In normal circumstances Edith would have been quite happy with a simple bed & breakfast (in her head she could hear her grandmother scoffing at her lack of proper pride and decorum), and she was sure Anthony wasn't at all bothered where he stayed. But he steadfastly insisted on booking into Claridges, for the security and discretion that it could offer.

"It's also just down the road from my bank, and I need to go there first to sort out cards and so forth."

"I need to do that too" replied Edith.

"Just for the moment, if you don't mind, it's probably best if I do it for now and pay for us both. The press are obviously on high alert, so we would be wise to avoid leaving breadcrumbs when it isn't necessary. Once we've been to the Foreign Office, it will be easier to contact your bank, although it may well be best to leave it until we are back in Yorkshire."

"Are we going back to Yorkshire?" Edith hadn't really thought about where or when she might see her family again.

"Let's just go to the bank, check into Claridge's, get something to eat and a good night's rest, and talk about the rest tomorrow?"

So that was what they did. It was plain that Anthony had gone back into Intelligence Officer mode, Edith thought, but he was so good at it, and he was enjoying protecting her so much that she didn't have the heart to interfere and try to sort anything out for herself. She had not had anyone look after her so thoroughly since she had been a very small child. It was a new, and not unpleasant, sensation.

Hopefully, one I will have to get used to...if he actually marries me this time she thought. A fleeting image of Anthony in dress uniform walking away from Downton Church and from her filled her eyes, and just as quickly vanished. Her chest constricted, she couldn't breathe, her legs turned to straw and folded under her onto the expensive carpet of Claridges' reception.

"Edith! What is it?" Anthony was at her side instantly. He had been booking them in when Edith had collapsed.

"I...nothing. Nothing. I'm fine. I...just...could I have a drink of water, please?"

The receptionist disappeared for a few moments then returned with a bottle of chilled water. Anthony asked for somewhere private, and the two of them were respectfully ushered into a small room with comfortable chairs further along the corridor, with a promise that they could stay there as long as they liked, that the duty doctor had been called, and that, in the meantime, the receptionists would sort out their check-in and find them a nice, quiet suite.

Anthony sat by Edith his own heart pounding, his good arm around her back, watching her sip from the bottle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, embarrassing you like that in Claridges of all places!"

He tightened his embrace.

"No, need. You didn't embarrass me. Please don't worry about it. I'm more concerned about you. Did you see something, or someone, that upset you?"

Without thinking she answered "yes".

"Who?" There was an edge to his voice which didn't bode well for whoever it was who had upset his Edith.

"Er...you."

"What?!"

There was a knock at the door and a middle-aged man entered who introduced himself as the duty doctor. He asked to examine Lady Edith in private and so Anthony excused himself. He walked down to the reception, picked up the keys to their suite, and then wandered over to the bar. He suddenly felt in need of a brandy and soda.

Twenty minutes later, he heard his name being called. He looked up into the doctor's face.

"Sir Anthony. I believe you are engaged to Lady Edith?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"How soon do you plan to marry, may I ask?"

"That is totally up to her. We only became engaged..." Anthony had to think: was it one or two days ago? He wasn't sure. He hedged "...a few days ago."

"Many congratulations, but if you want my advice, don't rush it. Lady Edith appears to be under a considerable amount of stress." The doctor adjusted his spectacles. Anthony barked a quiet, but mirthless laugh.

"Don't I know it. Did she tell you the cause of this stress?"

"No, she would not tell me, but I assume, sir, that you do?"

"Only too well." The brandy was dulling Anthony's usually well-honed manners, and he was tired, so very tired. But looking after Edith came first.

"I don't think some skilled counselling would not come amiss. Would you like me to recommend someone?"

"Thank you, but no. I...I know someone extremely good...er...is there anything physically wrong with Lady Edith?"

The doctor shook his head.

"She's a bit underweight, fine otherwise, but if she faints again, do please call me. I hope you have a pleasant stay, Sir Anthony."

Anthony watched him go, thinking that the poor man was probably perfectly competent but paid a considerable sum for being called out all hours of the day and night to pander to rich guests of the hotel who think they are having a heart attack only to have to tell those rich guests as gently as possible that they are suffering from indigestion from over indulgence in the chef's special.

I hate my class Anthony thought, not for the first time. Why the hell did I bring her here, when I could have used a false name, gone to some faceless place in Shepherd's Bush, and disappeared entirely? I've failed in my duty to her already.

He tapped gently on the door to the little room. Edith asked who it was.

"It's Anthony, sweet..." He didn't finish the endearment. It felt wrong to do so, presumptuous.

Edith opened the door and stepped out, smiling.

"Are you sure you're alright, my dear?"

"Fine." Her smile looked a little too bright. "Nothing a good dinner wouldn't put right."

Anthony wanted to ask about what she had said, that seeing him had made her faint, as soon as they got to their room and privacy. As they passed reception they were stopped by a man nearly as tall as Anthony.

"Sir Anthony."

"Oh god, no." Anthony's voice betrayed weariness as well as surprise. "You don't think we could do this tomorrow, do you, Dennison? We haven't even eaten, and we are both desperately tired."

"I'm afraid not. The Minister is insistent. If you would both accompany me, we have a car..."

"Why does Lady Edith have to come too? At least let her have a rest."

"Excuse me, what's going on?" Edith managed to make herself noticed.

"My name is Dennison, Lady Edith, and I work for the Foreign Office. The Minister wants a debrief on his desk by tomorrow morning, and he's a very early riser. We will need to interview you both, but we can make it as quick as is possible."

"And you will order in some food for us while we do it. You'll get a lot more co-operation from me, at least, if you do."

"I'm sure that can be arranged, Sir Anthony. Please."

Dennison held out an arm to usher them out.

...

The Foreign Office of Her Majesty's Government in Whitehall is one of the glories of the Victorian rebuilding of the old Palace of Westminster. Gilbert Scott design still vies with statues of statesmen long laid to rest, the William Morris-inspired wallpaper argues with the large oil portraits of Edwardian civil servants beadily keeping an eye on their latter day successors. Anthony had seen it all before, and it did not preoccupy him.

"I don't understand why we have to be separated." Edith was nearly in tears from hunger, exhaustion, and frustration.

"My sweet, it is just normal procedure, and nothing to worry about" said Anthony.

"They want to test us, to see if our stories agree...if we're telling the truth!"

"Partly, yes, but also different people see different things even in the same situation. They get more information from us this way. We have nothing to fear."

"If you say so, but only because you say so."

"My brave girl."

They were led to rooms at either end of a gilded corridor, and the interviews began.

Thank you all again for your kind comments. I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter up. RL, eh? Who needs it?

I have forgotten who first invented Dennison - but I'm very grateful to you whoever you are.