AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. To the guest who left one last Saturday saying how much they were loving the story and wanting to find out how Mary and Matthew will sort themselves out thank you, your review made my Saturday! To the other guest reviewer on Wednesday who was hoping for more MM scenes, they are coming but I'm afraid they're about to drift further first, but as above you really made my day, so thank you so much. This chapter is a long one, I hope you enjoy.
August 1918.
It was strange that morning. It felt wrong because it was quiet. Dawn had broken but there wasn't a gun shot to be heard. Silence seemed to echo in a way the gun shots had only hours before. Somehow he knew, he knew that this time he wasn't going to be coming back to his tin of heaven knows what surrounded by mud and water. This time he could somehow feel the chill in his bones as he directed his men to take their positions. Somehow he knew he wasn't going back, not whole anyway.
It was weird he thought, some people had always said there was a sixth sense, and that somehow some people just knew when something bad was going to happen to them or someone they loved and at this moment he believes that, but then war had tested his knowledge on a lot of things.
He scrambles over the trench at the sound of his own whistle, running, adrenaline crashing after the men before him. William races at his toes, a fast runner if ever there was one. Shots ring out around them in a song so less harmonic than Mary's. His mind drifts to her, to Downton and then to the face of his daughter, his darling Grace.
The weight pushes him backwards he tries to fight against it, to push forwards as he'd always told his men to. But the weight is unrelenting, it forces him to the ground shattering the image of his Grace. Then he hears the crack a split second before his legs seem to disappear, had he just been hit by a shell? And then everything seems to fizzle slowly to black as the weight on his body seems to remain but that on his legs disappears, both legs vanishing. Just before his mind goes totally black he tries to crane his neck, to see if he indeed still has his legs but another crack resounds, followed by a gun shot and everything disappears. Everything but Mary's sweet song, which seems to echo in his dream if indeed it was a dream, perhaps this was what heaven was like, an eternity of Mary singing.
Robert groaned as he reached over once again finding the bed empty. She was working far too hard. But there was nothing he could do to stop her, not now Isobel was gone. It was inevitable he realised that eventually they'd all come to blows. If he was honest he was amazed they'd all lasted as long as they had. It was inevitable that eventually one change was going to be too many, or some judgement was going to make the other woman flare up. And it was also inevitable that Cora would be the one to stand her ground. Not only was this her house but she was rather terrifying when she was angry. Robert chuckles to himself at that.
"What is so funny?"
"I was thinking of you angry sweetheart."
"I hope you don't enjoy it too much. When I'm angry with you I do expect you to be upset not secretly laughing." He chuckles at that as she walks passed him to the door. He reaches out for her and claiming her waist pulls her back to the bed. "Robert, really-"
"Trust me. I'm never secretly laughing when you're angry with me, I'm usually assessing where all the exits are." She leans over and rewards him with a gentle kiss on the forehead, but before she can move too far away he tilts his face to hers, capturing her lips. She gracefully untangles herself a second later and Robert watches reluctantly as she heads for the door.
At the time getting really angry with Isobel to defend his crying wife had seemed like a good idea, a really good idea but at this moment he was wondering if in fact he was being slowly punished. Ever since Isobel had left four months ago Cora's workload had doubled and although the war was supposedly almost over he felt she was slipping through his fingers at an unforeseeable rate. But he couldn't have stood by, he knows that, not when Cora was being accused of being distracted just because she took some hours out of her day for Edward and himself. He'd done right to defend her, to make sure Isobel knew her place.
He rolls over very exasperated, it seemed the sleep he so needed wasn't going to come. It wasn't the only problem in his life though. Bates was in another predicament, it seemed Mrs Bates had got wind of his return to Downton and was threatening to sell the story, the same one he'd run away with her to keep her quiet. The funny thing was Bates wouldn't tell her what the scandal was. All he ever got was: 'some rubbish about Lady Mary m'lord.' But yet he was willing to run around the country to try and protect said story, surely then he at least believed it to be true, a scandal worth keeping quiet. He'd been meaning to ask Cora about this possible scandal for weeks but he kept forgetting.
"Robert" the sound of her voice rouses him from the slight slumber he had been finding and he turns to find Cora out of breath in the doorway, tears in hers eyes. "You better come." He doesn't need telling twice, he stumbles to the door not even bothering to collect his dressing gown.
She felt numb, that was the only way to describe it really. Everyone else had dispersed, to grieve and hope in their own spaces. Edith and Violet were chattering outside talking to some Cousin having already gleaned the whereabouts of William-it seemed he'd been caught too. She tried to focus on their conversation to ease her mind of the nothingness that seemed to fill it but she couldn't. The only thing that really seemed to smooth her mind, and albeit in an ironic kind of way, was Grace. She was over six months old by a few days and was throughly content to sit in her arms rather than wiggle about the floor on her bottom, as had been her newest favourite. Matthew had missed so much of her little life but Lavinia hoped more than anything else that he would survive his injury, that they'd be able to treat it so that he could see her remaining years, her remaining achievements. She dreaded the thought of her baby being fatherless, the thought of having to marry another man just to secure her future. She was almost sure Robert would allow her to stay on in the house they'd gifted to Matthew on the border, but she would have to learn to manage the estates and such like and even then her only 'family' if you could even call them that, would permanently pity her, the girl, the widow. Even little Grace had no reason to remain near Downton, she was Matthew's heir, but not Robert's. And even then, what were the chances of Matthew having had a chance to sort his will in Grace's favour on his last visit? He was gone again before she'd had a chance to relish in his being there. Her world was falling apart so quickly around her and as for poor Grace's life it was questionable how good that could be.
"I thought I'd find you here." It was Cora gently easing herself into the nursery, Edward perched on her hip.
"I wanted to be with her."
"Of course you did. When Robert was fighting I spent hours and hours with the girls. I planned day trips and took them out all the time, even it was thundering." She chuckles to herself as she remembers and Lavinia for the first time sees the similarities she has with the mature woman before her. "I even dismissed Sybil's nanny long before the governess was due to start and cared for her myself, everyday, every night. That might not sound like much to you but to Robert's Mama it was a hell of a big deal!" Even Lavinia laughs at that image and gazes down at Grace who's slowly waking.
"Is it bad I want another one already?" Cora walks around her at this point, leaning over her shoulder to touch Grace's cheek.
"No. I was the same after Mary. Mary was little more than Grace's age when I fell pregnant with Edith. Robert and I were both beyond delighted."
"I'm not sure Matthew would be. He never really asks after Grace when he writes." It had panicked her for some time, his lack of interest but then again, it wasn't really lacking he asked about her enough, every other sentence really, but Lavinia supposed he wasn't quite as excited over new things Grace did as much as she was.
"I'm sure he does. She's beautiful."
"Well he does but he's never as-"
"Enthusiastic as you'd like him to be?" Lavinia turns her face to the older woman, her height next to her not intimidating but almost like a protection.
"Well. No."
"It's because he feels he's missing out. You write to him of all Grace's achievements but he doesn't experience any of them. When he starts to he'll be twice as enthusiastic as you, I promise."
"But you can't promise." She feels the tears streaming down her cheeks as Grace's eyes open, everything becoming quickly too much. "He's currently suffering from injuries we don't know anything about. There's a more than likely chance he might never see Grace grow up." She doesn't seem to have an answer to that, but then who did? Lavinia didn't have an answer herself, she wondered if God did.
Mary stares in a ridiculous fashion at the woman before her. She's knows it's ridiculous because she's not thinking about staring, not really, she'd thinking about how ill timed this was. Matthew was arriving that afternoon and if it was the last time she was going to see him alive, she wanted to be there. For the first time, delaying her ruin, or even protecting herself from the Pamuk scandal was not the first thing on her mind.
"She's going to go tomorrow. To that man you said you knew."
"Sir Richard Carlisle?" Mary doesn't really know why she asks it as a question, who else could Anna be speaking of? He told her on numerous occasions that he was the biggest newspaper man in the whole of England. She didn't doubt he was, what she didn't particularly like, surprisingly so as she was somewhat like it herself, was the endless bragging he did, and his rather large head. "It seems I have no choice. I'll catch the first train tomorrow morning."
"I had to tell you m'lady. She's so nasty, we both know she'll go through with it."
"I don't doubt that. I'll sort it, heaven knows what price I'll have to pay, but I'll sort it."
"Where are you going to find the money?"
"I've got the money. If that's what he wants. My worry is that it won't be what he wants."
"Don't get involved if the outcome will be worse. Surely a few weeks of misery is better than-"
"Nothing illicit Anna. He's not like that, but he wants to grow his power, his wealth." Anna doesn't seem to follow her for which she is pleased. The truth was Mary had thought about going to see him anyway, taking up that offer of dinner he'd left her with. She didn't want to be the reject. The woman pining forever over a man she couldn't have. It was pointless, a waste of time. Sir Richard had been interested, he'd made that obvious, not like the men of her class where you didn't know where you stood. And it would be an alright match, he was rich, powerful and had his noses in lots of doors, between them they'd open the doors of the country; and it seemed she was going to have to tell her secret, so that would save that embarrassment. The question was whether he would offer once he knew of her past and whether she would have the guts to accept if he did?
She didn't really know. He wasn't exactly a nice man, she'd only met him a couple of times but she could see that. He wasn't gentle or kindly. In truth really, he was too much like her. But she had little other option. Love was lost. Gone. She either dies a spinster or she marries a man like Sir Richard. He might not be able to provide love, but a large home, plenty of money and the lifestyle she was used to, he could do that. In fact he ticked a lot more boxes than he missed, therefore he was pretty much the ideal choice. The back of her mind liked to nag at her 'but he isn't Matthew' but she ignored it; she was stuck with the choice she had made.
She wanders along the corridor still thinking, wondering, when she walks straight into Edward running in the other direction, closely followed by their mother chasing after him, one hand in her hair, trying to keep it straight, the other hitching up her dress. Mary gulps. She'd made her choice and Edward had followed that choice into the world. She was the one that had sacrificed the most for him, but she didn't feel as though she benefited. He was adorable, yes. But he wasn't hers. And for the briefest moment in her whole life she wanted what her mother had. Children, obviously not with a loving husband as Mama did. But she wanted children. A little boy to chase along the corridors when she thought nobody was about (she'd seen the blush on her mother's cheeks) and Richard? He could give her that. Matthew had given it to Lavinia.
Edith couldn't help but wonder at how a man who looked perfectly healthy was destined to die. Every time you looked at him you thought there was a chance. She was above pleased that Granny had done everything in her power to have him bought here. He deserved that, to die in house where he was respected, where his father could reach him, and most importantly where Daisy was. It seemed it was obvious to everyone but her that she loved him. She might have to be wrestled in to the room by Mrs Patmore, and then she might rush away as quickly as she could but Edith thought it was her own subconscious at work, protecting her from the heartbreak, the sorrow that would inevitably come in not too long. Their had been whisperings of marriage, but nothing has come of it yet, thank goodness. Edith herself wasn't convinced it was a good idea, the young kitchen maid already felt bad enough it seemed- something about leading him on.
But above all these things, Edith's main concern at this moment was little Edward. He'd run along earlier this morning to find her and do their jobs as he liked to call them and he'd been very put out when he was told he'd have to do them with someone else as she was nursing William. His response was the typical toddler 'no' followed by a promise to stay with her and look after William. So there he was perched on a chair in the corner, thoroughly bored, as William did lots of sleeping, pulling at the seams of his shorts. She'd tried to coax him out the room on numerous occasions, she didn't really want Edward to see the inevitable scenes that would follow in the next few days. He was young and innocent. But, alas, no amount of persuasion had done the trick and he'd happily settled down to some of his sums- he'd now learnt his numbers and his alphabet. However that hadn't lasted long and now, as he had been for at least half an hour. He was twiddling his clothes around and swinging his legs faster and faster. If Edith was really honest she'd have thought he would have grown frustrated by now, but no, not little Edward. He wanted to please if nothing else. This was where he thought he ought to be, so he was here. He had what the majority of people would call the Crawley stubbornness, little did anyone know it was half Levinson. Anyone that knew their mother would have realised that she was given into by her husband far more often than she gave in to him. She had a way with him, and softened him, unfortunately she hadn't been able to soften Mary's stubbornness.
There's a knock that sounds at the door, startling her out of her thoughts over Edward. Edith isn't surprised that it's Daisy who enters and she averts her gaze as she shuffles reluctantly for the bed, William reaching out his hand to her. Edith found an annoying amount of jealousy tended to wedge itself in her mind whenever Daisy arrived and it infuriated her. What on earth did Edith have to be jealous of, yes William loved Daisy but they were never going to be happy. He was lying in his death bed. And yet, she still craved that feeling of being wanted. Wanted by absolutely anyone. Patrick always springs to mind as she thinks of these kind of things. She always likes to wonder whether the man actually loved her, if he was really set on Mary. Were the advantages of the first daughter really so much greater than that of the second. She often wondered if he'd been thinking of her as he'd been thrown into the freezing water; people dying all around him. She wonders then if he even thought of Downton, and had Mary featured? It was all hopeless to think about, it got her caught in the hours of grief she tried so hard to avoid.
She snaps her head up at the word 'marriage' her eyes trailing back to the scene before her.
"I'm not sure you need to worry about that William. The focus is making you better." She's half convinced William knows she's lying to him, that he knows really she's only making him as comfortable as possible for the inevitable. His father had began to suss the only outcome there was to the condition his son was suffering, it was only believable that the man himself, going through all that pain would have done so by now as well.
"I don't wish to be rude m'lady, goodness you've been a tremendous help. But what else have I to think about but giving Daisy, the girl I love, a proper life after I'm gone?" She can't answer that but instead swallows the lump of guilt and annoyance sitting in her throat. He was right of course. She only wished he wasn't. Or if he was, that a man like him would one day do the honourable thing for her. In fact, it wasn't even the honourable thing, sometimes she felt a dishonourable romance would be quite nice. Anything, she'd reluctantly concluded that made her feel wanted. Not anything of course, a man was all she really wanted, and a life in which she would be content. But she feared above all else that this said life had drowned with Patrick.
She'd known Dr Clarkson would be angry but that hadn't stopped her from doing it. Lavinia most certainly needed to be there and as for Mary, she was never not going to be there. Mary, Sybil didn't doubt would be of some assistance, she'd learnt a great deal working in the convalescent home but Lavinia, she'd likely be fairly upset and sit quivering on a chair clutching his hand.
That's what she'd thought would happen but in fact Lavinia was a perfect help doing the little things that Mary and herself didn't wish to do with her watching- unbuttoning his shirt and removing the soiled clothes he'd travelled in. She didn't particularly sob that much either, she just calmly did as Sybil asked despite being in a trance. Between the two of them Matthew would have the best care of anyone in the hospital. But then Sybil knew that was down to one factor- their love for him.
It was difficult when thinking of love, and watching the two women bath the wound on Matthew's back, each wearing aprons, to not think of Tom and his love for her. She didn't really have to wonder if he would care for her in such a way if she was unwell or hurt: she knew he would.
She gently collects Matthew's pile of belongings and stops for two reasons. The first is to hear more clearly through the bustle Lavinia's voice. She was murmuring, or perhaps singing to Matthew, the words perhaps had some significance, Sybil didn't know. The second reason she stops is to stare at the item that has fallen from the bundle she holds. She recognises it straight away- Mary's dog. They'd each had an animal for their first birthday, sourced and purchased by their diligent parents. Edith had a little cat and Sybil's was a bear. But the question really was what on earth the dog was doing in Matthew's belongings? She glances up at Mary who has a blush staining her cheeks, she gently shakes her head.
Sybil glances between the three of them, a love triangle of ever there was one and then back to the dog. Mary had ways said he was lucky Sybil had never believed it until now. He'd survived the blast that William was going to die from, was it possible that the dog had a hand in that? She twists it around in her hand before wandering over to the windowsill behind Matthew and placing it on the ledge.
Mary and Lavinia are both staring as she turns back around and she smiles quickly.
"For luck. It's bought him this far, it might be tempting fate to take it away now."
"What do you mean?" It's Lavinia who speaks, breaking her gaze from Matthew for a moment to look at her.
"It's lucky according to Mary. And he's survived a fatal wound when he was carrying it. I don't believe in that kind of thing...but this is war and William is dying from exactly the same blast. Maybe the charm is lucky for him." Sybil doesn't quite understand the connotations of what she's said until she's said it. She doesn't realise that she's just pierced the smallest hole in Lavinia's heart. But when the girl crunches up her nose, as if to stop a flow of tears Sybil realises. She realises what she's said. Mary's dog was in his pocket. But not Lavinia's letters or picture. The girl was already wound up, her mother had mentioned that, being worried about Grace and Matthew's lack of enthusiasm.
But as fate would have it. Sybil manages to escape her humiliation as Matthew seems to gain some element of consciousness and murmurs Lavinia's name.
Cora shuffles uncomfortably in the bed. Staring at the little scribbled note that had been abandoned on her bedside table.
Mama, Mary going to London tomorrow.
At least that was what it was supposed to say, Edward had obviously had some help with the spelling but it was legible which made Cora smile. What she couldn't quite understand was why Mary hadn't told her herself and what on earth she was going in the first place. And now, she fidgeted.
She'd heard the door to Robert's dressing room click open and shut some time ago and the gentle mumble of voices told her that Bates had come, and now gone, and yet Robert was still not here. There was much to talk of, including Mary's strange visit and he wasn't here. Finally she hears some stirring from the other side and he appears, Cora hopes she imagines the look of slight annoyance in his eyes when he sees she's still awake.
"You shouldn't have waited for me. You need your sleep." He clambers into the bed.
"Yes, but I also need to talk to you, we haven't seen each other all day. And I can tell as we speak that something is troubling you." He runs his hand through his hair in his anxious habit and she watches how it muses the curls before she slowly reaches up and moves his hand. He thankfully gets the picture and biting his lip once answers with one word.
"Bates." Cora had been expecting any number of things, Matthew, Edward, but Bates had not been on the list.
"To do with Mrs Bates I suppose."
"Yes." His hand drags through his hair again and Cora blushes as she realises how nice she finds it when his hair is all mused. She hadn't realised she still liked it, she had when she was younger but she didn't think it was still a thing. "That scandal, Mrs Bates has announced she's going to the press with it. Some Carlisle gentleman."
"That's the man Mary mentioned once that she knew."
"Yes. Bates said that Anna had told her." And just like that it all falls into place, the scandal was undoubtedly the Pamuk one and Mary was going to go to London to try and twist Carlisle's favour. She feels rather then hears the whistle of air race through her lips. But she resists the urge to be upset, to blame herself for Mary's situation but instead picks up the scribbled note and hands it over to Robert.
"Edward left this on the bed." He takes it and straight away his eyes cloud. Cora leans over and kisses his neck. "He's growing up so fast." He turns to kiss her forehead.
"He's a darling, our little miracle. And his lovely mother is someone I give thanks for daily."
"And now you're buttering me up."
"That might be as it is, but, I'm not sure you're really that bothered. In fact if I was to take a bet I imagine I might win if I placed money on the fact you actually want to be buttered up." She merely smiles and chews her lip which prompts him to kiss her, pulling her around to lie stop him as she squeals a little.
"And I thought you said I needed my sleep."
"You do, but you also need me. Isn't that what you always say?" She blushes like a rose, she knows she does. She doesn't reply, deciding instead to prove the truth of his remark.
