Old Nags Head Pub, Manchester England, November 1911
"Already, Papa? It's not even noon," Matthew grumbled as he sat down.
"What are you complaining about now, my boy?" Dr. Crawley asked innocently.
Matthew frowned at him, then nodded his head towards the ashtray with a lit cigar balanced on the edge.
Dr. Crawley laughed. "Well, this is a pub, Matthew. Many of the patrons smoke here. What makes you think that this one is mine?"
"I suspect very few of the patrons here insist on the most expensive brand in the city," Matthew said pointedly.
"Are you going to chastise me, or are we going to get ready for the match?" Dr. Crawley asked.
"Where are the lads?" Matthew looked around.
"I told them to meet us here at eleven, and since it's now eleven-thirty, they'll show up in another twenty minutes," Dr. Crawley declared, snapping shut his pocket watch.
The waitress approached with two pints of beer and placed them down on the table. She smiled at Matthew and nodded to Dr. Crawley and left.
"Come on, United," Dr. Crawley smiled, raising his glass.
"Come on, United," Matthew replied, clinking his glass with his father's.
They each took a drink and looked around as more and more fans began coming into the pub.
"Before the lads show up, Matthew, I wanted to ask you a few things. Have picked out any furniture for your house?"
"No," Matthew shook his head. "It's still empty. Why?"
"Well, are you leaving the decorating to Mary, then?" Dr. Crawley asked.
"No," Matthew sighed. "We…we aren't going to live together just yet. It's not what I would prefer, obviously, but Mary is still concerned about…the other thing. So she insists that we continue with our present arrangements. So my home will continue to sit locked up and empty."
Dr. Crawley took another drink, contemplating this news. "She's probably right, although I know you don't agree."
"Well of course I don't!" Matthew frowned. "Living apart from my own wife, I ask you!"
"And yet you are going along with it," Dr. Crawley smirked.
"Well I never could say no to her, why start now?" Matthew rolled his eyes and took another drink of his beer.
"Someday you'll live together, Matthew. Rest assured. And I suppose she still wants a quick and quiet ceremony at City Hall?"
"Yes," Matthew nodded. "I convinced her to let you and Mother attend with us and I have a particular date in mind. Originally Mary just wanted me to pick up a marriage license and be done with it."
"Your Mother will want a lunch at home at the very least, even if it's just the four of us," Dr. Crawley said.
"That's fine. I already told Mary that Mother would insist on at least breaking bread together after the ceremony," Matthew smiled.
"City Hall is fine for now, but you tell your fiancée that I insist on a proper Church wedding one day," Dr. Crawley warned.
"Tell her yourself," Matthew smirked. "You're likely to get further with her than I can."
Dr. Crawley shook his head. Matthew took another drink of his beer.
"Now, about this other business. Those statements that you left with me last week. Have you confirmed those amounts?" Dr. Crawley asked.
"Of course," Matthew replied. "I think you gained another fifty quid last month in interest alone. I'm thinking of moving part of it out of the shipping company and putting it into bank shares."
"Very well," Dr. Crawley nodded. "I want you to take the bonds and have them held in a separate account. Something more liquid."
"Why? Do you need the money?" Matthew asked.
"No, no, not at all," Dr. Crawley laughed. "But I want the money that will eventually go to the hospital to be held in a separate account. It'll be easier that way."
"The bonds don't represent very much of the money," Matthew said. "I thought you were going to leave more to the hospital."
"The bonds will be enough," Dr. Crawley said firmly. "After all, by the time I'm gone, it'll be worth a tidy sum, won't it?"
"Yes, I suppose that's true," Matthew nodded. "Another thirty years of interest will at least double the investment."
"Quite right," Dr. Crawley said softly, taking another drink.
Matthew looked at his father carefully. He seemed deep in thought.
"Now, who's starting today? I can never get these lineups straight," Dr. Crawley said cheerfully.
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, September 1912
"That's it, all done!" Mary smiled at her patient, the young girl's face still curled into a grimace. "That wasn't so bad now, was it, my dear?"
"No," came the quiet reply. She looked down at her arm, the long scar still visible but noticeably cleaner. Mary placed the bowl of water, wash cloths and towel on the cart and looked back and patted the girl's shoulder.
"Now, you're all done for today. I'll be back in the morning to check in on you and clean your arm again. Depending on what Dr. Edgar says, you might be able to go home tomorrow afternoon," Mary smiled encouragingly.
The young girl's eyes lit up and she managed a cautious smile. "Do you really think so, Miss Crawley?"
Mary grinned, both at the girl's expression and her using such a proper title for Mary. "It'll be up to the doctor, but I certainly hope so. Being stuck in here isn't any fun, is it?"
"No!" the girl replied immediately. Her mouth then dropped open. "That is, I don't mean to be ungrateful for all you've done for me, Miss Crawley. It's just that my friends are all in school you see, and I…"
"It's all right," Mary nodded. "You belong with your friends, not here."
"Do you think that Nurse Isobel will be by to see me before I go?" the girl asked hopefully.
Mary swallowed slightly. "I don't know, dear. Nurse Isobel isn't working tomorrow, I'm afraid. But, I can pass on a message to her, if you like. I was already going to tell her how brave you've been and how much progress you've made."
"You would do that?" the girl smiled. "Yes, please, Miss Crawley, thank you! If you could tell Nurse Isobel that I'm very glad to have met her, and that I will keep up my reading just as I promised her I would. And could you also tell her to tell Dr. Crawley that I'm going to read Great Expectations as soon as I get a chance?"
Mary blinked at the mention of her father-in-law's name. She kept the smile on her face and nodded, slowly rising from the bed and busying herself with the cart.
"I'll tell her all of that, and I'm sure Nurse Isobel and Dr. Crawley will be very glad to hear from you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you in the morning," Mary managed, smiling at the girl, then quickly leaving the room.
Mary went to her locker, grateful that no one else was using the change room at the same time. She took deep breaths to calm herself as she buttoned her jacket and adjusted her hat. The last two weeks had been difficult, with patients and even other staff members wondering where Isobel and Dr. Crawley were and when they would be returning. Isobel had been gone for the past four days, as her husband's worsening condition required that she be with him at all hours.
The hospital seemed somehow dull and dreary without both of them there. Even though Mary had earned more responsibilities and was far more comfortable with her tasks and duties now, knowing she would not have Isobel's guiding hand and Dr. Crawley's wit to accompany her each day was draining on her. She felt as though she had gone back to the very first day that Lord Merton had left her in Cassandra's clutches, stuck in the hospital with nothing to look forward to.
Mary walked briskly through the hospital and out the door. She needed to be brave and strong and had no time to wallow in her own misfortune now. She had dutifully served her patients and now with evening having arrived, it was time for her to serve a far more important person.
She stopped suddenly as she looked up and saw Matthew across the street. He was sitting on the bench as usual, waiting for her to emerge. He was different though, and Mary's hand went to her mouth as panic gripped her. His shoulders were slumped, his head hung low, his arms dangling at his sides. He looked like a broken marionette, lifeless and boneless, and when his eyes rose to meet hers, they looked empty.
Mary swallowed and narrowed her eyes. Ignoring their usual protocol, the one she herself insisted upon, she crossed the street and came to his side. Matthew rose from the bench in surprise.
"Someone could see us," he whispered, glancing around.
Mary looked at him sadly. His eyes were puffy and the deep blue colour that she had fallen in love with seemed pale and faded. She touched his arm, gently urging him to turn in the direction of his parents' home. He moved slowly, each step reluctant and plodding. Mary fell in step with him, keeping her hands to herself, but staying close to him.
They usually turned on to quieter side streets and avoided the busy main roads of the city centre. On their normal walks, Mary did not risk linking arms with her husband for fear that someone from the hospital could see them and recognize them, but when they were a safe distance away, they would joke and laugh, steal quick kisses and flirt back and forth. Despite her insistence that they keep their marriage a secret, Mary actually enjoyed getting her husband worked up during their walks, leaving him in quite a state when they reached his home and she could escape to speak to Isobel. On several occasions, Matthew had turned the tables on her, announcing to her surprise that his parents weren't home just before he scooped her up and carried her upstairs to his bedroom.
This time though, Matthew could only stare at the ground, relying on his feet to carry him down the familiar route. No words were spoken, and Mary did not attempt conversation. There was no use trying to buoy his mood now. She would need all of her energy for later, as she knew that their world would fall apart when they reached his parents' home. It was clear in Matthew's defeated expression and posture, and really this sense of dread that she felt had been building increasingly over the past week. The sad reality was upon them. The horrible moment had arrived.
They would lose Dr. Crawley tonight.
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912
"Tell me about your home."
Mary frowned in surprise, looking from her book to Dr. Crawley. She was sitting with him while Isobel was downstairs speaking to Mrs. Bird about lunch.
"You're supposed to be napping until luncheon," Mary replied.
"Well I am awake at the moment. If you're going to be my substituted nursemaid, then you're going to have to humour me from time to time, Mary," Dr. Crawley smirked, his eyes still closed.
Mary was working the afternoon shift at the hospital today, which gave her the morning to spend with Isobel and Dr. Crawley. She had been spending most of her waking hours here since learning of Dr. Crawley's diagnosis. No one at Lady Philomena's home knew her schedule, so it seemed perfectly normal when Mary left early in the morning and returned after dinner. They all assumed she was at work the entire time.
On the mornings she could spare, she made sure to arrive before Matthew left for the office. Matthew was keeping shorter hours anyway, but she wanted to see him off when she could just the same. This morning, Matthew greeted her in the front hall, and once Davis had left, he pulled her into a fierce kiss, embracing her tightly to him. She returned his fervour and clutched him close to her, opening her mouth to allow his tongue access. She was no longer shocked at his behaviour. Matthew slept fitfully these days, and he refused to admit to his parents how he dreaded waking up each morning to some worse news about his father. Seeing Mary gave him an outlet, a way to pour his anger and despair and frustration out through his passion, a way for him to feel something besides the numbness of his pending loss. He would finally pull back, apologizing again and again for his conduct, and Mary would caress his face, kissing him chastely several times, telling him it was all right before he escorted her through to have breakfast.
"Lady Philomena's house is quite nice, actually," Mary said coldly. "The décor is rather old and not to my taste, but it suits her."
"I didn't mean your boarding house," Dr. Crawley huffed. "Tell me about your home, Mary."
Mary glared at him, his closed eyes and smug expression making her angry. He loved teasing all of them, as though it was his last indulgence, his last weapon to assert his place as head of the family, his wit the only means left for him to feel normal.
"You know it's not my home anymore," Mary retorted.
"Well, seeing as you won't move in with my son, and Lady Philomena's is but a temporary residence, I'm afraid that Yorkshire has to remain on the list somewhere," Dr. Crawley replied easily.
Mary sighed, rolling her eyes and closing her book. Dr. Crawley could be almost as infuriating as his son.
"Fine. What do you want to know?" she surrendered.
"I expect it's a rather large house," Dr. Crawley began.
"It is. One of the oldest homes in Yorkshire," Mary answered. She recited facts and figures about Downton Abbey, still stamped on her brain from hours of being drilled on how to properly present her home when meeting with suitors.
"Where did you play as a girl?" Dr. Crawley asked quietly.
Mary swallowed, her eyes widening. "I used to ride horses," she said softly.
"And what was your horse's name?"
"Diamond. He's adorable. Always does what I tell him, and hates anyone else to take him out besides me. He even tried to throw Lynch, our stable man once," Mary smirked.
"Did you go riding with your sisters?"
"On occasion, but neither of them enjoy it particularly. Sybil prefers walking. Edith likes to stay indoors. I usually went riding to get away from the rest of them. It was a time during the day when I knew I would be free of everything and on my own," Mary said.
"Where would you go?"
"Numerous places, depending on my mood. I could ride into the Village, but usually it was across the fields. When the weather was nice it seemed as though our lands stretched on forever. I would let Diamond loose a bit and just go towards the horizon," she smiled at the memory.
"It sounds like a wonderful place," Dr. Crawley smiled.
Mary looked back at him, seeing his eyes open now, his gaze bright and friendly, so in contrast to the harsh wheeze of his breathing.
"It was," Mary nodded. "The land has always been like a piece of Heaven. It's the people who turned it into something else."
"You must miss it though, if only a little?" Dr. Crawley continued. "It must be quite different for you to be stuck here in our industrial outpost in the North."
"Different, yes," Mary agreed. "But much better."
"Mary, I know that you've tried to forget all about your home and your family. But, you see, life sometimes has a way of…"
The door opened, and Isobel came in.
"Mrs. Bird is preparing your tray. It will be brought up shortly. Mary, why don't you go downstairs and have something to eat?" Isobel smiled.
"Of course. Thank you," Mary nodded politely. She turned to Dr. Crawley, who nodded to her in thanks, and she rose from her chair and left the bedroom.
Manchester Cathedral, Victoria Street, Manchester, England, September 1912
The Church was full to capacity. Matthew expected to see many faces, both old and new, turn out to bid goodbye to his father, but seeing standing room only in the large hall was both satisfying and sad. He knew his father had touched so many lives, from patients and their families to staff and even local merchants and shopkeepers that he frequented. Matthew could not help but think of how empty many of their lives would be without his father around.
Isobel had generously told him to go sit down early on, standing at the door and accepting condolences was proving to be too much for him. He kept searching the room for Mary, even though he knew she would not appear until later. He had walked slowly down the aisle and sat down in the first pew, staring at his note cards again, and getting up stiffly when the odd well-wisher would come forward to speak to him. Looking up at the altar, Matthew breathed deeply, waiting for the guests to be seated so the service could begin. He was grateful that he would be facing the audience when he gave the eulogy. He did not know if he could make this speech if he had to look at the casket.
Mary dabbed her eyes one last time before she took a deep breath and walked out into the main hall. She had cried a lot over the last few days, but she would need to be composed now. Nurses and staff who had worked with Dr. Crawley for years would be beside themselves with grief. Mary Crawley, who everyone thought had only known Dr. Crawley in passing, could not break down. She wasn't supposed to know him very well. She wasn't supposed to be affected by his loss.
It seemed unjust that Mary's thoughts should go back to her own family on this sad day, when all of her energy ought to be focused on Matthew and Isobel, but she could not help it when her anger would boil from time to time. Because of what happened at Downton, she could not properly mourn her father-in-law at his own funeral. She could not sit with her husband and her mother-in-law and comfort them as she ought to. To all of Manchester she was merely a nurse's assistant who was coming to pay her respects along with the other hospital staff. Some would believe she was only here out of respect for Isobel, who she worked with from time to time. Others may have the gall to think she was here because she wanted to shirk her duties and take advantage of the time off. Mary steeled herself moved towards her seat. She had chosen the direction her life was on now, and there was no time to care about what others thought about her anymore.
As she walked behind the last row of pews towards the far aisle, she noticed several latecomers standing at the back of the Church. She was somewhat glad to see such a large turnout. It seemed fitting that even the Cathedral could not contain all of Dr. Crawley's friends and admirers. It was somehow fitting, a man who cared not about popularity or accolades had drawn more mourners than some noblemen who spent their entire lives currying favour.
"Mary?" a voice called in surprise.
Mary turned and her eyes narrowed as she saw her Godfather standing at the back of the Church with the other stragglers who could not find a seat.
"Lord Merton," Mary nodded coldly.
"I didn't realize you would be coming," Lord Merton said, his face clearly showing his astonishment at her presence.
"Many of the hospital staff are here," Mary said forcefully. "We all liked Dr. Crawley very much."
"You don't need to follow everything the staff does, Mary," Lord Merton shook his head. "Only those who knew Dr. Crawley should be here." Lord Merton frowned.
"I am here," Mary answered firmly. "Because Dr. Crawley was a very fine gentleman. I worked with him enough to know he never put on airs when speaking to anyone, regardless of their station."
Mary did not bother saying goodbye as she turned and went back to her seat. She could not help but roll her eyes at the exchange, and she took a small amount of satisfaction in knowing she had a seat in the Church while the distinguished Lord Merton had to stand at the back. She put her Godfather out of her mind and focused on Matthew, sitting several rows ahead of her. As she looked at him, he turned his head and looked back at her out of the corner of his eye.
Mary smiled. Matthew nodded and looked back to the altar.
The Bishop called for attention as the service began.
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912
Matthew's grip on Mary's hand was firm and unrelenting. He had reached for it as they approached his parents' home and did not let go. She stood close by his side, every step seeming to take greater effort, every movement becoming laboured as they approached the door.
Davis directed them upstairs. They went to his parents' bedroom, and Isobel met them in the hallway. She had obviously been crying, her eyes were red and wet. She nodded to them, then walked briskly past them and went back downstairs. Mary watched her go and sighed in regret. Isobel had stayed at her husband's side throughout, and never left him alone. She and Dr. Crawley had taken their dinner in their bedroom the past few days so she could be next to him. Now though, she had stepped aside momentarily to allow Matthew this final visit in private.
Mary felt her chest tightening. She did not want to say goodbye and she did not want to intrude on her husband's moment with his father. Despite all the kindness shown to her, and how she felt a part of this family now, she wanted Matthew to have this last conversation alone, uninterrupted by outsiders.
She turned towards Matthew and embraced him. She felt his body shake slightly and she ran her hand up and down his back soothingly. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and she closed her eyes. Matthew's hold felt so warm and safe, even in this time of tragedy. She loved him desperately, more than anything else in the world, she realized, and so her heart ached all the more, knowing the pain he was feeling was cutting him deeply.
"Darling," Mary whispered. "I'm going to go downstairs and sit with your mother. Take as much time as you need."
When Matthew finally released her from his arms, she stepped back and moved to walk away.
Matthew took her hand and pulled her back gently, still refusing to let her go.
"Mary," he whispered, his voice choked, the tears running down his face.
She embraced him again, his arms pulling her closer, his head falling into her shoulder, burying himself in her hair.
"I'll just be downstairs, Matthew," she said soothingly.
Matthew pulled back, his hands holding hers. He looked at her, his eyes vacant.
"It's time for us to say goodbye to Papa, Mary," he whispered.
Mary nodded and squeezed his hands, taking a deep breath and stepping with him towards the door. Matthew turned the doorknob with a shaking hand and pushed the door open for her. Mary stepped resolutely over the threshold into the dark room, holding Matthew's hand firmly, and guiding him forward towards the dim light next to the bed.
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912
Betsy, Mrs. Bird's kitchen girl, answered the quiet knock to the back door of the house. She ushered Mary inside with a sad smile. The young woman's eyes were tired and forlorn. Mary knew the look well by now, and shared a knowing glance with her.
The girl took Mary's wet umbrella. A rather steamy and unpleasant rain was falling outside; apparently even the weather was being melodramatic about the day's sad circumstances.
"Mrs. Crawley is with friends in the parlour," Betsy said with a quiver in her voice. "Mr. Matthew is upstairs. He's been waiting for you, coming down every few minutes and reminding us that you'd be coming in through the back door," she said gamely. The young girl stepped closer and whispered, "He hasn't eaten a scrap of food, Lady Mary."
Mary looked at the vast selection of baked goods and other such comforting dishes that Mrs. Bird had been churning out. She watched as the cook paced nervously in front of the oven. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells. Mary nodded sympathetically. She took a few pastries and sandwiches on a plate and went up the back stairs, deliberately avoiding the front of the house where others could see her.
As she reached the second floor she walked briskly towards Matthew's bedroom. She paused along the west wall, as several photographs were hung amongst a large oil painting of the family. Mary had always thought it rather odd that these were displayed in a private wing of the home, rather than in the parlour or library where they would be visible to guests. By contrast, an entire room of Downton Abbey was dominated by the large portraits of the past Earls of Grantham, demanding attention from all around. She stared at the composed expression on Dr. Crawley's face, never yielding; unflinching in his steady countenance. There was something in his eyes, a twinkle of mischief comingled with the promise of compassion.
Matthew's door was open and she saw him only half dressed in his mourning suit. He stood absentmindedly in front of the window. The rain was knocking against the shutters, but Matthew did not flinch. His feet were bare and his white shirt was untucked, falling sloppily over his trousers. There was a black tie in his clenched hands. She called his name, but he did not move. Mary stepped into the room and gently touched his shoulder as she reached his side.
"Matthew," she said tenderly.
"Mary," Matthew replied. He offered her his free hand and she took it lovingly. He frowned as she placed the plate on the table in front of him.
"I've been told you haven't eaten," Mary said softly.
Matthew only shrugged, his gaze turning away. She ran her hand up and down the length of his back soothingly. He exhaled slowly and loudly, then looked at her pleading expression. He nodded grudgingly and took up a sandwich, eating it quickly.
She continued to massage his back as he ate a little more. She could have scolded him for not eating, but she knew that wouldn't work. In the past weeks he had needed her softer side, her compassion. If only her family could see her now, she thought ruefully. Those who thought they knew her always said the same thing – Lady Mary Crawley is cold; Lady Mary Crawley doesn't have a heart. She did very little to convince them otherwise. What they never knew, and what she herself barely knew before she arrived in Manchester, was that she could focus her strength against the adversity of grief, and even devote her resolve to helping where she could. Mary noticed Matthew's gaze was now staring at books on his bedside table. However, before she could speak again, Matthew's quiet voice filled the room. The strained lines on his forehead and the redness of his eyes made it seem as though his voice would be hoarse or strained; and yet it was crisp and articulate.
"I think it helped him," Matthew said. "I sat with Papa and read aloud to him from the Odyssey. Although he did rasp as he asked me, Odysseus? How old do you think I am? When I first told him of the comparison….."
Mary smiled.
"Even when Odysseus is offered immortality, he is not interested; for all he wants is to go home and to see his family," Matthew said quietly.
"Matthew," she said cautiously. "Your father said no wallowing."
His mouth opened, but he did not answer before he exhaled a shaky breath.
"Yes, and he left you in charge of me. A wise decision."
Matthew squeezed her hand and nodded. Mary took the tie from his grasp.
"Since you do not have a valet, I suppose I shall occupy the post for today," she said with affection. Mary stepped forward and pecked him on the cheek before releasing his hand. She studied the clothes that presumably had been laid out for his mourning attire.
"A white vest?" Mary inquired.
Matthew cleared this throat. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm not mad; it's actually a little tradition that Papa wanted me to continue."
Mary looked over at him curiously.
"Grandpapa Lionel wore it out of defiance when his twin brother died. They were young lads who had been fishing together, crossing a pond when the ice broke. He couldn't rescue Arthur."
Matthew paused, he bit his lip as his eyes watered.
"Well, my grandfather wore the vest to signify that his brother would always be with him. The white vest showed his faith that he wouldn't ever forget him. His memories would be the light in the darkness of his grief."
"A fitting tribute," Mary said. She picked up the white vest reverently as she helped him dress. He finally managed with her assistance to dress, saving his cufflinks for last.
"Darling," Mary said breaking the comfortable silence. "You know that I will be with you at the funeral, even though I can't sit with you and your mother."
Matthew's nervous tremor caused him to drop one of his cufflinks, and Mary picked it up from the floor.
"I know," he said with resignation. "All hospital staff is to occupy the pews behind Mother and myself."
"So, I will be behind you," Mary said gently as she stroked his back again. She then fussed with the knot in his tie.
Matthew nodded glumly.
"I wish you could sit next to me, where you belong," Matthew said quietly.
"I wish it too," Mary replied.
Matthew went back to finishing his cuffs. Now was not the time to talk about what was to come for them, though he found that he was thinking of his father's instructions constantly.
"Have you finished the eulogy?" She asked, helping him with the pocket watch as the chain was tangled.
"I'm still not certain it's good enough for him, but I have hopefully captured his spirit in what I am going to say."
"And what will you say?" Mary asked, tenderly prodding him. She knew he needed a little practice.
Matthew reached inside the pocket of the white vest and withdrew his note cards. On one side of the first one was a drawing of a cross and a patch of flowers with the caption, Peace. Perfect peace; on the opposite side was Matthew's neat handwriting.
"I'll start with what Prince George said when his father King Edward died, "He was my best friend and the best of fathers. I never had a cross word from him in my life. I am heart-broken and overwhelmed with grief."
Mary put her hand over his heart and Matthew then brought it to his lips for a kiss.
"Did you know that I once met King Edward?" Matthew asked nostalgically. He stowed the cards back in his pocket.
Mary's eyebrows rose in surprise. She had never heard this story before.
"It's true," he said bravely smiling at the memories. "He came to Manchester, to open the hospital following the renovation. The board of directors, which included my father, received him and gave him a tour of the new facilities. After the ribbon cutting he shook hands with the families of each doctor. I was so excited to meet the King, but frankly I remember being shocked because he wasn't as tall as he looked in pictures."
Mary laughed, contemplating such a scene. She couldn't imagine why his family never seemed to mention such spectacular circumstances, when they had every reason to brag. The Crawley men in Manchester were quite alien to the Crawley men she knew growing up.
"Yes, that was a good day. But, what Father really cared about was not meeting the King, but that Manchester and the hospital should be in the spotlight."
"Naturally," Mary said fondly.
"To conclude the eulogy for Papa," Matthew licked his lips and took a deep breath. "I think I will quote from the beginning of the Odyssey."
Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity.
And so we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries?
Will strangers hear our names long after we're gone and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?"
"I'm sure there won't be a dry eye and the Church will be full to bursting," Mary said tenderly.
Manchester Cathedral, Victoria Street, Manchester, England, September 1912
Mary filed out of the Church with the other guests. She fiddled with her pearl necklace. Her hat and veil covered her pale skin against the sun as she paused on the steps, the other guests leaving to go back to work or wherever their paths would take them. Mary sighed. Wearing the necklace and matching earrings that Matthew gave her was hardly a sufficient substitute for being at his side. His eulogy was beautiful and achieved the emotional reaction that she expected. As a result, he was surrounded when the service ended and Mary had to quietly slip away. She did not expect to see him until later anyway, and it would seem odd for her to give condolences to a man she was not supposed to know.
"Excuse me," a voice called.
Mary turned and stared wide eyed as Matthew came up to her.
"Yes?" She managed to reply, frowning at him. What was he doing? Most of Manchester was all around them.
"Is your name Mary? You work at the hospital?" Matthew asked. "My mother wanted to speak to you. She won't be going back to the hospital this afternoon of course and she said she had a patient she wanted to tell you about."
"Of course," Mary nodded. "I can convey any message."
Matthew was instantly surrounded once again and he motioned for Mary to go back inside. She went back into the Church and took a seat. Isobel was speaking to the Bishop near the altar.
Mary raised her head when she heard the heavy doors close behind her. The hall was now empty and Matthew came up beside her, his face downcast and his shoulders slumped.
Mary rose and took his hand, grateful for his foresight in finding an excuse to bring her back inside. They walked silently towards the casket. Isobel walked out of the hall with the Bishop, giving Mary an understanding glance before leaving.
They stood in front of the casket together, in their own private moment with Dr. Crawley, the rest of the world kept at bay beyond the Church doors.
"It isn't the way he imagined it, I know," Matthew said softly. "But he would have been happy to be here, with the two of us at a Church altar."
Mary smiled sadly, looking up from the casket to her husband. She stroked his cheek with her gloved hand and nodded to him.
"I remember what he said," she replied. "He wanted a proper Church wedding for us someday."
Mary smiled, looking back at the casket.
"He loved you, you know," Matthew said firmly. "I think if we had ever fallen out, he probably would have disowned me and kept you."
Mary chuckled sadly, shaking her head. "He loved me for your sake. He cared about your happiness and it was enough for him to accept me to know that I made you happy somehow."
She turned and embraced Matthew. He had to move his head around the brim of her hat, but he didn't mind.
"You do," he whispered. "I don't think I could have survived these past weeks alone."
"You're never alone," Mary whispered, running her hands across his back. "I'm never letting you go, darling."
Matthew seemed to sag against her and she held him, whispering her love to him gently. He sobbed quietly into her shoulder.
Despite the heartbreaking loss of their patriarch and the biggest supporter of their marriage, Mary said a silent prayer of thanks that she could be here to support Matthew and have one last private moment with her family.