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Chapter 10:
"...And why are you telling me all this?" James asked, perplexed, leaning back into his pillow.
Mary shrugged, helplessly. "Because you've been a good friend these last few months and, well I was hoping...hoping for some..." She trailed off, staring into her lap, embarrassed.
"Brotherly advice?" He offered, smiling softly.
"I've always wanted a brother." She said wryly.
"I'm surprised you want to marry either of them..." He folded his hand, tapping his thumbs. Mary frowned, questioningly; a look of amusement passed over his face. "If my only lover had died in the process, I doubt I'd want to take another."
She only needed to raise an eyebrow for his look to become abashed. She sighed, wistfully."...I just wish things could go back to the way they were."
James scoffed at that. "When your love was unrequited and you suffered in silence." He shook his head, confused. "Why are you so insistent on being a martyr? You are entitled to be happy, you know."
"Am I?" Mary retorted, sharply. Wisely, James said nothing. She glanced at him apologetically and sighed again at having to explain herself, to think about how she got to this point. "...For so long, it was all settled. I was to marry my cousin Patrick. We were firm friends when we were younger," Her mouth twitched up at a fond memory, "but as soon as we knew about Papa and Uncle James' plans, we'll...we drifted apart. We didn't like each other like that. I was so bitter about it for years and Edith hated me so because she would have cut off her right arm to marry Patrick," She said it dryly, but only now did she understand how her sister must have felt to know the man she loved was to marry another. She frowned at herself. "I've always been horrid to her. My life had been all picked out – unbeknownst to me - and I didn't like what was in my future. The only way I could vent my frustrations was...to pick on someone I knew to be as insecure as I was." Mary shrugged at him, reconciled. "I'm not surprised she blabbed to the Turkish embassy, I would have."
James shook his head firmly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sheets. "She's your sister, she loves you."
"I know that." Mary agreed, matter-of-factly. "I think I've realised it more and more since the war's gone on. We love each other, but we don't particularly like one another," She held up a hand to dissuade James from interrupting, "and that's alright."
He said no more on the subject, but scratched his chin, still puzzled."But you don't have to be bitter anymore. Your life is your own, your parents have allowed you to make your own choices."
She glanced at the ceiling, exasperated. "My parents want to see me married. To someone. To anyone. Despite their pretences, they clearly don't like Sir Richard, but they realise Matthew's a lost cause."
He grimaced as he sat up a little straighter in his bed, determined to get through to her. "But Matthew isn't a lost cause, he loves you. And, if war has taught me anything, it's that one only has a single shot at life, and it should be lived it to the fullest." This time, Mary opened her mouth to interrupt, but James wasn't having any of it. "Consequences be damned! Regretting the things that you've done will always be difficult, but rather that than regretting those things that you wish you had done." He nodded, pleased with his advice.
She wanted to argue with him, but was stopped as she heard other men start to stir in their beds. "Do you have regrets?" She asked, softly.
"Recently, yes." James grumbled. "I wish I hadn't over-exerted myself and been given bed-rest for the next three weeks." Mary looked at him curiously as he displayed more petulance than usual. Hesitatingly, he lent forward a little and lowered his voice, "...I was going to take Nurse Harwood to the pictures next Tuesday."
"Nurse Harwood..." Mary failed not to grin at his embarrassment. "Ah...young love."
"Oh please, you're hardly so old and wise yourself." He rolled his eyes at her teasing. "Talk to Matthew."
She quickly turned sombre. "What about? I haven't seen him since our argument in London. He was in France by the end of the week. He'll have regained his senses and realised that Lavinia's a safer bet."
"You don't sound happy about that." James said knowingly, hearing the badly concealed bitterness in her voice. "Just tell him. Is your family reputation really that important? Surely Lady Sybil will ruin it anyway when she's run off with the chauffeur."
She'd forgotten all about that. "I know." Mary sighed, tiredly. "I don't know why I bother sometimes."
"Oh and don't forget Lord and Lady Franklin and...um, what was the name of that bearded Welshman who my husband liked?" The Dowager Countess frowned, holding her glasses to her eyes to scour through her address book. "We had him over one Christmas, after his wife had died."
Cora looked up from counting names and frowned. "Not the gentleman with that horrid little Chihuahua?"
"The Marquis of Talbridge? No, I meant the one with the twitch, you know..." Violet said, hoping the name would come to someone.
"And the bad breath?" Edith asked, putting the last book in the shelf and returning to her chair. "That's Lord Henry Caldwell, isn't it?"
"Harold Caldwell, and his breath wasn't that bad..." Cora admonished, half-heartedly.
"No!" Violet sighed, starting to get irritated, having spent the whole afternoon going through name after name. "Short, with the twitch, small beard, no dog to speak of, and insists on wearing those awful spectacles wherever he goes leaving one with the impression that they're talking to Leon Trotsky's long-lost brother," She reeled off, frustrated, "...from Swansea."
Mary blinked herself from her daze, finally taking pity on them. "I think you'll find it's Sir Jonathan Morton, Granny."
"Jack Morton!" Violet stamped her cane on the ground, happily. "Yes, that's it!"
"Oh," Cora frowned again, "...he's dead, isn't he?"
"...Ah," Violet blinked, "...well-remembered, my dear, better not put him on the list then." She smiled graciously, recovering herself. "...Now, what about Miss Delany-Barton?"
"The Duke of Devonshire's mistress?" Cora gasped, unsure as how to feel about that.
"Well, he won't want to attend without her." Her mother-in-law offered, matter-of-factly.
Edith turned to glare at her sister. "Who knew organising a wedding could be so tedious..."
Mary didn't even bother to glare back and instead turned to look out the window. At least she could tune out the wedding and leave her Mama and Granny to plan it all. A maid would put her in the dress and arrange her veil, her father would lead her down the aisle, even the vicar would tell her exactly what to say. All she had to do was smile, say 'I do' and sign her own name. If anyone had caught wind of Kemal Pamuk, it wouldn't matter because she'd already be married and Matthew, Lavinia and her family could easily detach themselves and save face. It wouldn't be so bad, she sighed inwardly, apart from a few terse words here and there, Richard had made good on his word to make her comfortable. He'd bought Hacksby Park because it was near to Downton and had persuaded Carson to be the butler. It was sweet, really. Anyone would jump at the chance to run Hacksby, as grand as it was, and Richard was to pay through the nose for Carson so that she could feel at ease.
"I'm just glad that Sir Richard is being patient enough to wait a few more weeks." Violet carried on. "With the armistice tomorrow, now it won't look nearly as ostentatious to have the imported orchids." Edith raised her eyebrows in distaste.
"Imported orchids?" Cora asked warily. "We're still rebuilding after a war, some ministers are saying rationing could go on for years even. I don't think Mary will mind us using flowers from our own greenhouses." She looked to her eldest whose gaze was still being held by whatever was outside. "Mary?"
"What?" Mary snapped herself from her thoughts and forced a smile to her face.
"The flowers, darling."
"Flowers? For what?" Violet sighed, annoyed that her granddaughter clearly wasn't listening. Mary offered a half-hearted apology. "Sorry...I really don't..." Whether Sir Richard was sweet or not, the idea of talking about their wedding still left her with the taste of bile in her mouth. She swallowed. "Will you excuse me..."
Cora sighed unhappily before following her daughter out of the room. "Mary, wait!" She called, as her daughter started to run up the stairs.
"Mama, please, I," Mary closed her eyes, tiredly, holding on to the wooden handrail. "...I want to be alone."
She was tempted to let her daughter go, but couldn't. It was time they put it to rest, once and for all. "...Should I be sending these invitations?"
Her eyes snapped open. She turned around to face her mother. "Of course, you should. I'm just tired, that's all-"
"Come with me." Cora ordered, passing her daughter on the stairs. "I think I know what this is about."
"I doubt it." Mary muttered, but obediently followed her mother into her own bedroom. Mary blew out a breath, as her mother firmly closed the door. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller.
"We received two letters this morning." Cora said, with great gravitas. At her daughter's silence, she sighed exasperated. "Well, aren't you going to ask who from?"
Mary shrugged, deciding to employ her old faithful: bored indifference. "Why when you're going to tell me anyway."
"The first was from Lavinia." Her mother cut straight to the point, wishing to save the argument until later. "It's awful, she's so upset."
"Upset?" An eyebrow lifted slightly, but her heart was pounding. He didn't do it, did he?
"At Matthew having released her from their engagement." The breath left Mary's body. He did, he had, she never thought he'd go through with it. Cora looked surprised at daughter's shock. "You mean to say that you didn't know?"
"No, I...he really did it." She smiled, softly, involuntarily.
"Yes, he did," her mother confirmed, cautiously, "and Lavinia is heartbroken. She won't be coming for the armistice and she begs to see you the next time you're in London."
Mary sighed, the smile leaving her face, and bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully."Of course, she's heartbroken." She agreed, sincerely. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You mentioned a second letter?"
"It's from Matthew." Mary nodded, unsurprised. "Addressed to your father, but Papa thought it might be best from me. He confirms what Lavinia wrote, that he ended the engagement, apparently because his feelings lay elsewhere. He won't be coming for the armistice either." Cora stepped forward, a spark of excitement taking hold. "Is this about what I think it is? Matthew's unattached, he's survived the war...and I know that he returns your affections-"
Mary broke her gaze at seeing her mother's hopefulness and smiled wryly. "You only know because O'Brien imagines herself to be Sherlock Homes-"
"I've told Granny." Cora said bluntly, wanting to put an end to her daughter's sarcasm before she wouldn't be able to coax a sincere word from her.
Mary's eyes widened, horrified, her mind reeling at the possible ramifications. "What? How could you? You know that she'll tell Aunt Rosamund-"
"Mary!" Cora silenced her, perplexed. "What is holding you back? Are you scared of hurting Sir Richard because I'm sure he wouldn't want to marry you if he knew that you were in love with someone else."
"Really, Mama." Her daughter smiled bitterly at her naivety. "You don't honestly believe that an ambitious man like Sir Richard Carlisle gives a fig about love, do you?"
"He knows about Matthew?" Cora frowned, even more confused.
"Who doesn't?" Mary through her arms up in the air, frustrated. "The only one who didn't know I love Matthew was Matthew and that's because he has the capacity to be so obtuse. Whilst, with matters of the heart, Richard may not indulge himself," Mary smiled morosely, "...he certainly knows which strings to pull."
"To hear my daughter speak of her fiancé such..." Cora muttered tearfully, sitting down heavily in one of Mary's armchairs. "I don't want this sort of marriage for you, Mary. And you don't want to marry him either, that much is clear."
"If I were to say the words..." Mary swallowed, as her mother looked up enquiringly, "...Kemal Pamuk...would that help?"
"Oh, Mary..."
"He'll destroy everything." Seeing her mother's tears brought on her own. "I don't care about my reputation anymore, but the Earldom of Grantham will be infamous...for all the wrong reasons. Everything Papa's worked for...he'll be a laughing stock and I will be the cause of it all." She sobbed, pitifully. "And Matthew – the dear, wonderfully decent, ever-honourable...irritatingly righteous...and oh-so-perfect Matthew Crawley – will run back into the arms of the virtuous Miss Swire, mortified for having ever been seduced by, by a...harlot...like me."
"You are not a harlot!"
"I'm your daughter," Mary smiled sadly, "you have to say that."
"Yes," Cora said, determined batting her tears away and reaching up to grasp her Mary's hands, "you're my daughter and I love you so I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are not a harlot. Your father wouldn't be pleased, to say the least, but he would forgive you and, if you were to marry Matthew quickly and take a very long honeymoon, it would blow over." Mary shook her head, but Cora pulled on her hands for her to listen. "We've been through a war! Lost a generation of men! What matters is being happy and true to oneself...who knows, the London society of this new world might think it all very romantic..." She trailed off, trying to sound hopeful.
"Oh, Mama-"
"Do you have so little confidence in Matthew's love for you?" Mary stopped dead at the question. She let go of her mother's hands and wrung her own anxiously. "You really believe some tryst that occurred nearly five years ago, would be enough to dissuade him from sharing his life with you?" He's righteous, yes, but he's not a man who hangs on to his foolish pride." Cora stood up and held her daughter's cheek, lovingly. "...I know that you're scared, my darling, but sometimes...it takes a leap of faith."
"Funny, that's what Lavinia said about me accepting Sir Richard." Cora dropped her hand and sighed at how quick Mary moved off the subject of Matthew. "Poor Lavinia! She didn't deserve any of this! No wonder she's not coming back here, I wouldn't-"
"Yes, my heart goes out to Lavinia and it is a credit to you that your heart does also, but this is your life, Mary! When I married your father, I hoped that one day he would love me and when he did, when I knew how it felt to be loved and I knew that I had his, I wondered how I could have ever considered getting married without it. I'll be there to tell Papa about Pamuk, I promise you, just ...follow your heart, for God's sake, please just follow your heart."
Matthew. It was all that her heart said to her, day and night.
Mary swallowed back tears and breathed shakily. "Maybe, if I...I love him so much, Mama!"
"I know you do!" Cora affirmed, smiling broadly.
"He might understand?"
"Of course, he will." Her mother agreed again, wiping away her daughter's tears.
"Then I had better...wait." Mary frowned, sniffing. "You said that Matthew wasn't coming to Downton to hear the clock strike, but I thought his regiment comes in this afternoon."
"It does. He hopes to make it but he wrote that, once he arrives, he'll go straight to London because there's someone he must urgently speak with." Cora frowned as her daughter's eyes widened. "He said that if Robert wanted to know more, he should ask you."
"That pig-headed..." She trailed off, clenching her jaw.
"Mary?"
"Will you excuse me Mama, there's a train I must catch."
TBC...
Me thinks a showdown perhaps? Let me know what you think!