Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, July 1912
Mary stepped outside into the warm sunshine and smiled. She had long ago learned not to count her blessings, but she could not help but feel quite fortunate just the same. Lady Philomena and her household were in London for the Season, so once again she was happily alone in the house. With free rein over the manor, she took the opportunity that morning to practice her baking, with a particular objective in mind. As Mary walked in the sunshine, it was hard for her not to shake her head at how she took pride in such a menial task that her old self would never have paid a thought to a few short years ago. For today she had baked her very first loaf of bread, her first three in fact, and she felt it was a marvelous accomplishment. Baking was shockingly fun. Before, she found it domestic and common and a task for Mrs. Patmore, not her. However, now, after numerous lessons from Isobel and Mrs. Bird, Mary felt comfortable in the kitchen and that she was doing something productive and real, rather than an activity below her station.
This delectable treat tucked away safely in her basket was something she had created with her own hands, a symbol of her new independence and self-reliance. Mary hoped it would be a nice surprise for Dr. Crawley – an early birthday present of sorts. The idea had come to her rather out of the blue, and she always enjoyed a plan of hers coming to fruition. She walked briskly through Whitworth Park, smirking at the rambunctious children and their amused parents. The familiar walk to the hospital on Oxford Street was comfortable and pleasant, and Mary hoped she could arrive before the bread became cold.
She was only steps away from the large gothic building of the Royal Infirmary when her eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks. She ducked behind a large oak tree and remained still. Peeking around slowly, she watched Mr. Murray as he exited the hospital, his attention fixed on his pocket watch. The Grantham Family solicitor almost collided with a young mother pushing a pram. He apologized and tipped his hat and continued down the lane in the opposite direction. Mary watched him until he disappeared into a taxi down the street. She did not emerge from her hiding place until she was sure he was gone and her path would not cross with his. She willed herself to remain calm and to not let the sight of her family's lawyer affect her pleasant mood. She knew he was coming, of course. Lord Merton had notified Dr. Crawley just the other night of the lawyer's expected arrival. And yet, seeing Murray in the flesh in Manchester, in her city, at her hospital, caused her to become agitated and cross. He did not belong here. Any link to Downton Abbey did not belong here. Mary felt as though her family's claws were reaching out towards her across the country, hoping to ensnare her once again, and Matthew and his parents along with her. Mary was not one to plead with fate, and yet she felt this was a cruel twist in the life she now had. Her life at Downton Abbey was over with, finished. She had come too far to be pulled back now.
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, February 1911
Lord Merton escorted Mary down the hall and past numerous people sitting in the waiting area. The place felt strange and unfamiliar. It was much bigger than the cottage hospital in Downton Village, and moreover she never visited hospitals to begin with. Dr. Clarkson always came to the house whenever he was needed. Truthfully, Mary was not one to bother with doctors. She saw it as a form of weakness, to go running off to the old man for some cure whenever she had an itchy throat or a scrape from riding. Lady Mary Crawley did not ask for help. Lady Mary Crawley was a storm braver.
"I must be going," Lord Merton said distractedly. "You can just go on down this hall to that counter over there, Mary. Ask for Cassandra, she is expecting you."
She felt her temper rise at this extraordinarily brazen and contemptuous villainy. To take her in, assure her that he would step in where her parents would not and guard her, only to find out that he was imprisoning her away from his own home and getting her a job of all things! Her Godfather might as well of sold her to the circus.
"Well," Lord Merton said finally. "Good day, Mary."
He turned and walked briskly out of the hospital. Mary did not bother watching him go, her eyes fixed on the counter down the hall and the bustle of activity surrounding it. So many questions filtered through her mind, but she slowly realized that there were no answers that would appease her at the moment. She needed time to absorb the shocking events of the past days. She had not even been in Manchester for a full day and already her world was spinning. The truth however, was that Lord Merton was at least correct in that she had little to no options, at least for the moment. It was better to bide her time for now, go along with this harsh exile and try and make the most of it. She walked over to the counter, holding her head high. Regardless of what all of London Society thought of her, Lady Mary Crawley was not going to cower in front of a nurse.
Eventually, she found Cassandra, the nursing coordinator. She was a very tall, very thin and very unpleasant woman. Her critical gaze pierced through the stylish clothing Mary was wearing. She tried not to fidget. After all, the gaze of one critic was nothing compared to the hundreds of eyes that had assessed her during the Season, and Mary had passed that exam with flying colours, perhaps a little too successfully, she now thought. Mary felt the tendrils of her coiffure bun tickle her neck. Her hair was unraveling following the long train ride and the shock of what awaited her in Manchester, and she felt ashamed at her appearance. She had tried to fix it herself as Lady Grey's maid had been unavailable to assist her, however her attempt did not have the same firm hold as Anna's usual work. It was another reminder of how far she had fallen in such a brief time.
"You're the new one, aren't you? Brought here by our patron, Lord Merton? You will need to either change or pinup your trailing skirt," Cassandra said with disdain, glancing at Mary, then looking away even as she continued snarling at her. "This is not afternoon-tea at Marlborough House."
Mary was silent at the comment. It was uncouth. This woman had seen her for all of five seconds and was already acting horribly vindictive. She was clearly jealous, Mary decided. Apparently even the working class was not above being petty and callous.
"And in the future, a simple pompadour for your hair will do. There is no one to impress here with Grecian knots, even if they are fashionable. If I see your hair down even briefly, I'll slap a hair net on you from the supply room," Cassandra said, looking over a clipboard.
Mary swallowed the angry retort that was waiting to be unleashed.
Cassandra held out a folded apron of muslin cloth. "This should always be worn over your simple attire. You're an assistant, not a nurse, and you will dress and behave as such so no one mistakes you for someone who actually knows what she is doing."
When Mary reached for the item, she realized her hands were shaking, but she snatched the apron and remained silent, her lips pursed and her eyes still surprisingly dry. This woman had shown Mary more audacity than could be believed, but then Mary had grown used to the unimaginable happening to her lately. After Mary had pinned up her skirt, having no other clothes to change into, she started on her first task – counting out pills in the store room for various patients' dosages.
The activity was not enough of a mental challenge to distract her from the heartache of the last twenty-four hours. She couldn't help but see her family lined up in front of Downton Abbey just that morning as she was banished from her home. Mary thought of Sybil's tears, her sweet little sister; always so faithful. Even Edith and Granny were kind enough to express their incredulity at what had befallen her. But when her thoughts turned to her parents, she felt nothing but rage.
Lost in her sudden anger, Mary clumsily dropped the bottle she was pouring from and pills spread across the floor. She bit back her tears as she crouched to retrieve the pills. Was it really a short time ago that she was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham – destined to become Countess of one of the grandest Estates in Yorkshire? Now, here she was, squatting like a lowly kitchen maid and picking up pills off the floor. It would be so easy to give in and cry now, alone in this storeroom surrounded by a hospital full of strangers. She took several deep breaths as she collected the pills. No. She clung to the shreds of her fading resolve. Lady Mary Crawley would refuse to break until the bitter end.
She didn't hear the footsteps, but suddenly large polished black shoes were in her view. Mary looked up and saw a tall man standing over her. He wore a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. His very presence exuded authority, and he was clearly not just a doctor, but a high ranking member of the hospital surely. In any event, he was far above her in every way. Mary feared she was in for another lecture, and was not sure her composure could endure it. However, this grey-haired man smiled at her kindly, his bearded face compassionate as he bent down.
"Here, let me help you. They can be slippery little things, can't they?" he said warmly.
Mary only nodded her skin flushing as she searched his face for some hidden agenda or secret motive. Perhaps he was waiting for her to agree so he could chastise her for that as well?
"I'm Dr. Crawley," he said pleasantly. "Is this your first day?"
Mary paused as she heard his last name. Perhaps she had misheard him? Was this a ridiculous joke, for her to come all the way to Manchester and within hours of her arrival be greeted by someone with her own family name? And yet, Mary was weary of being suspicious and defensive. The doctor's tone of voice was calm and soothing, no doubt honed from dealing with anxious patients over his career. It was the first moment of equanimity she had experienced all day.
"It's nice to meet you, Doctor," she said quietly. "Yes, it's my first day. Thank you for your help." Mary retrieved the last fallen pill and stood up.
"I suspect you've been given this task by our lovely nursing coordinator. Don't be afraid of Cassandra. Her bark is worse than her bite," he said conspiratorially.
Mary smiled at his frankness. A kind man named Crawley? It still seemed absurd.
"Thank you," she said as he placed the pills he had retrieved for her into the tray in her hands.
"You're welcome," Dr. Crawley nodded. "Well, as you'll be working here, I should ask you…oh, I'm sorry. I don't know your name, yet."
"I'm Lady Mary Crawley," she said and shook his offered hand.
"Lady Mary Crawley," he repeated kindly. "How strange. I thought I knew everyone with our family name in Manchester."
"I've just arrived," Mary said, smiling politely to hide her apprehension. Now was not the time to offer explanations on exactly why she was in Manchester.
"I don't actually have any family here," she said guardedly.
"One of life's peculiar coincidences, then," Dr. Crawley smiled. "A bit of advice, Lady Mary. It may do you well to point out to others that you aren't related to me. I have been known to run afoul of more than my share of hospital rules. I wouldn't want my reputation to be a stain upon you," he laughed.
Mary could not help but smile. This man was remarkably down to earth and modest, despite being superior to someone in her position. To have a real conversation with a genuine person was a pleasure that Mary now realized she had been lacking for far too long.
"Well, as I was going to ask you, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley continued with enthusiasm, "Do you know of Madam Curie?"
All Mary could do was shake her head at this very strange question, although she was very intrigued. Anything to keep talking to Dr. Crawley and not go back to counting those damn pills was a welcome distraction.
"Mark my words, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said animatedly. "Madam Curie is going to win the Nobel Prize this year. And that will anger Cassandra greatly, for she had thought to be the first woman for such an award. So, whenever she causes you any difficulty, simply think about the disappointed look on her face when she is passed by."
Not just a smile, but a true laugh filtered from Mary at these jesting words. It was such a lighthearted tease, with no malice. And from her encounter with Cassandra she could see the merit in Dr. Crawley's words.
"There now," Dr. Crawley said. "That's better," he said noticing the change in her disposition.
"Reginald," a sharp but affectionate voice called from across the hospital hall, interrupting their conversation. "There you are. Come along now, Matthew is waiting."
Mary turned and saw a middle aged woman standing outside the store room, smiling kindly despite her previous firm tone to Dr. Crawley. Dr. Crawley stepped out into the hall and smiled back at her. This must be his wife, Mary thought, and she decided that they made a good pair. She idly wondered who was this Matthew that the woman referred to?
"Your timing is impeccable, my dear," Dr. Crawley said fondly.
"Lady Mary," he said, gently urging Mary to come over to the smiling woman. "Please meet my wife, Isobel. She is a senior nurse here at the hospital. Isobel, Lady Mary Crawley, our newest nurse's assistant."
"Lady Mary," Isobel nodded. "A newfound relation of ours?"
"Hello Mrs. Crawley," Mary nodded in reply. "No, I'm afraid not. We seem to share a name, is all."
"How interesting," Isobel smiled. "And what are you up to for today?"
Mary was somewhat surprised by the inquiry. Did this woman actually care what she was up to?
"Erm, well the nursing coordinator has given me a task in the storeroom, and I'm to report to her once I'm finished," Mary said, trying not to hide the disdain in her voice.
"Yes, Lady Mary is under the supervision of Cassandra, apparently. You would think the woman would realize that we require nurse's assistants of our own to…" Dr. Crawley suddenly grinned widely.
"Oh, Reggie," Isobel shook her head with amusement. "What are you playing at now?"
"Darling," he said taking his wife's hand, his voice warm and charming. "This young woman needs to be rescued from Cassandra's stockade and it seems to me that our department is woefully understaffed. Are you willing to take charge of her if I can arrange it?"
Isobel's eyebrows rose at the challenge. "Of course," she said confidently and without delay to her husband.
"I'm sorry, but I really don't have any experience at all working with…" Mary interjected.
"Well you won't get any experience unless you work at it," Isobel noted. "I'll teach you all that you need to know, Lady Mary." Isobel looked curiously at Mary's formal dress and pinned up skirt. "That is, if you are willing. Are you willing?"
Mary still had not grasped the idea that she would have to work at all, let alone on a regular basis. However, it was obvious that spending time with Isobel and Dr. Crawley was far more preferable than bearing the terror of Cassandra.
"Yes," Mary said boldly.
"Excellent! That's the spirit, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said with admiration. "It is all settled then."
"What is all settled, exactly?" a bemused voice called.
Mary turned to identify this new speaker. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. She recovered quickly and closed her mouth into a neutral expression, her eyes focused on the sight before her. The speaker was a young man with blond hair and blue eyes, who smiled as he approached them. The resemblance to Dr. Crawley was apparent, though his face was of course younger and more defined. Mary admired his finely tailored clothing, but it was the crooked grin on his face that truly intrigued her. And his eyes. They were a brighter blue than Mary had ever seen. And they seemed to dance, first moving from his father, then to his mother, before resting on Mary. He smirked at her and she found herself smiling back.
"Never you mind, my boy," Dr. Crawley said with a smile. He paused as Matthew's gaze seemed fixed on Mary.
"Matthew," Dr. Crawley said firmly, drawing his attention finally. "This is Lady Mary Crawley; she is a new nurse's assistant and will be working with your mother."
"Lady Mary," Matthew said gently. He offered her his hand, palm up. Mary was taken off guard by the gesture, so common and expected in her old world, but out of place in this one. Still, she placed her hand in his automatically, and swallowed slightly as his eyes returned to her, his touch lingering for a moment before finally releasing her fingers.
"Hello," Mary replied, her voice seeming to hitch unexpectedly. "We're not related. Your parents both asked me that," she said quickly, trying to use conversation to shield herself from his gaze and to distract her from the fluttering in her stomach.
"I'm glad that's settled, then," Matthew smiled. "Erm, I apologize for my disheveled appearance, Lady Mary," he continued, somewhat nervously. "It's rather cold outside and I'm afraid I was at the mercy of the wind."
"I don't find you disheveled at all," Mary replied. She looked down and pursed her lips, her eyes widening briefly in shock at what she had just said to a man she had just met.
"Lady Mary was working with Cassandra," Dr. Crawley said, accepting the coat that his wife offered him. "When I learned that she is a Crawley; naturally I had to save her from such a horrible fate."
"You're in good hands, Lady Mary," Matthew smirked. "Although Mother can be just as much a taskmaster, I assure you. At least she smiles from time to time though."
Mary carefully gave him a demure smile of acknowledgment. She summoned all of her coquettish tricks to not reveal too much to this man. She wondered briefly why it didn't seem so easy to her now, how she didn't quite know how to behave.
"I am always fair with those under my wing," Isobel retorted. "Well, tomorrow then, Lady Mary," she continued. "I'll meet you at the west wing partition of the hospital at eight o'clock in the morning and we'll begin your training."
Isobel took Dr. Crawley's arm and Dr. Crawley tipped his hat to Mary as he put it on. Mary nodded in reply. She did not trust herself to speak in Matthew's presence. She kept herself calm as the family moved towards the exit, but she could not stop herself from blinking in surprise when Matthew suddenly stopped, turned around and walked back towards her.
"I'm sorry, Lady Mary," he said with a smile. "I forgot to say goodbye to you. I apologize for being so rude."
Mary's pulse was strangely quick. "That's all right," she said warmly. "And please, Matthew, call me Mary."
"Very well, Mary," Matthew said, his face brightening. "I hope that you don't mind, or think me too forward, but I expect I'll be seeing more of you in the future. I come by the hospital most afternoons on my way home from work."
"Of course I don't mind," Mary replied, silently berating herself for sounding so enthusiastic. What was wrong with her? She needed to say something else right away.
"Are you also a doctor?" she asked.
"No, I'm not, much to my parents' dismay," Matthew laughed. "I'm a lawyer. My office is a few minutes away and the hospital is on the way to our house."
"A lawyer. So, you enjoy arguing, then?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow at him. She kept her eyes on his. She wasn't one to shy away from conversation, and this one was becoming quite pleasant.
"I admit that I do, but only for a proper reason. I prefer a good argument to a personal attack," Matthew said.
"Many people have great difficulty telling the difference," Mary noted.
"That's true, especially among the barristers in this city," Matthew chuckled.
"Anyway, I shall not keep you from your duties. I would continue this conversation, but my parents are probably preparing a scolding for me as we speak," he said with a warm smile.
Mary smiled at him.
"Goodbye, Mary. It was…a pleasure meeting you," Matthew nodded.
"Goodbye, Matthew," Mary answered simply. She was unable to stop smiling.
He backed away from her for several paces before he finally turned and rejoined his parents outside. Mary turned and went back to the storeroom. When Cassandra came to fetch her later for another task, Mary followed along. She absorbed the instructions and easily ignored the disdain and condescension in the woman's voice. Instead, Mary counted the hours until her shift would end, knowing that her deliverance from this woman was close at hand and a new day would dawn tomorrow.
Law Office of Jennings and Norman, Manchester, England, July 1912
"Mr. Crawley, a Lady Mary is here to see you," Matthew's secretary announced.
"Thank you," Matthew said, rising from his desk as Mary came into his office.
"If it isn't my favourite client," Matthew said quietly, smirking at her.
"We'll need to come up with what the exact services are that you are providing for me to justify all of these visits," Mary smiled. "I doubt your clients come by your office this often."
"The staff don't ask questions and don't remember anything beyond what they are supposed to. That's the first rule of working in a law office. As for the services I am providing for you, well, I can think of all sorts of things," Matthew said.
"Matthew!" Mary hissed, glancing back at the closed door nervously. She could not help but smile as she turned back to him and his playful expression.
"It's your day off. What brings you by?" he asked.
"I went to the hospital to surprise your father with an early birthday present," Mary explained, placing her basket on his desk. "But, I just missed him by the time that I arrived. So, I decided to come see you instead."
"Always second best to Papa," Matthew joked as he lifted the cover of the basket and smiled at the contents.
"Raisin bread. Mary, he'll love it. It smells delicious," he said proudly.
"Go ahead and let me know what you think," Mary smiled. "I have another at home. I'll bring it over this evening."
Matthew took a bite of the soft bread and smiled.
"Mary this is the best one yet," he said genuinely. "I'd have a hard time telling it apart from Mrs. Bird's."
"Don't tell her that or you'll be eating porridge for a week," Mary teased.
Matthew devoured another slice, and then looked up. Mary was looking down at her hands.
"What is it, darling?" he frowned.
Mary sighed. She sometimes didn't like how Matthew could read her so easily, or that he was so quick to ask her how she was doing.
"I saw Murray today," she said quietly.
"You did?" Matthew said in concern. "How did that go?"
"I didn't speak with him," she said. "I imagine I saw him as he was leaving his meeting with your father."
"Then we'll hear all about it at dinner," Matthew concluded. "And that also means there's no reason to think or talk about it now," he said pointedly.
Mary looked up and smiled gratefully.
"Well then, what shall we discuss?" Mary asked, rising from the chair and walking around his desk towards him.
Matthew turned in his chair to face her as she came around. He swallowed.
"We could talk about whatever you like, Mary," Matthew said quietly.
"Do you have any idea about what's on my mind at the moment, Matthew?" she asked, leaning over and placing her hands on his shoulders.
"I imagine your thoughts are very close to mine right now," Matthew whispered, his hands running along her arms.
"Shall we ring your secretary and instruct her that you aren't to be disturbed?" Mary whispered, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.
"Mary I don't think that the furniture in my office is particularly suited for our needs," Matthew replied, trying desperately to stop himself from acting on the rather scandalous ideas that were flying through his mind.
"They seemed to work perfectly fine the other night, darling," Mary drawled. "I'm sure they would be fine this time around, provided we are creative enough."
"Oh God, Mary," Matthew gasped as the vivid memory came forth. "If only…"
"If only you didn't have an appointment in several minutes," Mary smiled, kissing him then standing back.
"You knew that? And you still teased me!" Matthew sighed.
"Your secretary warned me that your time was short," Mary smiled.
"You've ruined my ability to concentrate for the rest of the day, you know," Matthew shook his head.
"Well, perhaps I'll give you something to focus on after dinner tonight?" Mary said playfully.
"That isn't helping," Matthew growled, rising from his chair and escorting her to the door. "But I will hold you to that promise."
Mary gave him a quick kiss before he opened the door.
"Until tonight then," he said. "I'll come get you when I'm done here. And Mary, please try and enjoy your day off."
"I will. Thank you, darling." She leaned up and kissed him again before she quietly left his office.
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912
"Delicious!" Dr. Crawley smiled, taking a bite of his small slice of raisin bread. "Thank you, Mary. This is lovely."
"I had a good teacher," Mary smiled, looking at Isobel.
"Nonsense," Isobel smiled in return. "Once we were able to get her manicured fingers to really pound the dough with some purpose, I knew she'd be just fine. You have a talent for this, Mary."
"Oh, I don't know," Mary said, looking down at her plate and blushing slightly.
"Well, I agree with Mother," Matthew smiled. "Mary has all manner of rage that can be taken out in her baking. This should be therapeutic," he teased.
"Perhaps if some people did not vex me so," Mary replied, smirking at Matthew.
"Right then, well I suppose you're all curious about Mr. Murray's visit today," Dr. Crawley said, taking a sip of water.
"Reggie, perhaps now is not the time," Isobel began, glancing at Mary.
"It's all right," Mary said, thanking Matthew's mother for her understanding. "I want to know what he told you."
"Well, not much of anything actually, but I think it was good news for now. He confirmed that our families are distantly related. I'm the third cousin of the Earl of Grantham. However, the Earl hasn't given up on James or Patrick Crawley having survived the Titanic disaster. He's got private investigators in Canada and New York looking for them now," Dr. Crawley said.
"Of course, he does," Mary said petulantly, stabbing her bread with a fork.
"So, if you aren't conclusively the heir, why bother sending Murray here?" Matthew asked.
"I can't say," Dr. Crawley answered. "Not all lawyers are like you my boy," he teased. "Murray had an inordinate amount of personal questions about my work at the hospital, about your Mother and about you, Matthew."
Dr. Crawley sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.
"Lord Gratham's lawyer also asked about my wife's side of the family, before he then inquired about how often we go to London whether we do the Season, that type of thing. I must say at times I felt as if I were being interrogated."
"How odd," Isobel commented.
"It's not surprising," Mary finally said, unable to hold back her anger. "Lord Grantham sent Murray here to evaluate you. He wants to know who you are and most importantly, who knows you and how you act and behave in Society. He needs to know what he's dealing with and how much he needs to change you to suit his purposes."
Mary closed her eyes briefly and frowned. She hated showing bitterness or cynicism in front of Matthew's family. There were benefits to being cold and calculating sometimes. She could predict her Papa's motives blindfolded.
"What's important is that it means nothing to us for the moment," Dr. Crawley said. "For now, while the investigation continues for James and Patrick, nothing changes."
"Did Mr. Murray say he would be back in touch?" Matthew asked.
"Yes," Dr. Crawley said. "And hopefully we won't need to hear from him for a very long time."
Mary suppressed a sigh and looked away.
"Mary," Isobel said patiently. "We're done here. You had a rather full day today. Why don't you go lie down upstairs? Reggie and I will be retiring soon, anyway."
"Oh no, I couldn't possibly," Mary said, her eyes wide in alarm. "We should go through to the parlour. We can have drinks and talk and…"
"Mary, I can clearly see that you're worn out, and truthfully, so am I," Isobel said with a smile. "Matthew, your bed is presentable is it not?"
"Of course, Mother," Matthew replied. "I'm not at university anymore."
"Excellent," Isobel said. "Go on, Mary. This is your senior nurse talking. Go up and lay down."
"Best to humour her," Dr. Crawley said mischievously. "Otherwise she'll keep bringing it up until you finally capitulate."
"All right," Mary nodded gratefully, her composure slipping away from her. "I'm sure I'll be fine if I just take a moment."
She rose and quickly left the dining room, walking upstairs to Matthew's bedroom. She needed to get inside and close the door before she broke down. She did not want Matthew's parents to hear her sobbing. She had not shed any tears of sadness since her arrival in Manchester, but the return of her family these past few days had worn on her heavily.
Mary was grateful when she reached Matthew's bedroom and ducked inside. The blankets had Matthew's scent and as she collapsed upon them, she shut her eyes tight, allowing his presence to soothe the fury inside of her, the tears spilling freely as she stifled her sobs.
"I should go make sure she's all right," Matthew frowned, looking to the doorway.
"Your father can go," Isobel said gently.
"Perhaps its better if Matthew…" Dr. Crawley responded.
"Go and talk to her, Reggie," Isobel ordered. "You're the heir, and you are the one who met with Murray today. Matthew will be up later. Right now, she needs reassurance from you that nothing will change."
"Very well, I'm going," Dr. Crawley said smiling wanly at his wife, then his son, before rising from the table.
Matthew watched his father leave the dining room. He turned to his mother with a confused expression.
"Just give him a few moments, Matthew," Isobel nodded. "She needs you, but she needs to hear what your father has to say first."
There was a timid knock on the door and Mary turned over. As the door opened, she sat up and struggled to compose herself.
"Dr. Crawley!" she said in surprise. "I thought it was Matthew."
"He'll be up later," Dr. Crawley said, crossing the room and sitting down in Matthew's desk chair beside the bed. Mary looked at him nervously.
"Mary," he began slowly. "I'm not leaving Manchester. Neither is Matthew. And neither are you. I can only imagine what this news and Mr. Murray's visit have reminded you of, but please do not let it affect you so."
Mary swallowed, trying to keep her tears and anger under control. She hated showing weakness in front of Dr. Crawley. He had already seen her in several weak moments as it was.
"I'm not worried," Mary said quietly. "But it's hard to see Murray and not think about all he represents, or more specifically, who he represents."
"He seemed nice enough, actually," Dr. Crawley noted. "Although I don't think he liked Manchester, so that biased my feelings towards him."
"He does his job," Mary spat. "It's his employer that I don't like."
"But surely the reminder of your family is nothing new?" Dr. Crawley asked cautiously. "We all can tolerate Murray's presence and go back to our normal lives now, can't we?"
"Yes, but…oh, you'll think me foolish," Mary sighed.
"Never," Dr. Crawley said firmly.
"It's just that I've worked so very hard, you know?" Mary said. "I came here with nothing and thanks to all of you, I feel as if I've built something for myself here, something of my own, something that my family didn't give to me, and if I never heard the name Grantham ever again I would be quite happy."
"And now that it appears that we're distantly related, you think you're going to lose all of that?" Dr. Crawley asked, trying to understand.
"Possibly," Mary replied. "But more importantly, I just don't want my family to hurt you the way that they hurt me."
"Mary," Dr. Crawley smiled. "That won't happen. As of now, we're related in name only. Who knows? Your father is actually younger than I am. Lord Grantham may outlive me, and so there will never be any reason for me to concern myself with any of them."
Mary sighed, unconvinced.
"Besides, maybe Mr. Murray will report back to the Earl that I was terribly uncouth. Maybe he'll say that I love an industrial town that he finds unclean, and my wife and son are unsettlingly modern. That will make him disown me entirely and search for another heir."
Mary laughed, shaking her head.
"Thank you," she said genuinely.
"Always, Mary," Dr. Crawley smiled, nodding to her. "Your well being is of utmost importance to Matthew, and so it is of utmost importance to Isobel and I also."
Mary nodded in understanding.
"You'd better send your son up. You know he doesn't like to feel left out," Mary teased.
"He gets his petulant streak from me, I'm afraid," Dr. Crawley laughed. "I've passed on only my finest qualities. Good night, Mary."
"Good night," she nodded as Matthew's father left the room.
There was only a brief pause before another knock was heard on the door.
"Mary?" Matthew asked quietly and he came into his darkened room.
"Darling," Mary smiled. "Come lay with me."
"Contain yourself, woman, please! My parents are right down the hall," Matthew scolded her playfully as he approached the bed.
"Just lie down," Mary rolled her eyes.
Smiling, Matthew lay down next to her and reached out his arm. Mary automatically took her usual place, nestled in the crook of his arm and shoulder, her hand across his chest.
"What if James and Patrick aren't found and your father has them declared dead?" Matthew asked after a long pause.
"They're alive," Mary said defiantly. "They probably shoved their way past all the women and children so they could commandeer one of the lifeboats," she huffed. "They'll be running amok across New York all summer, and then return triumphantly to England in the fall to receive adulations over their miraculous survival."
"Mary," Matthew said quietly.
"They're alive, Matthew," Mary replied firmly.
"But if they're not," Matthew pressed on. "Then Papa will be the sole remaining heir."
"If that happens then Lord Grantham will push him to go to Downton," Mary said resignedly. "He'll want to get his hooks in him as soon as possible, and will pester him until he goes there."
"Father won't leave Manchester," Matthew replied. "He'll say there's no need while the Earl is still alive. He has no stomach or desire for Estate management; he doesn't even like the politics of the hospital board! Even if your Papa summoned him, he'd probably send me in his place."
"You at Downton?" Mary laughed. "Now that would be a sight, but I would never permit it."
"Why?" Matthew asked, somewhat hurt by her implication. "Our lives can't be that different!"
Mary raised her head and looked at him lovingly. "Downton and my family have a way of changing people," she said softly. "And I won't let them change you, or your father."
Matthew kissed her in understanding.
"Besides," Mary continued. "Darling, you would never go either."
"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.
"Would you give up your law practice?
"No."
"Would you leave your parents here to go off to Yorkshire by yourself for who knows how long?"
"No."
"Could you see yourself dealing with tenant farmers and doing the Season? Going on hunts and hosting balls and parties?" Mary laughed.
"No," Matthew chuckled.
"Then that settles it," she declared.
Matthew tightened his embrace around her body.
"I wouldn't want to do any of those things, Mary," he said. "But I would. I would do all of them and more quite gladly, if it meant I could restore you to your proper place, to give you the life that you had to give up."
"Matthew," Mary sighed.
"I told you I would find a way to make things right, Mary," Matthew declared. "This may be that opportunity."
"Everything is already right in my world," Mary said fiercely, looking at him. "That part of my life is over, and good riddance to it. Don't you think it's obvious why Murray never visited Lord Merton while he was here, or came by Lady Philomena's home? Lord Grantham isn't looking for me, Matthew. He may be very interested in your father, but he has no interest in bringing me back. And truthfully, I have no interest in going. I know what a real family is now, and I don't need them."
"But Mary, what about your sisters? You still write to Sybil. I know that you miss them."
"I do," Mary admitted. "I even miss Edith, as horrible as she can be. And Granny. Maybe someday I'll see them again. But as for the rest of them, they aren't thinking of me, and I'm not thinking of them."
"I wouldn't go to Downton without you," Matthew whispered.
"We'll never have to deal with that," Mary said firmly, leaning up and kissing him. "We're where we belong, Matthew. Here, together."
He looked at her for a long moment, her eyes pleading with him to relent, while his heart urged him to go forth and take up her cause.
"All right," he said finally, and he kissed her, then held her close to him, massaging her back as he listened to her drift off to sleep.