A/N Yes, I'm still alive. I want to continue with this story, and I have a lot of ideas floating around in my head, but I really don't have much time for writing. I'm in my final year of university, I have a part-time job, and and I'm beginning to work on grad school applications, so life is getting a little crazy. I do have a lot written, but it is sort of an outline and will require a lot of editing to get into a publishable state. That said, I have a pretty good idea of where this story will be going, but I can't guarantee regular updates.
Also, as a warning, there is some vulgar language directed towards the handicapped in this chapter. It is not an opinion that I share in the least, but I know its a view that is held by some.
And timewise, we're still in March.
Oh, and Happy Downton Day!
Matthew's newfound discovery of near independence on horseback was welcomed by all. Cora was a little concerned about it and feared that Matthew might further injure himself, but Sybil soon had her thinking otherwise. "It is wonderful exercise for him," said Sybil. "And he is using some muscles that will never get used otherwise."
One afternoon, Robert came up to Matthew who was pouring over a column in the estate book. "Robert, this does not make sense. Downton isn't making any profit and is barely breaking even. I would even go so far to say that you're losing money."
"My dear chap, don't worry about it," replied Robert. "We're still recovering from the war. It will right itself in time."
"Robert, it's been going on since before the war. I believe in giving people a chance. And yes, the recovery from the war is a long process. But some tenants are months, if not more, behind on rent. I don't know much about farming, but I do know the land is important and I don't think it's being used to its best ability."
"Don't worry about it," assured Robert. "I'll pass your worries onto Jarvis and see what he thinks."
"Thank you," Matthew replied. "I know both us would hate to see anything happen to Downton."
As Matthew began to wheel back to his room, he suddenly stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. "Is something the matter?" asked Robert.
"No," said Matthew slowly. "I think I might have felt something though."
"Matthew, it's been seven months," Robert began, but Matthew interrupted. "I know. I think I've been feeling a tingling sometimes, but it's always gone before I fully realize it."
"Where do you think the feeling is?"
"Some in my hip area and a bit in my right thigh. It's always fleeting. Please, don't say anything to Mary. I don't want her to get her hopes up. I don't want to get my hopes up."
A few days later as Matthew was moving from his bed to the wheelchair he said, "Do you think there is a way to get this chair cushioned more? It's as stiff as a board."
"What did you say?" exclaimed Mary as Anna paused from doing her hair.
"I said this chair is hard," replied Matthew, before realizing the impact of his words. "Mary! Do you think …"
"I don't know, but maybe. Matthew, send for your mother. She might know."
As soon as he had his shoes on, something Matthew still did not know the purpose of, he wheeled out to the hallway. A few weeks previously, Robert had had the telephone rewired and was about a half-meter lower down, allowing him to reach the receiver without a large stretch and thus would hopefully avoid falling out of his chair when he needed to make a call. The operator quickly put him through to Crawley house.
"Hello, Isobel Crawley speaking," said his mother.
"Mother!" Matthew said as he tried to keep his voice steady.
"Matthew, is there a reason for this call?" asked Isobel rather concernedly. "I will still be at the abbey for dinner."
"Mother, could you possibly come earlier? There might be a new development regarding my injury that would be best to tell you in person." Then added hastily, "It's nothing bad, whatever it is."
"Of course. I will be there as soon as I can," said Isobel. "And you are absolutely certain it is nothing potentially bad?"
"Yes, Mother," Matthew replied calmly.
"Very well. I will see you in a about an hour." And the receiver on the other end of the line clicked. Matthew easily put his receiver in its place and wheeled to the breakfast room where he managed to eat a little bit of toast and eggs. Robert looked curiously at his son-in-law, but didn't say anything. When Carson announced the arrival of Isobel, Matthew asked her to come to their sitting room. Once they were in the privacy of the room, Isobel asked, "Now, what is it that you have to tell me."
When Matthew didn't immediately answer Mary said, "Matthew complained this morning that his wheelchair was hard."
"You did what?" asked Isobel in astonishment.
"The seat is hard. I can only feel it under my hips, but I certainly can tell what I'm sitting on," repeated Matthew
"Are you telling me that you are recovering some function?"
"Maybe, though absolutely nothing in regards to movement. Is it possible to have some feeling return after more than seven months? And Mother, before you ask, I know this isn't phantom pains. I know what those are like and I've had too many false alarms. This, this is different." He gestured to the seat of the wheelchair. "I've never had any phantom pains in my upper legs. It's always been an itch or something similar in a lower leg or foot, but it's always gone before I'm able to touch the area. But this has got to be real. I can tell the difference between my chair and the bed."
"First off, you need to calm down," said Isobel. "There is a real chance that you are experiencing phantom pains, but it is also possible that you are recovering. Seven months is a very long time to pass without any signs of recovery, but I do not think it is impossible. The x-ray only showed that there was severe damage to your spine. It is possible that not all of the spinal cord was transected, but due to the trauma suffered it has taken this long for the swelling to fully go down."
"I think Dr. Cotes wanted to know if there were any changes to your condition," Mary said slowly. "He probably will want to know if you're feeling anything."
"I don't want to call him quite yet. Only if I become more certain. I don't want to have anymore false hopes." With this statement, he released the handbrake and wheeled out of the room leaving Mary and Isobel in his wake.
"For his sake, I hope that this development of feeling is real and not more phantom pains," sighed Mary. "He's mentioned ideas of feeling such as an itch several times in the last few months, but nothing ever came of it."
"And why did he think it was real now?" Isobel asked.
"He actually felt something real,' Mary explained. "The seat of that chair is hard. And like he told you, it's a new area and that he could tell the difference between the bed and the chair. It would be just like him if he began feeling sensations a few days ago and didn't say anything until now."
"I hope you're right," sighed Isobel. "The two of you have gone through so much. I know you are very happy together, but some physical recovery is something that Matthew needs. No matter what he says, I don't think he's fully accepted his lot in life and perhaps some improvement will help."
Over the next few days, Matthew became more and more certain that he was recovering sensations. Why it was all of a sudden happening, he didn't know. He could only feel firm pressure around his hips and perhaps a bit around his thighs. Even though he had hoped to feel the temperature change when getting into the bath, all feeling still stopped where it had for the past several months: right around his waist. He couldn't feel his legs when doing the exercises to keep his muscles intact, another thing he had hoped for. Though, he did have a vague idea that his legs were being moved into strange positions. It was a strange mixture of emotion. Yes, it was clear that he was feeling something real, but try as he might, his muscles would not obey him in the least.
At last, Mary was able to convince him to call Dr. Cotes and tell him what was happening. Perhaps there was something that could be done to allow for more feeling and perhaps movement. With some reluctance, Matthew rang the doctor. After speaking with the secretary, he finally managed to get Dr. Cotes on the phone.
"Ah, Mr. Crawley, how are things going? I trust you have made some improvement in your ability to do daily tasks?"
"I have," replied Matthew. "Most days I can get from my bed to the wheelchair and back. And I am able to entirely dress myself, though it takes a very long time."
"Good, good," affirmed the doctor. "But I'm certain that is not what you are calling me about."
"No," Matthew said, and proceeded to tell the doctor about the sensations he recently had had and how they were different from the phantom pains he had been feeling during the entirety of his recovery.
When Matthew was finished Dr. Cotes spoke up, "it appears I may have misdiagnosed your injury. The damage to your spine was so severe, I assumed the damage to the spinal cord was similar. From this new information, it seems that your spinal cord was only partially transacted. Your injury was so severe though my guess is it has taken this long for the swelling to completely subside, which explains why you have only just started to have actual feeling in your legs."
"Does this mean there is hope for more recovery?" Matthew let the unspoken question of 'will I walk?' hang in the air.
"I wouldn't bet on it," the doctor replied sadly, understanding what was truly behind Matthew's question. "It's been months since your injury."
"Seven," interjected Matthew, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Seven," repeated the doctor. "Most recovery happens within the first six or so months after a spinal injury. You may regain more areas of feeling or a greater sensitivity in the areas you already feel, but I highly doubt muscle function is a possibility. Again, this is due to the severity and location of the original injury. I will need to see you personally to give a more accurate diagnoses, but that it my current understanding of the situation."
"Thank you," Matthew said quietly. "Do you think this change increases my chance of fathering children?" This last question was asked rather desperately. If movement was not to be an option, surely something good could come out of his new development.
"Yes," affirmed the doctor. "It shows that the sensory functions were not entirely destroyed."
"When do you think I could see you?" Matthew asked hurriedly as he tried to avoid blushing at the doctor's previous statement.
"Next week," stated the doctor much to Matthew's surprise. "I am journeying north for a bit of quiet, but could easily stop by Downton to check on you. Please have Dr. Clarkson be present as well. And your wife if you would like."
"I will," Matthew said a bit nervously. After the call was finished, he paused to try to take in what had just happened. Somehow, a degree of recovery, long thought impossible, was probably going to happen. In some ways he didn't care about the particulars, but perhaps he was no longer doomed to unfeeling legs for the rest of his life.
A few days later Matthew found himself being examined yet again by Dr. Cotes and Dr. Clarkson. He lay down on the bed and a screen was cleverly placed so he was unable to see his lower half.
"Tell us if you feel anything," said Dr. Clarkson. Several minutes later Matthew said, "I felt something."
"That is good," Dr. Cotes said slowly.
"Darling, did you not feel the pinpricks?" asked a worried Mary. "They went all the way up to the screen."
"No," stated Matthew. "I felt a firm pressure in the back of my thigh though. And by my hips."
"That is what I expected," stated Dr. Cotes as he removed the screen. "Matthew, it is my belief that the type of spinal injury you received is indeed an incomplete one, but very severe just the same that in most respects is the same as complete paralysis. It is my judgement that the majority, if not all, of your motor functions below your waist have been lost. But, as you have just demonstrated, you have regained some feeling in your hips and thighs. This most likely means you sustained an incomplete injury at the eighth or ninth vertebrae and may have a chance of regaining more feeling. Do not put much hope into that though as what you can feel appears to be rather touch and go.
As for what you can feel, at the moment, it is only firm pressure. From what I understand, you are unable to feel pain or temperature changes. You also mentioned that you have some awareness as to where your legs are though you are unable to feel them, but other than that, I doubt there will be any more substantial change."
For the first time since the examination had begun, Dr. Clarkson spoke up. "Mr. Crawley, this is wonderful news. I am sincerely sorry that I did not do more when you first arrived. Perhaps you would have reached this stage of recovery sooner."
"Dr. Clarkson, you did what you could," replied Matthew as he pushed himself into a seated position. "The cottage hospital is a small one and you were overrun with other wounded soldiers. I know my injury looked like complete paralysis when I first arrived, and for most practical purposes, that diagnosis is still true. You, Sybil, Mary, you saved my life and for that, I am extremely grateful. I know I didn't always act like that, but it is true."
The verdict from the doctors was not what he had hoped for, not entirely. It had confirmed his suspicions that he really was feeling something and the very real possibility of having children, but at the same time, he had once again been told that walking was never to be a possibility. He ought to be used to hearing that by now, but it was still a blow.
"I also noticed a distinct lack of bedsores, which is very good and highly unusual for people in your situation," added Dr. Cotes, bringing Matthew out of his thoughts.
"I try to sleep on my stomach sometimes. And my side," said Matthew.
"You're able to lie on your side?" asked the doctor in surprise.
"With the help of several large pillows, yes."
"Good, good. Keep doing that."
"Will I be able to tell if I form bedsores?"
"That's debatable. You are able to feel pressure, so you might be able to tell if they are forming. However, you are also unable to feel pain, so that may be a problem. Because motor function hasn't been preserved, bedsores will always be a concern for you for the rest of your life."
"However long that might be," added Matthew a bit dejectedly. "I know my life span has been drastically cut short."
"Matthew, please, don't think about that," begged Mary.
"You know it's true. If I make it to my forties, I'll be a lucky man," Matthew sighed. "And Dr. Cotes, Dr. Clarkson, thank you. Just being able to feel some below my waist has been wonderful. It's a wonderful assurance to not have to look at my legs to know that they are there."
"Mr Crawley, you have already lived longer than many men in your condition and have regained much of your health. You are able to wheel your chair and get in and out of bed with minimal assistance." Dr. Cotes said. "Yes, it is true that paralysis has shortened your lifespan, but in many ways that is because you are more susceptible to illness and infection. At this point, infection is less of a concern because you have regained some feeling, but illness will always be a concern. Your chest area has been greatly weakened and even a simple cold could turn into pneumonia. I don't say this to frighten you, but to let you know that you must always be careful with your health. Living in a country home will help as you are farther away from the dense population of the city."
Matthew nodded rather stiffly. "I wasn't a sickly child, so hopefully that disposition will continue. And if anything does happen, I know Dr. Clarkson will do his best."
After the doctors left, Mary turned to him. "I am happy for you Matthew. I know you've wanted some degree of recovery and that wish has finally come true."
"It has," Matthew admitted, "though not exactly the way I wished it to. I can feel somewhat, but I can't move a muscle on my own, not even a toe and I never will be able to."
"Do you want to let the rest of the family know?"
Matthew shook his head. "Not unless it is necessary. I'll tell Robert as he suspects something, but feeling doesn't mean much of anything in regards to physically recovering."
Towards the end of March Matthew once again made the journey into Ripon. He had been in contact with Mr Harvell and Mr Carter and both were eager to see him again.
With great skill Branson was able to get his wheelchair up the steps. He knocked on the door and Mr Carter answered. For a few moments, the younger of the two head lawyers was startled, but he quickly composed himself. "Mr Crawley," he said, stepping aside to allow Matthew to pass through the door "please come this way."
Once again, Matthew wheeled down the dimly lit hallway and stopped at Mr Harvell's office. "Do come in," said Mr Harvell.
After a briefing, Mr Harvell said, "James, call the client in."
A few minutes later the door opened and Mr Carter entered, followed by an older gentleman.
"Ahh, Viscount Hampshire, this is Matthew Crawley. He will be the primary lawyer working on your case."
"Viscount, it is a great pleasure…" began Matthew as he extended his arm with the intention to shake the hand of this client, but he was rudely interrupted by the viscount.
"You think I'm going to trust my personal matters with a cripple?" the outraged viscount asked of the two senior lawyers. "Tell him to get himself out of here and get back to his bed where he belongs." He paused for a second and then muttered in an audible tone, "Cripples fantasizing about being whole and doing jobs reserved for men must be stopped. There is no place for impotent, idiotic cripples except in a home."
Matthew was livid and trying his hardest not to let it show. He gripped his thigh tightly and squeezed and held in a sigh of relief when he felt the slight pressure. The two senior lawyers were also furious. No one said anything. At last, Matthew spoke up and said, "If my physical limitations and seeming impossibility to perform my duty distresses you, I do not need to take your case."
"You have no need to take anyone's case. You're an invalid and should act like one," retorted the viscount.
Mere weeks ago such a statement would have sent him whirling back into depression. Even so, the words still stung sharply. Now though, he needed to stay strong and hopefully prove he was capable of much, even if his body was capable of little.
"Viscount, did you have any sons who fought in the war?" If the man had children, the chances of such an act were very high.
"My sons both enlisted. One worked as a code breaker and the other in the War Office," Viscount Hampshire said stiffly.
"That was not successful," thought Matthew. He didn't really know if such jobs were considered fighting in the war. They definitely helped the war effort, the codebreakers had been essential, but they still had been rather cushy desk jobs.
"Why?" asked the viscount, clearly not wanting to interact with a cripple.
"I fought in the war, in France. That is why I am in a chair. I was wounded at Amiens."
"Oh," Viscount Hampshire responded, still in the same disgruntled and condescending tone. "Even though you may have fought and been injured in the line of duty, you are still an invalid and nothing will change that." With that, he tuned from addressing Matthew and said, "Mr Harvell. Mr Carter. As you two clearly cannot supply me with a competent lawyer, I am going to have to take my business elsewhere. Good day."
And he left, without so much as an acknowledgement in Matthew's direction. With the man now out of the room, Matthew's erect posture collapsed and he began to weep silently.
"That man," muttered Mr Harvell through gritted teeth. "It's his loss."
"Matthew, would you like me to send for your car?" asked Mr Carter, breaking with formality and calling their new associate by his first name.
"Yes," said Matthew, as he attempted to regain some composure. "And please, ask if Lady Mary will come as well. I think she's at the dressmakers."
"I will," assured Mr Carter.
When Branson arrived with the car and Mary about fifteen minutes later, Matthew had wiped away all traces of tears and was looking reasonably calm.
"Matthew, did something happen? Why did you send for me?" Mary asked rather worriedly as she hurried to her husband's side.
"Lady Mary, there was a situation with a client. He did not treat your husband very well," Mr Harvell explained.
"What did he say, Matthew?"
"Nothing but the truth," Matthew replied sullenly. "He said I was an invalid and had no place taking a job from a competent man."
"Matthew, how many times do you have to have this conversation?" Mary asked as she sat down in the seat next to Matthew's wheelchair. "You might be an invalid in your body, but you most certainly aren't one in your mind. You have to believe that."
"Mary, I do, or, at least I try," responded Matthew. "I tried to reason with him, but he acted like I was child, or not even there."
"If he knew who you are," muttered Mary. "Next time, tell whomever it is, you are the heir to the Earl of Grantham. That will show them you are someone."
"Mary, I want to be respected for who I am, as a person. For me, for my brains, not for a title. I need to be able to prove I am worthy of that title one day, and I cannot do that without me, Matthew Reginald Crawley, being respected as an individual. The title is empty without someone filling it. It doesn't bear respect alone."
Mary was greatly surprised by Matthew's speech. "Matthew," she said quietly as she took his hand in her own. "Sometimes a title gives respect, without someone knowing anything about the person who bears it. Use the earldom to get people to give you a second thought and to prove your worth."
"Mary, I'm a cripple. If I use the earldom, your father will lose respect for having such a useless heir."
Mary gave up, knowing that when Matthew was in this mindset he couldn't be cajoled out of it. "He is so stubborn," she thought, but said aloud as she stood up, "Are you going to stay here for the rest of the day, or would you like to go home?"
"I think I need to go back. I thought I was ready for this, but I'm not."
"Mr Crawley, before you go, I thought I should give you an update regarding Richard Carlisle." Mr Harvell interjected. "We were working on the libel case, but as of yesterday, we received word that he contacted the Spanish Flu and has died."
Mary gasped in surprise. "Dead? Are you quite sure?" It would be like Richard to fake his death, but if he truly was gone, it was such a weight off of her shoulders. Both him and Vera Bates, the only other individuals who knew the entire story of her scandal aside from family might be finally out of her life.
"Yes. When he didn't come to his office for several days, one of his secretaries, who has a key to his house (take that how you will), let herself in and found him. He had only been dead for a few hours, but he had been ill for some time. Is there any reason to continue working on this case? We cannot prosecute a dead man."
With a sigh that seemed to be of relief, Mary collapsed into a nearby chair. She didn't have to be living in fear anymore. Yes, the article had been published, but Sir Richard was no longer lurking around the corner. Perhaps with time, all could be forgotten.
"Mr Crawley," said Mr Harvell again.
"Forget about it. He's dead."
"Matthew, you don't think that anyone would try to pin his death on me," said Mary slowly.
"Never!" exclaimed Matthew, shocked that his wife could come to such a conclusion. "It was the Spanish Flu and you haven't been to London since my appointment with Dr. Cotes before our wedding."
"But people will talk. They know I broke up with him."
"Let them talk," Matthew replied firmly. "You know that whatever they say is not true. It's been six years Mary. Let what is in the past, stay in the past."
"Lady Mary, you found yourself a wonderful husband," said Mr Carter. "Mr Crawley, I am truly sorry for this unfortunate incident with the client. I very much hope that not everyone will treat you with such disrespect."
"Mr Carter, thank you. I know I am not much to look at. This experience has taught me that most of the world will treat me like I am a child. Up till this point, I have only interacted with family, doctors, and other veterans. Most of the time, they are very understanding. I have to learn that such people are the exception.
"In most regards I am physically helpless and always will be. That view will often be transferred to my mental state as well."
"You will simply need to work on proving them wrong," Mr Harvell said as he showed the couple to the door.
A/N I did my best at research for incomplete spinal cord injuries, so hopefully what I have described is accurate. There are no two injuries that are exactly the same, so that helps some.
