Edith was in the kitchen at Locksley. Anna was beside her, holding her hand, and Mrs. Bass was across from her, filling three cups with hot, fresh tea. The rest of the staff was out tending to their work or taking their half-day, and Edith was deeply grateful for the privacy.
"It was a lovely service," Anna said softly. "Everyone that ever knew Lady Sybil seemed to attend. She touched a lot of lives."
"Sybil was the best of us, that is certain," Edith agreed numbly.
"I keep thinking about those babies," Mrs. Bass sighed, shaking her head sadly. "But you know, they'll be alright. Got lots of love around 'em they do, and they won't ever want for it."
Edith looked up at the older woman. Mrs. Bass had large, calloused hands—a cook's hands—and they wrapped themselves around the heavy ceramic mug she preferred to drink from. She had small, gray eyes that sank into a ruddy, pockmarked face. She was a broad, square woman, totally lacking in physical grace. Edith, in a way, fell in love with her all over again just then.
Typical of Lady Edith, middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham, to choose such unlikely companions. But companions they were nonetheless, and good ones too. It felt like the three of them were back in that townhouse in London, easing each other's loneliness and sharing confidences.
Only Edith was not alone, not by a long mile. Anthony was out, escorting Granny home at Papa's behest, but he'd return to her shortly. And soon they would be three. Suddenly Edith was crying again.
"Oh, it's not so bad as all that, deary," Mrs. Bass whispered, pulling her chair around so she might take the tiny Lady Strallan to her great bosom and give her a proper hug.
"Lady Sybil wouldn't want you suffering for her like this," Anna suggested.
"I know. I know she wouldn't. It's just, I'm not only crying for her. I am, I mean I miss her so desperately. But I'm crying for those girls, and for Tom, and for Anthony."
"Sir Strallan? Whatever for?" Mrs. Bass asked, releasing her grip on Edith's shoulders.
When she sat up Edith's face said it all, but she told them anyway. "We're going to have a baby."
Anna and Mrs. Bass seemed to know better than to congratulate her in that moment, though they also knew how badly she'd been hoping for this very thing.
"Anthony doesn't know. And how am I supposed to tell him now, after this? Was I so naïve to think we'd gone through enough? It never occurred to me that something like this would ever happen. Not to our family. And how am I supposed to tell my parents, and Mary, and Tom? Oh lord, when I think of Tom," Edith began, but she lost her voice to another bout of crying.
Mrs. Bass hushed Edith and rubbed her back until she'd calmed down again.
"I know how Anthony will worry. And I know how awful it will be to be happy about this now, when we're all in mourning. And I'm terrified. I wasn't before, it never occurred to me before to be so scared. Oh, I'm just a mess," she blubbered, burying her face in her handkerchief.
After a long while Mrs. Bass said quietly, "You know, sometimes things happen in a certain sequence like. Life has a funny way of timing things to get us by. Just think. If you'd have married Sir Anthony that first time, well you wouldn't be quite so appreciative of him now, would you? And maybe what happened to that poor, young sister of yours was going to happen no matter what, but you having this baby's just nature's way of easing the pain for your family."
"And nothing, nothing, should get in the way of you being happy about it," Anna added firmly. "Nothing can take that away from you. Loving this baby and Sir Anthony, it doesn't mean you miss Lady Sybil any less."
Edith's sobs abated slightly as she allowed her friends' words to comfort her.
"Loving this baby isn't going to be a problem," Mrs. Bass said confidently to Anna, straightening Edith's hair and standing from the table. "I've seen the way this girl loves. She's got room enough in that great heart of hers for a dozen babies. Maybe more." Edith looked up, giving Mrs. Bass a sad but grateful smile, so the tough cook continued. "And, knowing what I know about how she and the Master get on, she may need room in her for twelve babies anyway."
Edith flinched and blushed furiously before she and Anna burst into laughter.
"There ya are, deary. Laughter's the best medicine they say. Everything will look better after a good laugh," Mrs. Bass assured, topping off their cups before shuffling over to the great butcher-block counter. "Now, if you're all done wearing a mark in that seat, why don't you come help me with the treacle tarts, hmm? Have I shown you those yet?"
"No," Edith sighed, feeling immensely better already. "You haven't. But I'd very much like to learn."
Edith had taken off her necklace and bracelets, and the barrettes in her hair, and even kicked her shoes off after a while. She was sifting powdered sugar over a cooled pumpkin cake when Anthony came into the kitchen, hat in hand, still wearing his overcoat. When she looked over at him he saw that some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She was all alone, and the house seemed inordinately quiet.
"Where have Anna and Mrs. Bass gone?" he asked softly.
"We made treacle tart, and then some turnovers, and then a cake. She and Anna took a basket up to the servants at Downton. They're just as sad about Sybil but they have to tend to the family. We thought it would make a nice treat."
"You're wonderful," Anthony sighed, throwing his hat and gloves onto the table by Edith's things. He approached her slowly, tentatively, worried about her. Her back was to him as she stood in her stalking feet, now picking sprigs of mint as garnish.
"You don't mind that I mingle in the kitchens, that my only friends aside from you are the staff?"
"Not in the slightest," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her little frame as he hugged her from behind.
"And you don't mind that I can't pick out linens or host a party, but I can bake a cake and mend a button?"
"I hate parties, but I'm forever losing buttons. The only problem I see with the cakes is that I seem to be filling out rather in the middle."
Edith twisted in his grip, turning so she might face him. "It really doesn't bother you that I'm hopeless as a wife and in running the household details, and that I'll always prefer walking barefoot in the gardens to decorating a room?"
"My darling, dearest girl. You may not enjoy the things most of the women in your position might do, but there is a reason I am not married to any of those women. I love that you would rather get your hands dirty, so to speak. You are the most wonderful kind of wife, because you are real, and brilliant, and because you are indeed my wife and no one else's."
Edith slipped her hands under his jacket and sling, locking them behind his back, and laid her head against his chest. Anthony rested a cheek against her temple and closed his eyes.
"Regardless of what you do, or have done, I will never feel anything but immense pride for you. I hope you know that. If ever there was a chance of me taking us for granted Tom and Sybil have ensured it's gone now. I will never for one minute forget how I love you. So whatever you want to do, writing or baking—you could decide to wear trousers and change your name to Bernard for all I care—I will treasure it. Alright?"
Anthony's voice had always mesmerized Edith. From the first time they met she was terribly fond of it. The pitch grew lofty when he was nervous, and bold when he was enthused, and dry when he was sad. But when Anthony was being sincere and tender, his voice became deep and sonorous and masculine, low but urgent and passionate. Lord how she loved the sound of it, the feel of his breath against her hair and her ear. The simple wonder of being allowed to lean up just so and touch her lips to his square jaw, to feel the smooth surface of his cheek against her nose and smell his skin, never ceased to amaze her.
He was right, of course. She would never take the fact of him, of Sir Anthony Strallan her husband, for granted. "I love you, Strallan," she whispered against his lips, brushing against them like feathers as she formed the words.
All of their sorrow, their worry, the tragedy they were enduring, it all seemed manageable when they kissed. Anthony tasted Edith's bottom lip, and moved against her pleasantly but with authority and ownership, making Edith's stomach tighten and her body shudder. His hand was just low enough on her back to be a place no one but her husband had touched her, and she thrilled in the simple intimacy.
It was almost incomprehensible that she, by some strange and astonishing circumstance, was allowed to run her hands along the muscles of his back and press against the length of his legs, to open her mouth against his—and to bear his child.
"Oh, my," she muttered, turning her head away to catch her breath.
"I'm sorry, I know it's been a terrible day, the timing is all wrong," he said preemptively, guilt shading his eyes. Edith, breathless and trembling, clamped a hand over his mouth to silence him.
"Don't ever apologize for kissing me like that. You can kiss me like that every minute of every day for the rest of my life if you wish, and I'll never turn you away. However," she qualified, leaning against the counter so she could get a better look at him. "I wanted to tell you something."
"Ah," he nodded, stepping back several paces to sit in one of the chairs. "I've been wondering when you were going to get around to it."
"What?"
"Whatever's been on your mind, dearest. I saw it before that awful night; something's been churning in that beautiful head of yours for weeks. Now, are you finally going to let me in on whatever's been troubling you?"
"Is there any point at all to my trying to keep a thing from you?" Edith asked, trying not to smile so she might look stern.
"I don't believe so, no."
"Answer me this," she demanded, "Do you trust me?"
Her brown eyes bore into his, and he looked momentarily nonplussed before responding definitely, "Yes, of course."
Edith nodded, clasped her hands together in an unconscious prayer-like gesture, and took a deep breath in preparation. Then, with a tiny, irrepressible smile, she said, "Anthony, you're going to be a father."
What will he say? :) Perhaps their good news will be just the thing to piece the Crawley family together again after such an irreparable loss...
Thank you sincerely, always, for continuing to read and review. I hope you enjoy!