Chapter Text
As soon as Anna delivered her morning tea, Edith flipped through the newspaper like she did most mornings. Usually, it would be to the factual and opinion based articles on current events, but she was instead flipping to a section of the paper the Dowager would deem much more appropriate for a young lady.
Lord and Lady Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, announce the engagement of their daughter, Lady Edith Crawley, to the Honorable Evelyn Napier, Son of Viscount and Viscountess Philip Napier, she read. Then Edith read it again before letting it fall back to her tray.
It was the first time she had ever seen her name, her true name, in the paper. Somehow it set off butterflies in her stomach more than any controversial political article she had published. Not that she had been able to publish an article recently.
“Is everything alright, my lady?” Anna asked as she finished opening the last panel of curtains to let the early morning light into the peach toned room.
“Yes, of course,” Edith said. “I was just reading about the start of a new war in the Balkans.”
“Do you think England will be involved in this war too?”
“No, not this time, but it’s just more fuel to the fire of unrest. Something big is coming.”
“What sort of something?”
“I don’t know,” Edith lied, picking up the paper again to hide her frown. She couldn’t exactly tell Anna that a world war was around the corner. The only ways she could was through-
“Did you read that from Mr. Crow, my lady? I haven’t heard anything about him in a while.”
“Last month he announced he was going on a temporary hiatus.”
“Nothing better than a holiday,” Anna nodded before turning to the door. “I best be off, my lady. Do you need anything else?”
“No, that will be all. I can dress myself this morning. Thank you, Anna.”
With a curtsy, the maid left. Edith put her tray to the side and went to her desk. It was covered in papers, all written in neat, cursive German. Drafts of half finished articles trying and failing to properly articulate a warning of the war to come and more completed articles on the, comparatively simpler, current day issues of suffrage and politics were scattered about. If only she had a way to publish them.
With The Times refusing to publish any of Edward Crow’s articles without an in person meeting, Edith’s plans were at a stand still. She had spent the last month racking her brain for ideas when she wasn’t dodging Cora’s attempts to wedding plan or waiting for news from Evelyn. A list of potential other newspapers to write for was at the top of the pile on her desk, but almost all were marked through.
Most papers were sponsored by a political party. Edward Crow, or rather Edith herself, was unwilling to tow a particular party line. She had a number of opinions that conflicted with all sides. It was what made Crow a popular public figure by speaking her own varied truth without concerning herself with such loyalties. To lose that freedom would mean she would lose a good deal of her audience and her own self respect.
The more unbiased papers had their own problems. A number catered to the middle or working class. Edith doubted she would be accepted as an aristocratic journalist, and, even if she was, her pay and credibility to the powerful elite would be slashed. For different reasons, Edith refused to write for a purely upper class paper as her warnings, such as those about the Titanic, wouldn’t be seen by the majority who needed it.
There was also the issue that serious news and opinion columns related to them were a very niche market. It was honestly a miracle Crow was as popular as he was, in large part only due to the radical and salacious nature of her commentary. Edith knew from many mornings flipping through pages of sports analysis, fashion, human interest stories, and tabloid gossip that only a couple papers actually based their content on news. Two papers in particular held a tight monopoly on the news niche.
In that niche, The Times was the biggest. They dominated the industry. They had the largest circulation as a respected outlet for political and cultural change to the upper and lower classes alike. For Edward Crow to lose their spot in The Times was to lose much credibility and audience. Even if Edith went to The Daily Telegraph, their closest competitor, it would be seen by many as a step down. Who would take her words of warning seriously then? Certainly no one in power. But did she have a choice?
Edith quickly dressed in a royal blue walking suit with brown trim and matching hat. She was particularly pleased with her white gloves and specially tailored white undershirt with a collar that more closely resembled a tie than a bow or ruffle. She was so desperately glad she had ordered things she could put on herself, even if it made the others question her sanity or, at least, her fashion sense. Not that they could for long. She could be a married woman soon, in their mind at least.
No one questioned Edith as she slipped outside, large book in hand. It was a common enough event to see their young mistress disappear for hours into the wilds with nothing but a book or her sketch pad. Nevermind that the book, one as big and dull as she could find, actually smuggled half finished pages of scrawled German letters and articles. She needed quiet and privacy to work, and she found it in a patch of clover under a large horse chestnut tree by a road few locals ever took.
In two hours, Edith still had nothing to show for her endeavors except for a few crumpled pages scattered about the clover. Again and again she wrote the words “to whom it may concern” and fumbled a stilted greeting, but the necessary phrase “I would be honored to write for The Daily Telegraph” never came. She wasn’t honored and none of the other words she tried to pen, pleased, thrilled, grateful, proud, fit her mood either.
Edith tapped her pen on the spine of her book turned table. There wasn't another way around this. The Daily Telegraph would happily let Edward Crow write for them rather than their competition, and, even if she wanted to, there was no way to continue writing for The Times. Not unless she could appear for their in person interview, but how could she?
A young female journalist would not be accepted as anything more than a curiosity, not among the elite in pre-World War I England. The reputation of her family would plummet as not truly sophisticated gentry, and Edith’s own reputation could become viewed as not truly a real woman either. Certainly not one any respectable gentleman would want to marry. What would Evelyn say then?
No, Edith decided. She could not and would not reveal her identity to the press. But that decision left only deception or a letter to The Daily Telegraph, and she couldn’t think of a convincing lie. None of the men in her circle would be convincing journalists.
The idea of Papa being Crow was laughable. He was far too traditional. Matthew could spout many of the same ideals, but he didn’t have the same aristocratic background. Besides, the thing she needed with a false Crow was trust, and she didn’t have that faith in either of them. That left one terrifying option, Evelyn.
Evelyn had the aristocratic background needed, and several of the same views as Crow. He certainly admired the author even though some of his views on issues, such as an independent Ireland, were rather opposed. Surely, if Edith told him how important it was to her, he would help. Wouldn’t he?
But then, Evelyn was a reserved traditionalist by nature. Many of his opinions were often similar to Edith’s, but his approach relied on patience and good timing in future rather than modernization and a push for change in the present. Would he even be believable as Edward Crow? Would he even agree? Or would he be disappointed in her radical actions? See her as less of a woman, a wife? Edith didn’t know.
“Lady Edith?”
Edith jerked her head up. She couldn’t believe she was so lost in thought to miss a horse and rider coming up the road, but apparently she was.
“Sir Anthony,” Edith greeted as the man slid from his saddle. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I felt obligated to visit your family to apologize for my behavior at dinner a couple weeks ago.”
“Whatever for?” Edith said in surprise, putting her book and papers aside to stand. “It was we who were such terrible hosts. The salty pudding was enough to have anyone storm out of the house let alone the scene we made after.”
“My dear departed mother would say differently of my snorting and snickering,” Sir Anthony said with a shake of his head. “It was quite unseemly. And a salty pudding is hardly worth storming over. It really was alright.”
“Then let us both agree that our behavior that night was not our best and leave it be. I would hate to never see you back at Downton because of it.”
“As I would hate to never see Downton,” Sir Anthony nodded, looking down at the book and strewn papers around the clover patch. “I have disturbed your reading.”
“No, no,” Edith hurried to say, reaching down to gather the crumpled papers she had littered about the lawn and book writing desk. “I was just doing a little writing. Nothing important.”
“All the same,” Sir Anthony said as he reached down to help her gather papers. “I do apologize. May I walk you back to your house?”
“Of course. I was about done anyway.”
Sir Anthony held his horse's reins in one hand while offering Edith his other arm. They didn’t speak for a moment, just walked along the road. Edith organized and straightened the crumpled drafts of articles and letters to The Daily Telegraph in her book. Sir Anthony watched her over her shoulder when suddenly he seemed to choke.
“Ah- Um-“ Sir Anthony coughed awkwardly, quickly looking away from Edith when she looked up at him. “Lady Edith, what are you writing?”
“Letters. I need to write one to Mr. Napier and inquire about his father.”
“Yes, I heard he was ill. And I read in the papers you were engaged this morning. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Edith said, continuing to straighten her papers even as Sir Anthony seemed to become more awkward and stilted. The poor man really wasn’t good at small talk, but he was trying. “And what of you, Sir Anthony. Any plans for your future?”
“Oh, well, I don’t think I told you at dinner, but I plan to travel abroad this fall. Probably through the spring.”
“How exciting. Where will you go?”
“Um, well, Germany for one.”
“Be careful then. I have heard of rising tensions on the continent, Germany in particular.”
“So I have been told,” Sir Anthony said. He hesitated for a minute before continuing. “But you see, I’ve been wanting to go to Germany to practice my language skills for a while.”
“Oh?” Edith hummed. She finally closed the book, content all Crow articles and letters were safely pressed and out of sight. She looked up at the awkward man with an encouraging smile. “That will be good then. What languages do you speak?”
“Yes. You see, I speak German… and I can read it.”
It took a moment to process. Sir Anthony’s guilty gaze and serious tone didn’t fit the words until she finally put the pieces together. Then her smile slipped, and Edith felt the horror and disbelief roll up into her chest.
“You read German,” Edith whispered. How had she forgotten? How could she have been so careless?
“Yes,” Sir Anthony admitted. “I didn’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help but read… Are you Edward Crow?”
The world stood still for a moment. Edith didn’t hear the birds or horses hooves or see the dirt road before her. Her whole world was the buzzing in her ears and pounding of her own heart.
“Yes. I am.”
Sir Anthony didn’t speak for a moment. He faced forward, refusing to look at her, and Edith was forced to walk along with him in terror until he finally spoke.
“You are a very brave young woman.”
“What?”
“You’re brave,” Sir Anthony repeated, “to write what you do. I don’t think I could do that now, let alone at your age.”
“It’s hardly brave when you hide behind a false name.”
“I’m sure it’s hard enough without the world knowing the truth.”
“Y-yes. It can be.”
“What made you start?”
“I just-“ Edith began, but stopped to think. She had never thought about it. “I just wanted to be heard. I had opinions and things to say, and no one would listen. And with the Titanic I thought… what I knew would help people.”
Sir Anthony nodded again. “It has. I can’t say I know a lot about it, but I know Crow, or rather, you have changed some things for the better. Your family must be proud.”
“No!” Edith said quickly, bringing them both to a stop. “They don’t know.”
“They- they don’t know?” He said confusedly. “Not your father or fiance or-“
“No one knows. No one but you and I.”
“But surely they must-“
“Papa wouldn’t approve. No one would. No one can know Edward Crow is Edith Crawley. They wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“But you're a successful journalist?”
“I’m their daughter. That’s what matters to them. That and that I am getting married.”
“Is that why you have stopped writing? I read in The Times that Crow- that you have stopped writing articles for now.”
“No,” Edith grimaced. “The Times doesn’t know who I am. They wanted an in person interview before they published more articles, but I can’t exactly walk into their offices and announce I am Edward Crow.”
“Because they wouldn’t take you seriously.”
“That and I doubt they would keep it to themselves. It would be the story of the year: Earl's daughter turned radical journalist. It would sell out in a day.”
“So, you are going to start writing for The Daily Telegraph?”
“If they will have me,” Edith said, frowning at the reminder he had read her poorly drafted letters. “I can’t stay at The Times unless I have someone act as my shield and lie for me.”
“Couldn’t Earl Grantham or Mr. Napier do that for you?”
“Not Papa, and I couldn’t do that to Evelyn. It would put him in an uncomfortable position, and he is already doing too much for me.”
“So you need someone else.”
“Yes, but I could hardly ask someone to risk-“
“What if I offered?”
“You, Sir Anthony?” Edith’s mind was spinning. Questions and denials bounced around her head and out her mouth without anything to catch them. “Why you? What would make you want to do it? I- we haven’t ever discussed politics before. I don’t know if you agree with half the things I write, let alone enough to put your reputation on the line for it.”
“Even if I didn’t, I respect the bravery it takes to do it. I would hate to see the career of a promising young lady cut short when one meeting would help.”
“You are… more kind than I ever thought, Sir Anthony.” I can see why the original Edith fell for you, Edith thought. Sir Anthony might not be the most swave or dashing gentleman, but he was supportive, understanding, and kind. For Edith, the original or who she was now, that meant more than she could say.
Sir Anthony fumbled a bashful thanks for her words as Edith began to think. This could work. Sir Anthony was an aristocrat, born and bred. He was extremely educated in a way that would make Crow’s knowledge believable, but he was also shy and socially awkward enough to explain his hesitation to enter the public spotlight himself. And with his trip abroad, The Times would be unlikely to ask for another meeting soon. In fact, it might just make them take her warnings of a coming war seriously if they thought Crow was seeing it all first hand. It could work, but could she trust him?
Edith didn’t trust her own father or fiance with the truth, but suddenly she was willing to let a stranger she barely knew help her with one of her largest secrets? It was absurd. It was troubling. It was, Edith could admit, rather sad, but what else could she do? He already knew, he was willing, and he was kind. Did there really need to be more to it than that?
“When we get to Downton, I will show you my backlog of original articles. If you read them all and determine you are still willing to chain your reputation to my work, then I would be honored to have you stand in as my false Crow, Sir Anthony. I will be in your debt, and I don’t know how I can ever repay it.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Sir Anthony fumbled, flustered.
“It is. I won't be able to thank you enough even if you just choose to keep my secret. Your offer is more generous than I could ever hope for.”
“Well, Lady Edith-“
“Just Edith. If we are to be co-conspirators in this, I would like us to be friends as well.”
“Well then, Edith, if you must think yourself in my debt, I would ask you to do one thing.”
“Anything.”
“If it ever gets out that I am pretending to be, or rather, I am Edward Crow. I would ask that, eventually, you tell the truth.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise.”
“It doesn’t have to be till you're old and grey, but… I would rather not steal your glory for too long. Not when I have done nothing for it.”
“I- very well,” Edith agreed. “And I promise, if ever you are given trouble for this, I will confess.”
“I didn’t say you should do that.”
“But I will. You are being too kind for me to do otherwise.”
“And you are still being quite brave. Even with me as your bumbling mask.”
“Potentially, and I’d hardly say bumbling. After you have seen my unpublished articles you might take it all back. There are quite a few.”
“I would hate to take your whole afternoon.”
“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure, and I’m sure Mama will invite you to dinner as soon as she sees you. Mrs. Patmore will want to redeem herself from last time.”
Cora did invite the man to dinner when she saw them arrive, and after the main courses they were all presented with a lovely apple charlotte for dessert. No doubt Mrs. Patmore had let one of the kitchen maids, likely poor Daisy, read out the recipe, and made sure to check at least a dozen times that the snowy topping was truly sugar instead of salt. Unlike before, this meal with Sir Anthony was a triumph all around.
No one felt more pleased than Edith after he had gone. She felt lighter than she had in months. Even after reading her more sensational pieces, he had, worriedly but determinedly, offered to go to The Times before his season abroad. He even agreed to keep in touch with Edith, and send her his observations during his travels. Truly, Sir Anthony was heaven sent.
The next morning Edith was feeling jolly enough to ignore Mary’s jabs about “Napier not being enough” and Cora’s questioning looks. She had happily burned all her drafts to The Daily Telegraph, and instead sent three letters in its place.
The first was to Sir Anthony. She thanked him profusely for his aid, promising to inform him as soon as The Times set a date for their meeting. The second, was the said request to The Times, informing them that Crow had finally handled his personal affairs and was ready to tell them of his identity, provided it was not made public. The last letter was so disconnected from the others it had been difficult to write.
Edith had put pen to paper again and again, but each time she wrote what she didn’t mean to say. She couldn’t share this joy with Evelyn. She couldn’t let him know the truth, not yet, not through a letter. So she burned the first drafts she wrote to him as well, writing instead after his father and other family members. It was short and bland and not at all what she wanted to say, but it would have to do for now.
With letters posted and family avoided, Edith felt that, for once, everything was going her way. Her family was happy with her. Her future was settled, if she wanted it to be, with a handsome, rich gentleman who loved her. Her career was safe, and she had time to act before this blissful world was ruined by war. But she couldn’t think of that now. For now, all was well, and, for just this moment, everything was perfect.
