I wrote this after coming across an open letter to Julian Fellowes on a blog ( 2012/02/20/an-open-letter-to-julian-fellows-regarding-matthew-crawleys-miraculous-recovery/) commenting on the fact that when, for once, it looked as if there would be a disabled main character in a TV series, he miraculously recovered. I decided that it would be interesting to explore how the lives of the Crawley family might have been different if Matthew had not regained the use of his legs. This first chapter is a bit depressing, but it won't all be like this. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Matthew lay flat on his back and stared at the familiar white ceiling of his tiny ground floor room in Downton Abbey. How many nights had he lain here, alone in the silence of the night, wishing he were dead? At the front, the men prayed to be spared and to return home safely to their families. They prayed for the war to end. They prayed their wives and girls would stay faithful to them in their long absence. But they also prayed to be killed cleanly with a bullet to the head or some vital organ. They prayed not to end up like he was now; a pathetic, useless cripple, a disappointment and a burden to his family. Not even a man.

God, that hurt almost more than the loss of the use of his legs. He could never be a proper husband. He could never marry. He couldn't do that to any woman, never mind one he loved so deeply, so completely…

And there he had to stop himself thinking. Because he wasn't thinking of Lavinia, who was still technically his fiancée. He was thinking of Mary.

Mary, with her deep brown eyes and her shiny chocolate brown hair. She was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful woman in the world to him. And there had been a time when he had thought she would be his. But that was years ago, before the war, before… this.

She was only up the stairs, probably fast asleep in her bed. But she may as well have been the other side of the world. The thought of her, beautiful and innocent in her sleep but far out of his reach, was torture to him. It came to him suddenly that he had never seen her asleep, and probably never would. This seemed somehow sad.

Lavinia was sleeping somewhere in the house too of course, but although he knew it should, this meant nothing to him. She was a sweet, kind, pretty girl, and she had inherited her father's intelligence. But she was a girl whereas Mary was a woman. He supposed he did love her, when Mary wasn't around to compare her with, but he wondered if his attraction to Lavinia had been a result of his grief over what had happened with Mary before the War. She was so entirely different from Mary, in looks and character.

But none of that really mattered now. He was a useless lump, not fit to be anyone's husband.

Why on earth had Lavinia come back? Why had she come back to him, knowing she was coming back to a cripple? She had come back changed too, no longer so timid and shy. She had come back determined to marry him. He knew of course that Cousin Cora had had something to do with it. She didn't want him getting too close to Mary, didn't want her eldest daughter shackled to a helpless cripple who could never give her children for the rest of her life. He understood and wholeheartedly agreed, but somehow it still hurt, and he couldn't get rid of the unpleasant idea that Cora was willing to sacrifice Lavinia to the same fate because she wasn't family.

The old Lavinia would have been easy to force away. It would be hard for her in the first weeks and months, she really did seem to love him, even now, but it would have been kinder in the long run. This new confident and determined Lavinia was different though. How on earth could he make her see what her life would be if she married him: the life of a nursemaid, caring for him for the rest of their lives?

Well, his life. Dr Clarkson had informed him in his usual matter-of–fact way that his life expectancy was much shorter now. The immobility and consequent weakening of his body would make him more susceptible to illness, apparently. And there was the constant threat of infections. He would in all likelihood die before Lavinia. Most men like him died within a few months from some infection. A pathetic end, precisely what they prayed would not happen to them. At least he would not have to bear this horrible life for long. Death no longer held any fear for him. The worst had already happened.

It wasn't just Lavinia though. Mary may be engaged to that bastard Carlisle, but he remembered the tenderness and truthfulness in her eyes when she had said 'on any terms'. It had been tempting, too tempting, to forget everything and say yes, a thousand times yes. But he had resisted. He simply could not do that to Mary. And now Lavinia was back, if he married anyone, it would have to be her. They were engaged, and Matthew could not stand the idea of breaking his promise only to marry Mary.

And he wasn't at all certain that Mary loved him anyway. If she did, then why did she hesitate to accept his proposal fore the war?

He wished he could simply disappear. This whole situation was impossible.

He thought about William. He knew he could never have forgiven himself if William had died, and he nearly had. If William had died saving him so he could live this pathetic half-life… But William hadn't died. Everyone had thought he would, and he'd married Daisy on what had seemed to be his deathbed. But somehow he'd pulled through and was apparently recovering well. This did cheer Matthew up a little. He and William had become much more than master and servant in their months at the front; they had become great friends. But even this couldn't break through the cloud of despair and depression Matthew felt.

Then there was that Major Gordon who may or may not be Patrick. Matthew had never thought he would want to be the heir; he remembered his desperate wish when he first arrived that this would not change him. He had not welcomed the news that he was the heir at all.

And yet, now it was under threat, he realised how much he felt like part of the family now, how much his life had become centred on this great house and the estate. What would he have if it turned out that the Major was Patrick Crawley? Robert would let him and his mother keep Crawley house. But could he bear to live here, on the charity of others? Could he work now? He couldn't see anyone wanting to hire a crippled lawyer when there were plenty of able-bodied ones about. What on earth would he do?

But for the family, he supposed it would be a blessing for Patrick to have reappeared. At least he would be able to father an heir to follow him as Earl, something Matthew thought painfully he would never be able to do.

Matthew started to roll onto his side to get into the curled up foetal position he normally slept in, then remembered he couldn't turn on his own anymore and that it was up to the nurses to decide what position he slept in. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his back from his feeble attempt to turn. Mother had always told him to think of happy things when he couldn't sleep as a child, but he simply was not capable of thinking anything happy now. His life was like a nightmare that he would never wake up from. He resigned himself to yet another sleepless night.

The mud was everywhere, dark and thick and deep, stained red with blood. So much blood. There were men lying dead or dying scattered everywhere, their groans drowned out by the deafening guns. She tried to run, but the mud held her fast, it glued her to the spot. She looked around at the bodies, nameless and pathetic. They all seemed the same. No, nearly all. There was one who seemed horribly familiar. No, it couldn't be. But the blond hair was visible underneath the helmet and the mud, and the beautiful, beloved blue eyes stared unseeing up at her. Matthew! Noooo…

Mary woke with a start, her heart hammering at an impossible speed. It was a familiar sensation. She had had nightmares about Matthew being killed since he had left for France in 1914. How long ago that was. It took her a minute to remind herself that Matthew was no longer in danger, he was home, downstairs. Wounded, but alive. She had a sudden longing to run down there in her nightgown, fling his door open and take him in her arms, feel his reassuring presence and know for certain that he was safe.

She didn't of course. She was Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. She was engaged. Matthew was engaged. She thought painfully that if only she hadn't listened to Aunt Rosamund's advice, she would be married to him now, and she would be able to hold and comfort him every night.

But there was no point thinking like that. She couldn't even be sure that she would have married him anyway. She would have had to tell him about Kemal, and wasn't sure she could have done it. She simply couldn't bear the thought of him knowing what she had done, what she was. A whore. He would despise her, him and his precious honour, and he would be right to. And Richard Carlisle was all that stopped the whole world from discovering her shame.

She turned over and buried her face in the pillow, trying to shut out the world and the thoughts of her future married to a man she could barely say truthfully that she liked, never mind loved like she loved Matthew. Emotion welled up inside her and it was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out loud. A few tears dampened the pillow, but she controlled herself quickly. She had cried enough recently. She had sealed her fate when she took a lover all those years ago. It was her fault, and she should be glad that Richard was willing both to protect her from scandal and to marry her even though he knew the truth.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had to sleep. She would have to rise early the next morning to help with the running of the convalescent home. She had never expected to actually want to help, but the thought that any one of the men here could be loved as deeply by a woman like her as Matthew was made her want to do what she would want another woman to do for Matthew. It was not long before she drifted back into a restless and unhappy sleep.

Yes, William is alive. I just love him too much to write a story that starts just after his death.

I would be so grateful for constructive criticism. I will try to update every week, but since this is my first FanFiction, I don't know how realistic that is. I'm not sure how long this FanFic will be. I suppose I'll just wait and see.