Intervals

So after watching the s6 finale I was so enraged at how badly Mary's character was absolutely trashed that I began to write… This fic encompasses the years 1927-1930-beginning in 1930 with Mary looking backward. Each chapter will cover one year and close on New Year's Eve. I am really curious to see what you think of this idea and feed back will get a cup of New Year's Eve punch.

.~.~.~.~.

New Year's Eve 1930-Downton Abbey

Mary did not know what possessed her to leave the warmth and merry making of the gathering inside to step out onto the terrace and into the raw December night. Actually she did. It was New Year's Eve, and it was snowing, and somehow the holiday had become more than their actual anniversary or his birthday, the day when her thoughts most often turned to Matthew.

They had endured a string of green Christmas', but this year the snow had begun on December 23rd and still remained thick on the ground. That afternoon around dusk the showers had begun again. And somehow the elixir of snow and the date had turned her mind to her first husband.

They only had a single New Year's Eve as a married couple. She had been pregnant with George and the first months had been full of nausea, and she had been so violently ill that evening. Matthew had been his usual dear self-giving up merrymaking -donning pajamas and joining her in bed. But she had thought vaguely how pleasant New Year's Eve 1921 would be. Perhaps she thought she and Matthew could spend the night in London. She had envisioned them in a smoky nightclub, dancing, toasting the New Year and one another. She only wanted to get through the confinement, and that evening had seemed an utter waste. Later she would think how foolish she had been squandering a single evening with her husband. Later she would have given literally anything to simply have another moment with him no matter what her condition. Then for a time she had been angry with him- his foolish excitement and incautious driving had cost them decades together. Then for a long time she had tried not to think of Matthew at all.

She had filled her days with pigs, sheep, and suitors. She had gone around making ridiculous protestations about being as happy in her second marriage as in her first. She had dragged Tony to Liverpool for some ridiculous testing out, letting him think that his bedroom performance had been wanting, when in actuality it had been that somehow he could not force Matthew out of her brain whenever they left the bed. She had flirted with Charles Blake, but had been relieved when he had to go off to Poland. She had liked Charles well enough in a genial pleasant way, but he did not draw out any real feeling beyond friendship. She'd sent both men away and barely thought of them afterward.

By the time Henry Talbot came she was desperate to feel anything, and she certainly did feel some things, but she wasn't sure they were the right things. Then she'd acted so rashly and hurt Edith, and the family was so sure Henry would calm her. And she wanted to be calm, and loved, and happy. She wanted to find love again. So she married. And she had learned that a wedding band could feel like a shackle that it brought not the expected happiness, but a special brand of misery, and she wanted to laugh bitterly at her childish delusions.

The next months were a time of dissolution, and reckoning, and finally acceptance. She was never, ever going to find another love like what she'd shared with Matthew. She was sentenced to a lonely existence, and after how she'd hurt Tony, and Charles, and Edith, and poor Marigold, and the mess she'd made with Henry maybe that was really what she deserved. She'd raise George on her own, run Downton, and find a way to accept her lonely life.

Reaching down she touched her thumb to the golden band that rested on her third finger. The gesture was hardly accidental. The thought of her previous mistakes, and her acceptance of a lonely life, made her desperate to touch the metal, needing that reminder she would not live that feared life. She was again happily married. Over the last week there had been a dozen times she'd glanced down surprised to see that band resting on her finger. Though she'd worn it only a week, already she could tell it was no shackle. Earlier tonight she'd glanced across the table and saw the glint of her husband's ring, thinking with an atypical pride, "That is my husband."

It felt almost obscene to imagine that the interval, the time between Matthew's death and a week ago was a time of learning. For years it had seemed a time of blackness and sorrow. And at one of the darker periods the time after she'd accepted she could not love Henry, the time she had given up on finding a love, and yet she had already met the man who had slipped that band on her finger a week ago in Lady Merton's drawing room. And perhaps that time between letting Henry go, and claiming her husband was part of a period of growing and evolving allowing her, well both of them to find happiness. Standing in the snow mourning the loss of one husband she could not help contemplating the other's emergence in her life and that they were very almost uncomfortably similar felt a bit fated…..

.~.~.~.~.

December 1927

Henry stood before the motorcar one hand gripping his sole piece of luggage. He turned toward Mary arguing, "Darling it's not too late, we really don't have to do this. I can call the solicitor in the morning…."

Mary wordlessly shook her head, wanting to avoid a hasty response. At last she replied, "I think not."

"Mary," He insisted sounding oddly petulant. This did not surprise her. Henry Talbot she had quickly learned was a petulant man. "You really must be reasonable there is no need to take this step."

"I am not being unreasonable." She insisted firmly. Whenever she disagreed with him with him, Henry declared her unreasonable often in the most churlish tones. "I am being the very sole of reason. We are not well suited, we are not happy, and we should not go on making a pretense otherwise."

"I'm not seeing other women," Henry protested hotly.

Mary fought against the anger rising within her, determined to retain her calm. "I did not believe that to be a problem."

Henry sighed as if slightly bored with the discussion before acknowledging, "I know I haven't spent as much time with George as you'd like. I know I complained about the sheep and pig talk…"

"And I didn't attend enough of your races, and I grew bored at every talk about new sparkplugs." Mary shook her head reiterating, "We aren't well suited."

"You are speaking as if we never had a moment of happiness."

"We have." Mary granted tiredly. "I suppose this would be easier if we'd never found a happy moment together."

"If not's easy then why?" They had talked, and talked, and still he could not understand her rationale.

Mary felt suddenly exhausted, "Henry we've been married two years and you seem as oblivious to my unhappiness as I am to your proclaimed happiness." She shook her head frustrated at having to again explain her decision, "I am simply tired. I am tired of pretending to feel a love that I'm not sure I ever truly felt."

Henry looked mildly stricken, favoring Tiaa the few times she got a spanking. "But you said…"

"We have had happy times," Mary agreed lest he take the argument down that road. "But not for a long while, and not enough to make me believe either of us can truly claim to be happy together, let alone a happily married couple."

"Darling," Henry besieged stepping closer to her. "Can't you see, all couples go through rough patches. If you'd been married to Matthew a little longer…."

Mary felt her spine stiffen and her words were cold as she replied, "Do not ever compare our marriage to what I shared with Matthew."

Henry rolled his eyes saying, "Oh I forget we all must never forget perfect, perfect Matthew."

At such times Mary would almost shudder that she had married this man. That a man she had married could have such contempt for her late husband. Unwilling to allow him to see her hurt she stated, "He was not perfect, but he was kind, and we were happy."

"And we cannot be because you will not allow it." Henry declared sounding more peevish than moved. "I've warned you before I will make it difficult to leave me behind."

Mary stepped back saying, "And when you told me that I should have known we'd never find happiness together. I wanted to wish you well, and wanted you to have a happy life, and you wanted to make me unhappy and cause me to question my decisions." She shook her head before saying in a resolved tone, "Goodbye Henry. I'll have my solicitor contact you." She turned and walked toward Downton not giving him a further glance.

.~.~.~.~.

Watching Mary turn toward the house, Tom Branson stepped away from the window, strolling toward the library. Tom had never been nosy, and he was decidedly against spying on private moments. But he was going to make certain Mary had his support, even if it meant fisticuffs with a man he considered a more than a friend.

Truth be known he'd been watching them a lot longer than they knew, and for months he had not liked what he had seen. For the last ten, twelve months he'd seen the Talbots careening ever closer to disaster. Oh he'd tried to convince himself they weren't. He'd pretended they were having the everyday squabbles and disagreements of any newly married couple. He'd even convinced himself, for a time, that he couldn't expect Henry and Mary to get on as well as Matthew and Mary had. Eventually though he'd given up the pretense realizing what Mary had long known; the Talbots were mismatched and poorly suited for marriage.

Henry was not a bad man. He was not the sort to knock his wife around. He did not parade other women around, as far as Tom knew he'd been faithful to his vows. The problems were not violence or infidelity, but instead two strong willed individuals whose very personalities rankled against the other person's wants and desires.

Henry was a Londoner. He liked fast cars and lived life at the same pace. He could barely disguise his boredom in poky Downton. He liked a cocktail before dinner and seemed befuddled if he could not have one on Sunday evenings at Downton. He had no taste for fatherhood, which was no sin, save for the fact that he married a woman with a young son. He could barely restrain his sarcasm for the agricultural side of Downton. "Oh are we spending another evening discussing the pigs and the sheep, how very, very tedious."

Mary hated car races. If she wasn't clenching her hands in fear she was complaining about the headache the noises gave her. She would trail alongside Henry on his car buying trips, delivering one snide remark after another. "A new type of sparkplug fascinating," she'd observed rolling her eyes.

He'd tried to mediate their arguments. "Find some mutual ground," He'd urged Henry. "Stop making jokes about his cars," He'd advised Mary. Then at last he'd realized it was pointless. Mary and Henry were not the sort who cared for mutual ground. And the very last thing they would ever consider withholding was a single sarcastic retort.

Mary & Henry, Tom decided, were twin personalities who repelled one another. As a couple they were too much the same, both wanted their way, both either wholly absorbed or totally bored. A pair of dominate personalities who were irritated by their spouses' determination to dominate them. It was in all ways a mismatch, as Mary had feared and Tom had refused to see.

After one long caustic argumentative dinner, they had marooned themselves on opposite sides of the drawing room, both poorly concealing their disdain for the other, Bertie had summed them up saying, "Edith and I went on a lion hunt in Africa on our honeymoon." He sipped his drink meditatively before continuing, "Sometimes when I see that angry glare and feline behaviors out of my sister-in-law and her husband it reminds me of those animals." Seeming to think better of the comparison he added, "Except if they were lions one would eat the other and be done with the whole business." Tom thought it not an inapt comparison.

Whatever impulse initially attracted them fell away eight or so months into their marriage. And the next year and a half had been a time of utter coldness and misery. Two weeks ago Mary had asked him to accompany her on a walk. They'd climbed to their favorite spot a hill where they could see the vastness of the lands. Sybil had taken him there once. He'd been spouting his beliefs and questioning her family legacy. They'd hiked up together and for a time he found her to lovely to notice anything else. Yet, reaching the spot, he looked out, and seeing the majesty of the grounds, recognizing the abbey as a tiny dot in a vast, vast landscape he had suddenly understood Robert a great deal better.

Though she had not revealed the purpose of the walk, Tom had sensed change was afoot. Mary had handed off some of her duties to him in the past weeks, told him she needed time to think. He saw too how very relieved she was by Henry's absence, how comfortable she was without her husband. Divorce had not been mentioned, yet Tom had sensed a break was coming.

When they reached the apex of the hill, Mary opened a thermos of hot tea pouring them both a cup announcing, "Henry will be back from his race next week for Christmas." She took a breath as if preparing herself before stating, "The day after Christmas I'm asking him for a divorce." She glanced at Tom asking curiously. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"I cannot say I'm surprised."

Mary looked up at nervously suspecting, "I suppose you're angry with me."

"Not at all." He assured her, finding the words to be true. "Angrier with myself, actually..."

"You expected this?" Mary asked accusingly, he suspected she was bristling at the idea he'd known her so well.

Tom nodded admitting, "For a long while. You were right. You are poorly suited."

"It's that obvious."

"Only to the people that love you," He reassured her fondly.

Mary smiled at his words saying, "I may require your assistance." She admitted uneasily. "I will surely need your friendship."

He turned facing her promising, "You will have both for the rest of our lives."

And standing alone by the library fire he was determined to live up to his vow, whatever the cost to his own feelings.

.~.~.~.~.

Mary closed the door feeling as if she was closing the chapter on a period of true unhappiness. She had no doubt the months to come would be uncomfortable. She was equally certain that the pain would be nothing compared to even a single day more of open hostility from dawn to dusk. It felt good to break free of the misery even if a different misery was certain to come. "A storm braver if ever I knew one." The memory of the phrase was almost a balm giving her a small comfort. She could bear up what was to come. And if the years to come were to be lonely and cold at least they would be absent the fear of what one's husband would say to inflict pain. Or conversely what she would say to inflict pain on her husband. Henry had brought out the very worst in her, and she supposed, the same was true that she brought out the absolute very worst in him. Thankfully that would soon be finished. Yes, she was glad to be done with the entire affair. Whatever was to come could hardly be worse.

Stepping into the drawing room she saw Tom looking like Tiaa when she made a mess on the carpet.

"I feel responsible for this," He muttered uncomfortably.

Mary stood silently for a long beat before saying, "I'm afraid I'm not Sybil. I won't absolve you of your responsibility." She sighed before continuing, "But nor can I blame you wholly. I am the architect of my own unhappiness."

Tom considered this for a moment before arguing, "If so we handed you the bricks and mortar." Sounding confounded by his own behavior Tom admitted, "You told us you weren't well suited."

Mary smiled a cold ironic expression that did not reach her lips. "And in that I was wholly correct."

"I don't know what possessed me to push so hard."

Mary shrugged her shoulders saying, "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. And I am quite certain the worse is soon to follow."

"Surely he'll be a gentleman about it."

"I don't believe he will." She said quietly. "He almost certainly will not."

Tom shook his head, "And he calls himself a gentleman."

"Apparently Rosamund knows some fourth or fifth cousin of ours that is a barrister." She said rising. "I have an appointment with him the day after tomorrow. I was hoping you'd accompany me."

Tom nodded agreeing, "Of course. Will I be able to help?"

"Who knows." Mary said vacantly. "If nothing else you must make me laugh." She said softly, "If you can." Nodding as if decided on her course of action Mary turned and walked up the stairs alone.

.~.~.~.~.

Without conscious thought Mary found her footsteps leading her toward the nursery. Of late she had spent increasing amounts of time with her son. George was eager to learn to ride and seemed to share her passion for horses. While she felt he was too young for riding they often walked to the stables and visited the horses. Likewise she spent time discussing the breeding and care of the animals with George. She knew she would never be the cuddly type of mother her sister seemed to favor, but she felt certain she and George would be closer than she and her own mother had been. Generally she found George romping with Sybbie and Marigold but this afternoon they were playing quietly with dolls. "Where is George?" She asked glancing around. Neither girl answered; instead they merely looked toward the bedroom.

Mary stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. George was seated on his bed fingering his airplane. "Darling are you not feeling well?"

"Uncle Henry came to say goodbye."

"Oh," She said tucking her skirt under her legs and sitting down on his small bed.

George looked down at his plane asking, "Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't do a single thing wrong."

"I should have tried harder." He glanced down at his plane. "I could have been nicer."

In spite of his serious expression Mary found herself chuckling admitting, "Well I suppose in that you are your mother's son."

Furrowing his brow George declared,"But I am your son."

She pushed a sway strand of hair back into place. "You are that. But you have a bit of your father in you, and your Grandparents as well I think."

"Grandpapa Merton says I have the makings of a fine philatelist." He said proudly adding, "I like stamps."

"And that is entirely the legacy of his influence." She said warmly. Isobel often came to fetch George on Saturdays, and during his visits to her house he had developed a warm relationship with her Godfather.

"I should have tried harder to like cars."

Mary considered this saying, "Perhaps I should have as well. But that doesn't matter now."

"He never wanted to be my father." George said softly.

Feeling slightly taken aback by his words Mary took a moment before saying, "You don't need Henry to be your father." She promised him. "You have a father."

"Papa is dead."

Mary closed her eyes to force away any tears that might come and was silent a long moment. Finally she said, "Yes he is. But his son is alive."

"What does that mean?"

"That means as long as you live a part of your papa lives."

"I won't know him."

"You will." Mary promised feeling a crushing sense of regret at the wasted time. "Starting tomorrow you and I will remember him a little bit every day." She opened her arms and Matthew's son like his father knew exactly what she needed and rushed over to hug her.

.~.~.~.~.

Having settled George, Mary wanted nothing more than to collapse in her bed. Instead she moved down the corridor stopping and knocking at a familiar door. "Mama?"

"Come in darling," Cora called.

Stepping into the room Mary saw Baxter was placing the finishing touches on her mother's hair. "Baxter would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Darling," Cora chided lightly, "Can't this wait for my hair truly cannot."

"Mama," Mary besieged hearing the tension in her own voice as she insisted, "It cannot." Cora nodded to Baxter and the servant curtsied before exiting the room. "Papa," She called loudly enough that Robert entered the room moments later minus his jacket. "I need to speak to both of you."

Robert and Cora exchanged questioning glances causing Mary to suggest," Papa perhaps you should sit down."

"What is it my darling?" Cora questioned worriedly.

"I assume you both know Henry has left again."

Robert nodded, "I saw his car being brought around."

"Has business taken him back to London?" Cora inquired politely with the most hopeful of expressions. Mary had never worked out if Cora actually liked Henry or simply liked her daughter securely in the bonds of matrimony.

"Of a sort," Mary admitted. Knowing the next admission was going to be painful she hurriedly added, "Henry and I are getting a divorce."It felt a relief to say the words, to be done with the false actions and pretenses that had characterized the last year and a half of her marriage.

"A divorce," Cora repeated incomprehensively. "Surely not."

Mary had expected her response whenever reality seemed unpalatable Cora retreated to the fantasy all would magically be well. Cora labored under the delusion a good's nights rest would heal all complications from infidelity to weight gain.

"I'm quite decided on it." Mary knew she must be clear regarding the demise of the marriage. Cora could have no room for nursing false hopes.

Cora sat back in her chair saying, "I had not expected anything so drastic."

Mary sat down on the edge of her parent's bed acknowledging, "I know you both must be terribly disappointed…."

"Is there no hope?"

Mary looked up at her mother asking, "Do you believe there could be."

"I suppose not, but divorce?" Cora whispered the word as if uttering a profanity. "Is he so eager to begin again?"

Frowning Mary said, "I don't believe there is another woman if that's what you are implying." She was entirely certain that was precisely her mother's implication but with Cora she tended to feign ignorance.

Relief flooded Cora's face as she asked confusedly, "Then why so drastic a step?"

"I'm not happy."

Rolling her eyes Cora dismissed the comment stating, "Happiness and marriage are two entirely separate matters."

"You are just saying that to sound clever." Robert pronounced rolling his eyes. Seeing Mary and Cora staring at him he admitted, "I heard Isobel say that to Mother and I thought it sounded very smart."

Aside from arching an eyebrow Mary made no comment to her father. Instead, she returned her attention to her mother saying, "I was married and I was happy."

At her words Cora's gaze softened and Robert dropped his head. And for a time the room was oddly silent. Finally, Cora broke the silence offering, "Darling I know you and Matthew were so happy. I cannot even imagine what losing him meant but…"

"Don't say he's dead and Henry isn't," Mary practically begged.

Cora seemed utterly pained by the phrase. "I would never say such a ridiculous thing. No sane person would. But," She suggested gently, "Perhaps it's unfair to compare the marriages. Matthew was your soul mate, whatever his merits Henry may simply not quite compare. That doesn't mean you cannot be happy together."

Mary considered her mother's words for a time before answering, "Mama he doesn't make me happy. And that's bad enough. But I don't like the person I am with him." Seeing she had her parents' attention Mary continued, "I'm becoming someone harsh, I enjoy saying spiteful things to him, I find hurting it causes me no pain whatsoever." She admitted studying the pattern of her dress with seeming all consuming interest. "I don't enjoy his company and I can no longer bear his presence in my daily life."

"He loves you." Cora protested weakly sounding as if she was not entirely certain of her argument.

"I don't think he does," Mary argued, "Not really or not in the right ways." She declared acknowledging, "And the same is true of my feelings for him."

Robert who had been oddly quiet said, "You were right then. You two are really ill suited for one another." Mary glanced over surprised by his insight, causing him to reply, "I've been watching you as your mother has. Cora can you say you honestly are surprised?"

Cora picked up her brush fingering the bristles for a time before saying, "No."

Nodding his head as if accepting the course of events Robert asked, "Have you contacted Murray?" Lest she object he offered philosophically, "I know you are not fond of him, still he may be able to offer some assistance.

"I hadn't thought of that." She admitted before confiding, "Aunt Rosamund helped me secure a barrister."

Cora's features tightened growing hard as she spat out, "Rosamund?"

"Mama be fair she knows more about this than any of us would."

"She certainly seems to know how to intervene in my daughters' lives."

"Cora," Robert sighed advising his wife, "It's hardly the time for this."

"Of course not," She said tightening her hold on the hairbrush. "It never is."

Deciding to forego an argument on that score Mary hastily put in, "I'll be meeting him tomorrow." Thinking they might invite themselves along she quickly interjected, "Tom will be going with me."

"Well I am so very glad Tom and Rosamund will provide you all the support you require," Cora said turning her back to her daughter insisting, "Will you ask Baxter to come back in please."

Mary rose grating, "Of course." She exchanged a pained look with her father before crossing the room.

As she pulled the door closed she heard Robert sigh declaring, "For my part I'll be glad our meals will no longer be filled with the daily racing report."

.~.~.~.~.

After the ordeal with her parents Mary summoned Anna informing her that she would have dinner on a tray in her room. Afterward she read George a bedtime story before returning to her room for a restless sleep. She woke around one resting her hand atop her forehead. She felt utterly exhausted, and yet she seemed incapable of getting any real rest. She'd fall asleep and then wake 20-30 minutes later, fall asleep again and then the cycle would repeat. Turning on her side she reached into the drawer of her bedside table and withdrew a framed photograph. Her wedding photograph with Matthew. She'd retrieved it from their old bedroom a few months before and then buried it at the bottom of the drawer lest Henry notice it, still every now and again she would remove the photograph. Tonight studying it she could only confess amid her tears,"Oh Matthew what a mess I made of things."

.~.~.~.~.

By morning Mary was further exhausted as if the rest had only further sapped her resources. She had slept fitfully waking, rising from the bed and pacing then returning to bed to drift off to an even more fitful rest. She had stared at Matthew's picture as if expecting him to emerge from the frame and return to her. The photo however remained still. And Matthew's expression which had seemed loving and kind in daylight, seemed taunting and judgmental in the night. When Anna came to wake her just after five she was already sitting up in the bed feeling exhausted, and ill prepared for the day.

.~.~.~.~.

Closing her bag Mary slowly descended the stairs stopping only when she saw a small figure. George was seated on the bottom step dressed in his brown coat with his tie dangling loosely around his neck.

"Darling what are you doing up?" She asked her drowsy eyed son.

"See you." He said shaking his head as if needing the action to fully waking up.

"Where is nanny?"

"Asleep," George said. "I dressed myself." And perhaps he was her son because Mary had to acknowledge he'd done a reasonably good job. And while the tie was not the one Nanny had ever paired with his brown tweed, she thought the dark red particularly fetching.

"Mrs. Carson," Mary called seeing the housekeeper entering the foyer, "Will you escort Master George back to the nursery. He seems to have escaped without Nanny's knowledge."

Mrs. Carson smiled down at the boy acquiescing, "Of course milady."

George however seemed to have a different notion stating, "I'm going with you." He spoke as if the matter was already decided.

"Darling I'm only going to see a barrister I will be back in time to read you a bedtime story."

"I am going." He insisted stamping his foot on the floor. For perhaps the first time, Mary recognized a hard, determination in his expression that reminded her of her own. Sounding every bit her son George said, "I will come." And for the first time Mary recognized that George might have more of her personality than she had previously imagined. So she simply took his hand in her own saying to Mrs. Hughes, "Tell Nanny Master George will accompany me to London."

Mrs. Hughes dipped her head saying, "Yes milady."

Mary took George's hand leading him toward the door and the waiting automobile advising him, "You must be a very good chap for Mama."

"Yes mama," He agreed every bit the docile nursery occupant.

.~.~.~.~.

The train had been delayed and they had to dash from King's Cross to the offices of Turnball, Patricks, and Crawley. Tom had decided to wait in a nearby restaurant and had offered to mind George, but the boy clutched Mary's skirt and shook his head decidedly. As such Mary entered the office holding the hand of a very small boy.

Rosamund had been waiting in the office, when Mary entered she informed her niece, "Murray has gone in first, Murray wants to speak to the man beforehand."

Mary frowned at this news; Murray was not a man she particularly wished to speak for her character. Still she could hardly complain. Her father had been right though, he might well understand the legal issues better than she would. Still the idea of those tired old bones representing her perspective. The Barrister would like as not expect her to come tottering in wearing a scarlet A. Sighing she took a seat beside her aunt asking, "How did you find this barrister?"

"Oh a friend mentioned there was a barrister with our name. And I thought that was so droll. Then I forgot all about it until you telephoned. "Besides I was simply dying to meet him, there is such gossip about him."

Mary glanced over saying, "Pray tell why?" It would be just Rosamund's thing to find someone draped in scandal, indulging her curiosity for the scandal and never bothering to inquire if he was qualified for the task.

"He is the subject of much gossip because of his aeroplane accident."

"During the war?" Mary assumed not finding the story terribly interesting.

Rosamund smiled triumphantly, "You would assume wouldn't you?" She said leaning closer and lowering her voice so Mary had to strain to hear her aunt's words. "You see he wasn't hurt in the war. He crashed his plane sometime in 1920. It was a terrible mash up. And the family thought he'd have to remain in a home. But then a year or so later he awoke."

"That sounds more a miracle than a mystery." Mary pronounced idly wondering why she seemed fated to eternally be around crashes of all sorts.

"Well it would except after he woke up the family swears his personality was entirely different."

In spite of her anxiety Mary found herself oddly interested in Rosamund's prattling prodding her on inquiring, "How?"

"Well he had studied to be a solicitor/barrister, but no one expected him to practice. In fact prior to the war he only seemed interested in airplanes, motorcars and women." She sighed adding, "But since he woke from his accident he's apparently quite the worker bee. I must confess," She said tiredly. "The aristocracy taking up work like common laborers does so confound me."

"Didn't Marmaduke have a position?"

"Well of course he had a position," Rosamund sniffed explaining, "But that simply meant he filled out some boring papers in the morning, had a very respectful three martini lunch and knocked off for a game of golf by two."

.~.~.~.~.

"Lady Mary," Murray's head popped out, interrupting Rosamund's tale. "If you would like to step into the office," His tone remained as always dour and slightly depressing. Whatever her father saw in the mind was utterly beyond her.

Mary and Rosamund rose in tandem. They had not discussed the visit, still Mary felt grateful for her aunt's presence. Facing a barrister to discuss the failure of her marriage was frightening enough, but doing it while Murray sat there judgmental and beady eyed was another matter entirely.

The secretary a youngish man named Jeffries smilingly offered to, "Keep an eye on young master."

Mary urged George toward him before stepping into the dark paneled office.

"Mr. Crawley had to step out for a moment," Murray said gesturing to four dark red clothed chairs arranged in a circle. "If you'd like to sit down," he suggested gesturing toward the chairs.

Rosamund complied, but Mary began wandering around the office. She stopped before a book case randomly noticing a few titles-Reincarnation And The Law Of Karma by William Walker Atkinson, Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, Tibetan Book of the Dead, The Writings of Hélène Smith & Mahabharata. She had never heard of most of these titles. Still, she recognized a few of the titles from Matthew's office bookshelves. She reached out touching one familiar volume taking an odd comfort from recognizing it was the same edition her husband had owned.

Hearing the door open, she turned to see a tall figure entering the room apologizing, "I'm terribly sorry for having to step out a moment." And as he finished the sentence Mary saw his eyes and almost gasped in recognition.

"You?" She said and it seemed the only apt response.

The hair was more brown than blonde, he had a beard and wore brown horn rimmed spectacles and a black patch covered one eye. A remnant of his air crash, she was certain, but one she found strangely fetching. But the surviving eye was blue the lightest blue she had ever seen since….In every way he was very slightly different from her husband, but in in so many ways he was so very similar to Matthew it almost took her breath away.

"Lady Mary?" He entreated sounding less concerned than curious. "Are you quite alright?" He inquired those blue, blue eyes fixating only on her.

Mary forced her head downward into a nod, forced her mouth to move forcing out, "I'm sorry for a moment you reminded me of….. someone."

"Yes you look a bit familiar." He said and she could not tell if he was hedging or humoring her. "Shall we sit?"

"Sit?" She repeated senselessly. "Yes, yes." She agreed incapable of tearing her eyes away from this man who looked so like her Matthew.

Rosamund spoke first saying, "You do look oddly familiar." And from her tone Mary could tell she recognized the very same things that were leaving Mary agog. "Perhaps we are acquainted with your wife," Rosamund suggested in such a plainly obvious fashion that Mary imagined the blind, deaf veteran she'd seen on the street would easily discern Rosamund's intent.

If Mary hadn't been staring at the barrister she would have rolled her eyes at her aunt's comment. Of course that would be Rosamund's go to question.

The barrister looked up saying, "My wife….." He seemed to squint his eye for a moment before saying, "The flu epidemic." And then he became very focused on his file.

"Yes, well that is very tragic," Murray stated in his expected disapproving tone. "Lady Mary Crawley this is Mr. Alexander Crawley."

The man smiled slightly saying, "It's Alexsander." His lips quirked upwards at his admission, "My mother is a bit of an eccentric and a great fan of novels.

"Alexsander," Mary said sounding out the name and finding it oddly comfortable. "How very nice."

"Not so actually," He retorted wryly. "Quite a bit of a nuisance in school and university…"

"I can imagine," Rosamund said. "How long have you been a barrister."

Alexsander seemed slightly surprised by the question taking a moment before saying, "Well I finished Cambridge in 1912 and then I was engaged in the family trade for a time, managing our interests. During the war however I got a taste for the profession and found it to my liking… The last six or so years I've been steadily engaged in the practice of law."

Murray laughed uneasily saying, "This is hardly a job interview Lady Rosamund."

"I would agree I'm making conversation." Rosamund argued before inquiring, "How do you feel about divorce."

"It's put many a pound in my bank book." Alexsander acknowledged lightly. Then seeming to take her question more seriously he said, "I believe in the institution of marriage. However, I also recognize that institution does not suit everyone. I feel the marriage reform laws are badly needed and I do feel in my work I have achieved some good."

"Do you strictly handle divorces?"

"Oh no if one wants to live by his wits in this profession he must diversify so I'm a jack of all trades." Alexsander said confessing, "I'll take any number of actions from murders to philanders." He looked very slightly abashed by his final comment but Mary found it oddly alluring.

"Oh don't mind me I'm married I know everything," Rosamund retorted playfully.

"Well, well," Murray stated firmly. "If we may get down to the matter at hand, Lady Mary intends to secure a divorce."

"I see," Alexsander agreed more interestedly. "May I speak privately with Lady Mary."

Murray huffed irritably, however Mary quickly overrode him acquiescing, "Of course."

Murray nodded clearly accepting if unhappy with the situation, whereas Rosamund rose obviously reluctantly. "We'll just be outside," She promised trailing slowly behind Murray watching them the entire way to the door.

Alexsander waited until the door was closed before turning his body and full attention toward Mary, "I didn't want an audience."

"Of course not," Mary agreed trying without any real success not to stare at him.

"You are aware of the limitations of divorce in this country?"

"My first husband was a solicitor."

"This will be your second divorce?"

Mary looked away from those eyes for the first time. The earlier blue eyed Crawley filling her mind. "He was killed in an automobile accident."

"Oh I am sorry." He said sounding deeply apologetic.

"Around the same time as you began recovering." She did not know what made her say such a thing, nor could she regret saying it.

"Oh," He said self-consciously and sounding somewhat befuddled, "I see."

Deciding not to prolong that course just yet Mary prodded him, "You were saying about reasons for divorce."

"Well as you must know the Matrimonial Causes Act 1857 is a shackle making such procedures almost impossible to enact." He said crossing one leg atop the other. "Have you any hotel evidence?"

Mary felt her face go flush, "No as far as I know none exists at the present time. Actually," She spoke decidedly, "I'm certain none exists. But," She admitted casually, "He's a motor car driver so I have little doubt we can prove a case." She assured him her mind already swirling with ideas.

Alexsander glanced at her over his glasses smirking ever so slightly, "I'm certain I do not know what you mean."

Her first lucid thought, the first since she'd recognized he looked so much like Matthew, was he was not quite like Matthew. He was and she was not sure how she knew but somehow she just did…. sneakier… Whereas he looked the stodgy barrister she had a feeling he was a different animal.

"I am quite certain that you do," She parried back pleased when he merely smiled back.

"I believe we may enjoy working together," He admitted arching a brow ever so slightly.

Mary was about to reply when the door was pushed open and tiny blonde head popped into the room calling, "Mama!" Without waiting for an invitation George ran across the room toward his mama. Only when he reached her legs did he look over to the man who had squatted down to his height. "Who are you?" Even as he asked George kept a tight clasp on Mary's skirt lest he required her protection.

"Hello my fine chap." The man said extending his hand to the boy. "And who are you?"

"I'm George." Overcoming his shyness he extended his hand as his grandfather had taught him to do when greeting a stranger. "George Crawley."

"Well how very nice," Alexsander said grinning, "I'm a Crawley too. Alexsander Crawley."

"Are you a solicitor?" George asked adding very proudly. "My papa was a solicitor."

"Very, very close. I am a barrister." He said. "Which means sometimes I wear a very silly wig and argue in the courtroom."

George nodded as if this made perfect sense to him. "I was worried about my mama. She didn't come out with Aunt R and Mr. Murray."

"Then you wanted to protect your mama." Alexsander said respectfully. "That means you will grow up to be a very good man." Mary watched the barrister squatting down talking to her son with such interest. And she saw how oddly alike they looked, icy blue eyes staring into icy blue eyes

"George this man is going to be helping Mama." Mary said finding oddly convinced that he would and possibly in many ways.

.~.~.~.~.

A few minutes later, Mary strode out of the office holding George's hand and looking oddly cheerful.

Rosamund immediately stood declaring, "My dear I had no idea whatsoever. I'm utterly stunned."

"It's quite alright," Mary replied smoothly. "I'm very pleased with our cousin. I feel we shall make quite the pair." And without further comment she walked from the office and across the street to where Tom was waiting. Her smile lasted the entire train ride home.

.~.~.~.~.

DS was once asked if he would ever consider playing a dark haired Crawley cousin so I took that idea and went with it. So yes the role of Alexsander is pretty much DS in a different role. Take that as you will.