Author's note - This story was essentially finished last year. It was the very last scene that I stumbled over. I had always intended a sequel to Second Chances because I always thought the awkward aftermath of the situation in Second Chances begged to be told. This is very much more of a Downton Abbey story... its a cross over in the sense that Violet is is still associated with Torchwood and Isobel is still secretly Harriet Jones. Also, as it predates The Fox Hunt, there's some similar ideas and plots explored (nothing non consensual) Mostly the idea of Matthew having amnesia developed from the plot of this story. Plus while theres some serious stuff about ptsd, I think this is in general a much funnier story.
It wasn't as jolly exciting as she thought it would be, Rose MacClare thought as she took a seat at the breakfast table. Downton Abbey was the talk of London, what with the tragic death of the heir, Matthew Crawley and then the shocking tale months later, that Matthew had in fact been kidnapped and held captive by a lowly band of Americans who had grievously injured him. It was scandalous, that he'd somehow escaped but didn't remember. And of course, it didn't hurt that the news rags were quick to pounce on any story. She'd been excited to find out that her planned stay at Downton Abbey hadn't been canceled but since her arrival the night before, she was beginning to regret agreeing to early January in Yorkshire. The night before, dinner had been with Robert and Cora and Edith, the spinster, and the Dowager, and it had been all too much like being with her parents. Mary had come late, explaining that Matthew wasn't well enough to attend. The explanation had been for her, it was not a surprise that Matthew wasn't there for the rest of the family.
That made it all the more surprising to see him walk into the dining room that morning, wearing ill-fitting pants, an equally ill-fitting shirt, and a rather bohemian sweater, like the artist colony sorts. He looked pale and thin compared to when she had seen him last, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Nothing looked overtly wrong, but she knew something was off, something was tickling her senses about him. Mary of course looked radiant. She hovered over him and fairly glared at Robert, as if daring him to say anything. Rose waited patiently, because it was obvious Robert wanted to say something.
She wasn't disappointed.
"Matthew, why are you coming to breakfast looking like… well, I don't know what." Robert was pleasant but only a dullard would have missed the bite. "What are you wearing?"
Matthew looked at his clothes and then at Robert. "The pants are Tom's, I think the shirt is one of yours, and the charming, overly warm sweater was found by Mr. Barrow this morning as Mary felt I looked cold."
"You said you were cold all night," Mary said, as she sipped her tea.
Rose smiled. Matthew didn't look well, she was young but she knew what someone who was recovering from something serious looked like, but the banter between the two was affectionate. She was glad, that was the truth. Matthew and Mary had been so much fun in the late summer, before all of the unpleasantness.
Robert seemed off put. "Well… why aren't you wearing your own clothes? I didn't want to say anything but you've been walking around rags ever since you've been well enough to get out of bed."
Matthew eyed Mary. "Do you want to explain to your father what happened to my clothes, Mary?"
Mary turned to Robert. "Papa, I burned all of Matthew's clothes because I was angry with God that Matthew was dead."
Robert fiddled with his eggs. "Are you both determined to make this awkward for Rose?"
"Not determined, no," Mary said, covering a smile. Rose tried not to smile as well.
Matthew looked directly at her. It was obvious he hadn't even registered that she was there. He looked at her quizzically, and then at Robert. "Why… why is Rose here?"
"She's staying with us while her parents are in India." Rose was surprised at how carefully Robert phrased it. He waited a moment. "We talked about it yesterday. If you check your notes, you'll see it."
"I didn't bring my notes," Matthew said. He seemed embarrassed. He looked at her. "Rose, I am sorry. I was struck in the head recently and it is affecting my memory." He gestured to his head, on the side of which was a large knot still. "If you ask me any favors, you'll want to make sure I write them down."
It wasn't as amusing but it also wasn't as difficult as some of the veterans that her father entertained behaved. "Of course I will, Matthew." That seemed to ease the tension and they all continued to eat. Then it chanced on her what had struck her as off. "Matthew," she asked carefully, "Did the kidnappers dye your hair? It's just that when I last saw you, your hair was much more golden blond and now you look almost sun bleached, like one of Father's friends from Egypt."
She felt terrible as soon as she had said it, because Matthew blanched as though she'd chanced upon some dark secret. At the same time, she knew she was right and Robert and Mary both looked as though some strange clue had been given to them. Matthew toyed with the remains of his eggs. "I don't know, Rose," he finally said. He started to get up, and Mary gave him a look.
"You need to eat, Matthew," Mary said. "At least finish." He gave her a cross look, but finished his plate and then stood and left without asking anyone's leave.
Robert gave Mary a stern look. "He's not a child, Mary."
"He's not well, Papa," Mary retorted. "Even if I hadn't …. Even if I hadn't burnt his clothes in a fit of despair, there would be nothing he could wear."
Robert nodded. "I understand, but Mary, you must be patient. He's trying to be well, for you, but he needs more time. I will have Bates get his measurements and go into town and get him something decent to wear."
It was all so deliciously awkward, Rose thought.
0o0o0o0o0
It was, Thomas Barrow thought as he strode down the hallway towards the nursery, good to have something to do that wasn't entirely depressing. Tragedy after tragedy had a way of wearing one down. He'd considering finding another job during the darkest time, after Matthew Crawley's supposed death, but had held on. Loyalty to Sybil, a woman he'd considered a friend despite the differences class and inclination, and a bit of loyalty to Matthew as well. They had been in the war together, and that meant something to him. It was good that the man was alive, he wasn't afraid to admit that, and it was one of the few things he agreed with O'Brien about.
Matthew was in the nursery, holding his son. Nanny West was clearly annoyed, but judging by the baby's cheerful giggle, little George was obviously delighted to be held and jiggled. Despite himself, he smiled. It was nice to see people happy. "Sir," he said, "His Lordship has asked Bates to get you measured so some new clothes can be obtained for you."
"Of course he did," Matthew said as he jiggled the baby cheerfully. "Did you hear that, George? Grandpapa Robert thinks Papa looks like a frightful vagrant. You don't think Papa looks terrible do you? No, you love badly dressed Papa."
Thomas did smile. There was no reason to rush, or rather, it was fun to make Bates dance attendance on him and not the other way around. And even better, Nanny West looked close to having a stroke.
"Sir, we do have a schedule," Nanny West said sternly as she held out her arms.
"Oh babies don't need schedules," Matthew crooned as he continued playing with the baby, "And I did miss three months of his growing, do grant me a little grace, Nanny West." He reluctantly handed the baby back.
"Very well, Mr. Crawley," Nanny West said. Thomas eyed her carefully. The woman had taken against Matthew, which was obvious, and didn't mind showing it. Not wise, considering that Matthew Crawley was technically her employer now.
Matthew waited until they were in the hallway with the door to the nursery closed, to speak. "I shouldn't have kept you waiting, Mr. Barrow, I apologize." He pointed at the nursery. "It's just… something about that woman makes me want to spite her. It's quite hateful of me. I don't think she likes me. "
"Then you're in good company," Thomas said companionably. "She's taken against me as well."
"Well, then it can't be that I'm flouting the social morays of Downton by not dressing appropriately, as you're dressed nicely, Mr. Barrow." Matthew said it with some amusement, but Thomas wondered.
"Can you imagine, sir, what Nanny West would have thought of the two of us having tea in the trenches? Mud up to our waists and dust falling in the tea from the shelling?" It was one of the few fond memories he had of the war.
"Nanny West would be horrified, "Matthew said with a laugh. "You know, I think I was actually bitten by a rat in your trench hovel."
"I certainly was," Thomas said, a wry smile coming to his face. He hesitated. "You do look much better, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. It's good to see you up and about." It was true, which made it easier to say.
"You're very kind, Thomas," Matthew said easily. "The truth is that I am beginning to feel better, it just feels very slow."
"Rome wasn't built in a day, sir." Thomas said. He followed Matthew into Robert's dressing room. He didn't need to watch, but it irritated Bates to no end.
"Any preference on clothes, Mr. Matthew," Bates asked pleasantly as he took measurements. Thomas looked out the windows, noticing that the late morning skies had grown ominously dark. A storm was rolling in. He turned his attention back as Matthew spoke.
"Just a few serviceable shirts and pairs of pants would suit me," Matthew said. He sighed. "I've lost a lot of weight, it seems silly to buy a lot of new clothes when I'll just need new in a month." He eyed Bates. "I assume you've been given orders to find some sort of dinner dress."
"Yes, sir," Bates said. He smiled. "Lord Grantham felt you should have something acceptable in case there was entertaining…. But the rest, I'm sure I will be able to find something that will work." It was at that moment that the storm clouds thundered, a stunning crack that made Thomas jump. Matthew did more than jump, he dove to the floor, covering his head. Oh damn, Thomas thought. In an instant, he dove to the floor as well.
"Blimey!" he said, taking care to sound surprised. "That was… For a moment, I thought the bloody jerries were shelling us again." He got up, and helped Matthew up, making sure the man was steady on his feet before he let go. "I thought I was the only one who still did that, sir. I'm sorry… I must have put the war in your head."
"The war… right," Matthew said. He brushed himself off. "It's not your fault, Thomas. I haven't been good with loud noises lately. And Bates, thank you for doing this errand." He walked out, leaving Thomas alone with Bates.
Bates took the sheet of paper with the measurements. "What was that about, Thomas?"
Thomas's eyes narrowed. "We were in the war together, Mr. Bates." He lowered his voice. "I didn't want him to feel ashamed. I don't jump *now* but I did, and I think if we don't draw attention to it, that Mr. Crawley might start to feel less out of sorts."
After a moment, Bates smiled. "That's surprisingly kind of you. I'll need to remember this date."
"Why?"
"It's the day I found out you had a heart, Mr. Barrow."
0o0o0o0o0
Will this work, she wondered as Matthew's shivering began. It had worked the night before but only a little. She hadn't pressed it, she had been too surprised that it had worked at all. Mary curled around Matthew's body. He wasn't cold, not at all, despite the goosebumps covering his body. He was dreaming, and remembering being cold, and that was making him shake. "Matthew," she whispered, "You're having a bad dream."
"Cold. It's so cold," he murmured. She could feel him flinch away from her as she touched him.
"It's all right," she said softly. "Where are you, Matthew?" Sometimes, when she stopped to think about it, Mary knew she wasn't a nice person. Matthew made her better. He was by no means perfect, if anything his stubbornness rivaled her own and they both shared the same contrary nature that so often put them at odds. Matthew didn't indulge his spiteful side often but he did have one, and she knew he had a prickly complicated sense of duty and honor. What she also knew was that Matthew didn't lie well at all. He hadn't loved Lavinia, not in his heart, and she had known it. When Matthew kept secrets, or lied about things, it ate at him. She remembered all too well, his determination to never let himself be happy because Lavinia died. All of the signs were there that Matthew was lying to her, and likely to everyone, about what had happened to him. He had told her, before he managed to put up all the walls around himself that he had been frightened that she and baby George would be harmed. The jumpiness, the twitching at loud noises, the strange moments where it seemed like someone had chanced on a secret… Rose had done it at breakfast and it had made Mary wonder, because Matthew's hair did look sun bleached, which was at odds with kidnappers grabbing him in early September. And he'd startled like it was a secret Rose wasn't meant to know. The night before, when he'd been muttering about the cold, she realized that when he was mostly asleep, he would still answer questions. Questions that he'd insist he didn't know the answer to when he was fully awake. "Where are you, Matthew?"
"In the cell," he said after a moment. "It's night, it's so cold at night… My jacket is gone… they took it out of the cell…It's colder than the trenches…" He shook until she soothed him.
"Where is the cell?" He had to have seen something. "How did you get to the cell?"
"It's on the ship… I don't… I stopped the car because there was a light. They hit me with… something… It was like a shock, I couldn't move, I could barely breathe…. It grabbed me and I was blinded by light and then…. Then I was on the ship…." There was a strange note of awe in his voice, as if he was impressed with whatever trick they'd played on him.
"Why did they take you?" It was the question even the newspapers asked. Downton Abbey wasn't poor but the ransom demand had been ridiculous. Even if all of the property had been sold, they wouldn't have had one million US dollars. As much as it had been heartening that Uncle Harold had been willing to stage a sell off, the money wouldn't have come in time.
He tensed in her arms. "It was all a lie…. She lied to me… "
Mary struggled to not push too hard. "What do you mean?"
"It's the blood… they want the blood of Harriet Jones." His shaking grew worse. "I mustn't… I mustn't tell them about Mary and George. Or Robert or Edith or Sybil, or Cousin Violet… they want the family to suffer…. They can't know… If they know they'll take them… I can't…. I can't betray them… I don't have a family…. I can't have a family…"
Oh Matthew, she thought sadly, you are so brave. It wasn't enough, it didn't tell her enough at all but it gave her some things to look into. The first thing to check was who Harriet Jones was. The name tickled in her mind but she didn't know why.