Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 3
The next two days pass in relative silence. The Dowager is busy exerting her significant feudal influence throughout the village. She relates to her servants the correct version of events, and encourages them to spread this story around, so as to provide counter narrative. She pulls patronage from any business that she hears favouring the less salubrious version of The Incident. Moreover, she plays her trump card, highlighting the deep xenophobia that the English are privy to. He is a foreigner. A foreigner. Could he truly be trusted against the word of an upstanding English woman? Surely it was that he tried and failed?
The Crawleys hold enough sway in Downton and indeed throughout Yorkshire, that soon enough the story is muddied or dismissed enough that no one is quite sure what has happened. Within the village, the combined efforts of Spratt, Carson and Molesley, operating sort of like a Butler's Mafia has kept the servants silent. This is not to say that Miss O' Brien or Thomas Barrow can be reigned in completely. They will both write letters to gossipy valets and ladies maids of their acquaintance highlighting that an incident certainly did occur.
The source of the spite of these two servants against the family is truly unknown. Partly, it is the fact that they are not in favour with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes. It is also the fact that the life of a servant is hard, and often thankless. There is great respect and privilege in a life of service – as Mr Carson will remind us – but it is still the life of a servant. Looking around at the luxurious and sometimes wasteful life of the aristocracy is difficult. Why should so few be allowed so much? In the case of Miss O'Brien and Thomas, these reflections only curdled inside, leading them to acting in spiteful ways. Truly, it is unfortunate.
Between the story that the Diplomat himself will carry to London, and the aspersions cast about by Thomas and O'Brien via the medium of the post, Violet Crawley's real work will begin when the family goes to London for Sybil's debut. Many will not believe the rumours, but enough will know them to greatly reduce Mary's chances at securing a suitable catch. For that is the way of this world, that the man's reputation is of less matter than character of the woman, which hangs by the finest of threads. Pamuk was right that Mary would always be somewhat damaged because there had been a man in her room.
For a wonder, Matthew Crawley has not heard hide nor hair of the incident. He was a little put out by Mary's interest in the Diplomat and his natural grumpiness has not made him much of a conversationalist. Matthew, too, is not a gregarious man, and does not invite the kind of confidences that lead to gossip. Thankfully, too, in the law offices of Harvel and Carter, gossip about aristocrats isn't quite the order of the day.
It helps also that something of an alliance has formed between Cora, Violet and Isobel. For Isobel, she is glad of the friendships of two other women. And, as a forward thinking sort of woman, she has taken Mary's side on principle. Lastly, Isobel can see that her son is partial to Mary, and that he is himself a little lonely. Mary, while a little cold, would be the ideal guide for Matthew when he becomes Earl of Grantham. Isobel is also sharp enough to realise that in marrying Mary, Matthew would gain a certain kind of acceptance in the eyes of the society that he has now joined. Isobel, in her own forthright way, has been encouraging Matthew to seek out Mary's company.
Mary Crawley has had a tough couple of days. She has avoided her Mama, because the Countess still feels a need to have some details of the night explained to her. Cora, out of fright and shame, has been more than a little harsh with Mary, and Robert, noting Mary's rudeness to her mother, has also not been speaking to her favourably.
Mary finds this untenable. Although nothing occurred between her and the Diplomat, Mary is still feeling deeply ashamed that she indulged in behaviour that caused him to be so bold in his advances. Mary does not have an older sister or confidant to tell her that flirting will never justify the aggressiveness of Pamuk's approach, and so she spends these two days in quiet reflection. Mary is not only ashamed, she is angry. She cannot but help but reflect on the fact that she must marry, and marry well, and that wealth and independence can never really be hers.
She takes herself to her favourite bench under the sycamore tree and indulges her woes in reading The Vindication of the Rights of Women, finding Wollenstonecraft's studied indignation a balm to her current mood. She is so lost in imagining herself as the independent heiress of Downton Abbey that she doesn't her Matthew until he is almost upon her. She looks up at him, still half-dreaming, and notices the piercing nature of his blue eyes. Eyes that seem inquisitive, firm and deeply determined. Determined? Why would Matthew look determined?
"Don't tell me that this is another scolding!" she exclaims, looking up at him defiantly.
"Not at all, Mother and I have come to tea. I saw you out here and thought I would say hello and escort you back to the house."
"And leave your mother to enter alone? Your actions smack of pity, Mr Crawley."
"They are most certainly not. Why is it that I find you in such a mood? I thought after all this time, and my efforts with the entail, your ill feeling towards me had dissipated."
"My ill feeling is not towards you."
"Then I don't see why we can't have a pleasant conversation. Talk about the weather. Talk about the book you are reading. And if your ill feeling is not towards me, then what is it that makes you so prickly?"
"My life annoys me. Not you. Here I am stuck in a waiting room, waiting to be married. Having really no other use than that. I cannot do anything, be anything but a model of virtue and grace. I suppose to me you are a symbol of the independence I cannot have." She shrugs and looks away, aware that she has been somewhat more forthright with him that she expected to be.
"You know I wish I could change things for you, Mary."
"I wish I could things for me, Matthew."
"You've never called me Matthew before."
"Don't get too excited. It is your name, is it not?" She turns a sardonic expression towards him, and looks him full in the face.
"Can we be friends, Lady Mary?"
"That is for the heavens to decide, Mr Crawley."
Standing, Mary preceded him to the house, her mood somewhat lifted. Matthew Crawley, who has in the duration of this conversation, actually started falling in love with Mary, has to stop himself from bounding into the house.