Hi! Sorry for the late posting. Or the long hiatus. College was a lot busier than I anticipated, and boy was it tough juggling everything...
Anyway, this story takes place at the end of the Downton Christmas Special (2012). I haven't actually watched the episode, but someone on Tumblr wrote about it and so I know what happens. Hence, some details may be off. I apologize in advance. Also, if you haven't watched Season 3 or the Christmas Special at all, THERE ARE SPOILERS AHEAD. You have been warned.
I love you all, and I hope you won't stone me for not updating/writing.
Disclaimer: Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes, although sometimes I think I ought to buy it from him.
"He should be here by now."
"Patience, Moseley," Bates soothed. "It's been a long day for all of us."
"He's never been late before," Moseley agonized, pacing the length of the hall. "Never!"
"He'll be here. Pull yourself together, man."
Moseley quieted, visibly restraining his eye roll as he did so, and instead resigned himself to standing in a stiff position by the door. Bates checked his watch. "I'll be upstairs with Lord Grantham. And remember to act dignified, Moseley."
"When did you turn into Mr. Carson, Bates?"
Just as Bates passed the large spiral staircase, a voice floated down from upstairs. "Any news of Matthew yet?"
"I'm afraid not, milady," Bates answered dutifully as Cora came down the stairs, O'Brien trailing behind her. "He's just a little late, is all."
"Matthew's never late," Cora said thoughtfully.
"Moseley was just saying that, milady," Bates said, and heard a harrumph from the hallway. "I'm sure 'tis nothing to-"
The doorbell rang and Cora's face melted into relief. "That must be him now. I suppose we won't have to tease him about being so dreadfully late now, will we Bates?"
"I s'pose not, milady," Bates agreed, following Cora to the door. He could already hear excited chatter coming from the servants entrance near the front door; he supposed he'd be eavesdropping too.
…
The house was a wreck. A silent wreck, but a wreck nonetheless.
Edith was upstairs in her room, curled up, rocking back and forth, back and forth. No, her mind chanted, no no no no no, it's not true, it's not true, it's not true. She pressed the base of her wrists against her eyes, willing the tears to stop. Matthew is not dead. Matthew is not dead. He cannot be dead.
And yet, the awful finality of it all kept hammering into her mind.
Edith had a good memory, which meant that she remembered tiny things no one else really couldn't. So she remembered things like Robert's legs giving out from under him, his face crumpling into an expression of grief so deep that it hit Cora first, engulfed her, pulled her into a vortex of misery so great that she couldn't help but open her throat and let it out in a high-pitched keening. The Dowager Countess, for her part, had clutched her chest and Edith almost thought that today would be a double tragedy day, but instead, Violet Crawley had simply choked out, "Quick?"
Edith remembered Tom's face twisting first before he gravely replied that yes, Matthew Crawley had died a quick, painless death, but she also knew that he was lying.
Tom had staggered out of the room, his face ashen and grey, and Edith remembered getting up to follow him, see if he was alright. Yet she couldn't remember anything else after that. Somewhere between the living room and now, she had forgotten what she had done, what she had said. Edith wiped the tears away from her eyes. Matthew is not dead, she said dully in her head, as though by saying anything different she could change the way she remembered it.
…
It was dark when Edith woke up with a start. She blinked groggily before realizing that she was on her bed instead of by her window ledge. Did I move here?
It took her another few moments to notice the figure standing by her window, shrouded in the darkness of the setting English sun. "Tom?" she murmured.
"You were on the floor when I got in," her brother-in-law said wearily. "Anna and I moved you into a more comfortable place."
"Thank you." Edith's mind finally settled back into reality. Matthew is dead.
She must have said it aloud because Tom turned around, his back to the window and his arms folded. "Yes," he said quietly. "Matthew is…" He looked out the window, biting down hard on his lip to keep himself from crying. "Dead."
Edith swung her legs out of bed. It was the first time she'd heard Tom say the word since Sybil's death, since that God-awful night when the family had had their first dark shadow cast upon them. There were no words to say to comfort Tom. Everything seemed meaningless in her mouth, in her ears, in her heart.
She joined him at the window, staring out at the garden. "Two outcasts left," she said softly.
"Pardon?" He was only half-listening.
"I always used to think that there were three of us outcasts. Never really belonged to anywhere, you know?" Edith coughed out a bitter laugh. "You, me, and Matthew."
"Just both of us left, then." Tom's Irish accent was stronger than usual in his grief.
Edith nodded in silent agreement before her lip trembled and she began crying again, huge, wracking sobs that shuddered and shivered her bones.
"Hush, now," Tom soothed, pulling Edith into a loose hug. "Don't cry. Matthew wouldn't have wanted that." At this, Edith began crying even harder, and she felt Tom's hand rub circles in her back, the way she remembered Sybil used to do when they were helping in the hospital ward. Did she pick that up from Tom, or did Tom pick that up from her?
They stayed that way for a while with the last sun rays shining through the window. Tom was humming an unfamiliar tune when Edith suddenly said, "I think I cursed our family."
"Why do you say that?"
A memory flashed into Edith's head, a scene from so long ago in her room-
"I just hope that someday she'll know what it's like to be unlucky," Edith spat, rubbing at her eyes angrily.
Sybil's tone was reproachful. "You don't surely mean that."
Oh, but I did. Edith's heart ached suddenly. She hadn't given Mary a single thought since she'd found out about the accident. Oh, God. She suddenly wanted to run to Mary, sit by her sister's side, hold her hand as Mary reeled- surely she had to reel, surely her ice demeanor was not going to hold-
"Edith." Tom's voice pulled her out of her own thoughts. "Edith, what curse?"
"I said I hoped Mary would know what it was like to be unlucky," Edith said. "In my bedroom at Downton. I told Sybil, and oh God, Tom, what I said came true, Mary is going to be devastated, and our house, what's going to happen now to the estate?" There were no more tears to come, but Edith's words began tumbling out in abundance. "I am a horrible sister, I should be there, I should be-"
"Edith." Tom's voice floated over Edith's terrified words. "Edith, Edith, listen to me. You didn't curse anyone. This was bad luck- such, terrible, bad luck-" and here he choked when he remembered his wife's horrific death- "-and it's nobody fault, let alone yours." He shook Edith when she didn't respond. "Are you listening to me?"
"I just-" Edith's voice cracked. "I can't believe Matthew's gone. He was the glue holding us together."
"I know."
There was a pause. "Will you be staying with us still?" Edith finally ventured.
"Maybe." Tom took a deep breath.
"Papa needs you. More so than ever."
That got Tom's attention. "Tonight is not the night to think about these things," he said finally. "Tonight, we think of Mary."
Some part of Edith flared up- Mary, Mary, always Mary- but instantly she repressed the thought with a swift grind of her heel. "Does she know?"
"We thought it best to leave it till the morning. It's been a long day for her. News like this are best received in the…" Tom swallowed. "In the morning," he finished, and Edith wanted to hug him when she remembered how swiftly Tom had had to handle the grief when Sybil died, so soon after childbirth. No solace for Tom, no space for him to learn the news in the brighter grip of daylight. Mary at least had this chance to sleep innocently, blind to the change about to destroy her.
"I want to go to her," Edith said.
Tom glanced at her. "With all due respect, Edith, it's dark out, and Downton is far away."
"I can drive," Edith responded.
"Not in the dark. And it's begun to rain."
"I drove Mary and Anna when we tried to stop you and Sybil from eloping," Edith said stubbornly. "I can do it, Tom. And if not, you know how to."
Tom was silent for a long while before he turned on his heel. "I'll go tell your mother where we are going."
"She won't be happy that we're taking the car, not so soon after Matthew-" Edith began.
"But she'll let us, if it's for Mary." Edith winced at that, but Tom didn't notice. "And that's why I'm not telling your father. He wouldn't hear of it."
"You've learned how to work my family," Edith noted with a wan smile as she followed Tom out the door. "Did Matthew teach you how to?"
"That, among other things." Tom and Edith stopped at the top of the staircase, where they could still hear Cora's sobbing from the living room. "He was a good man, Matthew Crawley."
…
When Mary woke from her sleep, she found Edith lightly dozing with her right hand resting over her older sister's. "Edith?" she whispered.
There was a rustle, and Mary realized that Tom was there too, sitting by the window with a newspaper. "You're awake," he said as Edith began to stir.
"What are you two doing here?" Mary wanted to know. "Where's Matthew?"
She supposed somewhere in the deepest part of her heart, Mary Crawley had always known the truth. So when Edith squeezed her hand comfortingly, Mary knew her worst fears. She understood a fraction of what it was like to have who you loved ripped away from you. "Tell me it's not true," she said, her voice cracking.
Edith only began to cry as Tom struggled to keep himself together. "Oh, Mary, I wish we could," he managed before breaking down himself.
Mary sat, frozen in shock as her brother in law stood in front of her, weeping for her late husband. "Edith," she said quietly.
Edith only shook her head, and Mary felt a wave of despair swamp her. "No," she said, reading her sister the way she always could. "No."
"It was painless," Edith tried to lie.
"Stop."
"I'm sorry, Mary-"
"Get out!"
"No," Edith cried, as Tom tried to get her to leave. "I'm not leaving, and neither is Tom. We're the only family you have left, Mary. We're the only ones left."
That struck Mary like she'd been hit by lightning. "Mama and Papa-?"
"They're fine," Tom rushed to assure her. "What Edith means is that you have us to depend on now. Matthew did all he could to protect you- and now it is our turn."
"You must let us," Edith said through her choked sobs.
Her older sister stared at her as though she was seeing Edith for the very first time. "My only family," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Mary." Edith was shivering. "I'm so sorry for all the nasty things I said to you before, I didn't mean any of them."
"I know, darling." Mary's voice was quivery. "I know. I'm sorry, too."
Tom took Edith's sudden embrace of Mary as a cue to leave. He sighed deeply when he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. "It took you dying to bring those two back together," he said to the breeze in the hallway. "I hope you planned this, you damn idiot."
Somewhere along the way, he thought he heard Matthew's low chuckle.
Julian Fellowes, there had to be a better way to write Matthew off.
Much love,
ohlookrandom