Sincerest apologies for the delay on this, but it wasn't going how I wanted it to and I kept changing my mind…but it's here now.
As always, thank you so much for reviews and alerts…they are what are keeping me going when I just want to give up!

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

Mary was opening and closing her little bag. She had been pacing until her father had told her to sit down. It had been almost an hour since they had left the prison. It was obvious that it was Richard who had wanted to speak to Matthew. She had no idea what he would say, but she knew that it would not be good. He would probably threaten Matthew. She didn't even dare to think about what he would say about her. She hoped that whatever it was, Matthew would not believe Richard. However, she still couldn't rid herself of the constant internal conflict between wanting to be with Matthew, and wanting to be as far away as possible from him. She was a curse. She could not ruin things for him again. She fiddled with the bag again, looking intently at its contents. One soft toy dog – check. A handkerchief – check. Some money – check. A folded piece of paper, the words on which were memorised – check. She pulled out the piece of paper and read it. Sonnet 116. As soon as Matthew and her father had left a few days ago, she had headed to the library and scanned the shelves for the book, but had not found it. Instead, Mr Molesley had appeared with it as he was heading back to Crawley house some time later. She took it up to her bedroom and found the marked pages. The sonnet and 'Much Ado About Nothing'. She had read the play and smiled. She supposed that he wanted her to imagine them as Beatrice and Benedick, brought together after a war and bantering their way around their feelings. She had then read the sonnet several times before getting her meaning from it. She then wrote it out and tied it with a piece of ribbon to the toy dog, which was now kept, hidden, on her person at all times. She would be mortified if anyone found out, but if her own toy and a 300year old poem was all she was to have to remind her of Matthew, then they deserved to be treasured, even if she did not deserve him.

Robert watched his daughter carefully. She had not shown any reaction to what Carlisle had said at the prison, but she had barely spoken on the drive back to Sir Edward's office. She was nervous, but it was not the same anxiety that he had witnessed on her wedding day. This was something else. It was more like how she had been when they had heard that Matthew had been injured in the war. She read something quickly before stuffing it back in the bag. Since discovering the truth about Sir Richard, Robert had felt in some way responsible, that he had somehow let Mary down by letting her marry him. He had tried not to think too much about her revelation that she would not be able to have children, but it had played on his mind that even if she had married Matthew all those years ago, there still would not have been an heir, a grandchild. He wished she was a little girl again, really he wished that she hadn't grown up at all, that the other two hadn't grown up either. Things had been so much easier when they were little, but he felt more protective of Mary, of them all, now than he had ten...fifteen...even twenty years ago. He had told her to stop pacing because it was making him anxious, but the bag fiddling was almost as bad.

"Mary," he folded the newspaper he'd been trying to read and sat forward in his chair. "You heard Mr Wilkinson, even if Richard doesn't want to sign, they will make him." She looked at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears. He was at her side in an instant. "Oh my darling girl," he held her and kissed her head. After a moment, she pulled away and wiped her face.

"I'm sorry Papa. I can't seem to stop doing that at the moment. I think I'll telephone Downton and see how they got on at Hacksby." Before she could go anywhere, the office door opened and Sir Edward entered, followed by Matthew.

"What did he say?" Mary spoke directly to Matthew, almost ignoring Sir Edward. He closed his eyes. He couldn't tell her what her husband had said.

"I don't want…I can't talk about it." The other three heard his slip. It must be bad.

"But-"

"No Mary. Please, just leave it." He ran his hands through his hair and started pacing, her eyes following him round the room. Sir Edward and Robert watched them both, not quite sure how to react.

"Miss Jones has informed me that everything is now sorted at the London house," Sir Edward spoke quickly to try and ease some of the sudden tension. "I suspected that you may be here for longer than just a day, so I took the liberty of having some rooms arranged at my house, so that you can stay."

"That's very kind Sir Edward. I hope I am not rude when I say though that my mother, my son-in-law and the butler from Downton will be in need of a place to stay as well," Robert spoke. Mary was still watching Matthew, who was deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Not at all. I will telephone and send a driver to collect them and take them to my house. In fact, we should probably be heading there ourselves." Maybe everyone would relax a bit in a more comforting environment. He hoped they would anyway.

"This is Mr and Mrs Johnson, my butler and housekeeper," Sir Edward beamed at his guests. "If you need anything at all, then do not hesitate to ask them. And yes, they are married," he smiled as Violet raised a disapproving eyebrow, having arrived with Tom and Carson just minutes after Sir Edward, Robert, Matthew and Mary.

They were shown in to the dining room for their late lunch where Sir Edward ensured that Matthew and Mary were sat next to each other. Carson stood awkwardly, uncertain of where he was supposed to be.

"Mr Carson, please, sit. You are a guest," Sir Edward smiled kindly at the older man, who was quite taken aback with the whole situation.

Violet dominated the conversation over lunch, which made Matthew feel strangely relieved. If no-one could speak, then at least he could avoid Mary's questioning. What wasn't so easy to ignore was her. She was sat just inches away, picking at the food in front of her, eyes flicking to him every few seconds. He felt like he was fighting some sort of natural instinct in not talking to her. After all of the progress they had made in the past few days, and now they were right back to where they had been before Christmas. Mary couldn't eat. She wasn't even completely sure what was on the plate. Matthew was ignoring her, avoiding meeting her eye. He had even shifted slightly away from her in his chair. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt any less. For once, she was glad of her grandmother's forceful personality and general tendency to take over. She caught Carson's eye and he gave her a small smile, one that she wished she could return. They were interrupted by Mrs Johnson informing them that Mary had a telephone call. Matthew had a flashback to Christmas Day, and hoped that it was just her mother or one of her sisters. Everyone watched her leave the room, and Matthew fought every single instinct to go after her, the tighter than necessary grip on his cutlery the only indication that something was wrong.

"It was Mama. Everything at Hacksby is sorted," she sighed as she sat back down. She supposed she would have to go back to Downton. It's not that she would mind as such, just that she had already left and had been running her own home, and now to be moving back to live with her parents… As if reading her mind, and each other's, a single thought crossed the mind of two of the men in the room, and they both spoke at once.

"You could stay at Crawley House-"
"You could stay here-" both men looked at each other. Everyone else looked between them with a look that was half amused, half surprised. Mary swallowed and thought carefully about her reply.

"How very noble of you both. Mary, you will stay with me until something more appropriate is found," she shot her grandmother a grateful smile.

"Well. That's settled then," she took a sip of water and tried not to feel too hopeful about Matthew's offer. He would be returning to Manchester soon; he was probably just being polite. The house belonged to the estate anyway, but staying with Granny would suffice. For now anyway. Surely it wouldn't be that bad…

Breakfast the next day was tense. In fifty-three minutes, Mary would be returning to the prison to see her husband, and she wasn't allowed to have her father or Matthew with her. Both Carson and Tom had volunteered to go with her but she had declined their offers, knowing that they were eager to be back at Downton, and Violet had said that she really should return because Rosamund would be arriving there later that day. She took a bite of some toast but the dry scratchy texture instantly made her feel sick. She forced it down with a mouthful of tea and quickly excused herself, heading to the room that had been hers the night before. She paced and fiddled and tapped, until a knock on the door dragged her back to behaving like a rational person. It was time to leave. She said a quick goodbye to Robert and Matthew, who were remaining at the house until they returned, and followed Sir Edward to his car.

Mr Wilkinson met them at the prison as he had done the day before, and they were shown to the same dreary room to wait. The guards entered with Sir Richard, and Mary felt like she was flashing back to the previous day. All the same, but all different, just like everything else. Another man entered and Mary recognised him as Mr Michaels, Richard's legal counsel. The men all nodded at each other, but Mary and Richard's gaze was fixed on each other, him wearing the same disdainful expression he had worn the day before. Had always worn but had been overlooked, thought Mary.

"Where's your knight, Mrs Carlisle?" He always had to have the first word, as well as the last. He really did talk far too much.

"I don't know what you are talking about Richard. I have come here with the intention of asking for a divorce, based on the grounds of adultery," she kept her tone cold, her face composed, and ignored the possessive way he referred to her.

"Now now my dear, this will not do. Not at all. I thought we had agreed 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer'?" He spoke to her as if he was chastising a child. Mr Wilkinson decided to intervene then.

"Carlisle, we have got evidence proving adultery. We have got evidence proving blackmail. We have got evidence proving fraud," he handed a stack of papers to Mr Michaels, who flicked through them with interest. "As we discussed yesterday, if you contest the divorce you will be sent to the asylum, and I think with all of the soldiers they have there, you would be in a great deal more danger than you are here. They may not take too kindly as to why you committed fraud."

"You said you were innocent of the blackmail," Mr Michaels' voice cut through the room. "Innocent? There's enough evidence here to have you heading for the gallows!" He slapped the papers down in front of Carlisle who, if you were watching as closely as Mary was, flinched. Barely, and controlled, but he did. It was clear to her all of a sudden, he thought he could get away with it, with all of it. "Sign the bloody papers Richard. Grant her the divorce. There's no way any one in their right mind would agree to keep her married to you!" Mary, Sir Edward, Mr Wilkinson (and the guards) were watching this new exchange with interest. Clearly Richard was a liar, as well as everything else.

"I can prevent you from hanging," Sir Edward's voice was low and level as he leaned across the table, mere inches from the seated man. "If you agree to the settlement and to the divorce, I can ensure a more sympathetic judge, and you will get to live out the rest of your days here." Mary didn't know if Sir Edward was lying or not. He hadn't even mentioned the murder suspicions, but then Mary thought that maybe she wasn't meant to know about those either, not yet anyway. He stared at Sir Richard, neither one backing down until eventually Sir Edward won and Richard made a show of reading through the papers.

"He'll never have you now you know." Carlisle's voice rang out through the room as he shuffled the papers and pretended to read them. Mary didn't need to ask who he was referring to. His own lawyer stood holding out a pen to him, as if suddenly bored by the situation, by his employer. "Why would he? You're damaged goods." He took the pen and signed the indicated pages. Mary made to leave the room. She felt sick. "Are you paying for his services?" No-one could miss the malevolent tone of his voice, and the lawyers looked between each other and Mary and Carlisle with unease. "I'm sure a visit to your bed would be payment enough for him," he sneered maliciously.

She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly her hand collided with his cheek in a loud and satisfying slap. He reeled back from the impact of it and the guards tightened their grip on him, partly to prevent him reaching to hit her back, and partly to let her hit him again if she felt the need to. She didn't. The leather of her glove had left an angry red mark on his cheek and blood was starting to trickle out of his nose. She must have got him harder than she thought. "You'll pay for that you common slut!" he shouted as she headed for the door, turning to deliver her final words to him.

"No Richard. I've already paid, for all of it," and with that she left, keeping her head high and not stopping, even when she reached the main door. She carried on walking, down both familiar and unfamiliar streets. She should have waited for Sir Edward, but she couldn't. She still felt sick and hurried down the nearest side street just in case. She leaned against the wall, aware that this wasn't very ladylike behaviour, and probably wasn't the best place for a lady anyway. The nausea passed and she took several deep breaths before heading back to the main street. Really, she should head to back Sir Edward's house but she was in no mood to see her father, or Matthew, just yet.

Almost without thinking, she had made her way to Trafalgar Square. She looked round and had a sudden urge to go to the National Gallery. No-one could disturb her there. No-one would be expecting her to answer difficult and confusing questions, but most of all no-one would be looking at her with a sad, pitiful expression. She drifted through, occasionally pausing to look at something that caught her eye, the only sounds were those of muffled whispers and shoes moving across the floor. Peaceful. Exactly what she needed. As she turned a corner into the next room, the large painting on the opposite wall caught her attention. She headed straight towards it, bending her head slightly to read the plaque.

'Perseus and Andromeda'
Frederic Leighton, 1891.

She arched an eyebrow and smiled to herself. She was right back at that dinner, so many years ago now, being unnecessarily mean to Matthew. Her breath caught in her throat. Ever since she had met him, everything had been turned upside down over and over again, and now…now it was all just a big mess. As she stared at the painting, eyes roving over every single inch of the textured canvas, she started to get lost in her own thoughts, dwelling on Matthew and Richard, and what he had said in the prison. She was so lost that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, or the sound of a cane hitting the floor on alternate steps. She did hear her name called and turned automatically to find the source of the sound. Like some sort of cruel trick, courtesy of the universe, he was stood only a few feet away, frowning and open-mouthed at seeing her.

He had needed a walk, needed to get out of the confines of the house. He was fed up of waiting for them to return, fed up of his own thoughts. He hadn't gone out with a destination in mind, and was just enjoying walking through the London streets. It was a clear day and not as cold as it had been, and his back was not in too much pain. He had somehow ended up outside the National Gallery, and momentarily hesitated before going in. It had been so long since he had taken refuge here. He realised with a jolt that the last time had been in 1914, around the time of Sybil's ball. He hadn't had time to visit during the war. He walked around aimlessly, both enjoying and disliking the quiet. It gave him too much time to think, to over-think. Then he saw her. She was stood in front of a painting, obscuring it, so he couldn't see what it was. She seemed utterly engrossed. He moved a few steps closer, admiring her from afar. Her hands were clasped together behind her, holding onto her bag. Her back was military straight, but her head was tilted slightly to the left, as if she was thinking deeply about something. Which, he thought, she most probably was.

"Mary," it was barely louder than a whisper but she spun round on hearing her name, and was evidently just as surprised to see him as he had been to see her. Unknown to the other, their hearts were racing and they were torn between wanting to look away and not being able to tear their eyes away from the other. "What are you doing here?" He took another step forwards. "What happened at the prison?" She looked at him for what seemed like a very long time before answering.

"I can't…he signed the papers. I am to be divorced," she smiled brightly. Too brightly. It didn't reach her eyes. She had started to say something else but then changed her mind. Carlisle must have been vile to her. "And as to why I'm here, well I thought that would be obvious Matthew. It's a gallery; it's where one looks at art." She bit her lip, instantly regretting the sharp tone she had used. He was still frowning.

"No, I mean… Did Sir Edward accompany you?" He hadn't seen him, but on saying the other man's name, he looked around the gallery. He didn't want to be bitter, and he liked Sir Edward, he really did, but Carlisle's words and Mary's behaviour were niggling at him. Mary looked surprised again.

"No. I left the prison before he did and started walking, and I ended up here," she looked over him, having not looked at him properly all day. He looked pale and tired, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, which seemed to have lost some of their sparkle. He was leaning on his cane but was somehow also stood ramrod straight. She wondered if that helped his back, or made it worse, or if it was just a hard habit to break. His coat was unbuttoned but he had kept his gloves and hat on. It was quite cool inside the vast gallery. He realised that she wasn't going to offer any more information about the visit, just like he wasn't going to tell her about his meeting with Carlisle. He sighed inwardly. Always this constant battle between them…who could remain the most detached, who could give the most stinging blow. He changed tactic.

"What's the painting?" He caught the mirth that flashed through her eyes as he nodded to what was behind her.

"Perseus and Andromeda, by Frederic Leighton," she smiled wryly as she stood aside and turned back to look at it. He moved and stood next to her. He smiled warmly and their eyes met. It really was quite amusing if you thought about it.

"And do you like it?" He looked back to the wall. It was a very fine painting.

"I do. It captures the drama very well, and the contrast of colours is very striking. And the sea monster is just as hideous as I always suspected," he knew she was smiling as she said that. This was more like it. If he could just get her to open up about Carlisle…

"It's a good depiction of the hero as well though," he said after a minute, trying to make it sound like a joke and glancing at her sideways. The smile was gone. So, not that funny then. She sighed and he wondered where her thoughts were taking her. She wanted to move away from this painting, and the story behind it, and all that it meant for the pair of them. She was too tired for this, but she felt like was rooted to the spot. The longer they stood there, the more the atmosphere seemed to thicken around them. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. It was like that horrible walk to the church on Christmas Eve. Mary was feeling equally awkward. These silences astounded them both. They were both intelligent people and yet around each other they were reduced to awkward pauses and inane comments and poor jokes. Matthew felt suddenly frustrated. There was so much they needed to talk about, but he wouldn't ask and she wouldn't tell, not voluntarily anyway. Why were they both so stubborn? He tapped his cane on the ground, sending an echo through the room, and causing a few people to glance at them curiously. The noise startled Mary and she turned to face him, feeling like she might explode from what she wasn't saying but wanted to. Their eyes met and she smiled a bit too brightly at him.

"Perhaps we should be getting back now…" he nodded in agreement, there not really being much choice to do anything else. Their eyes searched each other's faces for a moment, looking for something…anything, and then Mary strode off, heading towards the main entrance. By the time he reached her, she informed him that she had requested a cab to return them to Sir Edward's house. They both sat looking out of the window, watching London go by, and still being unable to talk each other.

"There you are!" It was Sir Edward that opened the door to greet them. He was visibly excited. "Come straight through to the library," he called as he walked off and left them to shut the door, giving each other a confused look before following him. The library was a large and unorganised room. Books covered every possible surface, apart from a small space on the desk and the chair that sat next to it. He shut the door behind them and was pacing quickly and rubbing his hands together, reminding Matthew of an excited child at Christmas time. "We shan't be disturbed in here," he smiled at them both. "After I arrived back here, I had a visitor. Inspector Granger, who I have been working very closely with for many months. He had some new information for me." He paused, enjoying the puzzled looks on his guest's faces. "We've got him." He waited as it slowly dawned on Matthew, and then Mary.

"You mean for the murder of Mrs Bates?" Sir Edward nodded, smiling broadly. Mary's mouth was open in shock, and Matthew was desperately trying to piece together his limited knowledge to make it make sense.

"How?"

"There are several eyewitness accounts that have him arriving at her house at about quarter to five, and leaving at about half past six. There is also a signed testimonial from the housemaid of Mrs Bates, who let Carlisle into the house, where he claimed to be an old friend of Mrs Bates. The housemaid, a Miss Rose Sullivan, took tea to them in the sitting room shortly after his arrival. He then apparently asked to see his contract with Mrs Bates, sending her out the room to retrieve it. He then told Miss Sullivan that he had seen a rat and ordered her to fetch some poison to place in the room. She did as he asked, and he then dismissed her, telling her that her services were no longer required. There is a contract, stating that he paid Miss Sullivan for her silence that he was never at the house. The sum of money was more than her annual salary."

"But so far, this is all just coincidental. Is there anything that ties him to the murder without question?" Matthew was anxious. Speculative evidence was not enough. Sir Edward was still smiling. He had rather enjoyed his conversation with the Inspector.

"Oh yes Matthew. On a more thorough search of Mrs Bates' house, the police found an engraved cufflink bearing a crest and the initials 'RC'. It was on the floor and gives the indication that there may have been a struggle between them. The corresponding one was found at Carlisle's house, in his dressing room."

"They were a gift from his parents a long time ago. He told me. He wore…" Mary spoke distractedly, then realised what she had said and bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. "He wore them on our wedding day." She hadn't wanted to make any mention of that to Matthew. He felt sick even though he knew he had no right to be annoyed. It wasn't so much the reference to her wedding that made his stomach turn, more the intimacy that she, rightly, had shared with her husband. Sir Edward nodded, as if grateful for this new information. "What is your other evidence?" She asked, trying to steer the conversation back to its original course.

"Ah, yes. Fingerprints. All over the bottle of poison, matching ones that were taken from him in prison. The prints of Mrs Bates and Miss Sullivan were eliminated, and the prints of Mr Bates were very faint, indicating that it had been a long time since he had been in contact with the bottle. This is it. It's enough for the murder charge, but along with everything else, he will most definitely face the gallows." Matthew was glad of his cane to lean on. Mary had stumbled backwards to find something solid to rest against, just to remind her that this wasn't a dream, that this was real and happening now. "There's something else…" Mary's head snapped up and her gaze met Sir Edward's. "As yet, Carlisle is completely unaware of this new development. He will not find out from his lawyer until the second of January. It will then be published in the newspapers, at the request of the Inspector."

"Does he even know that he is suspected of murder?"

"No. Inspector Granger thought that if he knew he was being investigated for it, he might try even harder to hide things. It will hopefully go to a trial by Easter." Matthew looked at Mary, who looked like she had the wind knocked out of her, and who was also still looking at Sir Edward. Silence settled on the room, and Sir Edward noticed that his guests were still wearing their coats and hats. Time for some tea, he thought. Best get them distracted before he revealed too much. "On a more cheerful note, your father has invited me to join you all at Downton for your New Year celebrations." Matthew felt invisible. Mary only had eyes for one man at that moment.

"I do hope you accepted, Sir Edward. My mother is an excellent hostess," she smiled warmly at him, and Matthew realised with a jolt that it was the most genuine smile he had seen her bestow since they had been in London.

"I told him I would be delighted. It would not have been preferable to spend such a celebrated evening alone," he smiled sadly. It was his first Christmas in eight years that he would not be spending with his wife. Ex-wife. He shook his head, trying to forget. "One final thing Lady Mary, Carlisle signed the divorce papers as well. I just need you to sign them and they can then be presented to a judge. All being well, you will be free of him by the second, when the story breaks, and it is highly unlikely that you will be called for evidence."

"Thank you Edward," her voice was soft, and only one man caught the omission of the 'Sir', and it was not the man who had insisted she not use the title since their first meeting. "Excuse me." She left the room to go and find Robert, and Matthew turned to Sir Edward, feeling like he should try and remain calm.

"What did he say to her?"

"Mr Crawley, it is not my place to say. If Lady Mary wants to tell you, I'm sure she will. I will say this though, she hit him," Sir Edward smiled at the memory of it, and at Matthew's shocked expression.

"Hit him?"

"Yes. A rather satisfying slap to the face. She drew blood." Matthew smiled, in spite of himself, and wished he could have seen that.

The rest of the day passed quickly as they prepared to head back to Downton. Mr Wilkinson arrived in the afternoon with the papers for Matthew to read and Mary to sign and he assured them that he would be visiting the judge as soon as he left. Not that he would ever say anything, but Mr Wilkinson left Matthew feeling slightly in awe. That Sir Edward's power and position extended to the law courts in such a way that Mary didn't even need to attend her own divorce hearing, amazed him. It would definitely be an interesting career move. He frowned at himself. He was confused and confusing himself. He needed to stop thinking and just let things happen for once.

In two days, it would be a new year, a new decade. A new chance.

2nd January, 1920

Newspaper Man on Murder Charge.

Sir Richard Carlisle has lately been arrested for the murder of Mrs Vera Bates. Mrs Bates was found dead early last year, having been poisoned. Her former husband, Mr John Bates, was originally arrested for the crime, but has since been acquitted and had all charges against him dropped. Carlisle was already in prison facing criminal charges for blackmail and fraud due to his activities during the war. Inspector William Granger led the secret murder investigation and hopes to bring the businessman to justice. Carlisle's divorce from aristocrat Lady Mary Crawley was finalised on the 31st December 1919. She will receive a financial settlement, but her solicitor has declined to comment further. The murder trial will begin at the end of the month.

Notes:
1. It is a real painting. I googled it and everything. I don't know if the painting was ever displayed at the National Gallery, but let's just pretend that it was there for the purpose of my chapter and Mary and Matthew's random little meeting.
2. And apologies for the general lack of detail about London and streets and where things are etc., but my geographical knowledge of London is extremely limited!