A/N: A little Downton fic for Mother's Day, which is today (Sunday 30th March) in the UK. This is set somewhere between 4x8 and 4x9, I think, although I'm not entirely sure of the s4 timeline. Also, there will be a second part, but I thought I get this up first! Enjoy!
"Good morning, m'lady," said Anna brightly, opening Mary's curtains. "And happy Mothering Sunday!"
"Oh yes," Mary smiled. It wasn't as if she expected anything; George was obviously far too young to understand the relevance of the day, but she had a few things planned, and not just for her own mother either. "This time next year you'll have one of your own!" Anna had revealed her pregnancy to Mary not even a month before, and she was glowing.
"I know! I can't wait." She turned and beamed at Mary, and Mary was so happy to see her blossoming. It had been an unbelievably difficult year for Anna, and Mary could only be thankful that things seemed to be going right for her finally.
Anna turned away, ostensibly to lay out the skirt Mary was wearing that day, but there was tension in her body as she said "I'm a little frightened though, m'lady."
"Whatever for?" Mary exclaimed. When Anna turned to face Mary again, having finished smoothing out the creases in her skirt, her brow was creased and Mary could see she was completely serious.
Anna broke eye contact with Mary and looked down at her feet. "Anna." Her voice softened perceptibly as Anna looked up again. "You're going to be a remarkable mother, really." She smiled gently – her real smile, the one she only showed to the people she loved most, and continued, "You're already a marvellous godmother to George."
Anna's muscles loosened noticeably, and she smiled softly back at her friend and mistress. "Thank you, m'lady."
They allowed a comfortable silence to surround them for a moment, before Mary sat up and got out of bed. "Well, I suppose you'd better get me ready, then."
Most days, Isobel Crawley was up and out of bed at seven or eight in the morning, ready to start the day. She hated being idle, and during the war she was often up before the servants. This morning, however, she did not want to get up and face the day. She did not think she could, not today, not on Mother's Day. On Matthew's birthday last year, she had at least been able to share the pain of the day with Mary. But today was Mother's Day, and she was no longer a mother.
She lay in bed until 10 o'clock, and then she could bear it no longer. She rose, dressed and made her way downstairs and out the door of Crawley House, heading for the graveyard. At least she could spend some of the day with her son.
"Mama?" Mary said, knocking on her mother's bedroom door. Edith was at her shoulder, after much persuasion – she had been even more infuriating than usual today, shouting at Mary to get out of her room when she had only wanted her sister to sign the card for Cora. When she had finally emerged, her eyes were red-rimmed and Mary thought she had been crying, but she didn't enquire any further – Edith would probably only have snapped at her.
"Come in, my dears," Cora's dulcet tone came through the door and Mary and Edith entered and approached the bed where her mother had just finished her breakfast. "Thank you, Baxter," Cora said as her lady's maid took the tray and left the room, leaving Cora alone with her daughters.
"Happy Mother's Day, Mama," said Edith, kissing her mother's paper-like cheek. Mary followed suit, then brought up the presents she'd deposited by her father's side of the bed.
Cora smiled, reaching towards the small pile of presents, then withdrawing her hand, unsure. "Which one should I open first?" she asked.
"Open the card first," Mary said, handing her mother the envelope on top of the pile. Then they moved onto the presents – a pearl necklace, some of Selfridges' finest chocolates, and tickets for the theatre. "There are flowers as well," said Mary, "but I've already had Carson put them in the dining room."
"And Mrs Patmore is making a simnel cake for afternoon tea," said Edith. They were silent for a moment. "I wish Sybil were here," said Edith softly.
Mary nodded in agreement while Cora began to well up. "Well," she said through her tears, "at least I have two wonderful daughters to spend this day with."
"Yes, let's just focus on that," said Mary. "And on that note, I have to be somewhere."
"Oh, but – I thought I'd get to spend some more time with my daughters."
"I'll be back later," Mary reassured her, "there's just something I have to do."
When Isobel returned from the church, she didn't expect anybody to be waiting for her. She thought she might have a cup of tea and maybe go and visit Violet, if she wasn't with Robert. She sighed as she pushed open the door to her almost empty home – she didn't have a butler anymore, and the only servant that remained was a woman who doubled as a cook and a maid.
So as Isobel pushed open the door to the sitting room, she didn't expect Mary to be there, and she certainly didn't expect her daughter-in-law to stand up and kiss her on the cheek.
"Mary! What a lovely surprise!"
Mary smiled, slightly self-consciously, as if she wasn't quite sure if she was allowed to be there. "Your maid told me that you'd gone out and that she didn't know when you'd be back, but I thought I'd take a chance and wait for you."
"Well, I'm so glad you did! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"It's Mother's Day, of course," said Mary warmly, and Isobel felt a rush of affection towards the once-cold girl who had grown so much. "I brought you a simnel cake, Mrs Patmore's best!"
"Oh, how lovely! I'll ring for tea, and we can have a piece, if you'd like to stay for a while."
"Of course," said Mary. They maintained a comfortable silence while Beth fetched the tea and cut the cake.
"Where did you go?" asked Mary, sipping at her tea.
"I was visiting Matthew."
"Ah." Mary set her cup down in its saucer so Isobel wouldn't notice her slightly shaking hands.
Isobel reached across and took Mary's hand in hers. "You know, I didn't want to wake up this morning. I didn't think I could face the day, not without great difficulty, anyway. But then you came along. Thank you, Mary."
"There's no need to thank me," said Mary, looking down at her hands, embarrassed at having attention drawn to her good deed, and Isobel was suddenly reminded of Mary's indignation at not being able to tell him that his mother was ill. Not long after, someone had arranged for William to take some time off and see his mother before he died, and Isobel had always suspected that Mary was involved. What had she said at the time? "He's made her proud. There are plenty of children in far grander circumstances who would love to say the same." Isobel wanted to tell Mary that she had made her proud, but she didn't want to discomfit the young woman further.
"Oh, I almost forgot," said Mary, "I bought you flowers – I think your maid was finding a vase for them." She looked pointedly at the maid who was standing just by the door, and she curtseyed and hurried to fetch the flowers from downstairs.
"Oh Mary, they're beautiful," Isobel exclaimed as Beth placed them on the table. "I really am grateful you know."
"You really needn't be. But I'm so glad. I was worried I might be pushing in."
"You could never do that." The two women shared an understanding glance, their shared pain comforting each other. "What else have you got planned for today?"
"Not much," said Mary, "I'll spend some time with George, I think, and then afternoon tea with Mama, but nothing special. Will you come for dinner?"
"Well, I don't know-"
Mary interrupted her before she could make her excuses. "Please come, Isobel. I know Tom would appreciate it, and – well – it would be a great comfort to me to have both my mothers there."
"In that case, how could I refuse?" Isobel said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes brimming with tears. The two of them finished their slices of cake and drained their cups, then Isobel said, "Well, you had better be going, my dear. I'll see you later," she said as Mary made to protest. They stood up and kissed on the cheek, and Isobel saw her beloved daughter-in-law out the door, smiling.