The Carabiniers (Part 3)

Accounts of Matthew Crawley

Matthew peaked over his shoulder once again.

"He's still looking." Matthew said gently to Reed, hoping the dwindling, yet still formidable, sounds of the streets would mask their conversation.

"Wonder what he wants with you." Reed said back.

"I think I know." Matthew said.

Matthew waited until the crowd had thinned out a bit more and night was darker. Soon, their parade had ended and they had only to head back to the barracks. Matthew then slipped behind the rabble of now disorganized horses, and remerged behind Captain Kirby.

"Where are you from exactly? Captain?" Matthew asked with a rather loud and commanding voice.

Stunned and a little confused, Captain Kirby looked back and forth. He had completely missed the fact that he had been flanked. He thought for a couple of seconds about the peculiar question and realized his accent had given him away.

"Kirkbymoorside, Lord Grantham." Captain Kirby spat out with indignation.

"So you know who I am." Matthew said.

"I do." Captain Kirby confirmed.

"What do you know about me?" Matthew asked.

"That you are to inherit Lord Grantham's estate." Captain Kirby answered.

"Is that all?" Matthew answered in as friendly a tone has he could.

"Who do you think I am, lieutenant? What? Are you surprised that I'm not keen on ya because you're the lord's heir?" Captain Kirby chuckled.

Matthew said nothing. He merely maintained his gaze at Captain Kirby as they rode into the barracks' stables. It wasn't the first time his inheritance had been challenged. Cousin Violet had been quite adamant about her disapproval of him in the early months. But this was the first time someone from the county had openly confronted him.

Matthew and Edmond lit up a quick smoke as the men filtered out of the stables.

"So you're an earl?" Reed commented.

"Future earl." Matthew corrected. "If I make it through the war alive."

"So what's Captain Kirby's problem with you?" Edmond asked.

"Who knows." Matthew sighed. "Probably because until three years ago, I was just a solicitor from Manchester."

"He knows you?" Edmond asked.

"He knows… Yorkshire, I'd imagine." Matthew answered tactfully as he tossed the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.

"So I gather you're here to attend the balls and glad-hand the generals." Edmond said. "Makes sense really."

"Hey, don't make it sound cheap. I'm a good rider." Matthew protested.

"But a poor swordsman if ever I saw one." Edmond chuckled.

"Well I've got time. Maybe I'll just stick to the centre of the crowd…" Matthew's words trailed.

"Ahh, don't worry about it. There's no parry-repost when you're on a horse anyways. Just time your cuts right and your mount will do the rest." Edmond explained. "So what are you up to tonight? Banqueting with General Gough?"

"No, I have a dinner to attend to. A middle class dinner, with a lawyer friend, Reginald Swire, from before the war." Matthew said stressing.

"You ever miss it?" Edmond asked as he tossed his cigarette.

"Well, I suppose." Matthew admitted. "With all the servants and the leisurely days… and all the pretty country girls..."

Actually there's one in particular. He thought.

"Actually, I was talking about lawyering." Edmond chuckled slightly. "But being an earl is nice too, I suppose."


Accounts of Mary Crawley

April 16th, 1915

As usual, Sybil and Edith patiently waited in the room while Mary took her time getting dressed. The day had been long and dower. After Mary's spontaneous trek through the streets of London for several hours the day before, she had been remarkably quiet. She didn't want to talk about it and Sybil and Edith made no real attempt to. Anna stayed with her that night as Mary tried to contain her tears. She felt stupid; it was nothing to cry over. Her mind was quick to realize that she simply may have been mistaken. But heart held onto another story, even if it wasn't true.

In her melancholic imagination, Matthew had seen her and had walked away from her all over again. In her mind, she was being punished for letting him go.

It took her a whole night to cry it out, as silently, gracefully, and privately as she could. She purged, as she had learned to do quite proficiently in the last several months. It was war and no one wanted to see a highborn lady cry her eyes out over the trivialities of her life. But she felt, and she needed to feel.

Anna knew that.

And perhaps, she was the only one who knew that. Mary's cold exterior, that she wore a shield against the world, was finally beginning to take a toll on her. Before, she had Matthew, and before she had papa, and she had Sybil, and mama. Now, she had no one; no one but Anna to bear the weight of her stoic misery.

Mary and her sisters arrived in true fashion. Dressed up in the finest fashions the war could produce with the usual grace and dignity befitting of their station, each one of them attracted the attention of at least one man there. Robert watched closely over his daughters while Cora had gone off to talk to some of her friends.

"Don't worry, papa." Mary said as she walked over to join him. "I won't let them get into too much trouble."

"It's not your sisters I'm worried about." Robert retorted.

"You could not possibly mean me." Mary jested.

Robert smirked and took a sip of his drink.

"Well, don't worry papa." Mary replied reassuringly. "I will be the perfect lady tonight."

"Good." Robert smiled.

Mary scanned the crowd. Edith had been up to her old tricks, feigning interest with her target of choice. Sybil had always had her fair share of attention; lovely and sweet as she was. Mary smiled absently as she watched her sisters enjoy the life that she had once adored; now it all seemed so distant and inconsequential. The night drifted on and while Robert had made occasional encouragements for her eldest daughter to go mingle, she politely declined and held her station.

An hour later, a flood of officers came into the room adorned in their red dress uniforms, to a crowd of blaring applause.

"Colonel Oliver Easton and the officers of the Sixth Dragoon Guards." The butler managed to announce through the thick of the clapping.

Robert turned and tilted his head slightly towards the crowd of officers.

"Oh, all right. If you insist." Mary half-hearted protested as she grabbed her drink from the table and dove in.

She approached slowly as the crowd had already begun to disperse to various corners of the room. Their uniforms had been distracting. She scanned their faces trying to pick out one that was remotely interesting. And he was again.

It was as if she had gone blind for a moment and every memory came rushing back. Her uncontrollable emotions pierced at her heart. Every breath escaped from her lungs.

Matthew.

She wondered if she had been dreaming. She wondered if she was going mad. Every physical sense that she had told her that the tall, blue eyed, blonde, gentlemen with the warm smile, was him. Every instinct she had nurtured told her not again. Don't fall for this again.

But it was him. He stared back at her, their eyes transfixed. Her motions frozen in time, as all else had seemed to do as well. Once again she tried to rationalize what she was seeing but she couldn't. He was there and it was him. He was so close she could feel his breath upon her cheek. That warmth that she had known those years ago, that tender fragile caress, it was unmistakable.

After she regained her senses she received a tap on her shoulder. She turned around quickly to find a large imposing gentleman in front of her.

"Lady Mary." He greeted her warmly.

"Sir Ambrose, how nice to see you." She said instinctively, before she even fully realized who he was.

She turned her head back once more to look but found nothing but a sea of red uniforms. He was gone. Again.


The moonlight draped over his shoulders like a cloak. The city was dark and the noise of the day had long since dissipated into the mysteries of the night. She stood in front of the great house watching him. The death throes of winter caught her neck and back with the echoes of its last words. She shivered, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the cold.

He patted his horse and stroked his back as he adjusted the saddle. For a moment she wanted to do nothing but watch him. For a moment, they were in Downton's stables. For a moment, he was preparing for a hunt and she was seeing him off. For a moment, she was the countess and he was the earl. For a moment, she had an eternity that doesn't exist.

But only for a moment.

"I knew it was you." Mary finally managed to say.

He looked up from his horse and paused. "Mary…" His breath managed to say.