Facing The Ghost – Chapter IV

Matthew carefully stepped down the stairs as the dull morning light crept through the windows. For the first time in a few days, he had woken up without the throbbing pain in his back, and was able to walk without his resented cane. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he gave a small, relieved sigh as he let go of the railings and walked to the dining room unhindered.

His mother looked up from her breakfast as he entered the room, examining him up and down.

"How is your back today?" Isobel asked professionally.

"Good morning to you too, mother." Matthew gave a small wry smile as he sat opposite her at the table.

"Shouldn't you be using your cane anyway," Isobel continued. "Just to ease into it?"

Matthew sighed as he served himself breakfast. "There are good days and bad days mother; I plan to make the most of my freedom while I can."

Isobel watched him carefully as turned his attention to his food and silence fell between them. "Last night didn't go that badly."

"Hmm." Matthew murmured as he sipped his tea, looking away to the grey landscape outside.

"Are you still planning on joining me for Christmas at Downton tomorrow?" She asked inquisitively.

"Yes." Matthew replied shortly as he put down his cup. "But then the day after I've booked my ticket back to Manchester." He looked up and saw his mother's disappointed face.

"Matthew," She started kindly. "You don't have to leave."

"No." He answered, looking directly at her. "No I do."

Isobel sighed, looking in to his eyes sadly, and was about to speak when Mr. Moseley suddenly appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

"Excuse me Mrs Crawley, Mr Crawley – Lord Grantham is here to see you." Moseley announced formally then moved aside as Robert stepped in beside him, dressed up in shooting tweed and smiling widely.

"Merry Christmas, cousin Isobel, cousin Matthew!" Robert greeted happily as Matthew stood up from his chair. "I am so sorry to interrupt your peaceful morning, but I thought I should pop round personally to invite Matthew to the shoot today."

"The shoot?" Matthew echoed, surprised by his cousin's entrance and immediately thinking of pretence to escape.

"Indeed. I thought I should ask you last night but you slinked away before I could." He replied cheerfully. "I do hope you can join us. We haven't had a shoot since the war, and it would be nice to spend more time with you before you leave again to Manchester."

Matthew felt caught. He wanted so desperately to be able to break away from his old life, but seeing the hope and care in Robert's eyes, the thought of rejecting him seemed too cruel.

"I…" Matthew tried to start, mind swirling with soft excuses.

"But of course if your back isn't up to it, I completely understand." Robert offered kindly.

Matthew glanced down to his mother, who was watching him inquisitively. Trust his only means of escape to have already been scuttled.

"No." He turned back to Lord Grantham. "I am feeling much better today…" He saw Robert's face light up again as he forced the words out of his mouth. "And it would be a pleasure to join you…"

"Wonderful." Lord Grantham clapped his hands together. "We set out at 10. I shall see you at Downton. Cousin Isobel." He nodded, with a smile, then strode away.

Matthew slowly eased back down in to his chair. Just two more days. Just two more days and then he can move on.

The grey clouds hung silently in the sky as the convoy of cars pulled up besides the cold white rotunda that sat nestled between the bare trees. Carson stood inside, beside the perfectly set table, waiting for the opulent party, as the gamekeeper's men struggled with the pack of excited hunting dogs as they were hurried off the back of a rusted truck.

The still air filled with the sound of feverish barking as Matthew stepped out of car, Robert bounding out after him. The gamekeeper gruffly pulled back on the leashes, then nodded to one of his men who obediently plodded over to Matthew and offered him an open shotgun. He looked at the gun hesitantly. He had never liked the idea of hunting, and he had not held a gun since the war, but the dye had been cast. Slowly, he took the gun off the helper and held it tight by his side, the hard barrel making him uncomfortable as it hung heavily in his hand.

Robert casually slung his arm around his shotgun and cut his way through the mess of excited dogs to talk to his gamekeeper as Sir Richard stood by the truck with the two other men in the party, nodding to their small talk, but occasionally looking up to glance at Matthew, standing silently in the melting snow.

The yelping of the dogs grew louder as another car appeared from amongst the barren trees and pulled up on the other side of the rotunda. Matthew watched as Lady Rosamond stepped out, smiling back at Cora as she followed after, and was about to look away when a familiar figure appeared with them.

Mary.

Matthew remained still as Robert took off his tweed cap to greet the ladies and motioned them towards the rotunda and the tea. Matthew felt a wave of relief when he realised she would not join them on the shoot, a relief that failed to last as Mary stole a glimpse of him as she walked to the set table. He could feel his heartbeat race as she furtively looked him up and down then caught his own eyes in hers.

She looked away. Matthew watched as she put on a smile to her aunt then sat down elegantly by the table, joining in the polite pleasantries.

"So Lord Grantham," Carlisle's distinctive voice called out, bringing out Matthew from his contemplation. "Shall we shoot or not?"

Robert looked up from the table. "Yes of course Sir Robert." He answered through a false smile and stepped out from under the moss-covered rotunda. "Ferguson, are you ready?" He looked over to the gatekeeper, still holding back the dogs.

"Aye m'Lord." Ferguson answered gruffly.

"Good then; let's set out!" Robert smiled as he popped back on his tweed cap and followed the gatekeeper as he led the dogs to the trees.

Matthew stood at the edge of the tree line, looking out to the clearing, the patches of melted snow revealing glimpses of dull grass. His helper waited behind, holding out the shells, as the rest of the party stood spread out beside him, guns at the ready, waiting for the gamekeeper's call as he walked alone in the clearing, commanding the scattered pack of dogs.

"Sir?" The helper inquired quietly, shells still waiting his hand.

"Of course." Matthew replied softly, as he broke out of his reverie and looked back from the clearing. "Thank you."

Reluctantly, he took hold of the two shells and loaded his shotgun, closing it with a dull click. There was a whistle in the distance as the gamekeeper reached the shrubs on the other side of the clearing. Slowly, Matthew brought the cold gun up to his shoulder and stood at the ready.

There was a bark, a distant rustle, when suddenly the grey sky swirled with the frantic fluttering of birds.

Then the guns.

Matthew gripped tight onto the barrel as the clearing flooded with the deafening boom of shotguns.

"Major, they're advancing!"

His stomach clenched as the waft of gunpowder gathered in the air.

The mud. The dark. The stench of death.

The shots thundered in his ears as the party went for another volley.

William.

Cold sweat ran down his forehead as his hands began to tremble.

No.

Quickly Matthew put down his gun and offloaded it to his helper. "Sorry, I've…" He tried to mutter, but the memories of his cold, muddy past came rushing back to him as the sound of guns shuddered through him.

Without a look back, he escaped through the cover of the barren trees as fast as his legs could take him, as far as he could from the booming shots.

Damp branches whipped past as he rushed through the frozen bracken, when suddenly a hot shock of pain ran up his spine.

Matthew stopped dead and pressed a hand to his throbbing back as he gripped onto the nearest tree. He could hear the blood thumping in his ears as he shut his eyes tight in desperation to erase the memories replaying in his mind. He tried to calm his laboured breathing as he took off his tweed cap and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. A soft gust of chilling wind rustled through the bare trees and past Matthew as he leaned his back against the knotted bark, the fire is his back slowly falling away as his thoughts cleared.

Minutes past as Matthew stood silently against the tree, concentrating on his deep breathing, on the faint drips of melting snow, on the quiet rustle of the wind, when a soft crack of damp bracken roused him from his thoughts.

"Matthew?"

He whipped around to see Mary standing alone amongst the trees, just a few feet away from him, with an apprehensive look on her face.

"Mary." He found her name slipping out of his mouth in surprise, as his eyes locked with hers.

"I was just going for a walk." Mary said quickly, attempting to be conversational. "You have left the shooting party?" She put on her mannered smile.

"Yes." Matthew gathered himself, gripping his tweed cap between his hands. "But I'm afraid I must have… lost my way back to the rotunda."

"Oh." Mary replied simply, her polite mask still on.

There was an awkward silence for a moment as Matthew debated whether or not he should leave her. He knew he should, that they would both be better off if they just remained detached, but being this close, alone, he couldn't help but feel the pull towards her.

"Do you know the way?" He asked civilly, breaking the silence.

"Of course." Mary put on a smile and motioned behind her.

Matthew gave a cautious nod and stepped towards her as Mary turned and headed back into the trees. With a nervous twist of his cap he moved in beside her, deliberately leaving a few feet between them as they padded through the quiet wood.

"I didn't think you enjoyed shoots." Mary's soft voice carefully broke the silence.

"No." Matthew looked over to her as they fell into a comfortable stroll, her mask beginning to fall. "I don't."

"You could've told father." She added, her eyes still set ahead.

"You didn't see the look on his face when he asked me." Matthew joked slightly, when a knot formed in his throat. Only a few minutes and already they were dangerously close to their old manner. He knew had to stop himself, but with the ghosts of the battlefield now fresh in his mind, all he wanted right now was some sort of relief; and no matter how tortured his feelings towards Mary, he couldn't deny that at this moment, with her, the pain from his back had waned.

"But I…" Matthew found himself adding quietly. "I didn't leave because I don't like shoots…"

Mary slowed down and turned to him, her mask now completely gone, her eyes shining with empathy; with the honesty that he had so missed.

"I can't talk about it… The war. " He slowly tried to explain, feeling defenceless under her gaze. "But it's still there. It will always be there.

Matthew looked back into her caring eyes when he realised he had unconsciously moved in closer to her, their bodies almost touching as they stood alone in the woods. Quickly, he stepped away and continued on the path through the trees.

"I'm sorry." He dismissed himself.

"Don't be." Mary immediately countered as she joined him again, giving a small, comforting smile.

"No, it's not that, it's…" Matthew took in a deep breath. He had sworn he would restrain himself around Mary, but if he was ever going to let her go, she had to know the truth. "I am sorry I've been so wretched to you."

Mary quickly turned to him and opened her mouth to oppose when he cut her off.

"No, I mean it. I was so angry with myself and I lashed out. You didn't deserve any of it." He could feel her gaze piercing him, but she let him speak. "What happened with Lavinia… it was my fault, and mine alone." He let out a stifled breath as the pain of guilt rose back into him. "You deserve much better. Despite my abrasive manner recently, I am grateful you have Sir Richard." He looked over to her and gave her a sad smile.

He thought for a moment that that her deep brown eyes had welled with tears, but he passed that off as his imagination as she quickly put on a smile.

"Thank you." She said quietly then turned back to the wooded path.

"However," He continued as he caught up and they fell back into a comfortable stride. "You must forgive me if I excuse myself from your wedding." He looked at her with a charming smile to cover up his true sentiment.

"Being stuck with a depressed Edith all day? No, I wouldn't wish that on you." Mary joked nervously.

"I thought she would've set her sights on one of the men staying at Downton." Matthew mused as he unconsciously moved nearer to her.

"Maybe that's why they were so keen to arm themselves today." She quipped with a wry smirk.

He looked at her and smiled, their eyes meeting as they shared their mirth, when Matthew realised close they were. His throat suddenly turned dry as he could help but flick a quick glance at her soft lips.

"Mary." A deep, unexpected voice tore them back to reality.

Standing further down the path, gripping an open shotgun, was Carlisle.

Matthew instantaneously took away step away from Mary. "Sir Richard." He greeted him cordially, as Mary seemed stuck in silence.

"Mr Crawley." Richard replied shortly, remaining firm in his stance.

"You have left the shoot?" Matthew heard Mary's unfeeling voice ask as her cool façade returned.

"I've had my fill of aristocratic pastimes." Richard answered bluntly.

There was a silence as Matthew flicked from Mary's serene mask to Carlisle's piercing glare.

"Mary was just guiding me back to the rotunda." Matthew offered, forcing a friendly smile as he studied Richard's gaze intently.

"Of course she was." He responded tersely. "Mary, I need to talk with you."

Matthew looked over to Mary, expecting her to rebuff him with a wry smirk. But instead there was the cold, refined veneer he had begun to resent. She stood by him for a moment in silence, and he thought he could see a hint of a fire burn in her eyes, but then she suddenly turned to him and gave a polite smile.

"Excuse me." She said quickly then turned and walked towards Richard as he relaxed the grip on his shotgun. Matthew began to feel uneasy as Carlisle held her arm by his hand and led her off the path and into the shadows of the wood.

Something wasn't right.

N/B

Something is not right. Something is quite wrong. That's whyyyy I sing this songggg.

Sorry. Couldn't help it. But if you know where that song is from then go have yourself a virtual brownie.

Hmmmm….

But enough of imaginary calories, let's talk story. Well Matthew had a bit of a flash back to the war, because, let's face it, he was in WW1, and however much I love bitch face Matthew – that really was one screwed up war, and I don't think there was enough time spent on the horror of it compared time spend on the jesus penis. So I gave a glimpse. Or tried to give a glimpse. Of the horror, not the penis.

Man, try and dig yourself out of that one…

Anyway; Mary and him are finally settling back into their own ways when Richard interrupts, and she does what's she's told. Can anyone here say Important Plot Point? That's right kids – if you want to see Matthew pondering the condition of the relationship between Mary and Richard and then actually do something about it – Please Review!

Your Reviews are like oxygen. Reviews are a many splendid thing - Reviews lift me up where I belong, all I need is Reviews!

(and if you know what song that is – you get a whole virtual cake for being awesome)

Now I've gotta go bake!