The family was ecstatic at the news of Edith's engagement. Mama burst into tears immediately, typical for an emotional American, and went around giving hugs and congratulations. Granny showed more composure, of course, but even she seemed like the cat who got the cream. She huffed and puffed, hiding her smile and proclaiming that Napier was lucky to be married to someone from their family.
Papa was less thrilled, but he managed to shake Napier's hand with a firm word to take care of his "special girl" and wrap Edith in a lingering embrace. Sybil was bouncing with joy. She was all smiles and congratulations for "dear Edie" while casting side looks Mary's way.
Mary didn't share the excitement. For the first time, she found herself lingering in the background, and watching as Edith soaked in the attention she so desired. The attention Mary had given to her through her own foolishness.
Mary felt the tendrils of anger and envy twist in her chest. She was the eldest, the more beautiful and desired of the two. She should be the first to be engaged, to marry. Patrick didn't count. She wanted to have her moment of glory, her happy ending, but instead everyone was fawning over Edith for taking her scraps.
In the privacy of her own mind, Mary could admit she never should have scrapped Evelyn Napier, but it was too late now. Now she was spurned, scorned, and this latest failure and her younger sister's engagement before her would become the talk of the town. She would be a laughing stock in London because of them.
Mary slipped out of the room without congratulating the couple. She felt the eyes of the room on her, judging her for her rudeness. Not that their disapproval was new. It seemed as if the whole family had turned against her.
It was a mercy when Napier left that evening, promising to return when his father was better. Selfish though Mary knew it was, the part of herself she hated hoped the man never got better if that's what it took to keep Napier far away. Perhaps if he was away it would give her time to settle her own affairs, but Mary underestimated Mama's determination to have Edith's prospects locked down.
"I suppose it's too late in the summer for a fall wedding," Mama mused, flipping through the latest women's catalog to the wedding section. "But a Christmas wedding would be lovely."
"Mother," Edith said, stirring a third spoonful of sugar into her sickeningly sweet tea. "Evelyn and I agreed for a long engagement. At least until his father gets better."
"A silly thing," Granny huffed. "What could be better than seeing your son marry?"
"December is half a year away, darling," Mama said.
"Less than five months actually," Edith corrected stubbornly.
"Just enough time to plan a wedding then. Lord Napier might not recover, despite our hopes, and it would be a shame for him to miss his only child's wedding."
"I haven't even met his family, Mother! Or been to Branksome," Edith protested.
"Oh? I didn't know you were so materialistic," Mary sneered. "You need to review the estate before you walk down the aisle."
"Mary!" Sybil cried, giving her the typical look of disappointment.
"Green isn't your color, dear," Mama warned quietly. Mary turned back to her tea, swallowing the bitter words that rose to her tongue along with her bitter tea. She wasn't jealous.
"Mary, don't be so vulgar," Granny chuffed. "It's wise to make sure the goose really does lay golden eggs. Otherwise, what is she marrying him for?"
"There is clear affection between them. That's more than enough reason for most people to marry, among others," Mama said.
"Yes. A title for one."
Mama sent a withering look towards Granny before flipping back to her magazine. Sybil was still upset, and Edith just continued to stir her syrupy sweet concoction.
"Evelyn and I will marry when WE are ready," Edith said piously. "Next year when his father is recovered at least."
"But what if he doesn't recover?" Mama asked.
"Then we will wait till Evelyn is finished mourning and settles into running Branksome. We won't be rushed, Mother. We will marry when we decide, not before."
"Assuming he still wants to marry you after all that time," Mary said.
"Mary!" Sybil cried again.
"What? You think Mr. Napier actually wants a long engagement?" Mary snorted, sipping her sugarless tea. "It's clearly just him trying to make up for his blunders. The pity won't last."
"He loves her," Sybil said.
"Sybil dear, really?" Mary rolled her eyes. "He's a gentleman, not a saint."
"Why must you be so cruel?" Sybil demanded. "Just because Edith is happy, and you've bungled your chances-"
"Sybil-" Edith began, acting like some benevolent lady coming to save her poor, vicious sister. As if Mary couldn't see the truth.
"Shut up, Edith."
"Mary!"
"Mary," Granny scolded. "Just because you-"
"I'm tired. I will be in my room. If you will excuse me." Mary didn't bother waiting for her dismissal. She stormed out herself, through the saloon and up to her room, ignoring the lingering looks of judgment and scorn from her family. They were hardly new. No one supported her since Pamuk, and they didn't even know the worst of it.
Mary felt the hot prick of tears that didn't stop no matter how viciously she batted at them. She couldn't be weak. She couldn't show, even to herself, how much their lack of support hurt her. She couldn't let Edith win.
"Mary?" Mama's stern voice sounded in the room along with a firm wrap on the door. It wasn't until Mama entered and saw her face that her voice softened. She approached slowly, voice soft as if she was attempting to soothe a scared, clawing kitten. "I told you, my darling, green isn't your color."
"As opposed to red," Mary said, her usual hiss weak and wet with tears. "Which I wear so naturally." Red, the color of love. The color of lust. The color of whores.
"Darling, no. You mustn't think-"
"But that's what everyone else thinks!" Mary said, rising from her bed to pace. "What will everyone say now that Edith is marrying before me? The younger before the older? They will laugh at me! Say I'm undesirable, and can't get any man with my reputation. That I am some Shakespearean shrew destined for spinsterhood."
"That's why I wanted you to consider Sir Anthony. You must marry before this new rumor-"
"Yes, before the rumor passes around London that I'm some hussy willing to throw herself at every man I meet for the fun of it. With Napier. W-with Pamuk."
"No one blames you or Edith for Pamuk. You could have acted with a little less interest, but that man would have taken anything you gave him and made it seem the worst."
"Anything I gave him," Mary repeated numbly. She stopped her pacing, and stared at her bed. The bed where she gave away her value without a care or second thought. "And if I gave him more than my attention and a polite handshake? How would you act then Mama?"
Mama's eyes widened, sinking onto the same bed as if she had been physically struck. "Did you?"
"Does it matter? To you I am already damaged goods."
"Mary!" Cora snapped, scared and angry. "Are the rumors true? You and Pamuk?… and Edith?"
Mary looked away, thinking of that night. Thinking of his roaming hands and whispered words and Edith bursting in. Her golden hair falling in wild waves and eyes flashing with anger, fear… and protective love for her sister.
"No. It didn't go as far as that," Mary said. Mama sagged on the bedpost in relief. She didn't need to know. Mary wouldn't hurt her mother in such a vicious way. Not when she could do nothing but stress and scorn and judge for what no one could change no matter how much Mary wished it could be.
"Surely you didn't think pure, righteous Edith would indulge in such things. Even if you think I am capable of it." Mary snorted a put on laugh. "Although, I doubt she could seduce anyone even if she wanted to."
"Don't talk about your sister like that," Mama scolded. "Not after all she is doing for you."
"What? Marrying a rich, handsome man? What a sacrifice," Mary said, pushing down the guilt and memories of that November night.
"She will have to marry soon. Sooner than she would like because of you or people will talk."
"Good luck convincing her of that. She is stubborn."
"So am I."
"Papa and Mr. Napier seem willing to let her have her way."
"They will understand when the rumors grow."
"What? The rumors that he's not actually marrying her, just trying to protect her reputation out of some honorable sentimentality? You and I both know that isn't just a rumor, Mama."
"Mary," Mama said. "Just because you're jealous can't have blinded you so completely to reality. He wouldn't have stayed if he didn't love her."
Mary scoffed, but Mama pressed on. "No, it's true. He could have left and been better off, but he stayed for her. Do you not understand that? Do you not see how shameless and pointless your attempts were to steal him away?"
"I was just ensuring his attentions were true. Besides, it's not so foolish to think a man would want me." Over Edith was unspoken but implied.
"Many men could love you, Mary, but not Evelyn Napier. His heart is Edith's, and your arrogance tried to destroy that. Your sister's chance at a position and love, and you tried to take it away because you could."
"You told me I needed to marry," Mary protested. "I was just-"
"Jealous," Mama finished. "Because, for once, Edith had the better prospects. But you just made it worse for yourself, and now we must play the hand we have been dealt."
"And what hand is that?"
"You must find a man, any man, to marry in London next year or truly consider Matthew."
"I won't marry just because you say so, Mama. I'm not a little girl anymore. I can handle my own affairs."
"He cares for you, Mary. He is a good man."
"And I'm sure he could do much better than me," Mary snapped. The ring of the evening dressing gong rang out. "You must go. Anna will be up shortly."
"Please, just consider it, my dear." Mama said as she rose from the bed. "Edith is safe and happy, and I just want, with all my heart, for you to be too."
Mary didn't respond as she went to sit before her vanity. She didn't think it was possible for her to be truly happy anymore. Not with the truth.
"Mary," Mama said just before leaving. Mary looked up, her dark eyes catching Mama's frightened blue in the mirror. "You- you said it didn't go that far between you and Pamuk… How far did it go?"
Mary looked away and reached for her hairbrush. "Don't worry, Mama. Edith kept it from going too far."
The staff was ecstatic at the news of Lady Edith's engagement. Mr. Carson was all bluster about how Mr. Napier was a fine addition to "their family" and was a lucky man to marry one of the young ladies. Mrs. Patmore made nothing but Lady Edith's favorites for the following week, and complained night and day about not knowing what Mr. Napier's were to do her job properly.
Ms. Hughes was all content smiles and subtle pride at someone seeing the value of her favorite Crawley. She made sure to talk Lady Edith up and speak of the inevitability of such a good match even as the rest of the staff shared their own surprise at the proposal.
Thomas didn't share the same shock that seemed to ripple around the house. Sure, the rest could have been completely blind to it, but what man sends a lady so many letters without some interest. Even he knew that and he had never seriously pursued a lady in his life.
The whole house's opinions of Lady Edith had been shifting in the year since the new heir, Mr. Crawley had come to Downton. Although, the truth stretched back to the night Lady Edith fought with Patrick the oaf and the rest of her family. She wasn't as easy to dismiss anymore. She couldn't just be labeled the jealous wallflower who existed to flounder in Lady Mary's shadow. She was something else.
The village knew of Lady Edith's drive and care from her rides in the community, and soon the house could see it in her interactions with Mr. Crawley. Her stubborn determination to stand up for him rather than let Lady Mary run roughshod over him was new to them. She was growing more outspoken, stubborn, and independent, and Thomas could only applaud the changes.
The rest of the house had mixed opinions. Mr. Carson disapproved as he did with any change. A few of the maids thought she had stopped trying so hard and was accepting her future spinsterhood while others speculated it was a redirection of her frustrations at Mary. However, most of the others thought it was just her growing up or the positive influence of a new friendship. It was a good thing and the staff were happy for Lady Edith. They were also quite disappointed with Lady Mary.
Lady Mary had been a favorite of the staff, and, while she still was too many like Carson and Anna, a number were becoming more critical of her and supportive of Lady Edith. With Lady Edith becoming more of a driving figure in the house and not just a bookish background character for Lady Mary, a few people were beginning to consider her side of things which did not portray Lady Mary in a favorable light.
Thomas did his best to stoke the fires under Lady Mary to minimal success. Honestly, it was rather irritating how loyal many servants were to her, but at least his complaints of her were now accepted. Even more interestingly, he could actually hear some praise directed towards his favorite in the servants hall over meals instead of thoughtless insults. The tide was changing in the house, but all various opinions of Lady Mary and Lady Edith were put aside when the rumors came to Downton.
Everyone in the house was furious. From Ms. O'Brien to Ms. Hughes to Daisy, the entire staff was spitting mad at the news for both young ladies. Even William, sweet, soft, stupid William, had it in him to get hot under the collar over the letters coming in from various estates asking for "the truth of the matter".
Mr. Carson was the most infuriated of all, and quickly announced to them all that no one was to speak of the "monstrous slander of the ladies of this house." Slander, everyone agreed, not the truth. No one had any doubts that the proud, untouchable Mary or moral, bookish Edith would do anything with that nasty foreigner… or so they thought. Thomas knew better.
Thomas didn't know everything, but he knew more than most. While most of the house scoffed at the rumors entirely, he knew that Pamuk had slipped into Lady Mary's room that night. He sent Edith to follow him. He heard the Turks boasting about Lady Mary's generosity, Lady Edith's spirit, and both of their beauty. It had been enough to make Thomas's skin crawl, but he had never stopped to ponder deeply what had happened that night. He didn't need to know. No one did… or did they?
Thomas was alone in the servants hall. Almost everyone else had gone up, leaving him by the fire with the letter Carson had demanded be burned immediately in his hands. It was from a nameless journalist from a paper, although even that title might have been above this gossip rag, asking for any information related to the Turkish Scandal.
Every estate mentioned in that Turk's book was being questioned and servants bribed for information. Any little detail, real or imagined, would be financially profitable. From what Thomas had seen while he ironed some of her ladyship's magazines, several servants had already cracked and stories had been published to catastrophic effect. Noble ladies had been ruined, and common folk had gained. Thirty pieces of silver for those willing to play Judas on their masters.
Thomas mindlessly rubbed every wrinkle out of the crumpled page as he thought it over. In the dim light it was hard to make out the words, but he had memorized them throughout the day. He knew the address to send it to. He knew where they would deliver his money. He knew he wouldn't even need to give up his name. He knew the amount they would give for each detail. For all he knew? The money would be life changing.
He could do it. So easily Thomas could change his whole world for the better. He could leave service if he wanted to. He could become properly middle class if he used the money right. All it would take is one story, one betrayal… but could he do it to Lady Edith?
Lady Edith was Thomas's favorite, but what did that really mean? How much did a few positive interactions over the years and a one-sided relationship compare to so much money? From the way the thought twisted his cold, rotten heart, more than it should.
It wasn't as though he had to include Lady Edith, Thomas assured himself. The public already liked that evil-promiscuous versus the good-pious sister dynamic. Mr. Napier's proposal just cemented that narrative, and he could lean into that and somewhat protect Lady Edith while still making the money he needed. Surely, that would be enough. What had Lady Mary or the rest of the Crawley's done to earn loyalty from him?
"Thomas?"
Thomas nearly jumped out of his chair. He quickly tucked the letter into his pocket, and turned to see Ms. Hughes walking towards him in the dim fire light. "Ah, Ms. Hughes."
"Whatever are you doing down here?"
"Just- Just needed some time to think."
"Oh, must be some mighty hard thinking to still be up at this hour," Ms. Hughes said, coming to sit beside him. "Can I offer you a penny for them?"
"They're worth a bit more than that, Ms. Hughes."
"A shame," Ms. Hughes sighed. She was silent a moment before giving him a side glance. "I suppose Ms. O'Brien can't pay your price either? I've noticed the two of you aren't quite the pair you once were."
"She expected not to pay at all," Thomas sneered. O'Brien expected to be told everything and for her "advice" to be obeyed without question. Their friendship, if that was an applicable word, was strong as long as they both knew the other's weaknesses. As soon as Thomas refused to tell her why he was so off put about the Turk and that night, it was over. Especially now she kept pestering him about the rumors. The stalemate had gotten so bad between them Thomas hadn't even gone to her when Bates had seen him prince some wine.
Thomas grit his teeth. It was just another reason to tell the Pamuk story. He couldn't think how to stop the man from telling without making it all worse. If he had that nest egg he would be alright even if Bates did decide to tattle.
"That's a shame," Ms. Hughes said again, watching his face as he scowled into the fire. "You both needed a friend."
"I don't NEED anyone, Ms. Hughes."
"We all need someone, Thomas." Ms. Hughes corrected softly before they both sat staring into the flickering flames for a moment. "I'm glad Lady Edith's found that someone."
"She deserves it after everything Lady Mary tried to pull."
"Lady Edith doesn't seem to be too put out about it. She's even letting both her sisters be her bridesmaids according to her ladyship's wedding plan."
"She's given Mary too many chances to my liking. She doesn't deserve it after everything."
"Don't say that in front of Mr. Carson."
"He saw her coming on to Mr. Napier just as sure as I did."
"And he would call it gibble-gabble all the same," she huffed before sighing. "Poor, Lady Mary. I can't help but pity the poor girl."
"Why? She's been nothing but a-" Thomas cut himself off at Ms. Hughes glare.
"Watch how you speak around me, Thomas. I'm not blind to their flaws, but the Crawleys' are good people all the same. Lady Mary is in a hard spot right now, and, make no mistake, most of it is her fault. She has made a number of bad choices, but life has a way of paying you back for your actions. It won't be pretty for her. Especially if she keeps going the same way."
"I suppose," Thomas muttered, rubbing the edge of the letter in his pocket.
"But none of that now," Ms.Hughes said, her serious tone turning soft. "This isn't about Mary. It's about Edith, and her marrying a good man who cares for her."
"Yeah…" Thomas drawled, staring into the flames as his fingers continued to circle the corners of the letterhead. "Ms. Hughes?"
"Yes, Thomas?"
"Do you really believe that? That life has a way to pay you back?"
"I do. For good or ill, what we do has a way of coming back to us."
"And… if it's ill?"
Ms. Hughes leaned back in her chair. She looked him over, sadly and knowingly. "You know, Mr. Carson told me some items haven't been adding up recently."
"I don't know what you are getting at, Ms. Hughes."
"No, I don't suppose you do. Mr. Carson is pretty confident there's a thief about, but I convinced him to wait before acting rashly."
"That's kind of you," Thomas said, his voice hoarse and faltering.
"The thing is, like I said, what we do has a way of coming back to us… and secrets tend to get out." Ms. Hughes paused for a moment, looking at Thomas but he refused to meet her gaze. "Of course, if found, no thief could remain at Downton."
"Of course," Thomas choked out, a cold dread washing over him.
"But I was thinking… Lady Edith is a kind soul, good at giving second chances. Maybe she would like to have a few familiar faces with her when she marries. If I spoke to her, I'm sure she would."
"Would you?"
"If you stop giving the world more cause to knock you down then yes, I will," Ms. Hughes said kindly, one hand coming out to pat his knee before standing. "Now, it's time for bed. Mr. Carson will be checking on us soon, and I would rather end my evening on a good note. Goodnight, Thomas."
"Goodnight, Ms Hughes," Thomas said, watching as the woman disappeared from the servants' hall and into the dark corridor.
Thomas sat, watching the fire flicker for another moment as he thought of all his options. At last, he made a decision.
By the time Carson came to the hall, making sure everyone was sleeping in their attic rooms, Thomas had already slipped away. The room was dark except for the faint red light cast by a dying fire, a fire fueled with the scorched remnants of a journalist's letter. The choice was made.