Hello! I was asked to give more time stamps for this story-so this part of the story takes place in late December 1916
XX
"Arm up Matthew." Joseph instructed. "You must move five steps forward prepared to strike."
Matthew grunted in frustration and returned to the starting point. He was still learning the positioning of body and blade. He gripped the foil in his gloved hand.
"You can't let your guard down," Joseph joked. "Even if you have an engagement this evening with your lady love. Don't go all moon eyed on me."
Matthew jibed easily back, "You're just jealous. We need to find you a girl."
Joseph snorted, "That'll be the day. I don't have a family fortune to lure in any potential intended."
Matthew frowned. He knew his friend was only having him on but he did not like thinking that a woman would have him only because of the title and money now to be his by the tragedy of the heir dying in this endless war.
Matthew leaned forward with the sword. "I have you know Lavinia accepted my hand without knowing anything about my meeting with Lord Grantham."
"Then you have certainly found a rare jewel." Joseph conceded.
Matthew twisted the foil in his fingers and resumed the on-guard position. "I have indeed."
That very same evening he left the law offices of Murray and Murray he had dinner with the Swires. Reggie left the young couple alone to take a telephone call in his office. Matthew had turned to Lavinia on the sofa they shared in the sitting room and opened his hand for her to take. He had been well aware that she might say no. She had every right to refuse as they had only known each other a few months and she didn't really know what his prospects entailed beyond a small stipend as a tutor. But she was so kind hearted and unfazed by his condition. Matthew had asked for her hand in marriage and Lavinia had accepted. Mr. Swire had returned just in time to congratulate the happy couple.
It was only after a subsequent dinner did he let on about his inheritance. He heard Lavinia's intake of breath as she gasped. She clasped his hand and said nervously, "Oh my goodness."
"You will be a poor tutor's wife long before you are a countess," he had tried say with a certain self-deprecation. "So we'll have a lot of time to adjust."
He never did disclose that the proposal came about only because Grantham had gotten under his skin and because he hated appearing deficient and nothing but a burden on the Crawley family. It was not the best reason to extend an offer of marriage. But he knew she was terribly fond of him. She was always so sweet, so supportive. And he was tender hearted in return. They'd make a good match.
He knew he was lucky. He had found someone who wanted to share his life. He suppressed any doubts he had about Lavinia's reasons for saying yes. Or his own deception in anticipating her acceptance.
XX
"Mary have you seen Edith?" Sybil was dressed in her VAD uniform and had a bundle of sheets in her arm. "She said she was going to library but hasn't returned."
"She went to fetch a book for that one in the cot there I think?" And she pointed to man in the corner of the salon.
"Lt. Fletcher?" Sybil admired the young man who had become injured in saving the life of a private by shoving him out of the way of an incoming shell.
Mary shrugged languidly. "If you say so."
Sybil ignored her sister's ennui. It was good of Mary to pitch in at all considering her recent bereavement. Not that she truly loved Patrick. Everyone knew that. She had worn half black for a few weeks but was now in colour again, wearing a muted blue check blouse and long skirt. It seemed it was lack of anything else to occupy her time that led her to helping out with the convalescent home.
The announcement of Matthew Crawley as the next heir had come as quite the shock to the family. Sybil had not spoken to him at the afternoon party he and his mother had attended, but she had observed Mary and Matthew returning together from the direction of the monk's garden. Mary had appeared flustered but kept it hidden with a façade of indifference and the condescension of noblesse oblige towards the less fortunate.
Sybil knew her sister well. The more she appeared heartless, the more she was actually fascinated. And she was particularly cool towards Matthew Crawley after their reappearance.
At some point she'd have to ask Mary what had happened in that walk in the woods.
"Sybil." Mary's voice cut through her thoughts. "why are you spending so much time near the garage recently?"
Mary had promised Granny Violet to inquire about the potential of Sybil having a secret passion for the chauffeur. It did seem possible as Sybil was ever rebellious. At first it was her charities and now the nursing.
"Why do you want to know? Why does anyone go to the garage?" Sybil bit her lip, knowing that denial gave her away. Mary was too astute to fall for that.
"I go to order the car of course. Don't be evasive Sybil."
"I'm not." Sybil stuck her jaw out. "Branson is a person. He can discuss things other than where his employers wish to plan a journey."
"But not with you."
"Times are changing. You say so yourself." Sybil decided on another tactic. "You can do what you want with whom you want. Go to parties in London barely six weeks after your fiancée was killed but I must be interrogated for speaking civilly to the chauffeur."
Mary clicked her tongue and snapped, "It's the Soldiers' and Sailors' Wives Club. Not some sordid Roman Bacchanalia. And Mama agreed I should go. It's unseemly nowadays to be in mourning too long what with so many dead. The Sketch said elaborate mourning was in the worst taste and a morbid exaggeration of sorrow."
"Does she know it came as the result of knowing Lt. Commander Foyle would be on leave?"
Her sister rounded her mouth but said nothing.
"I didn't think so." Sybil said triumphant. "So I'm not the only one keeping secrets."
And before Mary could recover sufficiently to riposte Sybil walked back into the music room to deliver the sheets to matron.
XX
"That was delicious." Matthew wiped the side of his mouth and then put the linen down next to the plate.
"We're very lucky to have Mrs. Asprey." Lavinia said. "She's been with us for years."
Reggie explained further. "Ever since my wife died of cholera in India and we returned to England. Lavinia was quite young and doesn't remember much but she used to spend hours in the kitchen with Mrs. Asprey helping her make scones which she'd then serve to me at tea, bringing in the tray herself and placing it down on the table and waiting for me to eat. Her eyes wide and bright in anticipation."
"I hoped they weren't hard as rocks." Lavinia replied. "I must have been only four or five."
"Even if they were I'd never have said," her father answered sweetly, then riposted "besides Mrs. Asprey would never let that escape her notice."
They both laughed at the memory.
Matthew could hear such emotion in the older man's voice. Such affection for his daughter. The connection between them was strong. Very much like his own mother and himself. Bound by the sharing of grief. Isobel was expected on the train the next day where she would then join Matthew for dinner at the Swire's London Kensington residence. She had taken the news of their engagement in stride as far as Matthew could tell. He had told her over the telephone where they had then made plans to meet in the capitol.
"When was this?" He asked, knowing only that Lavinia had told him she had not been born in England when they first got acquainted.
"1900 I believe. We returned from India in 1899. I gave up my position with the civil service and returned to private practice in London. Lavinia went to a day school for girls." Reggie's voice faltered.
"I'm sorry." Matthew's brow knitted. "I didn't mean to bring up sensitive memories."
"It's fine my boy." Reggie said. "You are curious as you should be. I went out to India with the ICS with my university flat mate Clive Pulbrook. I met and married Lavinia's mother there. He stayed on when we returned."
"Do you remember anything about your childhood in India?" Matthew asked Lavinia.
"Not really. I remember reading The Little Princess when I was at school and imaging myself as Sara Crewe."
"I did much the same with Kipling's Kim." Matthew mused. "Such adventures I had in my head trading horses in disguise as a vagabond." He paused, "I had a braille copy of that book. Mother said I'd wear down the embossed characters with all the times I read it."
Lavinia reached over to clasp Matthew's hand. "I might be able to find a piece of jewelry my mother wore in India for my gown. Something old or blue perhaps."
Matthew gave a broad smile. "I can't wait. I know Mother may think we're rushing things but I don't see any point in waiting."
"We've already had Hopkins who helps out with about everything around here to start clearing the larger of the spare bedrooms for us to use when we return from the honeymoon." Lavinia said. "I told him to make sure there was not a lot of clutter to make it easier for you to get around."
Matthew bit his lip and tried not to appear put out. It was very kind of her to think about such practicalities. But it also was yet another reminder he could not afford rooms of their own. Indeed Lavinia's marriage settlement would be far more than any income he would make either at St. Dunstan's or at Cambridge.
It simply made him melancholy at a time he was supposed to be at his happiest. He had found a lovely bride. But as with the Crawley inheritance, it hit home he still had no real autonomy. He would always have to depend on the benevolence of others. And never show at any time anything other than gratitude.
He grew in understanding why so many others became recluses, simply giving up becoming a part of the greater world.
Shaking those gloomy thoughts off, he said his good-bye reminding Lavinia of his mother's impending arrival. "She'll have dinner with us and then we're to go to yet another of her charities. This one for soldiers and sailors." Matthew said with a touch of resigned good humor. "I told her we'd buy plenty of raffle tickets."
"I look forward to seeing her again."
Matthew gave Lavinia a kiss on her knuckles and a squeeze of her hand while her father hailed a cab. He scraped his cane on the sidewalk until he found the curb. "I can find my own way in." He said to the cab driver. And he reached out his hand to find the door.
He got inside and gave directions back to the hostel. Upon arrival he walked upstairs to his room.
Taking off his coat and hat, Matthew listened once again to Joseph reciting the same sonnet from Milton he said every night before bedtime.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."
This was a poem known to Matthew. Ever since going blind well-meaning teachers would recite passages, particularly the last line, thinking they were being kind when it only reinforced the notion his sole purpose in life was to accept that his station was now that akin to a beggar, awaiting without rancor for the charity of others. Grateful for the crumbs they bestowed.
That was not what the poem actually intended but Matthew found it impossible to engage in any real conversation about blindness to those who were sighted. There was an insufferable air of condescension about them he usually gave up. So here at St. Dunstan's he and Joseph had many a long, sometimes heated debate as to what was the true purpose of the poem, for their own lives as well as how the world saw them.
This night Matthew returned from the bathroom down the hallway in his pyjamas. Putting aside his blanket on the bed, he sat down on the chair next to it and pulled off his slippers. He said, "Don't you ever get frustrated with how much we are denied in life?"
Joseph always took the approach that it was his lot in life to be blind. So he responded, "I need to accept it and do as Milton instructed which is 'God doth not need either man's work nor his own gifts' to serve Him well. And that to do God's bidding is to bear my burden with patience and dignity."
Matthew knew that Joseph intended a career in the church. "But don't you see any hypocrisy in that the Anglican church doesn't accept blind priests?"
"Not at all." Joseph justified. "There are things I cannot do. But I can find my way as a lay minister perhaps. Or a Sunday school teacher."
To Matthew that would be the epitome of vexation but for Joseph the parable set out in Matthew 25 was clear for him. He was to use his "talent," his blindness, in the service of others, in the glory of God.
"Of course," Joseph would say to Matthew. "you went blind like Milton. So you had a before and after. How to consider "'how my life is spent ere half my days.'"
"I was 13 not 42." Matthew responded. "He had already had a long life using his intelligence in the government of Oliver Cromwell. He found it difficult to know how he could work once he went blind. I think he's telling himself it's fine to do nothing but he really wants to still be useful. And indeed he did his best work after he went blind. He dictated "Paradise Lost" to a series of secretaries in his employ."
"So you're afraid of not accomplishing anything important?" Joseph asked.
"I feel as though I was meant for one kind of life and have gotten stuck rather with another." Matthew admitted. "And it's all well and good to say I can still be useful, but when you had your sight and then it was taken away for nothing you have done, it feels as if I've been cheated out of the life I was meant to have."
"But you just said Milton did his best work after he went blind."
Matthew shifted in the chair by his bed. "But he was a genius poet. I wanted to be a lawyer. He could do his work at home. The Inns of Court don't want blind advocates."
"You've managed so far." Joseph reasoned. "And you're only 24. Don't sell your future short."
"Yes." Matthew said politely but it was mostly because he didn't want to start an argument. He was very good at giving the attitude to others that his blindness didn't matter to him and that he could get on in life. But his internal struggle was much more at odds with his public demeanour. At times he seethed in anger about all that had been taken from him.
And then he realized there was absolutely nothing to be done about it.
XX
Mary fidgeted with her earring. She was at Painswick House under her aunt's chaperoning duty. The Soldier's and Sailor's Club party and raffle was that evening. Anna removed the curling iron and twisted the ringlet with her fingers so it curled elegantly down Mary's cheek.
"That's lovely, Anna." Mary moved her face closer to the mirror. Her hair was up, but no elaborate French twists or Newport knots and certainly no extravagant pins or jewels.
"I've been practicing with these new hairstyles." Anna examined her handiwork. "It's more subdued but still sophisticated."
"Quite lovely." Mary approved. "You're a genius with hair."
"Thank you, milady."
"Are you off tomorrow on your mission to help out Mrs. Patmore?" Mary stood up and selected a wrap. "She's to have her procedure soon, right?"
"In two days. I've already seen her settled at the doctor's and I'm to check on her every day until we return to Yorkshire."
"Will she travel back with us?"
"No. It will be about a fortnight recovery. I'm to come back and fetch her then."
Mary nodded and thought no more about it. Her aunt was downstairs waiting for her. She hoped to see Tony at the party. He was rather full of himself, Mary admitted. But he was titled and therefore a proper suitor in her father's eyes but without the encumbrance of being forced upon her by him. The knowledge that a blind man was to be his heir had unsettled her father a great deal. One benefit of that however was that she had no worries about being forced to marry her distant cousin Matthew Crawley.
Not that she ever had such a thought. Although recently she found herself musing on what type of woman would marry a blind man. She didn't know Lavinia Swire at all, not surprising given they traveled in very different social circles. But she imagined her to be a shy, retiring girl. Not much traveled in the world and one submissive to tending to the needs of her family.
Was that the kind of woman Matthew wanted? A caretaker more than a wife? Or was that the best he could expect and so grabbed at the opportunity that any woman would want him.
It made her sad to think so as he seemed such an intelligent man. Cheeky really with his request to touch her face.
She flushed red at the memory.
Would she have wanted him if circumstances were different? Her papa would not want her burdened with such a husband. He hardly wanted the man as his heir but there was nothing to be done about it.
No, Mary concluded, she and Tony made a much better match. She was too much aware of society's expectations for her to accept attentions from anyone who'd be nothing more than the object of pity.
Mary met her aunt at the door and the two women walked outside to the waiting cab to take them to the charity event.
XX
Matthew had woken with a headache the day his mother arrived by train earlier that morning. He had some duties to fulfill at the hostel so after she stopped by top tell him she had arrived they made plans to meet after his work day was over and he had dressed for dinner at the Swire's. He wore a badge from St. Dunstan's now and in daytime dark glasses to make sure he would have no further incidents like the white feather.
Headaches were one of the side effects of the pituitary tumour. He had lived with them ever since the diagnosis at thirteen. This one was particularly painful, making his head throb like a thousand drums played inside his head. Did it mean the tumour was worsening? He shoved that thought aside for the moment as he deftly tied the bow tie while seated on the chair in his room at St. Dunstan's. It had been one of the tasks he had set himself as an adolescent to be independent, managing after several failures to knot and affix the tie around his collar and with touch know that it was even and straight.
His mother had brought his dinner jacket with peaked lapel, matching trousers, shoes, and dark tie along with her when she arrived from Manchester. She dropped them off with Matthew where he then told her he'd be along that evening in a taxi to pick her up from the hotel for their dinner. All he had to do was get through the evening and see his mother onto the morning train and then he could go see Dr. Trimble the eye specialist. He'd not tell his mother or Lavinia for fear of worrying them unnecessarily.
Matthew rummaged through the top drawer of the night table to find the paracetamol. He swallowed two with a glass of water and finished dressing.
"Are you sure you don't want to come along? The Swire's would welcome you for dinner and we could all go along to this charity thing." Matthew asked Joseph even though he knew the answer. Joseph always spent the evenings in quiet contemplation with his braille bible.
"Maybe next time." Joseph responded, pausing his fingers in mid-sentence to add "Have a good time."
"I'll try." Matthew rubbed his aching brow and left.
After a quiet meal Reggie begged off attending the charity event as well claiming he had some work to do. Lavinia told Matthew in the cab that he would probably go to bed. He wasn't feeling well at all but was too stubborn to admit it.
"Like someone else I know." Lavinia's voice gave away her gentle rebuke to Matthew. "I know you're trying to hide it."
"I'm fine." He protested mildly. "I feel better after eating."
"We won't stay long." His mother assured. "I just need to make an appearance and buy some tickets for the association in Manchester. I said I would."
Matthew let the two women fuss over him until the taxi cab arrived at Lady McIntosh's house. He felt the car jerk forward as the driver stepped on the brakes. As soon as the cabbie opened the passenger side Matthew got out and stood beside the door, putting his hand out to help Lavinia and Isobel down the step to the pavement.
"Which way?" Matthew reached out with his cane to step towards the house. With the other Lavinia accepted his arm.
His mother led them towards the entrance.
Once inside, and after greeting the widowed president of the Sailors and Soldiers Club of London, Lavinia and his mother were whisked away to purchase their charity tickets.
Matthew told them to go along, he'd sit right here by the fire until they returned.
The sounds of the party buzzed in his head. People talking, some kind of music playing in a distant room. A waiter came by to ask if he wanted anything, but he said no. He had been lying to Lavinia earlier. This headache would not subside. It pounded like bellows.
The quiet corner helped. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temple.
Abruptly he felt a great weight lift off his skull. It was as if the headache just disappeared.
Matthew sighed in relief but did not lift his head, simply letting his body relax from the release of pain.
XX
"Mary dear," Lady McIntosh bowed her head in a friendly fashion towards her the Crawley women. "Rosamund told me you were in London. So good of you to come after your recent tragedy. We must move forward however, place our own needs aside in lieu of the greater good." And then she moved off in a swirl of chiffon towards another guest.
Mary hardly had a chance to nod politely.
Rosamund spikely observed, "She's ever on the latest thing. And unfortunately, these days it's to be seen tending to the needs of our men in khaki even if one wonders if it's only to get high ranking generals and government officials to attend her soirees."
"I thought she was your friend?" Mary knew her aunt was acquainted with all the best families in London.
"She's useful." Rosamund admitted. "Which sometimes is more important." She lifted one of the proffered champagne flutes from the waiter's tray. "For example, I thought temperance was the rule of the day to sign the pledge to 'Follow the king' that no wines or spirts would be consumed." Rosamund took a sip. "but she knows most of these people show up just to consume her ill-gotten goods."
She gave one to Mary. Rosamund held it up to toast, "Dutch courage," she smirked at Mary. "We're going to need it." She dipped her head towards the return of Lady McIntosh barreling down to make sure they bought plenty of raffle tickets.
Mary managed to escape the duchess's grasp by being rescued by Lord Gillingham who approached and politely begged the duchess that Mary be allowed to greet his mother across the room.
She was released.
"Is your mother really here?" Mary asked as they walked into the salon.
"Always make a lie as truthful as possible." Tony winked. "She wanted to come but was waylaid by my ailing aunt at the last minute. Let's get away while we can."
Mary followed in his wake around the room. She always felt an ornament decorating Tony's arm and enhancing his status, a means to an end despite all his affected attentions.
And she really had no excuse as she was using him as well. She wanted to get away from the confines of Downton and the grumblings of her father about the new heir, about how his home had been overtaken without his consent, and about how he had no purpose in the war.
Mingling with some acquaintances, she got separated from Tony. Walking back to retrace her steps she took a corner and stopped short, taken completely by surprise finding Matthew semi-hidden sitting on a chair beside the fireplace in the library alcove.
XX
He felt a presence in front of him.
"Lavinia?" He called out. But the scent was wrong.
The voice responded in familiar tones. "It's Cousin Mary. Matthew, are you feeling well? You look very pale." She leaned down in front of him.
As soon as she spoke, without her needing to identify herself, he knew who she was. His heart thumped faster at her dulcet tone. A shiver ran down his body. Would he ever not respond like that when this woman was in his presence?
Matthew lifted his head and opened his eyes. "I had a bit of a headache but I seem better all of a sudden."
And then he blinked as Mary's face came into focus. Details that left him dumbfound. Her expression was etched with concern. Her hair swept back with a simple pin. She was wearing a dark red dress with wrap.
She had brown eyes.
His mouth fell open. He blinked rapidly. Closed his eyes and opened them again. She was still there looking concerned. Matthew tried to stand but he was completely disoriented. The room swam around him in waves of colour and shade.
He lost his footing but she caught his arm and helped him back down onto the chair.
"Matthew?" Mary could swear that his eyes no longer held the vacant look she remembered from his visit to Downton.
He reached out towards her and then yanked his hand back towards his body. Matthew longed to touch her. To make sure this was not a dream.
But it wasn't a dream. His vision had truly returned and he had no right to take such a liberty.
She was so very beautiful.
He could see her. He could actually see her.
Matthew's mind went completely blank. He had no idea how to proceed. Many moments passed, how many he had no idea. He put his hand out in front of his face. He could see his hand. He flexed it into a fist and back out to a splayed position. Finally he licked his lips and tried to stutter out an answer. "I… I…" Nothing more. His lips moved but nothing came out.
His eyes returned to rest upon Mary's face. In the midst of sensory chaos, he found his peace.
"Do you see me?" Mary finally got up the nerve to ask.
Matthew needed to regain his composure. "Yes." He finally managed to say in a hoarse whisper. "I can see. I … I don't know how… but I can see."
Mary's lips curved into an ecstatic smile. "That's wonderful."
He chuckled. "I suppose it is." Matthew grinned cheekily. He could hardly believe this was happening. "Perhaps you should pinch me. I think I must be dreaming."
Mary had to look away so she could regain her composure. He was so very good looking when he replaced his melancholy with happiness.
They shared a private laugh.
And then Matthew's eyes went wide. He remembered his mother and fiancée. He had been so wrapped up in drinking in Mary's presence he had quite forgotten anything else existed.
"Oh my God I have to find my mother." He bolted upright. This time the room, though still swaying, was coming into focus. He could make out the faces of the partygoers. Would he remember what his mother looked like? Ten years after last seeing her?
His face paled once more.
Mary sensed he still needed a few minutes to convince himself all this was true. "May I offer my congratulations on your engagement." Mary's voice returned to the prescribed tone one would use to a distant relation.
Their moment of familiarity was lost.
They both knew it.
Matthew looked at Mary. He was keenly aware of her every movement, she curled a ringlet around her ear. She wore a string of pearls around a slender neck.
His eyes darted around the room. "Would you like to meet her?"
Mary demurred, knowing the moment of revelation should be a private one. "It's far too noisy and crowded. Bring her to Downton when Papa invites you for dinner. He said he was going to do so before the new year. He'll be so pleased…"
Matthew blurted out "Don't tell him quite yet. I don't want him given false hope. I'm going to see my specialist tomorrow."
Mary wiped a finger across her mouth and tightened her lips. "No names no pack drill," She made a move to leave but turned back. They shared one last look into each other's eyes. "Such good luck," Mary whispered against his ear and gave his cheek a kiss. Then she left, returning to the throng of invited guests.
Did any of that actually happen?
Is any of this really happening? Matthew refused to accept this was a temporary thing. A fluke of fate that gave him hope only to have it snatched away.
His cheek still tingled from Mary's lips. He felt his face flush at the memory. He still followed her with his eyes. He couldn't help himself.
A man asserted himself into Mary's path making her stop. She accepted his proffered arm and the two were swept away into the crowd. He was a naval officer as far as Matthew could tell, the uniform darker and a different colour than the army.
Matthew's face soured slightly but it brought him back to reality. He then he shook his head. He had to pull himself together and try to find his family.
XX
All bets are off now … all sorts of things are going to change. I hope to stay with us!
From wikipedia: When I Consider How My Light is Spent" is one of the best known of the sonnets of John Milton (d. 1674). The last three lines (concluding with "They also serve who only stand and wait.") are particularly well known, though rarely quoted in context.
The sonnet was first published in Milton's 1673 Poems. In his autograph notebook (known as the "Trinity Manuscript" from its location in the Wren Library of Trinity College, Cambridge), Milton gave the sonnet the number 19, but in the published book it was numbered 16 (see Kelley, 1956;[1] Revard, 2009,[2] p. 569), so both numbers are in use for it. It is popularly given the title On His Blindness, but there is no evidence that Milton used this title; it was assigned a century later by Thomas Newton in his 1761 edition of Milton's poetry,[3] as was commonly done at the time by editors of posthumous collections
