A/N: First published on tumblr in response to those gorgeous new spoilery S03 picnic photos. I couldn't help feeling that Mary/Michelle Dockery looked rather strained in the pictures though, so this happened. Thank you to everyone who liked or commented on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it again here, or for the first time. :)
It was a gorgeous August day at Arundell Hall but Mary felt out of spirits. No... not out of spirits precisely. It was rather that she felt on the point of something; some realisation, some change, some... something, and it made her jumpy, restless, nervous. Or perhaps it was simply that around this very day six years ago war had broken out and Matthew had rejected her with the sun beating down on her very much as it was doing now.
A headache had been developing most of the day and she sat at her table almost silently, her darling Matthew at her side shouldering most of the conversation with her sister and brother-in-law. The coolness of the champagne she was sipping at helped but if truth be told she really felt rather ill.
"Mary, are you quite sure you're alright?" said Sybil, completely cutting off her husband in the midst of a story about – she really had no idea. "You look terribly flushed."
Since Sybil had returned she had taken to mothering her own elder sisters. Mary had to smile; it was terribly endearing and really rather relaxing after the initial shock of it.
"I'm-" Everyone was looking at her. She swallowed, tasting bubbles of champagne on her tongue. "I'm dreadfully hot actually. This sun..." She held up her hand in a weak gesture. "Matthew, could we-"
"Of course." He stood up, they made their excuses and wandered away across the lawn.
"Darling, you should have said something. If I'd known you were ill..."
She turned and walked backwards a few paces, shrugging. "I'm not ill. Just..." She shook her head. "It's the funniest thing but I can't stop thinking about the outbreak of war. We were all together, drinking champagne, it was sunny, everyone was happy and then- it all fell to pieces."
She half tripped as the ground rose under her feet and Matthew lunged for her, champagne slopping out of his glass. She steadied herself.
"Mary, my love," he said, coming up close to her, "nothing's going to fall to pieces." He smiled at her. "We're here. We have each other."
She twisted her head away and smiled painfully. Her heart was beating rapidly and she didn't know why. "We thought that last time too."
Matthew wouldn't stop smiling. "But the great difference is, darling, that whatever does happen we'll be ready for it and will take it on the chin."
"Oh my dear..." She loved him terribly and glanced wryly at him as she continued to walk along a path against the edge of the walled garden. It was cooler here next to the brick and the trees provided some shade.
They walked together in silence for a while; they knew each other too well to need to fill up the space with mindless conversation and were just glad of each other's company. Matthew sipped his champagne at intervals, tilting his head back to drain in. Mary did not drink. She carried her glass at her side like a stage prop. Yes! That was it exactly. A prop in a play for which she had not rehearsed and for which the second act seemed to be rushing faster and faster upon her and she still did not know the ending – A wave of nauseous panic completely unfitting for the setting almost engulfed her and she stopped walking for a moment, swallowing again and again until it passed.
Matthew looked at her anxiously. "Darling-"
"No! I'm quite well." She glanced around at the trees and the bushes and the flowers that were so beautiful here. "I was just thinking how lovely it is to have a large garden. Crawley House is rather limited in that respect."
"Not that again!" sighed Matthew. "You've been listening to Edith talk about being mistress of a great house and I'm afraid the green-eyed monster is rearing its head. Would you really swap with her though?"
Mary had to laugh and felt better for doing so. "And be married to Sir Anthony and his tractors? Oh, it's tempting, Matthew, I won't deny it, but there'd be a terrible scandal if I did."
"That wouldn't bother you though, would it? I'd better warn Edith!" He turned away as if to walk back to the others.
She laughed again but called to him. "No, darling, don't go! I was being quite serious about doing something in the garden. We could fill in the pond and make a bower instead."
"But my mother loves the pond!"
Mary's headache was starting to return with a vengence. She had been distracted but now... "And your mother isn't-"
"My mother isn't mistress any more. I know. But why all this sudden mania for changing everything when we've just got it so nice?" He came up to her, his expression softening. "This isn't you. What's wrong, Mary? If you're ill then we'll go straight home."
"I suppose that's one of the joys of having our own car," she murmured, evading the question. "We don't have to wait for the others."
"Mary," he said very fondly, taking her hands, "we never have to wait for anyone apart from each other if we don't want to. It's just the two of us."
As he pressed her fingers in what he intended to be a reassuring way, she felt overcome by another rush of heat and sickness and she visibly winced, pulling away a little.
"Mary!" Matthew exclaimed, sounding more genuinely concerned now. "Please, tell me what's wrong."
She broke free from him, clutching her hand to her stomach as she took deep breath after deep breath until the sickness passed. She felt slightly choked and tears started to her eyes, blurring her vision of her family spread out on the lawn before them: Granny and Isobel, friends at last, in pride of position as the matriarchs. Her mother, Sir Anthony and Edith, sitting round one table deep in conversation, her sister still blooming in those first months of marriage – it had been extraordinary to see. Sybil and Tom at the table they had deserted, their heads together, plotting and planning and preparing together as they always did, and her father, striding between all the groups, trying to fit in to this new, youthful world. Her eyes lingered on Sybil's back a moment longer and she felt her lips turn up indulgently. She stretched her hand out and found her husband's, clutching it tightly. He waited for her.
Eventually she turned to him and shook her head slightly. "There's nothing wrong, dearest." He looked unconvinced and she smiled, feeling a small sense of calm begin to penetrate the fizzing impossibility of her feelings. Nodding her head towards the door in the wall leading out to the fields she continued, "Shall we walk a little further? There might be more of a breeze in the park and – well, there's something I think we need to talk about."
Matthew's eyes flickered over her face but she was calm now so he did not worry. He squeezed her hand and,drawing her after him, began to walk in the direction of the open gate.
A/N: Yes, you're right, in case you're wondering about something at the end of this story. The impression you've got is intentional. :P Hope you enjoyed it!