Chapter Nine

The next time Mary awoke it was in an old barn, and the rain was pattering gently on the thatched roof. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, and found herself under a vaulted ceiling, on a bed of hay. She began to think she had dreamed it all, if it wasn't for the pain in her ribcage. She delicately felt under the fabric of her shirt, to the swath of bandages wrapped around her. She lay still like that for quite some time, recalling with dreadful clarity the events back at the roadside. She tightly closed her eyes. This isn't happening. But when she opened them again, she knew that it already had.

Matthew was lying on his side, exhausted and asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling with each new breath. Mary reached out and placed a delicate hand on him, as if he might disappear at any moment. And as if he knew that she was watching him, he slowly opened his eyes.

"Hello," he softly whispered, and took her hand in his. "We're in the barn," he said, noticing her frown, "the women who helped us last night has hidden us away," he smiled, "so we're safe, I promise." Mary visibly relaxed.

"What's wrong with my chest?" the words were difficult to get out as if she was being pressed in a vice, on all sides.

"You have some injuries. Perhaps a broken rib or two," he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I thought I would give you a few hours at least before we attempt to get back behind our lines."

"I am not sure I can manage it"

"You will," he whispered softly, "I'll help you," and pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her and she let him safely enclose her.

…

Night had fallen and Matthew eased his arm out from under Mary, where she still lay sleeping. Her breath laboriously sucking in and out in quick succession. He made his way back to the roadside, the night was still and in the cover of darkness he replaced the damaged tyre on the ambulance. Gradually snow began to fall, landing ever so softly on the faces of the two dead women. With some difficulty, he placed their bodies into the rear and solemnly made his way back to the barn.

"Mary…" he whispered, but got no response, and then louder this time, "Mary!" she awoke with a start as Matthew lightly shook her shoulder. "It's time to go." He gently placed a hand around her shoulders, the other under her legs and lifted her slight frame into his arms. A quiet whimper escaped her lips and Matthew captured them in his own briefly, before releasing her, and they exited into the night. The only evidence of their having been there were his footprints softly refilling with snow.

...

Matthew tried as gently as possible to lift her into the cab of the ambulance but every movement he took seemed to elicit a gasp from Mary. As he went around to the driver's side to get in, she had slid sideways and down onto the seat and he lifted her head up to rest it in his lap.

"Much better," she weakly smiled. He looked down at her and replied, "fingers crossed," as he reached for the ignition to turn the engine, but it wouldn't start. He tried again, and again it ticked over but wouldn't fire. "Come on…" Matthew desperately whispered, when Mary reached out an arm tentatively and pulled out the choke. Matthew tried again, and the engine sputtered to life. He gave her a wry smile and slowly edged his way back out onto the road.

With their headlights turned off and just using the glow from the moonlight, Matthew drove ever so slowly back towards St Quentin. Mary, still positioned with her head on his lap, had one hand on the lapel of his tunic, her fingers tightening around it every time they went over a bump.

"Talk to me," Mary shivered, barely audible over the hum of the motor, trying to take her mind off the agony she felt.

"What would you like to hear?" he asked gently.

"Just your voice."

"Why didn't you tell me you were in France?" Matthew asked softly, glancing down at her face, her eyes half closed, she sighed. "Why does it matter now?" But when he remained silent, she whispered, "I…I wanted to escape. Downton that is. Too many…" they went over another bump and she buried her face into his stomach, her mouth contorting into a grimace, before retreating, "memories."

"I thought there were only good memories of Downton," he replied, his face somewhat unsure of her meaning, but Mary was struggling to stay awake.

"Mary?" She opened her eyes again as his concerned voice reached her.

"Oh, some good….you," she exhaled, "then there's…Pamuk." Matthew looked down at her, confused. "Pamuk? The Turkish gentleman, the one who died?" his face a look of astonishment as his heart was shredded in her reply. "He died…in my bed."

"Did you…did you love him?" Matthew painfully asked, but Mary had already slipped into unconsciousness.

…

Matthew was pacing. By the time he had reached the hospital Mary's breathing had become more laboured and he was beginning to fear her injuries were much worse than he had anticipated. She was so cold, he thought, as he paced a solid line up and down outside the examination room where Findlay had taken her. His thoughts, jumbled and chaotic, kept going back to what she had said. He died, in my bed. He knew what she had meant and continued to pace, trying to understand it. He looked up, and incredulously saw the face of one Lancaster Fusilier smoking a cigarette, casually against the door frame.

"YOU!" Matthew shouted, as he stormed over to the Lance Corporal, who clearly recoiled at his approached, "you bloody well left us out there, she could have died and then what!" he yelled, his eyes piercing into the trooper, his fists shaking at his sides.

"I did what you asked Sir," he responded confidently, "I took you there didn't I? And that place crawlin' with Jerries. A man can 'ardly be expected to do more. Besides which, she aint dead, is she!" he said it so rather matter-of-factly that Matthew snapped. "You cowardly bastard!" and swinging his arm, his right fist connected with a crack as he knocked him down onto the polished floor. He made to go after him again but the soldier edged back, and he was only stopped by Sybil coming out of the exam room, shouting, "Matthew! Stop it at once!"

He froze in his tracks and crestfallen, turned to face her.

"Now is not the time," she sternly replied, beseeching him.

Matthew straightened his jacket, and breathless asked, "How is…how is Mary?"

"She's hurt Matthew, but she'll pull through. Thank God you found her when you did."

Matthew nodded. Suddenly the events of the last few days weighed down on him that his shoulders noticeably slumped, exhausted.

"I have to get back and report. They'll be wondering where I am" he said dejectedly. "Tell Mary…" he couldn't find the words. "Tell her …" Tell her I love her. But his heart was too broken to form the words. "Just tell her I hope she is feeling better soon." And with that he walked out into the bitter night, with only the cool wind at his back.

...

Hello Mr Pamuk! Where have you been hiding!