A secret is a most challenging thing to keep when you are in love with, and married to, your best friend. Even more so when that person can read nearly every thought that passes your mind. Edith was having a rather difficult time waiting until her consultation with Dr. Clarkson before telling Anthony what she suspected. Given how prone her dear husband was to worry, she wanted to be absolutely certain, though deep down she had no doubt.
And every time the thought resurfaced Edith would feel her chest swell with absolute, serene elation.
"Edith, did you hear?" Mary asked urgently. "Mama said to run and fetch Dr. Clarkson."
Edith had been in the hallway, bringing a pitcher of water for Sybil. The poor thing had been in labor since the small hours of morning and it was now past seven at night. Edith passed the pitcher to Mary and hurried back down the stairs.
Dr. Clarkson was standing with the gentlemen in the library. Tom looked dreadfully anxious despite having gone through all this before. Matthew and Anthony were standing beside him, silent but dutifully present. Papa and Clarkson were having a hushed conversation near the fireplace. When Edith came in all the men looked at her expectantly.
"Oh, nothing to report, Mama just asked me to fetch Dr. Clarkson."
"No need to worry, gentlemen. Could be a long while yet," the kindly doctor said, following Edith from the room.
"I think Mama would just feel better if you were in with the nurse. I believe she's worried about Sybil's pain."
"I see," he said simply as they worked their way to the stairs. "And how are you feeling? I saw in my diary I'm to call on you in a day or so. Everything is alright, I trust?" He was asking conversationally, but paused when Edith couldn't quite articulate a response. The way she wrung her hands and blushed, and her irrepressible grin—he had seen it many times before.
"And how long have you suspected?" the doctor asked simply, coming to a stop on the landing.
"Several weeks, I suppose. We've all been so busy I just thought," but she trailed off. No matter how old she got or how married she was, it was never easy speaking about such things with a man; even one as composed and unshakable as Dr. Clarkson. "At any rate, I've been incredibly tired and somewhat lightheaded."
"Lady Strallan," he sighed, "It's my experience that most women who think they know, do know. But if you'd like I can perform a basic exam and see if I can offer more conclusive answers. It won't take long."
"Oh, would you, Dr. Clarkson? I'd be ever so grateful."
"Very well, let me check on your sister first."
It felt rather ridiculous, really, confirming her own pregnancy while her sister was in labor down the hall. But as practical as Edith was, it simply didn't make sense to call Clarkson to Locksley tomorrow when they were all sitting around Downton for hours, waiting for Sybil's second child to arrive. Two birds, one stone, she thought to herself.
Doctor Richard Clarkson was a wise and moderate man, not unlike her Anthony. He spoke to Edith gently and frankly. He also insisted that at least one other woman be in the room, "as is practice." Edith couldn't bear the thought of flaunting her own good fortune to Mary, who was quietly suffering Sybil's childbearing. Unsure of who to ask, she called for Cousin Isobel, trusting her medical background and her integrity.
"About six weeks, if I were to venture a guess. Not far at all," Clarkson confirmed as Edith beamed at him and Cousin Isobel. "Most women have some idea of when the child was conceived, so you may know better."
Edith blushed as she thought back to that afternoon on the couch, when she and Anthony so needed each other. Part of her knew from the moment it was over they had just made a baby.
"Yes, I think I do," she said quietly.
"First pregnancies are delicate. Be kind to yourself and get plenty of rest. No more accompanying Sir Strallan to the farms."
"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson. I trust you'll keep this just between us? I don't wish to distract from Sybil."
"Of course, Lady Edith. Congratulations."
Edith stared at Isobel, and Isobel stared at Edith. There was a certain understanding between them now, as though Edith had joined some rank of womanhood she didn't know existed until just now. "Do you think it's something in the water?" the older woman joked blithely, appreciating Edith's current state of emotions.
Edith laughed lightly. She thought of Anthony, standing downstairs with the rest of the men, an unwitting father. She thought of their child, and Sybil's children. A very clear picture formed, of a whole mob of little ones running through the gardens together, playing games and picking flowers as she used to with her cousins.
The Strallans and the Crawleys and the Bransons would all grow up together, as friends; under the watchful eyes of their mothers and the unqualified love of their grandparents, and the protection of their proud fathers.
Edith felt so different, so filled with love and purpose, she could barely contain herself. When she rejoined the gentlemen in the library she barely felt the ground beneath her feet. Wondering if it showed, she smiled at Anthony, who kissed her temple and rubbed her back.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked quietly, catching her contagious grin as he scrutinized her face.
In an unusual display in the presence of her family, Edith kissed Anthony squarely on the mouth. Surprised at first, he eventually kissed her back, having learned not to question such happy wonders from the woman he adored. In that one moment everything was perfect. Every aspect of Edith's world settled into a peaceful symmetry, as though each cog had just finally clicked into place.
And then, as life is wont to do, that moment passed and everything changed.
Edith and Mary were on either side of Sybil, each holding one of her white, clammy hands in theirs. "Why is there so much blood?" Mary asked frantically. Her great brown eyes were wide in fear, and they found Edith's with a certain desperation.
"Lady Sybil, the baby is moving down," Clarkson's voice boomed. "With your next contraction I need you to give me small, short pushes."
Sybil, white as chalk and drenched in sweat, was trying to breathe deeply. "You're doing very well," Edith muttered, unable to hide her fear. There was a heavy tension in the room that bore down on all of them. Though no one was addressing it, everyone knew something was dangerously wrong.
Cora stood down by Dr. Clarkson. The only thing Edith saw in her face was calm determination. "Sybil, look at me. Focus on me, baby," Cora said. Her voice was soothing and maternal. She seemed to be the only one able to keep herself composed for the sake of her frail and exhausted daughter. Sybil nodded and stared her Mama in the eyes and pushed as Clarkson had instructed.
When the contraction passed she fell back against the pillows, weak and breathless. "Oh God, something's wrong. It wasn't like this before," she panicked, her voice cracking painfully. Then looking to Edith she said through tears, "I know it. A mother knows. Oh God, oh god," and broke into sobs.
Edith and Mary made tearful eye contact, neither knowing what to say. Cora moved quickly, leaning with one leg on the bed and placing a hand on Sybil's knee. "Sybil, breathe and stay calm. You will be alright. Think of this baby."
Sybil nodded and followed as Cora demonstrated slow, steady inhales and exhales. Edith watched her Mama in absolute awe. She'd never seen this in her, never once seen her take charge of a situation or stay so imperturbable in a crisis. But somehow Edith understood it; a strength that was greater than oneself, that came from some indeterminable place when it was truly necessary. It came from being a mother.
Carrying Mr. Pamuk's corpse to the bachelor's corridor, sending Sybil the money to return home against Papa's will, fighting the Spanish fever and suffering a miscarriage, and never once reacting to years Granny's disapproving remarks—Lady Cora Crawley was a remarkable woman. Edith had never realized it until this very moment. Her fear and anguish and confusion all eased slightly, comforted as she was by her Mama's steady gaze and soothing murmurs.
For the first time in her life Edith was deeply proud of her mother, and in a fleeting but powerful thought, hoped to God she had even a fraction of that strength in herself.
The sounds of the baby crying should have been a lovely, encompassing relief. The nurse carried the babe off to clean it up as Sybil asked for it weakly, and for an instant it seemed as though everything would be alright. Mary even managed a gladdened smile as Sybil collapsed back onto the pillows, the strain finally over.
But great masses of dark blood began to spill onto the sheets, and Sybil's grip went limp in her sisters' hands.
"Her uterus isn't clamping," Clarkson growled to no one but himself. He tried everything he knew to do, down the most rudimentary treatments. The baby was still wailing across the room, Cora was pleading with her daughter to hold on, and then to come back.
And then a hush fell upon them all. Sybil was still, her mouth hung open, the color wholly drained from her. Edith began to shake as Cora finally lost her composure, crawling onto the bed to hold her youngest daughter's wilted frame. Mary backed away slowly, shaking her head. Even the baby, now cleaned and swaddled, seemed to recognize the loss. It was silent in the nurse's arms.
"Please no. Please, please no," Cora started whispering over and over, holding Sybil's head to her breast.
Edith looked to Clarkson. He had blood up to his elbows and soaking his tweed waistcoat and pants. His eyes were downcast, but Edith could see that he was crying. The man had brought Sybil into the world twenty-four years ago, and he had just seen her leave it.
"Someone has to tell Tom," Cora stated after what seemed an eternity. Her voice sounded guttural and inhuman. Edith hardly recognized it. She looked to Mary first, always the cool, calm one, but Mary shook her head and shrank away into the nearby chair.
Edith seemed to move without making a conscious decision to do so. She took the baby silently from the nurse, who muttered, "It's a girl," before she walked stiffly out the door.
For the second time that night, Edith could not feel the floor below her as she descended the grand stairwell and moved toward the library. The aching in her chest was not from joy, however, and the news she bore was not happy, nor could it wait. How she hated being the messenger, and she so longed to close her eyes and wake from what surely could not be real.
Edith paused before the library door and looked down at the baby. She was small, and round, with pink cheeks and full, red lips. A little worse-for-wear, perhaps, but her entry into the world had not been a smooth one. Wondering what her life will be like, growing up without her mother, Edith leaned down on kissed her forehead softly, blessing her that she may know how Sybil loved her.
There was an initial outcry of gaiety when Edith stepped into the library, the little bundle in her arms. Tom's face stretched into a grin as Matthew patted his back, and it broke Edith's heart all over again.
"What is it? How's Sybil? Is it a boy?"
The Crawleys were full of questions, happy questions—normal questions. Only Anthony seemed to sense right away that something was horribly wrong. Edith's face was absolutely calm until she met her husband's eyes and an immediate understanding passed between them. As she started to crumble Anthony said firmly, "Isobel, take the baby."
Tom's face fell into confusion, as did everyone else's, as Isobel quickly took the infant from Edith's shaking arms.
"No," Tom muttered, almost with a laugh, "No, Sybil wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave Madeline and me like that." Edith couldn't look at him. "No," he said once more, tearing out of the room and, presumably, upstairs.
Matthew and Robert followed after him. Isobel, instinctively bobbing the baby, looked outright stricken. When her eyes met Edith's an unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. They both knew something about Edith, something that had been unmitigated good news just hours ago, and was now… Edith couldn't process it.
Edith registered Anthony's grip around her, strong enough to hold her up despite it being one-armed. She looked up at her husband. His face seemed to say I'm sorry and I'm here at once.
"Anthony," she muttered. He pulled her to the couch, into his lap, and rocked her gently as he pulled her tight against him. And for the first time in a very long time, Edith collapsed into tremendous, uncontrollable sobs.
"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality." ~Emily Dickinson
Such is the ebb and flow of life. Without loss we may never know what we have. I felt it was necessary, but I am sorry! Happy times will come again, I promise. Life always carries on and so will the Crawleys and the Strallans.
Much love, and thank you so kindly for your reviews. They're greatly appreciated...