Chapter the Seventeenth: In Which Demons Are Faced

"Edith, Strallan." Lord Grantham didn't seem so much… disapproving this time as… distracted, Anthony thought, as they all went through the motions of greeting each other. Perhaps the time and the distance had been good for everyone concerned - he certainly didn't want Edith to be permanently estranged from her family, after all, not on his account. Besides (he thought, rather uncharitably) with Lady Mary's wedding presumably getting closer (not that a firm date seemed to have been set yet), perhaps Grantham and his pursestrings were feeling rather grateful that his middle daughter had chosen a very quiet, economical affair for her own wedding. Lady Mary, he had a feeling, would want something altogether different for her own. Lady Grantham, too, looked tireder and less… glittering, somehow, than she usually did. Perhaps not the wedding, then? Anthony's brain filed that away for later perusal.

"Edith! Anthony!" Sybil threw herself at them, utterly uncaring of the other guests. Edith laughed as Anthony, thoroughly surprised, caught his sister-in-law before she tripped over the hem of her gown and obediently presented his cheek to be kissed.

Releasing Anthony, Sybil swooped on Edith next. "Darling, thank you so much for the lovely birthday present. I'm getting the hang of it already."

"You're most welcome," Edith beamed, although the bicycle, Anthony was pleased to say, had been his idea. What, after all, could be a better gift for an independently-minded young lady, whose employment sent her out and brought her home at odd hours of the day and night?

Clearly, Lord Grantham disagreed. He roused himself from his silence to interrupt, "Until, that is, Sybil falls and breaks her neck. I'm not at all sure your mother and I were right in letting her keep it in the first place."

"Papa," Sybil sighed.

Edith looked to her mother for appeal. "Women have been cycling for decades, now. It's hardly the most dangerous thing Sybil could be doing - and besides, it must be so much easier for Sybil to get to and from the hospital, isn't that right, Mama?"

Lady Grantham smiled a little distractedly at her daughters - Sybil looking hopeful, Edith almost demanding. "Well, with the War over now, I don't know for how much longer the hospital will need Sybil, anyway. And I'm sure your Papa would only do what he thinks is best, for Sybil's safety, Edith."

"Quite right, Lady Grantham." Still, Anthony smiled reassuringly at his sister-in-law. "But my father bought my mother a safety bicycle himself, when they first came on to the market - and that was over thirty years' ago."

Edith's hand found his, glad for the support he was offering Sybil in that moment. "And, whatever else you might think about Sir Phillip, Papa," she smiled at her father, "you must agree that he always regards Lady Strallan's welfare as being of paramount importance."

Lord Grantham let out a noise that sounded something like a horse deprived of a full bag of oats. "Well, I see that I shan't win, so I won't prolong an unprofitable quarrel." Somewhat ominously, as he turned away, he added, "I only hope that we won't be made to regret this."

Sybil rolled her eyes, and Edith squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Never mind, darling. Now that things are quietening down, you must come and stay, just as we planned."

"Whenever I like?" Sybil wondered impishly.

Anthony broke in, in more amused tones than Edith had heard since Armistice Day: "Of course, my dear. And if we decide it's not a good time, we simply won't open the door."

Sybil giggled. "Oh, it's a deal!"

Edith looked around. "Where's Mary? Not like her to miss the start of a party." Not that she really minded: in her view, any room devoid of Mary was automatically more pleasant than one containing her.

"Oh, she's arriving with some friends - don't ask me who they are," Sybil sighed.

But Anthony, looking past them both, had gone suddenly, thoroughly pale. He swayed on his feet, and Edith saw the sweat standing out on his forehead. "They're…" he managed, "they're - "

"Lady Mary Crawley, and Captain and Mrs Peter Lawrence," Sir Richard's man intoned at the doorway.

Surely, surely, she must have slipped into a nightmare. That was the only way Edith could have imagined such a scenario: Anthony, looking as if, at any minute, he were going to keel over in the face of - God in Heaven - his ex-wife.

Sybil was staring between them all, her face creased with concern. And then, with a briskness that Edith associated much more with Nurse Crawley than with Lady Sybil, she hooked her hand into Anthony's arm and said, "Come and sit down, my dear. Edith, a glass of water?" She whisked him away, through the drawing room door, and into the parlour beyond. Edith watched them go for a moment, and then, against herself, turned her gaze on to… well, on to her.

Her predecessor was… horribly beautiful. Older than Edith by about five years, she managed to look so much more attractively mature than Edith herself had ever hoped to, with russet-brown hair, expertly curled and pinned into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck. Her mouth was sinfully full, and her skin glowed in the candlelight. By anyone's standards, she would be a stunning woman - and yet, there was something… a sharpness to her jaw, or the careless way she laughed at something her - her husband had just said… Edith shook herself. She couldn't tell whether her first opinion of Maude Lawrence was an accurate one, or whether her opinion was simply clouded with all the knowledge she already had of her.

Not that it actually mattered, with Anthony - Anthony, who fretted himself to ribbons over everything; Anthony, who thought so little of himself! - in the next room, being soothed by Sybil and quite possibly working himself up into a relapse.

What in God's name were they even doing here? Her mind was scrambling to gather its scattered wits together, as she made for the servant holding the tray of drinks. Thanking God that her soon-to-be brother-in-law rarely drank alcohol in company, preferring to keep his own wits awake around his guests, Edith took a glass of iced water from the tray and turned to go to Anthony.

Mary was in her path - and Mrs Lawrence stood right next to her. Until that moment, Edith realised, she had assumed that all of this was some horrid mistake - an awful error on Mary's part. Embarrassing and unfortunate in its consequences, but not actively malicious.

Until that moment, when she saw the smirk lurking in her older sister's eyes.

For the second time in as many minutes, her stomach lurched sickly. Whatever had she been thinking? This was Mary. Of course it was malicious. Edith just hadn't realised that the malice could be this rotten.

"Hello, Edith," Mary said - and her voice sounded completely normal, even warm! "Didn't I see Anthony a moment ago?" She gestured to her companion. "He could have introduced you to Mrs Lawrence. Maude, your successor, my younger sister."

Maude made a show of looking Edith up and down. Edith was used to such looks. After all, in that lone Season that she'd endured, before she'd escaped to university, she'd seen enough of them. "This is Lady Edith, Lord Grantham's odd-fish second daughter. You know."

Maude smiled. "Really, you should be congratulated," she chuckled. "I didn't think anyone would be brave enough to take Anthony on for the second time - not to mention his parents! You must be thoroughly exhausted, Lady Edith!"

The hated, discarded title shook Edith back to her senses. The trickle of condensation down the glass of water prompted an unladylike urge to toss it at one - or both - of the women in front of her.

Do use your head, darling girl, Pa's voice scolded. Whatever would Anthony drink then? Besides, the best revenge is living well, not having silly little tantrums in drawing rooms…

"It's Mrs Strallan, actually," she corrected, pleased at how steady her voice sounded. "And, as for exhausted… I'm afraid we must be talking about quite different families, Mrs Lawrence. Or, perhaps, quite different marriages. Do excuse me."

Inside the parlour, she found Anthony sitting down on the sofa, with his head between his knees, Sybil - knelt at his side - rubbing his left hand. "That's it, my dear," she was murmuring soothingly, and Edith felt a flash of ridiculous jealousy at that, that it was Sybil calming him, Sybil stealing her role. "You've had a shock, that's all, and all the blood's gone out of your head. You'll stop feeling so woozy in a minute, I promise." She glanced behind her at Edith's entrance, and an expression of relief suffused her pretty face, making Edith remember how young she truly was, and how unprepared for such a situation. She rose to her feet as Edith hurried towards them, saying as she did so, "And here's Edith with something cold to drink."

Anthony lifted his head and met Edith's eyes. His own were red and apologetic. "Thank you," he croaked, and the ice clinked in the glass as he took it with a shaking hand.

Edith pressed a kiss to the top of his head, as Sybil, business-like again now that the cavalry had arrived, took his pulse. "Still racing a little," she observed. "What happened?"

Over the sound of Anthony sipping gratefully at his water, Edith explained, "Mary thought it would be a good joke to confront us with Anthony's ex-wife."

Sybil's eyes flashed righteous fire. "Really, she can be the upper limit, can't she? His ex-wife?"

"And the man for whom she left me," Anthony finished. "If you'll pardon the vulgar expression."

Sybil huffed impatiently. "Anthony, I nurse wounded soldiers for a living - if you'd truly like to shock me, you shall have to use more vulgar words than that."

I could give you a few for starters, Syb! Edith thought. Out loud, however, all she said was, "Could you go and ask Richard's man to bring our car around, please?"

"Of course, darlings. I'm so sorry."

Edith went to sit next to Anthony on the sofa, slipping her hand inside his sling to stroke up and down the wounded arm. She said nothing - there were no words that would make any of this better, and she feared that if she tried, she'd only end up misstepping. Besides, from Anthony's face, she thought all he needed at this moment was silent, loving comfort.

Unfortunately, the silence did not last for long. There was a quiet tap on the door and then, before either of them could reply, Lady Grantham entered. "Edith? Sybil says you and Anthony are leaving."

Edith rose and went to the door, preventing her mother from coming any closer to Anthony. "Yes," she agreed quietly, "we're leaving."

Her mother's eyebrows lifted in surprise and she gave the exasperated huff of laughter that Edith had been hearing all her life. "All because of a silly, badly-judged joke?" she wondered.

If it had just been herself - her own happiness - at stake, Edith would have given way. She knew, because she'd been doing that all her life. But Anthony was at her back, halfway across the room, and it was that knowledge that made her say, very steadily, "It isn't a joke. Mary, at least, was being deadly serious."

"Edith, really - "

"Please don't, Mama. I shan't quarrel with you."

Cora shook her head sadly. "If you walk away now, it's only giving Mary the satisfaction of knowing she's irritated you."

Edith took her mother's arm and guided her out of the room. Anthony didn't need to hear any more of this nonsense. In an angry undertone, Edith hissed, "She hasn't irritated me, Mama. Far from it." She exhaled, trying to calm her voice, and continued, "Mary and I have never got along, and I've done my fair share of rankling her in the past. I'll admit that. But Anthony? Anthony's done nothing to deserve what she did to him tonight. And I won't go along with the pretence that any of it was even remotely acceptable."

Her mother gaped. There was no other word for it. Edith half-wondered what she was going to say next - whether she'd be able to manage anything at all - and then:

"Edith?" Sybil appeared at her shoulder. "The car's ready."

"Thank you, Sybil darling." Coolly, Edith kissed her mother's cheek. "Goodnight, Mama."

In the car, Anthony stared blankly out of the window. Gently, across the gearstick, Edith touched his arm, finally breaking the silence. "Anthony? Darling…" Please, look at me. Please, forgive me for putting you in the middle of that… nest of vipers...

"Mmm." Eventually, Anthony turned his head, and in the light of passing street-lamps, Edith could see that he was gaunt and pale. "I'm… so sorry for spoiling dinner, my dear."

"You didn't spoil anything." Edith's hands clenched around the steering wheel. "Mary did by inviting that woman and her hound of a husband!"

When Anthony replied, it almost seemed as if he hadn't heard her at all. "I'll be better prepared for it next time," he promised. "If the Lawrences run in Mary's circle, I - "

"If they do," Edith interrupted with asperity, "then I'll make it clear to Mama that we won't make an appearance at any function to which the Lawrences have been invited. At the very least."

She drew to a halt outside the mews building which backed onto their street. At some point over the last twenty or so years, the stables that would have once been here had all, slowly but surely, been converted into garages for cars. Anthony went to unlock and push open the heavy doors, standing back as Edith drove the car inside. She switched off the engine, and came to help him shut the doors. There was a single electric light bulb which illuminated the garage, but with the doors shut, the light it cast was dim and flickering. "You don't have to do all that," Anthony murmured. "I'm - I'm sorry I let you down."

"Anthony." Edith went up on her tiptoes to cup his face between her hands. "Anthony, darling, there is nothing you could possibly do to let me down. Least of all this." She sniffed and he realised her hands were shaking against his face. "If anything, it's me letting you down, by saddling you with a pack of in-laws who are positively certifiable."

Anthony pulled her close, tucking her inside his dinner jacket. His chest was warm, and Edith nestled into the smell of pipe smoke and peppermints and paper and the sandalwood of his cologne. "Well, Sybil's rather nice," he protested. "And you haven't met my Aunt Judith yet…"

"Oh, you…!" Edith dragged his mouth down to hers for a kiss. Anthony tasted of salt and adrenaline, and they were both weeping, weeping and laughing at the same time.

"A pleasant evening, sir, madam?" Stewart asked as they tumbled in through the back door of the house, into the downstairs passage. His face betrayed no shock at such uncouth behaviour, but Edith couldn't miss the surprise in his voice at the sight of them.

"No, Stewart," Anthony replied, cheerfully. "It was utterly foul. Do bring us some tea in the library, there's a good chap."

Across London, however, another couple were having a far less enjoyable evening.

"I don't know why you're making such a thing of it!" Mary protested, in a voice that sounded almost whining. "If Edith and Anthony can't be adults - "

"Adults?" Richard snarled, knocking back his tumbler of whisky. He'd poured it directly after the other guests, along with Mary's parents, had left, only ten minutes or so ago. Really, it was a miracle that they'd manage to carry off dinner as well as they had: Mary was surprised at Richard's restraint, quite honestly. Now, he turned eyes that snapped fire at her as he continued, "You choose to invite Strallan's ex-wife to a dinner in order to punish Edith for a compliment she didn't even know she was receiving, months ago, and they're the ones who need to act like adults?" He sank onto the sofa in sudden exhaustion and dragged a hand across his face. "Mary, you understand, don't you, that my job involves managing relationships with some very important people? I cannot have my wife… sabotaging that!"

People didn't generally speak to Mary like that. Sybil petted and soothed, Edith sniped, Mama rolled her eyes and sighed, "Mary…", Papa… Papa barely spoke to her at all. Granny would only agree. Matthew… Matthew would only ever look at her in bewildered hurt, as if he couldn't quite believe the words leaving her mouth.

And here was Richard, looking at her with real anger and… expectation? What was he waiting for? An apology?

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to avoid that piercing gaze. So often, he overwhelmed her, with his large, uncivilised presence. "Stop badgering me!" she cried at last. "As if you've never done anything foolish!"

"Such as proposing to you?" Richard snapped. "Yes, very foolish indeed, Mary!"

The words flew out before she could stop them: "Then perhaps we shouldn't be marrying at all!"

Richard stared, swallowed, stood, turned away. "Very well. If that's the way you feel." The muscles in his shoulders bunched and shifted, as if he were trying to push something out - or else hold something in. At length, he turned back to her, the lines at the corners of his eyes almost wiped out by the intensity of his expression. "I don't beg, Mary, least of all to you."

"I'm not asking you to."

Richard spread his hands open, a gesture of… not defeat, but… simple acceptance. "Then there's nothing more to be said. I'll hail you a cab."

At the door, he stopped. "I know it's traditional in these cases for the bride to keep the engagement ring - "

Mary had tugged it from her finger already and was holding it out to him. "But you're not a traditionalist." Really, I think that was the only reason I agreed to marry you in the first place, Richard.

"No." Somehow, he received the ring without so much as the tips of their fingers brushing. "Not in the least. Goodbye, Lady Mary."