Author's Note: What can I say? I've been binge watching the first three series of Downton and completely forgot how much I love M/M! They were love in its' rare, purest form and I think I speak for the whole fandom when I say - 'nothing compares to you!'
I like to pretend the last three series was just fanfiction - I mean, I didn't enjoy any of it except little George and the Mary/Tom friendship. Oh and Queen Violet of course. I also like to think that Talbot got in his car and drove as far away as possible! I liked him in the CS but then when they shoehorned him into Mary's life - when she clearly didn't want him - I finally saw all the sharks jumping in front of my TV! Anyway, this is an AU where she didn't marry anyone (what's wrong with being a single mum and happy? Also, how come there were all these young men around, after a war which decimated a whole generation?!) So yeah, back to the story, Mary finally reunites with Matthew (and her family) in the afterlife. I started writing it as a point of closure - but then the story started spinning into something bigger so it's not a one shot anymore.
Anyway, enough rambling! Please read and let me know what you think! (All rights belong to Fellowes, ITV, Carnival etc.)
Chapter 1 - Leaving on a Jet Plane
January 12th 1993
A hundred and one years.
How was it possible for one to live so long? Too much. She'd seen too much change and now it was as if she were living in a different world. She could never understand Granny or Papa's reluctance to let go of the past… but watching the entire world she knew and loved, collapse into ruination…
It was time to let go. Before she was lost entirely.
"Everything seems so golden one minute and then turns to ashes the next."
Lady Mary Crawley pulled herself out of her wheelchair, leaning on her cane, she shuffled to the window. She gazed out into the gardens, the grass coated with a shimmer of frost. Only two months ago, they'd celebrated her one hundred and first birthday, huddled outside, pretending not to feel the chill. She almost smirked. Just like the English. Oh yes, she'd lived all right, and seen it all.
A hundred and one years. A milestone. An achievement.
She'd lived through two world wars, clenched her teeth in fear – first for the love of her life – the second, for their only, precious child. She'd watched her son take over the mantle as the Earl of Grantham and turn Downton into a training airfield for the RAF… a hub that's still celebrated to this very day, essentially saving the entire estate.
"So we'll be building our kingdom while we make our little prince."
"I'm looking forward to both enormously."
And what a prince he was. My God, the things George had achieved by his mid twenties alone… a real aviation hero of the Second World War and decorated highly by the King.
She'd watched walls built – and then crumble down. She'd watched Prime Ministers swan in and out of Downing Street. She watched socialism finally erupt, spreading over the country like a contagious gas. Workers, miners, teachers striking and protesting, her son almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion from it all. She saw women's skirts grow shorter and men's hair grow longer...!
'Have you seen the boys haircuts that the women are wearing in Paris?'
'I hope you won't try that.'
All in all, she saw the perfect, golden world of her childhood, die a slow... agonising death. But importantly... she lived through a revolution. A proper one that grabbed control of the world with both fists and refused to let go. And the awful truth was - Mary agreed with them. After WW2, what right did any of her lot have to control anyone any more? No wonder her dear Papa passed away only two years into the war. It must've been sheer terror as well as outright worry for George's safety that finally finished the poor man off.
Mary caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Who was that old woman staring back at her? What happened to the vibrant young woman who sashayed into each room, head held high, commanding attention wherever she turned? What happened to the young woman who 'pushed in' to Crawley House and set off a chain of events that changed absolutely everything….
"Well they're clearly going to push one of the daughters at me! They'd have fixed on that when they heard I was a bachelor."
"Mary…."
That voice. God. She hadn't heard it in so long…. Seventy-one years and five months to be exact.
"Where – where are you my darling?" She whispered, longing yet dreading to hear it again.
A chill trickled down her neck. She gasped, her thin, leather hands brushed over the spot.
Must've been the wind. It was always a drafty house. Carson scoffed at the very idea of central heating. Luckily Barrow was much more accepting of 'His Lordship' and the changes brought forth.
"Mama, there you are! I thought you'd run away from us." George's voice pulled her back, sharply into the present.
"Hardly!' Mary scoffed, "In this contraption, I'm unlikely to get very far!"
George laughed, sorting through the large pile of letters on his desk.
"How was the shoot?" Mary asked.
"All right. We didn't catch much. But it was good to see everyone again."
"Is Sybbie coming for dinner tonight?"
"No, Sybbie said Charlie wasn't feeling well so they're going to give the shooting a miss altogether."
"Oh! But I was looking forward to seeing her!"
"Me too Mama, but Charlie can't risk another outing so soon. She said Charlotte and Tommy might still make it, along with their lot for tomorrow." George gave her a wistful smile. "It'll be good to have them all at Downton again. Don't you think?"
Mary nodded, "Yes. I should like to see them all." Before I go. She almost added, but quickly swallowed the words.
"Hopefully Charlie will make a full recovery soon."
She had to admit, when Sybbie married Charlie Bryant – well, Dr Bryant as he was known - she could almost hear Granny chuckling from beyond the grave.
A housemaid son and the chauffeur's daughter. It was definitely something they could all chuckle about now. Only because the world had finally changed and so had everyone in it.
It was certainly odd to think that all four of Charlotte and Tommy's grandparents had been – 'fraternising' under Downton's roof at exactly the same time.
"Ethel's made her choice and now she must live with it."
Little did she know that the consequence of Ethel's 'choice' would be married to her niece!
Life has a funny way of twisting everyone together.
George sniffed, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief.
"What's the matter Georgie?" Mary asked, adopting the same tone she had when she caught him sniffling in the nursery because his toy airplane had a broken wing.
"I'm not feeling that spectacular myself to be honest. I knew I should've given it a miss."
"I shouldn't have done that. But I couldn't resist."
"See this is just what I was afraid of."
"Then why didn't you?" Mary chided. Even though he was seventy-one with grandchildren of his own - he'd always be her baby. "Why couldn't you just let Ross host it?"
"I didn't want to risk leaving Ross alone with Lord Manville!' George rolled his eyes, "He'd start spouting all that political nonsense and I'm not sure my patience could handle it. Armed with guns, it would only end in disaster for one or both of us!"
Mary's eye lids fluttered in exasperation. She'd spent most of her eldest grandson's life acting as a peacekeeper between him and – well – the rest of the family. A socialist Viscount and future Earl of Grantham. Naturally he made waves amongst his peers in the House of Lords.
Granny and Papa would faint from shock or shame. She wasn't quite sure which.
"Georgie you mustn't fight with Ross." Mary gently reminded him.
"Why not?"
"Because…"
"Because one day you might need him."
"Because you two need each other. He's your son and heir. He's going to be the next Earl of Grantham whether you like it or not. " She gestured to him, "If we could pick and choose the title – you won't be standing here now! You can trust me on that!"
George smirked. Mary's heartbeat accelerated. It was almost as if Matthew were stood before her…
"Don't play with me. I don't deserve it. Not from you."
George lifted a decanter of scotch from the holdall and popped the lid off. "I know Mama. But he doesn't make it easy." He poured himself a healthy measure.
Mary raised her brow, "All right, so your eldest son's a rebel! What can you do about it?"
"Rebel? He's practically a communist. I wouldn't be surprised if he invited the locals to tie us all up and ransack the house!"
Mary clucked. "Don't exaggerate!"
"I'm sorry, have you forgotten Christmas 68? Is that an exaggeration?"
"He was a – what do they call it – a 'teenager' for goodness sake!"
George blinked. "He burned the Christmas tree down Mama. On purpose."
"He was worried we were going to lose Downton. He was trying to help." Mary shuffled her feet awkwardly, the memory of Ross's actions still burned brightly in their memories as did the house that night. "Besides he didn't know we'd be in the house that night. He thought we were all at church."
George glared at her. "Oh. That's fine then."
"All right, so Ross may act on impulse. But he isn't the first Crawley to do so. And he certainly won't be the last."
"You're not the first Crawley to make a mistake."
George raised his glass in a mock salute, "To the future Earl of Grantham."
Mary sighed, "George, training you wasn't exactly a stroll in Hyde Park."
He all but slammed the tumbler on the mahogany. "What do you mean? I was twenty when Grandpapa died and we were in the middle of a war! I was skiing down a steep learning curve - compared to Ross I was practically a baby! I had been shot down, my face ripped apart, my legs burnt to a crisp and my shoulder cracked out of joint – but I still took my duties seriously! I literally poured my life, blood, sweat and tears into Downton!"
"Yes and turned it into an airport!"
"For the millionth time Mama, an RAF training base isn't an airport!" He huffed, "They needed a vast open space to train pilots and we have it! Acres and acres of it!"
"And I was all for waving the flag in our honour during that time – but the war ended forty-eight years ago, so what on earth are they all still doing here?"
George pinched the bridge of his nose, again, embodying his dear father in every way. "I'm not fighting you on this again Mama. We need money. This is how. We have to keep it going."
Mary bristled, "George I'm not criticizing -"
"Aren't you?"
"But I can think of better ways to keep Downton afloat without turning it into the next Aerodrome!"
George took a deep breath. "Why are you rehashing all this now? Ross agrees with me and has some incredible plans for the place that stretch all the way into the next millennia and beyond! And that's good enough for me!" He said, punctuating his statement with a large gulp of scotch.
Mary tried not to let the smirk crack through her lips, but it was too tempting to resist. She bit her tongue, waiting.
George slowly turned to her, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Very clever Mama."
Mary adjusted the sleeves on her cable knit cardigan, "I don't know what you mean my dear. I was – merely making conversation."
"Oh, is that what you call it?"
'Do I hear sounds of a disagreement?'
'Is that what they call discussion in New York.'
"It must be my American blood seeping through. But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll denounce you as a liar…"
Her words lingered uncomfortably in the air. She hadn't realised….
"I wouldn't dare Mama." George's face broke into a smile and he relaxed into their confortable silence with ease. How many times had they done this during the war? Pigeon holed into the library whilst air force intelligence stormed the rest of the house. George would sit with her, decked in his navy blue uniform and under candlelight, the two of them would spend hours chatting – sometimes well into the break of dawn. When he had been shot down during that fateful Spring of 1941, she'd spent hours by his bedside, the toy tog pressed in his palm. His face, even now, had a thin scar running down his cheek.
Battle scars. A mark of war. Just like his father.
'You must promise to give it back without a scratch.'
'Won't you need it?'
'Not as much as you.'
Darling George. Mary had watched him receive all the medals of honour and valour, kneeling before the King. She'd watched him marry the girl who nursed him through the darkest period of his life, and smiled as their four children come into the world.
First the twins in 1950 - Ross, the Viscount Downton and Lady Elizabeth, followed by Alexander in late 1955.
She'd tried to fight some of the names, but should've realised that her child, who carried both hers and Matthew's blood, would never back down. Always did love a good argument, her little George. And she loved him for it.
'If you really like an argument...'
'Yes?'
'We should see more of each other.'
Lizzie had married a Duke and was now the Duchess of Malahide. Eighty years ago, Mary would've sobbed with joy at the thought of her only granddaughter outranking everyone, including her. Now, she didn't even know what it meant to wear a Duchesses coronet. Nevertheless, she still encouraged the match all the same, if anything to spite Edith at least.
'So he slipped the hook.'
'At least I'm not fishing with no bait!'
Dear Edith. Death finally came for her sister/nemesis in the late seventies. 1978 to be exact, shortly after her eighty fifth birthday. Mary was certain that it was poor Marigold's shock heart attack that finished Edith off. It was almost as if she'd just given up after that. But Mary was there by her side. Wishing her well, passing on messages for Mama, Papa, Sybil, Granny, Aunt Rosamund…. Matthew…
George and Sybbie were both equally distraught. Losing Marigold was like losing a sister – and so much more. The three of them were bound together, tightly, by more than just blood. Losing their respective parents at birth, the shared fear of living in a war torn country and then trying to pick up the pieces afterward.
Mary watched her son wince as he settled into his armchair. That shoulder was causing him more grief as he limped toward old age.
The heavy door creaked open and Alex poked his dark head round. "There you both are! Mind if we come in?" He held up a bottle of champagne, "The Greys gave this to us for Christmas. We could crack it open now and have a private post shooting party – party – so to speak."
George laughed, "Of course! Come on in! Where's your mother?"
"Upstairs. Having a lie down before dinner." Lizzie said, giving her father a kiss on the cheek.
Of course. Victoria, her dear daughter-in-law was also suffering from the burdens of age.
Mary watched as all her grandchildren, now grown adults, all married with children of their own, filed into the drawing room – as she had once done with her sisters, all those years ago.
They all bent to kiss her leathery cheek – as she used to do to Granny. Now she was Granny. And great-Granny. Crikey.
Lizzie pulled back and stroked her face, her blue eyes sparkling with concern. "Granny you look done in."
"Oh thank you."
"No I didn't mean it like that – "
"Lizzie darling, I'm a hundred and one. You can hardly expect me to bounce off the walls doing cartwheels!"
Ross scoffed, "I should hope not, for our own sanity's sake!"
Lizzie laughed but it didn't reach her eyes. Mary reached out and grasped her granddaughter's hand. The truth was, Lizzie reminded Mary so much of herself. Dark hair, porcelain skin, a deep love for horse riding and irritating any man she stumbled across.
As a result, grandmother and granddaughter shared a special bond…
"I'm not your governess. I'm your grandmother."
"And the difference is."
"I love you."
Alex popped open the champagne and poured everyone a glass. He raised his flute in the air. "To Crawley Brothers Limited! Celebrating twenty-one years this October! And here's to twenty-one more!"
"And here's to us!" George added, lifting his own flute, "The Crawley's. Downton. And everyone under it. Still standing, still soldiering on!"
'From war and peace, Downton still stands and the Crawley's are still in it!'
Crawley Brothers Ltd. A property business started in the ripe Autumn of 1972, which now housed most of the village. When Ross had told her of his plans, fresh faced and young, straight out of Cambridge, to join forces with Alex and go into partnership, renovating properties and selling them – she knew Downton would be safe.
The Crawley Brothers. Papa would've relished the sound of that.
George had given the boys the Dower House to convert into their office, even extending the offer to Grantham House, to use as their London branch. Now, they were quite the businessmen.
She'd been there at the opening, watching Ross cut the ribbon on the steps of her grandmother's – and then mother's house. She'd gazed at the glossy black plaque fixed permanently on the wrought iron gates.
CRAWLEY BROTHERS LTD. EST. 1972.
Alex, still a schoolboy of seventeen, had turned to her and shyly asked if Grandpa would be proud of them. Mary nodded, holding back the tears and said yes. Yes, Matthew would be very proud of his grandsons. So very proud.
"How are the cottages?"
"They're coming along wonderfully, I'd love to show you."
It was odd. Walking through Granny's elegant Edwardian halls that were now chirruping with telephones and fax machines around every corner, not to mention those beastly computers!
"First electricity, now telephones! I feel as if I were living in an HG Wells novel."
And Mary saw to it that every room had at least one swivel chair.
"Granny are you all right?" Alex's concerned voice drifted over to her, "You were in a daze."
"For heaven sake, I wish people would stop fussing." Mary responded with a wry smile, "I was only thinking of days gone by. I'm not tuning out on you. Well, not yet anyway."
"Care to share the memories Granny?" Ross asked.
"Well if you must know, this time seventy-three years ago, your grandfather proposed to me at the servants ball -"
"Servants ball!" Ross snickered, "Oh how the mighty have fallen!"
Mary scowled, "The mighty have not fallen Ross, far from it. Trust me. We're the very lucky ones! We still have Downton thanks to your Papa and his lifelong obsession with aviation! And do stop putting the champagne away, you'll make yourself ill."
"That's the idea." He sighed.
A sigh escaped Mary's lips too. She exchanged a weary glance with George. Tom was always the one who seemed to exert any control over Ross. Perhaps it was because they shared the same kind of opinions and values. All her grandchildren saw Tom as a surrogate grandfather. Just like Sybbie's children saw her as a surrogate grandmother.
"If you love me, you'll let me go."
"Then I must let you go."
Oh how she missed Tom.
Even though their relationship was purely platonic, she'd come to realise that she'd been best friends with Tom longer than either of them had been married to their respected others. They'd helped raise each other's children and kept each other company. They couldn't find love or companionship with anyone else – so they settled for friendship with each other. A strong, solid friendship that lasted fifty-seven years.
If she had been that ignorant girl from eighty years ago, she'd have screamed with horror at the thought of the chauffeur being her brother-in-law, never mind her life long companion!
'I just wish you all knew him.'
'Darling we will know him. We will know him and value him, I promise.'
On an infamous night in 1979, when a certain iron lady stormed Downing Street, Tom had passed over, Sybil's name a mere whisper on his lips. He had been the last connection. Barrow had passed away a few years before him (loyal to 'Master George' and the Granthams till the end) and two years later, Rose joined them all.
Mary truly was the last one to brave the storm alone.
But she wasn't alone. Not really. She had her family. They just… knew her as 'Mama' and 'Granny.' Even 'Great-Granny. '
Not Mary.
Never Mary.
Her name had faded away.
"I hope I get to be your Mary Crawley for all of eternity. And not Edith's version or anyone else's for that matter."
"You'll be my Mary always. Because mine is the true Mary."
"It's snowing!" Alex exclaimed, grinning. He gestured to the window, his boyish face adopting the same expression as his late grandfather.
Mary turned her gaze to the window. Soft flakes fluttered onto the pane, catching onto the glass. She held her breath. Snow always had this affect on her.
"Bloody typical!" George groaned, shaking his head. "The roads will need to be gritted."
"I'll get on it right away Dad." Alex said, forcing a smile. "It is our duty after all."
'I hope I've done my duty.'
'Are you a creature of duty?'
'Not entirely.'
"Did I ever tell you about the time your grandfather proposed to me?" Mary said suddenly, the words spilling out of her mouth. She watched the snow meander down and felt a smile tug at her lips. For it had been seventy-three years to the day. How poetic.
Ross smirked. "Which time?"
Lizzie playfully slapped his arm, "Don't tease her! Although - I prefer the first time. I don't know why, there's just something quite intimate about the whole thing?"
"What's so intimate about eating sandwiches in the dining room?" Ross asked with a dry laugh.
Lizzie rolled her eyes, "At the time it was basically behind the bike sheds!"
"Lizzie please!" George sputtered, "That's my parents!"
"I actually prefer the second time." Alex said with a smile, "I mean - in the snow, on one knee, you've got to hand it to Grandpa, he's got style there's no denying it!"
Mary chuckled. Did you hear that my love? Our grandson thinks you have style!
"But Granny made him kneel down, didn't you?" Lizzie added with a smirk.
Mary nodded, still laughing, "I did. And you make sure you tell your daughters that part of the story!" She pointed at Ross, "That goes for you as well!"
Ross threw his hands up in surrender, "I know to accept an order when given one!"
"Do you?" George murmured into his glass. Mary narrowed her eyes at him.
"Of course I'll tell the girls Granny," Lizzie said, "I'll even tell Johnny! I think it's important for him to learn a little romanticism!"
'Why Granny you're a romantic!'
"I've been called many things, but never that!'
"To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised they even made it up the aisle!" Ross said, picking up a glass paperweight off the desk and peering into it.
"We could say the same about you!" Lizzie shot back.
"Children, children play nice!" Mary calmly interjected, before he threw the paperweight at her and they all escalated into WW3. They may be in their forties but they behaved as if they were about four. Well... only around her.
'You came. To be honest I wasn't completely sure you would.'
'I'm glad to hear it. I should hate to be predictable!'
"Okay Mama, let's hear it." George placed his glass on the table, preparing to listen to this story, for what felt like the millionth time. His face, though weathered by age, still held the same captive attention he had when he was four. Any chance to hear about the man who had loved and wanted him, long before he was born.
"Hello my dearest little chap! I wonder if he has any idea how much joy he brings with him…"
"Turn me around so I can see the window." Mary commanded.
Alex obeyed her, gently turning her wheelchair so she faced outside.
"Open the window." Mary ordered, "I'd like to feel the cold on my face…."
"But Granny," Lizzie admonished. "You can't expose your chest!"
Mary just chuckled, "I'll be all right."
"Of course she will. They didn't call her the Ice Queen for nothing!" Ross quipped.
"They didn't call me the Ice Queen at all! Thank you!" Mary countered, giving her eldest grandson a wink.
Ross wrenched open the windows, allowing the crisp Winter air to seep on in.
Mary knew the snow was for her. And she knew what she had to do.
"Alex." She said suddenly, "Fetch a pen and paper my dear. You're going to want to write this down."
Naturally Alex obeyed her. Puzzled he sat at the small oak table, the very one her father used to occupy. Mary turned to her family.
"I want to tell you all my story… well, mine and your grandfather's. You see, it all really began with the sinking of the Titanic… "
And it all came out. Everything. From the day she'd pushed into Crawley House, to Andromeda and Perseus. From the night they giggled over salty pudding to kissing at the dining table. From parting under the oak tree to reuniting during the war. From broken spines to broken hearts. And then….
"I was standing in the snow and I didn't have a coat." She giggled. Like a silly girl all over again, in the throes of her first love. Her son and darling grandchildren all listened quietly, their eyes now slightly glistening.
"Did Grandpa not even give you his jacket?" Ross asked with a smirk, "I thought he was supposed to be a gentleman!"
"Marry a man who can barely hold his knife like a gentleman!"
"Ross your grandfather was the finest gentleman I ever knew. Along with your father and you boys of course!"
"So what happened next Granny?" Lizzie pressed, even though she knew the story verbatim.
Mary turned to the window, a ghost of a smile gracing her weathered face.
"I just knew he was going to propose. And I couldn't breathe…. I loved him so much I - I couldn't – breathe…"
Her lungs were growing heavier now, her breathing slowing down. She felt the prickle of icy wind against her face. Like a kiss.
It felt nice. So very nice...
'Oh as nice as nice can be!"
"How about a song?" George suggested, his voice shaking a little. Seventy-one years and he still hadn't quite recovered from being robbed of a father for his entire life. It was different for the grandchildren. They'd had their mother's father. They'd even had Tom. But George only had her, Tom and Papa as a makeshift substitute.
And Mr Barrow. Always Mr Barrow.
'Even a butler has his favourites m'lady.'
Wasn't that the truth.
"What song shall we sing?" Alex asked, lifting his precious Gibson J200 from the corner of the room. He perched on the end of the sofa, balancing the instrument on his lap and muddling through the strings. Mary had gifted it to him for his fourteenth birthday, when he was into all that pop-rock nonsense, unable to converse for five minutes without name-dropping Bob Dylan or Jimi Hendrix.
"You pick whatever song you want." George lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. "As long as it's not that awful Led Zepper rubbish!"
"Led Zeppelin." Ross said through gritted teeth.
"And they're not rubbish Daddy!" Lizzie added, "Ross and I saw them in concert back in 71, remember!"
"Hardly!"
"Well I do!" Mary interrupted, "They couldn't go for weeks without singing Stairway To Heaven..."
Mary glanced at the space to her left. It was bathed in darkness, unused and unwanted. But she could see a piano. And where her family now crowded – a gathering of soldiers were crammed into the room. She was stood by the piano, relief flooding every inch of her body….
'I would say such wonderful things to you…'
'There would be such wonderful things to do.'
'If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy…'
"Mary…"
The whisper tickled her ear. She released a tiny whimper, her dark eyes searching desperately for him.
Her family didn't hear her. They were too busy laughing, lost in their own mirth.
Alex smiled at her. "All right! This one's for you Granny. It was the first song I learned on this thing. And to be honest, it's the only one I can remember right now!"
Ross caught her eye and they tried not to grin. Lizzie entwined her fingers with Mary's and leaned into her, just as she used to when she was a little girl. Mary never had that kind of intimate relationship with her grandmother and definitely not whilst growing up. Another gift to thank the revolution for. As if sensing her thoughts, Lizzie looked up at her and smiled, stroking her hand lightly with her thumb - as her grandfather had once did.
This. It was moments like this that she savoured. Downton. And her family. Together.
'I wanted a chance to be alone. With my family.'
She once told Matthew all those years ago, when they squabbled about the inheritance money, that she wanted to die at Downton. Surrounded by her family and at peace. Life had flung so much cruelty at her over the past century. But this was its' way of rewarding her, for all the mud it had dragged her through. In the end. She got what she finally wanted. Lady Mary usually does.
'No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else's house! Especially someone they didn't even know!'
A smile tugged at Mary's lips. I'll see you very soon Granny.
Alex dragged his thumb over the strings, the first chord reverberating around the grand room.
"All my bags are packed,
I'm ready to go,
I'm standing here, outside your door,
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye."
Mary's eyes burned. The tears already threatening to spill. Alex closed his eyes, relishing the music.
"But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn.
The taxi's waiting, he's blowing his horn.
Already I'm so lonesome, I could die…"
A dull weight settled into the pit of her stomach.
"So kiss me and smile for me,
Tell me that you'll wait for me,
Hold me like you'll never let me go."
"Oh…" She whispered, her breaths exiting in short, sharp bursts.
"Cause' I'm leaving on a jet plane,
Don't know when I'll be back again.
Oh babe. I hate to go…"
A shrill whistle blew in the distance, somewhere in 1916. Mary's throat tightened, a stray tear slipping down her creased cheek.
'Bye then. And such good luck!'
"Goodbye Mary. And God bless you.'
"Every place I go, I'll think of you.
Every song I sing, I'll sing for you,
When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring."
Her thin fingers found her wedding rings, still sat snugly at the end of her ring finger. She'd never taken it off. She would wear it till the day she… well, till the day she….
"Now the time has come for me to leave you,
One more time, let me kiss you.
And close your eyes,
I'll be on my way."
'But first I think I've earned a decent kiss.'
'You most certainly, certainly have!'
She was really struggling now, black spots danced in front of her eyes. A numbness spreading across her arm, to her hands, fingertips… she couldn't feel Lizzie's hand in hers anymore.
"Oh babe, I hate to go..."
'I've got to go.'
'Of course you have.'
"Granny?" Lizzie's sharp voice tried to pull her back, her dainty hand shaking her own frail one. The music stopped.
Alex wasn't singing anymore. Why wasn't he singing?
"Mama?" George's panicked voice called from afar but… it was too far and she couldn't move her hand…
"Mary…"
"Matthew…?" The name fell from her lips like a prayer.
'There's one thing I won't take for granted. That I'll love you until the last breath leaves my body..."
'Oh my darling me too!"
"Ross do... something!"
"Call... ambulance... now!
Was that George's voice…? Or Alex's…?
The only reason she had clung onto life for so long, was because she had been so worried about George, about Ross, about Lizzie, about Alex, about Sybbie, about Downton, about the future and on and on…
It was her basic flaw among many. But now… she wasn't worried. Not anymore.
'You have a straightforward choice before you. You must choose either death or life. '
'And you think I should choose life?'
Her grandchildren, as they inched toward their thirties and forties, always complained about birthdays. Growing older. Grumpier. She wanted to beat them about the head! Many people didn't enjoy that privilege, couldn't they see that? Sybil, William, Lavinia... Matthew!
Life is cruel, yes, but it's also a luxury. A luxury that the young take for granted.
"You've lived your life and I've lived mine... and now it's time we live them together."
For so long she'd been their matriarch, their rock, their Queen. But now it was time to leave them behind – and join the people who had all left her behind.
"Granny….?" It was Ross calling her back this time; his voice was so far away… so very far…she vaguely felt cold fingers press against her neck.
"Lady Mary Crawley. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Whispers now… frantic, urgent whispers. "Granny…! Granny…! Oh… God…!"
"Yes..." She whispered, a loving smile gracing her face. Her head lolled to the side.
They say stranger things happen at sea and she didn't realise how literal that phrase applied to her life – until now.
If a ship had not sunk, her darling family would not be surrounding her today. If it wasn't for that one ship. That one iceberg. Those two Crawleys, sacrificed into the abyss of the Atlantic. Her life would have been very different. A life without Matthew. Without George. Without Ross, Lizzie, Alex and their children.
Lady Mary Crawley's last breath whistled out of her body. She'd done what he asked. She'd lived her life to the very full. Now it was time to finally live together. Just as he had asked her to, seventy-three years ago.
Next up: Mary is reunited with Matthew (yay!)