Edith continuously tapped her pen on the paper. Nothing was going right. Strewn out before her were two new articles; one on the new American president and one on Irish independence and discrimination. Both finished and ready to be sent off, if it weren't for a letter from the Times.

Apparently, they believed it was time for the stick rather than the carrot. They had all the articles needed for June, and would accept two for July that she would be compensated for. However, her year-long exclusivity contract with the Times would then come to an end. Now, they had new terms. In order to publish with them again, with a new mind boggling sum of five pounds per article, Edward Crow needed to reveal his true name to the Times, if not the public.

Edith was at a loss. What could she do? There was no way around it. She had sent a letter back informing the Times she would need a few months to prepare for the news to break before she could schedule a meeting, but what would a few months do? She had no one who could go to a meeting as Crow.

Of the men in her life, none would be suitable. Thomas wasn't a noble and, even if he was, he would probably use the situation to blackmail her or otherwise use it to his advantage. Papa wouldn't approve and couldn't lie to save his life. Matthew... that road had closed, perhaps forever. That left Evelyn, but with him came a host of other problems.

Edith groaned, pushing aside the letter from the Times to pick up Evelyn's latest letter. In it he made clear that the rumor was only gaining traction in London, despite his efforts. One of the two married women was thrown out of her home by her husband and divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity had begun. The news added gasoline on the already blazing fire. Two engagements had ended as well, and, although the parties in question claimed it was for other reasons, it only gave further credence to the gossip.

The single women in Pamuk's book weren't doing much better, Mary and Edith included. Most were deemed ruined and unmarriageable. Evelyn didn't go into much detail regarding the nature of the gossip. He was too much of a gentleman to depict such vulgar things to a lady, but Edith had other acquaintances and could read between the lines.

Some in London believed wholeheartedly the book was true, and both girls had slept with the man. Whether it was by incestuous threesome, a jealous rivalry to see who could win the foreigner through sexual favors, or a jealous younger sister following in her sister's footsteps to win, all and more were speculated. Each scandalous enough to be adored and propagated by the public. Mary and Edith would be followed by these rumors forever. They were ruined. Or, Edith would be, if not for Evelyn.

While the rumors of two wild sisters would have run wild, maybe even spilled over into asking if Sybil was as loose as her sisters, one element threw off that story. Evelyn had been present that day. He had watched the flirtatious beginnings of the suspected debauchery, and yet he had started courting Edith. Dinners, plays, parties, Evelyn Napier was clearly interested in the, previously thought lesser, Crawley daughter. He was a respected man, a man of good character and judgment, so he couldn't have been fooled so easily by a woman, could he? Of course, some still believed so, but the majority had settled on a different tale that satisfied this fact and their own need for sensationalism.

Evelyn Napier had mentioned how he went to Downton for the elder daughter, Lady Mary, and how she had all but flung herself at the Turkish rogue. Of course, his words were much more kind, but the wise people of London knew the truth. If the elder, beautiful daughter had shown herself to be vain and shallow and turned to another man of low character, Mr. Napier would of course then turn to the younger, plain daughter who secretly held a heart of kindness and purity.

Those who attended the diplomatic dinners could attest that Mr. Napier's young lady had a good head on her shoulders. Her fellow debutants claimed her to be kind and bookish. The men she spoke with vouched that the lady had never batted her eyes or flirted in the provocative way of other young women. Meanwhile, the jealous girls of London could attest to Mary's love of attention, judgmental snears, and need for male validation as she preened in her flock of suitors.

Indeed, the people of London had created their own story. One where beauty of character triumphed over beauty of face and won the man. Did that story explain everything, like how Edith's name was in the book? No. But the gossip mongers just wanted a tale and someone to bring down, and so they spun one with what they had. Now, Edith was, while still tarnished to some, redeemed by Evelyn's attention. While Mary was cast down by his dismissal. It was such a mess.

Edith stopped staring at the blurring pages of her letters to instead stare out her window. It was a lovely day, and she could see Mary and Papa walking in the morning sunshine. Mary was probably asking him again why he didn't fight for her. No matter, it wasn't as if she would receive anything other than the exact same reasons Edith told her. Although, likely with a lot more tact and grace than she had last night.

Edith groaned and slumped atop her desk. Why had she been so harsh? Sure, the entail nonsense had been driving her balmy since the first day. Yes, the fact everyone had continued to rant about it, but hadn't bothered to get an opinion from another lawyer for over a year was ridiculous and irritating. And, of course, Cora and the Dowager's clear devotion and preference for Mary would hurt on some level, but until now she had been able to keep it all within. Until last night.

Edith could understand, in theory, why the idea of Mary being heiress had come up when Patrick died. With no other male heir, it could even be seen as logical. That is, if none of them had gone through this before. This was exactly why Mary was pressured to accept Patrick because it was established at the turn of the century that only a son or male heir could inherit the title and thus Downton with the entail. Was it ridiculous and sexist and not at all aligned with Edith's modern sensibilities? Yes. But the facts were clear as day, or they were at the time. The others only refused to accept it when they learned the nature of the next heir.

Middle class, working, stubborn, Matthew wasn't good enough to them. They pushed for Mary because she was 'the right sort' to inherit. Because she was nobility by birth and he was not. They could pretend it was for her to marry better or because it was her 'due', but that wasn't their tune when Patrick was alive and Edith wouldn't let them forget it.

Edith had thought they would quickly drop the entail nonsense and marriage would again become the goal when they met Matthew. Of course, she knew the show and knew some lingering questions would remain, but surely, once they realized he was a good man, they would accept the truth and stop scrambling to discredit him so vehemently. Papa had and Cora did on some level, but both she and the Dowager continued to force the idea. They continued to believe Matthew wasn't worthy of his rightful inheritance because he wasn't their sort. Edith realized that, and it angered her. She let that anger out last night, along with all her frustration at the rest of it, and Matthew had not been pleased.

His face when he looked at her was one of horror and indignation. He didn't understand. Part of Edith wanted to rush to him, to explain, and to ask for forgiveness. Another part was angry. She wanted to shake him and demand to know if it didn't make him angry too. If he didn't understand the situation? If he didn't understand her? Edith thought she really might have if the answer was not so obvious. Matthew didn't see the situation as an insult to his honor, didn't see her spite as Edith defending it. He saw a beautiful damsel in distress wilting as her hopes of freedom were ripped from her grasp... and her cruel, ugly sister gloating in the fair maiden's misery.

Edith sighed. She shouldn't have lashed out like she did at Mary. For all her faults, Edith did understand why Mary clung to hope for the entail. If the situation hadn't changed from before, she would still feel that obligation to marry the heir. Her choice, her freedom, would be gone. Of course, it was all hogwash. Mary had freedom and choice even if Matthew was the heir, but Mary was always a strange dichotomy of dutiful daughter and obstinate rebel. She wouldn't do what she was told to do, but she would do what she felt the family needed. Even if what she felt they needed was completely wrong and to her own detriment, she would push on to inflict this self imposed fate. And with the rumors in London, the entail could have been her saving grace, but Edith hadn't thought of that before her verbal assault. Now, Mary was furious, and Matthew probably despised her as well. Why was everything going so wrong?

A soft rap sounded at the door and a head poked through. "Edie?"

"Yes, Bill?" Edith groaned, her head still flat on the desk.

"I've come to say goodbye. I'm off to Ripon," Sybil chimed, before suddenly stopping at the sight of her. "Are you alright?"

Edith popped her head up, and flashed Sybil a tired smile. "I'm always alri-"

"Always alright," Sybil finished, coming to sit beside her. "Which means you aren't at all all alright. What happened?"

"Just another scuffle with Mary," Edith dismissed. "You know how we are. I said some things I probably shouldn't have, and they didn't like it."

"They?"

"Mary and Matthew."

"Oh, Edith. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? What for? Their joint disapproval seems to have drawn them closer, so that's good I suppose. It's what everyone else wants," Edith rambled, beginning to organize the papers on her desk and move her books into neat stacks. "And I don't regret my words, not really. If they didn't like it, it's just proof I should turn my focus to other things. Did I tell you yet about how the farmers used my tractor while we were away? Apparently, it was a great success. Should pay for itself in three years or so."

"That's great, Edie," Sybil said worriedly, her eyes looking over her as if seeing everything that wasn't great. "Why don't you tell me all about it on the way to Ripon?"

"Ripon? Aren't you leaving now?"

"I can hold off long enough for you to change."

"Sybil, this trip is for you. For you to get to do things on your own."

"Well, maybe I don't want to go alone. Maybe I want my fashionable sister to come with me to help."

"Sybil-"

"Please, Edie. You need to get out of this house and have some fun. You worry too much. You work too much."

"Fine. Just let me change and grab my hat and gloves."

"Do you need help?"

"No, no, I might have evening dresses that take two, but I made sure most of my day dresses are a one person affair."

"That'll be the first thing I ask for in Ripon," Sybil sighed dreamily, imagining all the simple, non frilled frocks she would purchase.

After dressing, the two made their way downstairs and outside where Branson was waiting for them. Edith tried to climb into the car without staring at the man. He was handsome, she would give him that. Sybil had taste. But he was also going to be the cause of many headaches for her if he continued down his destined path without change. But that path made Sybil happy. But that path made Sybil die.

"I saw that you have a new fixation," Sybil said as the car began to start up.

"I have several new fixations every month, Sybil. Which one are you talking about now?"

"The medical books in your room," Sybil answered. Edith felt her teeth clench. "You have always focused on other things: politics, history, nature, and the like. I've never known you to be interested in medicine."

"W-well, you can't be the only Crawley interested in medicine, Bil. I have to find some way to keep up with your ramblings about the hospital," Edith tried to laugh, brushing off any hint she felt ill at ease. "Now tell me, what do you want to order in Ripon?"

Sybil began to happily discuss her ideal wardrobe, simple and sleek while maintaining her love for light, bright colors like lilac, soft yellow, and sky blue. Edith nodded and asked the proper questions, but all the while she was lost in her own thoughts.

Branson, or Tom rather, coming to Downton was something Edith had overlooked. Sybil was still so young, her baby sister. She had thought she had so much time to prepare, but suddenly he was here. Now Edith couldn't sleep. She stayed up, pouring over medical books for any way to help future Sybil. She couldn't sleep for fear of dreams if she couldn't. It all rested on her, and watching the two make their first moves in the game of love did nothing to soothe her nerves.

The motor car finally reached Ripon, and Branson pulled in front of Thompson and Clarke Boutique. Sybil was quick to rush inside after flashing Branson a wide, excited smile as he helped her down. The poor man looked like he had been hit with a train as he stared after her.

"Ahem," Edith politely coughed. Branson quickly snapped to attention and turned to help her as well.

"Sorry, m'lady."

"Nothing to forgive. Just don't let it happen to Mother or worse to Mary or Grandmother." Or pressure my sister into a rushed relationship without her family, Edith added with a smile. She turned and followed Sybil who was already admiring a wall, filled top to bottom with bolts of cloth.

On the bottom shelves Edith saw the heavier fabrics used for winter and day dresses: serge, gabardine, and wool. Linen and cotton also found their place on the mid tier shelves with numerous colors and patterns for the wealthy and middle class alike. At the very top, the rich fabrics for the wealthy and their evening wear were prominently displayed. There were luxurious velvets and shining silks for the colder months. Organza, chiffon, and crepes glittered in a rainbow of colors for the warmer. And all around the shop spools of lace and thread, beads and feathers made every surface glimmer with an overabundance of glamor and glitz. Edith instantly felt some weight leave her shoulders as she happily looked around. Maybe Sybil was right and a shopping trip was what she needed.

"Find anything interesting?" Edith asked as she came up behind Sybil leaning over a desk of sketches and patterns.

"Nothing yet," Sybil sighed. "I don't really like the neoclassical look you do. And nothing else really seemsâ exciting."

Edith and Sybil spent an hour pouring over designs with the tailor. Sybil found several designs she was interested to try in the future, but nothing stood out with that spark of something new. Sybil didn't quite know what that meant, but Edith did.

"Do you have anything more agile? Something she could move in more easily. I know she hates skirts that don't allow movement," Edith cajoled, hoping the right pattern she knew in her mind would appear.

"Well, we have one design that just came from Paris, my lady," the tailor said. "It's a design by Mr. Poiret."

"It's he the man who popularized hobble skirts," Sybil grimaced.

"Well, yes. But this new design is based on dancers and their costumes. It's a bit daring, but if you want something boldâ"

"Let's see it."

It was exactly like the television show depicted. A tight fitting bodice with a wide, square neckline and sleeves ending at the elbow, but, of course, the main focus of the garment was the flowing harem pants that made the entire outfit truly a standout. With one glance, Sybil was certain this was what she wanted.

Sybil was more excited then Edith had ever seen her be about clothes. She spun around the store collecting the brocade, chiffon, and netting in bright blue with metallic gold and bronze accents. With every new bolt of cloth, she would ask Edith her preferences. Edith had fun imagining her own outfit of peach and silver with a more geometric pattern of many arched flowers. It was a combination of art deco style and how ancient Egyptians portrayed papyrus along the nile. It was lovely, but not to be.

"One for me with these fabrics," Sybil said, pointing to her stack of blue bolts on the table. "And Edith will show you the ones she wants for hers."

"What? Sybil, no," Edith protested.

"Why not? I thought you liked it?"

"I do! But Sybil this is your outfit, your moment. I can't just copy you and take that away." It was a big moment in season one. Arguably the best look of the season, and one of Sybil's first moments to demonstrate her personality and stand out. Alone.

"But I want us to dress up together. Please, Edie," Sybil pleaded. "This trip is about me choosing and I have, but I choose to do it with you too."

"If- if you're sure," Edith hesitantly, going around to collect all the fabrics and trim she had selected in her mind. "Thank you, Bil."

Patterns selected and fabric chosen, the last step was to be measured. Then the two made their way out to the street to clamber into their motor car and return to Downton. Again, Sybil happily chatted, now asking about Edith's tractor business and whispering happily about her plans with a certain red haired housemaid. Again, Edith happily nodded along, asking questions and giving answers, while watching Branson in the mirror. The only one who didn't return to their prior behavior was Branson, who spoke up for the first time when conversation lulled.

"Will you have your way, do you think? With the frock?" Branson asked, looking at Sybil in the mirror. "Only, I couldn't help overhearing yesterday, and from what Her Ladyship said, it sounded as if you support women's rights."

"I do," Sybil said slowly, not used to the staff starting up such casual conversation. "We both do. It's ridiculous that a whole half of the population can't vote for no other reason than that they wear skirts."

"I'm quite political myself. In fact, I brought some pamphlets that I thought might interest you about the vote," Branson held up a bundle of papers that Sybil hesitantly but excitedly grabbed.

"Thank you. But please don't mention this to my father, or grandmother, or really anyone but Edith. One whiff of reform and Granny hears the guillotine," Sybil smiled as Branson chuckled before turning more contemplative. "It seems rather unlikely, a revolutionary chauffeur."

"Maybe," Branson stated. "But I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary. And I won't always be a chauffeur."

"I think we are all revolutionaries to some degree," Edith said, finally interrupting their sweet if highly inappropriate conversation. "Just with different causes and on different scales."

"Tell that to Granny or Carson," Sybil said with a shake of her head before turning back to Branson. "If not a chauffeur, what would you want to be?"

"A journalist."

"Really? What kind?"

"Any kind that lets me discuss politics. Maybe a columnist like Crow."

"I love reading his articles."

"You like Edward Crow?" Edith asked, surprised. "The capitalist member of the English gentry?"

"He isn't afraid to speak his mind," Branson said. "I can respect that in a man, even if I don't agree with everything he writes. I do happen to like most of his politics though. One good conversation with him, and I'm pretty sure I could turn him socialist."

"Oh, could you?"

"Have you read his new article on Emily Davidson? It was quite gripping," Sybil asked, leading into a steady conversation of women's rights, what was a worthy risk in the name of a cause, and what the woman's true intentions that day were. At some point, Edith sat back and let the two debate without her input. She was still unsure what to do with this situation, this relationship, but for now she would let her sister be happy talking politics with a prospective friend.

Edith let her mind drift as she watched the verdant hills roll past. The farmers were out tending their fields and flocks. The trees swayed their green bows in the warm summer breeze. The villagers waved and tipped their caps as they passed, and Edith made sure to smile and wave at them all in return.

Over one hill, Edith caught a glimpse of a line of cottages. Once a disheveled mess of overgrown ivy and thickets, damaged roofs, and empty ruins was now a line of tidy little homes. The smell of fresh paint was apparent even from a distance, and two figures stood out as they walked along the street between the houses.

"Is that Cousin Matthew and Papa?" Sybil asked.

"Yes. They seem to be inspecting the new tenant cottages. I didn't know they would be finished so soon or I would have..." Edith trailed off. Joined them would have been the simple conclusion to that sentence before yesterday. She would have happily been by Matthew's side congratulating him with Papa and suggesting other projects to better the estate with him. Now though? Now she didn't know if she wanted to be that close to him at all.

"Do you want us to stop and speak to them?" Sybil asked gently. "You could walk with them back to the house if you wanted too."

Edith hesitated, staring at them for a moment, before turning away and grasping Sybil's hand. "No. Thank you, Sybil, but no. We need to return to the house. I have my own issues I must attend to." My own issues, Edith thought, so many of them. The rumors, the Times, and even this new relationship with Sybil and Tom. She couldn't afford to be distracted by Matthew. He could handle his problems himself. Edith had better things to do than worry about a man who didn't know her. Matthew Crawley was on his own.