Previously:
Downton Abbey, England, March 1916
"Darling," he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder, his hand hugging her back against him and cupping her breast. "I would never betray you. Never."
Mary sighed. She turned on to her back and looked at his loving gaze.
"I know you wouldn't, Matthew," she said softly. "It's just that my…my friends talk about what goes on over there and how their husbands are…surviving…and as much as it guts me to say it, I know that you're going through hell at every moment, and should you need comfort that I can't provide, then…"
"No more of that," Matthew said firmly, leaning in and kissing her. "Yes, it's true, the lads do get up to a great deal of…indulgences…in Paris. Some of them have never known the touch of a woman, darling. If you could see how broken they are, then maybe it would make some sense. It's as though they know that they'll die soon, and they just want one moment to forget everything before they face their fate."
Mary nodded, reaching her hand up and touching his cheek.
"But I'm not them, Mary," he smiled, kissing her fingers, then kissing her lips. "I know the touch of a woman. I know your touch. I know how you make me feel. No one else could ever match that. So, even in my darkest, most despondent times, if I ever need comfort, I need only think of you, and moments like we've had this week, and that is far more powerful than anything that I could pay a strumpet to do for me."
She pulled him down to her and kissed him firmly, smiling against his lips as he groaned from her caress.
"Good night, my darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her once again before turning away from her.
Mary pushed him on to his back, his eyes wide and his mouth opening in surprise. She kissed his chest lightly, her hand sliding below the bedcovers.
"I'm not finished with you tonight, Matthew," she growled.
Chapter 10:
Downton Abbey, England, June 1916
"Milady! Begging your pardon, let me get that! Her Ladyship will have me in stocks if she finds out you fetched it yourself!" Anna pleaded as she ran over to Mary. Mary rolled her eyes and stepped out of the closet. She let her lady's maid through, and Anna retrieved the hat from the shelf.
"I know that everyone thinks I'm made of glass, but I'm still capable of doing some things, Anna," Mary sighed, sitting down at her vanity as Anna set the hat to the side and began pinning her hair. "I still have a month to go before the baby comes, and I don't intend to be sequestered here for that entire time."
"Her Ladyship was very clear, Milady," Anna smirked, bringing up Mary's hair until it was just past her ear. "We're all just following orders."
"It's been bad enough having to give up riding with the weather being so nice. Now Mama says I can't even go to London for the Season or travel beyond the Village either," Mary huffed. "If not for my walk with my mother-in-law this morning, I'd probably not be allowed to leave the house."
"I don't think I've ever seen Her Ladyship, Mrs. Crawley and the Dowager Countess so friendly to each other," Anna smiled.
"They can present a united front when they have a common cause," Mary smirked wryly to Anna before looking back at the mirror. "All of them are praying that it's a boy. At least Papa has the good sense to not be so open about it. If they could convince Clarkson to place me on bed rest until the stork arrives, they would."
"They just want it all to go smoothly for you, Milady," Anna nodded. "It's their right to nanny you a little bit, I suppose."
"I know, Anna," Mary shook her head. "It's just that with Mr. Crawley not here, I'm going mad with nothing to do, and all of this overseeing isn't helping. Still, I don't mean to sound petulant. I know you all are having trouble downstairs with all the men called up."
"All that's left are Mr. Carson, Mr. Bates and Branson. Even William's gone for training," Anna nodded. "I think that Mr. Molesley is coming up from Crawley House to help out during meals and such, while Mrs. Crawley is at the hospital. It feels strange to not see people you're used to seeing every day. Have you heard from Mr. Crawley? Will he be able to come home for the birth?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Mary said bitterly. "Truly we were quite lucky that he's been home once already as it is. There are men who have been at the Front longer than Mr. Crawley who haven't seen England for over a year. Still, I was hopeful…"
"I thought that Major Lewis might be able to free him up, Milady," Anna said, putting the last pin into Mary's hair and testing the hold.
"We all were wishing for it, but it's unfair to Major Lewis to expect such preferential treatment. He's already been more than kind," Mary said as Anna adjusted her hat.
"Just the same, I expect that you aren't very pleased, Milady," Anna said, stepping back.
"No, I most certainly am not," Mary said, turning her head to check her appearance in the mirror. She rose from her vanity and moved towards the door.
"You can be sure that Major Lewis knows exactly how pleased I am with him," she said knowingly.
Amiens, France, June 1916
"I am a Major, you know," Alex frowned. "That's one step below Lieutenant Colonel. Do you know how many men our age that His Majesty has deemed fit to be promoted to the rank of Major, Matthew?"
"Just you, sir," Matthew said quietly, standing at attention.
"And do you know how many times I've been home to England since the War began, Matthew?" Alex asked.
"Once, sir," Matthew said.
"Once. Once since October 1914, Matthew, and I seem to recall I spent part of that leave with you and your family. And how many times have you been back to Downton since you've been at War?" Alex asked evenly.
"Once, sir," Matthew replied.
"Once, since this past December," Alex said pointedly, enunciating each word. He held up a letter in his hand, waving it in Matthew's direction. "Your lovely wife has seen fit to berate me for not releasing you for the birth of your child, which would give you two leaves in the span of six months. Who exactly does she think she is, Matthew?"
"She's Lady Mary Crawley, sir," Matthew swallowed.
Alex rolled his eyes. "And does Lady Mary recall that I played no small part in your engagement? Does she recall that I was at your wedding? Does she remember that no one has been more supportive of your relationship?"
"I'm sure she is aware of all of those things and that she agrees you have our heartfelt appreciation, sir," Matthew said sheepishly.
"Well," Alex huffed. "In addition to your wife's heartfelt words, I also received a polite letter from Lady Edith, asking me whether or not I expect you to be released in the coming weeks. Should I expect a letter from Lady Sybil next?"
"No, sir," Matthew shook his head. "I wasn't aware that Edith had written to you again, sir."
"Well her first letter was very kind and of course I had to reply, and now it appears both of us are committed to exchange correspondence until our conversation comes to an end. Were you aware that she's learning to drive?" Alex asked.
Matthew chuckled at the image of Edith grinding the gears of the motor with a horrified Branson watching on.
"Matthew!" Alex snarled.
"Sir! Yes, sir!" Matthew snapped to attention.
"Matthew, I told you that when I granted your last leave that I most likely would not be able to send you back in the summer once your child arrived. I am gutted to be unable to do so, and if Lady Mary believes that threatening to remove me as Godfather to your child shall pain me, she is entirely correct. However, I can't let you go again so soon," Alex frowned.
"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded. He knew the reality of the situation, but he still held a faint hope that he could somehow make it back to Downton, if only for a day or two.
Alex looked down at the large map on the table in front of him.
"We expect the French in the coming weeks. They're pulling men and artillery out of Verdun and sending them to the Somme, where we'll meet up with them. I need every man, and every officer, Matthew. Originally we were to support the French in the attack, but because they had to defend Verdun, we're now taking the charge in the offensive, with the French providing support. I can't let you and your men go off again," Alex explained.
"Yes, sir," Matthew said. "We'll be ready, sir."
"Take the afternoon patrol and test the sniper pairs that we assigned. I think the last set worked quite well," Alex ordered, looking over the map again. "How are the new arrivals doing?"
"As well as can be expected, Major," Matthew replied. "The way things are going, we're glad for anyone to fill the numbers."
"Agreed," Alex nodded. "The ranks were thinning rather dramatically for a time, but then when we replace the fallen with boys just out of Sandhurst, I wonder how effective that is. Still, it's not for you to worry about that."
"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded.
Alex glanced at Matthew and they shared a look of understanding.
"You're dismissed, Matthew."
Matthew saluted. He turned to leave the tent.
"And, Matthew," Alex called.
"Major?"
"If you do have a son, what do you intend to name him?" Alex asked.
"Mary likes the name George," Matthew smiled.
"So when she writes that she intended to name the boy Alex, but no longer will as I've let her down, that is just an empty threat, then?" Alex smirked.
"I wouldn't put anything past her, Alex," Matthew nodded.
"I'm going to write a brief apology to both Lady Mary and Lady Edith, Matthew," Alex said, looking back at the map. "And I expect I will not be chastised over this ever again, nor will I be banned from seeing your child whenever we do get home, God willing."
"Of course. You'll always be welcome," Matthew said.
"Thank you. Get back to your men. I hope you enjoyed your leave, Matthew. I know that I haven't. It's caused me nothing but guilt and grief," Alex grumbled.
"Yes, Major. It was quite enjoyable," Matthew nodded before exiting the tent.
Downton Abbey, England, March 1916
"Mary, please! Don't!" Matthew groaned.
"Don't?" Mary asked casually. "Are you saying that you want me to stop?"
Matthew turned his head and stared into her dark playful eyes. He looked across the pale curve of her neck, across her bare breasts and down his body to where her long fingers were torturing him.
"No! No! Please, don't stop! I…I just…I can't answer your question," Matthew gasped.
"I'm not angry with you, darling. I'm simply curious," Mary smiled. Her hand continued to move on him and he struggled to keep his eyes open.
"I don't know what they…I don't…I don't know what they do in brothels, specifically. I've never been in one!" Matthew grunted.
"Hmm," Mary said thoughtfully, considering his answer. She stroked him leisurely, then leaned down and licked his warm skin slowly.
"Mary!" Matthew moaned, his eyes shutting closed.
"But surely you've heard all manner of stories, Matthew?" Mary whispered. "Men love to brag about their conquests, don't they? You must have an idea of what another soldier's experience was with these lovely girls?"
Matthew ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself as his wife continued her attentions. "I hardly think that's appropriate conversation with one's wife, darling," he said tightly.
"And why not, pray?" Mary asked, wrapping her leg across his prone figure. "You've never been with a lady of the night. Are you afraid to tell me because you think I'll be jealous of what some harlot does to another man?"
"No, that's not it," Matthew shook his head, gritting his teeth to cling to his composure.
"If I have no cause to be jealous, what's the harm? Are you reluctant to say anything because what she does is better than what I can do?" Mary asked.
"No!" Matthew shouted, his hips beginning to move with her hand despite his efforts to control himself.
"Or is it that you don't desire me in that way? That you don't crave my affection with such passion? Do you find me more pedestrian, Matthew? That I'm not daring enough?" Mary teased, squeezing him with slightly more pressure.
"God, Mary! Mercy, please!" Matthew cried. "You…you know that I could never want any woman as much as I want you!"
Mary laughed seductively, kissing her husband's firm stomach, then his thigh. "If you won't reveal those scandalous secrets, Matthew, then you leave me no choice but to draw it out of you."
Matthew gasped as her mouth closed around him. He sighed, then groaned, then babbled incoherently.
"Do they do that, Matthew?" Mary asked, smirking at his pained expression and his wide eyes.
"Y…yes," Matthew groaned. "So I've heard…but…but not as…not as well, surely!"
"Hmm," Mary chuckled. "Brace yourself, darling. This will be a very lengthy interrogation."
Downton Abbey, England, June 1916
"Edith, these are for you. Mary, these are yours," Robert said plainly as he passed out the letters. Mary was grateful that he didn't open them and only looked at the envelopes. Her correspondence with Matthew had become even more risqué since he'd left to go back to the Front, and given her state as her due date drew near, she was not up for a scolding from her Papa about propriety.
"From Sir Anthony?" Sybil asked, looking over at Edith.
"Yes," Edith nodded with a smile. "I'm so glad. It means he's reached France unharmed."
"What's the other letter?" Sybil looked at the second envelope.
"It's a note from Major Lewis," Edith smiled. She laughed contentedly as she read the letter. "He apologizes for not being able to release Matthew."
"He says much the same to me, as well," Mary smirked, looking at Alex's polished script. "Well, I'm pleased to see that War has not changed his sense of humour. I'll read Matthew's letter in the library."
"We'll come with you," Sybil nodded. "Good morning, Papa."
Robert nodded to his daughters as they all left the Morning Room.
Mary was somewhat annoyed as she settled on to the sofa with Matthew's letter. She preferred to read his letters in private and take the proper time to dissect them, particularly the racier passages that she knew were contained within. She had a very difficult time believing that he could be so bold given she felt as large as a barn and decidedly undesirable, but she warmed to his words nonetheless. Such intimacy would be impossible with her sisters hovering nearby.
"How are you feeling?" Sybil asked, sitting down beside her and rubbing her shoulder.
"I'm fine, darling, thank you. Please keep it up, though," Mary smiled at her youngest sister, appreciating the massage.
"I wish we were staying here with you," Edith rolled her eyes. "Going to London seems a waste."
"It will be more subdued, that's for certain," Mary nodded. "Mama says that many families have cancelled their parties and dinners. Even Papa says he'll close the shoot this year."
"And so he should," Sybil agreed. "Oh, I'm dreading the balls. Every boy that I danced with during my Season will be gone, and it's entirely heartbreaking to ask about what's happened to them."
"You'll miss the concert," Edith said to Mary. "Mama expects an even larger turnout than the one we had here."
"And we're to work the tombola again, I suppose?" Sybil muttered.
"Of course," Edith replied. "What else would we do?"
"What else, indeed?" Sybil grumbled.
"Do you think that Sir Richard will attend again?" Edith asked Mary.
"I don't care if he does or not," Mary frowned. "If he is there though, don't mention anything about me. The less he knows, the better."
"How odd," Edith replied. "I thought he was just an acquaintance?"
"He is. One that I have no intention of getting to know better," Mary said plainly.
"At least I won't get any invitations," Sybil said. "There's no one left to walk out with. God, it will be so depressing to be there."
"Don't worry about it too much," Mary said, patting Sybil's knee. "Once the baby comes, Papa is sure to bring everyone back. At most you'll be in London for three weeks or so."
"What do you think it will be?" Edith asked.
"I couldn't tell you. Isobel thinks it's a girl, since there's more of them on our side. But Matthew is an only child, so who's to say?" Mary smiled.
"But you're hoping for a boy," Edith noted.
"I can't deny that," Mary shrugged. "Matthew says he doesn't mind either way, and he probably doesn't. But a son would complete things, of course."
"You can always try for a daughter afterwards," Sybil smiled.
"Oh, don't worry," Mary smirked. "We certainly will."
The sisters laughed together. Mary unfolded Matthew's letter and began to read. Edith and Sybil each fetched books from the shelves and soon all of them were quietly off in their own worlds.
Albert, France, June 1916
"The artillery bombardment will continue for two more days," Alex said, pointing to the map. "On July 1, the attack begins north from the Baupame Road to Gommecourt, here, two miles beyond Serre. The French will attack south of the river with our right wing, and with any luck they'll push through to the second German line. If we can retake these villages and drive them back, we'll be making progress."
Matthew looked at the map and the different coloured flags spread out across it.
"Where do you want us?" he asked.
"Our main objective will be Mametz," Alex pointed. "I'm sending your group further north to do reconnaissance and cover for the 34th taking La Boisselle. There's about a mile of open ground before no man's land, and machine gun positions here, here and here. Wait for the artillery and these two mines to be blown before supporting the advance. Once La Boisselle is taken, the Tyneside Irish will head to the second objective, here from Contalmaison inland. You can join them as you wish. I'm leaving your boys to support and shadow, Matthew, so be mindful of counter artillery."
"Yes, Major," Matthew nodded. "That's a rather long stretch of land that we're trying to take, sir. Do we have the artillery to cover all of that?"
"We better, Matthew," Alex nodded. "But be mindful of the fall back positions. You're snipers, not infantry. I don't want you leading the charge."
"Yes, Major," Matthew nodded.
"Go prepare your men," Alex said. "Scouting reports should come back tomorrow. In two days' time, we attack, Matthew."
Matthew saluted and left the tent, making his way back to where his men were camped. Passages from the tactical handbook flew through his mind and he went over details of the plan of attack as he walked. Over 100,000 soldiers were gathered for this offensive, the largest fighting force that Matthew had ever seen for one battle. On sheer numbers alone, the might of the British Army was daunting.
"Captain," Wakefield saluted as Matthew reached his men. "Our orders, sir?"
"Pack up, men," Matthew nodded. "We're moving north to support the 34th. The charge is in two days' time."
"The 34th? That's made up of Pals mostly, yeah?" Jennings asked.
"That's correct. It'll be the first action for many of them, from what I understand," Matthew nodded.
"Hear that, boys?" Jones laughed. "We're chaperoning a mob of virgins."
The men chuckled as they began gathering their packs and supplies. Matthew smiled wryly and made his way to his tent. It was easy to joke and laugh now, in the days before the attack. No one found anything about what they were doing funny. The jokes were made out of desperation rather than humour. If anyone voiced what they were really thinking and feeling, laughing would be the least likely response.
Matthew ducked into his tent and began packing up his essential items for the mission. He did not dare hope for anything to come from the Somme except to survive, to live to fight the next battle. That was the order of things during a war that seemed to have no end. The strategies and tactics were for command to decide, for men back in London and the generals. They were the ones to see how each move played into the next and what it could mean a week from now, a month from now, and beyond. Matthew was a soldier carrying out orders. He was going to fight in two days' time because he was going to fight. There was no point thinking of anything beyond that. Out here, thinking could be fatal.
He left Mary's photograph and toy dog for last. He stowed the toy dog in his coat pocket, patting it affectionately. He stared at her photograph for several moments. He'd seen her months ago and he kept the memories as fresh as he could. Her letters were like ambrosia for his starving soul. Her last had arrived just before they'd left Amiens. She told him about Edith learning to drive, and Sybil taking baking lessons from Mrs. Patmore, and how both had shocked their parents. The family would be in London for the Season now and Mary admitted to him she was glad to not be going. He grinned even now at the detailed accounts of how she was still experiencing flashes of arousal at odd times during the day, and what she wished she could do with him if he were back home. He knew she blushed furiously whenever she wrote those parts of their letters, and the idea that she was willing to be so reckless in her language and unfettered in her thoughts for his sake made him love her all the more.
Their baby was expected this month, probably sometime next week in fact. He smiled at her image. The birth of their child. Even as Matthew stood amidst an army over 100,000 men strong, who would all face the choice of killing or being killed in the coming days, a new life would soon begin back home – a life that he created; that he created with the woman he loved.
Matthew brought Mary's photograph to his lips and kissed her face softly. He put her photograph in his coat pocket before leaving his tent and rejoining his men for the short trek north to the camp of the 34th Division.
Downton Abbey, England, July 1916
"Good morning, Milady," Anna smiled as she pulled back the drapes.
"Mmm, Anna," Mary mumbled, blinking several times.
"Were you able to sleep last night?" Anna asked, moving to the bed and pulling back the bedcovers.
"A bit," Mary nodded, pushing herself up with some difficulty. The last few nights in particular had been rather hard. She'd had to find a new sleeping position each night as nothing seemed to work two nights in a row. Lying on her side with pillows arranged all around her had finally brought some relief hours ago.
Anna helped her up out of bed and Mary walked gingerly to the bathroom.
"Mrs. Crawley is downstairs in the Morning Room," Anna said as Mary leaned on the sink.
"Early as always," Mary smirked. "Truly I've been glad for the company. It's been so empty around here with everyone gone to London."
"Do you want to change for your walk now or after breakfast?" Anna asked, fetching some wash cloths and towels and arranging them on the counter.
"After breakfast. I'll go down to eat with Isobel. No sense having a tray and making her wait," Mary nodded.
"Very good, Milady," Anna said. As Mary moved towards the loo, Anna headed for the door.
The maid stopped and turned when she heard a popping sound behind her.
"Milady? Did you drop something?" Anna asked.
Mary slowly turned around towards her lady's maid. Her mouth was open and her brow creased.
The hem of her nightgown was soaked and a small puddle was gathering at her feet.
"Anna, go and fetch Isobel, and have Branson bring the motor around immediately," Mary said slowly. "Unfortunately, it appears that I no longer have time for breakfast."
La Boiselle, France, July 1916
Matthew checked his wristwatch. He smiled briefly. Looking at his watch reminded him of Mary, and their anniversary when she gave him the timepiece. It was one of the few extravagances he brought with him to War, both as a useful tool and as a keepsake.
He passed signals to his men, spread out on a ridge as the brigades of 34th Division massed for the charge. Matthew adjusted his rifle scope and Wakefield peered through his binoculars.
"They're gathered rather close together in formation, Captain," Wakefield noted, looking down on the British soldiers.
"Never mind that," Matthew frowned. "Focus on the German position. When the mines go, we want to pick off anyone who tries to cross that spur."
"Yes, sir," Wakefield said, moving his sights to the enemy side.
Matthew peered through his scope along the British line. The field separating the two armies was vast, with the Germans just barely within the range of Matthew's rifle.
"This valley is wide open," Matthew muttered. "The artillery needs to hit those machine guns first, otherwise the lads will be caught in the centre."
Matthew checked his watch.
"Artillery in one minute," he said.
Wakefield used hand signals to communicate the timing to the other sniper groups.
Matthew looked out on to the field once again. The timing of the bombardment with the advance was crucial to the success of the attack. Go too early, and the British risked being caught in the blast of their own artillery shells. Go too late and it gave the Germans time to fall back and recover and harden their defences. The 34th needed to charge just as the mines were blown and the bombardment peaked, allowing them to take advantage of the confusion and destruction along the enemy line.
Matthew steadied his rifle and lay still. Their position was well protected, and the Germans would not be concerned with them with the main force gathering below them. Even still, Matthew kept as low as possible. There was sure to be a counter volley from the Germans, a few shells from whatever artillery survived the British bombardment, and he did not want to be caught out.
Matthew glanced at his watch one last time. He looked through his rifle scope at the German line just as shrill cries and booming echoes sounded behind them.
"It begins," he whispered.
Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, July 1916
"How are you feeling?" Isobel smiled as she came into the room and sat down at Mary's bed side.
"I'm all right," Mary nodded. She was sitting up as this was the most comfortable position she had found. Her hands were around her belly, and she tried to take regular breaths. "For now. A few days ahead of schedule shouldn't mean anything, should it?"
"I'm sure it's fine. You're early, but not very. We'll just be a little bit more careful, just to be safe," Isobel said cheerfully.
Mary nodded, grateful for her assurances. She glanced over at the door, then sighed and looked back at Isobel.
"I wish Matthew was here. It's funny. I feel like I'm only half myself without him," Mary swallowed.
Isobel smiled kindly. How far Mary had come from the insults and arguments she'd had with Matthew back in 1912. Isobel had bravely uprooted her life in Manchester when Matthew was summoned by the Earl of Grantham to Yorkshire. She saw the opportunity as an adventure. Matthew was surprisingly eager back then as well, as though he couldn't wait to meet his new family. His behaviour surprised Isobel. She never saw him as an aristocrat, or as someone wanting to embrace that life. Isobel expected it would have been a huge shock for him to arrive at Downton and be rebuked by Mary's cold manner and scathing insults. He took it remarkably well however, and over time Isobel noticed a balance develop between Mary and Matthew. They were ambivalent towards each other, which was better than being at odds all the time. Isobel never would have guessed back then that Mary and Matthew would ever get along, let alone marry and become parents together. And yet here she was, watching the woman who had once called her son a sea monster about to give birth to his child.
"Truthfully, you wouldn't want him in here for the actual delivery. I know that he wishes he could be here with you, of course. But the important thing is to get through this and he'll have a lovely child to greet when next we see him," she said.
Mary nodded, her breathing picking up slightly as she felt pressure below her stomach.
"In his last letter, he implored me to take care of you, knowing that he likely wouldn't be able to make it back. He said if I wanted any more grandchildren, I had better do my best to make sure this one arrives safe and sound," Isobel laughed.
Mary chuckled along with her, the thought of Matthew's paranoid scolding of his mother lifting her spirits.
"It won't be much longer now," Isobel smiled. "I'll go and fetch Dr. Clarkson and one of the nurses. I had Carson call Grantham House and your parents have been told. They'll be on the noon train and should be here before dinner. I sent Branson to pick up Cousin Violet and bring her to the big house. Everyone will gather there, and we'll call them once there's news. I think it probably best if we have fewer people here, at least until the baby comes."
"Thank you," Mary smiled. She did feel a bit lonely without Matthew, or her Mama or sisters. But she took comfort in Anna being right outside waiting in the hall, and knowing Isobel would be at her side through the entire delivery calmed Mary considerably.
"I'm so glad you're here," Mary shook her head gratefully.
"As am I," Isobel grinned as she got up from her chair. "I'm very eager to meet my grandchild."
Mary watched Isobel leave the room. She looked off to the window, eyes unfocused, clearing her mind as her pulse sped up slightly and she took deliberate breaths.
"Your son is almost here, Matthew," she whispered. "Please be safe, for both of us."
La Boisselle, France, July 1916
Matthew and his men watched as the two British mines were detonated below the German positions across the field. Two huge craters sprung up from the ravaged ground, as though the Earth itself could not tolerate the German trenches raked across it. The previously placid countryside suddenly buzzed with activity as the British artillery bombarded the enemy positions. Shells flew through the air, some flying into the far distance towards the second enemy line, and others targeting the closest German line across the valley, the area that the 34th Division would advance upon first.
Matthew waited. His orders were for his men to open fire once the British charge had cleared their own lines. It would only be mere seconds before they would have more targets than they could shoot at. He wanted to save both their ammunition and their opportunities. Chaos would ensue once the charge began, and they needed to conserve every clear shot they could.
As the bombardment ended, an eerie silence descended on the field. Whistles and shouts rang out as the British soldiers charged forward across the open ground. Matthew focused his sight on the enemy position. There was movement through the shroud of smoke as the survivors ran through destroyed trenches and fortifications.
"Right side of the crater, not quite to the flag," Wakefield whispered.
"Right side of the crater," Matthew repeated. He breathed out as a target came into his sight. He fired, not bothering to see the result before he pumped the bolt to load another bullet and searched for his next target. His rifle clip held five bullets at a time, and he needed to find his next four targets within seconds to keep the Germans busy while the 34th Division drew closer.
"Kill confirmed," Wakefield said.
The protection of their cover, the elevation of their position and the chaos in front of them gave Matthew confidence that they would not be detected or fired upon. He found two other targets and took them out quickly. While time seemed to be frozen as he aimed and fired, the 34th Division had advanced half way across the open ground, firing as they ran. Thousands of soldiers poured forth, battalions of Scottish, Irish and English, most who had been mere regular citizens less than a year ago, and now were sprinting across a French countryside, armed and ready to deal out death.
Matthew spent his first clip and reloaded. He debated moving to a more advanced position and bringing his men forward behind the 34th. First, he needed to check the progress of the charge. He pulled the bolt and loaded the next bullet into his rifle and looked through his scope.
Wakefield's gasp came just before Matthew focused his vision through the scope.
He saw the very much intact and fully functioning German machine guns open fire on the mass of British soldiers in the valley below.
Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, July 1916
"You're doing wonderfully, Mary," Isobel said, allowing her daughter-in-law to grasp her hand tightly. "It'll be one more big push, maybe two."
Mary took deep breaths, gasping for air as she stared at the ceiling. She hurt all over, never having experienced pain like this before. Her Mama had vaguely said that giving birth would feel like her monthly, except a little bit worse. She was obviously lying, and now Mary knew to just what degree. This pain was a little bit worse than her monthly the way a train was a little bit faster than Matthew's bicycle.
It felt as though she'd been at it for hours. She couldn't remember. She knew her water had broken that morning in the bathroom, and Branson had driven her, Isobel and Anna to the hospital so fast he was almost reckless. She couldn't remember anything beyond that except a tightening in her stomach one moment, then a dull ache that became a fierce pain through her back, her stomach and down through her legs the next.
She didn't know what to do. She just wanted it over with. She just wanted the pain to stop. She clutched Isobel's hand harshly and vaguely thought she'd have to apologize later for it. Her mother-in-law did not seem to mind at all. She'd whispered to her throughout the ordeal, though Mary could hardly hear the words. She just waited to hear the order to push and tried to gather her strength.
"Matthew," Mary mumbled, her eyes still looking up. God, she needed her husband so terribly.
La Boisselle, France, July 1916
The roar of the German machine guns was so loud in Matthew's ears that he thought he was being fired upon. The bullets came fast and heavy, tearing down into the valley to be met by the shocked stares of the advancing British infantry, each man realizing his horrible fate less than a second before he felt it.
Through his scope, Matthew saw the men fall, their bodies flailing, helmets and rifles and even limbs flying about. There was no cover. There was no shield save for the human bodies in front of them which soon fell away, leaving the man behind exposed completely. There was no escape.
"Captain," Wakefield called desperately. His voice was a choked sob as he watched the same nightmare unfolding as Matthew did.
Matthew willed his hands to remain still as he aimed his rifle. He could feel bile rising in his throat and his stomach convulsing. He fired quickly and moved on to another target. If he saw a shadow, he shot at it. If he saw movement, he shot at it. He even tried to shoot at the machine guns themselves at one point.
"Kill confirmed," Wakefield gasped, tears rolling down his face as he kept his scope trained on the enemy, refusing to look down to the valley at what had become of the 34th Division. In the long minutes that followed the British charge, Wakefield repeated the steps that had been drilled into him again and again. He spotted for his Captain, called out the targets and confirmed the kills.
Anything to keep him from looking down.
Downton Abbey, England, March 1916
"I feel quite useless, you know," Matthew sighed.
"Mmm…I disagree. You definitely have your uses," Mary smiled, her eyes closed. She pulled his arm across her breasts and he snuggled closer to her, his firm chest against her back, warming her delightfully.
"Well I'm glad I can do something for you," Matthew chuckled, kissing her shoulder. "I feel as though you're enduring all the hardship of pregnancy and I can't do anything to help you."
"Thank you for the offer, but I don't think it works that way," Mary laughed. "On the whole, I think I've had it easy, touch wood. Lady Cunard told me stories about her daughter's pregnancy that almost made me faint."
"I'm glad," Matthew said, nuzzling her neck. "I hate to think of you being in pain all alone here."
"It's not pain, really," Mary said, patting his hand. "Aches, mostly. And I'm not alone, darling. I am quite vivid in my descriptions to Anna and Mama about just what I am going through each day. The only thing I dread is the labour. I expect it will be ghastly."
"Mother will help you through it, and Clarkson's experienced. You'll be in good hands," Matthew said calmly. "It won't be pleasant, sadly, but you're strong, a storm braver if ever I saw one."
"I hope so," Mary sighed. "And to make it fair, you are going to change his nappies from time to time, even if Nanny is available."
Matthew laughed. "Anything, my darling. Your wish is my command."
Mary laughed, reaching her hand back and tousling his hair with her fingers.
"You're going to be a wonderful mother, I know it," Matthew said, kissing her shoulder once more.
Mary turned her head to look at him. "How do you know?" she whispered.
"Because," he smiled genuinely. "Because you're a wonderful woman."
"I don't know," she smirked. "I can be quite demanding when I want to be."
"Do you have any demands now?" Matthew asked, raising his eyebrow at her.
"A great deal," Mary replied, leaning back and kissing him while her hand travelled down his body.
"I don't know if I can...serve you...so quickly, darling. I need to recover," he said between kisses.
He gasped as he felt her hand upon him.
Mary smiled at his obvious reaction. "Try," she grinned.
Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, July 1916
"I can't…I can't do this much longer," Mary cried, looking at Isobel frantically.
"You can," Isobel nodded. "You're almost through it, Mary, I promise."
Mary closed her eyes tight, nodding as she reached for her last reserves of strength. She saw Matthew's smiling face, his joyful expression when she would hand him their child. She still wasn't entirely sure what her reaction would be when she held her babe in her arms for the first time. But she had no doubt about her husband. He would be gleeful, and full of adoration and love, for both the baby and for her. The image of his beaming eyes and wide grin and tears of happiness made her smile in spite of her pain and exhaustion.
"All right, Lady Mary, we're ready," Clarkson said firmly.
"One more hard push, Mary. You can do it. I know you can," Isobel said, squeezing Mary's hand.
Mary opened her eyes.
"Now, Lady Mary!" Clarkson called.
"Push, Mary! Push!" Isobel urged.
Mary screamed.
La Boiselle, France, July 1916
In certain situations, the British Army gave out pamphlets and handbooks to its officers during the course of the War. In addition to being a tool to spread information among the ranks, it allowed the leaders in London to give clear instructions to soldiers in the field. In the early days of the conflict, before Matthew was commissioned, the Army would spread intelligence on the known weapons and tactics used by the enemy. For the most part, the German infantry used similar rifles and guns. Any edge that either side enjoyed would soon be researched and copied until the other side caught up, and so it went for years as the War endured.
Matthew did not need statistics and measurements to see the power of the German machine guns. While he could fire, reload and fire again in mere seconds, spending his full five-bullet clip in less than thirty seconds, the machine gun could fire hundreds more bullets in the same time. The shots travelled so fast their victims did not know they'd been killed. After witnessing the disaster of this morning, Matthew thought that was probably for the best.
"Captain," a voice called.
His ears still buzzed with the noise, the horrible, bone chilling noise of hundreds of bullets and flesh being ripped apart. He stared out into the countryside, the serene calm of the field hours later was a mockery of all that had happened earlier.
"Captain Crawley."
He'd faced machine guns before, and artillery bombardment and mortars. Alex's Division was trained to spread out and maintain gaps between them as they charged. While many were still cut down trying to advance on the enemy, it increased the probability that more would survive and reach the objective alive.
"Captain Crawley, sir."
This morning's attack was doomed the moment the artillery failed to take out all of the intended targets. The men were bunched together too closely. The stretch of no man's land was too far. The delay in the charge from the time the mines were blown was too long. It was a right mess from the get go, and Matthew had watched all of it.
"Mr. Matthew, sir."
Matthew turned, his mind finally registering the voice trying to reach him. He stared at a medic standing before him. Matthew's eyes seemed to be unable to focus, until finally he shook himself and blinked several times.
"Thomas?" Matthew asked incredulously.
"Captain," Thomas nodded. "We've negotiated a truce with the Germans to allow us to go into no man's land and recover the casualties."
Matthew stared at the former footman dumbly for several moments, then registered what he said.
"Right. We…we'll escort you and the rest of the Medical Corps," Matthew said.
"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded and saluted Matthew.
Matthew saluted in return. "It's good to see you, Thomas," Matthew said evenly. "You're looking well."
"Thank you, Captain. Same to you, sir," Thomas replied.
Matthew turned to his men and gave his orders. He assigned his soldiers to different parts of the valley that the Medical Corps would be covering. He then took Wakefield and ten men with him back to the ridge where they had taken position that morning. It seemed a lifetime ago that they'd been there, another life when there was hope that the attack would end in victory.
Set up along the line as before," Matthew ordered. "Spotters track the enemy line. Snipers track the medics."
"What are we looking for, sir?" Wakefield asked.
"Hopefully nothing," Matthew replied. "But if the Germans breach the truce, we'll need to cover the retreat."
"They would fire upon the medics, sir?" Wakefield asked in shock.
Matthew looked through his scope at the field below. There had to be thousands of dead soldiers littering the ground.
"What's a few more dead bodies on top of all the others, Wakefield?" Matthew asked.
Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, July 1916
"Congratulations, Lady Mary," Clarkson smiled. "You have a beautiful, healthy baby boy."
Mary gasped in relief as Isobel took the swaddled bundle from Clarkson. Mary had never felt so tired in all her life. Her legs and arms were numb. Her stomach throbbed in pain and her back felt tight and constricted.
"He's gorgeous," Isobel beamed at the baby. She passed the child to Mary, holding him steady while Mary arranged her arms to cradle him against her chest. "Well done, Mary. So very well done."
Mary looked up at Isobel and thanked her with her eyes. She then looked down at the miracle in her arms. Clarkson and the other nurse quietly left the room.
Anna had brought the linen blankets and towels that Mary had purchased months ago to swaddle the baby. At the time, Mary had huffed that the future Earl of Grantham would be treated properly as his station required, and would not be swaddled in some common blankets from the hospital. When Matthew had pointed out that the child could be a girl, Mary said it didn't matter – no child of hers, boy or girl, would have anything but the best cloth touch his or her newborn skin. She was glad for Anna remembering everything this morning. The embroidered blankets were soft in Mary arms, and the sleeping baby looked peaceful and content wrapped in them.
"His hair is closer to yours in colour than Matthew's," Isobel chuckled. "Don't worry. It will lighten as he gets older I suspect. He's bound to be a blond at some point in his life."
"Hello," Mary cooed, holding the baby close to her breast. She gazed at him in wonder, thinking that she could spend hours just sitting with him like this, watching him sleep.
"Did you and Matthew discuss a name?" Isobel asked softly.
"We did," Mary nodded. "George. George Matthew Crawley."
"George," Isobel repeated. "That's a lovely name, Mary."
"I think so," Mary nodded. She grinned at her son. "Matthew didn't want me to use his name, but I think it's fitting, and it sounds right."
"It does," Isobel agreed, patting Mary's shoulder. "I'll go call Downton and let your Granny know the news. I'll send Anna in shortly. I expect that your family will be here soon."
Isobel took in the heart warming sight once more before leaving the room.
"Hello George," Mary whispered to the sleeping newborn. "Hello my precious Prince. I can't wait for you to meet your Papa."