. CRAP. I am so sorry this took so long to write, you guys, if you're still out there. Thank you so much for being patient, you guys are AMAZING.
In case you forgot, which is probably true since I havent' submitted anything since November/December (shame-faced) here's a little catch-up: Mary's suitor Richard Crewe, the archaeologist, is visiting Downton Abbey. Edith, still weak from giving birth, makes plans with Thomas (her not so secret BFF) to hire him as her butler after the war. Matthew/Sybil moments to top off the chapter. I LOVE YOU ALL. - darthsydious
"What are they?" Cora asked, hands clasped before her as Robert carefully examined the gift from Mr. Crewe.
"They're shabti," Robert said. "They're funerary figurines, from the Ptolemaic period if I'm not mistaken," he marveled.
"What about the marble box?"
"A canopic chest," this time Mr. Crewe answered her. "It even contains the ancient jars, still sealed." Robert Crawley was nothing less than gleeful. Like a child at Christmas, though with a bit more self-control, he gently picked up one of the jars, turning it over and showing Cora the markings in the flaking paint. He was something of a collector of Egyptian artifacts, he devoted a monthly sum to the British Museum, helping expand and preserve the collection in London. He owned a few pieces, though not as many as he would have liked.
"I saw something like it when I traveled through Egypt, years ago," Robert said. Mary was smiling at Mr. Crewe, pleased he had thought to bring such a gift. She saw Sybil and Matthew on the stairs. "There you are, come and meet my good friend, Richard Crewe," Matthew held out his hand to the gentleman.
"You must be Matthew," Richard said happily. "Mary has told me so much about you."
"All good I hope," he laughed.
"Nothing but," Richard said. "And Lady Sybil, Lady Mary's favorite sister."
"One of her favorites," Sybil amended. "It is good to meet you at last; we've so looked forward to meeting you. What have you brought for Papa?" she turned to look at what so engrossed her father.
"What do you think of him?" Mary asked as Richard explained what the jars contained. Matthew glanced over at the group gathering around the ancient artifacts.
"I can hardly form a proper opinion of anyone in only two minutes," he said. "But he seems a decent fellow."
"Well I hope Papa can at least say that," she sighed.
"Don't worry," Matthew smiled at her. "Your Richard is off to a good start with the family. Clever of him to bring such a gift to your father, and one he would so appreciate. Terribly clever." Mary raised an eyebrow.
"Do you think I told him to?"
"No, of course not," he laughed quietly. "But I shouldn't doubt someone did." Mary frowned then.
"Who?"
It was then that Thomas wheeled Edith in, past Mary and Matthew and over to the others. Already Edith extended her hand to Mr. Crewe, who grasped it, smiling at her.
"You must be Lady Edith, how good to see you at last!"
"And you as well," she said. Mary looked at Matthew, a disbelieving smile forming.
"You've met before?" Matthew asked.
"We've only spoken on the telephone," Mr. Crewe said. "I called the house several weeks ago, Lady Mary was not in, but Lady Edith was good enough to relay a message from her to me."
"That was good of you Edith," Mary said at last. "Thank you."
"Lady Grantham, tea is served," Mr. Carson stood in the doorway, solemn amongst the cheerful faces.
"Thank you Carson, everyone, do come through," Cora said, Mr. Crewe took her arm, following Lord Grantham and the Dowager Countess. Close behind were Sybil and Matthew.
"Your shawl fell, Edith," Mary said quickly, seeing them pause when she didn't go with them. "I'll just fix it and bring you through." Once they were gone, she bent, tucking the blanket around Edith's lap again.
"What did you say to him?" she asked softly. Edith shrugged.
"Nothing very important, just that Papa shared in his interest of Egyptology."
"And that's all?"
"No," Edith paused. "I may have let slip that he was less than confident about this visit."
"Edith!"
"Mr. Crewe asked me if there was a way I knew of to make the visit go more smoothly, and I said Papa was fond of the Ptolemaic period." She looked up at her sister, chewing her bottom lip. "Are you angry with me?"
"Good heavens, no!" Mary gasped, then she began to laugh. "Perhaps it is good that you aren't staying with Granny anymore, what a pair you two would make!" Edith smiled to herself then.
~O~
After tea Matthew suggested Mary show Mr. Crewe the grounds.
"Downton is known for its extensive gardens," there was a touch of boasting in his tone. "It would be a pity to waste such a fine day indoors. A tour inside can be done any of these cold days." Mr. Crewe agreed, but only if Mary wouldn't mind. Of course she didn't, and as they followed the men out, Mary took Sybil's hand.
"You and Matthew, you'll come along won't you?"
"If you like us to," Sybil said.
"Isn't it funny?" Mary asked. "I'm so very nervous and silly about Richard all of a sudden." Sybil only smiled, though her gaze was not on her sister, but her husband.
"No, I don't think so," she turned back to Mary, who had seen. Embarrassed then, Sybil ducked her head.
"Well I suppose I won't tease you," Mary said soberly. Pinching her sister's arm, Sybil laughed, tugging her along out of the parlor.
"Lady Edith has not been ill, I hope?" Mr. Crewe was asking they stepped out into the cool January air. It was warm for the time of year, the sun bright and high in the sky. Patches of snow melted onto the walkway, crunching under their boots.
"She recently had a child," Mary said. "She hasn't quite recovered yet." Richard raised an eyebrow at this, concerned.
"I am sorry then. When we spoke on the phone she seemed perfectly well." Mary frowned, not understanding. "I mean when most ladies are ill they tend to stay abed, ringing for smelling salts and faintly questioning the temperature of the room."
"Do they?" Mary asked tartly. "Well I am glad you're such an expert on ladies and their illnesses."
"Or at least my mother's," he replied and she laughed then. His smile faded quickly though. "But Lady Edith is not very much like any lady, nor Lady Sybil," he turned to Mary. "And certainly not you."
"Surely," she replied quietly. "You're the only one who knows my secrets,"
"No it isn't that," he shook his head. "None of you are really like all the ladies in society, I quite admire that. You're all individuals, pleased with your own thoughts and ideas and-"
"Good heavens, in a moment you'll be saying we're all modern!" Mary said with a laugh. "Don't let Papa hear you say that,"
"Well you are," Richard said. "And why shouldn't I say it?"
"Papa is very old-fashioned, much as he would deny it," Mary replied. "The war has changed things," their pace slowed, Matthew and Sybil took note and slowed down as well, keeping just out of ear-shot. "The lower and upper classes are closer now, Papa believes afterwards things will go back to the way things were but I don't believe they will," she looked up at Richard. "How could they? How could the world be turned upside-down and afterwards turned back over and have everything fall exactly into place again?" Richard's expression softened, and Mary could only liken it to when her father looked at her mother.
"You are very wise, and if your brother-in law and sister were not so close, I may kiss you." Mary couldn't speak for a moment, she glanced back, then at Richard.
"If they weren't, then I might let you." He squeezed her hand in response, they waited for Matthew and Sybil to catch up before continuing on.
~O~
Inside
"He's a decent chap," Robert said. Edith and Lady Grantham exchanged smiles over their teacups. "Well adjusted as well, to England. Some of these archeologists are so far removed from decent society they can't even dress themselves properly."
"Robert, you've never been one to judge someone by their clothes and you know it," Cora said. "Stop looking for faults."
"I'm not, for the time being," he replied. Turning away from the window, he seated himself at his desk. "What do you think of him, Edith?"
"I like him," she said.
"How could anyone 'like' a person they've only just met?" the Dowager Countess asked. "One afternoon tea does not equal a friend."
"No, but it means an acquaintance," Edith said. "And Mary knows him very well, so I think it's alright to say so."
Carson appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat quietly.
"Yes, Carson?" Lady Grantham asked,
"Nanny says that Master Anthony is awake." Edith's pale face beamed. Setting down her teacup, she began to unlock the brakes of her chair.
"Thank you Carson," she said. Taking the wheels of her chair she began to push herself away from the sofa. Carson nearly leapt forward, grasping the handles of the chair.
"I'll see you upstairs Lady Edith," he said, glancing between Lady and Lord Grantham.
"Don't be silly, I can manage," Edith laughed.
"But the stairs-" he began,
"I could do it, Mr. Carson." They all looked to see Thomas standing at the doorway. "Begging your pardon," he murmured, realizing he'd interrupted. Lieutenant or not, it was still rude. If he wanted the position of butler in Lady Edith's house, he'd better be on his best behaviour. "I was just bringing the new schedules in for Lady Grantham's approval," he continued. "I couldn't help overhearing."
"Yes of course," Lady Grantham said. "Thank you Thomas."
Carson released the chair, stepping aside so that Lieutenant Barrows could tuck Lady Edith's shawl back into place.
"Will we see you at dinner?" Lady Grantham asked, and Edith promised she would be.
Once out of the room, she leaned her head against her hand, sighing tiredly.
"Not a moment too soon," she murmured. "It can't be spring soon enough for me."
"February is a short month," Thomas said. Carefully he backed up to the stairs, lifted her out of the chair and carried her up to the family wing where a second chair waited. He knew she disliked winter, now especially because she only went out on Sundays to mass. Her main source of joy was her son. Named Robert-Anthony, first for her father, and then for her husband, although everyone referred to the Strallen heir as Anthony. Thomas thought of the baby as he pushed Edith through the corridors to the nursery. Master Anthony, unlike his mother, grew stronger every day. Born some weeks too soon, everyone worried he would not live. Lord Grantham boasted through his worries that the boy was a Crawley and would persevere. Thomas didn't know who's family blood was stronger, but live the boy did. Now two months old and growing fast, Master Anthony was as healthy as anybody and rarely cried when held. Thomas had held him (at Edith's insistence), and the boy had only looked up at him with some regard, most likely because Thomas' face was unfamiliar to him, though perhaps his voice was not.
~O~
In the nursery, the nanny, actually one of the under-maids who had raised at least five of her seven siblings, cradled Master Anthony.
"Was he any trouble?" Lady Edith asked,
"No milady, he's been sleeping this past hour and just woke. Not cried yet except when he heard the chair in the hallway, and only then just a little."
"Thank you Nanny,"
"I'll go and fetch his bottle," she said and scooted around Thomas. Edith smiled, seeing the look of admiration from the young woman as she passed Thomas.
"Another fan of yours?" she asked teasingly as she shifted the baby in her arms so he lay more comfortably. Thomas only grunted in response. "Don't let me keep you," she said quickly. "I know you've things to attend to downstairs."
"I can spare a minute," he said with a shrug.
"Well if you can, sit for a moment. You're not a footman anymore, and not my butler yet," she said. Indulging her, he took the hassock by the rocking chair. "I did speak to father, by the way," she said. "About your position here, he agrees I'll need a butler, and quite likes the idea of your coming to serve at Cherry Hall. You've been with the family so long you see. And that business with Isis, finding her when she ran away in December," Edith shrugged quickly, looking down at the baby. "Anyway it's nearly settled, we're really only waiting for you to decide."
"Me?" he asked, shocked. "I told you before though-"
"Yes I know, but you're not staff right now, Thomas," she looked at him, pale and serious. "You don't have to go into service again after the war. Papa says it can't last much longer now, another year at the most, and it is highly unlikely they'll send you to the front. You could go wherever you wanted afterwards." Anthony began to squall in her arms so she rocked back and forth, soothing his head before she continued. "You've learned a good deal under Doctor Clarkson, and being in the army. You don't have to be a servant the rest of your life."
This was something Thomas had considered. But once Edith asked him about a new position, he had put it out of his mind. Here now, she was offering him again a choice: to go to Cherry Hall and be a servant, or go out into the world and start new, to be anyone and anything he wanted. He looked back at Lady Edith, weak and pale, slender hands combing her child's hair. Master Anthony opened and closed his fingers, still discovering the use of his hands. On impulse, Thomas reached forward, the boy grasped his finger, squeezing tightly. Lady Edith wasn't strong, not by a long-shot. The act of going downstairs to breakfast, luncheon, tea and dinner exhausted her. She would have been a terrific actress, for she could laugh and converse as well as anyone else in the house, but behind closed doors only Anna and Thomas knew how tired she was. Thomas worried if he left, she might not ever recover. That was a thought he did not like at all.
"Well," he said finally. "I reckon I'll stay around." Edith grasped his hand suddenly, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Tired eyes seemed to glow at him,
"Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you."
~O~
That Night
Mathew readied for bed, listening as Sybil spoke to him through the opened door of the washroom adjoining their room.
"I like the idea," she said. "Thomas going to Cherry Hall. It's someone the family knows, and he's had years of experience at Downton."
"Yes but is it something he wants?" Matthew called back. He didn't often speak of Thomas, perhaps because he was reminded of the trenches. He didn't want to think of that.
"I'm sure Edith would ask him. She and Thomas are such good friends."
"Hm, yes he did mention as much to me."
"Why?" Sybil poked her head through the doorway. "Do you think he meant there was something more between them?"
"No, no. Not at all," Matthew shrugged. He thought of that evening that Edith went into labor. Thomas jumped on a motorcycle, not even knowing how to drive it, to go and fetch Doctor Clarkson. Matthew would've done the same for any of his family too, he supposed.
"Motorcycles," thought Matthew. Noisy, irritating machines. He liked motorcars. Motorcars weren't used on the front. The engines weren't exposed so when they did pop and rattle, it was muffled. It didn't sound like a shell. Before he could stop himself, he thought of the noise a shell makes. When it hits the ground, earth is flung in every direction, a blossom of red and grey smoke shoot up from it igniting. Bodies everywhere.
"- I was thinking too he's changed since he came back-" Sybil was still talking. About who? Oh, Thomas. Yes.
"Yes, he has," Matthew answered. "Most do."
"It's more than that. I suppose we all knew Edith and Thomas were close. Not like Branson and I- I don't mean romantically-" she dropped something, it hit the tiled bathroom floor with a 'crack' and Matthew found himself jumping. "It was only the soap dish," she called "It's cracked- I'm sorry-" her voice seemed to fade into the distance as Matthew's thoughts turned back to the noise, echoing in his head. It resonated, deeper and deeper until it seemed to match the smashing of glass windows. Soldiers kicking in doors to buildings, boots crunching over broken plaster and ransacked houses. He remembered opening a cupboard door to find a withered body. An old man had hidden himself from the soldiers. Perhaps the shells exploding nearby had caused his heart to fail. Matthew didn't know. The nameless body was buried with the rest of the dead they found. So many mass graves. So many men and women, children. Dear God, the babies and little ones- life torn from them before they even had a chance to live.
"Matthew-" like a light in the dark, Sybil's warm voice pierced his thoughts. Through blurry eyes he looked up. He found himself sitting on the floor of the wardrobe, hugging his knees. Sybil knelt down before him, closing her robe. Before she could speak, he moved her arms out of the way, leaning forward. She sat back on the floor as he pressed his ear to her belly. Slowly, she ran her fingers through is hair, nails grazing softly against his scalp, soothing him. "What is it?" she asked softly. He couldn't answer her, he wanted to hear the baby. He was desperate to know it was alive and well.
"He's alright? You're sure the baby is alright?"
"Of course he is," she said, looking down at his head. "Why shouldn't he be?"
"I wish I could hear him…her…do you think it will be a girl?" his thoughts strayed briefly to the body of a little girl he had set in a grave. He blinked quickly, tears came anyway and shaking, he began to sob.
"Matthew, Matthew," Sybil said mournfully, "My love, what is it?"
"Tell me!" he gasped through his tears. "Tell me what life will it have? Is it a boy or a girl?"
"I don't know-"
"Pretend you did!" he begged, and looked at her, "Tell me please,"
"It's a boy…and a girl," she began uncertainly, thinking of Edith's stillborn that would have been Anthony's sister.
"Twins?" he murmured. He could not think of burying any twins while in the army. He seemed to relax a little.
"Yes," she continued, she soothed his forehead, pushing stray locks from his eyes. "She'll be named after Mama or Granny I think, and he'll have your father's name,"
"He will?"
"Yes, I like your father's name," she said. "And they'll go to school, probably for a lawyer, even if he's to inherit, it would be nice for him to know something of the world before he must settle at Downton with his own family.
Grandchildren! Good heavens that was a thought. But not as unlikely as it was before they learned Sybil was pregnant. It was a far off promise, giving him something to look forward to. He listened as Sybil quietly spoke of what their children would do, would become. It soothed him, the thought of life coming forth, moving on. Perhaps if he believed hard enough that what she said would come true, he could move on too.