Rose MacLare wondered when and if the boredom would ever end. Somehow, she had thought that joining Mary for a week in London would be fun, that getting away from Downton for a few days when it was mired in deepest winter would be exciting. Instead, Mary had been dragging her from one stuffy luncheon to the next. In the evening, they went to staid restaurants that Mary's various male dates chose. If the men were witty or charming, Rose could at least see the point but she found herself struggling to not roll her eyes at what Tony Gillingham considered humorous remarks. Cousin Matthew had always been a little bit too much of a lap dog to Mary's whims, in her opinion, but he at least had been witty. Tony was a bore, and not very smart, and she didn't see what Mary found so amazing and attractive about him. And Mary was determined to officially chaperone her and do a good job so there no chance to slip away.

I need to get away, she told herself as she excused herself and went to the powder room. The restaurant was on the ground floor of a hotel, large enough that the bathroom was out of sight from the main dining area. There was a bar and even though it was hardly hopping, it was still more active than the dinner table. She made her way to the bar and began looking for a new companion. The problem, she realized, was that the vast majority of the men were older than Tony. Older men were most often married men, and poor Matthew's advice still rang in her ears. After a few minutes, she was ready to give it up. She couldn't leave, and she wasn't seeing anyone even close to her own age to talk to. Then she spotted three new men walking in, and she found herself struggling not to stare. Two of them were older, the same sort of older men that weren't worth her time but the third… She almost felt faint, it was that shocking to see a man so physically similar to Matthew Crawley. You're not seeing a ghost, she told herself. Poor Matthew has been dead for a year and a half, he's not here in London. The man was just incredibly similar, the icy blue eyes, the blond hair. But he's not really Matthew, she reminded herself. He's too thin, his hair is sun bleached, not golden like Matthew's, and every time someone set a glass down too hard, he jumped. She looked away as he met her eyes and chalked up his lack of awareness as another sign. Just a doppelganger, she told herself as she broke her gaze at him, a fellow who by chance happens to look eerily like Matthew. But if had been Matthew, he would have recognized her, and smiled in that charming way he had. Of course, it's not him, Rose told herself, you went to his funeral. And so did Mary, and the last thing Mary needed to see was an eerie living near identical copy of her dead husband. Mary was in many ways past her grief but, Rose chided herself, if you were startled by the man's appearance then Mary would be shocked.

"Thank goodness you aren't making us chase you." Rose jumped and turned to face Mary, who was conveniently clutching Tony like a handbag. The older woman was annoyed with her, that was clear, but it wasn't real anger, just annoyance. "You know I promised Mama and Granny that I'd keep an eye on you. You're still a single unattached woman, you know."

I want to have this argument but I can't, Rose thought darkly. "Oh, I thought you and Tony might like a few minutes alone, without me listening to your every word."

"And you might like a few minutes away from our chatter, I am sure." Mary said it gently for a change. "But this isn't a good place for you." She gestured around the bar. "These are mostly older, married men and I don't see anyone with decent titles." Mary eyed all the men and then shook her head with amusement. "Really, Rose, I've kept you on too short a leash if this is where you escape."

Rose bit back the obvious retort, that Mary and Tony had picked the place. "Well, I wouldn't mind if we chose a place tomorrow that wasn't so… dowdy." For a moment, she was certain it would work, that Mary would laugh and then take Tony by the arm and leave.

Then she clearly spotted someone she knew. "Well, how surprising, or perhaps not, that Sir Richard is back to hobnobbing with merchants." Her eyes followed the older man as he made his way to the table that held the doppelganger. Much to Rose's surprise, Sir Richard spotted Mary and seemed genuinely shocked to see her. Worse, the doppelganger noticed Richard's surprise and turned his head to see what had startled the man. Dammit, Rose thought worriedly as Mary locked eyes with the eerie stranger, this will go badly. What genuinely surprised her was how the doppelganger clearly did recognize Mary, his shock was almost as great as Mary's and the recognition in his expression had Rose second guessing herself. He looks so much like Matthew, she marveled, but that's impossible.

Mary was pale and trembling as Sir Richard came to her side. Sir Richard, for his part, seemed genuinely bothered that Mary was upset. And Mary was upset, she was clearly struggling to not break down while Tony cluelessly tried to calm her. Rose realized suddenly that the eerie stranger was also struggling, he was being held back by the older man at his table, and talked to. What is going on, Rose wondered.

Sir Richard looked nervous as he spoke. "Lady Mary, I had no idea you were in London. This must be quite shocking to you…"

"Quite shocking?" Mary slapped the man's face. "What sort of sick game are you playing, Richard? God knows we broke our engagement on bad terms, but I thought you were past it, that you'd married some French woman. And now you're… "Mary sputtered angrily as she pointed to the stranger who resembled Matthew so closely. "I don't even know what you're doing other than beginning to stage some sort of sick hoax to sell newspapers!"

Sir Richard drew back. Rose could see his eyes flash with anger, anger that he visibly forced back down. It's good they didn't marry, she decided suddenly, he's not the sort to take much disagreement from a wife. Sir Richard's cross look faded in seconds. "Forgive me, Lady Mary. As much as I was somewhat amused by this… situation, this is not how I wanted to broach the matter. With you or with your family. Perhaps we should find a quiet room?"

He's worried, Rose realized, and not just because he was socially conscious and aware that they were drawing attention.

Mary was having none of it. "Broach the matter? What kind of game are you playing?"

"No game at all," Richard said quietly. "That man is Matthew Crawley, Captain Matthew Crawley, who was captured by the Germans in early 1918 and transported to Namibia by the Germans so that they could plant a spy into the British Army forces." He paused. "He managed to escape, eventually and made his way to the colony in Kenya where he found Lord Atherton. The authorities have been notified and Lord Atherton," he gestured to the older, well dressed man that was standing next to the imposter, "has been circumspect in checking. Scotland Yard has analyzed his fingerprints and they match the ones Matthew Crawley gave when he became an officer." Richard gestured for the two men to step forward. Rose found herself growing more and more amazed. Up close, it was almost breathtaking how the man resembled Matthew. The lighter hair and fading remains of tanned skin made sense considering the story and if he looked thinner, it only made sense. Richard gave Mary a surprisingly sympathetic look. "This… I didn't know you were in London, this isn't how I wanted you to find this out…"

"We were… going to contact Lord Grantham, first," the doppelganger said. He even sounds like Matthew, Rose marveled. He looked pale and shaky, despite the sun tanned skin. "Because it's so surprising."

"But…" Mary's eyes widened, her shock plain. "But… Matthew…" Then she collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.

0o0o0o0

It was lucky, Matthew thought numbly as he accepted a cup of tea from the pretty blonde woman that was apparently one of Mary's friends, that Lord Atherton was such a kind man. The older man had gotten the hotel staff at the restaurant to commandeer a hotel suite for Mary to recover in from the fainting spell. Matthew had been regulated to the small parlor, while Mary was in the bedroom being consoled by her male companion while Lord Atherton and Sir Richard gently confirmed the shocking news.

This is as awful as it gets, he told himself as he sipped the hot tea. It was never going to be easy, he had no fantasies of reuniting with his family where it wasn't immensely awkward. The situation with the German spy actually taking his place and identity, taking the subterfuge to the point that Mary had actually married the lout… It shocked and horrified him, but he suspected he had the easiest role to play. He was the aggrieved victim after all. If he felt guilt, it was in not escaping the diamond mine slave camp sooner, not reaching a British colony where he could trust the people enough to tell his story, but he had never thought that meanwhile the spy was… living his life for him.

At least until he died, Matthew mused darkly. At least I don't have to confront the fellow. Poor Mary though, with a child by the spy. It was no wonder she had collapsed. He sighed as he set down the cup and saucer. Then he gestured to the pretty blonde girl. "Thank you so much for the cup of tea. I'm afraid, in the confusion, that I didn't get your name."

The young woman was taken back, but only for a moment. "I don't think it was offered," she said easily. "I'm Rose MacLare. Mary and I are cousins but through Violet so you and I are not related." She blushed. "I think, anyway. I admit to not paying much attention to the many lectures on lineage."

Matthew smiled, despite the situation. "I won't tell. I never paid much attention, either." He looked down at his hands. He had never been good at small talk. Lavinia had always teased him that he liked to read simply so he'd have something to say at dinner parties. Finally, as the silence dragged on, he asked what he hoped wasn't a stupid question. "So, do you live in London? Was Mary visiting your family?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "No. Not at all. I am currently living at Downton Abbey. My parents are in India and my mother thought Lady Cora would find me a welcome distraction after Lady Sybil died, so I've been staying there. Lady Mary invited me on a short trip to London since Downton Village is a bit dull in midwinter…" Her voice trailed off. "Are you quite all right? You just went suddenly pale."

He struggled to not drop the teacup even as his hands shook. "Lady Sybil… died? But she was just a girl, just a little older than you…" It was strange, how utterly overwhelming it was. He had steeled himself for his mother to be dead, for Mary and Lavinia to both be taken by other men but Sybil... "I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking, "I hadn't been told that. How… did she die?"

"Oh dear." The girl looked suddenly chagrinned. "I didn't mean to shock you. I'm sorry." She hesitated. "I forget… you're Matthew but not… the Matthew I met. You haven't heard any of the news. Sybil died in childbirth in the summer of 1921. She married Tom Branson, Lord Grantham's chauffeur after the war ended.

"Tom the chauffeur?" Matthew struggled to put a face to the name and then he remembered. The Irish fellow who Sybil had tricked into taking her to a rally. "Robert let them get married?" Robert was open minded but the man had limits. Robert hadn't been pleased that Lavinia wasn't more highly placed, but tolerated what he couldn't stop. But if there had been a child, Robert had probably made the best of a bad situation. "Did the child survive?"

"Oh yes," Rose said, seeming happy to move on to a less depressing topic. "A dear little girl. Tom named her Sybil, after her mother, and she shares the nursery at Downton with Mary's little George…" She frowned suddenly, as if she realized she'd put her foot into a mess. "

"I…" Matthew sighed. "I've been told about that. I hadn't planned to… shock Lady Mary with the news." The plan had been for Philip to contact Robert and to break the news quietly precisely so people weren't surprised and shocked in a public setting. Sir Richard had suggested the restaurant precisely because it was the haunt of London business men so none of the family or friends of the family would see him and get a terrible shock. He chuckled darkly. "I suppose this is exactly my luck."

Much to his surprise, Rose laughed. "I'm sorry," she said as she covered her mouth. "I was just thinking the same thing. The only way this could be worse is if Matthew… the spy, was alive. And to think we thought he was the unlucky one."

"How… was he so unlucky?" Matthew asked, suddenly curious.

"He did die in a car crash the day his son was born," Rose said, her humor leaving her. "It was really quite dreadful. This," and she gestured to the closed bedroom door that Mary was ensconced in, "is awful news but good news just the same." She looked at him, her eyes bright. "I mean, you're alive, Matthew. I know Mary is shocked right now but she will be happy. And your mother, she'll be delighted. So will Cousin Robert. He's always complaining about missing you and missing your help with the estate."

Matthew considered that. "I never helped Robert with the estate." The estate was lovely, in its way, and he understood why Robert adored it, but he had rather dreaded picking up the pieces after Robert's death. It occurred to him how the spy had inserted himself into Robert's good graces..

Rose smiled awkwardly. "No, I suppose not."

Can this be more awkward, Matthew wondered. Then the fellow Mary had been with, he thought he'd heard the name Tony but he wasn't sure came out, followed by Philip and Sir Richard. His expression was grim, while Philip's was more hopeful, and Sir Richard was still looking faintly amused. Tony glared at him.

"She wants to see you," Tony growled.

Matthew stood up and set down the tea cup. "Of course."

Much to his surprise, Tony gave him a shove, puffing up his chest like he wanted to fight. "You will be respectful to her about this situation, is that understood?" He poked Matthew's chest.

Matthew grabbed him by his suit jacket and slammed him into the wall. "Don't put your hands on me," he growled at the man. It was instinctive, years of casual threats and abuse from strangers had taught him all too well to not meekly allow bullies their way. It was weak, and people who were seen as weak were robbed, and preyed upon. But then he remembered where he was, in a moderately posh hotel room in London, and not in some dusty gin joint in Namibia or Rhodesia. He let go of the shocked younger man and stepped back. "I'm sorry… It's been far too long since I was with gentlemen and not violent curs. Of course, you're concerned about Lady Mary, and I assure you I have no intention of being disrespectful. This situation was not her fault."

He then stepped into the bedroom, feeling both nervous and worried. Mary was on the bed, propped up by pillows, still in her lovely dress but covered somewhat by a blanket. She had clearly been crying, but was past the worst of it, daubing her eyes and struggling to smile at him. "Matthew…" she said softly, "I'm afraid I must look a fright. You look…" She seemed to drink in his presence. "You look too thin, and too worried." She daubed her eyes again. "I'm sorry. You've been through a nightmare, you find your way back home, and… what a hideous homecoming for you." She let her hands fall to her lap. "This is a miracle, Matthew, a miracle I don't deserve for so many reasons, and that is what I need to remind myself. It's… just…"

"A lot to take in," Matthew finished for her. He struggled to find something, anything, to say, to ease her pain. He shrugged and then held out his hands. "I have to apologize to you, Mary. I lost your little dog." A small lie. It had been in his overcoat when he'd been captured, and after he'd been beaten into unconsciousness, all of his uniform kit had been stripped from his body.

"But…" Mary started to disagree and then seemed to realize something. Finally, she said, her tone careful, "I suppose you did. But I'm afraid I've betrayed your trust in a far worse fashion." She sniffled. "I know you know… about the marriage. You must be so angry with me, with all of us."

"No." Not quite a lie. He was angry with the German, it was probably best that the man was dead because seeing Mary's devastated, tear stricken face, he wanted to pound the imposter bloody. But Sir Richard had been adamant that everyone had been taken in and the young girl, Rose, was oddly familiar with him, which meant that the spy did more than physically resemble him. He took a step closer and looked down at his hands, hoping to find the right words. "The anger isn't with you or the family… I just regret so much…" We should have married in 1914, he thought suddenly. I shouldn't have let my pride get in the way. If we had married then, she would have seen the scar on my leg and known the imposter, however charming, wasn't me. And she was afraid to tell you about the Turk, that you'd castigate her for it. "I've missed so much. I missed you." Then he shivered violently. "I'm sorry… I've just been so cold."

Mary nodded and smiled, more fully, as if she was relieved. She gestured to the chair next to the bed. "Then sit down next to the fire. Papa always said Africa was ungodly hot and you were there longer than he was. And you're too thin, and it's been five years… I'm sure we can find something to talk about that isn't… hideously painful. Your friend Philip said the hotel has lent us the room for the evening, and Tony is fetching my things from Grantham House…." She looked down, suddenly embarrassed. "Poor Tony…"

He decided to take her advice and sat in the chair. He also decided to try some humor. "Poor Tony indeed… I'm afraid I nearly gave him a punch because I've been so out of sorts. Is he your new beau?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "I will admit, I find I like Sir Richard more now than I did when the two of you were engaged but that young sport? Surely you can do better, Lady Mary."

Despite it all, she laughed. "You're awful. And Tony is… a good sport, all things considered."