Thanks for your reviews guys, please keep them coming! I realise it's tough to see Mary without Matthew, but I do think it will be interesting to see how she gets through it. Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter Two:
When was the last time she'd attended the funeral of someone whose life had come to its natural end? How many years had Granny been telling them all how she wanted her own send-off only for her to attend memorials for Cousin Patrick and James, to stand beside the gravesides of Downton's fallen war heroes, of William Mason, of Lavinia, of darling Sybil...
And now, Matthew. The Crawleys were cursed - it was only the logical conclusion, and the mantra that didn't let her sleep at night.
Though, not all the Crawleys, she conceded, smiling down at her son in her arms, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his cheek as he slept. Sleep well, my sweet Georgie. So unaware of all that had happened today, too young to know heartache and too young to comprehend what, whom, he'd lost.
"Mary?"
That he'd lost his father - and here was hers, looking as miserable as she should probably feel, but she was struggling to feel anything these days.
"People are starting to leave," Robert went on, "- we must thank them for coming."
"Well, we wouldn't want to be rude now, would we?"
He sighed at her words, but seemed to have expected nothing else. His exasperation was a nice respite from pity, she supposed. "It won't take very long, and then we can shut the doors and retire and put this awful day behind us."
"Hmm, if only it were just a day."
"I will have your finest whiskey on the rocks and my lovely companion will...?"
"Have the same."
Evelyn raised his eyebrows in surprise at her drink order but acquiesced and ordered two whiskeys. Mary was still wondering how he'd managed to coerce her to return to the club; he was far too amicable a person. He had an effortless way with words which, rather than coming from a place of greasy charm like too many men she'd had the displeasure of meeting, instead came from him being, as her Papa maintained, just a jolly nice chap.
She smiled in thanks as he handed her the tumbler. Her husband had been a jolly nice chap. But Matthew sometimes would bumble his words, or put his foot in it, especially with Mary. She'd found it so irritating to start with, but eventually it became endearing - to see how flustered he was around her, to be so obvious about his feelings. And then, he'd gone to war and returned with a stoicism, no with a confidence, and he'd never flustered around her again. In fact, given time, he learned the knack of knowing just what to say.
Or, at least, learned the knack of knowing just what Mary was going to say and being the only person in this wretched world who never took offence. The one person who loved her, in part, because of her faults, rather than in spite of them.
Mary took her large gulp of her whiskey, but wasn't distracted by its burn. Matthew would have even loved her well now, despite her selfishness. He would have loved her, even though it appeared that she grieved less for the man and more for what the man meant to her.
"Is that your cousin over there?" Hoping Evelyn had chosen to ignore her sombre mood, she followed Evelyn's look back to the booth where Rose still sat in the company of Charles Blake and his friend. She really was the worst chaperone. Evelyn frowned in recognition. "The one that your mother's supposed to be steering in the right direction?"
"Yes, you didn't meet her at the summer party?" Mary asked, pleased for conversation.
"No, I did. I just barely recognise her." Evelyn supplied. "She looked unhappy then."
Mary could believe that. Rose often acted as a woman incarcerated when she was in the country. "What a difference a jazz club makes." She said wryly, before being jolted by somebody for what felt like the hundredth time. The place was near heaving, and Mary had to steady her drink.
Evelyn, in turn, steadied Mary, taking the opportunity to really look at her. "And you look unhappy now." They both blinked at that; Evelyn seemingly more shocked at his statement than Mary did. He grimaced at the faux pas. "Sorry, that was rude. I can be a bit blunt these days."
Blunt? Is that how the war had changed dear Evelyn Napier? Mary didn't have the heart to ask. She'd thought him immune to it all - even when convalescing at Downton, due to injuries caused by shrapnel down his left side, he'd been in good humour. She didn't like the idea that time had altered him, another reminder how much had altered since he'd once come for the hunt in the hopes of winning her affection.
"Well, I'm always unhappy these days," She smiled, assuring him that no apology was necessary, " -so your assessment is fair."
"I'm afraid Charles Blake," Evelyn ventured, offering a friendly warning, having espied what company Rose kept, "whilst an awfully nice fellow, is rather a cad."
Mary had her own suspicions, but Evelyn sounded rather knowing. She raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the summer. "You never warned me off him."
"He made you smile," Evelyn shrugged, as if that explained everything, "- and I guessed that you hadn't smiled for some time."
Mary looked back to her cousin and Charles Blake with fresh eyes. Was that why the gentleman made her feel so uncomfortable now? Perhaps it was simply that she felt guilty for letting him break through and crack a smile from her. That, further still, her vanity was wounded to know that Mr. Blake had no idea what a milestone that had been for her. Mary sighed inwardly as she watched Rose playfully hold out her champagne glass to be filled. She couldn't blame him; it was far less effort - and probably far more enjoyable - to provoke a smile from Rose MacClare.
Evelyn put a voice to her thoughts. "God, sometimes I think that I would pay good money to be that...untroubled." Wouldn't we all? Mary sighed again. "Innocence really is bliss."
"You mean ignorance is bliss."
Evelyn slowly turned back to Mary at her derisive tone. She looked to him questioningly, but rolled her eyes as he failed to stop himself from smiling. She knew that he felt more than vindicated, that indeed Mary Crawley was as miserable as sin. "Same difference, isn't it?" He allowed himself a cheeky wink and downed the rest of his drink, before pushing away from the bar. "Let's have a dance."
Mary started at the sudden change of pace, but wasn't all that surprised. She'd known it was only a matter of time before somebody would ask. She shook her head automatically. "No, I really shouldn't."
"Yes, you should." Evelyn held his hand out, not at all intimidated by the glare that came his way. The war really had changed him; he didn't wilt at all.
Mary sighed heavily, looking at the crowds of people on the floor. It was only a gentle ragtime song and, as her eyes flicked between the many couples dancing - with varying degrees of success -, Mary supposed that she was familiar with it and it wasn't too intimate a tune. And then her mind unwilling thought back to the last time she'd danced - up in Scotland, with Matthew. If she hadn't been so insistent on dancing that bloody reel, she wouldn't have gone into early labour and Matthew wouldn't have rushed down on the train, and then to the hospital in his car...She nearly wretched at the thought of it. But Evelyn, like everybody, wanted to cheer her up. Didn't anyone understand the pointlessness of it?
"Mary?" He pressed and, at any other time, she might have admired his determination.
"Why?" Mary said, rather curtly. "Because I should know better than anyone that life is short, that I must stop wallowing? That this will help?"
Evelyn pursed his lips and Mary thought for a moment that he was going to concede defeat and offer to buy another drink instead. But Evelyn Napier was a very observant man - and discreet, too, thank God otherwise her little tryst with that Turk might have been covering newspapers. He'd seen the recognition in her eyes at the music, and her internal debate that she could dance well to it. He'd favoured Lady Mary since her debutante season and though he would never profess to know everything about her, he knew enough. "No." He said patiently. "But because you want to." He smiled, offering his hand once more. "You're Mary Crawley - you were born to dance."
She supposed it needed doing, but she almost heaved up her luncheon when she opened his closest. Shirts on hangers, shoes lining its floor. Her fingers had absentmindedly gone out to a jacket's sleeve and she had frowned to see it had worn. Moseley would need to fix that, she'd thought. But it was to take only a moment for her to realise that Moseley would not do anything of the sort. She dropped the sleeve - as if it had scolded her. Not wanting to be sick over her husband's things, Mary turned away and came to sat heavily on the bed. Her mother, who'd been sat at the dressing table, came forward to take her place and contemplate where they should begin. Everything was clean and pressed, waiting to be worn; a sick pretence that Matthew might be touring the estate or have popped into Ripon, but that he would return eventually and here everything waited, for him to change for dinner, for bedtime, for the next day.
"You don't have to do this." Mary glanced up to see her mother's sympathetic eyes on her. "Anna can see to clearing this out - if you just tell me what you want to keep and what you don't..." Cora trailed off, as her daughter flinched; she supposed Mary didn't want to part with anything. "You know," she said tentatively, an idea of how to kill two birds with one stone, "I'm sure Cousin Isobel would be more than willing to help."
Mary sighed inwardly; her Mama was so convinced that her wariness around Isobel was due to her inability to face this all, that the two of them needed to grieve together, be each other's shoulders to cry on. There was more than a grain of truth to it, but Mary wouldn't be coerced into doing anything. "Cousin Isobel will cry and want to reminisce," she drawled, "- and I'm not doing that."
"All right." Cora smiled easily, nervous that the step forward Mary had made in deciding to go through Matthew's things could easily translate into two steps back if she felt pushed. "We'll go through and then Mrs. Hughes can manage it all later. What do you want to do with his clothes?"
Her daughter shrugged tiredly, such talk already making her light-headed. "Give them away, I suppose. To a charity or..." What else was she to do? What she wantedwas for Matthew to wear his clothes, for all of this to be a prolonged nightmare, but seeing as the world wasn't interested in what she wanted, she'd rather bolt the closet door and never see his belongings again. He was seared on her heart, all she ever saw when she closed her eyes - clothes were such an unnecessary reminder, seemingly only here to now mock her. She flinched, as her Mama pulled out a shirt to inspect it. "...unless his mother wants them." Probably in order to build a shrine or something. Her jaw clenched a little, before she blew a tired breath, letting resentment drain from her. Somebody might as well have use of his clothes now. "Or Tom, come to think of it."
Cora pursed her lips thoughtfully. If Tom took them, everything would need taking in, which was a hassle in itself, but she couldn't imagine he'd ever accept. Surely, it would be too painful for Mary. Mary, meanwhile, knew she would never see Tom in Matthew's clothes; he'd find it too unsettling to wear a dead man's things, not that her brother-in-law would ever admit to it. "I'll ask," Cora smiled again, but doubtful, "but are you sure that you don't want to hold on to something, did he have a best suit perhaps?"
Mary's eyes drifted lazily back to her mother, too tired to even scowl at her. "Yes." She paused, almost relishing the fact that her Mama's stomach was about to turn as hers had been doing, "- I buried him in it."
"God." Cora breathed, swallowing at her daughter's bluntness, her worrying skill at speaking the unspeakable as if they were discussing the weather. But she wouldn't allow Mary to avoid sentimentality at the expense of tossing aside mementos that she would come to wish for again. "...Well, there's nothing in here for George, then?"
"Really, Mama," Mary pinched the bridge of her nose, now feeling a headache coming on, "- as if any of us sifted through Sybil's wardrobe looking for something to wear." The mention of Sybil stopped Cora in her tracks and the smile, which had been faithfully glued to her face all morning, fell away. Mary finally wilted, immediately knowing the pain she'd caused. She was not so caught up in her grief to forget that her mother, too, had lost somebody. She had never flung Sybil back in Mama's face before, until now. "I'm sorry." She whispered, feeling even worse for dragging her mother into the depths with her.
"No," Cora murmured, her voice catching, her eyes darting back to the closet, "darling - you don't need to-"
"Yes, I do."
"...It's because of Sybil that I don't want you to be rash." Her mother insisted tearfully after a moment and Mary could only inwardly squirm in discomfort to see her cry. "I didn't want to part with all of her trousseau, and I'm glad that I didn't. I kept her nurse's uniform - it still smells like my baby."
But baby was hardly heard as Cora covered her mouth to quieten the sobs and yet the urge to comfort her never came to Mary. Instead, she had a distinct urge to flee. It had become somewhat of a pattern. She'd fled the hospital when they informed her Matthew was dead, and she'd fled his wake at the earliest possible convenience. She often fled the abbey when she knew Isobel was coming over to see George and she fled from almost every attempt to rebuild her life. It had taken a lot of cunning on her mother's part - with Carson's assistance, she had no doubt - to even convince her that Matthew's belongings needed sorting. Could they really blame her? When avoiding it all seemed so much simpler, when avoiding it all meant that the tiniest part of her could be left to believe this truly was only a nightmare, a mistake, that they'd identified a different body and Matthew was just waylaid somewhere. God, without that tiniest part, she would have lost her sanity weeks ago.
"Perhaps I shouldn't be doing this now." Mary said, watching her mother get a handle on her emotions. "The mood that I'm in - this room may take on a certain...Spartan motif." She avoided her Mama's look, her candour serving as an apology.
"I think that's a good idea." Cora agreed, finding the strength in her voice once more; if her eldest could be honest, then she could keep her tears at bay. "It can wait - for as long as you need it to wait. So, don't worry about - oh!" She tried to close the closet, but something had caught. Cora reached down, coming away with a cane, its handle having fallen to jam the door. "What's - it's Matthew cane! I remember this." She smiled at her daughter with fond remembrance. "That definitely needs keeping somewhere safe."
And then it was moments like these when Mary realised that fleeing was futile. That this was her reality. And it was too painful to bear. She tried not to, but her gaze flew to the cane in her Mama's hand.
You are my stick.
Hidden at the back of the closet, no doubt. They'd danced and kissed and, whilst it had been a precious memory for her, it had marked Matthew's betrayal of Lavinia. Matthew, the wheelbound, the limping - he'd never been hers. It seemed not only the clothes wanted to mock her. Had they been doomed from that moment? Was that the beginning of her punishment, made all the more crueller by allowing her entrance to Eden before being cast into the inferno? They were a show that'd flopped; funnily enough, being right gave her no joy.
Her tongue hit the roof of her mouth, she imagined this was what tar tasted like. The past wasn't even safe anymore from her bitterness. No more dancing, no more kissing. No more Matthew.
"I'd sooner use it for kindling."
"Oh London, how I love you!" Rose grinned, somewhat clumsily as a night's drinking got the better of her, and Evelyn reached out to steady her on the pavement. Fairly sure that she'd found her feet, Evelyn reached out a hand as Mary, too, stepped out of the cab, before asking the driver to wait a moment.
His lips quirked with amusement, as Rose practically staggered up the steps to Crawley house. "Are you going to be all right?" Evelyn inquired, dropping his voice for only Mary's ears.
"Just fine." Mary assured him, shaking her head as Rose tried to quietly stumble through their front door. "But Rose, on the other hand..."
Evelyn chuckled good-naturedly, only a little worse for wear from their evening. "My mother always insisted that a hangover was God's show of support for abstinence, but you'll be surprised what a good night's sleep and strong coffee in the morning can do to temper His wrath." Mary smiled politely at the joke, at Evelyn's continued ability to set aside people's embarrassments and put them at ease. If it hadn't been for Evelyn, her cousin would have been dancing on the table tops. "The young are quick to recover."
Mary didn't doubt it; perhaps, she really wasn't young anymore. "Thank you Evelyn - for seeing us home."
"No trouble at all." He assured her, waving her off, going to the cab door once more. "You know where I am."
Having made their goodbyes, Mary wasn't entirely surprised to find Rose collapsed in an armchair in the front drawing room. For a brief moment she feared that she'd passed out, but her cousin's contented sighs and murmurs dismissed any worries. Shaking her head with exasperation, too fatigued to be gentle, Mary called to Rose sharply and bit a smile as the girl jumped awake.
"Let's go upstairs." Seeing Rose's glazed expression, Mary softened a little, holding a hand. "You cannot fall asleep here."
"Does it matter? There's no one to tell on us." Rose grinned cheekily, but Mary's eyebrow was enough for her to heave a dramatic sigh and hold her older cousin's hand and let herself be led. "Oh if we must, but say that you enjoyed yourself."
"Yes, I'll admit it." Mary said softly on the stairs, if only to keep conversation unheated. Although she could admit the evening had improved as the night went on, even if it had been helped along by liquor. "I can see why you're drawn to the Blue Dragon."
"Good." Rose smiled contently, her eyes mostly shut as she let Mary take her across the landing to her room. "Charlie says that a new band from Chicago will be starting there next week - with more jazz from across the pond. Isn't that exciting?"
Mary grimaced, knowing an invitation when she heard one. Could she repeat tonight's performance? Perhaps. But perhaps not. She didn't doubt that her family would somehow hear about it all and then there would be questions and she wasn't sure it was worth the headache.
"If you say so."
"You'd think they'd be happy for me." Rose complained, talking to herself as much to Mary, breaking free from her cousin's grasp so to collapse on her bed. "Cousin Cora's been so kind, but there is always someone watching me like a hawk, sending back reports to mother." Mary rolled her eyes at Rose's plain reference to Granny. "She doesn't understand. It's a new world we live in - and it's all just marvellous fun."
Mary went from pitying Rose to envying her, as she did right now. Even in her younger years, she'd never had the same hopefulness and excitement for what life could offer her as Rose did, and Mary coveted it too much to begrudge her. All that she would do if she could do it over; maybe she should return to the Blue Dragon. Mary had thought to take off Rose's shoes or help her ready for bed, but now she came over and collapsed beside her, if only to see what was so fascinating about the bed's canopy. "What worries the hawk, Rose," Mary commented, giving some needed insight to her grandmother, and realising that she must be a little tipsy, daring to refer to Granny so, "is that your idea of marvellous fun doesn't quite match her own."
"God, I hope so!" Mary grinned at her earnestness, every feeling of Rose's worn on the sleeve. After a moment longer of staring at the canopy, Rose turned her body on the bed to face Mary, two hands under her face, wearing a grin of her own. "Mr. Napier was very charming. You prefer him to Mr. Blake."
Mary hummed in agreement, still looking above. "Mr. Blake likes the chase, I think."
"Best part."
Mary barked a laugh at that, but grew contemplative once more. "I've played more than my fair share of games - enough for a lifetime."
"Well, that's what love is, isn't it?" Rose shrugged happily. "A sort of game?"
Mary raised a wry eyebrow. "Then I've really had enough."
"You're not the kind to give up on life." Her cousin insisted, and Mary glanced to her, to see a sadness pass over her features. For her cousin Mary? Surely not. Or was it disappointment? That the forthright Mary, unwilling to settle for anything less than what she felt she deserved, whom little Rosie had toddled after as a wee child wasn't as fabulous as previously thought.
"I give up on love, Rose," Mary offered softly, shrugging, "not life - there's a difference."
"Is there?"
Mary's head jerked to Rose, but her cousin's eyes were closed, readying for slumber, smiling as they talked. Such an innocent question. And Mary thought her naive before she even considered it.
Holding up the white flag. She loathed doing it more than most.
Mary sighed tiredly; considering it would have to wait until morning. She gingerly sat up and scowled at her reflection in a nearby mirror, her hair mussed up, her dark eyes yearning sleep. She certainly looked like she'd given up on life - but that's what five in the morning did to you. Perhaps Rose was wise before her time. Mary's eyes fell on her as her cousin drifted off, snoring as she lost the battle for consciousness, sleep well my sweet Rose, her legs dangled off the bed, half her face sinking into the mattress. Then again, perhaps not.
TBC...
I'll update soon and please review!
