«You really take after your father», people often told George Crawley.
He never knew exactly what to say so he smiled reservedly and replied with a polite «thank you». Even when he heard it from this mother or from his paternal grandmother, which happened more rarely than one could suppose, those words still felt like he was being put in an ill-fitting suit that didn't seem comfortable nevertheless being impeccably tailored to him.
George had gone to the Crawley House that afternoon and asked his grandmother for a picture of his father. There were some at the Abbey, particularly of his parents' wedding but they weren't exactly suitable for his purposes.
The image he had borrowed had been taken thirty-six years ago, during Christmas break, when Matthew Crawley was sixteen. Down to the tweed suit the portrayed was wearing, the whole setting matched George's current circumstances so closely he found it rather unsettling to be honest.
He stood in front of the full-body mirror in his room. His previous analysis of the photographs in the albums and on top of a table at the drawing room had lead him to acknowledge that the persons who remarked on their similarities had some reasons to do so, but it hadn't been enough. George couldn't exactly pinpoint why but that day he had felt compelled to dig deeper and discover if it was really that flagrant or if that opinion was brought forward just because they thought it might be something he would like to hear since he had never met him or just to sign that they had once come across Matthew himself in one form or another.
Both of them had similar heights, blonde hair, and blue eyes and yet for him these shared features, while not exactly trivial, weren't coated in the significance people appeared to attribute to them. Most of the maternal relatives he knew were tall, his Aunt Edith was blonde, his great-aunt Rosamund too and had blue eyes like his maternal grandmother, his great-grandmother and, from what he heard, his late Aunt Sybil had had as well. He could have gotten all that just as result of being a Crawley on his mother's side.
George turned the picture, held it next to his face and leaned forward towards the mirror, being now so close someone might wonder if he was pondering on trying to fall into it.
He recognised a common roundish face and the small chin, the thinner upper-lip and the straight nose, but these physical characteristics were quite different than the ones his brain summoned when he thought of 'father' in a more personal context. A slender man with a long face, dark hair and green eyes did. The keenness on cars he had passed on to him since George was little and begged him to take him to the car shop did. Being carried around in his shoulders when there weren't customers there or they were walking about the estate did. His precise, patient and at time humorous directions on shooting grouse last Christmas did. The care in his voice on the other side of the line offering to come to Eton at once and rescue him for an hour or two when George, nearly at the end of his rope, had told him that he was so overwhelmed by the newness of it all because, contrarily to what some people might say, men and English actually had feelings did. The increasing fondness for football incited by George did. His wise but lightly-put words regarding girls did. The expertise on cocktails did. The point he made of picking George from the station when he came home on holiday and always having a book to gift him did. The fact that this was the man he had first called by his name but that had naturally started to call 'Papa' afterwards, when he was little and had picked it up from her cousin addressing his Uncle Tom like that upon gathering that their relationship was in the same mould as his with Henry (didn't he play with George, ask about his day, read to him?), and, apart from some melancholic glances from his mother, no one had actually forbidden him to do so did. He didn't talk about him very often, but when he did, Matthew was Father while Henry was Papa.
«You really take after your father», people often told George Crawley, but all these reasons and all those others accumulated over twelve years made it feel dissonant and strange.
He worried sometimes that doing this was a form of betraying the memory of the man that had helped bring him into the world. George knew it wasn't fair or even logical to say that he loved Henry more than Matthew since he had never actually met the latter except through some of the stories inscribed in the family lore such as the unexpected way in which he had found himself the heir apparent to an earldom and an estate and his adaptation to these roles, his time in the War, his injury and the miraculous recovery, the changes he had worked to bring to Downton and, of course, the epic love story with George's mother, but that only humanised his presence so far and wasn't enough to placate his conscience and uneasiness. Without any actual memories to ground these tales, his birthfather didn't feel very real to him, but more like a character in a book or a long-gone historical figure his family had hosted for dinner many years before he was born and about whom they reminisced from time to time.
This made him feel ashamed and confused. He knew people were different and didn't experience life and its course in the same way (something he had actually learnt mostly from Henry), but he couldn't help but compare his situation to Sybbie's. His cousin had also lost her mother the day she had been born and didn't have any memories of her either, but she had frequently asked for stories about her from everyone – her father, their grandfather, Granny, his mother, Aunt Edith, his grandmother, Mrs. Harding even, when she had become grown up enough to join certain guests for dinner. She seemed to like her stepmother well enough and to look up to her, but it had never impaired her curiosity and she still loved to hear the telling of moments she knew by heart already or some new detail that had suddenly sprung in someone's mind.
The house was full of people, but his cousin, the one who would probably be the best with whom to discuss this subject, was still away in school and George didn't find this the type of thing to discuss by letter.
Edward was too young and even if his age didn't matter to the question at hand, it was likely he wouldn't understand the situation very well. Tall for his age and looking rather distinguished even at twelve with the high-cheekbones, dark hair and their mother's upturned eyes rendered in his father's bright green, he too looked like his parents, but the resemblance wasn't laden with such particular weight.
He soon learnt that it wasn't a pretty feeling to have, but when he had been born, nearly-five-years-old George had feared Henry would prefer the new baby over him in a way only a sibling could; the fact that they were biologically related while George and Henry weren't would only hit him later. Truth be told, he still felt jealous of his brother sometimes, but it didn't stem from that detail and more from the fact that he was at home while George was about 230 miles away at school.
Perhaps due to the sense of duty and honour inherited from his grandfather, mother, and Father, George had never been an unruly child. Nevertheless, sometimes he went downstairs to meet Mr Barrow instead of following straight to his room after his lesson. One day, not many months after Edward's birth, he was waiting for him in the butler's pantry when, by accident, he heard a conversation between the new maids, who were sweeping the floor of the hallway and didn't know he was there.
« Do you think Mr Talbot will be as devoted to Master George now that he has his own son? Some people said that he had only been so attentive to him because he wanted to get his hands on her and her money. If that's the case, I guess that he has to keep it up now.»
Back then George hadn't fully understood what they had meant but it had been enough to rouse the doubts about if their bond would change because they didn't share the same blood. He hadn't divulged what or who had propelled his questions, but while he had tried to shake it away, his agitation hadn't been easily put aside and he had ended up voicing his fear to them. Mary and Henry had been caught by surprise, but they quickly and categorically assured him that while a new baby did bring some transformations to a family and that it was true that they had different fathers, George and Edward were brothers, would always be brothers and that was it. They would love them equally.
It wasn't very noble or kind of him – two qualities people saw in him as they compared him to his Father-, but he wished he had known enough to say that they'd see that it wasn't a ploy and that while it was important for her that they got along well, his mother wouldn't choose a particular man to marry just because he took some time to coo at her son. Lady Mary Talbot was a woman with a sound head on her shoulders, who knew very well what she wanted, and would act in light of this and of her own heart.
George leaned closer towards the mirror, the photograph still next to his face.
He had heard that his father had been rather shy and awkward, characteristics he also shared and that had lead him to question if he could ever be the man and the earl his mother and his grandfather saw in him and hoped him to be.
Mary and Henry read often, but he had discovered shelves and shelves of books of all kinds with 'Matthew Crawley' scribbled in a corner of the first page and while Grandfather would never allow him to scribble his name on the books in the library, George's was the second most frequent signature in the registry.
«Clever» and «a fast-learner» had come up not only regarding school but also as he learnt everything that there was to learn about Downton and its running so he would be ready for it when the time came for him to be the custodian of the estate. «Your interest and intelligence remind me of your father», Grandfather had told him once as they were driving back to the Abbey after visiting the farms under their care, having left his mother and Uncle Tom at the agent's office finishing up for the day.
George straightened himself up and took a step away from the mirror. He no longer stared at his reflection but was looking at the image in his hand instead.
His doubts and worries hadn't been instantly erased, but he felt a sort of relief growing in his chest. It turned out that it might be possible to have a bit of both his Father and his Papa in himself and as well as being his one own person beyond all that. Cherishing the living didn't mean he was ignoring the dead. Having inherited such close likeness to Matthew and finding that he also shared some of his personality traits didn't jeopardise everything that Henry had taught him and the bond they had built. He couldn't completely overrun the fact that he considered Henry the father figure in his life (Grandfather coming afterwards), but by finding parts of his father in himself that transcended the physical appearance he didn't feel that he was failing him anymore.
It was quite surprising and even somewhat frightening to conclude something so simple and yet so complex after a long look at a mirror and a photograph, but it was also more comforting than what he could have ever anticipated.
«You really take after your father», people would often tell George Crawley.
From that moment on, he would know exactly what to say as he smiled reservedly and replied with a polite «Thank you. I guess I could say I do really take after both of them.»
The End
A/n: I hope you enjoyed my first foray into DA fanfiction. I hadn't expected to write anything but the thoughts I had had about how George would know him better than his own father and seeing Henry carrying George in his shoulders and in his lap in the finale made me start thinking about this story I guess.
I'm not sure about Sybbie addresses Tom and my research wasn't very successful so I apologise if it is incorrect. I hope it isn't enough to hinder your enjoyment of this text.
As always, your feedback is deeply appreciated.