Downton 1920 January

The crunching of gravel under the car tyres announced their arrival at the big house, even as the rest of the grounds still stood with a blanket of snow draped over it like a secret. As the car slowly arched to a stop in front of the wooden carved doors, Matthew slowly let out a long silent breath as he opened his eyes. He tried to cease the constant chatter in his mind, the thrumming of music in his fingers, the static that needed to jolt his heart to a slower beat.

If anything over the years of being in this family had taught him, and indeed the war, was that he could now focus. His mind stilled, and he breathed with purpose. Once, a long time ago, he would not have been able to quench his booming heartbeat. It felt so long ago, eight years and so many long days. Yet it was those first couple of months after arriving at Downton that he held crisp and clear. His memories, pure with innocence and youth, were now half a lifetime away.

Matthew straightened in the seat of the car, knowing that at tonight's dinner he had to be at his best. The corner of his mouth quirked slightly at the thought of what may happen. And as the footman opened the car door for them to step out, he caught his mother's eye. There was a question there, one he couldn't answer yet, so he lowered his gaze to offer his hand for her to enlighten the car. He would have to watch himself tonight.

Mary paused at the door of her room, her hand resting on the doorknob. She looked back over her shoulder and then turned.

Her trunks lay closed under the window, almost full with clothes and her most precious belongings. She would have filled one with just books, if getting them out of the library and past papa was an easy task. She wondered if he would mind if she took one or two.

Anna stood silently, her shoulders hunched, with one hand over her trembling mouth, and one flat against the polished grain of wood of the largest trunk.

"Hush, my darling Anna. I will not be going too far." It was a whispered promise. Mary placed a slender hand on Anna's shoulder, with her heart in her mouth at having to hold back the truth.

That was how a moment later Lady Grantham found the two. Mary's dark hair, with her dress echoing the colour of the walls of her bedroom, and Anna's fair head arched together. There had always been the intangible bond closer than that of Lady and her maid.

Isobel had been watching her son during this last week, trying to read if there were any clues since the servants ball of how he was fairing with the news of Mary's departure. He had Isobel baffled. She had expected the brooding Matthew to return. Despondent or angry, or sullen perhaps, but not indifferent. No, not indifferent, her brows furrowed in thought, settled. He was calm and yet at moments when he did not notice her watching, humming with energy.

She had felt at last that perhaps she too had lost the fight to try and bring Mary and her beloved son back from the sides of the chasm that they had so many times looked across at each other. The dining room table was part of that gulf between them. How many years had she watched these two beautiful young creatures talk with their eyes across that divide. And while their eyes held the truth, their words and those left unsaid were the ones that betrayed them.

So it was here tonight that the table would soon turn into an ocean between them.

I wish you would fight for her

Isobel's heart ached just a little bit at the thought of her stubborn son. A hurt little boy encased in a man's battered body acting in a world full of duty and obligation, of loyalty and unrequited love.

Tonight's dinner party was going to be a hard goodbye. The news of Mary's immanent departure was not a cause of celebration, but they had been asked to attend, as family, so that all the goodbyes could be over quickly and efficiently.

She felt her son breathe and then straighten. The car stopped and in that second before this night started she caught his eye with a question.

Will you still not fight for her? Is this it?

Carson saw the car rolling down the driveway long before he needed to open the doors for their arrival, but they had been waiting for Mr and Mrs Crawley to arrive for a good half hour after all the family had been seated and talking in the drawing room. It was unlike them to be so late, especially as they lived so close to the Abbey.

He could imagine that Mr Crawley would be in a morose and surly mood tonight. Why wouldn't he be? Carson was. His beautiful and darling girl Lady Mary was leaving Downton. There were cracks in his heart as there would be in the stoic walls of this stately home. She was running away, for who knows how long. The mask of bravery over her ruined heart. All he hoped was that she took some of the foundation stones of her family home to start to rebuild her life and her heart. Whether they had Crawley engraved on them, he wasn't sure. He had lost hope at some point that she would ever know peace and love in one breath.

There was the odd occasion when he felt all he wanted to do was whelp on the back of Mr Crawley's head to knock some sense into the boy. Tonight was one of those moments. Yet, Carson wasn't sure he wanted to see ruffled the calmness that had settled over Mary's being these last few days. There was a tranquillity that lay behind her eyes that many did not see, and Carson could feel it emanating from her core. Was this last bit of freedom that that had stilled the raging waters of Mary's heart, he wasn't sure.

So it was as he greeted Mr and Mrs Crawley at the door when they arrived and started to take their hats and coats that he finally got to gauge Matthew's countenance.

"Mr Crawley and Mrs Crawley," he started in greeting. "They are waiting in the drawing room for you. Dinner will be served momentarily."

"Thank you Carson. I apologise for being late. I…lost track of the time at the office." An easy oversight, perhaps. Or deliberately timed.

Carson caught Isobel's apologetic purse of her lips and raised eyebrows. He hated untimely behaviour, but for it to be Matthew on this night that they were to farewell Mary, he really did want to slap him.

Carson led them to the drawing room door, paused, and announced their arrival.