AN: This chapter (and so much of my writing about Anthony's shellshock, really) owes a debt of gratitude to the great Dorothy L. Sayers. Her Wimsey novels (especially 'Whose Body?' and 'The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club') are a masterclass in how to sensitively write about war trauma. Anything that you recognise (especially a lot of Anthony and Stewart's interactions here) is borrowed and tweaked from her.

Chapter The Thirteenth: In Which Shadows Of The Past Rear Their Heads

Wednesday 30th October 1918

"You must have been very late, last night," Edith commented over the breakfast table. "I didn't even realise you'd come home until I woke up this morning."

Across the table, Anthony's shoulders sank a little and Edith regretted the words immediately. "I'm not complaining, my dear. I only worry that you're overworking." She swallowed. "Ought I - we - be prepared for bad news? One never knows how much or how little store to set by what the newspapers are saying, these days - however much noise they're making about the Ottomans capitulating."

Anthony shook his head. "No, not bad news. Far from it. I can't say much, but… we have them on the run." He ran a hand over his face, looking thoroughly exhausted. "Just… a lot of information coming in, and a lot of orders going out." After a pause, he added, "I'll make things up to you, when everything calms down."

Edith squeezed his hand across the table. "I don't need you to. It's your job and - " Edith lowered her voice as Stewart opened the door with the tray of post. "And I'm so proud, my dear."

"The post, madam," Stewart announced, leaning down with the silver salver for his mistress, "and Lieutenant Finch has just arrived, sir."

"Thank you, Stewart." Rifling through the sizeable stack of letters, Edith wondered, in slightly distracted tones, "And is everything working out well, downstairs, do you think?"

"Very well, thank you, madam." Not, Edith thought, that Stewart would say anything else! "Will there be anything else, madam?"

"No, thank you." Edith checked her watch. "Only, do ask Lieutenant Finch if he'd like to step inside for some tea, Stewart." She smiled at Anthony. "We must do all we can for our serving officers, mustn't we?"

Lieutenant Finch was a gangly youth, with a shock of red hair valiantly trying to escape from underneath his uniform cap, a spread of freckles across his thin white face, and a bad stutter. "Th-thank you f-for inv-inviting me in, M-Mrs St-St-Strallan," he stammered as he sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Edith. Poor boy. Looks as if he should still be under the charge of a nice, sensible boarding school Matron, not in a uniform with lives depending on him!

"Not at all," she reassured him. "I know how much the Major is relying on your good sense and hard work just now, Lieutenant."

"Yes, well," Anthony said, slightly stiffly, "drink up, Finch, and we'll be on our way. Plenty to do." Finishing his own breakfast, he tried hard to ignore the startled look Edith was giving the side of his head.

After his tea, Finch went down to ready the motor, while Anthony collected his jacket and paperwork from the study. As he was locking the desk drawer again, he became aware of Edith watching him from the doorway, and looked up at her, eyebrows raised in question.

"Is everything all right?" she wondered. "Only, you… seemed a little sharp with Lieutenant Finch." Trying for a light, mischievous tone, she wondered, "Isn't he giving satisfaction?"

"He's my junior officer, Edith, not the third footman who's been caught goosing one of the housemaids." He was aware that his voice was too tight, too sharp - and was yet utterly unable to stop himself. After all, he'd done all this before - watching his wife smile across a table at a dashing, younger officer while his own life slid over a cliff-edge. Instead, he snapped, "And for another thing, he's twenty-three years old - he doesn't need to be coddled."

Edith drew herself up with such speed that it almost seemed as if she had shot to attention. "I wasn't aware that offering a man a cup of tea was coddling him!" Her voice shook - with hurt or rage, he didn't yet know her well enough to tell. "You said it yourself - his mother's in Dundee, and you were feeding him fish and chips not four months since." At Anthony's rough shrug, Edith persisted, "Anthony, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He exhaled tightly. "Edith, I've masses of work waiting at the office."

She watched him carefully as he rounded the desk, her face utterly expressionless. "Fine." As he met her at the door, her voice stopped him again. "Oh, by the way, there was a letter from your mother in the post."

As Edith hesitated, Anthony prompted, "Is everything well?"

"Yes, quite well, only… she's planning a birthday dinner for your father next week, and wondered if we'd be able to come. But since you're so busy…" Edith's hands were fiddling with her handkerchief, twisting it around her finger and back, and Anthony, with a shock of clarity as brief and painful as a lightning bolt, suddenly saw where this was leading. True enough, Edith pressed on, "Well, would it be easier if I went up to Locksley on my own?" As if seeking to excuse herself, she added, hastily, "I know they'd appreciate the help, and I feel a little as if I've… neglected them, since the wedding." Her faint smile flickered and faded. "I won't be g-gone long. A fortnight, perhaps."

Anthony's whole face, for a moment, felt numb - and then flamed red. In the space of a single meal, his whole life had started to feel as if it were spiralling out of his control. "No, of course you must go," he managed. Say 'no', his mind reminded him dully, and she won't come back at all. "Papa and Mama will love to see you, and at least one of us ought to try to make it up there. And you're right, with work as it is…"

"There, then." Edith shrugged. "As you say… you're so busy just now… you won't even notice I'm gone. Promise." Clumsily, she leaned in, hesitated, squeezed his elbow - and fled.

Five minutes' later, from the safety of her study, she heard the front door snap crossly behind him.

Edith wasn't generally a person given to sulking, or fuming. After all, as her father-in-law so often said, what was the use of wasting space in one's mind on someone or something that one disliked so much?

However, on this occasion, Edith was quite prepared to ignore such reasonable advice. Instead, she spent the morning pacing the study and replaying every moment of that horrid, stupid quarrel from that morning. All she had done was offer a cup of tea to one of Anthony's subordinates, after all. And he'd completely gone off the deep end.

There must be something behind it all, but Edith was damned if she could work it out. But then again, she and Anthony had been in each other's pockets so since the wedding, that perhaps it was only natural that these little problems would start to creep in.

So: "I think," Edith announced to Stewart as he brought in a mid-morning cup of tea for her, "that I'll hop on a train today, Stewart, so I can be at Locksley as soon as possible to help Lady Strallan." Was it her imagination, or had Stewart's face got a fraction colder, there, behind the impassive servant's mask he always wore? Seeking to explain herself - absolve herself, really - she added, "I'm sure that the Major is far too involved at the office for it to make much difference to him."

Stewart's eyes softened fractionally. "I… wouldn't say that, exactly, madam. But I shall book a seat on the train for you - would the quarter past two suit?"

"Yes, I think so. Would you mind terribly driving me to Kings Cross, Stewart?"

"Not at all, madam. Shall I telephone Locksley and make arrangements for you to be collected?"

"No, no." Almost under her breath, Edith added, "Sir Phillip would only worry." She smiled faintly at Stewart. "I shall just… turn up - my mother-in-law won't mind."

Stewart - thank God - returned the smile. "I'm quite sure not, madam."

Stewart drove as he did everything else in life: correctly, silently, and with absolute efficiency. Really, he was an absolute godsend. And if there were anyone who knew Anthony, really knew him, it was Stewart. So, Edith screwed her courage to the sticking place, and threw herself into the metaphorical abyss.

"I think the Major was rather… upset… when he left for the office this morning, Stewart," she confessed. "My fault entirely, of course but… I'd appreciate it if you would… keep an eye on him, while I'm away."

"Of course, madam." Stewart hesitated. "Madam, if I may say… I think the Major's behaviour this morning had rather more to do with… poor prior experiences than any present difficulties. If you see what I mean."

Oh. But whatever could have caused that? 'Poor prior experiences' with… marriage, perhaps? Not for the first time, Edith directed some rather nasty thoughts towards her predecessor. "I - I see." Then: "W-what was she like?" she wondered quietly. "The first Mrs Strallan?"

"Ah." Stewart looked at her seriously in the rear-view mirror. "Well, madam, I don't think - "

"Please, Stewart." She tried a smile, but it trembled. "You see, you're the only person I can ask. Lady Strallan wouldn't want to distress me, Sir Phillip wouldn't want to distress the Major. Mrs Dale would see it as a betrayal, Mrs Cox would be far too partisan, much as I love her."

"And me, madam?" There was a hint of a smile playing about Stewart's lips now, and it heartened her.

"I think that you're a pragmatist, Stewart, like me. You care about the Major very much, I know, and deep down, I think you're aware that if we've any chance of making a happy home for him, then… I need to know. You're the only person I can trust to give me the - the honest facts of the situation. Clearly, it wasn't a happy arrangement, and I would hate to do anything that - that inadvertently reminded the Major of memories he'd much rather forget." She bit her lip. "I fear that I already have, and I - I deeply regret it. I - I do care about him, you see. V-very much."

"Yes, ma'am. I quite see." Stewart's hands shifted on the steering wheel in his neat black driving gloves. "Can I speak plainly? I wouldn't like to cause offence - "

"No, of course not. You won't offend me, Stewart. Be as plain-spoken as you like."

"Thank you, ma'am." Carefully, he turned left at a junction and increased speed before continuing. "Well, what you need to understand about her first is…" Stewart hesitated, and then burst out, with quite uncharacteristic animation, "She was selfish, madam. Wanted everything her own way, and got… put out when that didn't happen."

"'P-put out'?" A horrid lump thunked into Edith's stomach.

"Giving the Major the cold shoulder," Stewart elaborated bluntly. "Tears and horrible tantrums. Storming back to her father's house at the drop of a hat. That sort of thing." He exchanged a meaningful look with Edith in the mirror again. "And the Major loved her so much that… well, he'd have gutted himself to keep her happy. Of course, he couldn't do anything right, by the end."

"I see." Edith knew that her face had gone quite pale. All she could think about was the first night of the honeymoon, when Anthony had been so worried and apologetic about the electricity, and so surprised at her reaction. Almost as if he'd expected her to be angry at him, or blame him. Stewart was watching her rather anxiously, she noted, so she swallowed and pressed on, "And… the final straw?"

"His injury. She didn't want to have to be bothered with it." Stewart's face showed very well what he thought of that. "And then there was Captain Lawrence." Stewart hesitated. "He worked with the Major, at the War Office, and the Major brought him home for dinner a few times, and the mistress, as was… took a shine to him. Shattered the Major's heart to smithereens."

Yet another piece of this horrid bloody puzzle clicked into place. Anthony, so cross that morning at the idea of Lieutenant Finch and she smiling at each other across the breakfast table… because he knew all too well what could happen if those smiles progressed into something more. No wonder he'd snarled at them both.

And yet there was something still missing. "But… he asked for the divorce…?"

Stewart nodded. "Yes, madam. He'd done nothing that'd've let her apply for one."

"No, of course not, but…" Edith swallowed. "Well, if he'd wanted to, they could have… arranged some sort of ruse between them, couldn't they?"

Stewart shrugged. "Perhaps. Anyway, ma'am, partly, I think he wanted her to be free, as quickly as possible, to be happy with Captain Lawrence." Yes, Edith thought sadly. That's exactly what he'd do. He'd do anything to keep the people he cares for happy.

"And…well, ma'am… Mrs Lawrence had a little boy, about three months after the divorce was finalised. About a month after she married the Captain." He had gone quite red about the back of his ears, Edith noted. "If you see what I mean. And the Major did have Locksley, and his parents, to think of."

"Y-yes, I quite see." He wouldn't shame his father by foisting an illegitimate child on the line. As if Pa would have cared a fig for any of it, as long as Anthony were happy! Edith could feel her hands curling up on themselves, nails digging into her palms in fury. "Th-thank you, Stewart. You've been… very helpful. I appreciate it."

Stewart was watching her with a worried expression. "I hope I haven't spoken out of turn, ma'am?"

"Not at all. Might I ask a favour, Stewart?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"If I ever speak or behave in a way that reminds you of - of that woman, might I rely on you to set me right, immediately?"

"Very good, ma'am." The valet smiled reassuringly at her. "Although… if I may say so, ma'am, I don't think it'll ever come to that."

"Thank you for your confidence, Stewart. I only hope it isn't misplaced."

Stewart pulled smoothly to a halt before the station, got out and came round to Edith's side of the car to open the door. "I'm quite sure it won't be, madam. Might I wish you a pleasant and safe journey?"

"Thank you, Stewart. Do - do look after the Major, while I'm gone."

And let's hope that he still wants me for a wife when I get back…!

Lady Strallan, as Edith had known she would, showed only pleasure in her unexpected arrival. "Edith, darling! How lovely!"

Edith kissed her mother-in-law's cheek. "Hello, Mama. I hope I'm not an inconvenience?"

"Not at all." Lady Strallan looked expectantly behind her, and then her face seemed to freeze a little, before she continued, "Oh, have we got you all to ourselves? Heavens, what a treat. Phillip will be so pleased, when he gets back from the farms." She squeezed Edith's arm as they moved from the hall into the library. "I was rather worried that Anthony would want to monopolise you, after the wedding - good to know that he's still happy to share."

"He's rather busy at the office just now, but he sends his love." And then, before Anne could say anything else, Edith had pressed on, "Now, how can I help with this party?"

Anne, God bless her, seemed to sense that Edith didn't want to talk any more about Anthony; she allowed the change of subject. "Oh, not so much a party - you know how awful Phillip is about society. Just a small dinner for some friends…"

"Good evening, Stewart." The Major sounded utterly exhausted, as Stewart helped to divest him of greatcoat and peaked cap on the doorstep.

"Good evening, sir. According to Mrs Skelvey, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. And…" Stewart hesitated and then pressed on, "Mrs Strallan left for Locksley this afternoon."

The Major seemed to freeze. "I - I see." He forced a smile. "Good, Stewart. I'm sure she'll be a great help to Lady Strallan. Did - did she get there s-safely, do we know?"

"Yes, sir," Stewart confirmed. "She telephoned about two hours ago to say she'd reached Locksley. Everyone in the best of health."

"Fine. In that case, I don't think I'll bother changing before dinner, Stewart." She didn't say she was going so soon, he thought hollowly. She preferred to telephone when I wasn't at home. And then, worse than anything: Perhaps she won't come back at all…

Sir Phillip was exceptionally pleased to see his daughter-in-law; at his warm embrace and the kisses he gave to both of her cheeks, Edith could feel her eyes welling with tears and she had to blot them discreetly on her sleeve before they parted.

But she knew by the thoughtful look in his eye that she hadn't quite escaped his notice. "Do you know, Mama, I'm rather tired from the train?" Edith lied. "I might just… go and lie down for half an hour or so, before dinner." Before either of her parents-in-law could say anything, she had walked very purposefully towards the library door and slipped out.

Phillip raised his eyebrows at his wife. "Have you asked her? Why she's not in London?"

"Of course not." Complacently, Anne added another round of stitches to the sock she was knitting, and consulted her pattern - quite unnecessarily, given the ridiculous number of the damned things she'd knitted over the last few years. Phillip had the distinct impression that she was trying to avoid catching his eye. "Obviously, she and Anthony have had some sort of fracas and she's run home to lick her wounds." At Phillip's worried look, she sighed. "Darling, it happens. Can you honestly say we never quarrelled, the first year we were married? It's… an adjustment, for everyone."

Phillip made a dark, disapproving noise in the back of his throat. "It isn't as if he hasn't done this before, though, is it? Married life? God, Nancy, I can't watch him… crumble again." Noisily, he exhaled. "Can't fail him again."

His wife stood up and went to kiss him. "You've never failed any of us. Least of all Anthony."

He sighed. "Didn't stop him from marrying Maude, though, did I? That was a failure." Nancy's hands were soft in his hair, but Phillip closed his eyes and hardened his jaw against the comfort. "I'm going to telephone him, after dinner. Find out what's happened, talk some sense into the lad."

"No, you are not," Anne replied sharply. "Phillip, I forbid you to interfere. This is something Anthony and Edith have to fix for themselves."

"But I - "

"No, Phillip." Anne hesitated, and then pushed on, "You can't smooth Edith's way for the rest of her life, my darling, much as you might like to. At some point, you just have to… stand back and let her right herself when she stumbles. The same goes for Anthony."

"Ah, perhaps you're right, my dear." Phillip opened his eyes and gave his wife an apologetic look. "I'm fussing, aren't I?"

"You care," Nancy corrected, perching on the arm of his armchair, "and I'll never fault you for that. But how would you have felt if your father had tried to give you advice on marriage?"

Phillip raised a single eyebrow. "Thoroughly astonished - not least because he'd been dead for ten years before we met…" And quite apart from that, he was no expert on the subject. Perhaps I'm not either…

Still, despite his promises to his wife, Phillip was not particularly inclined to leave everything to chance. After dinner, Nancy pled exhaustion and retired, and Phillip seized his chance. "Edith, my dear, come through and have a nightcap."

Obediently, Edith followed him through to the library, looking, he thought, rather shifty. Just like Diana, when she was fifteen and hoped I wouldn't notice that she'd been dipping into the wine cellar on the sly…

All he said, however, was, "So, Anthony's chained to his desk, Nancy says?"

Edith sank cautiously into the sofa, twisting her head to keep her eye on him as she did so. "Mmm."

Sir Phillip poured them both small glasses of whisky and put the stopper back into the decanter with more than usual force. "Not neglecting you, is he, m'dear?"

Edith received her glass from him with an old-fashioned look. "N-not at all. He's serving his country, as well you know, Pa."

Her father-in-law raised his eyebrows into his glass. "And far be it from me to argue with the wife of a serving officer." He twitched up the legs of his trousers and sat down opposite her. "Nancy and I are so used to seeing you as a young slip of a thing that it's quite the surprise to turn around and see what a formidable woman you've grown into." In his kind, serious voice, it sounded like the nicest thing anyone could say.

"If I have," Edith half-protested, "it's entirely your fault, Pa."

"I am going to take that very much as a compliment." He squeezed her hand. "Have you… heard from your parents at all, recently?"

"Not since Mary and Richard's party. My mother seems as if she might want some sort of… reconciliation, but… I think I've rather burned all my bridges with my father." Edith took a long draught from her tumbler. "University was one thing, marrying Anthony was quite another."

"Fathers. Odd creatures, aren't we?" Phillip drained his glass, shaking his head as he stared into the smouldering coals in the grate. "I'm sorry, m'dear."

"Don't be. I'm very grateful to you, for trusting me with Anthony's happiness." And for giving me a proper family, for the very first time…

Phillip chuckled. "I think the general idea was to entrust him with your happiness. But can I assume that… you're rubbing along together all right? Despite his work?"

"Yes. More than that, in the general way of things." Edith finished her drink as the hall clock chimed the hour. "Anyway, Pa, I really ought to turn in - or I'll be no use whatsoever to Mama tomorrow!" As she passed his seat, she leant down briefly and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my dear. God bless you."

John Stewart was a light sleeper at the best of times, and working for Major Strallan, especially the Major as he had been since he'd returned from the Front, had only exacerbated that. So, when the shouting started that evening, it was only the work of a moment to slide from his bed, struggle into a dressing gown, and step across the corridor. With the mistress away, Stewart had thought that sleeping a little closer to the master might be pertinent.

He was thoroughly disappointed to have been proven correct.

In the bed, the Major was thrashing and crying out. In the throes of his nightmare, the sheets had tangled around his legs, pinning him down. "Sir?" Stewart said firmly, bending over the side of the bed. "Sir! Wake up, sir…"

When the Major's eyes flicked open, they were glazed and unfocused with panic. "Stewart? Stewart!" He grabbed his man's arm, tight enough to bruise. "Can't you hear them?"

"Sir?" Lord, and I thought we were done with all this…!

"The guns, Stewart," the Major choked out. "God, the bloody Boche are shelling us to Hell - "

Stewart helped the Major to sit up - carefully, avoiding the injured shoulder. "No, sir - only our guns, returning fire. I promise, sir," he pressed, and watched as the Major's eyes slowly started to regain some clarity. "L-let me take you along to the next dug-out, sir, and fetch you some cocoa…"

The telephone rang just as Stewart was drifting off. The Major had drunk his cocoa, and fallen asleep again in front of the hastily-stoked library fire; Stewart had tucked a blanket around him and left him there, rather than wake him to go back to a proper bed. The sheets (horribly mussed and sweat-soaked) needed changing in any case, so he'd dealt with that, letting the calming, repetitive task of tucking and smoothing and plumping reassure him.

It didn't look as if they would need to call Dr Hunter - not for now, anyway - and none of the rest of the house had been roused from sleep by the commotion. And the Major hadn't been so badly off that Stewart had thought it wise to suggest any relief of the medicinal sort. In short, things were about as good as they could be, given the circumstances. Around five in the morning, having checked on the Major one final time, Stewart had returned to his own bed.

And now the blasted telephone.

Still, Stewart took a deep breath and straightened the lapel of his dressing gown before picking up the receiver. "The Strallan residence, this is Stewart, Major Strallan's man speaking."

The voice which replied was the very last one Stewart had been hoping to hear. "Hello, Stewart - Mrs Strallan here. Is my husband at home? I know it's fearfully early, I hoped to catch him before he left for the office…" It was, by Stewart's watch, not even six o'clock. Clearly, the mistress was sleeping as poorly as the master. There was comfort to be had there, he supposed, albeit of the decidedly chilly sort.

"I'm s-sorry, madam," Stewart managed, striving for a light, polite tone. "The Major is… rather preoccupied with work matters at present." Not a lie, he tried to convince himself. Just not the whole truth…

Still, he felt rather sorry when Mrs Strallan replied; she sounded thoroughly disappointed, and lost to boot. "O-oh. I see. Already at the office at this hour?"

There was a long, pregnant pause, and then Stewart managed, rather stiffly, "Yes, madam."

Another long pause. Quite frankly, Stewart was on the verge of breaking down and confessing - and hang the consequences! - when Mrs Strallan sighed and said, rather quietly, "W-well, when he gets in this evening, do… give him my best regards."

"Of course, madam. Good day." Stewart set the receiver down, and went to check on his master.

Phillip Strallan's ninety-third birthday, three days' later, dawned crisp and cold and bright, with the mist lifting off the hills and fields like clouds, split with golden autumn sunlight. Edith, waking up mournfully alone in Anthony's childhood bedroom, felt her spirits lift at the sight. Even if everything else was falling apart around her, she still had a home as lovely as Locksley.

So: "Happy birthday, Pa!" she beamed at her father-in-law over the breakfast table. "Come through to the library, and let me give you your present…"

Phillip kissed both of her cheeks, holding tightly to her hands. "Thank you, my dear." And then, as they entered the library, he stopped at the sight of a large black case resting on his desk. "Now, what's this?"

"A typewriter." Edith began lifting the case off the thing, chattering away over her shoulder as she did so. "I thought, with your handwriting as it is, you might like it. You know, for letters and so on." Aiming for casual, she added, "I - I know Anthony would like to hear from you, occasionally." Even if I've upset him awfully enough that he doesn't even want to speak to me, perhaps I can still help to fix this problem!

"Nancy writes to him every week," her father-in-law temporised. "Used to be twice, or more, when he was at school - or at the Front. He doesn't need me… fussing around him too."

"It isn't fussing." Edith squeezed his arm, resting her head against his shoulder. "I know he… appreciates your advice."

"Does he really?" Phillip raised his eyebrows and looked at Edith over the tops of his spectacles. "He won't even live in a house owned by me. My dear, you're his wife now, so I won't beat around the bush: Anthony and I don't seem to agree on the colour of the sky these days."

Edith turned and propped herself against his desk. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disagree with you, Pa." As Phillip bent his head to examine the typewriter more closely, avoiding her eye, she pressed on, "You raised him with excellent principles - you made him the man he is today - and I know that he respects and admires you for it. And… I know an Englishman wouldn't use these words, but he loves you too." It wasn't hard to guess, after all: when Anthony rolled his eyes at Modernist poetry, or cheered the passage of a law in the Commons, or spoke about Locksley… all of it was his father. Sometimes, Edith believed that if she closed her eyes, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them at all.

"My dear - "

Edith held up a hand. "No, listen, Pa. Anthony loves you, but I think… that he blames himself for the divorce, and he thinks you blame him too, and he's ashamed." She swallowed away tears. "He thinks you're ashamed of him. So as his wife, and your daughter, I'm telling you that I won't sit by and watch the two of you carry on holding each other at arms' length." You're ninety-three, Pa. Who knows how much time we have left with you? The mere thought of it was a crack through her already-fragile heart, but the idea of watching Anthony grieve a bond that he hadn't been able to mend was even worse.

For a moment, there was silence. Phillip removed his spectacles and buffed the lenses carefully on his handkerchief, before replacing them on his nose. Edith wondered, briefly, if he had drawn the same conclusion she had, a moment ago. "You understand him so well," he marvelled quietly, shaking his head. "You've known him for less than a year, and you've… cut right into the heart of him, haven't you?"

Edith turned away, dabbing under her eyes with her own handkerchief. "I wouldn't say that. But I certainly want to, eventually."

Phillip's arm was warm and comforting around her shoulders. "And you aren't going to let this go either, are you, you minx?"

Edith snuffled out a weepy chuckle. "No chance, Pa. I l- - I care about you both too much to do that."

"I see." Interesting, that little slip. Well, let's not pretend that it isn't the outcome we hoped for, when they wed. "So why are you hiding away up here, rather than down in London with him, then, my girl?"

Edith didn't even bother to dispute the term 'hiding.' Wasn't she, after all? "We had a little… falling-out," she confessed, "and Mama had written, inviting us… and I thought a few days apart might… do us good. We've been in each other's pockets so, since the wedding." At Phillip's frown, she hastened to reassure him: "It was all my fault, I promise." You'd be so cross, with both of us, if you knew just how much, Pa!

Still, her father-in-law frowned. "I very much doubt that."

Edith shook her shoulders straight, trying to look and sound like Mary at her most coolly forbidding. "Well, you can't be right all the time, Pa, and this is one time when you're definitely wrong."

Phillip looked decidedly doubtful, but to his credit, he didn't press her. Just another way that you and Anthony are alike, I suppose! Edith thought. "So what caused this 'falling-out', then?" he wondered. "And is there anything I can do to… smooth the waters?"

Edith smiled fondly. "Tell me honestly: if you and Mama had quarrelled, would you tell me what it was about?"

He raised a rather severe eyebrow. "No - but only because Nancy and I never quarrel."

"I don't believe that for a second, Pa. In any case, there are some things in a marriage that should stay… just between the people involved, I think." Edith exhaled, a little shakily. "And this is one of them."

Tuesday 5th November, 1918

Anthony had almost forgotten what it was to have every part of one's body ache at once: his head, his shoulder, his feet. His heart. The only bright spot in the day was the fact that, once again, the ongoing war meant that there would be none of the usual fireworks displays for Guy Fawkes Night that one might have ordinarily expected. All Stewart needs is my losing my head for the third time this week! The freezing November weather was bad enough, without adding in explosions and flashing lights to the mix. Anthony fumbled with his door key, missing the lock three times before he managed to slot it home and let himself in.

The hall light bathed him in gold, and the radiators were going full blast; Anthony felt the warmth soaking into him even through his coat as he groped behind him to shut out the damp evening.

And then he heard something which was at once more wonderful than light and heat, and more terrible than fireworks: Edith's voice from the library door, saying, quietly, "Hello."

All the air quite went out of him in a rush. His knees felt suddenly like custard, badly-set. "Edith," he exhaled. "You're home. I - I wasn't expecting - " Panic smacked him in the gut almost before he could remember why this might be a cause for it, and he took three lurching, unsteady steps forwards, interrupting himself to blurt out, "Is something wrong? Mama and Papa - "

" - Are in perfect health and only sorry you've been so busy." His wife was smiling a little sheepishly as she reached out to give him a shy hug, and it wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Tears, perhaps. Shouting, almost certainly. Reproaches, definitely. But smiles and embraces? Whatever was going on?

Slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop, Anthony's arm folded around her back; Edith nestled against him and let out a sigh that sounded as if she were expelling decades worth of air. "There's what I've been missing."

"It's only been a week," he shrugged, sounding rather diffident, and Edith looked up at him, meeting his eyes clearly and honestly - and… apologetically?

"A week too many," she protested, "especially when we'd parted on such a cross note." Her hand slid under his coat to touch his sling, and the arm beneath. Her voice shook as she added, "I'm so sorry."

He could have wept. He could have fallen to his knees and sobbed at those words. Instead, Anthony cleared his throat and replied, "It wasn't your fault. I - " He swallowed rawly and forced himself to press on. If Edith could offer such a forthright, honest apology, the least he could do was the same. "I was letting… things that happened in the past affect the present."

Edith nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Come and sit down, Anthony. You look done for." As she led him towards the library, she murmured, "All of this, with Lieutenant Finch, is… about Maude, isn't it?"

He sank onto the sofa without even bothering to take off his greatcoat first, and stared blankly around him: Edith's latest read, Strachey's Eminent Victorians; a half-drunk cup of coffee; the crackling fire in the grate… It was all so light and domestic, nothing like him at all. Edith was watching him gravely from the other end of the sofa, and he felt he had to say something.

"When she… before the divorce… Edith… The man she… Edith, he was my…" He couldn't continue, couldn't quite force the words out, could only cast pleading eyes on his wife and pray she would understand.

"He… was your junior officer. I know." Edith chewed anxiously on her lip. "I b-bullied the whole story out of Stewart, about how rotten she was to you, and how she carried on with C-Captain Lawrence - and I won't say that I'm sorry for doing it, because I'm not." At Anthony's look of shock, she shrugged, "I did promise you honesty, didn't I?" Despite this declaration, she did sound somewhat contrite as she added, "It… it was an unconscionable invasion of your privacy, I know, but from what Stewart says, I needed to know about it all. So th-there." Her hand crept across the sofa, palm up, open for his touch, and if his eyes had been pleading a moment ago, Edith's were even more so now.

Anthony settled his fingers between hers before he had even thought about it.

"My dear, you're absolutely right. I ought to have told you myself in the first place, and in any case, it isn't your fault at all that I can't distinguish between fact and jealousy gone thoroughly mad." He stopped, gritting his teeth. "I should never have… made such rotten assumptions."

"And I should have stopped and wondered why my perfectly rational and reasonable husband suddenly seemed so jealous." She slid closer to him along the sofa, lifting their joined hands to her mouth to kiss. "Darling, I promise… he's an infant. Added to which, I'm already married to someone I happen to find very attractive, in several different ways. But if you'd prefer me not to invite Lieutenant Finch in again - or any other of your junior officers - then I shan't. I'd never want to hurt you, you know."

"No, no, of course not." To his surprise, Anthony realised that it was true. Funny. I never thought that possible. He gave her a shaky smile. "It was foolish of me to think that I couldn't trust you. The poor lad is on his own, after all." He swallowed, and offered, "We… ought to invite him to dinner, when Sybil comes to stay, perhaps. And a few others."

Edith's face melted with relief and affection. "That's a lovely idea." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, easy and warm. "Now, do excuse me - I must just go and powder my nose before we eat." And then, at the door, "Heavens, it's good to be home."

"Goodnight, my dear," Edith smiled as he slid cautiously into the bed next to her, and she turned off the bedside lamp.

He'd tried to stave her off, honestly he had - tried to claim that he still had some work to complete in the study, so that he might go to sleep in the dressing room and avoid disturbing her - but Edith had flatly refused to listen. "Nonsense. Darling, it's ten o'clock already, and you'll be up at cock-crow. And," she added, looking severely at the shadows under Anthony's eyes, "I don't think you've had a particularly restful week."

So he'd really had no choice. After all, the very last thing he wished to do was hurt her by a refusal, make her think that perhaps he hadn't forgiven her (as if there were anything to forgive in the first place!). He'd wait until she'd drifted off, sleeping the sleep of the blameless, as always, and then slip away to the dressing room. In the morning, he'd claim he'd simply risen early and hadn't wanted to wake her.

It was all for the best. After all, if he stayed - if she woke in the night to one of his nightmares - she'd never want to share a bed with him again. What woman would?

They lay down together. Edith shuffled over and curled up next to him under the blankets, resting her head on his uninjured shoulder as usual and spreading her hand across his chest. Anthony felt her sigh sleepily against him and lifted his own hand to rest on her hair. It was soft and sweet-smelling and Edith's body was warm against his, against himself, he found his own eyes drifting closed.

Perhaps just five minutes. That can't hurt, surely?

When next he woke, to his utter shock, daylight was filtering in through the curtains. He glanced down at Edith's still-sleeping face and the corners of his eyes burned. With gratitude? With affection? With stupid, bloody, blind adoration? Who knew?

Bitterness chased the thought. Wonderful. So pathetically dependent on her that I can't even sleep when she's away…

"Mmmm," Edith murmured and her eyelids fluttered open, her mouth curving to offer him a sleepy, altogether too contented, smile. "Morning kiss. Please?"

When he reached home the next night, it was to that same smile, albeit a little more awake this time. The kiss, too, was the same, if a little more lingering. "What would you say," she asked, her arms twined about the back of his neck to hold him close, "to dinner and the opera this evening?"

Her beaming, hopeful face made it very clear what she wanted his answer to be. So Anthony shoved away the exhaustion of the day and kissed her cheek again. "That sounds lovely. I'll just fetch myself a drink, and then be up."

"Jolly good. I'll go first, and be out of yours and Stewart's way." With a final kiss, they parted in the hallway.

Edith lingered a little over changing: the dress was satin, in a lovely shade of rust, cut in the modern way with thin straps and a rather daringly low neckline and it suited her, if she did say so herself. Doubtless, her father would be shocked. She certainly hoped that Anthony's reaction would be quite different.

When she reentered the library, however, her husband was stretched out on the sofa, shoes still on, greatcoat undiscarded, hat tilted down over his eyes. He'd quite clearly fallen asleep as soon as he had sat down.

Well, of course he would! Edith, you ninny! Surely she was the stupidest creature, to think that after a long day at the office, he'd be remotely up to gallivanting about the town with her. She tiptoed to the door and, peering out, caught sight of Stewart crossing the hall. "Stewart?" she whispered, stepping out and shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Madam?"

"Would you please telephone and cancel our arrangements for this evening?" At Stewart's concerned look, she hastened to explain, "The Major is quite clearly exhausted, and I don't want to drag him out again when he's in need of a restful evening."

"Of course, madam. Might I suggest dinner on trays in the library?"

"Perfect. Do apologise to Mrs Skelvey for the extra work we're creating. Something quick will be quite all right - soup, hot sandwiches, whatever she thinks best."

Stewart inclined his head politely. "Very good, madam."

This accomplished, Edith returned to the library. Quietly, she drew the curtains and switched on the table lamp. Anthony shifted in his sleep, snored a little, and Edith went to him. "My dear?" she murmured, laying a gentle hand to his wrist, and he jerked awake, dislodging his hat as he blinked owlishly up at her.

"Mmm? Oh… Edith." He dragged his hand roughly down his face. "Sorry. I must have… drifted off." Eyes widening, he lurched up to a sitting position. "Good Lord, what time is it?" He rummaged in his pocket for his watch.

"Time for you to go and change into something more comfortable than an Army uniform before Mrs Skelvey serves us dinner on trays in here, after which you will get an early night." As Anthony opened his mouth to protest, Edith interrupted, "Wife's orders."

"But… what about the opera?" Anthony wondered, bewildered. "And the dinner reservations?"

"Stewart's cancelling them as we speak. We can rearrange. I'm much more concerned about you dropping off into a plate of soup at this moment, quite frankly." As Anthony hauled himself out of the sofa, Edith reached up to brush a curl of hair out of his face. Anthony's eyes flickered closed at her touch.

"I am sorry about the opera," he whispered, eyes still closed. Let her down again, haven't you? But then, where wives are concerned, you've made rather a habit of it…

The next thing he felt, however, was Edith's mouth pressing softly against his cheek. "No apology necessary. Really. I'd be a monster to ask for one." Anthony allowed his eyes to open and meet hers. "I'm sorry," Edith finished quietly, "to have thought that you'd want to be dragged out to socialise after a hard day at the office."

There was a knock at the door, and by the time Stewart had entered, Edith was two feet away, tidying some magazines at her desk. Anthony's skin still burned with her kiss. "I've taken the liberty of running you a bath, sir," the valet announced. "And Mrs Skelvey has asked me to tell you that dinner will be half an hour, madam - soup and sandwiches, as requested."

"Thank you, Stewart," both of his employers answered at once. With a private grin, Stewart noted that they were now wearing identical blushes too.

Far from the simple supper Anthony had been expecting, Mrs Skelvey had produced a veritable feast: game pie, a decanter of wine, cold cuts, soup, three different kinds of sandwiches, and half a cold blackberry pie. Edith piled his plate high and poured him a glass of wine before arranging everything on the coffee table in front of them.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence, and then: "Content?" Anthony asked, as they set aside their trays and relaxed back into the sofa.

"Perfectly, thank you," Edith replied gently. Then, more quietly: "You ask me that so very often."

Anthony avoided her eye in favour of stoking up the fire with a few rough thrusts of the poker. She hadn't changed back out of her satin finery, and with her bare arms and that shockingly alluring neckline, he didn't want her catching cold. "Well… I made rather a hash of being a husband the first time around. I wouldn't like a… repeat performance."

"What happened?" she wondered quietly, and he wondered which precise bit of the whole bally mess she was talking about.

Bitterly, too bluntly for the situation, he bit out, "I was oblivious and foolish."

"That can't be all of it, surely," Edith protested. "There must have been something - "

"Oh, but there wasn't. Truly - whatever tosh Stewart thought fit to feed you." At her faintly hurt expression, he sighed and forced a lighter note into his voice. "And now, I think I'll get that early night." He paused on his way past and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. "Goodnight, my dear."

"Yes. Goodnight. I - I won't be long."