sure…
And besides, Sybil, you tried to help and go against Mama and Granny and look what happened to your poor Papa as a result!
"Anyway, we just have to keep a proper mindset about things and do our utmost." Edith's bracing reply was everything one would expect from a country squire's wife, let alone a Major in Army Intelligence. Sybil felt a last pin slide into place. "There, that's you done for, as the nurses say!"
Sybil smiled and tried to rally some good cheer as she looked back at her sister. The image they presented in the mirror arrested her. Staring into the reflective glass, all Sybil could see in that moment was the collage of contrast. The same number of diamonds at ears and wrists, each with pearls at their throat, and the same cut of gown… and yet so very different in coloring and in the shape of their face. Sybil briefly wondered how they hadn't known years before the secret came out… and why her parents had bothered to hide it when they could have done differently.
"Cora, I don't want the goddamned, bloody, chair! Get me Bates? BATES!?"
Sybil's lips pressed together, going as thin as her sisters as they both automatically stood as they heard an awkward scratching at the door over the earl's furious bellowing. Sybil managed to get up before her sister despite the way her knees and feet ached after being on them all day with her fellow nurses. She wasn't surprised to see Mrs. Hughes standing before the door, her kind face no less warm that it ever was, but her blue eyes decidedly more strained and the lines around her mouth deeper for the worry of it all.
"I'm sorry to bother you, ladies, but your Lady mother would have a word with you both before you sit down to dinner."
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"I'm sorry, girls, but Papa won't be joining us for dinner this evening."
"Did he not want to try the stairs, Mama? I know he doesn't like the Bath chair, but they can be navigated quite well with crutches and I know that we've orderlies who would-."
"After his fall last week, I do not know how you can honestly suggest that to me, Sybil!"
Cora Crawley's normally soothing voice was strained and thin as she bit out the words at her youngest and, honestly, most favored daughter. Edith resisted the urge to wince, or to bite back and say something to her mother.
"Mama, I know his fall was upsetting, but -."
"Your father broke his wrist, and that after the utter horror of this Christmas-."
"If Papa's not coming to dinner and Grandmama has already gone back to the Dower House, I think I'll return to Loxley if it isn't too much trouble for the staff." Edith finally cut in.
Her mother's betrayed look hurt, but Edith only felt tired in response to it. The sort of exhaustion that was so intense you didn't even feel it anymore. It merely existed, like a too-small flat, and you occupied it, because you had to.
"I think you should, Edith." Sybil interrupted. "Anything we don't eat; the officers will be happy to take on. There's always someone hungry, and it's been ages since you've gotten a chance to spend any real time with your boys or Addie."
Cora Crawley's tense expression softened and wilted with guilt and some of Edith's temporary anger dissipated. How could she blame Mama? God alone knew what she was suffering. Edith had come close enough when Anthony was injured and was reminded of it every time his arm slipped out of joint or he favored it when playing with their sons. Edith knew that she certainly fussed enough, pressing hot water bottles or massages on her husband, urging him to rest and worrying about the toll that his work at Whitehall put on him. What Papa had gone through was so much worse.
Besides, Edith rationalized, they're both right. Coddling Papa too much is making it worse… but Sybil's attempt to buoy him up had such disastrous results…
"Of course, darling. Your sister and I shall have a lovely dinner together. Hug the boys for us and remind them that Grandmama shall be there to see them as soon as Grandpapa is feeling more himself."
Edith murmured her agreement and accepted the hug and kiss to her cheek gratefully. She felt a moment's disappointment that her mother hadn't asked after affairs of the estate, but that was followed by relief. If Lady Grantham had asked, then Edith would have needed to stay for whatever tense meal was about to pass between the Lady and her favorite daughter.
The drive back to Loxley was a tiring blur, but she felt nothing but relief to see her home. Truly the warm red brick house was her home in the way nothing had ever seemed. Even the wonderful white farmhouse on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay had never felt so much hers as her husband's home did now. Before she could think of all of the reasons why, she found herself opening the back door to the garage only to come face-to-face with a most unexpected, but welcome figure.
"Oh, Anthony!"
"Hel-oof!"
Anthony's greeting was cut off as he wavered slightly, his wife having thrown herself into his arms. Edith spent a bare second contemplating embarrassment at the greeting. Then any hope of retaining some semblance of pride fell apart as his arms wrapped around her, and with them the unbuttoned, heavy greatcoat he was wearing. Burrowing into the broad warmth of her chest, Edith clung.
"Sweet one?" Anthony held her close, his body curling around her and his lips pressing against her hair. "Darling Edith, come here. What's wrong?"
Edith didn't even know where to begin, so she merely shook her head against his chest. Her nose would be red for a few moments after she finally drew back, from the roughness of his woolen uniform jacket. It hardly mattered when he'd begun stroking her back in that comforting way that he had.
"Ah, then… I take it things at Downton are much as my sister and yours described?"
Edith nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat and clearing it with thought.
"Yes, it – it's been wretched. How – is everything alright in London? How long do we have you for?"
"A fortnight."
"A – they're not-."
"No, no, no." Edith didn't miss Anthony's slight wince. "I shall be firmly on these shores. I'm afraid the shoulder isn't up to anything else."
Edith nodded in understanding and rose onto her toes to kiss her husband's cheek. He turned her head and intercepted the innocent gesture. Several moments were lost to what begun as a warm reunion of soft, closed lips, and ended up in a tangle of dancing tongues. When they finally parted, oxygen being necessary for survival, Edith let out a sigh that seemed to carry more baggage than a military supply train. Her husband idly kissed the edge of her ear.
"Is Diana well? Did Archie come with you?"
"No, I'm afraid not. My brother is still at His Majesty's disposal, and I imagine that whatever those closed meetings are about they'll draw him elsewhere."
"Surely not with the U-boats so active?"
Edith felt her husband shudder slightly and heard the low unhappy rumble, otherwise inaudible, only because her head was pressed to his chest.
"I still cannot believe they risked-."
"I can, darling, I do know your sister rather well now."
"Well… yes… a point… but Archie is usually rather more sensible. His taste in wives notwithstanding."
Edith finally brought herself to pull back a bit and shut the garage door, but she kept herself tucked tight against her husband, holding his arm, as they made it back to the house.
"Addie made it back from Downton well? I let her walk despite the weather…"
"I met her on the way and she's very well." Her husband's expression lifted. "If nothing else, I think we can take a certain pride in her health, Edie. She's looking so much better this year, and last as well."
Edith nodded, smiling softly. Her little sister still had to watch the cold… but Clarkson had proven right with his prediction that age would bring greater hardiness. With Anthony's French acquaintance having helped them get her diet in hand, she really had made wonderful progress with her health. Now if only everyone was making such progress.
"Are the boys abed yet?"
Anthony all but radiated contentment.
"Yes, read two different stories and tucked in quite contently." Anthony offered. "Diana's gone to visit the rector to talk about expanding the program to feed injured and homeless veterans that Loxley and Downton began last year. I gather she took it over from…?"
"Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Patmore, yes." Edith smiled. "Diana…Less took over and more expanded operations, so to speak. Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Patmore and now Mrs. Bernard are all working together on cheap menus and distribution and the like… Though you would be so proud of Addie."
"Oh?"
"She spent two weeks writing letters, and had three meetings with Mr. Branagh in order to get a year's income on her trust released from reinvestment for the program. She did it on her own, as well, after overhearing Mrs. Patmore talking about it with Mrs. Bernard. Believe it or not, that's how we found out about it."
"I believe it, and I am terribly proud." Anthony cast her a sideways look as they climbed the grand staircase. The house was quiet, just a bit after sunset, and her husband cleared his throat. There was the barest shadow of a blush painted across his cheeks. "Perhaps you'd care to retire early, then? I could have a tray brought up to your boudoir. Addie's already said she doesn't want to dress for dinner this evening – and when did that start?"
"Oh, on her birthday. I just couldn't see a reason not to, and Diana agreed with me."
"I agree, darling. She might as well learn sooner rather than later." Her husband's tone turned reflective and his lips turned up slightly in a smile. "My papa was a traditionalist – unless it didn't suit him. He and Mama had Diana at I start sharing grown-up dinners quite young, though he made us wait for company until we were a bit older than Addie is now."
"I wish I could say there was some rhyme or reason to how we did things at Downton, but Mama and Papa had different rules for every one of us." Edith paused before the door to her boudoir and raised Anthony's hand to press a quick kiss to his knuckles. "But first I need to check on the boys. Addie, I trust, is finishing up her lessons?"
"Already seen to, she should be enjoying a meal with Corporal Barrow."
"Good."
One final kiss and Edith slipped away. She found her sons in the nursery, as promised. Her lips curled up as she took in the sight before her. Pip, now closer to three than not, was sprawled out beneath a thick eiderdown on his bed, with only a thick tuft of white-blond curls poking from the covers to attest he was there. His mother took a moment to fold the covers down slightly and trace a finger carefully over one nearly invisible eyebrow before planting a kiss on his hair and turning to his brother.
At not quite a year old, William was tall for his age, but sturdier than his brother, rather than wiry. A stuffed crocodile, courtesy of his favorite auntie, was clutched against him and he'd pushed his blanket away in the comfortable and roomy confines of his crib. Taking a moment to smooth down his straight, fine, reddish blond hair, Edith kissed her son's cheek and then stood. She only took a moment to bask in maternal contentment, however, lest she feel too bad for not being there to meet her husband… or tuck them in herself.
She found Anthony not in her boudoir or their bedchamber, but his dressing room. As she watched him strip out of his uniform and lay it out over the back of a chair with all of the care and neatness of a man naturally inclined to meticulousness, but the skill of one who'd had a valet for his entire adult life, Edith smiled. Then she paused as a sudden fear took her.
"Darling, Stewart-."
"I gave him a weekend's liberty, so that he might stay and then escort Miss Midori back North on the train. Nothing official, and nothing to fret over, I promise."
"Oh, good… Is it wrong that I am living vicariously through how normal their courtship has been?"
"I hope not, Sweet One, or half the family is in terrible moral trouble, aren't we? My sister especially."
Edith covered her mouth to hide the grin that played there, and then, after a moment's thought, went into her own dressing room to change into her night things and a dressing robe. She found she'd had quite enough of dresses, corsets, and being proper for one day! Anthony, of course, as married couples do, continued their conversation through the open doorway between the rooms.
"Really, Diana's been such a blessing. You tease her entirely too much, darling!"
"Impossible. Teasing is what little sister's exist for."
"I cannot argue that fact."
"Rightly so. Besides, sweet one, you can't argue that she does enjoy playing matchmaker a bit too much?"
Edith grinned as she set her corset aside. There was no safe way to answer that. His sister had been the one to discover the quiet, very normal, courtship going on between her brother's valet and the remarkably attractive young lady who'd become Edith's secretary at Lavinia's urging.
"I notice a certain amount of silence in answer, Lady Strallan?"
"It's sweet." Edith defended her sister-in-law without disputing obvious facts.
"It's interfering. Stewart hardly needed the help."
"Yes, but I don't doubt that things might not have progressed so smoothly or so quickly without it."
"Out of masculine solidarity, I dispute that fact."
"And out of feminine solidarity, I am right, you are wrong, and that's quite the end of it."
"Married logic at its finest, no doubt!"
Edith was giggling when she heard the scratch at her boudoir's door, but Anthony's firm tread told her there was no need to rush. Putting on her warmest, and perhaps stuffiest, dressing gown she pulled the quilted chenille about her and stuffed her feet into a pair of warm, wool-lined Persian slippers. That accomplished, she wandered out to find her husband situating two trays on the low table between their chairs before the hearth. He'd relocated from her boudoir to their bedchamber, and it was lit by the soft glow of the fire and a single bedside lamp. Looking at the two chairs and her husband, Edith made an executive decision.
"Darling, let's just eat in bed."
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Trays demolished and set aside, Anthony Strallan lay back against the mounded pillows and thanked God for so many things. Pressing a kiss to the slightly sweaty curls at his wife's temple, he waited for his own breathing and heartrate to slow, and then tugged her more closely against his side, sighing in repletion at the feel of their mutual nakedness beneath the covers.
"Not that I wouldn't thoroughly enjoy a proper rest and a renewal of our, erm, earlier activities, but I think this might be an excellent chance to tell me what's wrong."
"Hm?"
Anthony kissed his wife gently, pulling her away from rapidly approaching sleep with soft regret.
"Edith, darling, I know I've – I've not been carrying my weight-."
Edith startled to full attention, pulling back to look him in the face with surprise and clear disagreement as she poked him in the chest with one slender finger.
"Oh, don't you dare start that, Anthony Phillip Strallan! You're doing more than enough for King and Country and needn't worry about anything else. I've more than got things handled on the Estate, what with Diana here to help me with social matters, Addie growing up so disturbingly fast, and Midori to help me with business matters. For goodness' sake, I have more help than you!"
"If you were only looking after Loxley, yes, sweet one, but Addie and Diana said you're spending as much – if not more – time at Downton than home now."
"Do you – Anthony, are you afraid I'm neglecting Lo-."
"Perish the thought." Anthony interrupted quickly, keeping a firm grip on his wife so she couldn't pull away from his arms, but turned slightly so they were facing each other. He had to hide a wince at the weight that put on his bad shoulder, but such was life. "Edith, I've never, for a moment entertained the thought that you were anything but a godsend and far more than a boring old codger-."
"Oh, don't start that again. Two children in less than three years, Anthony – you've more than proven you are neither boring or old."
Anthony felt himself flush and cleared his throat. His wife raised both her eyebrows and he almost grew distracted again at her smile. Instead, he reached down and delivered a quick pinch to the glorious curve of her rear-end. It produced a delightful squeak on her part, but when she retaliated Anthony could only helplessly squirm away from the tickling that followed.
"Pax, woman, pax!" Anthony seized both her hands with some effort, his chest shaking with laughter. "Honestly, we should have the boys in the trenches start growing their nails out. We'd save a fortune on bayonets."
"Oh, you."
He kissed her and then attempted to recover his earlier thread of conversation. Laying flat on his back, with his wife's head upon his chest, it was getting more difficult to think of good reasons to be awake. Especially given the soft way her breast pushed through what little chest hair he had. (He'd yet to disabuse Edith of the notion he was rather masculinely hirsute, as she seemed to think the limited, nearly invisibly blond, hair he had on his chest and belly was quite attractive.)
"Really, though, Edith I – I hate not knowing and we left things on such a decidedly difficult note at Christmas…"
"You'll… Anthony, I find I absolutely do not want to talk about my family right now. Do you think – do you think we could just… stay like this a while longer?" Edith's reply was quiet and the silence stretched out until she managed to find the words. "I – I promise I'll talk to you about everything tomorrow, and make sure it's before you walk into the lion's den but… but I'm just so tired of it all…"
"That's more than alright, darling."
Anthony's heart twisted and he pulled her tightly against him. Pressing a kiss to her hair he reached out for the lamp.
"A bit of rest would do us both some good."
"I think the entire world could use a rest, honestly."
"Truer words…"
Anthony and Edith were both asleep before the softly spoken response stopped echoing in the quiet of their bed chamber.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
London, Mr. & Mrs. Matthew Crawley's Townhouse
There had been few opportunities in Sergeant Nicholas Stewart's life as a valet, and fewer before that, to sit in a nice upper-middle-class home and sip tea like a civilized human being. That said, after the first moments of awkwardness… it was becoming second nature. It was certainly a comforting contrast to much of the rest of his life.
It was difficult not to like Mrs. Lavinia Crawley, neé Swire and the home she kept so happily. The entire place just radiated a sort of well-ordered peacefulness that soaked into one's bones. The neat brick townhouse was the very definition of comfort.
Stewart now found himself sitting within it's parlor, having passed the hall and been forbidden the kitchen. Armed with all of the powers of feminine organization, Mrs. Crawley the Younger had met them at the door. After embracing her friend, she'd proceeded to usher Stewart into the parlor having taken his coat and hat. Thus divested of outerwear, he was positioned in the warmest armchair – which he did not doubt was meant for the man of the house, currently mired in all of France's miseries – provided a cup of hot tea, a plate heaped with seedcake and biscuits, and then dismissed as only two women intent on a chat can dismiss a man.
Sitting there in silence and letting Midori and Lavinia's chatter wash over him, Stewart basked in the happiness that was not having to say anything and still being entirely welcome.
"I do hope you have some progress for me to write Matthew of. He's just so dreadfully worried about Lord Grantham. He's always been the father Matthew longed for, and that so much has befallen him just worries my husband so."
"I wish I had nothing but good news Lavinia, but I don't."
"Oh, dear… no improvement?"
Midori shook her head and Stewart listened as he watched the light send inky blue shadows across the black lacquer of her hair.
"Well, some, physically. He's healing well from the surgery they had to do on his, well, what's left of the leg they removed."
"How did that happen? Everything seemed like it was, well, like there was cautious hope for further improvement at Christmas."
"You were right to leave on Boxing Day, Livy." Midori sighed and shuddered. "Lady Sybil… She's so sweet and I think she had the right idea, telling her Papa all about how he could carry on, but she should never have gotten him that wooden leg so soon. He tried to get up on it without having it properly fitted and his wound wasn't properly healed…"
Stewart frowned lightly into his cup of tea and held in a wince. He didn't need to hear more to know precisely what had happened. The skin around an amputation with thin for weeks after, and you needed to wait for the muscle that was pulled out of place and over the end of the bone to heal before you put pressure on it. If Lady Strallan's father had not waited…
"Oh, no…"
"Yes, I hardly want to talk about it but… I think you're right and it's better if Mr. Crawley knows. He shouldn't be surprised when he comes home. How else can he help if he doesn't know?"
"Of course." Lavinia bit her lip. "So that's why he had surgery he – he burst he stitches?"
"Essentially, yes. There was a terrible lot of blood and he had to have a transfusion. Did you know he and his lady wife have the same blood type?"
"I didn't, no, really?"
"Yes, she was…" Midori flushed. "I was quite happy disliking her and the Dowager, after they were so horrible about Lawrence and I being old friends, but I find I can't dislike Lady Grantham anymore. Not after watching her rush forward and hold pressure on her husband's leg, or stand up and demand Dr. Clarkson use her for a transfusion. It's a – a proper woman who defends her family like that. It's what my Ama would do."
"Oh, she would. Is she never over at the hospital? I would have thought she'd be very keen?"
"She is now and then, but mostly she's helping Mrs. Chetworth with the homeless and the kitchen. You know how Ama feels about refugees."
"Yes, certainly."
Stewart reflected that they couldn't pick a better woman to assist soldiers who were down on their luck. Suyin Chen bore her own scars from the Boxer's Rebellion, and had the singular ability to offer compassion without an ounce of pity. Her friendship with Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bernard was rather terrifying.
"That happened in December, Midori, surely you have newer news?"
"Livy, it's…"
Midori bit her lip and looked to Stewart for help, who raised his eyebrows slightly to remind her that he had spent the ensuing time in London… she gave him a look that clearly claimed he was no help at all and turned back to her friend, her expression awkward and sad. On another person, it would have appeared uncomfortable. On Midori, the expression was artistically melancholy.
"Livy, I know it's not your nature, but sometimes I really wish I could solve this problem by kicking it in the teeth."
Stewart's lips didn't move but he beamed inside. Yes, that's a girl a man just has to marry right there…
"Honestly, at times even I'm tempted." Lavinia Swire agreed and reached out, gently adjusting the blanket draped over the infant napping in a Moses basket at her side. "But do tell me what's happening, please?"
"I wish I could, but there's very little happening while much is going on if you take my meaning?"
"Not at all, I'm afraid."
"It's hard to explain. Physically, I think that Lord Grantham is healing, but Lady Grantham and the Dowager are so afraid that he won't that they're wrapping him in cotton batting. He's never up on the one leg he has left, he's always in a bath chair. Atop that they have him on an invalid diet that a physician from London suggested."
"But surely they just want to take care of him?"
"Yes, but it's not helping with – well, with his temper."
"That bad?"
"Screaming fights with everyone from his wife to his doctors daily, throwing things, refusing to be seen by anyone, and just – just total misery. I mean, I've seen it before with some of the men at the hospital but it's so much more difficult when it's a man of rank."
"Oh, I can only imagine. Who would gainsay him?"
"His wife, that's the problem."
Lavinia looked confused at the idea and Midori was clearly running out of words, her expression suggesting that she was too upset by the greater misery broadcasting from Downton through its extended family of servants, employees, and kin to frame it in English. Clearing his throat, Stewart sat forward despite the pleasure of silence, and fixed his gaze on the inquisitive blue-gray eyes of their hostess.
"I think, in this case, it might be more difficult for Lord Grantham to adapt to not being in command."
"Yes, exactly." Midori sighed and reached out to pat his arm before letting herself slump back inelegantly against the chair opposite where Lavinia and her son had claimed the sofa. For her part, Lavina's expression cleared in understanding before crumpling in compassion.
"Oh, of course. He's spent his entire adult life in command of others, either in the military, or as master of his estate, or in the Lords, and now he must let everyone else make the decisions. How dreadful for him, especially given he must have so much to adjust to physically." Lavinia bit her lip and shook her head. "I just wish this war would be over. Hasn't it done enough to hurt us all?"
"Amen."
Midori turned to look at him and Stewart felt his lips tic up ever so slightly at their unintentional chorus. Lavinia, for her part, smiled at them with a brief return of her usual sunny nature and then turned and picked her son up, who had begun to grizzle and squirm.
"If you'll excuse me but a moment, Midori, Sergeant, I'll be right back after I've gotten this young man his luncheon and seen him settled in his crib."
"Oh, I'm coming up. I want to cuddle Georgie."
"Oh, really-."
"I insist. I'll wind him for you?"
"Yes, but will you change his napkin?"
"He can't possibly make as much a mess of it as William. Deal."
Stewart cheerfully stayed, sipping his tea and looking over at the other occupant of the room.
"Comfortable, John?"
His nephew, a sturdy lad of nearly four, looked up at him with the coffee brown eyes they shared, and grinned. He'd entered the house only to immediately wriggle beneath the parlor coffee table. Once there, he set about playing with the stuffed dog he'd brought along and, from somewhere, he seemed to have produced a small wooden train.
"Very good then, carry on."
John, quite content with his toys and hiding place, did just that. Turning, Stewart began to examine the room. He supposed another might find it boring, but Stewart had never grown tired of examining domesticity. It was such an alien thing compared to his upbringing, the novelty alone was fascinating.
The house was decidedly new, but there were comfortable bits of wear here and there. You can see what was bought and what was inherited, Stewart thought, noting wryly that it wasn't something anyone would ever say about his quarters. Everything he owned was new, or at least no older than his life in England. Just like he'd built himself a new life out of whole cloth and Sir Anthony's friendship, nothing he owned would ever tell a story beyond that. His family's story would begin with him, if not end…
The thought faded as soon as it began, and he looked down at the little boy playing beneath the table. Technically, a nephew he hadn't even known existed from a brother who'd been just as much of a shock, functionally John was… his son. He was a father now, in every way that mattered. He had a family, and a history to build.
Looking up towards the stairs he thought about the fact that Mrs. Chen and Midori had purchased a home near Loxley, buying up and making over the old grist mill that had become defunct fifty years before. It made a cozy home, if the way its structure was so stolidly British but so much of what was inside hailed from distant shores. His lips twitched as he thought of the ancient Japanese sword settled reverently over the fireplace, or the Catholic Altar in one corner, small marble pillars etched with Chinese script as the Chen ancestors mingled with Mrs. Chen's saints.
No, my children will have… quite a lot of history… what a thought…
Lowering himself to the floor, Stewart smiled at his nephew and held out one hand. He was laying there on his belly, chasing a small stuffed puppy with a wooden steam engine, when someone knocked on the door. Knowing that only the cook was currently in residence, as the rest of the staff were offered a day of rest on Sunday by Mrs. Crawley, the valet heaved himself to his feet to see to the door.
"Crawley Residence, how – Merde!"
It took a lot to drag the gutter Québécois French of his youth from John Stewart's lips, but the sight of the Countess of Holderness standing before him with shaken, bloodshot brown eyes and clutched a dressing robe and nothing else about her body on a cold February Afternoon in London managed it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Downton Abbey
Mr. Carson was awakened at the ungodly and wholly unpleasant hour of half-past-two in the morning. Considering that he, like most servants, seldom saw his bed before midnight, this was a particularly egregious disturbance. There was no avoiding it, however, for the frantic pounding on the servant's entrance could not be missed, especially given the specifically chosen location of the Butler's quarters. He was supposed to be aware of that door and all that went in and out of it, just as he was in close proximity to the strong room where the family's silver was held.
Feeling a miniscule resentment towards his duties he would never admit to when fully awake, Charles Carson shrugged on his dressing gown and toed on his slippers. Straightening his spine and shoulders to stand at his full height for the best and most harrowing effect on whatever riffraff was disturbing the house's slumber, Carson unlocked and unchained the door, throwing it open. He did so very quickly, intending fully to send the person on the other side off balance.
He did not intend to send the slender, small, feminine figure tumbling straight to the flagstone flooring at his feet, dropping a single worn suitcase to clatter further into the kitchen hallway and drive a cry of pain from its owner.
"What-."
"Mr. Carson?"
"Anna?"
Just as the lady turned, her hat twisting upwards and shoving off the familiar delicate face, Carson's jaw dropped open. Never had he seen the meticulous maid in less than proper turn-out. Now, however? Anna smith was wearing a truly bedraggled plain gray dress, torn at the shoulder, and he coat was spattered in dried mud, matching where she was up to her knees in its wet counterpart. Her hair, forever tucked away as it should, fell in limp golden waves about her shoulders and mid-back.
"Anna, what – are you alright? Is the Lady Mary here?"
Utterly confused, he still stooped instantly to gently help the lady to her feet. As soon as his hand closed about her wrist, however, she let out a whimper of pain that had him reaching down to lift her up under both armpits, as if she was the half-grown girl who'd first appeared at Downton and Carson thought of her as, not the woman she'd grown into.
"Oh, Mr. Carson, I don't know, it's just so horrid. Please, I must speak to Lord and Lady Grantham. I must speak to them right now."
"Of course, but – but Anna, you're injured."
Carson automatically and gently pushed Anna towards the nearest seat, one tucked against the wall beneath the electric light. As he gently took her chin, noting the yellowing bruise near her mouth, the butler bristled.
"Anna, I insist you tell me what has happened. We will get Lord Grantham and his Lady wife directly, but you must tell me before I go to them. What has happened at Ramsey House?" Reaching down and pushing back her coat, he hissed as he saw a bloody bandaged wrapped about her forearm. "What did those blackguards do-."
"Oh, I did that, trying to get out of my rooms and go to Lady Mary. The fire poker slipped when I was trying to pry the door."
"Why were you locked in your rooms?"
"Because Lord Holderness called some fancy doctor and drugged Lady Mary so that he could examine her!"
"What in the world, Anna?"
"Mrs. Hughes!"
Looking between the maid and the housekeeper as the latter enfolded the former in her arms, Mrs. Hughes' beloved face a mask of concerned bafflement, Charles Carson shook his head. Fear clutched his stomach, and as guilty as he would later feel over it, it wasn't for the frightened young lady before him.
"What kind of doctor? Is Lady Mary sick? She was fine just days ago, before she left here for London."
"He's some kind of – of fertility specialist. Sir Phillip Tapsell, the one he's been on about for the last year." Anna babbled, tears in her eyes as Mrs. Hughes gently petted at her and Mrs. Patmore, who'd also appeared, bustled about getting the makings of tea and toast ready. "Because Lady Mary has such trouble getting in the family way, you understand, only she was so afraid he might know about her indisposition that she wouldn't agree."
"Anna?"
"John."
Bates appeared, as they all were, in his night things and a dressing gown. Leaning heavily on his cane, the dark-haired man rushed forward towards his fiancée and quickly took both her hands in his own, hissing in anger when he saw her arm and reaching up to gently cup her chin, turning her face.
"Whoever did this is-."
"Oh, I did it to myself."
"What-."
"I -."
"Anna, dearie, you need to start at the beginning." Mrs. Hughes interrupted, pointing imperiously. "Mr. Carson, pull that chair over for Bates. Mr. Bates, please take her hand, and be careful. Anna, take a deep breath."
Carson sent a prayer heavenward for the creation of the blessing that was Elsie Hughes as Anna did just that, and the housekeeper gently swiped a tear away with her own handkerchief, ignoring the fact that Bates was doing the same on the opposite cheek with his thumb in what was not an appropriate gesture given they weren't yet married.
"Things – things have been a little better. Lord Holderness has been very gentle and thoughtful since Lord Grantham's injury. Only it – he must have been plotting because this evening when they had their dinner sent up to their rooms on trays Lady Mary had fallen asleep sitting up in her chair, and when I came in he was undressing her!"
"What?"
"That's what I wanted to know, but he just told me that he was her husband and this was for her own good and – and that's when his valet, that terrible man, Anderson, showed the doctor up with his bag!"
"The nerve-."
"Of all-."
"Enough!" Mrs. Hughes interrupted both Carson's and Bates' outburst, but it was Mrs. Patmore's voice that cut through the whole room.
"Well, who'd fault him? He's her lord and husband, he is, and with every legal right to do that."
The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable, even as Carson's expression slid from outrage to terrible discomfort. It was Bates, however, who spoke quietly into the silence.
"A man has the right and the power to do many things he should not. A gentleman wouldn't."
"Oh, a gentleman is the worst sort, I assure you, John!" Anna interrupted, swallowing and turning to Mr. Carson. She'd visibly calmed down, but as the panic faded the upset intensified. "It was simply horrid for him to think of it, after all she's been through. I begged him not to, and when Lord Holderness just carried her into the bedchamber like – like some penny dreadful sacrifice waiting to happen, I couldn't do nothing, so I tried to stop him."
"Of course, you did. Is that when your arm-."
"No, John, that was my face. I – I put myself between Lady Mary and the doctor and Lord Holderness had one of our footmen, Edwin, pull me out of the room. I tripped him and we fell, but I couldn't break my fall because he was holding my hands. The arm happened after I'd been locked in my rooms. I tried to force the door with the fire poker and cut myself when it slipped."
"Anna."
"No, it's alright. I just – I need to know that someone's helping her." Anna burst out, swallowing. "Anderson and two of the footmen came down and they – they gave me my pay for the rest of the year and a l-letter of reference and dismissed me."
"And you came all the way here?'
"Not willingly, I was going to go to Strallan House for help, or Mr. Crawley's wife, but they put me on a train and Edwin stayed with me until I got off at Downton Station!" Anna's blue eyes were wide and pleading. "We must tell Lord Grantham. Surely, he can do something to help his daughter, can't he?"
Carson tried not to think of the miserable, furious, broken man who'd returned to them from France in that moment, and instead think of the proud scion of nobility whose family he had served for a younger man's lifetime.
"Yes, Anna," Bates' voice was far more certain than Carson felt, "he will."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Author's Notes:
Anthony/Edith – still going strong and very able to talk to each other! I have to have one solid marriage in my sea of drama, and they're my happy place. 😊
Midori/Stewart – I hope I cleared up some of the confusion there. Here I think they actually had an incredibly normal courtship. He was attracted, she was attracted, and they went out on dates, walks together, and slowly got to know each other. When John appeared on the scene, he slotted into the little family well and all proceeds nicely.
Matthew – In France.
Thomas Barrow – Next chapter we'll get some POV from Thomas, for now assume he's lying in bed at Loxley and Addie keeps feeding him and piling small children and animals on him in the mistaken assumption that both have natural healing properties. (Despite his protestations, Thomas is enjoying this treatment.)
Sybil – The most sensible of all Crawleys and the kindest, but still young. She wanted to cheer her dad up before Christmas so got him a prosthetic leg and emphasized that this was bad, but he would recover. It really was the best thing to do… but she didn't count on Robert's pride and impulsive streak. He seriously reinjured himself and Cora's already deeply ingrained terror and panic over his injuries intensified. She and Violet are coddling him to death and it's making his sense of helplessness, PTSD, and temper worse. We'll see Robert's POV next chapter as well.
Mary – So much bad here... Simply put, Mary refused to see a specialist and after 3 years with no sign of pregnancy, Lawrence hit a breaking point. At the time, a husband would have needed zilch in the way of wifely permission to have her examined – no matter how intimate the examination. Hell, he could have had surgery preformed on her or committed her and nobody would even look into it in 1917! Note, my grandfather had my grandmother committed in 1968 in Florida simply by dropping her off at a mental hospital and saying she was disturbed… she was not disturbed, she was drunk and had been cheating on him. Not nice, but drunk =/= crazy. My dad had to go get his mother out of the loony bin because they refused to examine her, drugged her to the gills, and were literally waiting for a male family member to come pick her up. That was 50 years after this story is set!
So poor Mary has no legal recourse. Lawrence probably thought he was being kind to drug her so she couldn't resist and wouldn't remember the exam. We'll get more into his headspace as well. Needless to say EVERYONE involved in this situation is traumatized and nobody actually is going to believe/act in a reasonable manner. It's going to be As Bad as possible… including a glimpse of why Midori always said Lawrence was a Bad Enemy to Have.