Farewell my lover
He stood by the church door, waiting for her. A thin cold wind stirred the dead leaves at his feet, and the rooks cawed harshly in the winter-bare trees. He shivered – she was late, and as much for something to do as to keep warm, he started walking around the churchyard, pausing and stooping now and again to read inscriptions dimmed by the growth of lichen and the passing of time.
"Mr Crawley!"
He turned and saw her hurrying down the path, a small neat woman in black. As she approached and stretched out her hand in welcome, he could see the grief etched on her face – the pallor of sleepless nights and the red eyes that spoke mutely of many tears.
Mr Cr – I mean my lord..."
"No need to call me that, Mrs Moorsum. If Mr Crawley is easier..." For this woman there would only ever be one Earl of Grantham.
She nodded, grateful for his understanding, and took his proffered arm. "Your letter came just in time. Freddie has been offered a post at an American university, and wants me so much to go with him. I said at first that I wouldn't, but since ….. well, there's nothing to keep me in Downton, or England for that matter, so I've said I'll go"
"Not even your parents?"
Briefly she shook her head "Both dead. My brothers are in Australia, and Freddie is all I have - now"
"I'm sorry". They stood arm in arm outside the church door, and as he pushed it open he sensed rather than saw the deep breath she took before stepping inside. As she moved into the musty darkness, he felt for the light switch, and beams sprang into life above the altar. She was standing uncertainly in the middle of the aisle, uncertain where to go until he took her arm and guided her gently towards what she had come to see.
IN LOVING MEMORY
ROBERT CRAWLEY
FIFTH EARL OF GRANTHAM
1866 - 1935
Pulling away from him with a small cry of despair, she fell on her knees and stroked the letters, bending so close to the stone that for a moment Matthew thought that she was kissing it. Deeply moved, he walked a few paces way to be out of earshot of the woman murmuring to and caressing the letters as if they were a living face. Will there, he thought suddenly, be a woman who loves me and grieves for me enough to do that when I lie here?
He did not know how long it was before she sat beside him, making sure that she could still see the memorial. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, but her voice was steady.
"How did you find me, Mr Crawley?"
"Your latest letter was in his coat pocket. When he was... the undertakers handed me everything that was on his body, and I found the rest in his desk drawer. At the front – where he could see them just by opening it."
"Robert took such an interest in my son that every time Freddie wrote to me about his work I would pass them on with a letter of my own. I did not think that he would keep them, but it was a way to keep him, to touch him..." She started crying again and Matthew patted her awkwardly on the shoulder until she was calm again.
"He kept Freddie's letters too, but yours must have been the ones he read the most. They were almost falling apart."
"What have you done with them?"
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The undertaker coughed gently. "All done, sir. The ladies and the children have been, so we just need your word now to finish up and take his lordship to the church"
Matthew allowed himself a wry smile "Sir" - not "my lord". For everyone at Downton, there was only one my lord, and would be for a long time. It was, he reflected, as it should be – he didn't think he would ever be able to match up to Robert Crawley, as Earl, friend, landlord and family man. Now there was one last thing he could do, that only he would know about but which he hoped would bring comfort to one person at least.
"Thank you, Thwaites. Now, if you will allow me a couple of minutes..."
"Take as long as you like, sir. It's a right grief to us all that the Earl has gone, and it must come hardest of all on you". The man bowed his head toward the coffin, walked softly out and closed the door.
Once he had gone, Matthew stepped up, gazing for the last time at his best friend. "I can't tell you how much you meant to me, Robert, and how much I will miss you. My life has been better for being your friend – and as your friend there is one last thing to do for you". Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small packet of letters, and, leaving them for the moment on the trestle edge, unbuttoned the tweed jacket and cotton shirt underneath. Wincing at the touch of the cold, rigid flesh, he slid the packet into the shirt and re-fastened the clothes. "There, dear friend. A comfort for you through eternity. I'll make sure she knows, and I'll look after her for you."
Stepping back, he turned away, opened the door and called the men in to finish their work.
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"So there you are, Mrs Moorsum. Your letters lie next to his heart for ever. No-one knows but you and I, and no-one will hear from me."
She seized his hand, and, much to his embarrassment, held it against her damp cheek.
"Thank you, my lord. I can see why he loved you as a son. I know you'll be a worthy successor to him".
Awkwardly, he replied "Well, I shall try. I promised him as he lay there that I would look after you if you needed - "
"No, indeed, my lord. You have been more than kind, asking me here and letting me say farewell, and it is time that I went back. There is - " she hesitated " - one more thing, if I may?"
Opening her bag, she stepped back toward the memorial and laid a small bunch of forget-me-nots against it, crouching to brush it with her fingers for the last time. Then she took his arm once more and they left the church without a backward glance.