I started writing this in the summer and didn't have the chance to finish it for a while because of a lot of family circumstances and falling behind with schoolwork. I'm very pleased to publish this now for MM Tribute Day on Tumblr. Hopefully my regular story will be updated soon, but please be patient.
Anyway, Downton belongs to Julian Fellowes...
Enjoy!
Late Summer, 1926
Matthew sat at the writing desk in the library, his head bent over the surface as he scratched out a response to his office. George's fifth birthday was the following day and Mary and her mother were planning a big bash for the little boy, complete with pony rides and the children of other aristocratic families nearby, along with their imperious parents. The party on Monday meant Matthew had to skip a few days of work, for which he was rather grateful. Perhaps he'd be able to spend more time with his wife and their son, which was something living at Downton Abbey rarely allowed.
"Papa?"
The distracted father looked up from his nearly-completed letter, his eyes meeting ones that matched his own. George's hair was tousled and matted in places, the little boy panting as though he'd just been on a run. Clothes rather disheveled, Matthew guessed he'd been chasing his older cousin again, as the two couldn't resist running down the long upstairs corridors and making as much noise as possible, much to the nanny's dismay and, at times, to their grandfather's annoyance.
"What is it, my boy?" Matthew asked, offering George a smile.
George approached the desk, laying his chubby hand on Matthew's arm, which lay across his leg.
"What are you doing, Papa?" he questioned, his falsetto voice thoughtful and never failing to make the father smile.
"I'm just writing to my office, George," Matthew explained, rumpling his son's already-untidy curls.
"Can I help?" he asked with a tentative smile.
"Of course," said Matthew.
George giggled as Matthew scooped him up off the floor, settling on his father's leg with a comfortable familiarity that made Matthew wish they could spend more time together. Matthew knew that growing up at Downton was far different from what his own childhood had been in Manchester, spending most of his days roaming outside under the watch of Isobel and evenings with his father, reading and imagining adventures as an explorer or American cowboy. But unlike Matthew, George was the heir to the heir and under the direct supervision of a nanny rather than his parents, something Matthew couldn't help but resent at times. At least he found a playmate in his cousin Sybbie, but as they got older their playtime activities were often independent of one other, as Sybbie was given dolls to play with and George toy cars.
"Where's Sybbie?" Matthew questioned after lending George his pen and a scratch piece of parchment, watching the little boy scribble undecipherable characters on the page.
"Uncle Tom took her for a walk to the village," George replied, roughly sketching what looked like a dog, probably his grandfather's ageing Isis.
"Did you give Nanny the slip?" Matthew asked, leaning forward to glimpse his son's penitent expression.
"She went to fetch the laundry," he murmured, drawing a hat on Isis. "I'd rather be with you, Papa. Nanny makes me practice writing the Alphabet."
Matthew chuckled at his son's disdainful tone. "If you learn to write, George, we could exchange letters."
"Don't you like talking to me?" the boy asked, turning his head to look at his father. Matthew furrowed his brow.
"Of course, my boy, I love it," Matthew insisted, kissing George's temple. "In fact, would you like it if I spent the rest of the day with you? Nanny could have a bit of respite from the terror team of George Crawley and Sybbie Branson."
"Nanny wouldn't like it," George said carefully, dropping his eyes back to the paper. "And she's in charge." He said this as though he'd heard it a thousand times, a mantra pushed on him and Sybbie after every misdeed.
"She's not in charge of me," Matthew said starkly, causing George to look at him again, a smile lifting his round cheeks. "Don't tell her I said that. Swear it?"
"Yes, Papa, I swear it," George insisted, grinning.
"Salute?" Matthew asked, bringing his hand to his brow.
The little boy's eyes lit up as he snapped to attention, saluting his father with as much decorum as a feisty puppy. Matthew grinned.
He had taught George to salute when the two of them were sharing a secret, as though it was a code to remind George of promises to keep quiet. And it was nice to have something that was just the two of them, although Mary frequently raised an eyebrow at their antics.
"There's a good lad," the father said, kissing his son's forehead in a thoroughly undignified way. "Ring the bell and I'll have Mr. Carson tell Nanny our plan for the afternoon."
With a laugh, George jumped from Matthew's lap to run across the empty library and tug on the bell cord, with rather more vigor than the servants were used to. He skipped back to his father's side, climbing indecorously into his father's arms once more to watch as Matthew finished his letter.
While George folded the completed note for his father, Carson entered, as stately as always.
"Yes, sir?" Carson asked, hopefully aware that Matthew had not been the one ringing the bell.
"Carson, could you please tell Nanny Roberts that I'll be keeping an eye on Master George for the rest of the day? At least until I go up to change," Matthew explained.
"Very good, sir," Carson nodded, his expression softening slightly as he watched Matthew ruffle George's hair. "Have you need of anything else?"
"No, I think that will be all," Matthew said with a nod.
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," George piped up. The older man's decorum broke momentarily as the corners of his lips turned up in a smile.
"You're very welcome, Master George," Carson replied with a bow before leaving father and son to it.
Matthew ruffled George's curls. He guessed even butler's had their favorites, and he was glad it was George.
"What shall we do now, Papa?" the boy asked once Matthew had addressed his letter.
"Well, what would you like to do?" he questioned, knowing George very rarely was allowed to choose his own pastimes.
"Will you read to me? I like the funny voices you make," George said, effortlessly bringing another smile to his father's lips.
"What book?" Matthew asked, chuckling as he set George on his feet.
"It's in the nursery," he said. Matthew stood, but George stuck his hands in the air and waved them around, inviting Matthew to pick him off the floor.
"Mama would not approve," Matthew reminded the boy gently. George's little face fell, cutting Matthew to the heart as he noticed tears pooling in his son's eyes. "But I suppose we'll just keep it between us, yeah?"
George nodded, saluting Matthew again, who returned the gesture in kind as the little boy bobbed on his heels, waiting for his father to scoop him off the floor. Matthew heaved George into his arms with a laugh, settling the squealing little body on his shoulders, grabbing George's ankles while plump arms secured themselves around his neck.
Slipping unseen through the abbey in the middle of the day was a difficult feat for the two Crawley men, as Matthew nearly ran headlong into Cora as she passed through to the sitting room. Luckily, her eyes were focused on a letter rather than her surroundings, allowing Matthew to slip behind a door. George broke into a fit of giggles, which Matthew shushed in spite of his own silent laughter.
They reached the nursery, both poking their heads around the corner to peer into the room. Nanny was absent, allowing Matthew to creep inside, George still atop his shoulders.
"What book is it?" Matthew murmured, approaching the bookshelf holding the house's stock of children's stories and fairy tales.
"Winnie-the-Pooh," George said, his voice clear and rather louder than Matthew liked. He didn't want anyone to spoil their semi ill-advised afternoon. "Grandmama just gave it to us, but Nanny hasn't read it yet."
Matthew located the book, tucking it under his arm while one of his hands remained fixed around George's ankles like an anchor.
"Let's go to our sitting room," he whispered. "Your mama went to the village earlier."
"Okay!" George replied enthusiastically. He wasn't normally allowed into the converted sitting room, as he was prone to knocking over breakable objects, as most four year olds are. "Another secret?"
"Aye," Matthew agreed as he traipsed through the corridors, finally reaching the sitting room after a few careful and nearly disastrous minutes. Edith left her room moments before Matthew turned the corner, allowing him to stay from her view. Although he knew Edith was not the one he needed to worry about most.
After detaching George from around his neck, Matthew spun the boy in a circle, George's raucous laughter echoing through the corridors, his little limbs outstretched as though he could fly. Realizing George was likely to attract the attention of every occupant of the house, Matthew settled the boy on the sofa, seating himself at his son's side before retrieving the book from the end table. George looked on as Matthew opened the book to the first page, poised to read the first tale about a silly old bear named Pooh.
Until Mary entered.
"What in heaven's name is going on in here?" she questioned, an eyebrow raised as she took in the sight of her husband and son on the sofa, George leaning across Matthew's lap as he peered at the book his father held.
Both looked up, rather bashful eyes meeting hers.
"Where's Nanny?" Mary asked before either could respond.
"I gave her an afternoon off, of sorts," Matthew replied sheepishly, wrapping an arm around George's shoulders in case Mary had any ideas about snatching him away. "I was just going to read to George."
"I didn't know you were in charge of Nanny's half-days," Mary stated, approaching the sofa.
"Well, she's not in charge of mine, at least," he said brusquely. This prompted Mary to raise her eyebrows, indicating to Matthew that he was pushing his luck a bit far. "Only you are, my darling," he added, his words not relieving any of the tension between them.
"That remains to be seen," Mary said, folding arms across her chest, as though defending herself from any quarrel about to occur. Matthew frowned out of frustration rather than anger.
"Come sit with us," he offered, patting the cushion at his side.
"Matthew, I thought you had work to do," Mary said through clenched teeth, her voice careful.
"Finished it," Matthew said, flashing a smile. "Come on, George wants you to."
"Do you?" Mary asked, directing her attention to the little boy who's face lit up upon being addressed by the woman they both loved best.
"Yes, Mama. Papa will do all the funny voices for us," George explained, reaching his hands out for his mother.
With forced resignation, Mary took the empty seat at Matthew's side, not flinching when George scrambled across his father's lap to settle himself resolutely in hers. Despite her obvious annoyance at her husband's whims, Mary kissed the top of George's head, her hand gently caressing their son's back as she looked expectantly at Matthew.
"Well? Are you going to do the funny voices?" she asked, one corner of her mouth turning up in a stifled smile.
"I'll try my best," Matthew replied, returning his attention to the book.
As the minutes passed, Mary watched as George drifted to sleep, the melodious lull of Matthew's voice relaxing both mother and son.
"Are you falling asleep on me?" Matthew questioned, laughter in his voice as he broke character. He'd been doing the voice of the donkey, Eeyore, who was rather a solemn chap.
Mary blinked a few times, trying to remember why she had been so cross at her husband less than half an hour before.
"Not at all," she said unconvincingly, bringing a smile to Matthew's lips. "I enjoy the sound of your voice, is all."
"Or it puts you to sleep," he teased, setting the book aside.
She snorted and rolled her eyes, but Matthew only smiled, reaching over to smooth down George's hair. The little boy's cheek was pressed against Mary's shoulder, his mouth hanging slightly open as he slept cradled in her arms.
"Do you hate living at Downton?" Mary questioned, her voice quiet as she looked at him over the top of George's head.
Matthew paused, his eyes thoughtful as he looked at her. A moment later he smiled slightly, lifting his hand to brush the tops of his fingers across her cheek.
"Darling, of course I don't," Matthew said, his voice insistent but his eyes a little sad. "But you know I'd hoped we would move somewhere smaller, more private, after we married. I still haven't gotten used to taking you to bed with your parents watching."
"Surely they're less vigilant now that we've done our duty by Downton," Mary replied, kissing George's curls once more.
"I suppose it's too late to clamor about it anymore?" Matthew asked, his question drawing Mary's eyes to him again.
"George has gotten rather attached to his cousin and grandparents," Mary said. Matthew sighed and she frowned. "Do you want to leave? Move to the village and shift for ourselves?"
"The two of us shifting for ourselves now seems rather comical, don't you think? The most homemaking I've ever done was in a trench," he retorted, meaning to be light, but in an instant his expression indicated he was in another world that was not scented of lavender but of broken bodies and decay.
Mary waited, knowing it was best to give her husband time. Moments later Matthew returned, blinking a few times as though this would dispel his memories. He offered her a smile, but it scarcely relieved a heart made anxious by his reveries and infrequent nightmares, whose arms often encircled him in the middle of the night in the hopes of bringing him back to reality. But Mary's limbs were currently occupied by the snoring George, who's deep breathing prompted Matthew to watch him for a minute.
"But, no, I don't think moving out of Downton is the solution," Matthew finished finally, breaking his gaze from George again in order to look at Mary. "Besides, we couldn't leave Tom alone with your parents."
"No, that probably wouldn't be safe. We've all grown to rely on one another quite a lot," Mary replied in a gentle tone, smiling at her husband. "I think Sybil would be proud of us."
"I'm certain she would be," he agreed, his own smile returning as he set the book aside. "You know I only let Nanny have the afternoon off from George duty because I'm a terribly selfish man."
"You are not," she replied. He chuckled, laying his arm around Mary's shoulders as he shifted closer to her, his arm strong and warm and comforting. Only she wasn't the one who needed it.
"Yes, I am," Matthew insisted, touching his lips to her cheek. "I hate that we don't get to spend more time with our boy. I feel like I blinked once and now he's nearly five, it's all gone by so fast. One minute he's shrieking like a banshee in the dead of night, his cries echoing down the corridors, and the next he can speak full sentences and-"
"And likes to keep secrets from his mama," Mary interjected, giving him a knowing smirk.
"Secrets? Who would he have secrets with? His stuffed bear?" Matthew questioned, but his eyes were mischievous.
"I've seen you two saluting to one another behind my back. I'm afraid one time he did it in a mirror, so I saw you both silently giggling across the room at one another. One can only assume it means you're having a go at me," she said, batting her eyelashes playfully.
"We wouldn't dare," Matthew said. "It's just a father-son thing."
"Well, make it a father-son-mother thing," she instructed. Matthew chuckled, prompting George to lift his head from Mary's shoulder, his eyes bleary as he blinked at his parents, a look of mild surprise on his face.
"Hello, sleepyhead," Matthew murmured, momentarily saved from sharing the private joke by their son's awakening.
"I didn't sleep where Nanny likes," George said, a worried frown darkening blue eyes.
"Darling, don't worry," Mary whispered, kissing the boy's forehead. "We won't tell."
With a smile, George saluted her, eyes flicking to his father's exasperated ones. Mary laughed instantly, hugging George more tightly in her arms.
"That's what it means? That you won't tell me when you do things I won't approve?" she questioned.
"Or Nanny," George interjected.
"Well, you two certainly know how to make me feel insignificant," Mary stated, laughing in spite of her words.
"You could never be that," Matthew insisted, kissing her temple softly. "How about it, George? Should we include your mama?"
After a moment of thought, George nodded enthusiastically.
"Don't tell anyone else, alright?" Matthew asked, grinning at her. Mary rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder away softly.
"I'll take it to the grave," she swore. "And now, I'll have a salute."
Following the command, both George and Matthew saluted her, each wearing grins nearly too wide for their faces.
Mary woke with a start, momentarily wondering what had broken through her deep sleep before she felt the bed shake beneath her. At her side, Matthew thrashed noiselessly in his sleep, a mumbled whimper escaping his lips as though he was back in the trenches, explosions resounding around him.
"Mary!"
The sound of his unconscious voice cut to her heart. It was so clear, but terrified, the anguish in his cry causing her heart to race with worry.
How clearly could he picture the trenches? Shells going off, men dying before his eyes. Things he never spoke of but could not forget.
At another call for her, she shifted closer to him on the bed, gripping his arm tightly. "Matthew, darling, wake up," Mary entreated, shaking him awake.
He whimpered again, but his eyelids fluttered open and Matthew bolted upright, the fear mirrored there dissipating as he took in his surroundings.
"Oh, God," he whispered, swallowing as he gazed at her. "God, Mary, I'm sorry."
"Shh, it's alright," she insisted, pushing herself into a sitting position. Mary combed her fingers through his wild hair, offering him a concerned smile. "You're perfectly safe, my darling."
His hands shook as he adjusted blankets that had tangled around his legs, his bare feet protruding from one corner. Neither of them spoke as Matthew worked, as Mary found it was better to wait until he gathered himself.
Finally relaxing against his pillows, Matthew looked over at Mary, his eyes tired but apologetic.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured again, his struggling words unnecessary.
Mary frowned, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to her lips. "Matthew don't," she instructed, brushing her fingers against his. "You have no reason to apologize."
He sighed, dropping her gaze. He remained silence for a stretch of time, his fingers still trembling against hers.
"I feel like I'm failing you, Mary. You and George."
Mary's stomach dropped.
"Why ever would you say that?" she questioned, scooting closer to his side. She trailed her hand down his arm, wishing he could find comfort in her caresses in the same way she did his.
"Because it's true. I try not to show it, but I can't stop these nightmares that bring everything back to me. I can't change anything that happened, but I'm forced through it again and again. Watching my first soldier-servant die," he said, releasing a sigh. His eyes were far away again, reliving the pain that will never disappear entirely, only lessen in potency. "William's sacrifice, bodies strewn everywhere, the unbearably horrid stench. God, I'm sorry," Matthew interjected, clearly disturbed by the worry etched on Mary's face. "I shouldn't burden you with this."
"You shouldn't be carrying such a burden," Mary replied quickly, face determined as she cupped his face in her hands. "You served your country honorably, Matthew. You are a brave man and a loving husband and father."
"I don't feel so brave," he mumbled, his eyes wet with tears he did not want to release, sucking in another breath to steady himself. "Still screaming in the dead of night after eight years. I feel like a fool."
"Shh, you're not a fool," she insisted, fingers gently caressing his cheek. "Everyone has demons, my love."
Matthew's eyes flickered away again, a tear escaping between his lashes and rolling down his cheek. He brushed it away, pretending it had never been there in the first place. Mary swallowed, refusing to drop her gaze from her husband, instead tightening her hand on his.
"I feel so weak," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Mary leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands. "You are not weak," she said emphatically. She tilted her forehead against his and Matthew released a sob as his arms circled around her.
"I love you," he whispered into her neck.
"I love you, too," she replied, brushing her lips against his temple. "You must always remember that. No matter what."
With a sniff he pulled back, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Of course I will, my darling," he said.
Mary smiled, bringing her lips to his for a long kiss. Eventually she pulled away, fingers gliding through her husband's hair.
"Go back to sleep," Mary told him. "We have a big day tomorrow."
Matthew sighed, settling down on his pillows once more as Mary curled against him, his arm drawing her close.
"Our little boy is growing up," he whispered, his breathing slowly becoming deeper in the warmth of the bed.
"Our little man, you mean," she replied gently. "Who is brave just like his Papa."
With a smile on his lips, Matthew drifted off, Mary's eyes trained on him for a little while in the hopes of keeping his nightmares at bay.
Thanks for reading this short story! Please review if you have any thoughts to share. :)