Edith Crawley's Diary

I own nothing, naturally. Keep in mind, this is an AU, so a bit of OOC at some turns. Enjoy, review if you feel so inclined.

December 25th, 2012

My 27th year of life, 28th will hit in 8 months. And like every year before I find myself forced into going to the Christmas buffet luncheon at my family home. My mother loves throwing these massive dos. Personally I'd be happy to stay in my apartment. Alone with a bottle of wine or out with my friends enjoying the nightlife of London. Anything instead of catching a cab to the train station, a train to the country, and standing at the platform waiting for someone from Downton to pick me up.

Downton. My childhood home. A massive, archaic structure that only exist in BBC or ITV dramas. I'm fairly confident that Miss Marple would pop up at any moment to solve a murder there. Laughable to think that I grew up in such a place. Especially considering the apartment I live in now. A quaint little place above a takeout shop. My bedroom is above the kitchen, so it's steaming hot year round. But on the plus side I never have to walk far for dinner.

My mother's parties. You'd think it were 1920 given the spread she decides to lay out. The reception home is always rather lackluster for me. Especially if I have arrived before my perfect sisters. There's a glimmering moment of delight in my parents eyes, quickly extinguished when they realize it's their dowdy middle child.

"Oh, Edith. Hello, dear." Is the most I can look forward to. But the sting has managed to go out of it after all these years. Every year there's an attempt to match up the Crawley daughters with suitable young men of the "proper status." The most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Proper status. You'd think I was living in a Jane Austen novel. If I were you could best describe the suitors thrown my way as strictly Mr. Collins-like. The Darcy pool to the eldest, Mary. My sister who can do no wrong in my parents' eyes. Not even after that horrid scandal last year.

The son of a diplomat found dead in her bed. The medics said heart attack. My money had been wagered on frost bite. Of course my parents refuse to acknowledge that situation. If they did they would have to shift me out of first place for 'most disappointing child.'

My younger sister meanwhile, receives the Bingley suitors. Nice, timid young men who don't know how to handle themselves when faced with Sybil's glowing beauty. I am actually quite fond of Sybil. There's a minor tinge of resentment from time to time, but I can never stay cross with her for long. Mary on the other hand...

"You're late." Mother warns as I finally make my way through the front door.

"Make your complaints with the train system, mother."

"Can't solely fall on the train system."

That's right, if the trains are late it still manages to be my fault. If one the day the earth should cease to turn it would some how manage to be my fault.

"Mary managed to arrive promptly." Father chimes in behind me.

Perhaps her broom travels faster than the trains.

"Hello to you too, father."

I honestly don't know why I even bother any longer. At 27 one would think that a young, modern woman would be capable of standing up to her parents, sisters and grandmother and saying "I demand to be treated with just a hint of respect." But no, I'll keep my mouth shut, silently shouldering my resentment and unhappiness. Thus is the duty of the spinster daughter and one day aunt. Soon I will start acquiring neighborhood cats, perhaps take up knitting, die alone. Yes, I play my role well, even though I despise it.

Granny of course is on time. Sitting in her high backed chair, golden handled cane in reach.

"Edith, dear. I was beginning to worry that a band of gypsies stole you from the road."

"If only, granny." I smile sweetly.

"Fetch me a refill, would you please? Your mother's mother has arrived from America. I'll require a strong constitution to put up with that woman."

Ah, Grandmother Martha. Another pariah of the family, surprisingly the only one who truly seems to like me. Aside from Aunt Rosie of course. I got my looks from my father's sister. While my sisters had dark features and the hair to match I was left a ginger. How do you think that works for me? I have a very good idea what it feels like to be the red-headed stepchild. If only I were a stepchild…

"Gramma Martha isn't all bad."

"I can't stand the woman. The pair of you are so alike…"

"Thank you, granny. I don't know what to take from that. You hate the woman and she reminds you of me."

"Oh, don't be so literal, Edith. Go and fetch my drink."

That's right. Run along Edith, fetch my drink.

"Edith, are you going to change?" Mother asked, stopping me on my way back to granny.

"I wasn't planning on it." I shrugged, looking down at my dress. It wasn't the fanciest frock, but I looked presentable and age appropriate. For as much as my mother wanted her daughters to marry she did insist on dressing us as though it were 1982.

"I laid something out on your bed, just slip up and put it on."

"Why? I look fine."

"Yes, you look fine, so go put on something so that you look better."

The skirt went to my ankles, covering the whole of my legs. The sweater was far too big for me and made me look dowdy. If they wanted to sell me off to a proper suitor one would think that she would let me keep on my shorter skirt and fitted blouse. Regardless, it was easier to change and let her drop the subject.

"Edith, darling! There you are!" Gramma Martha, the only person happy to see me. The only one to offer me a hug, lovely American. "Your mother has brought another potential mate for you."

"Of course she has. Who's the lucky contestant this year?" I asked, looking around the room that had filled while I was upstairs.

"Anthony Strallan, wealthy barrister, divorced, old friend of your father's. Although a bit older than I'd like to see you set off with."

"Mother has to scrape the bottom of the barrel for me. Although I do tend to prefer an older man." I ceded with a shrug. Gramma Martha pointed out a tall, blonde man who had his back turned to us.

"Well… if the back is anything compared to the front, perhaps I'll owe mother an apology this time."

"Oh, Eeds, please. Don't be vulgar." Mary chimed in, appearing behind us with a drink in hand.

"My apologies, Mary, we can't all jump in and out of bed with someone who may or may not be a distant cousin."

"Matthew and I are off right now. And he is not our cousin in any sense."

"Certainly a load off my mind. I should go say hello to the wealthy barrister." I could feel Mary's eyes burn into the back of me as I walked away.

Of course my mother swooped in as soon as she noticed me moving towards Anthony, keen to make the introductions herself so that she would have a story to tell at the wedding one day. Anthony turned to face us and I found that his face was quite handsome in its way. Bright blue eyes shining down at me, a lopsided, hesitant smile. Oh yes, this could be quite the match.

"Anthony, I wanted you to meet my middle daughter. This is Edith. Edith, Anthony Strallan. Anthony is a barrister in London and Edith is an assistant at a publishing house."

"I'm not an assistant mother, I'm an editor."

"Oh, that's right dear. Excuse me for a moment." As quickly as she descended on me, mother was gone in the crowd again.

"It's nice to meet you." He offered timidly.

"And you… are you from the country?"

"Oh yes, just a few miles down the road. I come out for the holiday to visit with my parents."

"Your parents are still alive?" The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. "Sorry, I didn't mean… it's just… well, I tend to consider my grandparents anomalies at this point, living as long as they have after so many years of drinking and smoking. Funny how accepted all of that once was. Although drinking still seems to be all right. Certainly was last night when I was at a Christmas party in the city. Still a little hung over truth be told… I'm rambling and should probably just walk away right now. Lovely to have met you."

With that I walked away, returning to my gramma's side.

"Are those wedding bells I hear?" She asked, handing me another glass of wine.

"No, those are the meows of the fleet of cats that will enjoy feasting my body when I die alone."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. When I first met your grandfather I managed to spill an entire glass of red wine on him, set a napkin on fire, and sounded like an idiot."

"Did you suggest that he was too old to have living parents?" She laughed, putting an arm around me and giving me a hug.

"Don't think on it. There is a lovely man out there for you. If not in this room than in another one." She thought by turning me away I wouldn't see that Mary had slipped in and started to speak to Anthony. "I need to sit down, why don't you go fetch us both a plate. Then you can tell me all about the marvels of London."

I have no idea what I will do when Gramma Martha passes. She has such spunk I suspect she'll refuse to pass away. She'll simply live on forever, wearing her gaudy jewelry and veiled hats. I do know that when it does happen I will truly be alone in this family.

Arriving at the food line I didn't notice Dr. Clarkson and Anthony ahead of me at the buffet table until they began to speak.

"Which daughter have you been brought here to audition for?" I heard Dr. Clarkson ask, passing Anthony a glass of red.

"Goodness knows. The eldest I suspect. The youngest is far too sweet for the likes of me. The middle daughter is a bit… funny isn't she? Looks as though her mother dressed her, rather put her foot in her mouth while we were speaking earlier. She is rather the spinster of the trio of daughters, isn't she?"

I don't know what caused them to turn at that moment, but they did. There I stood, serving spoon full of turkey curry frozen in the moment as both men stared, faces flushed with embarrassment of having been overheard by their subject. Swallowing, I managed to find my voice.

"Turkey curry, my favorite." I managed, forcing a smile as I went through the motions of filling my plate. With a nod I brushed past them, not realizing I was still carrying the large spoon and having to double back to set it down.

Before Anthony could think to say something a voice called across the room: "EDIE!"

Suddenly I found myself hugged by my baby sister. The two plates in my hands managed to fall, spilling onto the ugly skirt I was forced into.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sybil apologized, grabbing a few napkins to try and clean up the mess.

"It's all right. One of mother's selections." I said, my tone loud enough for Anthony to hear. "Come upstairs with me while I get changed."

"What has you so down?" She asked, taking my hand and leading me out of the room.

Oh, sweet Sybil. How do I explain to someone so beautiful and lucky in life that I repel men, have no chance of happiness in the world, and was just rejected by a man I hardly had an interest in.

"Nothing, hung over from last night. What has you so excited?"

I changed out of the ruined skirt and pulled on the one I had arrived in. Listening all the while as Sybil told me about the young man she had met in London and had been sneaking off as often as possible to meet.

"Who has mother fixed you up with this year?"

"An older man who thinks that I'm a sulking spinster and already passed me off for Mary."

"That blonde gentleman who was speaking with Dr. Clarkson?"

"Yes."

"The way he was watching you I'm willing to bet he has no interest in Mary."

"Oh darling, how wonderful and cheerful it must be in your head."

"Come on, I'll prove it to you."

Taking my hand, Sybil led me back downstairs. I was still wearing the sweater mother had put out for me but had the instant comfort of my own skirt. Perhaps that would turn the barrister's head. If nothing else I had wonderful, long legs. We returned to the dining room only to be met with the sight of Mary and Anthony laughing over something, my sister resting her hand on his forearm.

"Edie…" Sybil started. I just shook my head.

"It's fine, Syb. Really. Don't think on it." With that I left the room, holding back any emotion that might make me appear to be weak.

"Edith?" I heard my gramma call to me.

"I'll be back in a moment." I replied, continuing downstairs to the old servants quarters and out the back door. Standing in the bitter air I took a deep breath. Next year is going to be different, I promised myself, next year you will not feel like this even once. Next year it will all be different.

And that explains this diary. To chronicle either a great success or a massive disaster. Either way, someone will know the story of Edith Crawley.