Some more subplot for you :)

Edith's gentle voice rang out from inside the nursery, she was talking to her son in that sweet voice she always used on the children.

Upon Mary's hesitant knocking on the white wooden door, she replied with "Yes, come in" in that same gentle tone.

"I am sorry, can I interrupt the two of you for a second?" asked Mary, opening the door slightly to peek in.

Edith looked up at her, her son's toy train still held tightly in her right hand, as she heard her sister speak. Mary had been the last person she would have expected to walk in, and that reflected clearly on her face. She had always worn her emotions on her sleeves, quite contrary to Mary, and it had resulted in many a mockery throughout the years. Edith was aware that she had just given her sister ammunition again, but the shots she was expecting were never fired.

"Of course, come in. What can I do for you?"

Mary walked in and hesitantly sat down in one of the patterned armchairs nearest to her sister and nephew before she quietly said: "I need your help, or rather your advice."

Astonished, Edith put the toy down and let her young son play on his own for the time being. "Go on," she said as she stood up and sat on a chair herself.

Mary hesitated to reply to her younger sister. Now that she was there, she had no idea how best to break the news to her, especially considering her own feelings and doubts about her husband's return to Downton. Twiddling the hem of her black blouse between her fingers, she finally said: "I received a telegram from Henry this morning. He's coming home. In fact, he will arrive later today."

"But that's wonderful news, he has been gone for a year. You must be so excited!" Edith replied, a genuinely excited expression on her face. She truly was happy at the prospect of her brother-in-law returning. He was no Matthew, sure, but he had made Mary happy again and he was a nice enough man altogether, or so she found. She hoped he would be able to help Mary in dealing with her own grief and emotions, just like Bertie did with her. While she herself had found comfort in her family — her husband, daughter and son, Mary had buried herself in whatever work she could find. She was constantly running errands for the estate, doing all the accounting and she had taken over most of Cora's duties as lady of the house, too. How she managed to stay on top of everything was beyond Edith, and according to her, it was only a matter of time until Mary would just collapse under the sheer pressure of it all.

"That's the thing. I should be over the moon with excitement, making all sorts of plans and arrangements to welcome him in gleeful anticipation. But I am not. When I read the note, I felt nothing, no elation or affection or anything. I haven't seen him in a year and I am not at all happy or relieved or excited about the fact that he is coming home at last."

"Oh?"

"He has been away for a year, touring around the world, following his passion and he never once returned to see me or his daughter. He hasn't seen her grow up this past year, hasn't seen all the things she has learnt and achieved, and he wasn't even here for me when Granny died. Not even her funeral was reason enough for him to come home and be with his family. All I got was a telegram, saying he was sorry about her passing as if she were just an old neighbour from down the road we barely knew. Nothing else." Still fiddling with a loose piece of string on the hem of her blouse, Mary looked down to the ground as if she had spotted a tiny spot on the floor she could just will away by staring at it.

Edith saw that saying all of this was hard for her — it was unusual for Mary to be so nervous and self-conscious. She felt that there was more weighing heavily on her sister's mind, and so she let her continue. However, it did surprise her to find Mary looking straight back at her when she did continue. This must have been one of the very few times her sister had ever let herself be so vulnerable around her and it startled Edith. Mary's wide eyes looked at her so lost, searching for something, anything, really.

"I needed him, Edith. I truly needed him – and he was out chasing after some cars in Eastern Europe and America and God knows where else. And now with Mama – I don't think I can take an absent husband on top of that, who should be here and support us. I needed him. I know I haven't said it before, but I could definitely use someone to simply talk to, who will listen and maybe help me work through everything in my head at the moment. The more I think about it, though, the more I realise that I don't actually need him. Henry is no longer the person I can trust blindly and can lean on, and I am not sure if I even want him to be."

Mary stopped talking, her big brown eyes filled with tears as she poured out her heart to her younger sister. Where a few short years ago her confession would have resulted in mockery, she was now met with nothing but pure empathy and commiseration. Her sister's quiet understanding encouraged her to utter the question she had ultimately come to ask.

"I guess what I wanted to ask you is this. Do you think I should ask for a divorce? Am I right in even just thinking about it?"

"Oh, Mary." Her tone was soft and, just like her expression, full of compassion for her elder sister. But before Edith could even think about a proper reply to this complex problem, Mary let her rambling mind take over once again.

"I should stay with him, shouldn't I? If not for my sake, then for Caroline's and George's, right? I can't let them be the children of a notorious woman. Not to mention all of you. People would talk, I-"

Edith moved again from her seated position and crouched down in front of her sister. Taking both of Mary's hands in hers, she held them fast and silently urged her sister to listen to her, to look at her.

"No. Mary, no. You should not stay with him out of obligation. After all, he has not shown any to you or your children, has he? I am not saying that it would be easy, living as a divorced woman in our circles, but it would be the right thing to do. I am sure that if Mama and Papa were here that they would say the same. Your happiness is just as important as the happiness of your children, and they have been just fine this past year, even without him here. So you should do what you think is right for you. I am not telling you to divorce him, but I want you to think about what it is you truly want and need. And if you come to the conclusion that what you need is not Henry, then take the leap. We will be here for you, no matter what. We are Crawleys, we stick together."

The two sisters looked at each other, brown eyes staring into brown, and both smiled. Edith's was a smile of encouragement and warmth, some might even say love, while Mary's exuded sadness and, in no small part, gratitude.

"Golly, when have we become so grown-up? Look at the two of us, talking about my failed marriage in front of your sweet boy, without attempting to claw at each other's eyes or trying to tear each other down," laughed Mary while wiping away at a stray tear on her cheek.

Edith laughed at her sister's remark, suddenly realising the true extent of what this situation meant for either of them. They truly had grown up, had each become their own person, and had finally started to understand the other just the tiniest bit better. If only their parents could have seen this moment happen. Then again, even if they had, they still would have not believed it, Edith was sure of that.

"I have no idea, but I have to confess that I quite enjoy it — not quarrelling with you, I mean. The part about this being about your failed marriage is not something I enjoy, I assure you. We have changed, you and I, and I do not want to go back to the way we were."

"It's a good thing that I do not want that, either. Thank you, Edith. Truly."

Mary had squeezed her sister's hand again and stood up to venture back out into the corridor, leaving Edith to continue playing with Peter, who had simply sat there, looking curiously at his mother and aunt for the entirety of their exchange.

"When do you want to speak with him?"

Mary turned back around, her hand already on the doorknob. She thought for a second before replying: "As soon as he arrives. There is no point in dragging it out any longer than necessary, I believe."

"Tell Carson to tell me when he arrives. I'll keep the children up and out of the library. You two should be alone for that conversation, no matter what you decide to do in the end."

"I will, thank you."

And with that, Mary closed the door behind her to leave Edith and make up her own mind until he would arrive.

Once outside in the corridor, she leaned with her back against the wall opposite the nursery door, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Is everything alright, milady?" asked the deep baritone voice she knew only too well, coming from somewhere down the corridor, startling her slightly.

Her eyes flung open and she looked at Charles Carson, their former butler, standing indeed only a few metres away from her.

"Yes, or at least I hope it will be soon enough. I only hope I am not making a mistake."

"If it feels right, then it is not a mistake, whatever it may be, milady."

Carson somehow always knew what to say to help, even if he was not aware of the true extent of her problem. And it was the butler's calm reassurance that made her come to her decision on this matter. Because he was right.

Something that feels right could never be a mistake.