A/N the First: Thank you for all of the lovely feedback on the first chapter, and to my fantastic beta, mxpw. Now we get to dive into Matthew's head, which ought to be fun! Enjoy!
Chapter Two
In Which There is a Business Meeting
April, 1912
Manchester
Early April chill nipped into the air as Matthew collected his bicycle from the alley alongside the firm's office, but he didn't mind. England's fickle weather had never troubled him, even during his school days when the professors couldn't be bothered to keep the fires lit in the grate. It came from having, if not an optimistic outlook, at least a realistic one. He accepted the reality that he was going to be cold, and he moved past it, to other things he had on his mind.
Today, he had more than a little on his mind.
Josiah Babbett was annoyed. No, that wasn't quite right: Babbett was displeased, but the displeasure wasn't something Matthew could control. He was new to Stockwell, Babbett, and Haims, and making a good impression was vital, but it couldn't be helped. It had been his job to speak up on behalf of the client, and according to all of his missives, Cavendish had clearly wanted his wife to take over the factories.
For himself, Matthew had had no idea why. The reports Matthew had read about her told him she was clearly a nobly-born woman, bred for tea parties and not much else, composed and reserved and enshrouded in cool manners. In addition, he knew what the others at the firm had been saying about the Lady Mary Cavendish. "She's young. She'll recover." They'd wondered what Cavendish, always outgoing and outspoken, had seen in such a proper wife. There were claims that she was pretty, but they had seen prettier, high-born, but Cavendish could have had better.
It hadn't stopped him from standing in the doorway in shock when he'd first seen her. It had felt as though somebody had struck him across the midsection with a plank.
Right now, riding his bicycle through the chilly Manchester evening, Matthew wondered if Cavendish hadn't been smarter than the entire room full of lawyers when he'd dictated his wishes. It would be, he couldn't help but think, a mistake to look at Lady Mary Cavendish as merely a society woman, or her brother the foppish young fool Babbett had claimed him to be. The entire meeting with Babbett and her brother had proven to Matthew that neither sibling would ever be taken for a fool.
She hadn't seemed shaken by her husband's death. That made Matthew frown now, as he waved at a shopkeeper and made the turn onto his road. The pneumonia that had taken Edmund Cavendish from the mortal plane was barely two weeks in the past, and his widow had seemed nothing more than mildly upset about her husband's demise. He had known better than to expect someone broken and sobbing, but Lady Mary acted as though Cavendish had stepped out on an errand.
Mrs. Byrd had dinner warmed and ready on the table when he arrived. Finding her once he had been hired on at the firm had been a godsend of the highest order. It left Isobel Crawley free to attend her hospital functions, and she was, Matthew found, much happier for it.
"Good evening, Mother," he said as he came in. "How was your day?"
"Oh, splendid." As always, there was hospital gossip to be shared, and a story from a committee meeting or something interesting in the papers, or at least an observation on the book she was currently reading. Isobel Crawley did not believe in idleness.
Matthew ate his dinner and listened to his mother talk, occasionally making observations. When asked how his own day had gone, he pondered the question for a moment.
"Do you know if we're any relation to the Crawleys at Downton Abbey? I remember Father making an offhand remark about noble relations, but I can't remember which set he claimed."
"Downton Abbey," Isobel said, frowning as she considered it. "That does sound familiar. If you're talking about the Earl of Grantham, those would be the ones. I believe the tie is a couple of generations back. Why do you ask?"
"I met Lord Downton today. His sister is Lady Mary Cavendish—Edmund Cavendish's widow. Babbett's handling his will."
"Oh, the poor woman. How is she getting on?"
"Stiffest upper lip I have ever seen," Matthew said. "Babbett brought me in to consult for reasons I can't really reveal, but she seemed very…composed."
"That's hardly surprising," Isobel said. "Even I know of Mr. Cavendish, so I imagine the drawing room has been so packed, she must by now have her lines perfectly memorized."
"Like a play, Mother?" Matthew toasted her with his glass. "All the world's a stage, indeed."
"It may seem silly to you and me, but they live by a different set of rules. And how did you find the viscount?"
"Very relaxed," Matthew said. "At times, it seemed as though he and Lady Mary were communicating and neither Babbett nor I could have any possible idea of what they were saying." It made him wonder what it would have been liked to have a sibling, if he would have been able to communicate as easily with a brother or a sister as Lady Mary and Simon Crawley had that day. "He asked if we were related, of course. I told him you might know."
"Well, should you see him again, you'll be able to report in the positive. I wonder what the viscount would think of being related to a middle-class lawyer and his nurse of a mother."
"Upper middle class," Matthew said, quoting one of her most-often used phrases back to her. "And I can't help but think he would be amused by it." He had a feeling, after all, that Simon Crawley found everything and anything in the world amusing, and that his sister found amusement in nothing at all.
- O -
Three days later found him heavily ensconced in research for a different client than Lady Mary Cavendish, but that, he discovered early on, didn't stop his thoughts from wandering. There was something about her that wouldn't leave his mind. It wasn't the first thought upon waking, but over breakfast, he might remember how she had tilted her head, or how dark her eyes had seemed as she'd regarded him trying to hide his smile. He certainly wondered about her more than could be considered healthy. The infatuation puzzled him, as he simply wasn't the type to get hung up on somebody he'd only met, and a client besides. Not only that, he would remind himself, but she was also a recently widowed client.
However, the gist of the matter was that she was currently ripping his legendary ability to concentrate to pieces, and that was a problem. Therefore, he was grateful for the distraction when his secretary knocked twice at the door. "Sir, you have visitors."
"That's odd," Matthew said. "I didn't have any appointments. Who is it, Kipling?"
"Lord Downton and Lady Mary Cavendish, sir."
"Oh." Abruptly, he straightened and began to neaten his desk. He wasn't messy, but it was suddenly vital that his desk be spotless. He rose to his feet and reached for his jacket. "Send them in, please."
They came in, both in black walking clothes. Simon Crawley led the way, looking eagerly about the office as though he'd rather be nowhere else in the world. Lady Mary seemed a great deal more reserved.
"Crawley! Sorry to just pop in on you," Simon Crawley said, shaking his hand. "We were out for a walk, enjoying the sunshine, and thought we might settle a wager."
"A wager?" Matthew asked him before he gave Lady Mary a short bow in greeting. "About what?"
"Whether or not we should call you Cousin Matthew. My sister has reminded me constantly that Crawley is a fairly common name."
"I don't know that saying it twice is constant, Simon," Mary said, rolling her eyes. She did seem amused, though.
"I am sorry to disappoint you, Lady Mary," Matthew said. "My mother's memory proved better than mine in this regard, and it turns out we do share a connection. Fourth or fifth cousins, I think it was."
"Excellent!" Did Simon Crawley ever not smile, Matthew wondered? And did Lady Crawley ever not do the opposite? "Cousin Matthew it is."
"Would you like some tea?" he asked.
"If it's no trouble."
"No trouble, at all." He pushed the door open slowly, as he feared Kipling might actually be leaning against it, straining to hear. The secretary, though, was sitting too innocently at his desk outside of the office. He practically bolted off to fetch the tea.
When he returned to his desk, Mary and Simon had taken up residence in his visitors' chairs. It made him think of sitting across the desk from Mary three days before, wondering exactly what was going on behind that implacable mask of hers. The same mask was in place now. She looked politely interested.
He had a suspicion she would manage to look politely interested in anything, even the most boring of law subjects. His old professors would have loved her.
"Did you need any help with that paperwork I gave you?" he asked as he took his seat. "It wasn't too dense, was it?"
"Not at all. It was informative, but ultimately useless, I'm afraid. We've actually just come from an appointment with the manager of the Johnson Street property."
"You've decided to keep the properties?" Matthew asked.
"Yes. I believe so."
"She'd be bored otherwise," Simon put in.
Mary turned her head slightly and gave her brother a look, raising one eyebrow just enough. It was, Matthew discovered, a very effective way to put Lord Downton in his place without saying a word.
Simon conceded to his sister with a slight bow. "Our meeting, you can expect, was enlightening. We all suspected that Edmund Cavendish was a prince among men for putting up with my sister, but hearing Mr. Stirling confirm it just soothes the soul."
"Mr. Stirling is the one that should be considered a prince among men," Mary said to her brother, "for tolerating you poking about as you were. You're lucky your walking stick was the only casualty."
Simon proudly held up his walking stick: the very tip was a chewed, splintered mess.
"I see," Matthew said, though he blinked at the carnage. Since Stirling had given him a tour of the property on Johnson Street, and the machines, he knew exactly how dangerous things were. "You made quite the lucky escape."
"Indeed." Simon's smile could barely be contained as he set the mangled tip of the walking stick down on the carpet. "That would have been an inauspicious start for my sister, I suppose."
Mary rolled her eyes once more and turned to Matthew, but Kipling arrived with the tea, delaying whatever she had been about to say. Once they were all situated, she looked directly at Matthew once more. "I'm sorry for dropping by without an appointment, but I thought I would like to ask your advice, Mr. Crawley."
"Matthew, please. Or I suppose it could be Cousin Matthew, if you find that too informal."
Mary nodded once, as if she had expected that. "Cousin Matthew, then. My late husband might have been able to manage the factories himself and oversee the books and contracts and all of that, but I fear I'm rather lacking in knowledge to handle all of that. If I'm to continue in his place, I have a need to hire people that might see to these tasks for me. It's a little different than staffing a house."
Matthew pulled a sheet of paper toward him and inked his pen. "Not altogether. Since Mr. Babbett has trusted me to oversee this area of the estate, I would be happy to help you out. We should put out advertisements in the papers, of course. Mr. Stirling would also be a valuable resource."
"I do believe you're right."
"Has this become a business meeting?" Simon asked, setting his teacup and saucer on the edge of the desk. He looked vaguely horrified. "I thought we merely came to settle a wager."
"You can go on, if you wish," Mary said, impatience creeping into her voice. "Send the car back for me once you've arrived home."
"I'll just walk. Forgive me, but I've absolutely no interest in the business, so I'll bid you adieu, Cousin Matthew." Simon rose to his feet and gave what was almost a mocking bow. He made it almost to the door before he turned. "Oh, speaking of, it's always nice to get to know family. Mary, we should invite Cousin Matthew and his family to dinner. Reestablish that old connection."
Because Mary had turned away from him, Matthew had no idea what look she might have given her brother to make his smile broaden. When she turned, she was as perfectly composed as ever. "Yes," she said. "I'm afraid I'm rather limited in the society I can entertain at the moment, but you're family. Please, you should come to dinner, you and your family as well."
"I'm afraid it's just my mother and me, making for a rather small party," Matthew said, wanting very much to look between the siblings and try to figure out what their odd way of communicating had said now. "And we wouldn't want to cause you any trouble."
"Nonsense." Mary's smile didn't reach her eyes; Matthew had a feeling Simon would be getting an earful later. "Simon loves to entertain, and we're about to shut up the house soon."
"It does need at least one more dinner party to send it off in style," Simon said.
Matthew, remembering Isobel's curiosity about the Viscount, tilted his head. Babbett probably wouldn't like it much, but Matthew could always claim that the siblings had insisted. Normally, he might have turned down the invitation, but he had to admit that there was something about Lady Mary Cavendish that made him curious.
"I think I would like that, very much," he said, and it was settled that he and Isobel would come to the Cavendish house for dinner a few days later.
The minute Simon had left, Mary sighed. "I apologize for that," she said. "He's not one for cities or the indoors in general, I'm afraid. You get him too far from a field and you can practically feel him begin to vibrate. I hope we haven't inconvenienced you too much."
"Not at all," Matthew said. "I don't have any brothers myself, but those I know that do have complained at least once or twice about them. Is he older or younger than you?"
"Younger, by a quarter hour." Mary sipped her tea. "And surrounded by sisters, as you can imagine, which somehow only makes him more incorrigible. But he's right in that this turned into a business meeting. I can come back and make a proper appointment for a later date if it's inconvenient."
"It's perfectly fine. You've spared me the monotony of research, actually. Where were we?" Matthew looked down at his notes.
When Babbett knocked on his door, twenty minutes later—Kipling must have gone to lunch—he and Mary were discussing what she might need to learn to become more involved in the process. Matthew looked up at the politely displeased visage of his boss, and discovered that, in talking to Mary, his tea had grown cold.
It looked as though Simon Crawley wasn't the only one due for an earful, he thought, as Mr. Babbett greeted Mary. Something quite unexpected, however, happened. She gave Mr. Babbett a smile that could only be described as simpering and thanked him for letting her use the "brilliant industrial lawyer they'd procured," and that she was quite satisfied with Matthew's work and intended to keep Stockwell, Babbett, and Haims as her lawyers throughout the transition. After that, she thanked Matthew, reminded him about their upcoming dinner appointment, and left him to the mercies of his boss, letting Babbett see her out of the firm.
It didn't take long for Babbett to return.
"So, Crawley," he said, settling into the visitors' chair and giving Matthew the no-nonsense look that did quite well in court. "We've kept Lady Mary Cavendish as a client, I hear?"
"She intends to run the factories herself," Matthew said, drinking the tea that had grown quite cold. "She sought counsel on the best way to go about that."
"And dinner?" Babbett asked, his frown deepening.
"It turns out that we're distant cousins, of all things. Her brother was quite insistent."
Babbett snorted his opinion, and Matthew thought, not for the first time, that the man might be underestimating Lord Downton in a serious way. It was better in this case to keep his opinions to himself. "She's invited my mother and me over to dinner before they close out the house. I expect I'll also be bringing with me the applications for the post of her new accountant and business manager. I need to be on my way soon to place an ad in the papers on her behalf."
"Good to see you've got it all in hand," Babbett said, and pushed himself to his feet. "Excellent work, Crawley."
He left Matthew staring at him in surprise as he left. Those were not the words he had expected from his boss.
- O -
Two days later, on the sixteenth of April, the newspaper on Matthew's doorstep informed him that the world had changed, and the world's most unsinkable ship had indeed plummeted to the depths of the sea. It came an hour before a note from Lady Mary Cavendish regretfully informing Matthew that the dinner must be postponed indefinitely, as they were urgently needed in Yorkshire, and to pass on her regrets to his mother.
Matthew was the one who found he regretted the postponement most of all.
