This is my interpretation – no more, no less.

Her hair was quite a lot longer than one would ever guess at first sight. Of course, it wasn't done to leave it loose – certainly not for a lady in her ranking. Imagine anyone seeing her like this, with her gray hair loose and reveling down her spine to her waist. A great many years had passed since anyone had seen her hair loose. She had been a widow for very long after all. She had slowly gotten used to the loneliness, but it didn't mean that she felt any less lonely than since recently after her husband had died. She had never had an interest in ever marrying another or even courting another without marriage, never mind bedding another in any way – no matter how charming those who had shown interest in her since the death of her late husband had always been. She had been a very beautiful woman until very late, though how hard one might really find it to believe at that very point. Her years of glory were long gone.

She always looked so very reserved, so dignified – so abiding to the written and unwritten rules. She hadn't always been that way, though how hard that might be to believe, too. Prior to the birth of Robert, Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, had actually been very much like Robert's eldest, Lady Mary. She wasn't surprised that they often fought, but nonetheless she understood her well – they were quite alike, in more ways than Mary would consider. As she looked in the mirror and saw her reflection, Violet guessed she shouldn't have been so harsh upon Cora for her daughter's mistake. Of course, she didn't know the details of what had gone on between her and that Kemal Pamuk in question, but she doubted whether Cora did, or would ever know either even if she asked. One didn't speak about these matters. She sighed, taking in the lines of old age that had never really left her face anymore over the years, and she wouldn't have been surprised to hear the majority of them had gotten there to begin with from always worrying over Downton – Downton, Downton… always Downton. She had gotten gray hairs rather early, undoubtedly caused by the same. Having passed the estate to Robert had not at all been entirely negative.

She was not at all the girl from then anymore. She had… settled. She was still just as pertinacious, of course. She wasn't all so fierce any longer, though. The bad hip that had now caused her to walk with a cane sure had slowed Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, down first physically and eventually emotionally as well. No, she shouldn't judge her so harshly. After all, she hadn't been the innocent virgin anymore on their wedding night either. In fact, she had made the exact same mistake as Lady Mary, though the man to whom she had lost her virginity had merely been a footman – not even a man of certain heritage. She had known him for longer than a few days, though. She guessed it balanced each other a bit.

Getting to her feet once more, Violet reached slowly for her lower back and painfully clamped her hand right there. She would be damned if she couldn't walk from the chair by the vanity to the bed without cane.

Actually, now she thought of it, she had been the same age as Mary when she had lost her virginity to the young gentleman named Aelwyn. Her mother especially had been forcing men on her ever since the age of seventeen. She would call it suggesting, but to her it would seem like forcing – not even one of them had been even remotely attractive to her – not the kind of man she could imagine spending her life with. It had been just after one of these lovely dinners again, where her father had 'suggested' a man about his age to her as a possible suitor when Aelwyn found her. Violet had remained long enough at dinner not to make herself suspicious, then claimed she had a typical headache and gone to her bedroom to cry. Male staff members typically weren't allowed even close to the rooms of the ladies, but Aelwyn had seen her hurry past in the hallway in a state that had made him worry. He had always been very kind, and she had needed the comfort.

More than now half a century later, she still hadn't found who had moved first, but they had moved together, kissed… made love.

Unlike Mary, she had never been caught in the act, though. Her lover hadn't died in the bed. It had never happened again, of course… and the first few interactions had been accompanied by discomfort, but it had returned to 'normal' gradually. She had never forgotten about it, though. She always wondered whether he had, but they had never talked about what had happened. He had wished her goodnight upon leaving her rooms that night and she him and… that had been it.

The maids had never wondered about the blood stains in the sheets. It wasn't in their positions to ask anyway, and she was a young woman…

Finally having awkwardly staggered to bed, she sat down on the edge with a groan, pondering about her late husband. He had come along a few months after the incident with Aelwyn. He had been the first man seeming nearly bearable, and so they had gotten engaged and then married within two years after. It hadn't been based on love at first, of course. It had been more based on her able to bear him at first while Patrick, or so she suspected, had always been quite taken with her in a romantic kind of way since the very beginning. Of course, Violet had learned to like him and later love him, something she never would have thought to be capable of.

Once Patrick had fallen to sleep on the night of their wedding, she reached for a small nail file from the vanity and slit it across the tip of her forefinger. He never had asked questions whatsoever, and she had never told so until years later, always having tried to keep the good peace. The two had lain pseudo-peacefully in one another's arms, really actually in love, when she took a deep breath and said there was something she had to tell him. He had not at all been upset. Only, he had smiled sadly at her and told her he suspected so, but that he could love her still – no use digging old caves again.

No, she really shouldn't be so harsh upon Mary. A pity it was that it had been discovered. She could now only do her best to help cover it again as inconspicuously as possible.

Swinging her legs up in bed, she reached for the covers of the bed and dragged them over her. Yes, she would tell her daughter-in-law very soon; tomorrow. She would just go to Downton the next day and tell Cora. After all, Cora had seemed thoroughly upset at her appalled reaction upon the news of Mary's… incident. Yes, that's what she would do. Family first, after all. Family always came first no matter what.

Turning on her side in bed and closing her eyes, settling her head better on the nice pillow, she fell asleep with her resolve in mind. It was entirely different to be there alone, with no one beside her; it wouldn't do for Mary to lose her chance on a nice married life because of one silly mistake she herself had made, too. It just… wouldn't. She would make sure of it all if she had to – which she most likely did.