Chapter Nine – An Understanding
The night was black when they arrived at the house. They were astride Matthew's horse with Diamond tethered behind them. Mary lay against Matthew's chest, barely conscious. True to his word, Carson stood at the entrance of Downton Abbey as they approached. Mary was soon settled in her room and Dr. Clarkson had been summoned.
After the doctor had completed his examination, he joined the Crawleys just outside of Mary's bedroom. He closed the door quietly behind him. "It's nothing serious, although it might have been if Matthew had not found her when he did. It is a mild case of hypothermia and dehydration, nothing that a day in bed will not cure."
"May I see her?" asked Matthew.
"She's sleeping now, Matthew. You best wait until morning," Dr. Clarkson answered.
"Go home, Matthew. Get some sleep." Lord Grantham said to him.
"You're certain she's in no danger?" Matthew looked to the doctor.
"I'm quite certain of it. She'll be fine." Dr. Clarkson assured him.
"Shall I send for the car, Matthew?" Lord Robert asked him.
"No, thank you, Robert. I'd much rather walk. I'll see you in the morning then. Goodnight."
The cold night air was bracing and Matthew welcomed it. He needed to clear his head. That she would break off their engagement at all was unthinkable. But to break over a scheme of Carlisle's would be utterly preposterous. Surely he could make her see that. He had to make her see that because he could not now fathom a life without her. If she were to leave him, she would sail for New York. The break would be absolute and final. He wondered how he would survive it this time, having lived this dream of her for the past two days. His heartache would be unimaginable. He tried not to think about it but it followed him home like a specter.
The next day, Matthew woke up unsettled. Then his recollection of the prior day's events fell upon him. His morning rituals gave him some respite; they pre-occupied him and applied a veneer of normalcy to his day. At breakfast, he gave his mother a watered-down version of the events, omitting references to the Turk, to the possible rupture between himself and Mary. There was much that was left unanswered.
"So for reasons known only to her, Mary rides out and falls asleep in a cottage." Isobel gave her son a regard of pure disbelief. "That's nonsense, Matthew. What are you not telling me?"
"Mother, it's not my story to tell," Matthew set down his cup. "Besides it may no longer be our concern." He stared out the window.
"Not our concern? She is your fiancée and my future daughter-in-law." His mother went and sat next to him. "Matthew, you come downstairs plodding like a gravedigger. You tell me the oddest story of Mary running away." She rose from the table. "Are things settled between you and Mary or not?"
Matthew let out a sigh of resignation. One way or another, she would soon find out. Better that it should be from him than from a wretched daily published by that monster, Carlisle. "You'd better sit," Matthew advised her.
After he finished his rendition, Isobel did not appear the least bit shaken or surprised. "Things are never as they seem on the surface," she stated as a matter of fact. "When did you learn of this?"
"Mary told me several days ago before I proposed." He added, "If it had made a difference to me then, I would never have asked for her hand. She doesn't seem to think so."
"So you love her still?"
"Mother, I have always loved her. Almost from the very first day that I set eyes on her." He gave her a sideways glance.
"Very well, then," Isobel said as she rose from her chair, "Wait here." Within a minute, Isobel returned to the dining room. She dropped a small gray velvet case in front of Matthew. "What is this?" he asked her. Upon her urging, he opened it. The tiny box contained a gold ring bearing a oval garnet of scarlet red at its centre. The gem itself was encircled by tiny diamonds. It was elegant and flawless. Mattthew looked up at Isobel. "It's lovely. Wherever did this come from?"
"Your father gave it to me before we were married. It's a promise ring," Isobel answered. "It's been awhile since it fit me. I want you to have it, to give to Mary."
"That's a risky proposition, isn't it, in the circumstances?" questioned Matthew, his eyebrow arching slightly.
"I think not, Matthew," Isobel reassured him. "Anyone who has seen you and Mary together would have no doubts." She smiled. "You know, I had brought it out once or twice when Lavinia was here. She was a dear girl. Then something would happen to shake my confidence and I would squirrel it away again." She shrugged slightly and smiled.
"You're not shocked by Mary's conduct with the Turk?" Matthew asked her warily.
"Matthew, I was not born yesterday and neither were you. There are a good many skeletons in the bedroom closets of the upper class. We are none of us perfect." Isobel looked at him plainly. "Mary has proven her worth and character in other ways that have satisfied me."
Matthew looked at the ring one more time before closing its case. He was impressed by his mother's discretion and by her confidence in his future with Mary. He wished that he had the same degree of faith in Mary's love for him. But their record with one another had not been stellar. He was nervous.
"Now go fetch your coat," Isobel urged him. "You have business to tend to."
Carson greeted Matthew at the door and after relieving him of his coat and hat, quickly ushered him to the staircase. "I understand she's waiting for you, Mr. Crawley." Matthew acknowledged Carson with a nod of thanks and directed himself up the stairs. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he approached her bedroom. He rapped lightly on the door. "Come in," he heard her say. He entered.
"Good morning, Mary," Matthew smiled faintly. "I hope you're feeling better?"
Mary was sitting up in her bed, supported by an assortment of pillows. Her dark hair was tied back by a length of red ribbon. The pale pink of her cheeks had returned and her lips were cherry red. It was quite obvious that she was waiting to see him and she had attended to some preparation for his visit. He could not tell if that was a good sign or a bad omen.
She nodded and smiled. "I'm better, Matthew. Thank you." She patted her hand on the bed. "Please come and sit."
Matthew's stomach was in knots. He went and sat down on the edge of her bed. Neither of them spoke. She reached out slowly and grabbed his hand. She pulled it toward her and began to lightly caress his fingers. She laced his fingers with hers and looked up.
"How are you?" she asked him softly.
He still could not fathom her intention. "Well, that depends," he answered.
"On what?" Her voice was quiet.
He pulled his hand away. "Mary, don't play with me. Yesterday, you asked me to break with you. And now you ask me how I am?" He stood up and paced across the room. He stared out the window. "What can you be thinking?" He shook his head.
Mary didn't speak.
He continued with an increasing degree of bewilderment. "We have shared things, done things to each other that only the most intimate lovers do. Does that not mean anything to you? " Matthew turned to face her. His eyes were dark, accusatory. "Do you want to me to end our engagement? Do you really?"
Mary's eyes welled up. "Don't be angry with me, Matthew, please."
He approached her, uttering, "I tell you this, Mary. I will not end it. If you want me to leave and leave forever, I will but you must tell me that is what you want. I will do as you ask." He turned from her and waited.
She spoke resolutely in hushed tones. "Matthew, once my story is published, I will be a pariah. You must ask yourself if you can live with that. Can you see yourself married to an outcast…a whore? Who knows what people will say about me, about you?"
"I see myself married to you." Matthew turned to face her. "What others may say means nothing to me. I know who you are. And I know who I am."
Mary rose from her bed and went to him. "Then you must know this…that you are the very air that I breathe. Do you think I said those things lightly yesterday as if they meant nothing? I feel as if my soul had been ripped out from my very core." She turned away from him in an effort to hide her tears.
Matthew grabbed her by her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. His manner was intense and focused. "Then you must never say such things to me again. Do not even think them. Do you understand me?" He let her go and dropped his arms to his side. He turned and sat down on the divan by the fire. He lowered his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked up. "Come here," he commanded softly. He held out his hand. She went to him and sat down. "So, are we agreed?" Matthew asked. Mary nodded wordlessly. She swallowed. "You must say the words, Mary," Matthew urged. "You must promise." He cradled her cheek in his right hand and lowered his lips to her mouth. He was poised to kiss her.
"I promise," she whispered.
"Go on," said Matthew, waiting. He scrutinized her hair, her eyes, her neck. He felt like an addict after the longest driest spell and she was his vice. His longing for her already consumed him.
Mary started again, "I promise never to say…" He kissed her lightly on the lips. "…or think…," he kissed her cheek. "…such things again." He kissed her neck and lingered there. "Ever," Matthew whispered against her throat. "Ever," she repeated, breathlessly, her eyes closed.
"All right then." Matthew murmured in her ear. His lips travelled back to her throat while his hand wandered slowly to her breast. As he squeezed her firm round flesh, he could feel her nipple stiffen against his palm through the thin cotton fabric of her nightdress. "Matthew, no…" she whispered, panting softly. "Anna will be here soon." Matthew stopped and looked up at her. "You're right," he said, licking his lips. "You must get back to your bed." Matthew looked out the window in an attempt to wind down.
Mary settled herself back against her pillows, fixing her hair, adjusting her gown. He smiled at her and sat down at her bedside. "I almost forgot. I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small gray velvet box. He grabbed her hand and placed the box in her palm. Mary smiled. "What is it?" she asked him, her eyes bright with pleasure.
"Open it," he replied.
She flipped the tiny case open and drew in her breath. "It's beautiful, Matthew."
"My father gave it to my mother and now, I'm giving it to you." He reached up to caress her hair. "Are you pleased?"
"What do you think?" Mary looked at him, smiling. She placed it on her ring finger and stared at it. "I love it, Matthew."
"Good. Then maybe later on tonight, you can show me how grateful you are." Matthew grinned. "Get some sleep. I will see you at dinner." He kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, Mary. More than anything." He closed the door quietly behind him. He felt sure that the storm had passed.
