This is a "Gosford Park" mini sequel. I just loved the characters of Robert and Mary and wanted something else to happen to them. They couldn't have parted without anything else happening! So this is what I think might have happened. Just a sweet 20's style romance. References to the movie if you haven't seen it.
As always, I don't own "Gosford Park" or it's characters. Enjoy!
The last of the day's spring sun peaked over the rooftops of the city, tinting everything in its path a rosy shade of pink. Pedestrians shielded their eyes as they began to cut across the busy London streets looking for taxis on their way home. Some people cut across the Rosings Park across from the cafe and bought enticing ice cream cones from stands. Mary sat amidst the diners on the porch of Café St. John and watched the night commuters. She sipped her lemon tea and smiled softly. She knew it wasn't just the sun that was causing her face to warm to a shade of pink.
She adjusted her plain, simple gray hat and tucked a stray short brown strand of hair behind her ear. As she continued to watch the pedestrians slip past the café, her hand strayed again to her coat pocket. For the hundredth time, she slipped his last letter out of her pocket. Slowly, she turned the creased cream envelope between her hands. She watched as her fingers trembled like the new spring leaves on the trees around her. She fruitlessly tried to still them. She didn't know if she shook from fright, nerves…or something deeper.
The letters began a week after the shooting party at Sir William McCordle's country estate. The weekend Sir William was coldly and quietly murdered in his study. The weekend she met Robert Parks.
She traced the lines of her address with her finger. His words – his ink - his handwriting. A small smile graced her ruby lips as she recalled his tall, dark strong figure. He had seemed so quiet, so withdrawn that weekend. He had really only opened up for her. She remembered with a quiet shiver, the way his green eyes would twinkle when he smiled at her. Then there was that stolen kiss. By the Saints, that kiss! It still lingered on her lips like a second skin.
Suddenly, the smile fled her face as she remembered why Robert was so quiet that weekend – so closed off. He had come to Sir William's house for one reason alone. How could someone so kind and handsome contemplate something so cold, cruel and sinful? Technically, he never finished his task, but the thought brewed all the same in his mind. How could he-?
Mary shook her head and grabbed her cup of tea. The hot liquid scalded her mouth, but she didn't care. She should have been over her confusion and fear by now. It had been six months since the murder. The police still had no clue about what really happened. They claim McCordle died of a heart attack…minutes before a burglar stabbed him in the chest. Only she knew the real truth – the truth that not even Robert knew….Why was she still so frightened of him now? If she still had her doubts, she should never have agreed to meet him at the café on her day off.
She slowly pulled the worn letter from its plain envelope.
"Mary."
She shivered as she recalled the way her name had tumbled off of his tongue. His voice was low and liquid like warm honey. It was one of his best qualities…and she dearly missed hearing it.
"Mary,
Please, let's stop our dancing and finally meet again. You know I've cherished every one of your letters, but I'm tired of writing out all my thoughts and feelings. I want to see your sweet face again. I want to hear your true words with my own ears again. You always were able to see the common truth through all the fog of lies that covers mankind. If we only meet once, I'll understand. I just want to see you again. Please, write me to tell me you will see me. We've now lived in the same city for months and we still haven't glimpsed each other.
Forever yours,
Robert."
Her Ladyship, Constance Trentham, had purchased a fashionable town house in London with the money Sir William had left her in his will. She had been quick to buy it after the funeral, since a town home was easy to keep on scandalously low funds. Lady Trentham was in a fashionable area of town and there no one had to know how many corners she had to cut to keep her status as a Countess. Mary had been excited at first to be in the excitement and drama of London – until Robert's first letter arrived. It reached her before the move – he had left his previous post with Lord Stockbridge and was now working as valet for a Lord Andrew Wallace in London. To be in the same city as him…the idea had caused a thousand emotions to shiver inside of her heart.
Mary closed up his last letter, but kept it hidden in her lap. She still remembered that first letter of Robert's. She had refused to read it, of course. The other servants had gossiped about it for a week when it arrived in the post, teasing her to confess the name of her secret lover. Mary had blushed scarlet every time, but had always denied being in love. It was only a letter. What did a bunch of words on paper mean anyway? However, when she finally did break the seal of that first letter, the memory of his strong lips and warm hands filled her mind.
"Miss Maceachran,
Or shall I call you Miss Trentham? Forgive my forwardness in writing to you, but I couldn't get you out of my mind. You are such a sweet, wonderful woman – I don't deserve to even be in the same room as you. If you would rather destroy this letter and never write to me, I will understand. I just couldn't help but write to you.
I am sorry for that weekend. I am sorry if I frightened you with that kiss. It was an awful impulse, I know, and I am a monster to steal such a thing of beauty from you. You are too sweet and kind to forgive a brute like me, but I did not mean to take advantage of you. I only thought there was something – forgive me if I'm wrong or if I'm being impertinent. Blimey, I'm saying all the wrong things and wasting this letter and I again am sorry.
What I mean to say is this: I had my reasons Miss Macachran. I know you must think me a horrible monster, but I had my reasons that weekend. I had to do what I did, Mary, you must understand. You remember what I told you about what he did to all those factory babies. I couldn't let someone like that live his life free as if he had never done anything wrong – to spend his money as if he were God Almighty. You don't know what it was like growing up in that awful orphanage, Mary, thank God. You don't know what it was like being nameless and forgotten as a child – to be a nobody. If my mother had lived, things might have been easier, but instead she died from his shame. If you had lived my life, Mary, you would understand why I had to do what I did. Then in the end, I was too late anyway. Thank God, that you had not lived in my shoes. I would not wish that on any evil rotten soul – even his.
Forgive me, if I have hurt you with this letter. If you burn it and never write me, I will understand. I will not hate you for it.
I think I've wasted enough space. I only hope all is well with you. Incidentally, I have left Lord Stockbridge for a new post in London – a certain Lord Wallace. I have never liked London, but I grew rather tired of the country since that weekend.
Robert Parks."
Mary had carried that first letter in her pocket for weeks, until it was as wrinkled and worn as old used tissue paper. At that time, she had been still so confused and frightened by that weekend in the country. She had thought he was a stranger that day she learned why he was really there. She did understand his motives, she just couldn't forgive them. Technically, he was saved from committing his crime, but that did not erase the fact that he had come to Sir William's to commit murder. She had thought she was beginning to like him and his secret smiles. She would never forget how Robert had saved her from the frightful pig actor Denton before he could take advantage of her. Robert had seemed so much like her at the time – quiet and trapped in a world of servitude. Instead, when they parted that Sunday, he had seemed a cold, harsh monster – even when he had smiled sweetly and said goodbye to her. After she learned the truth she failed to see that hidden twinkle in his eye any longer.
Yet, as she read his first letter, she had begun to see less of that cold monster in her mind. She saw more of the real Robert – the man whose green eyes twinkled for her alone– the man who pulled her in for a passionate kiss that he had been wishing to steal all weekend. It was curiosity alone that caused her to reply to his letter. Curiosity for the real Robert – the Robert she had grown to care for. Was he still hiding under that cold stiff exterior or was he now free of his awful burden? Would he now smile and laugh with everyone…and with other women? If she didn't write him, would he soon forget her and become friendly with some new maid in his new household? Aye, she had thought then that it was curiosity alone that had caused her to write him, but it didn't take long for her to realize there was something deeper under the surface – something that longed for him as fiercely as the sea longed for the shore.
"Mary," a voice greeted from across from her, cutting into her thoughts. She jumped at the sudden noise and looked up. There he stood in the late sunlight as if he had never parted from her at Sir William's.
"Robert," she squeaked. "You came."
"Did you think I wouldn't?" he asked, his green eyes boring into her brown ones.
Slowly Mary shook her head as her eyes took him in. She didn't miss the smile that tugged at his mouth as she looked up and down his body. He wore a light black overcoat over his plain blue suit, his hat already in his hand. His tie was a dark green that brought out the color of his eyes, causing Mary to blush when she realized it.
"May I sit?" Robert asked, gesturing at the chair across from her.
"Oh, oh, right. Yes, yes, please, do, sit down," Mary cried, waving her hand at the chair. She suddenly felt like a blithering idiot, her face beet red. Oh, why had she bothered to come? He would realize the mistake he had made in writing to her over the past few months and then leave her as suddenly as he had appeared.
As she waved her hand at the chair, Robert's recent letter flew from her grasp and landed on the table between them. Mary stared at the worn paper with sudden horror. She watched as Robert reached out slowly to pick up the crumpled letter.
"You kept my letter," he said, a small smile of surprise spreading over his face.
Mary shook her head, her embarrassment almost deep enough to choke her. Suddenly, she realized what a mistake she had made in writing Robert at all. How could he see anything remarkable in her? Was there even a real, warm, kind Robert inside of him? She was suddenly positive all his honey-filled words were nothing but lies on each page. She could only see him mocking her and leaving her alone at the table as the other café patrons jeered her. She had created some kind of fictional white knight and now she would see he was nothing more than a cold black shadow of a man.
"This was a mistake. I should really – go." Mary cried, popping out of her chair, her head down to avoid the cold look he was surely giving her. Of course that was the reason he had come all the way down to her neighborhood. A man who could contemplate murder could not have a heart warm enough to love her. What had she been thinking?
"Wait! Mary, where are you going?'
"This was a mistake. You don't want to be here. I-"
"Mary!" Robert cried and pulled her to him. Once again she was back inside the strong, comforting circle of his arms. Once again she could feel his warm heat radiating off of him. She could smell the strong scent of his aftershave on his skin. His suit and tie felt soft and welcome against her burning cheek.
"Mary, look at me," he murmured gently. "Why are you so afraid?"
Instinctively, Mary obeyed him. Instead of a cold, closed-off angry face, she saw only kind green eyes and a face frowning in mild confusion. His face was only inches away from her and she was again taken back to that night when he kissed her in his bedroom. She found she was still the confused, silly girl she was then, but she ached for him even more.
"I – I thought you'd laugh at me," she whispered, looking back down at his tie again. "I mean, why would you want to be seen with a girl like me? I'm not-"
"Mary, don't you know me by now?" he asked, his voice a soft purr. She looked up to see hurt now hiding behind his eyes and smile. Instantly, she felt guilt begin to gnaw away at her insides. She had misjudged him cruelly. Still, she had to know the truth. They had exchanged so many written words over the past few months; it was easy to lose the reality in their fluid poetry.
"I know your letters. I – I read them over and over until I had them memorized. But are they really you? Did you mean what you said in them?"
His green eyes bored intensely into hers, intoxicating her. "Every word."
"Really?"
Robert sighed and slightly tightened his hold around Mary's waist. She found she could easily drown in that sea of green.
"What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm a good man?"
"I don't know. Tell me the truth. Why me?"
He sighed and slowly tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. He let his touch linger on her skin and she shivered under his touch.
"Because you're beautiful and sweet and honest. You're also the cleverest girl I've ever known. You have a way of seeing into the hearts of people that no one else has. You saw good in me."
"But are you a good man, Robert?" Mary asked, her voice a shy shaky whisper. "I mean, what you tried to do-"
"And I've explained all that," he replied, a touch of frost freezing his voice.
"In your letters, yes. But were they true? It's easy to lie on paper."
"I didn't lie to you that night when you discovered the truth," he replied. "He deserved to die, Mary."
"But how could you even try to do something so cruel? You were so kind to me – in your letters you were so kind – I thought –"
"You want something real?" Robert asked, his voice harsh and slightly frightening. His eyes had taken on an intense shade of teal that caused Mary's heart to flutter. "Come with me."
He threw a few pounds on the café table and grabbed Mary's hand. She barely had time to grab her purse before he hauled her from the café to the park across the street. His grip was not painful – only firm and insistent. She should have been afraid. Here was a man who had tried to kill the father who had abandoned him and his mother. He would have succeeded too if someone hadn't poisoned his father first. She should have been screaming her head off in ruddy terror. Instead, a giant shiver of anticipation shuddered through her as he led her farther and farther into the damp city park.
They finally stopped under a tall elegant maple tree, the final last drops of sun straining through the young green leaves. Before she could even speak or breathe, he gripped his strong arms around her waist and his lips instantly found hers. Electricity shot through her body as he kissed her. It was just as she remembered. His lips were soft and strong, like his hands, and he nibbled on her soft lips. She sighed through her nose and felt herself sag against him. She then did something she wished she had done six months earlier…she kissed him back.
Mary had always been a shy girl and did not have much experience with men. She had only been kissed twice in her life before Robert passionately kissed her that night at Gosford Park. Yet, somehow her lips knew exactly what to do. They parted ever so slightly as she kissed his soft urgent mouth. His lips tasted so sweet – a taste she knew she'd remember forever. As she began to kiss him back, she could feel his body freeze and she began to pull away – perhaps this wasn't the way she was supposed to kiss. Then he quickly unfroze and pulled her closer to him until she thought she would become one with his body. Her hands instinctively slid up and down his neck. His hands snatched the hat off her head and began to cut furrows through her short brown hair.
After what seemed like hours of pure bliss, Robert broke off the kiss, his breath as ragged as her own. She could feel heat flowing into her face from the emotions he had stirred inside of her. She found she was trembling like the leaves above her, her heart calling out for more kisses and for more of his touch.
"Is that enough truth for you?" he gasped. She looked up into his anguished face. "It's written between every word in every letter. I love you, Mary. I've loved you ever since I met you that first day at Gosford Park. I knew you'd be the only one who would understand me, who would care about me. Only you would know why I had to do it. Please tell me I haven't been mistaken in writing to you all these months."
"No, you weren't mistaken," Mary whispered with a slow shake of her head. "I understand. I do. I just still can't believe that someone could try and commit such a horrible murder. I can't believe someone I love could-"
"You love me?" Robert asked, a smile slowly brightening up his handsome face. The smile chased away much of his cold, gruff exterior. "You love me?"
"Yes, yes, I love you, but-"
"That's all I needed to hear," he cried and then captured her lips again with his. She whimpered in pleasure before she could stop herself. His kisses and lips were intoxicating. She wanted to taste more and more of him. She soon forgot she was in a public park and that they were unmarried and that she had to be back at the Manor in an hour. She only wanted to remain wrapped in his arms until time passed them both. He loved her! Unfortunately, she knew there were still ghosts of doubts digging at her insides.
"Robert, wait-" she gasped, breaking off the kiss and pushing away from him a little.
"Yes, my love," he murmured, trailing his lips down her neck. She closed her eyes for one brief exquisite moment as the new sensations he was creating coursed up and down her body. Then she firmly pulled out of his arms and reluctantly took a step away from him.
"I just need to know why."
"Mary-"
"No, I need to know why someone so kind – so good – could try and murder someone," she whispered. "I know you're a good man, Robert. But why murder him? Why not call the police? I know he was a bastard, but why did you have to be the one to try and kill him?"
Robert was silent for a long moment. His green eyes took on a far away gleam of emerald and his happiness evaporated under a cool icy exterior. He gently took her hand and led her to a nearby park bench. The nearby park lamp flickered to life to fight off the approaching gloom of night.
He took her hand and silently pulled off her black glove. He slipped her small hand between his own large warm hands before he spoke again. His voice was haunted and dark – as if he were reliving the world's most wretched memories.
"Sir William McCordle was a heartless bastard. A monster. He used his position in his factories to seduce poor young women until they were pregnant and useless. He didn't give a goddamn about them or the babies they created with him. He only shuttled them all out of his way so he wouldn't be reminded of the messes he had created.
"You have no idea what it was like growing up alone in that place. You don't know what it's like to truly be alone. At least my mother wasn't alive to see the shame I was living in. I was a nobody to everyone – even the rare adoptive parents that did decide to grace us with their presence. "
Mary's heart lurched at the mention of his mother. She learned the truth about his mother the day she left Gosford Park. They hadn't talked much in their letters about the murder – not much after those first few exchanges. The guilt of knowing his mother was actually alive did bother her deeply. Yet, she still hadn't the courage to tell him. Mary didn't know if the truth would shatter him or strengthen him.
"When I finally learned who my real father was – and how many other children he had chucked along the roadside, I vowed I'd get my revenge. I couldn't let him live with his expensive house and his fat bank account while the rest of us were lucky to even find work. I couldn't let him get away with killing my mother and ignoring me. It – it wasn't just me either. All those other children he had fathered – we were people just like him and we didn't deserve to be forgotten in the depths of a cheap, dingy orphanage.
"No one cared about any of us. I had to finally make him pay – since I knew no one else would."
As he spoke the truth, Mary felt the last of her doubts and worries ebb away. It still bothered her that a man such as Robert could be capable of something so cold-blooded and evil, but now she could understand how even good men could be turned down such dark lonely paths. She then could only hope that Robert would never be forced down that murderous road again.
She gently removed her hand from his and caressed his cheek with her fingers. Her touch seemed to bring him back from the past and he turned his green eyes to hers again. She looked up at him with love radiating off of her. He only hoped he could see that she believed him fully now…and that she was a fool to doubt him for so long. He took her hand and gently kissed her palm, sending more shivers up her spine.
"You see I'm not an evil man, Mary," he murmured. "I had no choice but to kill him."
He gave a bitter laugh. "And then in the end someone beat me to it."
Mary scooted closer to Robert and took his hands in hers. "I'm glad you didn't do it. I think I would love you either way, but I'm glad that it wasn't you."
"It's over now anyway," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. He took a deep breath and Mary saw the real Robert emerge from the frosty exterior. The smiling, happy man that she loved. The man who had no dark secret burden to hide from all those around him. "Now that you know I'm a good man and not a murderer, let's forget all about the nasty McCordle business. Let's talk about something a hell of a lot more interesting – you."
"Robert, wait," Mary said with a laugh as Robert began to lightly tickle her. She bit her lip. She still didn't know if it was her place – or if she should even bother to tell him. He had a right to know though that he had never really been alone in the world.
"There's something else you should know."
"That you love sneaking off to the cinema when old Lady Trentham isn't looking?"
"No," Mary said with a stifled giggle. "No, it – it's about that weekend. The morning we left, I – I realized who had really murdered Sir William."
She felt him stiffen beside her, but she plowed on all the same. She couldn't hope to spend any real time with him carrying this secret inside of her. He had to know the whole truth. Hadn't he told her before that he loved her for her ability to see- the truth through anything?
"I went to talk to her before we left. She recognized you when you arrived. Well, she didn't know for sure it was you until she saw the photograph. Then she knew what you had planned and she couldn't let it happen. She couldn't let you murder him – she wouldn't let you ruin your life that way. She loved you, you see. She really did love you – even though she thought she'd never see you again. She-"
"Mary, what are you talking about?" Robert cried, his face confused and full of anguish. She could feel the sheets of icy steel threatening to drop completely on top of her and she strengthened her resolve. He had to know the truth – just as she did about why he had had to kill Sir William.
"Mrs. Wilson. She knew you were going to kill him, so she poisoned him before you could kill him," Mary's voice dropped to a frightened whisper as his eyes became a frozen shade of mint. "She was – is your mother."
Mary held her breath in horror as Robert turned as still as a stone. She was afraid even to speak now, in case he shattered next to her. Now the real Robert would reveal his true colors. He would leave her as quickly as he had appeared that day. He would leave her – how could he be with her knowing that she had known all along. Oh, why hadn't she just told him that day they all left Gosford Park?
Abruptly Robert laughed beside her. It was a rich, low laugh that was a mixture of relief and bitterness. He threw his head back and laughed as if he had heard the funniest joke in all the world. Mary stared at him in alarm. Of all the reactions she could have predicted, she never would have expected this.
"Robert-"
"I should have known," he cried, rubbing his hands over his face. "I should have known. No wonder she kept such a close eye on me. She came into my room for a surprise inspection one night and I should have realized – I should have known."
"Are you angry?" Mary asked quietly. "Are you sorry I told you?"
Robert's laughter slowly died away as he turned to look at her. He reached over and took her hand again. A soft, small smile – the kind she knew he used only with her – snuck over his face.
"Not in the slightest," he murmured. "I guess I should be glad she did kill him before I did. Otherwise I would have lost you forever."
"Will you try and get in touch with her? She knows who you are now. She wouldn't-"
"Let's worry about one thing at a time, alright, love? I just found out my mother was – is - actually alive and she killed my father. It's a lot to take in, I tell you."
"I shouldn't have told you," Mary said with a sigh.
"No, you were right to tell me. I did need to know," Robert said, tilting her chin up with his finger. "Only you could have told me the truth anyway. You would be the only one to figure out Mrs. Wilson."
"Now what do we do?" Mary asked, her voice a mere whisper above the breeze. She didn't want to leave him, but she knew if she wasn't home soon, Her Ladyship would lock her out of the Manor entirely. She only wanted to remain sitting on the cold park bench next to the man she loved.
"Now – we take you home," he replied loudly and pulled her with him as he stood up.
"And then?" she asked quietly. He laughed again – this time it was a laugh of joy. She found that she loved the sound of it. It warmed her heart to see him laugh. She knew he wasn't completely the real Robert yet. Definitely not after the news she had just given him. Yet, she knew he really was there hidden under those layers of cold steel. He was there and she knew that she would only see more and more of him.
"Then," he said, smiling as he pulled her closer to him again. "Then I will call on you next Thursday to take you to dinner or the cinema or wherever you'd like. I will keep calling until you agree to marry me and then you won't have to work with that old trout Trentham any longer."
"Robert!" Mary cried. "How can you say it like that?"
"Well, do you not want to marry me?"
"Of course I do, but I didn't think you'd come out with it quite like that."
"You'll find I'm full of delicious and wonderful surprises, Miss MaryMaceachran," Robert replied with a grin.
"All good ones, I hope."
"That's the only kind I know now," he told her and finally leaned in to kiss her one last time. She lost herself inside of his kiss as her hands clutched at his lapels. She unconsciously pulled herself closer to him until their bodies were merely millimeters apart. Robert was right. She could see the truth in others when no one else could. Unfortunately, she could never see the secret of truth in herself. She had always believed Robert to be a good man; she only had to believe the truth herself. Now she would have the rest of her life to learn how good a man Robert Parks really was.