A/N: so, I had this story in my head about 18 months ago, and in a spurt of creativity I wrote bits and bobs of the entire story. Actually, 'The Coalition' was kind of based on this idea, but, as you can imagine, they are very, very different stories! This is more of a Les Miserables-style, romantic story set in the early nineteenth century. I never got round to sitting down and writing it all out in full, and it's quite difficult to do because of all the history around it (and please bear in mind that I will be playing with history a little bit, as the story requires...but don't worry, this won't be a history/politics-heavy story). So I think I will probably post drabbles/one-shots, using the bits and bobs that I've already written, from time to time. This first chapter is not particularly eventful, but I hope it sets up some of the tone that I was going for. Let me know what you think! xxx
...
On a stormy day in 1819, a man strides across the vast swathes of land and hills in Yorkshire. He reaches the summit of one hill - the highest of them all - and surveys the great expanse of land before him. His stance strengthens further as he acknowledges what it all represents. Land is power.
Robert Crawley, Duke of Grantham is a member of the nobility, a leading member of the dominant Tory cabinet - of which he is poised to become head - and is consequently hoping to rise to be Prime Minister of the still recently-formed United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. A navy man, he fought for this country in the Napoleonic wars and is immensely proud of his heritage and ancestry.
Some say, quietly and out of ear-shot, that his pride in England is so strong as to constitute a fault. After all, the United Kingdom is more than just England. Yet, his most firmly-held belief is that, while everybody in the Kingdom has a role to play, England attained greatness through the leadership of the aristocracy, and its greatness will only be sustained by the status quo. Therefore, since returning from France, he has involved himself with politics.
Lady Mary Crawley, his eldest daughter, knows Robert to be a kind father, although she hardly saw him between the ages of five and seventeen, when he returned from the Napoleonic wars four years ago as one of the British isles' foremost decorated heroes. His priority, however, is his duty to his country, his title and his estate. This is something she has somehow always known, despite his absence - or, perhaps, because of it.
A few miles away, in a modest house in a small village called Kettering, a young man is gazing at the same hills from a distance. Matthew Crawley is the son of a Whig MP, whose liberal standpoints are slowly garnering favour with the emerging middle-classes. Descending from a family of labourers and then manufacturers, Reginald and his ancestors worked their way up through perseverance and self-education to a position where Matthew was brought up comfortably and was able to attend university to study law. Matthew is not interested in pursuing politics himself, instead choosing a life as an industrial lawyer for the new middle-class, but regularly attends rallies and protests to observe what is happening in society and keep himself informed of public opinion.
...
One Thursday afternoon, Mary found herself in a shop in the village with her mother and sisters - Edith is being fitted for a new dress for an upcoming ball. Edith had recently turned nineteen and their mother insisted that she dress in a more sophisticated manner. Sophistication wasn't exactly a word that Mary associated with her younger sister, and was dubious about her mother's plan, but she was forced to attend the fitting nonetheless.
The gently consistent rattling of carriage wheels on the cobbled streets outside was disturbed by a growing commotion. Mary approached the window at the front of the shop and saw through it that a small crowd was gathering; she realised that there was a protest speech against the Tory government taking place. She had only ever read of such meetings in her father's discarded newspapers, or heard vague stories about them. Naturally, she and her sisters had been deliberately sheltered from news of dissent, but this only served to make her more curious about what was happening in the country. Her upbringing had ingrained the strength and success of the Tories in her mind, which made it difficult for her to imagine what could be said against them. Was the country not prospering as she had been led to believe? Overwhelmed by curiosity and identifying an opportunity to discover more, she turned back to her mother.
"Mama, I've just spotted Lady Wiltshire across the street. I shall walk over to speak with her." She announced.
"Alone?" Cora asked, looking up from the samples of lace she held in her hand. "We will be finished here shortly, Mary. If you wait a little while, we can all greet her together." She suggested, disliking the idea of one of her daughters being seen out on the busy street unaccompanied.
Mary concealed her eye-roll from her over-protective mother. "I will be back in a few minutes, Mama." She called over her shoulder as she exited the shop.
Matthew Crawley, conscious of seeming an outsider in this village, casually observed his surroundings, and the people in it. He had taken a brief sojourn from Manchester, the place of his abode and work, to explore the surrounding country with his father over the course of a couple of months. The old, mad King George III did not seem as if he would last on the throne much longer, and it may be that his heir, the current Prince Regent, would call for a new government to be formed. Consequently, this was an important time for political activity.
Most of the people in the group on this street corner were young men – the oldest was thirty, perhaps. He had expected there to be more workers and manual labourers than there in fact were, but he was coming to realise that the region he was visiting was fairly upper-class. The only working classes living here would most likely be servants of the nobility, and they would not dare show their faces at such an event for fear of being made homeless and disreputable. Nevertheless, there were a few middle-class men and women there, who he supposed had recently joined the area – new factories were being established not far from this village.
He noticed her almost immediately - her dark hair, her dark eyes and her rosy lips set perfectly against her fair skin. He instantly believed she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her features were surely the prettiest and most delicate that were ever beheld, but there was something deeper there, too. Behind her eyes seemed to lie an intelligence, a mystery. Although very self-assured, she also appeared to be unfamiliar with her surroundings. This was hardly unexpected; it was uncommon to see any women at all attend such meetings, let alone such elegant and refined ones.
Her presence attracted attention from other men there, too. Matthew frowned as he spotted one angrily approach her.
"What do you think you're doing here?" He asked her roughly. She frowned at him, affronted. "You're not from one of them Tory scoundrels, are you?" The man asked her, jabbing a finger on her parasol.
In shock, Mary was unable to respond. Nobody had ever spoken to her this way - even her own father rarely raised his voice at her, and certainly nobody had ever dared to touch her or her accoutrements before! Perhaps her mother had been right, she ought not to have come out here alone.
"Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?"
Her head turned at the sound of another male voice. This one was, mercifully, much more gentle and refined. She looked at its source - a young man, well dressed compared to many of the other attendees, was staring at the first man. His voice had been polite but it was clear from his demeanour that he was not pleased with the man's behaviour.
"Was just enquiring after this lady's attendance." The man responded defensively.
"Is she not at liberty to attend? Is this not a public meeting, open to all?" Matthew argued. Several other people were watching now, and began murmuring their assent to Matthew's words. There was a spirit of liberation in the air, and anyone was welcome to participate so long as they were genuine. The lady was clearly from another class but had been causing no trouble, after all.
The man relented, casting a stony glance at Mary before retreating back into the throng. Matthew saw the man off before turning back to the young woman.
"Are you alright?" He asked her with concern.
Mary nodded, trying to appear unruffled by the situation - she hadn't actually been harmed in any way, but it was the first time she'd experienced any hostility towards her by virtue of her appearance. It was difficult for her to conceal her gratitude, however. "I am, thank you." She offered a small smile.
The man nodded in acknowledgement, his brilliant blue eyes still focused on her, making her breath catch in her throat. "I merely came here to learn what the speaker has to say. My father is..." She hesitated. It was clearly not sensible to reveal her heritage in this environment. Careful not to name her father nor declare her political allegiance, she continued, "My father is interested in politics and I've heard him mention these public gatherings. I was curious."
"I understand." Matthew smiled at her. "I must confess that I, too, am here more for my father's interest in politics than my own."
Mary nodded politely. This man seemed polite and intriguing, but she refrained from engaging in further discussion. She was being reckless just being outside on this street corner - being seen speaking at length to a strange man would invite unnecessary attraction. "My mother and sister are in Mrs Welby's shop." She said.
Matthew's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "I will let you rejoin them, then." He had to admit he felt disappointed at not being able to spend more time with this woman. A girl like her was never seen, unchaperoned, at meetings like this, regardless of how interested their father was in politics. She must be brave and broad-minded to take the risk, he surmised.
"Thank you for your help." Mary said softly, nodding at his bow before retreating across the small street. She may have been mistaken, but she could feel those blue eyes follow her until the door of the shop closed behind her.
The two of them spent the rest of the day day-dreaming. By virtue of the mutual attraction they felt, they naively believed the other to be of the same ilk, although Matthew wondered at her grace and beauty, which gave her the appearance of royalty, and Mary wondered at his modest attire, and the fact that she did not even learn his name.