AUTHOR'S NOTE: One of the reviewers pointed out that this story was hardly an AU in the last few chapters, with me just pushing Matthew into existing scenes from canon, making it boring. After some reflection, I do admit they have a point. I like this episode a lot and I guess I was indulging myself in reusing so many of its scenes. However, I can safely promise that it won't be a problem in this or quite a lot of future chapters. We are entering the gap between episode 8 of S4 and the special, which is over 10 months long. During its course, the plot will take several sharp turns from canon, so even when we reach the special and then S5, the circumstances of several main characters will be quite different than in the show. I hope you will like the direction I will take them to.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, 13th, 1922
"How was London?" asked Mary, cutting her pork. She thought with burgeoning excitement that if everything goes well, in some months they may serve pork from their very own pigs.
Rose's blush and dreamy expression immediately pulled her out of such pleasant, practical visions and put her on her guard. She knew that face. Rose was imagining herself in love again and getting up to no good. And considering who was the last person Mary had caught her kissing...
"Oh, marvellous. I caught up with some friends," answered Rose evasively, just strengthening Mary's suspicions.
"With Edith and Aunt Rosamund?" she asked, expecting Rose's answer before she got it.
"Oh no, they were much too busy with something or other."
"And which friends were they? Do I know them?"
Rose threw her a deer-in-the-headlights look before forcing herself to smile in a patently false way. Mary nearly rolled her eyes at such pathetic attempt at lying.
"Nobody you know, I expect. It was... Madeline Allsopp, Lord Aysgarth's daughter."
Mary refrained from asking whether Miss Allsopp would confirm that story. Even if Rose had the foresight to plan her alibi with her friend – and Mary suspected she had not – there was no point. She was reasonably sure who Rose had met with anyway. It wasn't Miss Allsopp who put such blushes on her cheeks.
She sent a poisonous look at Edith who was supposed to keep their young cousin in check.
"What have you been doing in London?" she asked over the table. "Since you couldn't watch over Rose?"
Rose sputtered indignantly that she was not a child to require watching, but Mary ignored her completely.
To her surprise, Edith gave her a look similarly panicky as Rose just minutes before, if not more. What on Earth Edith could get up, considering Mr Gregson was in Germany? Unless he came back... Mary could hardly believe Edith managed to get into one scandalous attachment, it beggared belief that there could be two.
"I just had some errands with Aunt Rosamund," she said evasively, piquing Mary's curiosity and ire in equal measure.
Matthew gave her a quelling look before she could interrogate her sister further. She glared at him in response. Didn't he realise they allowed Rose to run wild around London, getting into God knew what trouble? He should have known better than that after having to drag Rose out of a nightclub she visited with a married man.
Although, to be fair, maybe he simply wanted to remind her that it was not the topic most suitable for a dinner table.
"I have a bit of an announcement," said Edith, obviously striving to change the topic. "Aunt Rosamund invited me to accompany her to Switzerland for a few months."
Mary's eyebrows shot up.
"What does she want to do in Switzerland for so long?"
"Improve her French, apparently," answered Edith, her chin jutting out a tad too defensively for the mundanity of the topic. "I am just grateful for the invitation. You should be too, since I will be out of your hair for some time."
Mary didn't deny this point, although she had a passing thought that it was going to be weird with only her, Matthew, George and Rose remaining at the Abbey. It would be how it was supposed to be, she guessed – the house really would feel like their own – and Tom, Granny and Isobel were all living nearby and popping in constantly for one reason or another – but it still seemed very hard to imagine.
What was suspicious, however, was that Rose didn't whine even once that she wanted to tag along on Edith and Aunt Rosamund's European trip.
Mary sighed. There really was no way to avoid dealing with it.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, July 13th, 1922
Mary raised the topic as soon as Matthew joined her in their bedroom that night.
"I'm sure Rose met with Jack Ross, Matthew," she said bluntly, making him flop on the bed next to her with a groan.
"I guess we really should have talked to her about it after my birthday dinner," he said with a sigh. "But I hoped the distance and some sober reflection were going to do that job on that front."
Mary snorted.
"Sober reflection? Rose?!" she shook her head. "I trusted Edith and Aunt Rosamund to be more effective chaperones that they turned out to be. I cannot imagine what was so important or secretive that they just let Rose to saunter off on her own."
"Whatever it was, it was their business," said Matthew firmly. "Although I am disappointed in them too. But have you warned any of them about Rose's crush on Mr Ross?"
"No," answered Mary reluctantly. "I wasn't hoping for sober reflection, but I did think it was a momentary lapse. He is quite a handsome man, after all, and it was just a kiss..."
Matthew quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Did you have some of those momentary lapses as a debutante?"
Mary smirked.
"As if would ever admit to any!" then she sobered. "But you know what happened when I lost my head for a handsome stranger. Rose does not realise what kind of trouble she might be courting."
Matthew sobered instantly as well at the reminder, his hands curling into fists as anger coursed through his veins. Despite months passing since Mary's confession, he could not think about his new understanding of what happened to her without desperately wanting to punch something. Preferably that dead Turkish bastard, impossible as it was. The frustration of being helpless to do anything to help – he could hardly fix the past – was sometimes driving him mad.
He forced himself to calm his breathing and focus on the present. Mary raised this particular ghost because she had a very valid point about Rose's penchant for taking risks.
"We will take better care of her," he swore, relaxing his fist and taking Mary's hand instead. "No more trips to London without one of us as a chaperone and we will not let go anywhere by herself. To be fair to Edith, she wasn't the one trusted with the responsibility for Rose, we were."
"Only because Mama up and went to America, dropping her in our laps," muttered Mary a bit resentfully. "And I entrusted Rose to Edith for the duration of that trip."
"Nevertheless, we will do better now," said Matthew firmly, embracing Mary as she relaxed against his chest.
She sighed.
"Which one of us is going to talk to her about it?"
"Maybe you should try first. She knows what you have witnessed."
Mary looked up suspiciously at him.
"Do you genuinely think I have better shot at it or are you just unwilling to have this conversation?"
Matthew chuckled, giving her forehead a quick kiss.
"Both," he admitted mischievously. "I hope you will be able to scare her into a resemblance of reason and to be frank getting involved into Rose's romantic entanglements again is one of the last things I want to do."
Mary hit him lightly on the shoulder.
"So you push it on me instead? Just wait, if this baby is a girl, I will cede all responsibility for her upbringing to you. Especially if she inherits my character. Would serve you right."
"That's why I pray for another boy," answered Matthew, lowering his head to capture her mouth hungrily. "Although, if we have a daughter and she resembles you in any way, she is going to be absolutely wonderful."
"Flatterer," muttered Mary, melting into his kisses. "But keep it up. Maybe I will concede to at least help you plan her coming out ball."
Matthew and Mary's bedroom, July 14th, 1922
Matthew entered the bedroom for a quick kiss before going down to breakfast just as Anna was lowering the tray with Mary's, who immediately made a face and pushed a plate away.
"Take it back," she moaned at Anna, covering her mouth, as her maid immediately grabbed the offensive dish. "What on Earth was Mrs Patmore thinking, serving fried onion to a pregnant woman?!"
"She probably was thinking of your fondness of it," said Matthew, rubbing her back sympathetically as Mary was taking shallow breaths and waiting for the nausea to pass. "Although it does seem to have been an unfortunate choice."
"Unfortunate? Try atrocious," muttered Mary, reaching tentatively for a piece of dry toast. "I don't suffer so much from nausea as some women, but that was just ghastly! You're lucky I wasn't sick all over you."
"If you were, I would be just returning the favour by taking care of you," said Matthew quietly. Mary raised her eyes to his, startled that he brought up that particular memory. He usually liked mentioning the time of his injury even less than the war. And he nearly never spoke about the war.
She grasped his hand into hers.
"You know there was nowhere I wanted to be but by your side then?" she asked seriously. "Doctor Clarkson had to throw me out at night that first day they brought you in."
Matthew caressed her cheek in inadequate thanks, feeling such overwhelming tenderness and gratitude for her love that he didn't know how he was able to contain it in his body.
"I know," he said, his eyes locked with hers. "And I will never be able to forget it."
Dining room, Downton Abbey, July 14th, 1922
It was a pensive mood Matthew took his chair in the dining room in.
He hated remembering his paralysis. Hated it. And those first days in the hospital, when he was just realising the extent to which normal life was going to be denied him – all while lying flat on his bed and unable to move or do the simplest things for himself – those were the very worst. Not that it was so much better afterwards, but... it was, to some extent. When he was able to move his own chair, dress himself partially, sit at a real table with the others – all those smallest gains of independence – they made the whole thing seem maybe nor bearable, nothing could do that, but better.
But in those very worst first days, when his whole life seemed to shatter and he was seriously considering just ending what was left of it, there was Mary.
Mary, trying so hard to be positive while telling him what was wrong with him. Mary, supporting him so he could be sick without getting it all over himself, without a flinch or the slightest indication of disgust. Mary, wiping his lips. Mary, speaking of wanting to be with him on any terms.
He had not seen the love in her actions or words then – God, he had been such a blind fool! – but he did now. And that was the reason, the only reason, he sometimes did allow himself to remember those days.
He put his plate of scrambled eggs with fried onions in front of him.
Only for Edith, sitting opposite him, to push herself from the table, her hand flying to her mouth, her expression queasy.
Matthew could only stare at Edith in horror.
He would have clung to the hope he was wrong – that the sameness of her and Mary's gestures was just a coincidence – if there wasn't corresponding horror in her own eyes at his reaction to it. She was caught and she knew it and she was reacting accordingly. There could be no doubt that he guessed right.
Oh God, what they were going to do about it?
Well, there was clearly some plan already afoot. Lady Rosamund's invitation took on a whole new light in face of this revelation. Still, now that he was aware, he felt the need to become involved. This was simply too serious. Edith was a grown woman, but he nonetheless felt certain responsibility for her – and for his niece or nephew, he realised with a start. Because Edith's child would belong to his family same as Sybbie and he could not stand not knowing what was to become of it.
He was not sure by what miracle Rose didn't notice anything unusual about the exchange in front of her, but thankfully she seemed to be fully absorbed in a letter. She got up with a flourish.
"I have to answer it right away," she said, hurriedly walking out of the dining room, an excited smile on her face. "Please excuse me."
"Edith," said Matthew carefully as soon as Rose was out of the door. "Could you please come to my study with me? There is something I would like to discuss with you."
Edith blanched visibly, but got up with a nod, making Matthew jump to his feet and leave half of his breakfast uneaten.
He didn't have much of appetite anyway with dread coiling in his belly.
Matthew's study, Downton Abbey, July 14th, 1922
Matthew invited Edith to seat in one of the cosy armchairs in the corner of his study. He didn't want to face her from behind his desk like an interrogator.
For a long while, neither of them said anything. Maybe they were unable to find any words.
"What have you wanted to talk with me about?" asked Edith finally, her voice trembling despite her obvious effort at controlling it.
"I think you know," answered Matthew gently.
For a moment it looked as if Edith was going to play dumb, but in the end she nodded jerkily, her hands clawing at each other in distress.
"How far along are you?" asked Matthew in the same gentle voice.
Edith laughed, with a tad of hysteria.
"About three months. Same as Mary, ironically enough. Our babies should be born within weeks, if not days of each other."
For all that he was convinced of the facts, it still startled Matthew to have it irrevocably confirmed. He swallowed hard.
"And how far has Mr Gregson progressed with his plans towards getting a divorce?"
Edith smiled sadly.
"He put everything in motion. He expects to become a German citizen within less than a year and a divorced man within six months afterwards."
Matthew nodded, wordlessly acknowledging the hopelessness of the situation.
"So what does he say about it all?" he asked, trying very hard to keep his anger at the man in check. It would have been bad enough if he acted so recklessly as a free man, able to take responsibility for his actions – but as he wasn't, Matthew could not call his behaviour anything else but inexcusable.
Edith startled.
"He doesn't know!"
"Whyever not?" exclaimed Matthew, shocked.
Edith shrugged helplessly.
"What's the point in telling him?" she asked bitterly. "It's not like he can do anything about it with things as they are."
Matthew looked at her intently, taking her cold hands in his.
"He still has the responsibility," he said urgently. "He cannot marry you in time, no, but he still has the responsibility to help you deal with this. It's his child as well."
His brow furrowed in dark suspicion.
"Or do you suspect he would deny this responsibility?"
"No!" exclaimed Edith immediately, her eyes wide. "We made a mistake... clearly... but he is a good man. I have no doubts he would acknowledge the child as his. But I... I just cannot do the same, can I? Nobody can ever know or I will be utterly ruined."
"What are you planning then?" asked Matthew, putting the matter of informing Mr Gregson aside for the time being.
Tears brimmed in Edith's eyes.
"At first, I did consider... getting rid of it," she confessed shamefully, turning her head away. "But I couldn't go through with it. I just couldn't. So Aunt Rosamund offered to take me abroad and give the child up there. She said we will find a good family for them and nobody will ever know..."
She burst out sobbing, hiding her face in her hands.
Matthew sat back, his thoughts racing. Lady Rosamund's solution made sense, of course – wasn't that how such matters were usually dealt with? - but looking at Edith's obvious despair, he felt doubtful. He imagined being forced to give George up and nearly retched at the idea. Even when he thought about the baby Mary was currently carrying, completely unknown to him at this point, his whole heart squeezed painfully in immediate protest. He loved this baby already, even without knowing intimately how they smiled, or smelt, or what amused them, even without the memories of cuddling them or playing with them as he did with George so many times. He could easily imagine it was equally heart wrenching for Edith and he brimmed with compassion to her. However reckless she had been, however thoroughly she ignored his advice when he had feared exactly such outcome, she did not deserve to lose her baby if she didn't want to. And she didn't seem to want to.
Thinking about Mary's pregnancy and its timing with Edith's, he had a momentarily insane thought of claiming Edith's baby as their baby's twin. He dismissed it immediately without giving voice to it. Despite the obvious advantages of such scheme – Edith wouldn't be separated from her child and the child would grow up in the circumstances and station in life they deserved – there was simply no way it could work without both Mary and Edith being entirely different people that they were. He couldn't imagine it ending in anything but heartbreak for all people involved.
No, they needed to figure out a different plan. But whatever the final decision would be, there were people who needed to be told first.
"Edith," said Matthew when Edith went from sobbing to sniffling, offering her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. "It's not a bad plan, but you obviously are not happy with it. You need to tell Mr Gregson. He has the right to know and to take responsibility for you two in whatever way he can. And I think maybe it would be good to tell Mary and Cora as well. We can all figure out how to ensure that you have some contact with your child some way or other."
"No!" cried out Edith immediately, her eyes widening in horror again. "I will tell Michael – you're right, he should be informed – but you cannot tell Mary! I beg you, please, please, don't tell Mary!"
Matthew frowned.
"Edith, I know how contentious you relationship is, but you cannot think that Mary would act against you in a case of such proportions. You're her sister, however much you fight with each other. Not to even mention the fact that she cares about the family name too much to ever mire it in scandal."
Edith shook her head wildly.
"I cannot be sure she would keep it secret."
"Can you trust me to know my wife enough to promise that to you?" urged Matthew again. "You know I don't hold many illusions about her worse traits."
"But you don't know!" cried out Edith. "You obviously don't know what I did when I was in her place, because you wouldn't be so sure at all!"
Matthew frowned deeper.
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked. "What don't I know?"
Edith opened her mouth to speak but hesitated at the last moment.
"Do you... has Mary ever... have you ever heard the rumours about her and Mr Pamuk, back before the war?"
Matthew's face immediately darkened in familiar futile anger at the man.
"I know everything," he said curtly. "Mary told me all before we married."
Edith nodded, looking relieved to hear it.
"Good," she said. "Good. I wouldn't want to be the one to tell you. But I must have asked to tell you something else. That it was me who sent a letter to the Turkish Embassy when I learnt about the whole affair. I was hurt and I was angry and I wanted to hurt Mary as much as I could. I regretted it later, for many reasons, but that's what I did when I discovered something illicit about Mary. I made it into a scandal. Now you see why I cannot at all be sure that she won't do the same to me? She never forgave me, Matthew."
"No, I don't think she would," answered Matthew slowly, barely able to comprehend what Edith was saying. "I don't think you're even aware of half of the trouble that blasted letter brought her over the years."
They were both silent for a long time, except for Edith's continued sobbing.
"Have you two ever discussed it?" asked Matthew hesitantly.
Edith scoffed despite her tears.
"Not since August 1914," she said. "When I called her a slut and she scared Sir Anthony off from proposing to me. He was going to, you know. At the garden party. And Mary prevented that as a revenge on me. Everything which went wrong in my life could have been avoided if I married him then, as I should have."
Matthew thought of all the things which went wrong in Mary's life as the result of that letter and found little compassion for Edith's plight at the moment. He wouldn't say she deserved Mary's revenge, exactly – and oh, wasn't he horrified by the length they both went to in their war against each other – but especially now, knowing how little fault Mary carried for that night, how horrifying were the true facts of what happened to her then – to hear it was her own sister who exposed her secrets to the public, endangered her to Carlisle's blackmail and called her a slut – that was just too much.
Fury and shock shot through him.
How could she?
How could she have exposed her sister so mercilessly, treated her so viciously, when she knew nothing of what had truly happened?
His face must have been showing some of his internal turmoil because Edith blanched visibly.
"I'm sorry, Matthew," she sobbed. "I've been sorry for sending that letter for years. I know it was wrong of me and not just because Mary's revenge wrecked my life. I just shouldn't have done it because it was vicious and wrong and below me."
"You have no idea how wrong," he said icily. "And it's not me you should apologise to."
Edith laughed hysterically.
"What good it would have done for me to apologise now? Even if Mary believed I was sincere about it – which I doubt – you said it yourself, it's been nearly a decade. If we started talking about it, it would most likely result in us rehashing any wrong we have committed against each other before and since, and that would not end well at all."
Maybe not, but the enormity of Edith's action was still burning his brain. He could remain silent no longer.
"That bastard raped her, Edith," he said, the bile nearly choking him as it always did when he put actual words to what had happened to his wife. "And you made the news of it public, exposed her to blackmail, shunning and ridicule, and called her names."
Edith's eyes grew wide but then he noted scepticism on her face and literally saw red.
"But how do you know..." she started, and he interrupted her before she could finish.
"Because she is my wife and she told me what happened," he said passionately. Memories of Mary's eyes when she insisted that it had not been, in fact, a rape; that it had been all her fault, haunted him. "So unlike you, I know full details of what transpired between them and what that bastard, may he rot in hell, did to her."
"But..." started Edith and obviously thought better of it.
"Edith," he hissed, the utter fury nearly choking him. "Give me the respect to assume that I know when my wife is lying – and that I've never known her to do it to me. Mary hid things from me or obfuscated them, but she has never outright lied to me and definitely not about something like that. She told me about Pamuk before we got engaged and yet I only learnt more details quite recently and mostly by accident. So please, do not even try to imply that she lied to make herself look better, not when I know, unlike you, how much pain she had to go through because of both his and your actions."
He had never seen Edith look so small and stricken.
"Oh my God," she said only. "Oh my God."
They were silent for a long time again, Edith trying to process what she had heard and Matthew desperately fighting to regain his composure.
It was Edith who hesitantly spoke first.
"When you mentioned blackmail... was that theoretical?"
Matthew laughed bitterly. Oh, he wished!
"No," he said curtly. "Unfortunately not."
He didn't think Edith could blanch even more, but she somehow did.
"Who?" she asked in a trembling voice. Matthew shrugged angrily. He rather suspected that Mary would not appreciate him sharing all the details of her relationship with Carlisle with Edith of all people.
"It's not my tale to tell."
The silence fell again. Matthew felt that he was slowly calming down. He was still furious with Edith – beyond furious, really – but in all justice her actions had taken place nearly a decade ago. Unlike her most current predicament now. And however much he was angry with Edith for hurting Mary so, he knew that his wife was hardly innocent when it came to their feud. Not that it justified Edith's actions in his books – God, far from it! – but the context should be acknowledged when deciding what to do now.
"I understand why, in light of all this, you have doubts whether Mary would keep your secret," he said seriously. "But I think you underappreciate her. What happened between the two of you was beyond awful, but it was nearly ten years ago. Both Mary and you are different people now."
Edith shook her head.
"Not different enough. Please, Matthew, whatever you do, please don't tell Mary. She will use it against me. She will expose me. And maybe I deserve it for my mistakes, but my poor baby does not deserve to be known as a bastard, whatever decisions I will end up making for his or her future."
Matthew bit his lip, deep in thought. Keeping such a monumental secret from Mary sat wrong with him, very wrong. On the other hand, he could not in good conscience completely dismiss Edith's concerns. He thought Mary would not stoop so low as to expose her sister's scandal – but what if he was wrong? The consequences would be catastrophic.
With newly formed resolve, he focused on his intention to help Edith go through it with as little pain as possible. That was for sure the right thing to do. Her secret was not really his to tell anyway.
"Edith," he asked. "What do you really want to do? I'm not asking what you think you can do – I want to know what you want to do. Do you want to keep the child?"
Edith looked at him with wide eyes.
"But how could I?" she asked tremulously.
Matthew looked her straight in the eyes.
"I told you, don't think right now about how. Do you want to keep the baby with you or would you prefer to find him or her a good home and forget about everything?"
Edith took a deep breath.
"I want to keep them. I want it so much it hurts. But I just don't see how it could possibly be done. I cannot do it openly. We would both be scorned by everyone. We would be outcasts. I just cannot imagine it."
"We might find a way," said Matthew firmly. "There would have to be some subterfuge – we would have to pass the baby as somebody else's - and Lady Rosamund's plan to take you abroad is probably still the most sensible way to do it. But people take in wards, for any number of reasons, so why not you?"
Edith's eyes grew wide.
"You think it would work? Wouldn't people guess?"
Matthew shrugged.
"They might," he admitted. "But that would still be just gossip and speculation. If we're careful and plan everything well, that's all it would ever amount to."
Edith grasped his hand.
"And you would do that for me? You would help me to arrange everything?"
Matthew nodded, squeezing her hand in promise.
"I will. If that's what you want, I will."
"Without telling Mary?" asked Edith incredulously.
Matthew winced but nodded again.
"It's not my secret to tell," he answered simply.
Edith threw herself at him, hugging him fiercely. She was lost for words.
"But you must tell Gregson," said Matthew urgently. "I won't do anything until you hear back from him and we know whether he will be ready to do the right thing, whatever it may be in his complicated circumstances."
Edith nodded seriously.
"I will," she said through her remaining tears. "I will write to him today."
Library, Downton Abbey, July 14th, 1922
Matthew rubbed his forehead tiredly, his thoughts racing and disarrayed, his harrowing conversation with Edith repeating in his mind in an endless loop. He wanted desperately to find Mary, but he knew that there was no way he would have been able to hide his distress from her and he did promise Edith to keep it all secret. He needed to calm down first, even if he had no idea how.
He was alternately dwelling on Edith's predicament – and how dearly he wished he could strangle Gregson for using her in such a manner! - and on her culpability in exposing Mary's night with Pamuk to scandal. He was caught between compassion and anger and the mix of the two and he hardly knew what to think or feel overall. That Edith had done such a thing... That she had hurt Mary so, in a way which kept haunting her for years in different forms... That it was Edith's fault, in the end, that Mary had spent years shackled to that despicable Carlisle... He felt his anger rising up again.
But it had been so long ago and Edith had been so young. It would be hardly right to punish her for it now. Besides, according to her, Mary executed her own form of punishment, equally cruel in its own way, and he shuddered thinking about it. He knew his wife. He knew that she had a cruel streak, was prone to be dismissive or lashing out, especially when miserable or provoked and with Edith as her most common target. He was horrified to learn how far she had gone. But could he blame her for that retaliation? Considering how far Edith had gone first to ruin her life?
A loud squeal of joy dragged him out of such thoughts and made him turn his head to the window. He couldn't help smiling at the sight which welcomed him beyond it.
Mary and Rose took George out and were sitting on a blanket on the lawn, enjoying the beautiful sunny summer day. They were pushing a colourful ball between them and the baby, with George exclaiming happily and clapping every time the ball rolled towards him. They made such an idyllic, happy picture that he wanted nothing more than to join them in their game.
His heart clenched painfully at the thought of Edith missing on such happiness. He again imagined being forced to give up any of his children and his resolution was made. He had to help Edith, however he could. Whatever she had done, either regarding Mary or breaking all kinds of rules with Gregson, she did not deserve such suffering. And he would be damned if he didn't move heaven or earth to help her keep her baby.
His mind settled and focused now that the choice was made, Matthew went out to join his family. He desperately needed to hug his little chap and kiss his wife.
Edith's bedroom, Downton Abbey, July 14th, 1922
It was easier said than done, though Edith ruefully, confronted with the blank paper sheet on her vanity table. How did one put such news into words?
Plainly and to the point, she decided grimly.
"Michael, my darling,
I have very important news to impart, news which I frankly should have shared with you long ago but couldn't find neither courage nor words.
Our wonderful night together has not remained without consequences. I am carrying your baby.
There. I wrote it. I'm so sorry it took me so long, darling, but I have been in such a panic over it all. Only Aunt Rosamund, Granny and Matthew know about it and I told none of them - they have all guessed the truth from different clues. Aunt Rosamund and Granny are offering for me to go abroad - they picked Switzerland - and allow me to have the baby quietly there and give it up to some nice, childless family. It's so very generous of them, and I am beyond grateful for their help and understanding - they have hardly scolded me for my recklessness - but darling, my heart breaks at the thought of giving up our baby. I barely know what else can be done. I cannot stand the thought of being ruined and shunned by society, and the child too. And yet I love you so and I love the baby we have created already, however impossible the circumstances. Matthew is the only one who understands my reluctance to follow through with this plan. In fact, he has promised his help in any way we may need it, but he insisted to know your thoughts and intentions first. He suggested a way may be found somehow for us to claim that the baby is our ward who we took in - that if we use some subterfuge, we can avoid giving them up permanently. I hardly dare to believe it, but if it was only possible! Please let me know what you think and whether you share his optimism or would advise sticking with Aunt Rosamund's solution, however painful it will be.
All my love,
Edith"
Now she had to post it and wait for a miracle.
Matthew's study, July 17th, 1922
When Carson informed Edith that Mr Gregson was on the phone for her, she told him she was going to take it in Matthew's study without hesitation. This was clearly not a conversation for the hall.
She walked there on trembling legs, trying to take courage from the fact that Michael must have called her as soon as he received her letter. She told Matthew that she had confidence in Michael – that she trusted him fully to do the right thing – but there was a small flutter of uncertainty, as much as she tried to squash it.
He wouldn't deny their baby... Would he?
His very first words put those awful fears to rest.
"I cannot express how sorry I am, my darling."
Edith could hear his regret and sincerity even over the crackling connection.
"Me too," she said, barely restraining tears. "We were apparently very reckless."
"Inexcusably so," said Michael heavily. "I never should have put you in such position in my circumstances... You know, you must know, that I intend to marry you as soon as I am free to do so. I will do everything in my power to hasten the proceedings."
"But it won't be in time, will it? It cannot be."
Michael was silent.
"No," he answered finally, his voice tortured. "It won't be possible."
He took a deep breath.
"Darling, I will do whatever you want in the meantime. If you want to give the baby up, I will support you in it, I promise. And if you're serious about keeping it – however difficult it will be – I will help you figure it all out. I am not a peer of the realm. It won't matter to me at all that our child won't be born legitimate, they are not going to be less loved or lose any inheritance over it. I only care about its impact on you."
"Thank you," said Edith feelingly. "I so hoped you will think so... Darling, I want to keep it. I don't know how – I am terrified at the thought of the scandal – but I cannot give the baby up if you want to keep it too. I just cannot. My heart would shatter in million pieces if I did."
"Mine too," said Michael quietly. "To think of a child, our child... Oh, darling, I know it is all wrong and I am so very sorry, but I am glad too when I think of it."
"Then what are we going to do?"
"Come to Germany," said Michael firmly. "Forget Switzerland. Nobody knows us here nor cares. There are barely any English here except for tourists coming for the nightclubs and we can keep far away from them. We can say you're my wife, the baby can be born here. Then, when I'm free, we will marry immediately, and I will adopt the child legally. We can come back to England already married. We can be vague on the date of our wedding, if anybody asks. Nobody has to know the details."
Edith thought she had never felt such temptation in her life. To be with Michael, even in Germany of all places, to raise their baby together as they were supposed to! But she knew it could hardly be so simple.
"What would my family say to explain my absence for so long?"
"Whatever they want. That you have joined your mother in America, probably."
But that would have meant that she would have to confess everything to mama, to ensure that she upholds the story. Edith shuddered at the thought. Her mama's voice, on the night Sybil had announced her intention to elope with Tom, rung in her ears: to live with him? Unmarried?!
What Michael proposed would have amounted to living in sin. To becoming, for all intents and purposes, his mistress. And as much as she was desperately tempted by it, all Edith's upbringing made her recoil from that term. Of course, she was already as fallen as she possibly could be... But to call it with its proper name made it so sordid, so lowering.
But what was the alternative? To give up their baby, who they created through their love, however wrong and forbidden it was? She meant it when she told Michael that her heart would shatter if she did it.
"I will have to think about it," she said. "And talk with those who know. Confess to Mama, if I have to, however much I dread the thought."
"Take as much time as you need, darling," said Michael solemnly. "I know that you are the one who has the most to lose here. Just be sure – be very sure – that I love you and I will stand by you. Whatever happens."