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Chapter 7

She looked up into her mother's eyes and began to cry. "Even still, for the first time in my life, I want to have children. I would give anything, anything, to be able to have Matthew's children. Not out of duty, not to produce an heir. I want his children."

She struggled to continue and finally choked out, "But that is not to be. Please, Mama, please give us your blessing."

Cora, her face wet, nodded, then pulled Mary up and wrapped her arms around her. "You are my dearest girl."

Mary clung to her mother, weak with relief. For all her brave words to Matthew, she had been prepared for the possibility that she would not be able to convince Cora of the rightness of their marriage. She had told herself that her mother's approval didn't matter to her; now that she had it, she realized how much it meant, how painful rejection would have been.

"Thank you, Mama, thank you," she murmured as her mother pet her hair. Her tears still flowed freely but she started to laugh. "Oh, Mama, I've never felt like this. I've never loved Matthew and been completely happy." She was suddenly a little wobbly.

Cora looked at her in alarm while holding onto her arms. "Mary—"

"No, no, I'm fine, I just need to sit down a moment." She took the handkerchief her mother offered and wiped her eyes, then spied the carafe of water on the table next to the bed. "Could I just have some water? I've cried so much I feel as if I just came off the Sahara."

"I'll have some breakfast sent up," said Cora as she poured a glass, bringing it to Mary along with the carafe. Mary gulped the water down greedily, then held the glass out for more.

"Matthew and I said 'no more tears allowed' today. We both cried buckets last night. We couldn't believe we had fallen asleep! Do you know, I couldn't open my eyes this morning? It was so odd," she said smiling as she held out her glass. "More, please. Matthew got them open with warm water and a flannel." She looked in the mirror. "I do look a fright." She took another long drink and then sighed and wondered how Matthew was doing. He had looked so exhausted when she left him.

Cora brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. She had rarely heard the adult Mary speak in such a carefree, unguarded manner and it was rather wonderful to hear. "I'm sure you both had much to say to each other after so many years." She paused and took Mary's head gently in her hands. "And if you are happy, then I can only be happy for you." She looked at the clock. "I must run or I'll be late for the recitation. Ring for Anna-you need a bath and a good rest, my girl. Then, later today," she smiled, "we really will start making plans!"

Mary hugged her mother good-bye but before she could ring for Anna, her door burst open almost as soon as it had closed.

"Mary!" cried Sybil, dressed in her uniform, followed closely by Edith. "We came down to breakfast as Bates was pushing Matthew to his room and—"

"Is Matthew all right?" asked Edith.

"That's not the question!" exclaimed Sybil before Mary could say anything. "Of course, he's all right. He was grinning from ear to ear when we talked to him, although he was trying not to. Like the cat that had swallowed the canary! The question is: why is he still dressed for dinner? And why," she said scanning Mary from head to toe, "are you still dressed for dinner? And why does Matthew look so happy?" She paused and her eyes grew wide. "And why do you look so happy? You look as if you're about to levitate!"

"That's four questions," Mary laughed, her eyes merry.

"We asked him what was going on and he said, 'You need to speak with your sister.'" Edith said. "And so-"

"And so. . ." Sybil began and stopped. Mary, still laughing, was nodding her head. Sybil started to bob up and down on her toes. "Oh, Mary—truly? After all this time?"

Mary continued to nod, smiling so hard she thought her face would break. "Yes, I can't believe it, but yes, we're going to be married!"

Sybil threw her arms around Mary. "You two have always belonged together! This is so romantic!" She pulled back, still holding Mary's arms, and looked into her eyes. "But you see, true love conquers all, it really does," she added with an unexpected seriousness.

Edith came up to Mary and touched her arm. She was smiling but subdued, almost shy. "I'm so very glad for you both, Mary. I hope you can believe I mean it sincerely," she said earnestly, her eyes glistening.

Mary turned to her and took her hand and squeezed it. "I do believe it, thank you."

"Now, you must tell us everything," said Sybil, hopping onto the bed. "So you stayed up all night? How did he propose?"

Mary laughed. "You go eat your breakfast. I promise to tell you everything after I have a bath and a rest. Look at me—like something the cat brought in and I'm about to fall asleep standing up!"

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Anna came in with a tray. "Your mother found me, m'lady—she said she thought you would forget to ring. Here's some tea. I'll bring you breakfast after your bath."

"We'll leave you for now, but later—all the details," said Sybil as she and Edith left.

Anna set the tray down and poured Mary a cup. Handing it to her, she smiled, "I don't quite know how you're still standing, m'lady. Let me go start your bath and I'll be right back."

"Thank you, Anna, and for the tea," she said taking the cup and sitting down again at her dressing table. She took a grateful sip and hoped Matthew had had some. "It's really like a tonic. And a bath will be heavenly." Her face became pensive as she continued to drink.

Anna noticed the look. "Oh, and m'lady, Mr. Bates was planning to draw Mr. Matthew a bath, as well." She smiled kindly at Mary. "Don't worry. Mr. Bates will take good care of him," she added as she left.

Mary bit her lip. How did Matthew manage to take a bath, after all? She remembered his words from last night: I have to be carried to the toilet. I have to be put to bed like an infant. And from this morning: Life with me will be anything but simple and it will never be just the two of us. Her heart ached for him, ached to be with him. She looked at the clock. How long until she would see him again? She got up and crossed the room to her bedside table, opened the drawer and took out a well-worn envelope. Gently, she slid out the picture that had sustained her all these years, the picture that never had to be hidden again. She stared at it; it seemed so different. Looking at his picture had always brought her comfort but also the ache of yearning, loss, regret. Now, she only felt joy and she pressed it to her heart and whispered, "Thank you." She sat down again at her dressing table and propped it up next to the little dog. Resting her head on one hand, she reached out with the other and touched the picture, smiling. I am with you even when we are apart. And that is how Anna found her a moment later.

.

Would he ever get used to it? Matthew watched in morbid fascination as his feet entered the water and he could feel—nothing. Even after so many months, it always amazed him, always seemed impossible. More than the circus, it was that moment of not feeling as he watched his feet, then legs, enter the water that made him hate baths now. And he hated the sight of his legs but he couldn't make himself look away. It was like watching a strange, hideous alien creature. They just couldn't be part of him—but they were. He really was the Sea Monster.

But, oh, it was a circus: two men, sleeves rolled up and wearing aprons, to lift him from his chair into the tub and out; at least a half dozen towels; screens to block the view as he moved in his chair from his bedroom down the hall to the bathroom and then back again; water everywhere. He had to admit that, compared to the first baths he had endured after his injury—he had been prepared never to take a bath again—the routine he and Bates had figured out was a well-oiled machine. Still, such a production.

Today, Thomas was assisting Bates; sometimes it was Alfred. Although they were both unfailingly courteous throughout the whole ordeal, it really bothered him to have the two footmen see him like this and then serve him at dinner. He wondered if they talked about him; no, he felt sure they did.

Thomas had him under his arms and Bates held his legs as they carefully lowered him into the water, a towel covering his hips. He didn't mind Bates looking at him, but Thomas and Alfred was just too much. Matthew could point to the places on his stomach and back where he would begin to feel the wonderful warmth at last, and yes, there it was. And now he could feel the water up to his rib cage and Bates and Thomas were straightening up, so he knew he must be sitting on the bottom of the tub even though he felt as if he were floating.

"Here you are, sir." Bates placed a folded towel behind his head.

"Thank you, both." He leaned back and closed his eyes. He heard Thomas leave; he or Alfred would return in about twenty minutes. He could hear Bates add more hot water. His back and shoulders began to relax a bit as the water rose and, as usually happened at about this time in the process, he thought: "Crawley, you are an ungrateful bastard." And he felt ashamed, remembering that at least he had a bath to take—and in a bathroom modernized just for him, for God's sake—and people to help him take it, thinking of all the men who had survived with injuries like his, or worse, and who didn't have the care that he had and never would.

"I've added Epsom salts to the bath, sir. You were in your chair for over a day, you know," said Bates, turning off the tap.

"Thank you, Bates. I'm lucky to have you," Matthew replied fervently, opening his eyes a moment and smiling. He closed them again. He was indeed so lucky to have him, but Bates couldn't go on pulling double duty for him and Robert. It was amazing how, again with assistance from Thomas or Alfred, he had managed to take care of the two of them, but it was a real hardship on him, going up and down the stairs so much, to say nothing of having twice the work, although, of course he never complained.

They had hired a valet for Matthew a few weeks before Christmas. Edgar Pruitt, a man from York, about Bates's age, tall, balding and with an air of imperturbability, had come highly recommended and had had experience valeting invalids like him. Only, really, they weren't like him. They were all, it turned out, invalids due to ailments of old age, not a young man stopped in the prime of his life as he was. There had been a problem from the first in that Pruitt expected to do everything for him, whereas Bates, undoubtedly because of his own injury, had understood without being told that Matthew wanted to do everything he possibly could for himself. So, for instance, Bates would bring him his shaving things but knew he would want to shave himself. And while Matthew obviously needed help dressing his lower half, once that was done, Bates would put him in his chair, having laid out his undershirt, shirt, tie, vest and cuff links, and leave him to it. (The irony was not lost on Matthew that he had always said that he wanted to be allowed to dress himself. Well, he had gotten his wish, at least in part.)

He hadn't expected Pruitt to understand intuitively but he had expected him to understand and respect this routine once it had been explained by Bates. Only he hadn't. It seemed that every day they had to start again, Matthew having to stop him from assisting—he had even tried to comb his hair!—and Pruitt looking politely put out. Then there was the problem of his attitude. It wasn't that he was at all rude but he always managed to make Matthew feel as if he thought him slightly feeble-minded. And after he found out about his nightmares, every night he tried to press Matthew to take a sleeping draught, no matter how many times Matthew explained that it always made him feel thick-headed and disoriented when he woke up, which was far worse. Matthew had decided after two weeks that he was going to have to tell Carson that it just wasn't going to work, when Pruitt, a week before Christmas, got word that his brother had died, leaving a widow and young family, and that he was very much needed back home. Matthew, Carson and Bates had all agreed that it was best to wait until after the holidays to try again. This time, Matthew was going to insist that any candidate had to have served in the war so that he wasn't always having to explain himself.

Matthew knew that Thomas wanted the job. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Aside from feeling that Thomas was always working some angle that would put himself ahead at another's expense, Matthew knew from what Anna had told Mary that Thomas and O'Brien had made Bates's life miserable when he had first arrived, resenting that a cripple could possibly get the job of valet to Lord Grantham. That would have been enough but now, after, what Mary had said last night, he had an even more serious reason to oppose Thomas ever having such an intimate connection to him. Matthew remembered quite clearly that Thomas had been assigned to valet Pamuk and that made him the most likely person to have told or shown Pamuk where Mary's bedroom was located. He knew that it could never be proven, but Matthew also knew he would never trust him, now.

Mary. How had the conversation with her mother gone? He wrenched his mind from worrying about that and concentrated on remembering her face when she had accepted him. Remembered holding her, remembered shivering as he touched her skin, remembered kissing her neck, remembered tasting-.

"Sir?"

Matthew opened his eyes and Bates handed him a soapy sponge. As he washed himself, he wondered if Mary were taking a bath now and let his mind picture that and smiled. Then he looked down at his legs and sighed. They seemed to get thinner by the week. At least Mary would never have to see them.

Bates handed Matthew a long-handled brush and he began to scrub his back. Then he brought him a hot towel and Matthew held it to his face for a moment while Bates set a bowl of warm water and a mirror on a stool next to the tub. Bates took the towel and handed Matthew his shaving soap and brush, then his razor.

"You know, Bates," he said as he soaped his face, "I can't tell you how much I appreciate how you took care of us last night. That really went beyond anything in the job description of a valet or lady's maid." He started to shave quickly.

"Thank you, sir. Anna and I were glad to be of service." Matthew glanced up and saw the way Bates's eyes lit up when he said Anna's name. He hoped Bates could be as happy as he was one day. "Do you know if Carson has advertised again for the valet position?" He still couldn't quite make himself say "my valet."

"I believe he's planning to do so the first of next week." Bates paused. "You know, Thomas is quite keen for it."

"No." When he heard no reply, Matthew looked up from the mirror and saw Bates smile briefly and incline his head. Matthew flashed a grin and winked. As he finished, Bates handed him another hot towel just as there was a knock on the door.

"Yes, I'm ready," Matthew nodded to Bates, handing him the towel, then called out, "Come in." This time, it was Alfred, also wearing an apron and carrying a large stack of heated bath sheets and towels, as well as a blanket.

"Good morning, sir," he said as he draped two large bath sheets over Matthew's chair, covering it completely, then made a second layer with two more. He stood behind Matthew as Bates went to the foot of the tub. This was where everything and everyone helping him got soaked as he was lifted dripping into his chair. Alfred left immediately and Bates handed Matthew a large towel at the same time as Matthew removed the small towel, soaking wet, that had covered his hips, and tossed it back in the tub. Bates quickly dried his legs while Matthew worked on his upper body. Then Matthew pushed up on the arms of his chair as much as he could and Bates pulled the top two wet bath sheets away so that Matthew was sitting on the dry ones. Finally, with a large towel around his shoulders and a blanket draped over his lap and legs, he wheeled himself quickly down the hall to his bedroom. The bath circus was done.

It was always such a relief to get back to his room. Painted a soft, pale gray, the room was not large but it was much bigger than the one he had first occupied when he began his convalescence, big enough for a wardrobe, two bookcases and a small desk as well as his three-quarter bed and night stand. The window looked out on one of the gardens and got the morning sun. Bates had, of course, closed the curtains and had already turned down his bed and laid out his pyjamas. Matthew picked up the top and put it on, then lifted each leg, setting his feet on the carpeted floor. Bates, standing in front of him, reached down under his arms as Matthew placed his arms around Bates's neck. Bates lifted and pivoted Matthew onto the bed, then brought his legs up and settled them while Matthew pushed himself back onto his pillows, placed to keep him in a semi-sitting position. Bates held the pyjama bottoms but hesitated.

"What?" said Matthew, raising an eyebrow when Bates didn't move to finish dressing him.

"Sir, I do think we should check you for pressure sores."

Matthew sighed and made a face. Clarkson, his mother and Sybil were always worried about sores but he had never had one. Every few nights, though not as often as his "medical committee" thought he should, he slept on his stomach, even though he absolutely hated it. He already felt helpless stuck in bed for six to eight hours, but at least on his back he could turn the bedside light on and off and on again; or read or pretend to read one of the books in the stack always at hand; or get some water from the carafe or use the urinal (or both) kept at the ready. He knew he could always call if he really needed to relieve himself, but really, it was just that feeling of utter helplessness, that he could do absolutely nothing for himself face down, that was so hard to bear. And then, and perhaps this was worst of all, when he awoke lying on his stomach, he always thought he was lying in the dirt of the battlefield and his heart would pound until he got his bearings. That feeling was as bad as a nightmare.

Before his injury, his natural position had been to sleep on his side and he had tried that, propped up with pillows. But when he had nightmares, which was often, his flailing about caused him to end up on his stomach or back anyway, only in a very awkward, sometimes painful position. They had given up on it. It was his stomach or back.

"Sir, I don't know that I ever told you but I had a very nasty pressure sore when I was in hospital after I was wounded."

Matthew frowned. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yes, it became badly infected and took many weeks to heal. I was very fortunate that it did heal." Bates paused. "I know you wouldn't want to be dealing with anything like that with so much ahead of you."

Matthew sighed again and gave a rueful half smile. "You know how get the point across. And, of course, you're right—we'll add you to my medical team. Come on then, help me turn over." Matthew lifted his right leg over his left as Bates went to the other side of the bed. Then Matthew reached out with his right hand and he and Bates grasped each other by the wrist. Bates pulled as Matthew threw the weight of his upper body over, pushed up on his forearms and then lowered himself face down. He folded his arms under his head. He knew Bates would be straightening his legs.

"All right, then, how fares the Crawley rump?"

Bates grunted. "As expected. It's good you're on your stomach; I think we've caught things in time. There's also a spot on your lower back next to your scar that will bear watching as well. I imagine you can't be persuaded to stay in bed until dinner."

Matthew laughed. "Not a chance. I promise I'll go to bed early tonight, though, and will stay in bed late tomorrow." He yawned. "No, going to bed early won't be a problem tonight." He felt Bates place two flannel-wrapped hot water bottles on his shoulders, then draw the covers up. For once, being on his stomach didn't bother him, he was so tired and so relaxed. He heard Bates open the curtains—he always slept with them open now. Was Mary sleeping? He had no idea what time it was.

"Bates," he mumbled, "don't let me sleep past noon."

"Very good, sir." But Matthew was already sound asleep.

.

Matthew pulled himself up and started walking. The desolation of the battlefield stretched as far as the eye could see. No sound of battle, no sound of any life at all. No sun, no moon, no stars, just a heavy gray where the sky should have been. Where was everyone? Where were his men? Where was William? If he walked far enough, he would find them, surely. His legs ached, though, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep going, the pain was getting worse. He had to force each step, his legs weren't working right, but somehow he put one foot in front of the other. At last, he just couldn't go on and fell to his knees and then pitched forward. At least his legs didn't hurt anymore. It was so strange; he couldn't feel them at all. Could he crawl? He dragged himself along and, just as he thought he could go no further, he suddenly realized that he had managed to crawl beyond the battlefield into a meadow. It shouldn't make sense but yet it did. The sky was so blue, not a cloud to be seen, and the sun beat down upon him. It felt good on his back. And Mary was sitting there! Was she waiting for him? Yes, she rose and ran to him. He reached up his hand—oh, she was so beautiful!—and she clasped it as she knelt and put his head in her lap. He closed his eyes and felt her stroke his head. "I thought you would never come," she said. "I've been waiting for you all this time."

.

"Sir." Matthew was vaguely aware that Bates was gently shaking his shoulder. He felt as if he'd been dreaming but if he had been, he couldn't remember a thing about it. It was odd, though. Instead waking up thinking he was lying in the dirt of the battlefield, he awoke thinking he was lying in lush, cool grass. It was lovely and he let himself enjoy the sensation and the feeling that Mary was there with him, somehow. Of course, she was with him. She was the center of his heart. He drifted back to sleep.


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