Day 5- The Fir and the Treasure Box
The box that Isobel handed Mary reminded her of a treasure chest. Wooden with metal handles on each side, ornate metal capping on each corner, and an elegant escutcheon with key. It was weighty with the past, and Isobel hesitated only in her heart when handing it over, ready now to give something to her son and his growing family's future.
And indeed it was filled with treasured memories, Matthew's and Isobel's and his father Reginald. Pieces that spoke of moments in time, not forgotten, just hovering in the periphery in the interval, but brought out once a year, dusted off, and graced into the present as specks of their lives.
It had been Matthew's family Christmas tradition to collect a token each year, something that could tell a story, remind them of a memory, to be hung on their little tree. Isobel's pride held her tongue to the reason why it had started, not so much as a conscious decision, but due to the fact that they really had no heirloom's handed down and decided that to start from scratch may as well have some reasoning to it.
"This is for you Mary, and of course Matthew, to be able to share a piece of Matthew's childhood with your own children. I know that you have your own tree here at Downton and your own way of doing things, but I thought it fitting that now that you are expecting your own little one, you could make a couple of your own." Isobel smiled reticently, hoping that Mary would understand the significance of the gesture.
"Oh Isobel, do you really want to part with these now?" Her hand ran over the lid and turning the key, lifted the lid. The smile that erupted from her lips could do nothing to hide the gasp of surprise, as before her lay little pieces of the Matthew that she had never known.
"I think I'll have tea with your Mother more often. I find her tales of Master Matthew more entertaining than Granny on a good night."
"Now, that's unfair to Cousin Violet. She is the show that keeps running; my Mother's recaps will only go so far without boring you to tears."
"How can I bore hearing of your first fishing trip and you kept hooking your father's cap, or how you preferred to skip than run, or how the first time you played Joseph in the church nativity play you tripped and fell in the cradle. Or how you wrote so much that the nibs of your pens would continually break and your fingers were always stained black. But I think my favourite is the one where you learnt to ride and you had bruises on your derriere and couldn't sit down for a week." Her chuckle echoed through the halls as they made their way upstairs.
"Gosh, Mother was thorough wasn't she?" They came to pause, his hand on the door to their private sitting room, Christmas decoration treasure box under arm.
"And Matthew," Mary's hand rest on his chest over his heart, "she spoke with such tenderness when you escaped the nursery in the middle of the night and crept into your parent's bed for comfort."
A wistful and adoring look passed between them. A moment that they too would no doubt share.
"I slept walked." His petulant reply made Mary's eyes roll heavenward.
The door opened widely and they both took a step inside.
"Oh Matthew, it's beautiful." Her hand coming to her mouth, sparkles in her eyes.
The bare Silver Fir stood in front of the window, waiting to be dressed by the contents of the box, plus one extra ornament for their first Christmas together and the little one that would soon be with them.
Day 6 – Twas the night before Christmas, when angels came flying
"Twas our first night before Christmas….finally." Mary's hand reached to cover an unladylike yawn that she had no intention of hiding. "I'm too comfortable to move to bed."
"Hmmmm" Matthew wiggled his toes, clad in bare stockings cozily close to the fire. He had kicked off his shoes without thinking too much of it and had leant back on the settee, as Mary stretched her long legs along the plush material, her back supported by his torso and her shoulder tucked under his arm. He traced circles over the slightly protruding swell of her abdomen, hypnotizing both baby and mother in a soft and tender caress.
"Don't let Anna see your shoes up there, she'll have a fit"
"Lucky for me, Darling, she has long since gone home to bed."
"That last cognac has relaxed me enough that I wouldn't care if we slept here on our settee, however I think that we would both regret it in the morning." As they reclined in their private sitting room, no-one would have believed that the future Count and Countess of Grantham could be so at ease in their surroundings.
"It has been an exhausting day catching up with Aunt Rosamund and Edith and hearing all their news from London. I'm rather impressed though, as London seems to be taking a shine to Edith and giving her perspective."
"You mean that her barbs didn't have as much bite?"
"Early days Matthew, early days." A sigh of the unbelieving escaped her lips as her hand patted his thigh. "I think we did a marvelous job with our little tree." Mary continued, "I plan to bring Isobel up tomorrow before dinner, to show her our efforts. Do you think she will be impressed Darling?"
"I think that she will sing our praises from the rooftops, and be quietly touched that you have embraced the idea."
"I can't think of anything more fitting than holding on to the important bits of our past and tweaking them for the future."
"Quite right. But have you noticed that the tree seems to be lacking something?"
Mary sat more upright and peered over the back of the sofa to gaze at the fir sprinkled with Matthew's memories.
"What? I don't see anything amiss. Is there something I forgot? Surely we used all the decorations from the box. What is it Matthew, tell me now?"
The creases on her brow and raised voice conveyed her concern and the seeming improbability and he answered with a quirk at the corner of his mouth.
"You'll find a gift under the tree for you Mary."
"Really! For me Darling?" If looks of love and surprise could play music, his would have sung. The golden box lay in her lap begging to be opened, even as she paused to gain approval from Matthew. Motioning his hands for her to continue she tore at the ribbon eagerly.
"Shouldn't we have waited until Christmas day? I feel so guilty opening this early."
"Just this once. You'll see why."
Both of them held their breath, one for excitement and the other for anticipation.
The contents caught the soft flicker of the candlelight, a ray of golden light of new beginnings. Mary's long fingers plucked it from the box as she let a long quiet breath through pursed lips.
"Oh Matthew, it's divine. However did you know to get it?" Their eyes locked and she emptied her love into that gaze, he always had been so thoughtful.
"Mother mentioned just after we were married that she was going to pass on the Christmas tree ornaments, and I wanted to make sure that we had our very own angel to watch over us. Do you like it; I had it made especially for us?"
Mary turned the golden angel in her hands admiring the handiwork, delighted in the detail and how with a curved sheet of metal, such concept of structure could be portrayed.
"Such workmanship, it is beautiful Matthew." He leaned forward happily as his hand caressed her knee.
"It was a jeweler in York actually, with fine work. I made sure he incorporated the Grantham crest here, on the gown…but there is something else, can you see it?"
It didn't take her long; he knew her keen eye for detail, observing everything without appearing so. Her long elegant fingers tracing over the pattern scrolled into the base of the gown.
"Are these entwining M's Matthew, for our initials?" Laughter lines of happiness radiated from the corners of her eyes as her smile lit up his heart.
"For whom we are now, in this moment. Before we become the Lord and Lady Grantham. Shall we put it on the tree?"
He rose and offered his hand, weaving their fingers fondly as they crossed the room.
Angels were messengers from the heavens, and if they could sing, the melody would melt hearts and bring joy to the world. The golden rays that glinted in this sitting room on this night burst with the love within it. The last nine years were stored to be one day retold, along with every new decoration that they would collect together.
"You are my crowning glory Mary. You are the angel that guided me back, and my love to shape our future."
She reached up and kissed him passionately then, wanting to thank him for his words and having this unforgettable moment.
In his arms as they gazed at the tree on their first married Christmas Eve, her eyes squinted at the angel. If she leant just a little left and looked more closely at the profile, she wondered if he had also made sure that the silhouette wasn't unlike her own.
Day 7: A Path of Crumbs
An eye that takes in detail often stores massive amounts of information away to be used at a later date. Such information could prove very fruitful. So it was as December approached and unfolded that Mary took stock of the choices Matthew made. Essentially his decisions of sweets when taking tea. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind the third consecutive time that he had chosen to eat a fruit mince pie, the cake knife chopped and she watched, as a wife does, cataloguing her husband's behaviour.
It was a mundane and unimportant thing really, but Mary came to notice, with mirth behind her eyes how without a whisper of hesitation Matthew chose to eat a mince pie at every opportunity. His sweet tooth, accentuated after the war, could not be satisfied by one it seemed. He had licked his lips and had two when they had tea with Travers after church on Sunday with some of the elders. When they had visited Granny last week, Matthew's eyes bulged at the sight of a plate piled high with dark pastry filled with fruit and covered by sticky melted sugar, and she was sure she had seen him go back three or four times over tea.
At Isobel's there must have been a silent understanding from years of living together, as she had only offered mince pies and a sticky date cake. Neither that Mary refused, but she was determined she had been the only one eating the latter, which was delicious.
The look of longing that had so openly settled on his face at the Village Hall as they attended the local judging of Christmas cakes, baking and homemade craft clearly had been due to the Mince pie section. The Dowager and a gaggle of women poured over the beautiful cake platters filled to the brim ready for evaluation.
As Mary and Matthew sat in a quiet corner of the teashop afterwards, she saw his face fall when he realized his limited choices. As they ordered two slices of fruitcake with their tea, it was clear on his face though that he could not relish it as much. Conversation flowed from whom would be arriving for the shoot after New Years to how much work needed to be done to some of the farms before spring. And it was in this spirit of nonconsequensical chatter, that warmth of love and endearment flowed through Mary's heart and she thought to make a request to Mrs. Patmore as soon as they arrived home.
…
"You have made me a happy man, wife!" Matthew bellowed as he burst through their bedroom door, precariously balancing a plate filled with fruit mince pies. "Hansel and Gretel would have been proud!"
"I had to find one way into my darling husband's heart, although I never would have dreamed it would have been with mince pies though." Her eyebrows rose, and she played with a look of irritation before laughing. "It took you long enough though; I was getting quite coaxed into sleep waiting for you."
"I must say Mary, it took me years to understand your wicked sense of humour, but I'm just realizing just how much you like to play games."
"When one languishes in a waiting room for…. Years, one invents many games in one's head to pass the time." He chuckled picturing his Mary playing these kinds of games with another suitor, and the cut of jealousy that slashed his mind urged him to flop onto the bed next to her and possessively crawl over her reclined form, eagerly wanting to lavish his wife with affections.
"Well Matthew Crawley!... whatever are you doing. I thought that you would be wanting those mince pies as a midnight feast, not feasting on your wife?" the feigned look of innocence that spread across her face could fool neither, as her hands dove into his thick hair.
"It's not midnight yet, and I will be hungry for dessert. Now come to me woman, you doth protest too much!"
….
"For god's sake Matthew, there are crumbs throughout the bed sheets! I can feel every single one on my bare skin!"
"I'll shake you out after we have finished the plate." His hand caressed her ivory skin as he continued, "Mrs. Patmore has outdone herself with these. I will make a special trip to the kitchen tomorrow to thank her personally."
"You mean, you will skulk down there to see if she has anymore?"
"Am I to be that predictable?"
"Of course darling" she replied, as they both laughed.
"I almost didn't see the first mince pie on the steps as Robert and I made our way to the Drawing room. It was only because Isis stopped and sniffed it. We thought the servants had dropped it. But then Cora came out and mentioned you had retired early that I spied the next two heading up the stairs."
"Think of me as the wicked witch who wants to ensnare you in her house and fatten you up, just so she can devour you."
"Oh no my love," he turned, hovering over her lithe form, as his arms came to envelope her, "it is I who will have my cake and eat it too!" The growl that came from the back of her throat told him all he wanted to know about their feast.
Day 8 – Tinsel and Gold
"Book."
"Three words"
"Third word."
"One Syllable."
"Sounds like….."
"Pat?" "Wave?" "Clap?" "Bend?"
Matthew sighed with knowing. "Fold. Sounds like fold!" The quiet assertiveness of Matthew's voice rang clear through the Grand Hall, sure in the understanding that he could read almost everything that she needn't say. It had been years in learning the private language of his beautiful wife, many from the other side of the room. Until recently, where he was privileged to grace every aspect of her realm, he could read the very breath that she exhaled, her attentiveness from the way she grasped her glass, and volumes from the flex of her fingers.
With eyebrow raised, and the hint of a smirk behind her lips, she held her left hand out to the gathering and pointed to her ring finger. The pregnant pause strummed the inkling of impatience that she felt; even as she reveled in the act of The Game. The few steps that it took to reach Matthew's outstretched feet and wiggle her hand in front of his face expressed how much she relied on him to understand her.
"Oh Darling, you got married. No one told me. Perhaps we will have to remedy that!"
The little huff escaping her lips, and the way she wiggled on the spot spoke of exasperation, and when her eyes rolled it told him to just pay attention to the game at hand.
Her extended fingers waved within his immediate view, as she knew he was toying with her.
"Gold. Sounds like fold." She smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands, throwing him a glorious smile, loving him with her eyes.
"First word." Edith chimed in, curious to what would come.
Mary waved her arms in and out in the air, pointed finger to trace something from high to low.
"Tree." She nodded, with a look of concentration, and she made the sign that it was not the whole picture. Robert glanced between the pair, with unbelieving eyes that Matthew had any clue. He watched closer trying to see if they were indeed cheating somehow.
Hands next to her eyes she flicked them quickly and smiled,
"Sparkle." Again she nodded to Matthew and then with one finger arched from top to bottom with a faint and delicate fingertip. She paused and waited, breath suspended, waiting for her astute husband to venture a guess.
"Tinsel….'Tinsel and Gold' by Dion Clayton Calthrop!" It was a whisper, not from uncertainty, but from the knowledge that he was able to so clearly understand his wife on another ethereal level.
The little yelp and clap of her hands did little to draw attention away from Matthew, as many who sat in the room were confounded. He chuckled and looked askew, aware Isobel and Cora were not the only ones, even if they had thoroughly understood it before that put it down to the enigma of the love between Mary and Matthew.
"Next year Mary and Matthew should not be allowed to be on the same team. They have a distinct advantage." The petulant tone Edith cried forth saw no response except a scornful eye from Mary as she tilted her head and replied.
"Maybe next year Edith darling, you will have your own secret weapon and you will not need to steal mine."
The caustic look that Edith shot Mary may have killed bunnies, but it was her chuckling husband's handsome face that filled her eyes. She sent him a gaze of adoration and love that engulfed the room and brightened the Christmas lights, paling everyone else around them.
Yes, he was good at reading his wife. He would claim his prize later, within the privacy of their room.
{Tinsel and Gold byDion Clayton Calthrop was an actual book published in 1910}