All of Downton was in a tizzy over Pamuk's departure. A week of dinners and entertainment had been planned, now all dashed because of the Turk's flighty whims. And to think they all thought him so charming, so dapper. He was just a cad who had swanned in, charmed their beautiful lady, and, without so much as a "by your leave", swanned right back out leaving a heartbroken, distraught Mary behind.

Mary did seem lost in the coming days. She was quiet and cold, a ghost wandering the halls, only to suddenly roar back to life with a biting barb or emotional outburst if Pamuk or any of her other suitors were even remotely mentioned. No one knew what had gotten into her or how to deal with this new, unstable Mary. Shockingly, the best at calming her was Lady Edith.

Edith let herself take every insult Mary threw. She didn't retort back or call her sister out on her behavior like she normally would, but let herself be used as a verbal punching bag. It was so out of character that most of the household was more concerned for her than they were Lady Mary. Sure, Mary had always been dramatic and displeased when something did not go her way, but what reason did Edith have to look so dower and pale? What had she done?

Sybil and Anna had suspicions. They had been present for the quarrel between the sisters after all, but the two in question wouldn't admit to it. Edith would just shake her head and say Mary needed time. Mary would snap that she had already forgotten the incident and yet that night still clearly bothered her. Neither Anna nor Sybil could get them to speak about the matter. Mary herself hadn't spoken to many people at all, and remained in her room bundled up to ward off the coming winter chill.

With Mary secluding herself away, even against the will of her mother and grandmother, Edith was the one to take up the position as hostess to Mary's suitor, Mr. Napier. Although, he too couldn't stay as long as planned.

"Lady Edith, Lady Grantham," Napier said as he strided into the library. All three daughters and their mother should have been present that morning for their weekly tea together, but, as Edith expected, Mary was absent as she was to most things the last few days. Sybil too was missing. To Cora, she said it was to prepare for her first season in a few months. To Edith, she told the truth that she was helping a certain red haired maid.

"Mr. Napier," Edith greeted quietly. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Cora smiled. "Will you join us for tea?"

"I'm afraid not, Lady Grantham," he said, lowering himself to the edge of a chair. "I've only come for a moment to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? This is quite sudden."

"Yes, and I am terribly sorry. I know I have caused quite the bother for you and your family," Napier said apologetically.

"It's alright, Mr. Napier," Cora assured. "But whatever has caused you to leave? I hope we haven't scared you off too."

"Nothing of the sort," Napier sighed in frustration. "My man has found Pamuk." Edith tensed, but the reveal didn't come. "He's at a gentlemen's club near Ripon. I don't know what has possessed him, but I'm duty bound to follow after him until the conference. I have sent word ahead for him to meet me so we can continue our tour of the English countryside."

"So you will stay with him?" Edith asked.

"Until my duty is done, yes," Napier nodded solemnly.

"Watch him, Mr. Napier," Edith warned. "He seems as slippery as an eel with the charm to get away with it. I would not treasure my time spent in his company."

"Trust me, Lady Edith, I do not. I thought we had begun to be friends, but I don't think I could ever be close with a man of such fickle nature. But he is my task from the embassy, and I will see it through."

"Then I wish you luck. You will need it."

"Have you said goodbye to Mary?" Cora asked.

"I have. I caught her this morning for a moment," Napier nodded.

"Will we be seeing you here again?"

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," Napier agreed. "I am quite busy at the moment, but, once this is all said and done, I would love to make a more proper return to Downton."

"And we will welcome you," Cora smiled. "I'm sure Mary will be glad to see you again."

Napier paused, glancing from mother to daughter before lowering his voice to speak. "Lady Grantham, I wonder if I might risk embarrassing you, because I should make myself clear. The truth is, I'm not a vain man. I do not consider myself a very interesting person-"

"But you are," Edith argued gently. Napier smiled warmly at her for that.

"I know you think that, my lady, but your sister does not. A woman who finds me boring could never love me, and I believe marriage should be based on love. At least at the start."

"I agree," Edith said, a small amount of color returning to her pale face. "Interest is the spark. Without it, there is no warmth. I hope you can find it, Mr. Napier."

"As do I," Napier said. "And I hope, for now, we can continue our mutual interests through letters, Lady Edith."

"I would like that very much." Edith smiled. Cora was looking back and forth between them. Her face at first confused, then surprised, and then happily intrigued.

"Thank you for your faith in us, Mr. Napier," Cora said. "I believe your instincts do you credit. You would be welcome back at Downton, for Mary or otherwise."

"Thank you." Napier nodded. The sound of a motor car could be heard out front, and Napier stood. "I must be off to the station. Thank you, Lady Grantham, for allowing me into your home."

"Good luck to you, Mr. Napier," Cora said. And with that he was off, disappearing from Downton to follow the runaway Turk.

The coming month was strange. Lady Mary remained wound tight and prone to snap, but day by day she returned closer to normal. Colder, harsher, with more walls, but the balance had returned to the eldest daughter of the house. She was returning to a new normal. The same could not be said for Lady Edith.

Edith still didn't fight Mary's barbs. She remained somber and quiet. Even as new books were added to the library or a new article published about the London conference or even when letters from Mr. Napier arrived in the post, nothing brought back her spark. It was troubling everyone in the house. Some more than others.

"My darling girl," Father stood in the doorway of the library. Edith sat before the fireplace as it burned brightly to fight off the growing winter cold. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." Edith breathed, her voice light even as her eyes stared heavily into the fire. "I'm always alright."

"You have never been a good liar, my darling."

"I don't lie," Edith said, turning to give him a slight smile. Her eyes were still heavy. "I'm tired. I didn't sleep well, but I'm alright. Are you feeling well?"

"You don't lie, but you don't tell the truth either. Always giving half truths, always redirecting," Father said as he came to sit beside her. He had to move a newspaper to sit. The article on top was a new piece by Edward Crow on sexual assault and sexual choice, quite the scandal. "You let your Granny and Mary chide you to feel better and let your Mama and Sybil worry a pretend smile out of you, but you can't do that with me. Something is wrong. What is it? Is it Mr. Napier?"

"No. He has been a perfect gentleman."

"Then Mary? Your Mama? Me?"

"No. It's just..." Edith took a deep breath. "Do you ever feel as if you can do nothing right? Like everything you try just ends up failing? Hurting people?"

Father remained silent for a moment, taking his own time to stare into the fire. At last he nodded and voiced, "Yes. All the time."

"Why?"

"Because-" he began. "Because I am responsible. Because life gave me a role I must fulfill to the best of my ability even if I have none to do it with. I can't stop, I can't refuse. I must simply do it, and face the consequences. And, whether I fail or succeed, there will be consequences, for you, for your sisters, your mother, for the entire estate. It all rests on my choices."

"And if you make the wrong choices?"

"Then I strive to do better next time. To learn from my mistakes and ensure no one is hurt by my choices again." For a minute the two just sat, together looking into the fire as it crackled and glowed. The fire grew dimmer and dimmer as the moments dragged on and the last piece of wood became embers. "What brought this on, my darling?"

"Nothing I can tell you," Edith sighed.

"Edith, if I can do something-"

"But you can't," Edith interrupted. "If you could, I would tell you, but it isn't my place to say."

"If it isn't your place, why do you feel so guilty?" He asked confusedly.

"Because he isn't dead," Edith muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Because I feel dread. And anger and like I'm useless to fix the situation. It's over now and there's nothing else I can do, but I can't help but think..."

"If- if you really can't tell me, I won't push," Father said reluctantly. "I want too, but I trust you will tell me if you need me. If I can do anything, please tell me."

"I will." Edith said. She hesitated for a second, glancing between him and the dying fire. "There- there is one thing you could do for me."

"What is it, dear girl?"

"Hold me. Please just hold me for a minute, Papa." With all the care and strength he could, the Lord of Downton reached out his arms to embrace his little girl. He would hold her as long as she needed him. They stayed like that for a long time, even after the last embers of the fire had gone out and the room faded into darkness.

Thomas put out the dregs of his fourth cigarette of the day. The back courtyard was a wash of late November muck and mud, but it's where he had preferred to be over the chatter of the house. Especially now that the chatter was all about Lady Edith.

Everyone noticed Lady Edith began to return to her old self. She didn't let Lady Mary walk all over her any more. She didn't let her grandmother or mother keep poking their noses into her letters with Mr. Napier. Lady Sybil was clearly relieved, and even her relationship with Lord Grantham seemed to have become closer than before the incident. It didn't make Thomas feel any better.

How long had it taken him to knock on her door that night? He had stood there, for minutes or an hour, willing himself to do it. He hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to turn and run. He had wanted to give Pamuk no reason to suspect him, to hurt him, so he hesitated. He waited until the time came that he couldn't be blamed, couldn't be revealed. But that was a lie, she knew. At any point, she could have revealed him, but she didn't.

Lady Edith hadn't given him up. She didn't question him for not helping. For not telling her sooner. She handled the situation on her own, the situation Thomas had thrust her in, and hadn't revealed him to Pamuk or Carson or her father or anyone. She hadn't even spoken to him about it once.

What had Lady Edith walked into that night? What had happened to Lady Mary? What had she said that caused Pamuk to go off into the night? Thomas still remembered that smug smile on the Turk's lips as he thanked him for his aid in finding Mary's room. It repulsed him. The idea that he ever found that man attractive repulsed him.

And now here he was, a mess, spending more of his pay on cigarettes than he ever had before just to keep his nerve. Ms. Hughes had noticed. O'Brien had noticed. Both were driving him up the wall with questions about it, but he kept mum. If she could keep his secret, he could keep hers. For now.

"Don't worry, m'lady," Thomas muttered to himself, striking a match for his fifth smoke. "Your secret's safe with me."