So, after a rather long hiatus, here's a new chapter of The healing process. It's the beginning of a second part that will take you in Ireland then Scotland, for a couple of weddings.
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.
And a special thanks to MrsTater who definitely is my Gemini cricket ;-)
PART TWO: Dublin and Edinburgh
Chapter one: Of disagreements...
Dublin, July 20th, 1919
A lifetime ago, when Mary had invited Richard to Downton for the very first time, Aunt Rosamund had complained about how he had read his own papers during the whole journey from London. The biting irony in Aunt Rosamund's voice had expressed what her words had politely concealed, that the cunning woman thought this new suitor was a pompous fool. Three years later, Mary had to admit that this habit of his was totally irksome. Of course, she knew now that his tendency to ignore everybody and everything while reading was not strictly down to self-satisfaction but to his ability to shut out the whole world around him whenever he set his eyes on written words, be it a newspaper, a book, a menu at the restaurant or the safety instructions on the ferry. Those were the times when she had to resist the sudden urge to hit him with something blunt, and the journey from Downton to Dublin had provided plenty, much to Edith's undisguised amusement, which had added salt to the wound. For the hundredth time since the three of them had left Yorkshire, Mary addressed a displeased stare at her sister who was observing the scene in front of her – that was to say Richard practicing his second favorite occupation during a journey: settling against her shoulder and snoring softly – with too much delight. After a few seconds of insistent glaring, Mary had to accept that no amount of silent threat would erase the smug expression from Edith's lips and she decided to focus her attention on the approaching coastline.
It was a pleasant summer afternoon and the trio had decided to stay on deck in order to enjoy the July sun. From afar, the green coast made a sharp contrast with the blue, almost shiny water. The scenery that slowly unfolded in front her dreamy examination of the horizon confirmed that the metaphoric name of Emerald Island was not usurped by the country she had heard so much about, in the distance, and was about to discover, knowing nothing about it except the fact this was the place where her little sister had decided to spend the rest of her life. How transformed would they find Sybil after only a few months in this rebellious land?
Deciding not to let this nagging interrogation spoil the last moments of this nice day at sea, Mary tilted her face to enjoy the salty wind that was making a mess of her coif. Every now and then, Mary or Edith had to raise a hand to keep their hat in the right place or tuck away a rebellious strand of hair. Richard, who did not possess the same of almost religious respect for propriety and well breeding, had already taken care of his own hat before dozing off and let it rest on his knee, secured by the loose pressure of his hand. This was a small gesture, a small breach of etiquette Richard was accustomed to, and Mary had to smile at the idea that the man who bought the wrong tweed for his first visit to Downton would never disappear totally in spite of her best effort at grooming him. At the same time, the whole sight was endearing as it epitomized who Richard was and always would be, a man who would always chose practicality over propriety.
In spite of herself, Mary let a timid smile form on her own lips. As promised, Granny had convinced Papa to let her and Edith come to Sybil's wedding under Richard's protection. Very soon, she would be reunited with her little sister, and see for herself whether Tom kept his promise to make Sybil happy or not. And, maybe, if Mary found the courage, they would even talk about those recent events that had changed her own world. If someone could understand, it was her rebellious sister who was about to marry the former chauffeur…
"Dublin!" a loud voice with a strange, heavy accent announced, rousing Richard effectively.
"I suppose this is the moment when I have to stand up and deal with our luggage," he commented with a voice still raspy from his impromptu nap, making a show of his ability to stretch lazily without behaving like some lower-class semaphore. The movement, which made him look like a cat, started from a slight, rolling movement of the neck that reached his shoulder then his back. Hours spent in trains and endless reunions had taught him to relax in the most inconspicuous ways, Mary was sure.
"You are the one who insisted we ought to travel light," Mary snapped back a little more strongly than intended. She understood Richard's reasoning – to which her father had adhered as well – but the idea of traveling without Anna's help was a bit overwhelming. After all, her faithful maid and friend had accompanied during her regular visits to London last May.
Yet, Richard had thought it would be better to try and not show off their social status too much during their stay in Ireland, as a form of respect towards the Bransons, as a form of prudence as well.
The newspaperman shrugged as a form of silent answer while he smoothed his tousled hair back before putting his hat on.
"As we said before, Anna will wait for us in Edinburgh. In the meantime, I'm sure Gareth's staff will give you great satisfaction, to you, and to Edith as well, even if they're quite reduced, as he told me."
Gareth O'Connell was a professor at Dublin medical university, and an old friend of Richard, from their student days in Glasgow, apparently, and it had been decided they would stay at his house in Dublin.
"What surprises me most in this story is that you're willing to go without a valet, Richard," Edith teased him, her eyes never leaving his face, studying his mere reactions. "Are you really willing to settle for another man's valet?"
Mary resisted to rolling her own eyes. Of course, Edith was still a bit wary about Richard and the whole situation, in spite of her growing amusement.
"His butler and valet and footman, a bit like Moseley, in fact," Richard corrected with a faint smile. "And, as far as white ties and other morning coats are concerned, anyone, including another man's valet, is better than me left on my own with these hellish garments. That's one of the perks of becoming rich: you get the fancy clothes and the people who worry about them in your place at the same time."
"Except when they give you the wrong tweed."
The occasion was too tempting to let it pass, and Mary joined her sister in the teasing.
"Except when they give me the wrong tweed, indeed," Richard admitted with mock sheepishness before counter-attacking. "Wait until we're in Scotland, both of you, and we'll see if you're that fluent in the etiquette of tartans and clans."
"Before getting to that, we need our luggage for a wedding in Dublin," Mary reminded the task at hand, not without mentally noting she would need a book or anything that could help her explore this side of Scottish tradition she had always happily ignored, even during the family's annual trip to the Flintshire's castle in the Highlands.
"Yes, Ma'am."
Richard tilted his hat mischievously and went to retrieve their luggage.
Sybil and her husband-to-be waited impatiently for the arrival of the "Yorkshire delegation", as Tom's mother had jokingly described it when they had announced Mary's and Edith's attendance to the wedding. The poor woman had tried to hide how overwhelmed she was at the idea of entertaining such a kind of guests, and how relieved she had been when Sybil had added that her sisters were to stay with some acquaintances of Sir Richard. On the contrary, Sybil had not been able to hide from Tom how disappointed she felt at the idea that Mary and Edith would not make any effort to blend in her new life in Ireland. Strangely enough, her fiancé seemed to be more understanding of the situation.
"If I can accept this, maybe you should, too," he had commented two days ago, kissing her teasingly on the nose.
"Maybe I can't accept the idea of Mary settling down for this man after everything that happened last spring," she had admitted with a sad frown.
Had not her eldest sister learnt anything from the whole ordeal? Was she really willing to let the love of her life slip through her fingers? Sybil had always believed that there was more to Mary than what she let on – the way she had helped Matthew after his injury had been the defining evidence for the youngest Crawley sister – and Sybil felt irrationally betrayed by this decision to marry the arrogant and shallow newspaperman.
"Maybe…" Tom's own clipped smile had revealed his unsaid feelings about the situation. With Sir Richard in the picture, there was no possible way that Mary would accept the former chauffeur as a member of the family. The self-made man would never let her.
Sybil went on examining the crowd walking down the gangway from the boat to the dock, waiting for the sight of Anna and any valets' silhouettes fussing around the luggage. Her sisters would be there anytime soon, and, for the first time since she first arrived in Ireland, a wave of self-consciousness threatened to overwhelm her. What would they think of her plain dress and new, practical haircut? How would she react to their judgmental stares? Lost in her thoughts, and expecting a large, formal party to emerge from the crowds of travelers, she did not notice the trio walking to them until Mary's voice greeted them with her familiar, carefully polite tones.
"Sybil, Tom, it's a pleasure to see you again."
For a second, Mary's uncharacteristic warmth of tone, accompanied by the image of a gentleman-not a porter or a servant-struggling with luggage made Sybil hope that something had changed at Downton, finally. Was it Matthew with them? The man's hat concealed his face and the idea of Sir Richard carrying luggage was simply preposterous.
"Mary, Edith." She accepted her sisters' embrace. "I'm so happy you managed to come to Ireland," she answered, struggling with her emotions. It had only been three months, and her life in Dublin was as exciting and fulfilling as she had expected, but she had missed her family dearly. Until this moment, she had not realized how much. "It means so much…"
Acceptance. Much needed acceptance.
"Lady Sybil, it's a pleasure to meet you again." Sir Richard's hand went to his hat in a polite salute. "Br… Mr. Branson," she heard him catch himself in time before shaking Tom's hand awkwardly.
Sybil anxiously observed Mary's features. There was no slight frown or furrowed brow to indicate her sister's annoyance at the man's near misstep. As she had feared almost three years ago when Sir Richard had first walked into Downton, she had lost Mary to the newspaperman's glittering mirages. She had hoped her eldest sister would be her best advocate and would assist, advise her in rebuilding the shattered bridges Tom and she had left behind last spring. Lady Mary Crawley would have done that, Sybil was sure, but there was no way that Lady Mary Carlisle would do such a thing.
"Sir Richard, thank you for coming," she heard Tom's own awkward greeting from afar. How could Tom ever be able to forget he had driven Sir Richard around, even once Sybil's family accepted him, as she was certain they would in the end?
"Thank you," she repeated, barely managing to hide her disappointed frown, not able to stare at Mary. Sybil did not need to see her eldest's cold expression, the expression she had always believed to be nothing but a façade. All the pleasure and nostalgia the sight of her sisters had awakened was gone now.
"If you're not too tired, my mother would be very happy to see you coming for tea," Tom went on with the initial plan.
"We don't want to intrude," Mary protested gently. "And we can't arrive too late at Richard's friend's house."
Of course, they wouldn't. Why would they want to have some tea in a modest cottage when they could stay at one of Dublin's finest houses?
"Naturally," Sybil replied more bitterly than intended. "Mingling for the wedding is already too much, isn't it Sir Richard?"
"Sybil…" Tom's cautious voice and calming hand at her elbow stopped her from being too harsh. Her fiancé knew how much she disliked the man: he had been the witness of many of her rants in the garage at Downton.
"Not really," came Richard's nonchalant answer as he lit a cigarette. "As an adopted Glaswegian, I got used to the papists' company, you know. I'm just more anxious to be done with the luggage."
After a thoughtful pause and a deep breath, Sir Richard added, not caring to hide the annoyance in his voice: "And there's absolutely no way we can fit all of us, and the luggage inside the antiquity over there."
Beside her, Tom whitened at the veiled insult. Of course, the newspaperman was right. They had agreed Tom would take the sisters and their escort to his mother's then would drive back to the port and take Anna, the valet and the luggage to Richard's friend's later – that was why left luggage existed, after all. But there was no need to be that condescending.
Not at all.
Once more, she was more than happy of her decision to live in the real world.
The old Ford T Tom had told them he had borrowed from a cousin to greet them bounced rather than rolled through the rather shabby suburbs of Dublin, shaking its occupants and stopping any effort at conversation.
Thanks to a few chosen words, the joyful family reunion had quickly turned into a shameful mess. Apparently very conscious of the awkwardness his simple presence in Dublin had created, Richard had decided to make himself scarce for the immediate future. He would take a taxi to his friend's house and bring the luggage with him whereas she and Mary would go for tea at Tom's mother's house. The newspaperman would join them later. Hopefully he would have managed to clear his head in the meantime.
Edith sighed in discouragement.
The man could really be a hot head, and behave like a perfect fool whenever he felt aggressed. She would have never told Mary her silent apprehension, but, since the beginning of their journey, Edith had had the nagging intuition that Richard would not be welcomed with opened arms by their sister. To be honest, she had not totally warmed to the man yet, and his latest, brutal return to his arrogant habits earlier at the port confirmed her in this prudent opinion of his character. However, she had been able to witness Mary's quiet, newfound happiness and Richard's more endearing sides.
Sybil had not.
Here and there, crumbling walls or recent gunshot impacts were the ever present signs of the local poverty and the current political tensions. Not for the first time since she had set foot on Irish soil, Edith wondered why Sybil had chosen such a life. A quick glance at her passing surroundings revealed the signs of a harsh reality, thousands of miles away from their sheltered existence at Downton. Was it Sybil's love for Tom that helped her to embrace this radical change? This very idea made Edith think of some form of blindness, and she feared for her sister.
What if her little sister suddenly discovered that Tom's love was not enough to bear this life? Would she be able to go back to their family? Would their father welcome her back?
As they drove along modest cottages and well-kept vegetable gardens – a sure sign they had entered a much less distraught neighborhood – another hypothesis came to her mind. Maybe it was because Sybil had been ready for such a change for a long time, that she had been ready to recognize then accept her love for Branson. If this was the case, there was no need to worry for the future in Dublin.
On the other hand, it meant the whole family would have to work hard to rebuild the bridges, beginning with their father, and Richard.
Like any neo-convert, Sybil would never take the first step, assured as she was in her opinions and new life, and they would need to be the ones to take this step, and the next one, and the next after that. Attending the wedding was only the first of many difficult ones to come if they did not want their family to explode because of Sybil's and Mary's choices for their respective husbands.
If Mary had chosen Matthew as everybody had wished she would, things would have been much easier. However, that was not the case, and they would have to deal with this reality, not their unrealized dreams.
Moreover, for all his flaws, Richard was quite a reliable man. Not a nice one, but a good one, in his own twisted way. That should be enough.
"I behaved like an arse, didn't I?" Richard wondered aloud as soon as he heard the click of the door behind him.
As Mary had promised in her letters during his trip around Europe, Edith proved to be a very liberal chaperon, or a blissfully ignorant one.
Earlier in the evening, he and Gareth had driven to the Bransons' cottage to pick up Mary and her sister. Richard had been glad to find the Crawley girls, the three of them, in high spirits, even if his mere presence had contributed to the return of previous awkwardness and tensions. The presence of a millionaire in her humble cottage had overwhelmed Mrs Branson, even more than the company of three daughters of an Earl. And two pointed stares had made made it very clear that he was just politely tolerated there. On the other hand, Richard had seen enough Saint Patricks and Holy Marys representations to last him a lifetime. As a Presbyterian child, he had been raised to despise those manifestation of idolatry. As an atheist man, contempt had been replaced by simple allergy. After that, dinner at their host's house had been an oasis of stimulating conversation, and, for the last hour, he had been able to relax and sit in the armchair by the open window in his room, enjoying the nightly fresh air as he read the local latest news.
IRA raid against British bank in Dublin.
Member of British Fiscal Administration killed during a visit in Galway.
Miners strike in Munster.
They really had walked into a powder keg, and he could not wait to get the hell out of here. His being a renowned and rather vocal opponent of British imperialism sheltered him a little, but that was not the fact for Mary and Edith. The worries and objections Gareth had expressed when they had spoken on the phone before the start of the journey had only fed Richard's own anguish, so much that he had only needed the merest trigger to lash out at the Bransons.
Papists. Antiquity.
What a bloody idiot.
"Honestly?" Mary's voice resounded behind him as she rested her hands on his shoulders and began a gentle massage. "I can't imagine a worse introduction."
Richard smiled to himself in spite of the seriousness of their current conversation. It was a good thing the wedding was near in the future: they obviously were more comfortable with each other than what was morally acceptable for an engaged couple. When he thought about the first months of their engagement, he could not help but wonder at Mary's eagerness to join him in his room back at Downton or here at his friend's house in Dublin, for light banter, serious conversation or more.
"Can't you?"
"Papists? Really? For a second, I thought Papa was here, and not you." For emphasis, and a little revenge, she pressed harder against the knot at the base of his neck.
"That hurt," he complained mildly.
"Stop being so tense."
"You need to improve your bedside manner…"
"Says the man who slapped one of his workers to wake him up from his stupor…"
"Touché," he admitted sheepishly. "By the way, how did you find my room? Did you coerce Gareth's housemaid to show you around the place?" Very few things were more pleasant than teasing Mary about how his bad but practical manners were highly contagious.
"I didn't even need to. I know for a fact that you're a night owl and there's only one room with light in the whole house. Elementary, Dr. Watson."
"Well done, Sherlock..." Richard resisted the urge to lie back, close his eyes and enjoy her ministrations. "More seriously, I was thinking of not going to the wedding."
"Why?" Mary's hands went still.
"Because I'm not sure to hold my tongue if provoked, and I don't want to spoil Sybil's big day," he explained, more hurt than he cared to admit by the youngest Crawley's blatant rejection.
"Don't even think about it," Mary replied sharply, punctuating her words with a gentle but firm pressure on his shoulders. "We're getting married next month. Your place is at my sister's wedding. That's all."
"Well, I've a little bit more experience with siblings who live far away than you, and believe me when I say it's important to preserve your bond. You can't afford a fight, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Sybil's not in New Zealand, but, considering the current situation in Ireland, she might as well be. The distance is already huge. Don't widen it because of me, that's all." Richard sighed heavily. He did not know how to convey his thoughts without sounding too much like a martyr.
"Might I say that what works for you and your sister may not work for Sybil and me? It goes both ways: I accept her husband-to-be, and I expect she will accept mine." Mary took the newspaper from his hands and sat on his lap, her fingers removing his already loosened tie and working on the shirt buttons. "Trust me, I just need to find a moment to talk with her, alone. That's how we have always functioned since our childhood." Her hands pulled the lapels of the shirt from the trousers and reached for Richard's belt.
"You must be right."
"I am," she whispered before claiming his lips.
"You do realize that our wedding night will have nothing special if we continue this trend?" he managed between slow kisses, as he let his hand brush her naked legs under the silky nightgown.
"Oh, the simple fact that you won't have to throw me out of bed at ungodly hours anymore and that we won't have to use these rubber things will make it special enough, don't you think?"
"Tired of it already? Don't you want more time to adjust to married life before starting a family?" He tried not to sound too eager.
"I want to let nature decide."
"Sounds like a plan."
