The rest of the guests left two days hence. Sadly, Aunt Rosamund's household had been struck down with a rather nasty case of the flu. As a result, only half the staff were capable of fulfilling their duties. The rest were quite thoughtlessly laid up in bed. And so Edith's intended visit had to be postponed somewhat. Edith was greatly saddened by this. After having Lord Hexham so devoted to her, home-life seemed even more dreary and unfulfilling. She sunk even more into the background whilst even greater efforts were placed into getting Mary settled. Although Lord Hexham was still considered Mary's property, it was agreed that Cousin Matthew would not yet be allowed to fall in love with anyone else, just to provide Mary with a contingency plan.

Edith found herself taking a greater number of walks. She explored new routes and relished the opportunity to be from far the house. Indeed, she would often take a picnic lunch with her and be gone all day, leaving after breakfast and arriving at the dressing gong. Evenings and wet days were the worst, and she quickly grew stifled and miserable locked up inside. But even if it had been permitted, walks in the rain were not particularly pleasurable. The cold and constant sting from the rain was too distracting to lose herself in. And she could not enjoy the view as she was constantly preoccupied by trying to keep the rain from her face.

And so Edith quickly turned to the quill for consolation. She would while away the dreary grey mornings and wet afternoon jotting down the odd verse or story. This was not entirely detrimental, indeed she seemed to be honing her skills. Although it was rather dispiriting how so many of her poems were on the topic of unhappy families, there seemed to be a great deal of venting.

All in all, Edith was content with her small variety of hobbies and interests, but it was an isolating experience she was living. She spent very little time with any of her family, and neither sought the other out. However, despite barely spending five minutes with any of them, even she could not fail to hear of Robert's newest scheme.

He had just brought; at Lord Gillingham's suggestion, a very fine Phaeton which he planned to have Branson teach him to drive. A fortnight since the visit, the vehicle arrived and Robert planned; should the next day look fine, to begin lessons forthwith.

Edith had just returned from a stroll when she saw the Phaeton arrive. She had been intrigued by the handsome vehicle and enquired about it at dinner that evening. She said that if it would be convenient, she would be delighted to have a chance to take a ride. At this, Lady Grantham noted that Lord Grantham would be monopolising the carriage for his lessons. Edith tactfully said that she would be perfectly willing to ride along and watch.

She turned to address Robert. "I would not be a distraction Sir," she assured him, "I promise to be quiet and to not intrude upon your lessons,"

Robert had been thinking of these lessons for quite some time and in his mind he was already quite the natural. He was rather pleased with the thought of having an admiring audience to watch him. It is always pleasurable for a man to be complimented and flattered by a woman he loved and respected. But Edith would do.

The plan suiting all involved, (except possibly for Branson, whose wishes were not heard nor wanted), it was arranged for Lord Grantham and Lady Edith to meet in the courtyard at nine. In her eagerness, Edith promptly arrived at the allotted time, dressed in her old coat, scarf and plainest bonnet. Robert arrived shortly after. Branson assisted Edith into her seat and Robert mounted the front, ready and waiting to begin and fully expecting to be quite the proficient.

By the end of the lesson, Robert swore to never set foot inside that ghastly thing again. It had not gone well. Lord Grantham was too good hearted as to blame Branson's teachings, instead claiming that only a genius could master such a difficult contraption. And, honest as he was, he recognised he was not such a man. The lesson had been something of a waste of time.

That is, except for Edith. She did not quite think herself a genius, but having watched Branson instruct her Papa and understanding what he was asking, she could not help but quite believe that she may prove adept at learning to ride the "Monstrous creature!" as Robert had put it. She could never quite handle riding a horse, yet part of her suspected that if given the opportunity, she would be able to make the horses and Phaeton do exactly as she told.

Edith's hand itched to take her place on the front seat and be proved right, but thought better than asking for lessons of her own with her father in such a distemper. She bided her time and waited for a slightly more opportune moment to broach the subject.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than expected. That night they had Lord Merton over for dinner, and he and Papa engaged in a rather high stakes game of cards. Lord Grantham was usually about as good at cards as he was riding a Phaeton, and though I have yet to discover Lord Merton's Phaeton driving skills, he proved himself to be a very poor card player indeed. But neither Gentlemen had many opportunities to be with other men, and so they relished each other's company and the game lasted long into the night. By the end, the pot had accumulated to a very large sum and Robert was victor.

Edith had seen this and; stifling her yawns, stayed up until the end. With Papa in such high spirits, she felt this would be the best moment to put forward her request. He had been surprised, for sure, but in slightly slurred speech, gave his approval. On the condition her mother had no objections. That easily obtained, Edith went to bed that night aflutter with nerves.

The lessons proved a success. Edith found that although by no means an instant professional, she understood what Branson was asking of her and how to achieve it. Even when she made mistakes, she knew exactly what they were and how to correct them. She soon proved herself to be rather adept at riding the Phaeton.

And she loved it!

When riding a horse, she was usually too timid to ride faster than a trot. But on a Phaeton she soon came to the conclusion that the faster, the better. Poor Branson was forced to cling for dear life as a completely inexperienced driver drove him about at break neck speed. But after a few lessons, he became more confident in the Lady Edith's abilities and looked to the lessons with less dread.

Riding put Edith in great spirits, and Branson found himself quite happy in her company. In return, Edith was pleased to have someone to talk to. As time wore on, Edith grew more comfortable in his presence and began to ask him questions about his childhood in Ireland.

"Where was it you grew up again?" she asked one day as the horses trotted along.

"A small house in Dublin, milady. We only had about three rooms,"

"Golly! And did you say you had three brothers and four sisters?"

"That's right my Lady. We also had an uncle and two cousins live with us,"

"Crikey!" Edith exclaimed, trying to imagine living with so many people in such a small space. Downton as a whole was still very often too small to share with Mary.

"I must say, the coachman's cottage is something of a castle in comparison. Though I do miss my family,"

"Have you ever thought of starting a family of your own? Do you not have a sweetheart?"

Branson chose not to reply. Instead he simply noted that if she wanted a gallop, they were coming up to a clearing that would be perfect. They sped along, the wind stinging their cheeks prink and Edith's bonnet nearly flying off. Beaming, Edith slowed the horses to a trot then a walk as they reached the edge of the clearing.

Upon returning to the courtyard, Branson turned to Edith and smiled at her warmly. Eyes sparkling and face bright from exertion he said "Excellent Milady! Carry on at this rate and I shall be forced to find an alternate source of employment," and then, throwing propriety out the window he whispered into her ear, "And I daresay Lord Hexham would be very impressed as well,"

Edith blushed, and lay a gentle hand at the base of her neck, where her rose quartz necklace lay safely tucked away beneath her scarf.

DA

Apart from Lady Edith learning to drive a Phaeton, very little of consequence happened over the next few weeks. The only occasion that held any significance Edith had no knowledge of. Nor did she have any idea of the impact it would have on her life.

It began with an impromptu invitation for Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel to join them for dinner. Below stairs, Mrs Patmore was grumbling about the added work. As she was quite entitled to do. As was Miss O'Brien, her Ladyship's Lady's Maid, which she was not entitled to do. This was on account of the fact that the extra dinner guests did not bring anymore work her way. Therefore, it is entirely possible that O'Brien as grumbling for the sake of grumbling, which may have been forgivable if it weren't for the fact this was a regular occurrence. Miss O'Brien was never happy unless she had something to miserable about. To be perfectly content and happy caused her great distress.

The fact she had no need for concern was helpfully pointed out by Mr Bates, his Lordship's valet. At this, O'Brien turned her complaints to her favourite topic, Mr Matthew. She found it quite galling to be expected to bow and scrape to a mere Doctor's son, and resented the fact he would one day be Master of the house. This was a topic she never exhausted herself on, and was rarely met with any opposition, provided Mrs Hughes was not present. The rest of the staff had given up on silencing O'Brien, and Mr Carson felt no need to. After all, he privately agreed with her and felt quite appalled at the thought of his precious Lady Mary being thrown into the arms of a Solicitor.

Someone who did not agree was Lady Grantham. She had an issue with the menu that was a matter of great import and she had condescended to go down to the kitchen in order to talk to Mrs Patmore. She arrived just in time to over hear O'Brien referring to Cousin Matthew as a "Snot nosed, second rate Lawyer who had a better chance of becoming a true Lord of the Manor than a rabbit has of overthrowing the monarchy,"

Needless to say, Lady Grantham was not pleased. She gave O'Brien a very stern ticking off, in front of the rest of the servants. She coldly reminded O'Brien of her place in her household and that she had the good fortune to chose to work in her service; unlike some, and that she was free to leave whenever she wished. O'Brien initially tried to defend herself, claiming that her Ladyship had misheard and did not understand what she was saying. Of course, when asked what she had meant to say, she remained quiet.

For the rest of her scolding, O'Brien sat without a word, her face growing paler and paler and lips thinning dangerously. Once Lady Grantham had finished her tirade, she swept out grandly, leaving O'Brien in silence. She spat in disgust.

"Fancy her speaking to me like that!" She hissed, "When she is barely any better than that Mr Matthew,"

"Her father was in trade," Thomas added quietly, "And her Grandfather was a clerk,"

"See? She is nothing but a jumped up little-"

"Enough!" Carson snapped, he did not protest against her criticisms of Mr Matthew, but he could not abide a cruel word against her Ladyship.

O'Brien wisely decided to shut her mouth. Instead she stared down at her work basket with pursed lips, eyes stinging.

That evening, as she prepared for dinner, Lady Grantham decided to broach the topic of the quarrel with Miss O'Brien. Glancing at O'Brien's reflection in the mirror, she said "I do hope that you are not offended with my sharp words earlier? I just simply cannot allow my Cousin to be talked of with such malice behind his back,"

"Of course not your Ladyship," O'Brien responded. She gently but firmly ran a comb through her Ladyship's hair, carefully avoiding tugging at her or getting the comb caught in knots.

Lady Grantham rubbed her palms with some hand cream and allowed herself a pleasant, if somewhat cold smile. "Good," she said, turning to face O'Brien, "Then we are friends again,"

O'Brien remained staring at her Ladyship's hair, methodically running the comb through. "Of course your Ladyship," she replied.