"The Inquiring Agent, Charles Lovell. You left some messages for me about an old case. I wanted to tell you I have new information that sheds light on the attack that took place at Downton Abbey in 1900. The attack your mother suffered at the hands of James Crawley…."
Matthew was stunned. He gasped for air.
"…Mr. Crawley …" Are you there.
The phone was shaking in Matthew's hand.
XX
Matthew mechanically replaced the phone receiver back in its cradle. He turned first towards the dining room where he could hear Robert's rather peeved and tired voice complaining to Carson about the tepidness of his coffee.
The crushing normality of that he could not endure.
His world had stopped, yet everyone else's continued to move in rhythm.
Matthew exited through the front door. The sun was shaded by clouds, he noted.
Suited his current mood.
Without direction, his feet autonomically turned left around the crescent and out to main road alongside Victoria Station. He walked aimless. Adrift. Cut off from the buzz of humanity by the ringing in his ears.
He walked in a fog of his own thoughts. His own making.
Away.
The instinct was to get away. It had been with him since the war.
The freedom to just walk away.
He had felt trapped for such a long time. Cooped up in the war. In the dugouts. In the trenches. In the lines. In his uniform. In his regiment. To his men. To king and country. To his duty.
He had paid his price. The victory ball was on. The nation wanted to forget.
And he realized he was free. Alive and free to do what he wanted.
So when the war ended, the freedom to just walk away was intoxicating. Liberating. Healing.
He had not needed to escape for a while now. Not since Mary entered his life.
But now the instinct returned.
He stopped by a newsagent and bought a pack of Black Cats. Despite trembling fingers he managed to claw one out of the packaging and light it. The cigarettes had been wildly popular in the trenches. Not least because it came with small French dictionaries and phrase books tucked inside.
The air was heavy with humidity. He made for the river. The path along the Thames was long and made for contemplation.
Charles Lovell's information astounded him. His mother was attacked? By a Crawley relation? At Downton? His brain, slowed by the revelries of the night before, had only now begun to process these facts. And facts they were now. No longer his suppositions or suspicions. But reality. The private investigator mentioned some scant evidence and relying on what the solicitor had told him about interviews with Reggie Crawley.
So his father had been in close contact with this solicitor and the P.I.
He walked and puffed on the smoke. How could he have been so in the dark about this incident in his parent's past? He had no idea about any of it. They had wanted to protect him obviously. And assumed it would never re-emerge into the light of day.
And it would not. Except that Robert Crawley had no sons. And Patrick had died in the war.
Fate? Matthew mused. He was destined to find out in this fashion? Right as he was to embark on being the heir to the very name and title of the family that had so destroyed his own. His father had shot himself upon finding out. He couldn't live with the shame brought on his family by his distant, richer relations.
And now he was in the same situation. His father had left him with the decision as well. One he had intended to pass. Refuse the title. Demand they move on to yet another, even more obscure, opportunist.
Except for Mary. No one would have foreseen that he would have initiated an anonymous relationship with a woman in Paris only to find that self-same woman to be the daughter of the earl of the title he had gone to Downton to refuse.
Which he had been going to do. With a self-righteous anger and a barely concealed hostility towards idea he would accept such a title simply to improve his own station in life.
That's not how it turned out.
He had been softened by Mary's love. Had the Ouija board spirits put Mary in his path that day in Paris just so his life would change for the better?
She already had, in ways both intense and subtle. He had never felt more alive than those days in his cramped room above the café. His touch upon her. The feel of her skin. The tingle of gooseflesh. The feel of the warmth within her thighs. The wetness. Her gasp of ecstasy as his touch reached home. They had moved as one flesh, one breath, one being.
That moment had lasted an ever and a day.
And now he felt rooted to her. The wandering soul that he had been in Paris had found his home. In her heart. In her spirit. He could move on into the future. He even had begun to contemplate Downton as part of that future.
How much the fool he had been?! Letting his sentiments cut the edge off his indignation.
He was going to have to get to the bottom of things before he could possibly move on.
Suddenly he turned towards Victoria Station. Without reflection, he bought a one way to Manchester. He would have a good rummage around the house and find something. He had to find something. To complete the story. Otherwise it would be impossible to move forward with Mary.
He boarded the train.
XX
Mary dressed and walked down the stairs at Grantham House. She put her head into the dining room. Her father was still reading his paper.
"Has Matthew stepped out?" She glanced around.
Her father looked up. "I haven't seen him this morning at all. I thought he was still sleeping off last night."
Mary gave her father a mock disapproving look. "You are looking a bit peaky."
He grunted. "Not as young as I used to be."
"I wonder where's he got to?" Mary queried. "Carson. Have you seen Mr. Crawley?"
"He received a telephone call about an hour ago, my lady, and left soon thereafter." Carson responded as he checked the sideboard.
"Telephone call? From whom?"
"An Inquiring Agent. I took the call downstairs and transferred it up to the front landing. A Mr. Lovell." Carson's intonation inflected slight disapproval.
Mary blanched. "I see." Shortly spoken as she did not want to stir servant's quarter gossip. Although that was probably already a forlorn hope given her whirlwind marriage to Matthew and all the mysteries that surrounded him.
"What do you mean he left?" Robert asked. "We're leaving this morning for York. When will he return?"
"He left no word." Carson replied. He carried the tray from the room.
Mary quickly excused herself and followed Carson out. "Carson" she said, trying not to sound too panicked. "Did the gentleman leave a number where he could be reached?"
"Yes my lady. I had to take the number as I had difficulty transferring to the landing telephone." Carson replied. "I shall retrieve it?"
Mary nodded. She needed to find out Matthew's whereabouts. To make sure he was safe. And in good mind.
She did not expect him back to Grantham House. He had done this disappearing without warning before.
XX
Paris: June 1919
She returned from her hotel to find the room empty. But his kit bag still in a corner. And he left the door unlocked. So it seemed he had just stepped away for a bit.
But she had stayed hours either in his room or in the café downstairs and he never returned. Realizing she was causing a bit of stir amongst the women behind the counter, she retreated back to her hotel.
She had no right to be angry at him. They had no commitment at all. She had never inquired even as to his name. So it irritated her that she was angry.
What had he done to her in just a few days? She felt completely out of sorts that he was gone.
Returning, she paced around her hotel room. Not knowing how to proceed.
Was he in poor health? She knew he had some kind of war injury but had made no inquiries about it. It was not how they were with each other.
The intimacy came from their physicality. Not because of shared history.
The immediacy of touch. Even now just the recollection of his long, sinewy fingers on her skin made it prickle. It was delicate and strong. He would blow in her ear while his hands moved down along the curves of her hips and thighs.
She shuddered and her lip trembled in anticipation. Oh God she wanted him right now.
What did it all mean? What had started as a lark, a dirty week end to put a thumping conclusion to the utter failure of her marriage had become life itself.
She had felt more of a connection to this stranger than she had to any other man she had ever met. He knew her. Knew her in ways that she had shown to no one else.
She couldn't leave without seeing him again. Her family was expecting her back in England. Her mother had telephoned asking when she was to take the ferry. When she had been less than forthcoming about her plans, she heard her father rumbling in the background that she was needed at home.
Why, she asked herself. She had no real function at home. Her father, in particular, had made her more than aware that she was useful as an object to be pushed and shoved around as his will needed.
She finally assuaged their queasiness about her remaining alone in Paris for a few days more by promising to attend a luncheon at the British Embassy, in lieu of her father who had been requested to appear on behalf of the North Riding Regiment.
And ironically it was there she had found him. In close discussion with a rather refined looking gentleman in a corner of the embassy banquet room. He was gesticulating rather wildly and his voice was raised.
He stood out in part because his rumpled suit was not in the same fashion of the dapper men in the room. He looked to her like he had literally slept in those clothes.
The other reason he stood out was that the two men were in the midst of a heated argument.
The French was flying fast and furious between the two men.
"Les Allemands ne vont pas accepter de tels termes sévères sans plainte." He exploded. "Il serait peut-être préférable de travailler à un compromis plutôt que d'expulser les ressortissants allemands en Alsace Lorraine."
"Jamais." His counterpart clucked and dismissed the younger man with a wave of his hand. "Ainsi soit-il"
Her erstwhile lover rolled his eyes back in his head. "Sur votre tête s'il alors. Je vais vous donner mon rapport d'ici la fin du mois."
She ducked behind a potted plant to listen. She could not follow the details of the conversation but it was clear he was unhappy. The two men then walked away in opposite directions. The Frenchman towards the banqueting room, the other towards the foyer and the front door. The rain pouring outside stopped his exit.
He turned back towards the main banquet room.
It was only when she emerged from her hiding spot and made a casual move towards the sideboard, that she felt eyes upon her.
She was sidelines by the wife of the British ambassador. The woman was going on about the heat of the French summer. She was idly nodding agreement. And with what she hoped was subterfuge, she threw some glances around behind her.
Their eyes locked across that crowded room. His red faced mien still reflected his agitation after the argument. He rocked on his heels and hands were gripped tight in his trouser pockets. He would not take his eyes from her.
They bored into her. Demanding she acknowledge his presence.
She did not give him the satisfaction. He could wait. As she had for him.
Yet she flushed as her body betrayed her own need. Her own desire for him. Their entire relationship was defined by this rush, the high of just existing in the same space.
She knew he would not leave without having her. His addiction needed assuaging.
And she was right.
He walked up behind her. She felt the wisp of his heated breath. "Let's get out of here." Sotto voiced, like decadent chocolate.
She slyly smirked at his eagerness. "I'm occupied at the moment. And you have been nowhere to be found." Maintaining an outward calm she did not feel. She wanted to rip his clothes off. "I'm not at your beck and call."
She sensed his laugh, his change of mood.
"You know you want to." Insistent, alluring. He knew her all too well.
"I beg your pardon sir, you know no such thing." She leaned in ever so much closer to him.
"But I do." His voice, if possible lowered a register and thrummed inside her body making her shiver in delight.
He chuckled as he knew he had hit the spot. She was weakening.
"Besides it's raining." She tipped her head towards the garden windows.
He shrugged, unruffled that such a thing a summer storm would stand in their way. "Then we'll get wet." He took her hand.
She nodded a polite good-bye to the talkative woman and followed him out.
As soon as they were outside he pulled her towards him for a deep kiss. "Oh." He said, "I missed you."
"Not enough to tell me where I could find you."
"I'm so thoughtless." He kissed her again in apology. "I'm not used to having anyone to tell. I had to take a research trip for my job."
"Did you find the answers you needed?"
"Yes." He said diffidently. "Though my opinions don't count for anything really. All I do is tell them what I found and they then proceed to patently ignore me."
"And earn the wrath of rather important looking diplomats?" She tossed her head towards him. The argument had been heard by half the room.
He grunted. "What the hell does it even matter? We won the war but are about the throw away the peace." He squeezed her hand. "Still I don't have it as bad as some. Squit has to deal with the Heavenly Twins and the thorny reparations issue. I wouldn't touch that with a tent pole."
A boom of thunder disrupted his train of thought.
"It really is coming down." She looked up to the skies. "Let's duck in here." She was soaked and quivering in the wet clothes.
They entered the small cafe and ordered two coffees to warm themselves up.
"Do you work at the embassy?" She risked. She had followed most of the argument between the two men. "With the Peace Conference?"
He looked slightly wary. "Erm… tangentially." He shifted in his seat. Took a sip of the espresso.
She sensed his reluctance. Whether it was because they had kept to the pact not to reveal personal information or that he was under orders from the government, she did not know.
He pulled out a packet from his trousers. Lit the cigarette. "Do you mind?" He asked.
She shook her head. "Let me try one." He cocked his head in surprise, but lit another and handed it to her. And chuckled when she coughed rather delicately.
"They are very cheap." He admitted with an apologetic rounded press of his lips. "Acquired taste."
"I've seen plenty of women take up smoking." She said gamely giving it another go. "But they have these marvelously long filters."
"It's a filthy habit really." He replied. She gave it back to him and he mashed both into the floor and chucked the butts in the bin.
The rain continued to roll and rumble outside. They ordered another round of hot coffees.
The silence was companionable, but it was clear he did not want to talk about the event at the Embassy.
She shivered with cold. "I suppose we should try and risk it?" But the rain did not look at all like it was letting up.
"Wait here." He gently touched her knee and got up and moved towards the front and approached the proprietor.
"Avez-vous une chambre pour ma femme et moi?" He turned to glance over at the woman at the table. "Elle est froid et a besoin d'un bain chaud et feu pour sécher ses vêtements."
The female café owner clucked in sympathy. She said, "Une fois que vous êtes dans la chambre, m'envoyer vers le bas la robe et je vais sécher pour madame."
"Merci." He replied. The woman pointed up the stairs. Handed a key over and he paid in cash.
He walked back towards their table. "I don't think it's going to let up soon. Let's stay the night here."
She agreed with only a certain nervousness. They had spent plenty of nights together in the past fortnight. But not under the illusion of wedlock.
"Do you mind?" He sounded troubled. "I don't want you to think…" He trailed off as she took his hand.
She knew he lied about their married state to maintain her reputation rather than any untoward assumptions. And his concern for her character touched her.
Indeed she was beginning to believe she was in love with him.
So she joked to reassure him. "But I'll be very untidy in the morning." She looked down at her already ruined dress. But in all honesty she did not care.
"I like you that way…." He leaned in to kiss her. Her shiver took on another quality altogether. The need to possess him was growing stronger by the minute.
When she got up to follow he waved his hand towards the stairs and handed her the key. "After you."
XX
Mary remembered that love making session. It had been slow and deliberate.
A young maid had followed them up to light the fire in the room. Once she had left, they had taken off their wet garments. Despite the month being in the middle of summer, the day was damp and chilly. The fire was welcome not only to dry the clothes, but heat their bodies.
Matthew had already sent down her dress to be properly washed and cleaned. She was in her chemise and undergarments. Matthew wrapped a blanket around them both as Mary hovered near the hearth to erase the chill. She took off the undergarments to dry along the hearth.
His arms enfolded around her naked flesh. His body sought to share its warmth with her own.
He had started kissing her shoulder. With his lips, he eased the blanket off her shoulder.
"Are you cold still?" He asked, gently as his lips caressed her.
"Not anymore." Her own dark tone matching his own.
As his kisses made way down the beautiful curvature of her back, he eased her down onto to the floor where they had spread other coverlets and duvets. Her hair spilled onto the pillow, arrayed as a crown around her head.
She glowed in the firelight. Matthew's breath caught in his throat. His look, she knew, spoke the same love she too felt. Which neither could at the time articulate.
They had met as anonymous lovers. Had played a game they both enjoyed. It had been daring. Bold and dangerous to meet as they did. Stay as they did.
It had heightened every encounter between them.
He eased the blanket down further to reveal her breasts, shuttering slightly in the chill, in the passion of the moment. Matthew cupped one soft bosom then the other. She closed her eyes, drinking the sensations his lips, his fingers, his hands had upon her body.
Grazing from one to the other in soft nips and pulls, he elicited delicate moans of delight. Mary's own hands roamed free along his back and rear. She felt his aroused state, but wanted to prolong the buildup to mutual pleasure. Her breath was heavy on his neck. His whiskered chin stubbly and stiff.
"You have not shaved in several days." She murmured in his ear. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, showing dark pools of black and blue.
"The better to tickle you with, my darling." He responded, plunging his face and tongue once again into the décolletage between her breasts. His fingers massaged the nipples until they were erect and enflamed. His stubble lightly prickling her skin.
She quivered in delight.
Mary needed to kiss him. Her hands pulled his face up and towards her own. Her mouth met his and their lips and tongues entangled, darting and seeking each other's. Her hands slipped and pulled in his hair. Matthew slid his tongue down and filled her mouth with his own.
Matthew murmured more endearments as his kisses played around her lips.
"My darling…." His voice, hollowed out and dry from desire. "My darling…." As if it was the only coherent thought in his head. His eyes, his eyes that could hide nothing could not longer hide the love he felt for this woman.
Mary had known for certain at that moment they were beyond any mere dalliance. They could playact that this meant nothing, but it would be a lie.
He brushed a random hair across and back behind her ear. Lightly kissed her nose. Mary shivered at his touch.
All of a sudden he became more insistent. She felt it. She wanted it. He moved his kisses down along her abdomen, her heaving belly. His tongue darted and flicked inside the folds that surrounded her inner thighs.
She met him by arching her back. He grabbed her rear, eliciting more shuddering sighs he maintained a rhythm as her body began to rock in sync with his touch. Mary found herself slowly writhing in pleasure hoping his touch would never end. His tongue darted in and out in quick sensations. Other times it lingered and she felt the pressure of his lips. His strokes making her shudder. Making her moan.
Her body ached to fill her up with his own. As she felt her peak rise and the rhythmic contractions of her muscles absorb his touch, his firm tongue she wanted more.
She wanted to shatter into a million pieces with his touch.
Her hands sought to pull him back towards her face. Her teeth, her lips crashed into his. He eased his body back up and plunged into her. Matthew's control was strong. He coaxed and coerced even more moans and hushed gasps from her lips. If possible his thrusting slowed to an excruciating crawl. She gripped his thighs hard and thrust him homeward towards the center of her need, the spot that most demanded complete and utter satisfaction.
He grunted in approval and began to stroke that spot until she thought she'd go mindless from the blinding exultation of that sensation. He took her. He possessed her mind, her body at that moment. The thrusting was deep, concentrated and demanding. She met it with a grinding motion to deepen her own climax. It came in waves of pleasure that wracked her body in sweat. She slumped against the duvet covered floor in delicious exhaustion. The peak of his orgasm coming as he took one final deep thrust. He released and fell down beside her. His arms encasing her own.
Mary, her head back against the pillows, opened her eyes. His were half lidded, languid still with desire.
"This was a very good idea to stay the night here." She murmured.
He nodded in amused agreement. "Oh a very, very nice idea indeed."
XX
London: July 1919
Mary shook herself out of that reverie. She needed to find him as he had once again disappeared without so much as a note.
After Carson retrieved the number of the private investigator she called back Mr. Charles Lovell. He was decidedly unhelpful though, claiming that he worked only for Mr. Crawley and discretion for his clients was above all other considerations. He would only tell her, in answer to her own inquiries, that indeed it had to do with events of the past. That some new evidence, however slight, had come to light and that he had passed on that information to Mr. Crawley.
She thanked him and rang off. Her father calling to her from the dining room.
"Yes Papa we can be off this morning." She walked back into the room. "I told Sybil I would return to be with her and I shall."
"But what about Matthew?"
Mary took heart that her father even now cared about Matthew's whereabouts.
"I think I know where he is. He needs to be on his own for right now."
Robert looked confused, but gave in to Mary's confidence. "I will get on with things then."
Within the hour the household was packed and ready for the return train trip to Downton. Mary was anxious about Matthew. But she had a plan. When they settled back at home, she first moved upstairs to see Sybil.
Sybil was taking a nap. The last trimester taking it all out of her. Tom sat next to her, in a chair. He got up as Mary walked in.
"Don't disturb her." She looked fondly at her sleeping sister. "You both will not soon have such quiet time."
Tom smiled. "I can't wait."
"Tom." Mary approached him. "Could you do me a rather large favor?"
"Of course." He replied, curious as to what his former employer's daughter could possibly need him to do.
"I would like you to travel to Manchester. Matthew has returned to his family home." She stopped, trying to work out how much to tell him. "He has found out some troubling news about some elements of his family history that has been left hidden for some time. He's quite disturbed by it and I think he will need someone to help him sort it all out."
Tom furrowed his brow. "Me? But I should really stay with Sybil…"
"You won't do her much good fussing and pacing around I can assure you. She is in good hands here. I will be with her. And I don't want Matthew to be alone. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would be very grateful." Mary bit her lip slightly. What if he said no? She was quite worried about Matthew' state of mind, but did not think she would be of any help to him. He needed someone more objective. Someone like Tom.
Tom nodded slowly. "I could see that something was worrying him the other night. I can leave by the evening train, shall I? As soon as Sybil wakes up and I can say my good-byes."
Mary's face it up in gratitude. "Thank you so very much. I will be with Sybil every moment, I promise."
And so Tom found his way to Manchester. The train pulled in late. Mary had given him the address. He followed down a couple of streets until he found it.
The hammered knocker reverberated as he struck it. A few moments of silence, then the door opened.
Matthew had changed clothes, but otherwise looked as if he had not eaten or slept in days.
"Tom?" He asked curious, stepping aside to let his brother-in-law inside.
"Mary sent me." Tom's Irish brogue was a bit agitated. Would he be welcome?
Matthew, despite his tired and nerve wracked state, had to smile. "I see." Of course Mary figured out where he would be. "That's very good of her. She's worried about me. I am really fine. Just in the middle of trying to puzzle out certain things."
"Maybe I can be of help?" Tom followed Matthew into the paper strewn former office of Reginald Crawley. It looked as if Matthew had been through every drawer and cupboard and not replaced a single item back in its place. "She said you had found out some disturbing family secret?"
Matthew sighed heavily and pulled at his hair, scratching his skull in thought. "After considerable effort, I finally found what I was looking for." He rubbed his eyes. "My mother and father sent letters back and forth while my father served in the Royal Medical Corps in South Africa. He kept them in a leather bound box at the back of that cabinet." And he pointed to a corner of the room. "I was just about to start reading them. But let's go to the pub down the way and I can bring you up to speed. I think it will do me good to tell the whole story as I see it, and then see if my mother was really attacked in some kind of awful assault while alone at Downton by a distant Crawley relative as the evidence of the lawyer and the investigator seems to suggest."
Tom could not have been more astounded. "And you think that's what happened?"
"I don't know…really don't know." Matthew sounded so tired, so mentally strained. "I've wracked my brain trying to recall these events but I was at school and quite young. But I do know that before Mary and I can move forward at Downton, I cannot let this go until I have it all out in the open."
Tom rolled up his sleeves. "Let's have it at then." He knew now his role. To be the objective mediator in this family scandal. To keep Matthew' head level and not to go off with wild accusations back to Downton. To destroy any potential he and Mary had for a future.
As the other outsider at Downton, Tom could well understand Matthew' position. And he liked how Matthew had accepted him without any class superiority. He'd do what he could to help.
So after finding a room upstairs for Tom to put his bag, Matthew led him down the street to the local pub where they grabbed a table and ordered some corned beef sandwiches with red potatoes and cabbage with two pints to down it all with.
Matthew started to explain, "I don't want this to change what we have. But if I find out something serious has been covered up, I can't keep it under wraps. Despite Mary's possible objections."
Tom dug into his sandwich. "I'm still in denial about being part of society at all. Concerned with estates and respectability. The old me would put a bomb under the lot of them."
Matthew glanced over. "Were you there?" He asked. "In '16?"
"No." Tom responded bitterly. "But my cousin was shot dead in the street by an English soldier on off chance he was a rebel."
Matthew was well versed in Irish grievances. "The Irish contingent's mischiefmaking in search of legitimizing Home Rule certainly livened things up at the Conference. President Wilson was terrified it would disrupt his hopes for the League. I thought he was ready to jail the lot of them."
"That's the point. Disruption. Disobedience to authorities we no longer wish to recognize as power over us." Tom was getting animated. "I did my small bit. I wanted to get drafted and refuse service, but my heart condition stopped that. I had to improvise." Tom's enigmatic smile only made Matthew that much more curious.
Matthew could not just leave it. He leaned in. "Which was what?"
"I put together a mash of oil and ink and a bit of cowpat all mixed with sour milk in a soup tureen." He was still put out by being unable to accomplish that goal.
To do what precisely?" Matthew choked back a laugh.
"Throw the lot all over a visiting English General. Mr Carson was half out of his mind. He thought I was hiding a gun and was after murder."
Matthew's raucous guffaw forced him to lurch back against the booth's seat. "Well I know plenty of soldiers who would have liked to get back a bit of their own against those that sent us to certain doom just so they could notch a half mile victory."
He held up his pint. "To getting a bit back against those that tried to get you."
Tom lifted and drank to that.
Matthew asked, "Sybil support your efforts?"
"She's a rebel herself you know. Worked with the suffragettes." Tom loved to brag about Sybil's strength of character.
"What?" Matthew was astonished. "Burning buildings and going on hunger strikes?"
Tom explained "She was a bit too young for all that. But she got out to campaign."
Matthew finished his ale. "I admire such passion. You two suit each other."
"You're more than brave taking on Lady Mary." Tom said slipping into old habits.
"You can call her Mary surely." Matthew replied, putting up his hand and gestured they wanted two more pints.
"She eats men for breakfast that is what I'll say. Her last husband ran away clear with tail between his legs." Tom took a swig.
Oh.. I don't think so..." Matthew looked suddenly very happy, "I think she's marvelous."
His tongue loosened by good food, drink, and comraderie, Matthew began to tell Tom all he knew about the secret that threatened to break that fragile bond he had just forged with his wife and their mutual father-in-law.
XX
Reviews, comments, opinions all welcome!
We'll plunge into the heart of this story in the next chapter . Matthew will find out what really happened on thatt hunting weekend party in 1901. It will be prove to be both revelatory and cathartic for Matthew. Mary meanwhile will tend to Sybil and reconnect with her beloved sister as well as try to make amends with Edith. The three sisters will care for Sybil as the first contractions of childbirth create a certain amount of panic at Downton. Tom and Matthew will return for the birth.