"Gwen, are you coming? You know Papa said everyone who worked in the Abbey could go, with wages." Sybil didn't normally push Gwen but it was a rare occasion where they could do something together without both of them being chided for forgetting who they were. The hedge school class was to teach adolescents some of the skills they might need to survive if they were chosen for the games. Papa had always invited the servants children to attend but it meant losing pay. The classes themselves were usually pointless and dull, the boys playing at stickfighting while the girls had to watch since most of the lords abhorred the idea of their little ladies fighting. As part of Papa's plan to entice Cousin Matthew into doing something on the estate other than nothing, Papa had asked him to take over the hedge school classes and Matthew had agreed as long as the servants didn't lose their pay.
She suspected Papa was going to find Matthew to be an obstinate stone in his shoe.
Gwen shook her head as she made the bed. "My da said I shouldn't. That Mr. Crawley…." She looked down at the bedding. "He says Mr. Crawley is crazy in the head. Dangerous."
Sybil laughed. "You've seen him around the house. Does he seem dangerous?" People were so odd about Matthew, she didn't understand it. Granted, he had been decidedly strange after the Games, refusing to return to school, running around the fields and forest at night as though demons were chasing him, punching and hitting anyone who dared lay a hand on him… He'd been much better the last few years. "Papa says he's past his troubles. And Mary says he plans to let us girls actually do things so come on." She waited a moment. "You can tell your da I ordered you in a high handed fashion if you like."
Gwen gave up at that point and nodded. "All right, but you know it will just be silly."
Sybil nodded but inside she wasn't so sure. She had been attending the hedge school since she was ten. Once a week, unless there was a holiday, she had attended and while it was fun to socialize with her friends, she didn't see how any of it was useful to surviving the Games. But of course the hedge school was usually taught by one of the more elderly lords of the District. Which led to stick fighting among the boys and the girls watching and flirting with the winners. The only reason she expected it to be different was that Cousin Matthew was a victor and had bluntly told her father that the only way he'd take the job was if he could make the class less pointless.
Hedge school, as far as the Peacekeepers knew, was for the upper class children of District ten to learn how to step into their positions as lords and ladies. Some dancing and etiquette and walks into the woods and fields to see how to be good landholders… Some of the teachers even spent the time going over the dances and courtesies just so they could say honestly that it was taught.
The school room was in the tithe barn. The servant children and the field workers went to their own school. District Ten provided grain and livestock for Panem, and the lords who ran the estates made sure the basic essentials got to the Capitol. Her father, being Earl of Grantham, ruled over a large swath of land. The estates all circled around the main town, although Granny said that wasn't true when she was a child, that some people had estates out closer to the edges of the district but the Peacekeepers had forced such endeavors closer to the center, with compensation granted of course.. Landholders were allowed to school their children in separate schools but based on what Gwen told her, there wasn't much difference except that the children of the poor were always encouraged to take up jobs on the estates as soon as they were able. The ones who waited to get their high school diplomas missed out on choice spots as gardeners, maids, footmen, or chauffeurs like Tom and ended as field hands, working in the grain fields or tending the beasts. Gwen, the daughter of a field hand and a stock worker, was lucky to have gotten a position as a maid at Downton. All her brothers and sisters looked up to her.
It made Sybil angry, truth be told. Gwen went to school for a half day, and worked herself to the bone before and after school just to protect her younger siblings from taking tesserae. Sybil had offered to help her, she got an allowance for things like hair ribbons and sugary treats, money that field workers like Gwen's parents never saw, but Gwen had said no, that it would cause trouble. Instead, she used most of her allowance to buy extra food for the orphans. She agreed with Gwen and Tom Bransom, it wasn't fair how everyone had to work so hard to get so little while the lords had lavish parties, and while the Capitol fattened itself on the meat and grain District Ten provided. The reality was that she was privileged and it angered her because she had done nothing to deserve it. Patrick had done nothing but be born close in blood to a lord and gotten out of fighting for the Capitol's pleasure. It angered her that her initiation into adult responsibilities had been her father taking her on a long walk when she turned twelve and gently explaining how careful she had to be in order to not draw attention, that the whole mess with Matthew and Patrick made it impossible for him to do anything save watch as the name of one of his daughters was drawn. The Capitol couldn't stop anyone from volunteering for the Games, but they frowned on the overseers to the peasants attempting to circumvent their will. It was lucky James hadn't actually kept his side of the bargain he made with Matthew because the Capitol could have construed it as attempting to subvert the Games, a form of treason.
She took a seat next to Gwen, noting how there were definitely more of the servant children there than normal. She was surprised that Matthew was sitting on the edge of the school master's desk, the sort of pose that usually led to the school master wielding his crop on the boy foolish enough to disrespect the master. Matthew looked faintly amused. That made Sybil wary. Matthew rarely showed up for family events but she knew from experience that a slight smile could mean he was amused, or that he was about to say or do something utterly vile. She was also surprised to see Mary, sitting in the corner, dressed in hunting clothes, including breeches instead of a skirt. Mary hadn't mentioned helping Matthew, but then, Mary and Matthew liked to pretend no one noticed that they didn't hate each other despite their snipping.
"Everybody needs to grab a seat," Matthew said suddenly. Sybil wasn't surprised to see everyone move quickly. Matthew waited until they were all seated to stand up and take a position in front of the class. "So," he said, projecting well to the back of the room, "I'm not going to insult you all by pretending you don't know that I am Matthew Crawley, District Ten's most recent victor in the Hunger Games. I mean, you were all required to watch my games, correct?" A few of the braver teens nodded. Matthew smirked and resumed his seat sitting on top of the desk. "Why don't we get all the awkwardness out of the way. Raise your hands if you've been told by your parents, or a teacher, or someone at the pub, that I am quite mad?"
Everyone looked around at each other nervously. No one raised their hands. Matthew actually laughed. "So this is a room full of liars, I see. Not a one of you has heard this?" He started to eye them. "I mean, even I've heard the rumors. Let's see… I heard the games drove me mad, that I didn't speak to anyone for a year. I howl at the moon when it's full, and if a good stock calf ends up torn to shreds, I'm usually the one to blame. The blood lust and the insanity just makes me do it… that and the full moon, of course." He waited a moment. "Come on, I've sure you know some good stories."
A boy shyly raised his hand. "My brother said you eat rats, like you did in the games, that you got a taste for it…"
"And you talk to graves and ghosts," another boy said. Suddenly everyone was willing to share their favorite stories about how crazy the victors were. It was clever, Sybil realized suddenly. She knew Matthew more than most and she could admit that she had been afraid of him the first few years after his games. He had changed, calmed down, and become less constantly angry but he also kept to himself. As each story got more and more outlandish, with Matthew chuckling and offering creative embellishments that even a small child wouldn't believe, it also broke down the barriers between them.
"Now," he said as the joking over the stories dropped off, " I know I am older than all of you, but I do remember this class. The boys would wrestle and playfight in front of the girls. Maybe sneak in some hand holding when teacher was breaking up a stickfight." Matthew's tone was pleasant. "So let's talk about the next awkward thing. Hitting each other with sticks is a fun game, but it isn't teaching you anything. It's certainly not fighting with a sword. Another raise of hands, please. How many people did I kill with a sword?"
After a long, long moment of silence, Sybil gave up and raised her hand. "You didn't kill anyone with a sword. You mostly used your hands, and tree limbs, and sharp rocks." She could remember Papa being worried at first that Matthew, who had been so much smaller than most of the competitors, had barely gotten away from the Cornucopia at the start of the game with any supplies, let alone a decent weapon but that had changed rather quickly. "You did give a good show with a quarterstaff." His second kill in the games was him taking out a Career from District Two that never suspected that a staff could trump a sword. Papa liked to harp on that when he gave her lessons in quarterstaff.
"Thank you Lady Sybil," Matthew said easily. "However, you'll also remember that Marcello would have easily overpowered me if he hadn't forgotten he was near a cliff. My skill at staves had very little to do with it. Which brings me to a point I need to make. I am not a Career tribute, and neither are you. If, god forbid, one or two of you are chosen, if you make it out alive, it will be mostly luck that saves you. I won't be teaching you how to use a sword, or a knife. The next Reaping is four months away." He crossed his arms. "What kills tributes?"
"Other tributes," Larry Grey muttered. A few of the boys snickered. So did Mary.
"Fair enough," Matthew said easily. "But let's do a little thinking about it. Who dies first? Anyone who is too slow, am I right? Anyone too small who gets the silly idea the big kids won't notice them." Sybil found herself nodding. The people always just nodded sadly when a young tribute was chosen. Matthew had been an oddity, it was usually a tribute with their full growth that won the games. The slow, mentally and physically, were usually cut down in minutes. Just last year, there had been a girl with a limp who had barely made it off the starting pad before she was cut down. Matthew gave the younger teens an unpleasant look. "I can't help you there. All I can tell you is that I didn't become six foot tall until a good year after my games. It's not impossible. But… here are the real things that kill tributes. Number one, lack of water. You will be running constantly. You do not know what being thirsty is. Raise of hands, where are the closest sources of water to this building?" He waited just a moment and then rattled off every spigot, toilet, well, stream, ditch, pond, and spring within a mile. It was exhausting to listen to. He gave them all a glare. "You don't know what being thirsty is. Your first bit of homework is to open your eyes and find out where the water is. Water will keep you alive. Food keeps you alive," he looked around the room pointedly, "and I suspect a good two thirds of you have no idea where the food on your plate comes from. So I will teach you about food. Finding food, not eating poisonous things… Tributes die all the time from starvation and eating poisonous things. We're also going to talk about finding shelter. Now today's class is here, but next Saturday, we will be walking about the wood line. That means I expect appropriate clothes, and shoes. Lady Mary, please stand up."
Sybil watched as Mary stepped out in front of the class. Matthew gestured to her hunting clothes. "I know some of you ladies will gristle at the idea of getting into hunting clothes, breeches in particular, but if you are chosen for the games, it will mean trousers of some sort."
If not worse, Sybil thought. Four years ago, the first year she was eligible for the Reaping, the Arena had been nothing but sand dunes, water holes and oasis's and the tributes wore nothing but skin tight underpants and t-shirts that left nothing to the imagination. Those Games had been brutally short. She saw Gwen frown and immediately knew the problem. "I have an old pair," she whispered reassuringly, "and we're the same size."
Cousin Matthew seemed to understand the problem as well. "I know some of you may not have hunting clothes, because Lord Grantham, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't take female servants hunting, and some of you ladies may not be allowed by your parents." Matthew held up a clipboard with paper. "Just write your name down. My mother enjoys sewing and my victor's stipend has to be spent somewhere. Now, let's talk about food. I assume you all enjoy eating. Do you know, I don't even remember what that rat tasted like because I was too delighted to get something to eat…"
0o0o0o0
It was odd to listen to, Mary thought as she watched Matthew explain all the secret sources of food in and around the tithe barn. She knew he thought about the Games, he had told her once that his first thoughts on waking and his last thoughts before going to sleep were about the Games. It just never occurred to her that even eight years later, he was still so deeply enwrapped by it that he kept himself constantly aware of things. But, as she thought about it, it was always there. He rarely turned his back on someone he didn't trust, and she knew he barely trusted anyone at all.
It was also odd to see him interact with people without all the anger. She knew that side of him existed. Hardly anyone seemed to remember that Matthew had been funny, and had liked to joke with his friends. All people ever seemed to remember was the vicious killings, and Matthew beating up Cousin James in the street, and the many, many fights that started so innocently. Innocent if one didn't realize that someone touching you from behind in the Games meant they were about to cut your throat. She watched with amusement as he dismissed the teens, firmly reminding them that he planned to test them next Saturday on what he had taught them. "You know," she said brightly, "I never would have thought it but you're a very good teacher."
"Well, I suspect I am a grand novelty, right now," Matthew said easily. "Thank you for agreeing to come. I think it made the girls more comfortable. Would you consider coming next week?"
"I would," she said. "It was actually quite interesting."
"It won't save any of them," he said quickly, "but at least I might not have to watch one of them die from dehydration because they have no idea that plants hold water. And thank you for offering to help with the girls clothes."
"I was curious why it was so important to you," she said after a moment. She had no doubt she'd be getting angry questions from angry fathers the next day in church as to why young Crawley wanted their lady daughters cavorting in the woods in hunting breeches.
He shrugged. "I was in the training center with Lavinia the first day and she was so…. Not herself. I mean, you remember her from school, don't you? Always defending the little children at recess from bullies."
"She was always shaking her finger at me, as I recall," Mary said. She had been in Matthew's grade until he went to the Games, and Lavinia had been a year ahead.
Matthew smiled as he gathered up his papers. "You were a bit of a bossy tyrant, Mary. And Lavinia had never been shy but she was glued to my side that day and when I asked her why… She told me she was embarrassed because she was wearing trousers like a boy. She was so focused on that, I doubt she heard a word any of the instructors said to her. A girl like you, or Sybil, it wouldn't be a problem, but look at the scullery maid Daisy or your sister's maid Gwen, or half the little girls from estates where their fathers aren't as open minded as yours. Better they get it out of their system now than when they're in the Training Center and need to pay attention." He took a deep breath. "The trap that I set, that killed Lace from District One? I learned that in the Training Center on the first day. Lavinia was bigger than me. If she had been paying attention that first day, instead of being upset about being seen by men in trousers, she might have lived to the end."
She had heard that reasoning before, and knew better than to indulge it. "If I hadn't demanded Papa teach me the quarterstaff, he never would have picked you to partner with me, and you never would have killed Marcello." Quarterstaff was technically forbidden but it was impossible for the Peacekeepers to police every broom handle and large pole. She had demanded to be taught when she followed her father, Cousin James, and Patrick into the woods one day and saw what they were doing. She realized long after the whole mess that Cousin James had been against her learning, and her father had recruited Matthew as her partner because he wanted to do something helpful for Cousin Reginald who was too old and infirm to do more than walk to and from the medical clinic. It was nicely spiteful to Cousin James as well.
After a moment, he smiled slightly. "I'm lucky your name wasn't called. I seem to recall always losing to you."
"I seem to recall you letting me win," she replied. "I also seem to recall I was taller than you. And you used the foot sweep on Marcello that Papa thought was so clever and that you never used on me."
"Is your father showing Sybil?" He seemed genuinely curious.
"We both are. You should come." For more than just because she wanted it. Edith had never found an interest, but Sybil was wickedly good at it. Her father was hard pressed to keep up and Mary could admit that her little sister was better at it. "I know you still do the forms. She could use a bigger, younger practice partner."
Matthew shook his head. "You know what happens. I can't take the chance. It was lucky the last time that I didn't hurt you."
After a moment, she nodded. It wasn't luck, he had lost control the one time they had tried practicing staves after returning from the games, but he had stopped himself in time. She suspected he was better, with years to process it, but she wasn't going to press. "At least come to dinner tonight. You know Papa will have questions about today. And since it's short notice, and since your mother has so much sewing to do, she won't be able to make it so you'll be able to have more than a sip of wine." It was a joke between them, an old joke. Matthew rarely drank, partly because his mother worried rather openly that he would fall into a liquor barrel and slowly drown himself like Dickie his fellow victor. It also made him more likely to react badly to people touching him, so he was quite careful. On his trips to the Capitol, he had told her that it was quite the joke of the people who favored him with invites to their little parties and gatherings that he was still so naïve and innocent about alcohol that he was childishly easy to get falling down drunk.
"She has reason to worry, you know," he said after a moment. "Believe me when I tell you, a gathering of victors can usually count on at least a third of the participants being constantly drunk. And good lord, you should see the District Five victors. It really is quite sad." He hesitated. "Have you talked to Sybil? About the tesserae?"
"I did, and after she got done telling me it was nobody's business but hers, she said she was using her allowance because she feels terrible that she lives in privilege while the peasants the stock workers go hungry." She held up her hand before he could protest. "Yes, I told her how stupid she was being and not to talk that way in school. Apparently her secret boyfriend the chauffer agrees with me as well. So maybe she'll listen."
"I like him," Matthew said after a moment. "He fixed Mother's car when it was being so unpredictable. I assume your father still has no idea?"
Mary waved her hand. "He assumes that once she's past the Reaping and can start to make real plans, that she'll come to her senses and do her duty."
"And marry Larry Grey?" Matthew laughed. "Does she know she has to marry that little wart? Perhaps I will come to dinner and make good my plan to flirt with her, just so she knows how much worse it could be."
"You will come to dinner, but if you flirt with Sybil, I will get terribly jealous and I will have to challenge you at staves." She took his hand.
"Then your father would beat me to death for hurting his daughter."
"Unlikely. Remember, I always was the winner in our battles."