As soon after dessert as was seemly, Mary stood and gave a cheery invitation for the ladies to accompany her to the dining room. Despite Carson's attempts to perform the task himself, she managed to eke out some quiet moments as she flicked through their collection of Grammophone recordings to choose the evening's entertainment. With a wry twist of her lips, she chose one starting with It Had to be You.

The chatter in the room still had a subdued quality, so the first lines of lyrics were almost comically audible. "Why do I do, just as you say? Why must I just, give you your way?" Looking at the assembled company, Mary sighed inwardly at her predicament. Isobel and Sarah Teaford had struck up a rather pointed conversation about Liberal politics, and Mrs. Cartwright was unabashedly ogling the furnishings. Thinking she could better tolerate American crassness than English do-gooding, Mary took the sherry Carson offered and made her way over to Maude.

"You and Mr. Cartwright must be very excited to be moving into Haxby. Its grounds are marvelous for the winter shooting season." She hadn't intended it as a class-conscious remark, but noticed the other woman's forced smile.

"Oh, my husband and I don't plan to use the property for sport shooting," Maude Cartwright replied. "My husband's never learned, you see, and if I'm honest the idea rather upsets me."

Mary was unable to hide her astonishment. "Then why buy a country estate?" Her voice sounded querulous even to herself.

"Why, for entertaining, of course," Maude exclaimed. "No one in New York" - she dragged out the city's name like a prayer - "would expect us to buy an English house that wasn't a castle! Properties in London are so pokey, and the air troubles my husband's lungs besides."

"Well," Mary replied after a second, "it will be wonderful to have more neighbours when planning events - ever since I can remember, Mother has complained about how hard it is to find men in Yorkshire!"

Mrs Cartwright's laugh was brassy, but quieter than Mary expected. "We've almost got the house fully appointed, then we will invite some of our dear friends from America and you must meet them. Sarah, you too," she added brightly, to Mary's slight irritation.

Mrs Teaford had evidently run out of pending legislation to discuss with her sister, and joined Mary and Mrs. Cartwright by the mantle. "I would be glad to!"

There was an awkward lull, and then Mrs Cartwright said hesitantly, "I'll be so happy when we're really settled. I want my life back!" The other women murmured sympathetically.

"How will you spend your time, when you're comfortable again?" inquired Ms. Teaford.

"Oh, same things I did in America, probably, buy French art! I can't seem to stop building my Seurat collection, Haxby is practically drowning in it." Her laugh rang out once more. "And do some work on local schools, hopefully. I was on the board of three New York prep schools for young women back home - just couldn't say no! The women are just darling, we have so much fun."

Ms. Teaford gave Mary a significant glance. "Perhaps you should join her, Mary."

"I think not," Mary parried crisply after sipping at the sherry. "I prefer leaving education to people who are trained for a post rather than buying it." She winced inwardly as she saw how Maude Cartwright had taken the comment as a barb against her. The evening was looking increasingly unsalvageable.

"That seems a bit harsh, Mary," Mrs. Teaford cut in. "Surely people can learn on the job when they find something worth doing."

"Well, I daresay it's possible, but I don't think it's for me. I only ever had governesses, so I would make a terrible school trustee. Besides, I think a person must truly feel passionate about what they do, and school was never a particular passion of mine." She finished the sherry and placed it on the mantle with some firmness, as if by putting down the glass she could engineer an end to the line of questioning.

"Well, what is it you love to do, Mary?" Mrs. Teaford asked Mary the question in the vein of an encouraging aunt. The other ladies turned look at her in a unison that felt judgmental, and she delayed by nodding for Carson to refill her glass of sherry.

"I love to read, to ride," she started defensively. "And I've always thought it important that those of us with titles should maintain the traditions of maintaining a house and formal dining, even if things have changed since the war. Mama has always stressed the trust that exists between servants and their mistress, in the best-run estates."

As she finished, a sputtering laugh rang from the lips of Maude Cartwright. "I don't mean to offend, but dining parties and redecorating are the sorts of things I put up with only when I must, when I want to see old friends, or stick it to a particularly snobbish acquaintance. How depressing, to think people do it for a sense of satisfaction. Riding and reading, well, they're well enough, but you're not a girl of fifteen anymore - don't you want to get out there and knock some heads together, see some action?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mary's tone was ready to cut glass. She was sipping at her sherry glass again and noted that her anger was travelling down her arms, causing the glass to tremor slightly.

"Maybe what Mrs. Cartwright means," Isobel interjected, "is that you are a Countess now, with a certain power to effect change. There are a lot of important issues out there that could do with the support of a prominent member of the aristocracy."

"And I suppose you're all here to tell me what should be my life's work?" Mary could see how they'd become very still, instilled with confidence and a common purpose. There was an indulging condescension that hung about them in a cloud.

"Of course not," said Mrs. Teaford with a feigned casualness. "But please do have a life's work, Mary. There's nothing more unpleasant than an apathetic lady who wastes her intelligence and good breeding."

"That's odd," replied Mary, her tone overly loud and her anger finally unleashed by stress and sherry. "I thought there was nothing more unpleasant than be lectured in one's own home by one's social inferiors."

There was a moment of silence, and Mary saw Carson muffle a slight cough at his post by the door. As her sharp words still rang in the air the door opened and Matthew and Mr. Teaford filed in. The evening's misery threatened to continue; Mary saw a slight tightness in Matthew's jaw that suggested he'd overheard some of the argument. It made her decide she couldn't bear to see any more Crawley disappointment that evening.

Rising, she put her hand to her slightly-flushed forehead. "I'm sorry to retire so early, but I find myself unwell." Aiming a insincere smile at the Teafords and Cartwrights, she said "Do enjoy the rest of your evening." She brushed past Matthew without catching his eye, and entered into the hall.

She was only half the way up the staircase when she felt his hand on her arm. "Mary, don't just stalk off."

"I can't talk any longer with those unbearable, sermonizing women." She shook his hand off and continued up the stairs. "Please give them my regrets."

"Dear, you are being very childish."

"I was being lectured to in my own home," she hissed. "I do not have to tolerate that, and I certainly won't tolerate you taking their side."

"Mary, wait-"

"Goodnight!," she interrupted, and as she crested the top of the staircase he slid out of view.


Was there ever an enjoyable, non-fraught dinner meal at Downton, really? I think I would just skip the whole thing and eat cheese on toast in my pajamas, much less stressful.

Hope you are enjoying this, there is a storm brewing!