As Matthew Crawley looked up at the looming figure of Downton Abbey, he failed to understand why his mother was adamant that he come to this place. The night was gloomy, a light sheet of rain blurred his view of the mansion, and from what he could see, no one was outside to greet him. There was no sense of urgency or panic at all, which was surprising considering the reason he had been requested.
The carriage came to a halt, and stepping outside, he stood before the arched doorway, hesitant to let himself in. Really, I thought these people were rich. From the shadows a voice made him jump: "Do come in, Mr Crawley…"
The voice belonged to a lean man almost as old as Matthew, with ghostly blue eyes that stood out from his pale skin. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with rain. "Well, coming?"
"Y-yes," Matthew managed. He was led inside to a dimly lit hallway. Turning, he realised the man had disappeared with his luggage. He was alone, yet the house wasn't silent- he could hear the creaking of floorboards and the whining of door hinges, both above and below him. Stay calm, Matthew. This is ridiculous. Toward the end of the hall he could make out the glow of firelight. He had just reached what was surely the entrance to the living room when a figure appeared in the doorway, almost running into him. Matthew cried out in surprise. Despite his pale face and the purple shadows beneath his eyes, the man gave a little smile.
"Matthew, isn't it?"
Matthew nodded. The man stood aside to let him through. "I'm glad you made the journey. Have a seat."
Once they were both seated by the fire, the man introduced himself as Lord Grantham. Matthew couldn't help staring at the man he had tried to imagine for days. He looked older than what he had imagined, but then again that was probably to do with the recent incident, which would have aged him tremendously.
"It's strange, meeting my heir," Lord Grantham said, his voice monotonous. "Well, it's strange meeting another relative at all."
"What do you mean by that?" Matthew asked.
"Oh you're so lucky, to be oblivious of the curse upon your ancestors… suffice to say, there aren't many Crawleys left. Alive, that is. Why, my direct heir drowned earlier this year, on a cursed ship."
"That's terrible, Lord Grantham," Matthew murmured. He had only just noticed the dusty photographs lined up on the mantelpiece. The still faces all seemed to stare down at him; he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.
"Please call me Robert… my title bears a heavy weight in these troubled times."
Neither man spoke for a moment, and all that was heard was the crackle of the fire and the wail of the wind at the windows. Matthew was afraid of being insensitive, but there was something he needed to address- his mother would think it necessary.
"Robert, I'm sorry for your loss. I never met the Dowager Countess, but I'm sure she was a commendable woman, and… I appreciate you calling me here to grieve with you. Will there be a service?"
It was only then that he noticed the grief in Lord Grantham's eyes. Yet there was something else there too… something bitter.
"My mother was the most cunning woman I ever knew, and she was most certainly not ready to die." He paused dramatically before continuing. "She was murdered, Matthew. She was murdered mercilessly by a member of this household."
Matthew had expected a lethargic ceremony and a few days of respectful mourning, not a murder case. Things weren't quite as they had seemed- why had he been asked to Downton?
Robert answered his thoughts. "Now, I wasn't planning on meeting you for a few years yet, but when my footman did some investigating and discovered you were a detective, I knew you were the man for the job. Not only would you have the skills, but you would have the family honour as motivation."
"Detective? But I'm not a detective, I'm a lawyer!" The words were frantic but Matthew couldn't contain himself. What had he got himself into?
Unphased, Robert replied: "But don't you work with detectives? You have the knowledge of the law, the eye for detail, the passion for justice… I've already determined who the suspects are, you'll be able to begin your questioning tomorrow."
Matthew leaned back in his chair, overwhelmed by the whole situation. There was no way he was going to take this up. He would make an excuse to leave and send a letter directly to Manchester, asking his mother to send a carriage immediately. He had to leave this place.
Robert was still talking about how the questioning would take place, when there was a loud THUMP from the floor overhead. Had it kept going, Matthew would have thought it was thunder, yet a blood-curdling shriek followed. A deep voice in the corridor uttered "Mr Crawley" and without a word Robert had left the room.
Exhaling with relief, Matthew leaned forward, head in his hands. He would wait a moment before trying to locate his belongings. His eyes were glazing over from the heat of the fire when he heard soft footfalls on the carpet and, looking up, he saw a haunting vision standing before him.
The woman was tall and foreboding, with a dress of vivid red that set fire to her pale skin. Her hair was pinned back with not a strand out of place; the rubies at her throat winked at him in the dim light. She looked immaculate.
Matthew never considered that Lord Grantham might have daughters, yet this woman had the same firm mouth… and the regal aura this woman possessed was undoubtedly that of a Crawley.
Her brown eyes surveyed him curiously, and there was a glint of vulnerability in them. Before he could speak, however, she folded her arms and said coldly: "So you're the one who's going to find Granny's murderer."
Whether it was the hint of a challenge, the desire to protect this woman or the enigmatic beauty that had affected him, Matthew didn't know. But for some reason, he found himself saying yes.
