Previously:

Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1915

"You just think that I'm too honourable to demand…things," he said, his voice sending a tremor through her.

"Are you saying that you're not honourable?" Mary breathed out quickly as she felt how aroused her husband truly was.

She yelped as he picked her up off the ground effortlessly. His hands reached under her thighs to support her weight. Her hands slid across his back, holding him close to her. Her legs squeezed around his waist.

"I'm not honourable all of the time," Matthew growled. "Not when it comes to you."

Mary let out a deep chuckle as they fell to the bed.

Chapter 3:

Downton Abbey, England, April 1915

"A ban on alcohol? What in God's name is this world coming to?" Robert shook his head.

"King George says that drunkenness is getting in the way of productivity," Sybil replied. "By limiting the hours of public houses and reducing the availability of alcohol, the government wants the people to be able to work harder."

"Yes, I am aware of that, my dear," Robert sighed. "That doesn't mean it makes any sense."

"Well, the Prime Minister seems to agree with you," Edith smirked. "He says that Lloyd George has completely lost his head."

"He's probably right, although not necessarily about the alcohol measure," Robert said, folding his newspaper and putting it down.

"My Lord," Carson announced as he carried a silver tray into the morning room.

"Yes, Carson, the mail?" Robert asked.

"Yes, my Lord. Her Ladyship has already taken her letters in her room," the butler answered. He placed the tray in front of the Earl, who took the letters and the blade to open them.

"This one is for you, Sir," Carson said, handing a letter to Matthew.

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew said, waiting patiently before taking the blade from Robert and opening his own letter.

"A letter for you?" Mary asked. "Whoever is it from?"

"A friend back in Manchester," Matthew said. He read over the letter and frowned. Getting to the end, he placed it down on the table and sighed audibly.

"Matthew?" Mary asked.

"It's about some of my old schoolmates," Matthew said wearily. "They formed a battalion last September. They all perished at Gallipoli last month."

Sybil gasped and brought her hand to her mouth in shock.

"I'm terribly sorry, Matthew," Robert said.

"Thank you," Matthew nodded. "If you'll all excuse me." He rose from his chair and quickly left the room, running his hand through his hair in agitation.

Mary watched him go, a concerned look on her face. She placed her napkin on the table.

"We'll see you all at luncheon," she said quickly before going after Matthew.

Sybil and Edith exchanged worried glances.


She found him in their sitting room. He sat on the sofa, staring off into space, the letter still in his hands. She closed the door behind her and came and sat down next to him. He did not acknowledge her presence. She reached over and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. Still Matthew did not move.

Mary sat next to him in silence. She knew better than to disturb him when he was in these moods. She moved her hand down his head to his shoulders, rubbing light circles into his back.

Matthew stared into the carpet, his eyes unfocused, his senses dulled. The letter fell from his hands, his fingers not bothering to hold it. He felt his wife's touch and he breathed deeply, grateful for her presence. The words were stuck in his mind, jumbled and disorganized.

After several long moments, he reached over and took Mary's hand in his, squeezing it gently. She placed their joined hands in her lap, continuing to massage his back.

"I wasn't that close with all of them," he muttered. "It's been years since we've seen each other. After I left Manchester, we didn't really keep in touch. Truthfully, I hadn't talked to them too often even when I was still living there."

"But if you were still in Manchester, you would have joined up with them," Mary said quietly.

Matthew nodded. He exhaled slowly.

"It was supposed to be over by Christmas, that's what everyone kept saying," he said in almost a whisper. "They only needed volunteers because the Army had been reduced in numbers through all the government reforms. It wasn't as if any of them would see any real fighting."

"You didn't think that they would be in danger," Mary said. "You didn't think any of this was real."

"I read the reports and heard the news, of course," Matthew nodded. "But with so much being censored, it was supposed to be business as usual. Even the bombings weren't anything to be worried about. They happened hundreds of miles away."

"Darling," Mary said firmly. "There's nothing you could have done. They chose to go on their own. If you had gone along with them, there's no telling what would have happened."

"I know," Matthew agreed. "I just wonder sometimes if…"

"If what?" Mary asked with concern.

"I wonder if I shouldn't be over there fighting, or doing…something…contributing somehow. My friends gave their lives for King and Country. Why am I still here, living in luxury while others do more to stand up for our freedom?"

"It isn't a competition, Matthew," Mary said gently. "You don't need to be a soldier to prove your worth."

Matthew turned to her, his eyes wet and his face pale.

"I've seen the looks, you know? When I'm in the Village, even in London. There's always a sideways glance or a frown of some sort. People look at me and I can't help but think of what they are asking themselves. 'Here's a strapping young man. Why is he here walking around without a care in the world? Why isn't he over there with the lads?'"

"Not everyone can go, Matthew," Mary said, her own voice becoming shaky. "It's not as if all the men are to go off fighting while the women stay home and the country runs itself. This isn't the Middle Ages. There's a need for men to stay home as well. Like Papa. Like you."

"I don't know what use a lawyer is at the moment when young men are dying in France and Belgium," Matthew huffed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Do you feel that you need to go to War to have a purpose? To have value? Because that is absolute rubbish," Mary said fiercely. "You're needed here. I need you here."

Matthew turned to her again. He reached up and took her face in his hands. He leaned forward and kissed her softly and tenderly.

"I need you, Mary," he whispered. "I can't stand the idea of leaving you behind. Not after everything we've been through. But I'm worried that this blasted War isn't over yet, and doesn't show any signs of stopping. Every day it seems we hear reports of some other family that we know losing a son. A day may come when I'm called, Mary. I didn't want to think about it at all but it's possible."

"We'll deal with it if and when it happens," Mary said, caressing his hands. "For now, you're not going anywhere."

"Yes, my Lady," Matthew smiled bravely, kissing her again.

Office of the First Lord of the Admiralty, Palace of Westminster, London, England, November 1914

"Ah, Matthew. You have my reports?" the First Lord asked, putting his hand out.

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded, taking a folder of papers out of his briefcase and handing it to him.

"Excellent," Churchill said, leafing through the documents. "Production is steady and supply appears to be unaffected by the turmoil in the area. That's very good."

"If you don't mind, sir, why is it necessary for the reports to flow through our office? Surely you could have them delivered here?" Matthew asked.

"There's fewer eyes watching your office, Matthew," Churchill replied, not looking up. "Besides, I would think you would enjoy coming to Parliament. We always could use another lawyer around here," he said wryly.

"Indeed," Matthew smirked.

"Have you heard from Alex?" Churchill asked, placing the folder on his desk and walking to the window.

"He's written, but I expect he's quite busy with his battalion, sir," Matthew said.

"Yes, that sounds right. He's being made a Captain. A fine job he's doing over there. Very fine. I wish I had more like him," Churchill mused, looking out the window.

"We all look forward to him coming home, sir," Matthew said.

"And so you should, Matthew," Churchill replied, his back to him. "I don't know if Christmas is such an accurate estimate anymore, but we're making progress. I think there is a way for us to cripple the Turks, and that would open up numerous avenues for us."

"I hope your campaign finds success, sir," Matthew said.

"And what about you, Matthew? Haven't thought of volunteering yet, have you?" Churchill asked, turning towards him.

"No, sir. I'm not a soldier. Besides, I don't think the Army needs my help," Matthew said deprecatingly.

"Well, there are numerous ways to help the Army," Churchill mused, looking at Matthew with a look of appraisal. "In any event, we can't have all of those from the nobility and the higher professions going over. That would make too many officers and not enough soldiers!"

Matthew smiled uneasily at the First Lord's joke.

"If your time does come, Matthew," Churchill said, becoming serious. "Be sure to ask for a commission. You need not be stuck as a foot soldier in the trenches. You could better serve His Majesty in command, I think."

"Thank you, sir. However, I wouldn't know the first thing to do," Matthew said.

"Necessity is the mother of invention, Matthew. Remember that," Churchill answered, turning his back once again.

"But things are going…well…aren't they, sir?" Matthew asked quietly. "There's no cause for concern, is there?"

"Oh, it's business as usual, Matthew," Churchill said firmly. "Business as usual."

When Matthew left Westminster later that afternoon, his driver took a roundabout route back to Grantham House. They passed several long lines of men signing up for the Army at recruiting stations in the city. Matthew looked out at these volunteers thoughtfully, his mind asking dozens of questions as he witnessed their bravado and bluster, their eyes bright with purpose and motivation.

"One great adventure," Matthew murmured, his eyes scanning the line of men preparing to go off to War.

Drewe Farm, Downton Village, England, May 1915

"In return for overseeing the pigs, you'll receive a credit towards your outstanding rent arrears, and eventually once you're back to the good, we'll pay you a fair wage that you'll keep for yourself," Matthew explained.

"He is rather eager, isn't he, my Lord?" Mr. Drewe smiled at Robert.

Robert smirked, trying to remain composed. "Matthew is very thorough, and he has detailed plans for what we want to do with the land going forward. We're quite pleased we can use you in this endeavour."

"Of course, my Lord!" Mr. Drewe laughed. "Our families have been working this land for generations. It's only proper that we play a part in moving things forward. I don't quite know what Mr. Crawley here hopes to accomplish, but if it's a pig man you need, I shall fit the bill!"

"Very well," Matthew smiled, trying to stop himself from laughing at the man's enthusiasm. "We expect the pigs to arrive later next week. We'll notify you and you can come meet them."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Crawley. It is a bit of a shame though, isn't it, my Lord, about Taylor I mean. He's been here almost as long as we have," Mr. Drewe noted.

"Well, it can't be helped," Robert said, looking down at the floor. "He can't keep up with all the work required to maintain his farm, and his children have gone off to War. Better to have him in a cottage and for us to use the land."

"If you say so, my Lord. Still, I remember when Taylor would move them sheep around. He practically had them on parade!"

Matthew sat back and observed as his father-in-law and Mr. Drewe shared tea and old stories about farming the land around Downton Abbey. Robert remembered coming out to these same properties as a child with his father. Mr. Drewe recalled a particular tale of a young Viscount Grantham paying visits to them with Jarvis to get an idea of how they were getting on.

Matthew sighed in understanding as he watched Robert speaking animatedly as each story was told. Perhaps his father-in-law was not the most astute of investors, and perhaps he had a penchant for being too ambitious and believing he could make miracles where none were to be had, but here, among his tenants, he was in his element. The numbers may have eluded Robert. They came easily to Matthew, and that was not a condemnation of the Earl. The relationships and ability to gauge another man based merely on memories and shared history was a real skill, and Matthew saw now that joy that Robert took in using it.

Matthew sat quietly and allowed the Earl to indulge in some nostalgia. While Matthew calculated the possible return on the first group of pigs in his mind, Robert laughed and nodded as Mr. Drewe began another tale.

Law Office of Harvell, Carter & Lewis, Ripon, England, June 1915

"A letter for you, Mr. Crawley," the assistant said. "It's from Captain Lewis."

"Thank you," Matthew said quickly, taking the envelope and slicing it open. He frowned as he pulled out the letter. Alex did not usually write to him in Ripon. If he needed to reach him, he could send a message to Downton Abbey as he usually did.

Matthew perused the letter, his brow furrowed as he took in the contents. He read it over several times to be sure, as if somehow the message would change the more he repeated it. He finally placed the letter down on his desk and stared at it, his mind working away at a scenario he dared not contemplate.

Matthew looked over at the calendar he kept on his desk. He flipped the pages, counting the days and weeks remaining in the year. He frowned again as he mentally calculated various timelines and schedules. Based on Alex's information, his slowly forming plan was possible, but included all manner of issues.

Matthew glanced from the calendar to the framed portrait of Mary. She looked back at him with bright eyes and a slight curl to her lips. He remembered when they had sat for portraits with the rest of the family. This one was one of the last taken that day, when Mary insisted on sitting as she had been on her feet for most of the time. When Matthew whispered to her that he intended to bring this one to the office, she had given a subtle playful glance to the formal picture. She now greeted him each morning when he arrived at his office and bid him good night each evening when he left.

Matthew sighed as he stared at his wife. He finally rose from his desk and went out to the hall to give his assistant instructions. His plan was hardly reliable or foolproof, but what choice did he have?

Downton Abbey, England, July 1915

"What do you think?" Matthew asked.

Mary looked over the papers once more. "It's a lot to take in," she said finally. "We're making some money, that's positive at least."

"I agree," Matthew smiled, sipping his tea. "It's early days still, but we're already on the way to recouping our initial investment, which is good news."

"Sir, my Lady, His Lordship is currently away and there is a matter that requires your immediate attention," Carson said, standing stiffly in the doorway.

"That sounds serious," Mary said wryly. "What is it, Carson?"

Carson swallowed and frowned, then stepped aside to allow the visitor who had been standing behind him to enter the parlour.

"Branson!" Matthew exclaimed, rising from his seat.

Sybil's eyes widened and she looked up from her needlepoint.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked. "Have you been granted leave already? You should have written to let us know."

"No, my Lady. Well, that is, I have been granted a leave of sorts," Branson replied, looking at the ground.

Mary looked at Matthew in confusion.

"Branson? What is it? Why are you back here?" Matthew asked.

Branson looked at Carson and nodded. Carson walked over and handed a letter to Matthew. Matthew read it over quickly and frowned. He passed it to Mary.

"Sybil, Edith, please leave the room so we can speak with Branson in private," Matthew said calmly.

Edith frowned. Sybil rose from the couch.

"But why? Surely it isn't so serious that absolute secrecy is required?" Edith asked.

"Edith, I apologize for acting so authoritatively, but as Cousin Robert isn't here, the responsibility falls to me to deal with this. I am quite certain that if he were here, your father would not allow you to be in the room, and so I am asking you…politely…to leave with your sister," Matthew said, looking at Edith imploringly.

"Very well," Edith said, her eyes wide and her voice somewhat shaky. "Come, Sybil."

Edith had to take Sybil by the hand and lead her out of the room. Sybil stole a glance at Branson as she passed him. Branson continued to look down at the floor.

"Carson, see to it that we are not disturbed. You may wait outside," Matthew said.

"Yes, Sir," Carson nodded. He looked at Branson for a moment before leaving and closing the door behind him.

"Have a seat," Matthew said, motioning to a chair. Branson came over and sat down.

Matthew paced behind him, his hands clasped behind his back. Mary sat back down on the sofa, looking at Branson closely.

"Is it true?" Matthew asked, stopping behind Branson.

"That I'm Irish? Yes, of course," Branson replied.

"This will go far more easily if you dispense with both your attitude and your flippant remarks," Matthew shot back.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley, sir," Branson said nervously, looking down again.

"You have a heart murmur," Matthew stated, glancing over at Mary before he continued. "That is cause enough for dismissal from the Army. There is no shame in that, and we would welcome you back into this House gladly. However, this second point," Matthew paused. "Is it true that you refused active military service as an objection to British policy?"

"Yes," Branson nodded.

"You are aware that objecting to serve does not in fact apply to volunteers? If you wish to object, you need not volunteer in the first place?" Matthew asked.

"I am aware of that now, sir," Branson replied.

"Do you expect your position on the dispute between Ireland and Britain to affect your ability to do your duties to this family and in this House?" Matthew asked.

"It has not been a problem before, sir," Branson answered.

"That wasn't what Mr. Crawley was asking," Mary said.

Branson swallowed.

"You are well aware that His Lordship is a Colonel in His Majesty's Army. As this unfortunate War continues, it is highly likely that we will be hosting officers at dinner, soldiers at different events and functions. There will be British uniforms within this House rather frequently. Some of your fellow servants have gone to War, and others are likely to do so in the future. If we cannot trust you to interact with these people and to do your job properly, I see no reason to accept you back," Matthew stated.

Branson swallowed again.

"Do you expect your position on the dispute between Ireland and Britain to affect your ability to do your duties to this family and in this House?" Matthew repeated.

"No, Mr. Crawley, sir," Branson said quietly.

"And you are well aware that should we suspect, or discover, that you are engaged in any activity whatsoever that could be deemed to be subversive, against the interests of Britain and His Majesty, or in any way a possible stain on the reputation of this family and this House, we shall have no choice but to have your summarily dismissed, and possibly arrested?" Matthew said, coming around and looking at Branson pointedly.

Branson looked up at Matthew and met his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley, sir. I understand," Branson nodded.

Matthew smirked and extended his hand.

"Good. Welcome home, Branson. We have missed you," he said.

Branson blinked, then quickly rose to his feet and shook Matthew's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley, sir, thank you," Branson smiled. "And thank you, my Lady," Branson said, looking over at Mary.

Mary nodded politely in acknowledgment.

Matthew called Carson back into the room and announced that Branson was returning and that he was to be seen to his old quarters and settled. Given the commotion of his return, Matthew allowed Branson to have the rest of the day off, and to resume his duties as chauffeur the following day, with a revised schedule to accommodate the other driver that the family had taken on after Branson had left for War. Carson stood stoically as he received his instructions, then motioned for Branson to leave in front of him before following behind.

"Carson doesn't like him," Mary smirked once they were alone again.

"Of course he doesn't," Matthew sighed, walking over to her side. "He thinks he's a traitor just because he's Irish. And the letter does not exactly put him in a very favourable light either."

"Do you think he's harmless?" Mary asked.

"For now, yes," Matthew answered. "I think he got caught up in the mood to go to War, then when he got to training he realized that he would be doing something that was against his own beliefs, and that ultimately led him to try to find a way out. The heart murmur's convenient, really. Otherwise, he may have had to desert, or worse."

"I don't know if Papa will be pleased with your decision. He never liked Branson to begin with," Mary said.

"My decision, was it?" Matthew turned to her incredulously. "I didn't hear any vociferous objections from my wife on the matter."

"You're Joint-Master," Mary smirked. "It's my duty to obey and support your decisions. I'm just a woman after all."

"You sly minx," Matthew laughed, moving towards her and reaching out his arms.

"Stop it! Matthew!" Mary hissed, backing up several paces. "We're in the parlour! Anyone could come in at any moment!"

"Haven't you heard, darling? I'm Joint-Master. I can do as I please," he raised his eyebrow before grabbing his wife around her waist and pulling her towards him.

"Matthew!" Mary laughed, slapping his chest lightly as he kissed her neck again and again.

"You would stand by and watch me interrogate Branson, then accept him back, remaining silent the entire time, then throw me to your father at the first hint of disagreement?" Matthew growled, tickling her sides.

"You must learn to live with the consequences of your decisions, Master Crawley," Mary laughed, shrieking as Matthew tickled her further.

"Perhaps you need to be taught how to be more supportive, Mary," Matthew said lowly, kissing her lips and pulling her closer to him.

"Mmm, I can be a very stubborn student, Matthew," Mary replied, kissing him back.

"Ahem, pardon me…" a voice called quietly.

"Sybil!" Mary cried, pushing Matthew back forcefully. He stumbled backward a few steps, then righted himself and pulled his vest down to reorganize his clothing.

"I was just wondering what you decided about Branson, Cousin Matthew," Sybil said.

"Why? Do you need to be driven somewhere?" Mary asked.

"No," Sybil shook her head. "I was just curious. If he isn't going to War, then I wanted to know what would become of him."

"Why is it any concern of yours?" Mary asked.

"I…" Sybil stammered.

"He is coming back, yes," Matthew nodded. "He has a medical condition that prevents from being a soldier. As anyone's health is a private matter, we felt it necessary to speak to Branson in private. The circumstances of his return are no one's business except for those with whom he wishes to share them. It's enough to know he's returned a chauffeur, effective tomorrow."

"And do you think Papa will be agreeable to that?" Sybil asked.

"I'm sure he'll think it's fine. The only reason Branson ever left was to become a solider, otherwise he would still be working here. Now that he is no longer a soldier, it is perfectly reasonable that he continue this employment here as if nothing ever happened," Matthew said confidently.

"Wouldn't you agree, dear?" Matthew asked, looking at Mary.

Mary glared at Matthew, then smiled brightly at her sister.

"Of course. Branson's back and we're all glad for it. Papa will be pleased to have another driver I'm sure," Mary said.

Sybil nodded.

"Why don't you go and get Edith and tell her that it's all right for her to return. We can spend a few more moments before luncheon," Matthew said.

"All right," Sybil nodded and left to get her sister.

"Are you satisfied now?" Mary glared at him. "My youngest sister just witnessed you accosting your wife in the middle of the day!"

"As opposed to in the middle of the night?" Matthew retorted. "Besides, I would hardly call that accosting! Accosting implies that my advances are unwelcome, and based on what your hands were doing, I would hardly say you were protesting."

Mary blushed. "I was merely trying to keep myself upright in the face of your assault," she said plainly.

"You chose a rather specific place to hold on to for support, then," Matthew said pointedly.

"I grabbed for the firmest thing I could get my hands on," Mary whispered, blushing deeply and biting her lower lip.

"Apparently," Matthew said ruefully. "And as a result, I will need to sit down until luncheon."

Mary laughed as he took a seat on the sofa. She sat down next to him and regained her composure by the time Edith and Sybil returned.


"Well, that wasn't a complete disaster," Mary said as she rose from her vanity.

"You had to expect he would object, even if it was only for show," Matthew said, removing his robe. "The fact that any decision was made while he was away is cause enough for him to be disagreeable, but in the end he came around quite quickly."

"Papa does enjoy putting on a show," Mary laughed. "I think he somehow believes it will keep you in your place if he scares you every once in a while."

"Well, it isn't working, but I'm quite all right with him continuing to believe so if it will keep the peace," Matthew replied.

He eased himself into bed and turned on to his side. Mary smiled at him as she slipped under the covers and slid over to him. She pressed her hand to his cheek and kissed him softly.

"Papa was in a rather sour mood, even for him," Mary noted. "His meetings must not have went well."

"I imagine it was more of the same," Matthew sighed. "Funding approvals for the Army, and depressing reports on how no progress has been made."

"I know it's only been a few months, but I was somehow hoping this coalition government would make some real progress," Mary said.

"Politicians don't win a War. They can only lose one," Matthew stated.

"Have you heard from Churchill?" Mary asked.

"Just a brief letter after his resignation," Matthew shook his head. "He wanted to ensure that production and supply remained on the same level. He's still got a hand in the operation, but since he isn't First Lord any longer, he won't have much impact on policy or decisions."

"What do you think he'll do? His reputation is rather stained by Gallipoli," Mary noted.

"He'll manage," Matthew smiled. "We all will."

"About your accosting me earlier today," Mary smirked, running her hand down his bare chest and below the blankets.

"Yes?" Matthew swallowed, his eyes widening.

"It was quite improper of you," she said, looking at him knowingly.

"My apologies, my Lady," Matthew gasped sharply as her fingers moved below the waistband of his pyjama pants.

"Words are not sufficient, Matthew," Mary said with false seriousness. "I believe to truly learn your lesson, you need to feel what it's like to be ravaged in such a fashion. Only then will you truly feel remorse. Don't you agree?"

"Yes!" Matthew cried quickly. His mouth hung open and his breathing quickened.

"Good," Mary smiled wickedly. "Let's see how well you play the victim, Matthew."

She kissed him hard and stifled his groan as she moved on top of him.