DISCLAIMER: I don't own Downton Abbey and I make no money from this work.
By the time they got to the barge the party was in full swing. Edith hadn't exactly been sure how a 'barge party' would work, but when they arrived she could see why Dorothy had been so excited. It was a warm night, and people were spread out all over the place. Men and women were lying and sitting on the roof of the boat, smoking and drinking and laughing extravagantly. She could see a pair of long, pale legs sticking out of one of the portholes and the men on the dock were play-fighting with each other, getting dangerously close to the water while the girls perched next to them squealed. Jazz music floated across the air.
For a brief moment Edith wondered if it was all too soon after the war. Was all this purposeless joy an insult to death and destruction that had destroyed their generation? Or was it purposeless? Was this just the reaction to the slaughter of their friends, brothers and fathers – to dance and laugh and drink it all away? Sometimes she saw – or rather felt – a sadness in Dorothy that bubbled away under her desperation to have fun. But then again, weren't they all hiding a sadness nowadays?
"Come on Edith!" Dorothy pulled her onto the deck of the barge, and Edith felt light-headed from the ebb and flow of the water and the champagne she and Dorothy had drunk while getting ready.
"Whose barge is this again?" Edith asked as they pushed through the crowd of people.
"A friend. Sebastian. He's a painter."
"How did you meet him?" Edith was always astounded by the amount of people Dorothy knew.
"A man I knew." Dorothy plonked the gin they had brought down on a table and grabbed two chipped teacups, which looked slightly grubby. "Right – now let's drink."
And they drank. Everyone else was already well past the point of no return, so they had to knock back the gin to catch up. As always, Dorothy was spirited away by one of the crowd of people she knew, so Edith flitted around and chatted to people. She found it easier here, in London, where nobody knew who she was, to talk to people she didn't know.
"Your hair is just the cat's pyjamas." A girl leaned through an open porthole and patted Edith on the shoulder. "I've been wanting to cut mine like that but I can never quite pluck up the courage. You're just so brave!"
Edith smiled. "I'm not sure anybody's called me brave before."
"Well you are." The girl handed cigarette to her before she even asked for one. "And look how it's paid off! You're a beauty!"
Things became hazy, people blurring into one another and songs all sounding the same. She danced the Charleston with a boy in a flat cap and a girl in a blue silk dress, before all three fell down laughing on a little settee.
"Isn't this a brilliant party?" The girl said.
"The floor sways, doesn't it? I feel like I'm swaying one way and the floor is swaying another." Edith giggled, laying her head on the seat next to her. She only closed her eyes for what felt like a minute, but when she opened them again the man and girl had vanished, and another man was in their place.
"Hello, Titania." He said, smiling at her.
"Titania?"
"The Faerie Queen. A Midsummer Night's Dream."
Edith wrinkled her nose. "I know who she is, but why did you call me Titania?"
"Because she was beautiful, and so are you."
Edith sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Don't be silly."
"You are a Faerie Queen and I am merely Bottom, hoping for your affection." He raised his hand to his heart and Edith laughed, in spite of herself. She noticed that he was rather handsome, even though he had dark shadows under his eyes and stubble on his jaw. There was something earnest in his expression, and he was looking at her in a deep way that drew her to him.
"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?" She quoted obligingly, making him laugh in delight. "I'm Edith." She sat up straight and holding out her hand.
"And I am Walter Clarkson." He took her hand and kissed it.
A drunken girl flopped down next to them and began to vomit out of the window. They both watched her in disgust until Walter took hold of her hand again. "Shall find somewhere else to talk, Edith?" He asked.
She nodded, strangely entranced by him, and they made their way through the dancers to a small door. When opened, it turned out to be a tiny bedroom. People were already in there, but as they opened the door they spilled out into the hull of the boat. The room was empty then, apart from a cup of cigarette ash and a bottle of gin. She crossed over and sat on the unmade bed – a man's unmade bed, and one she didn't even know – drinking straight from the bottle. For a moment she thought of Mr. Drake and that night on the farm, but pushed it out of head as quickly as it came. "So, what do you do then, Walter?"
He sat next to her and lit a cigarette. "I'm a journalist. I review gallery exhibitions and plays, mostly."
"Gosh, that sounds interesting." She said. "I'd love to write."
"Journalism?" He asked.
She blushed, and suddenly felt embarrassed, despite the gin. "I'm not sure. I think I'd really like to write, you know, prose. Short stories. Plays, maybe." She stretched. "I don't mean anything that will change the world. I'd just like to make people laugh."
"Who says that won't change the world?" Walter leaned closer to her and she could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, just like he could smell the gin on hers. He kissed her then, pressing himself against her in a way that was forceful but not unpleasant. His lips were soft and his stubble tickled her chin. His hand was on her thigh, and she could feel the heat through her flimsy dress. Her own hands were wrapped around his back. The jazz was still playing and pretty, feminine laughter drifted through the open window to them and slowly, as if in a dream full of vivid colours, she felt herself falling back onto the bed. It could have been the alcohol or the gentle rocking of the boat – or it could have been the way that Walter was caressing her neck. She felt a bit like she should make some attempt to stop him – even if only for propriety's sake – but she didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to carry on, and suddenly Edith understood how Mary had ended up surrendering her virtue to Mr. Pamuk. When someone was making you feel this beautiful and this desired, you forgot to think about whether it was right or not.
"You really are beautiful." Walter murmured in a low, throaty voice. She was about to dismiss this, but he stopped her with another kiss, and then another and another until she had lost count. The world was throbbing around her and she was throbbing with it as Walter slowly pushed down the straps of her dress. Her skin felt like it was on fire; every part of her burned with this new, heightened sensitivity and she had to hold herself back from moaning as he began to nibble down the curve of her neck, to her collarbone and then lower again.
Then, it was all over. Somebody pushed open the unlocked door and Walter stopped his efforts immediately, leaving Edith feeling disappointed and relived in equal measure. She wasn't sure where she would have drawn the line. "Edith, darling, this is where you are!" The intruder was Dorothy, looking flushed with drink. Her eyes were laughing as she looked at the pair on the bed; Walter with Edith's lipstick on his chin and she pulling her dress back up. "You can't hide in a bedroom now – they're just about to set the fireworks off!"
"Fireworks?" Edith asked, weakly.
"Yes, Simon's on the hull of the boat with them now. Come on, darling. And bring your new friend."
They got out onto the roof and sat there, Dorothy and Edith next to each other and Walter behind her. His hand remained perilously low on her back, and when they sat down he began to run his fingers up and down her spine in such a delicious way that Edith couldn't keep her mind on what Dorothy was saying. Who was this man? Why had she allowed him to do such things to her?
"Here." Walter handed her the cigarette he had just lit, and Edith took it gratefully, pleased to have something to do with her hands. He smiled wryly at her, as if he knew the tailspin her mind was in. "Quick – the fireworks are about to go off!" He pointed at the prow of the boat where a man, probably Sebastian, was inexpertly lighting the bottom of a cylinder. Edith whipped around to watch – fireworks were such a novelty that she felt childishly excited at the thought of seeing one now.
When it did go off, everybody screamed and lurched sideways to escape its fiery trajectory. Instead of erupting into the air, it shot sideways before exploding over the deck. Everyone on the opposite side of the boat – including Edith, Dorothy and Walter – was tipped unceremoniously off the top of the boat and into the water as it rocked and swayed in an attempt to right itself. It was a good job that it wasn't very deep, because the party were too drunk to do much swimming. As it was, they all got a good shock and swallowed some highly unpleasant Thames water, but bobbed up laughing and joking as if this had been the intention all along. A couple of women still held their glasses in their hands and merrily held them out to the people still sat on the dock so they could be refilled. The Bright Young People, as they would come to be known, would not have their party ruined by a little dip in the river.
"Ugh!" Dorothy spat a stream of water out and made a face. "My dress is going to be completely spoiled!"
Edith started laughing, and found that she could not stop. The sight of Dorothy, hair sticking to her head in clumps and elaborate eye makeup smudged round her eyes, doggy-paddling in her beautiful dress was too funny for words. "You're so disgruntled!" She shrieked, as Dorothy looked sulkier by the second.
The party broke up soon after that, with people going home in wet clothes smelling of river-water and firework smoke. Walter called a taxi for Edith and Dorothy, and as he held open their door he asked where he would be able to find her again.
Dorothy leaned across Edith and said "We live in Number 25, Russell Square, and we would be just delighted for you to visit."
As they drove away Edith looked at Dorothy, horror struck. "Why did you tell him that?"
Dorothy giggled. "Because he seemed interesting, and he was interested in you, and I don't think a man should be able to remove any items of clothing without you getting a meal out of him." She leaned forward and rubbed Edith's chin, clucking sympathetically. "Poor darling, you're going to have stubble burn tomorrow morning. You can borrow some of my cold cream. I do wish men would make sure they shave regularly if they plan on seducing us, it's awfully inconvenient to kiss one when their chin feels like sandpaper."
Edith didn't say that she'd rather like it, and her red, swollen lips felt more like proof that she was somebody who could be desired and considered beautiful than an inconvenience.