I loathe transition chapters but this one is necessary. I am however wildly excited about the next chapter. Meanwhile I am curious what you make of this one. Feedback gets tea and cake.
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"The plight of war orphans is one every civic minded woman of Britain must contemplate with the utmost seriousness." Lady Sarah Simon intoned, offering a wan but hopeful smile. A dozen or so ladies were gathered around her sipping tea and eating cucumber sandwiches while she described the state of motherless and fatherless children. It was at moments such as this that Mary understood Sybil's disdain for the aristocracy. Thousands of children needed clothing, basic housing, love, and society's response was to have a tea party. Sybil was correct. It was ridiculous. Of course that meant she was ridiculous too, for hadn't she once tolerated these very things? Mary retained few allusions about herself; she knew she lacked a social conscious. She had political opinions but she kept them to herself. She came to events like this not out of any genuine conviction, instead rather in the manner of fulfilling obligations. Charity was a thing she did, not a conviction she held. In that she supposed she was sadly like most of the ladies seated around her. For whatever her protestations otherwise she was by nature more conformist than she admitted. Two, three years ago she would have attended this event and cataloged every dress, every necklace, stored up a pile of gossip and never spared a single thought for war orphans. Romantically she knew that Sybil would say Matthew had changed her. Mary thought it was not quite so simple as that… Rather life, a nightmarish war, Richard Carlisle, Matthew's injuries, her papa's floundering sense of purpose… So many things had subtly shifted her views. She was not entirely convinced she approved of the changes. She had supposed her initial convictions would last her a lifetime, yet they had crumbled before she passed her late 20's. And no comforting notions seemed to be appearing to replace them. The sound of light clapping brought Mary out of her reverie. Without conscious thought, she began to clap her hands together, absent any real idea what she was applauding. Further, it took little effort to school her features into a properly receptive smile as she mentally composed some platitude to say to the hostess. Some conventions, she realized, were never destined to change. The knowledge oddly reassured her.
Watching Lady Sarah moving slowly in her direction Mary smiled encouragingly. She found the woman a bit unsettling. Mary was uncomfortable around any being who afforded their emotions so free a reign. Still, as the wife of Matthew's employer, and the mother of a war hero Lady Sarah demanded certain deference. For that reason Mary mustered an especially warming smile saying, "What a lovely speech."
Sarah eyed her for only a moment before stating utterly matter of factly; "Don't be ridiculous. It was ghastly." She pronounced before adding ruefully, "Though I suppose it satisfied the ladies of society well enough."
"Yes." Mary agreed feeling rather unfettered at just how one responded to such an outlandish albeit likely true statement.
Sarah offered the slightest smile saying, "I suppose that is not the acceptable thing to say."
"No it is not." Mary agreed seeing little use in lying. It certainly would do the woman no good to agree with such statements. Sybil said the key component of medicine was practicality, Mary supposed that did make a certain sense. It was not practical to support one in making statements that would ostracize her in polite society.
As if recognizing Mary's thoughts, Sarah confided, "You of course do not know me very well, or you would recognize that 2 years ago, 14 months even I would never have voiced such a thought."
It took no mathematical skills to glean her meaning. Mary simply nodded saying, "I see."
Staring back as if finding Mary's response lacking, Sarah paused before requesting, "I wonder if I might have a moment of your time after the tea."
Mary nodded plastering an acquiescing smile across her face, "Of course."
Sarah bobbed her head in response before turning and moving to greet the remainder of her guests.
.~.~.~.~.
Letting his head flop back into his pillow with a groan borne of frustration Matthew swore, "How can this be so exhausting when I am doing nothing?"
"Because you are doing something," Sybil gently chastised. "You are working muscles that have remained unused for months. It is slightly better than last week is it not?" There was a half challenge in her question.
"Precious little." He insisted panting as he struggled for air.
Turning Sybil reached over dipping a cloth into a pan of water. Twisting the cloth she wrung it out, watching droplets fall back into the pan. She then laid the cool cloth across his forehead. "I believe that's enough for today."
Closing his eyes in relief Matthew murmured, "If you are waiting for me to object…"
"Very funny." She answered regarding him with a tolerant smile. Applying the slightest of pressure to the cloth, she watched the tension drain from Matthew's features as the cool moisture brought him the slightest relief. More seriously she added, "We knew the first few weeks would be diffi…challenging."
"Did we?" He queried in the most challenging of tones. "I do not remember you sharing that information."
A thin smile touched her lips as she smilingly confessed, "Because I did not want you reconsidering doing the exercises."
"Sometimes," Matthew uttered tiredly, but sounding amused none the less by his observation, "You remind me entirely too much of your sister."
"Well," Sybil retorted raising his leg with one hand while using the other to slide a pillow beneath his knees. "We were raised in the same abbey."
.~.~.~.~.
"Thank you for remaining," Lady Sarah said returning to the morning room, having bid the final guest goodbye mere moments before.
"Of course." Mary answered coolly.
Sarah nodded and took her time taking a seat, and then wasted a moment dithering over pouring a cup of tea. As she did she cast furtive glances at her guest. There was about Lady Mary Crawley something very close to unreadable Sarah decided; a duality in the woman; which made easy assessments of her virtually impossible. She seemed better suited to elegant dinners and evenings in society, than the world of the middle class. Still one look at the girl around Matthew, convinced Sarah the Lady Mary was clearly besotted. In a country where many married for society and position, she was convinced Mary had other reasons. That made her pity the girl terribly. She had married for love and she knew what a mess life had made of that. Realizing the gap in conversation had grown awkward she cleared her throat confessing, "You know I used to have socials such as this near weekly." She said before adding absently, "I do wonder why now. They seem perfectly ghastly." Mary's eyes widened slightly causing Sara to chuckle. "I do apologize; grief seems to have rendered me utterly incapable of maintaining a social façade."
"I see," Mary replied nervously. Perfect honesty always made her skittish. She preferred the solace of a well phrased lie, to the uncertainty of the truth. Honesty she found terribly overrated.
"I do appreciate you coming." Sarah continued admitting, "I know the last evening at this house could hardly have given you reason to return."
"Hardly," Mary replied dismissively, all the while thinking Sarah's words functionally correct.
"That is kind of you," She answered offering a slightly dubious expression before acknowledging, "I know my behavior that evening was disappointing." Mary was about to respond but Sarah quickly interjected, "It was. The past few months I have felt myself careening about." She shook her head saying, "My husband hopes that this project will help me locate some balance."
"I see." Mary responded carefully maintaining a neutral tone, all the while hoping Sarah would cease the confessional direction of the conversation.
"I am less certain myself. I generally find life considerably less tidy than that." She stated frankly. Offering a wry smile she said, "You must understand that."
"Me." Mary answered feeling a bit bewildered to find herself drawn into this conversation.
"Your husband's injuries certainly could not have been your expectation when you sent him off to war."
The image of their last moments at the station flooded her mind, and Mary swore that she heard a train whistle in the distance. "No I did not imagine that." Her voice sounded nearer a whisper than a reply.
"How could we have?" There was an enormity to her words that touched Mary even as she tried to emotionally detach herself from that emotion. Sarah sighed as if centering herself before saying, "I suppose we must let go of the old dreams."
"Yes." Mary agreed even if she wasn't sure she truly believed that theory.
"Besides it will be good to be busy again." Sarah stated more determinedly. "I do hope you will assist me."
Mary swallowed her instinctive sigh. She supposed it might be better to keep her lack of concern for others disguised. Whatever her societal role and titles, she recognized that the wife of a young solicitor had certain obligations. "Of course."
"I do apologize for having to impose on you in this manner." She paused adding, "It is only there are so few younger men in the firm or among our circle now."
"Yes." Mary conceded thinking of the number of young men she knew cut down in their prime.
Sarah saved her the trouble of further speculation by saying, "I believe my husband has grown increasing fond of your husband."
"Mr. Crawley is a fine solicitor." Mary had no basis for this comment, but she did not doubt its veracity. Even when she thought him bumptious and doubted his ability to handle a fork, she recognized the fineness of his mind.
"So I gather," Sarah granted adding shrewdly. "I suppose the question is…are you to be a fine solicitor's wife?"
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"Are you feeling a bit better now?" Sybil questioned carefully. After his secessions it had become her routine to sit quietly by his side for a time, allowing his muscles to relax and his temper to mollify. They had only been practicing these exercises for a week, still Sybil retained a nurse's instinct for the best post-procedure treatment. Some patients required support, some a sympathetic ear, some tea and a comforting smile. Matthew just liked to have a proper moan about his treatment. He'd lay about the pillows churlishly detailing every pain and ache, or at least usually he did. Today he was oddly quiet. Thinking he had not even heard her question Sybil repeated, "Are you feeling recovered?"
"Not particularly." Matthew admitted turning his head to face her with a weary countenance.
"Were the exercises so very tiring?"
"I suppose not." He glumly acknowledged, proceeding to look down with the most pitiful of expressions.
Sighing Sybil demanded, "Can you please just talk to me." As if wanting to strengthen her argument she added, "I am not my sister. I do talk. So," She prodded sounding most insistent.
Matthew sighed again before stating, "I do not want to drag you into this."
"You are not dragging me." She stated adding, "And I really cannot endure another week of you and Mary's mournful woe is us behavior."
"We have not been that bad." He said before a doubtful feeling seemed to rise up in him causing him to inquire, "Were we?"
"Worse." She answered firmly. As if justifying her concern Sybil noted, "Mary is my sister. You are my brother now." Sitting back against the chair she observed plainly, "It does me no good if the pair of you are miserable."
"We are not miserable." Even as he spoke he recognized the truth of his words. Even in their unhappiness he had not felt the misery he might have expected. Mary's feelings he could be less certain of, even as he believed he knew the reason for her late state.
Sybil regarded him with a dubious expression saying, "You have been doing a fair impression of it."
"We are British we do not know how to deal with emotions of any sort."
Sybil studied him uncertainly. She had recognized Matthew had developed a talent for papering over his actual feelings burying them beneath a veneer of feigned contentment. It was the thing about him that frightened her most. That if the world became too much he could fool everyone into thinking himself perfectly at peace.
"Tell me what you think," She requested gently. "Anything…"
Matthew sighed before glancing up as if expecting to glean insight from the ceiling. "There is nothing to say really. We truly are not arguing."
"I would feel better if you were." Sybil replied thoughtlessly. "I am sorry," She said adding, "Please do go on."
Smiling slightly Matthew confessed, "I feel very much the same. Mary arguing with me comforts me actually. At those moments I feel…" He looked away letting the thought drift off. As if accompanying the discomfort of the thought, a sudden hot jolt of pain ripped down the whole of his back and the length of his spine. Resisting the urge to buck against the pain, he closed his eyes taking several deep breaths.
Recognizing his symptoms, Sybil hurriedly dipped the cloth into the cold water in the basin beside the bed. Wringing it out she then hurriedly mopped his forehead wiping away the sweat forming there. "Where is she?" Sybil asked knowing the answer, but also cognizant that Matthew took a subtle pleasure in just speaking about Mary.
He delayed answering her, willing the pain recede if only slightly, before replying. The little aftershocks continued to roll down his spine causing him to pant slightly. At length the pain flagged if only slightly and Matthew was able to answer, "She is attending a tea for war orphans held by Lady Sarah." He said before continuing, "After that she will shop for an hour or so. Then we will have an early dinner and a quiet evening at home." He noted these things as if they equaled a harmony of existence.
"I asked for information not an itinerary."
"I don't know," Seeing Sybil's slightly raised brow he said, ""Well she has not said precisely…"
"I feel as if I have slipped into a Henry James novel." Sybil said despairingly as if being caught in a novel was the worst of fates.
"Have you ever read a Henry James novel?"
"I read four chapters of the Bostonians." Her forehead creased as she said despairingly, "All those semicolons and sentences that went on and on. I felt as if I had gone through War and Peace before he even introduced Verena Tarrant." She shook her head dismissing the unpleasant memory of sentences that never ended.
Sinking back against the pillows Matthew sighed saying, "She went to Downton and the ceremony and she realized what a poor lot she has settled for."
"Whatever does that mean?" Sybil questioned tiredly, since coming back she had tried with little success to place the events at Downton in the very back of the back of her mind.
"You must know." Matthew insisted tiredly. "She went to Downton, and she saw all the things she had given up, the life she should have had." Letting his head loll back against the pillow he justified his statement bemoaning, "How could she not feel regrets?"
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Sarah sipped her tea letting the implications of her words sink in… For her part Mary kept her features stilled giving no outward sign of her true feelings. Several long awkward moments passed, less awkward for Sarah as she had grown accustomed to and even fond of silence. "I hope I have not spoken out of turn." She supposed she did or should feel that way…
"Of course not." Mary replied in a dry tone.
"Solicitors have very demanding lives, hardly the sort of existence your father experienced." Sarah noticed Mary's eyes narrowed slightly, but she made no comment. "I mean no disrespect by that statement merely to provide some insight."
"Of course." Mary answered a bit hastily, therefore making her assurance difficult to accept. "Matthew is his own man, I would hardly expect him to follow anyone else's behavior."
"I was referring to your own behavior," Sarah prodded a tad insistently. "I imagine the life you are embarking on is quite different than the one you imagined."
Mary took a sip of tea before answering with a sniff of disapproval, "I believe my husband is content."
Sarah nodded saying, "Indeed it is clear that you both are." She granted evenly. "But it is early days, marriage is a long business."
Not relishing any part of the conversation Mary demanded coolly, "I am afraid that I do not understand your meaning?"
Setting her tea cup aside Sarah said, "Only this. Once I was in your very shoes. Married to a young barrister, inexperienced, thrust into a world quite the opposite of the one I had been reared for…" She again paused before concluding, "I only wish that should you require assistance you feel free to come to me." Sensing Mary might object she quickly added, "It would be a pleasure to help you in any way." Sighing as if glad the subject was done she altered her tone saying almost in relief, "Now that is dispensed you must tell me about the new frocks I looked about this afternoon, and felt I looked a decade out of place." And so they discussed trivialities for the remainder of their visit, though Lady Sarah's earlier words never left Mary's mind.
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"Did Mary tell you she regretted leaving Downton?"
Fixing her with a disbelieving expression Matthew replied, "Mary would never say that."
"Because it wouldn't be true," She asserted in the most decided of tones.
"Of course it's true." A sense of glumness had come over him, and he spoke without the slightest doubt he was correct.
"It is not true." Sybil insisted empathetically. She inhaled deeply before continuing pensively. "You were not around in 15, 16 and most of 17."
"The war was difficult for all of us."
"It wasn't just the war." She paused considering what to say, how much to admit. Mary would want her to say nothing of course, but Sybil thought that the wrong course. "All Mary wanted after you left was for you to come back. Then you came back with Lavinia." Matthew turned away a guilty expression on his face. "Still all she wanted then was for you to come back safe." She took a breath the bleakness of the time affecting her. "When you were injured and Lavinia went away, if you had said one word she would have married you and happily. And eventually," She said softly, "You did say the word, and she did marry you and quite happily."
"It's an arrangement." Matthew said bluntly. "You know that."
"I know what you say. But I also know my sister."
"But she is unhappy, you see it." There was more stubbornness than conviction in his words.
Sybil nodded saying, "Something has upset her, but you have the power to fix that."
"I'm not enough."
"For her you are." She said her voice rising slightly agitated. "I know you don't believe that. I know you see yourself as broken, but Mary doesn't. I don't. Papa doesn't. We see you for the man you are. And we love that man."
Matthew shook his head stating, "I have no right to that love especially Mary's love." He shook his head as if dismissing the idea wholly. "I would be nothing more than a thief. Using love as a justification to steal her life away." Anticipating her argument he quickly interjected, "What can I give her. The life of a childless nun, a prospect of lifelong nursing and sterile devotion…"
Sybil studied him for a moment before saying only, "I don't believe Mary sees it that way."
Matthew said nothing remaining contemplative even after Sybil left the room and he settled down for a nap. His mind weighted down with all he learned, and all that could mean even as he drifted off to a weary rest.
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"Good evening my dear," Peter called automatically as he entered the drawing room.
"How was the club?" Sarah inquired equally automatically. She had been sitting on the brown chesterfield sofa since shortly after Mary departed pondering the event and her own life. Her husband's greeting had pierced that solitude. Listening to his greeting, and her own response she realized that they had enacted the same opening lines for all the thirty two years of their marriage. Substitute club and office, interchange tea and afternoon and you could transcribe a transcript of their conversation for all their days. Routine had gotten to be such a habit with them, that moments of spontaneity or surprise left them adrift, uncertain how to respond. No wonder they had both struggled so in the past months. The script of their lives had been snatched away and they were poor improvisers.
"Fine, fine." He answered tonelessly. "And how was the tea?" He smiled a toothy, eager smile.
"Fine, fine." She echoed dispassionately. Sensing his continued attention she added, "I believe it provoked some interest in the cause."
Toting his port over to the chair Peter smiled saying, "That is good isn't it?"
"I believe it may be." She knew her tone was not what he would have wished; still she could not summon more enthusiasm.
"Well if I can be of any assistance you will let me know?"
"Of course." She promised blandly knowing all the while she would hardly ask such assistance.
Whether sensing his wife's unwillingness to discuss the subject, or owing to his own shifting desire to discuss his day Peter suddenly announced, "I ran into Richard Carlisle at the club." He lifted the glass to his lips before confiding; "He asked us to join him for dinner next week."
"That's a bit odd." Sarah observed adding vacantly, "Who is Richard Carlisle?"
"He's a Scottish newspaperman. Hardly our sort," He confided while acknowledging, "Still I suppose we should go."
"Why would a publisher want to dine with us?"
Peter shrugged before smiling and speculating, "Perhaps he wants some office tidbits. News on our clients." Seeing Sarah's frown, "Oh I don't know…I suppose we shall just have to wait and see."
"A very liberal attitude." She judged uncomfortably.
"Well," He said, "It is a new world." In moments, as she had known he would, he opened the newspaper and began perusing the news, leaving Sarah again alone with her thoughts.
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Matthew came to consciousness slowly. The haze of his dreams slowly receding as he drifted into a more lucid state, opening his eyes he turned looking into a glass of water sitting on his bedside table, catching sight of his wife's hazy reflection through the contours of the glass. Forcing his head up, he asked, "Where is Sybil?"
"At the clinic."
"Have I been sleeping long?"
Mary lifted his wrist watch from the table, glancing at it stating, "Over an hour."
"You should have woken me." He offered apologetically.
"You need your rest."
"Yes." He agreed uneasily. Lying was not a thing he had ever been much good at, and lying to Mary felt wrong. Still to tell her more would raise hopes, hopes he could only ever dash. "A nap was nice." He finished weakly rather akin to a cricket player limping off the field. As an afterthought he remembered her opinion on the subject. "I decided to reconsider your suggestion." Mary had been pushing naps on him since they married. He had rejected the notion, and still loathed the idea seeing it as yet one more sign of his decrepitude. Still Mary loved to be right, and loved even more to be acknowledged as right.
Predictably, she smiled, "I am glad you revaluated my suggestion." She said in a tone suggesting that his doing so was the only possible conclusion.
He gave a brief nod before realizing his lapse in manners. "How was the tea?"
"Hot with a dash of lemon."
It took him a moment before a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "Do be serious." Remembering Sybil's words Matthew reached out patting the mattress and inviting, "Why don't you join me, and tell me about it." Mary eyed him skeptically for only a moment before rising to join him on the mattress. As she removed her shoes and made herself comfortable Matthew confided, "Sybil gave me a good talking to earlier." He admitted settling back against his pillow. Mary's sole response was the lifting of a single eyebrow, otherwise she remained determinedly silent. "She feels that I have been remiss in my duties to you." His tone dropping as he added pointedly, "The ones I am capable of fulfilling."
"I have no idea what she is referring to." She asserted determinedly.
"Mary." He cautioned patiently. "I know you have been upset since Downton."
Mary looked away as if unwilling to answer his comment. Then seemingly desiring to reassure him she reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly she promised, "It is not about you. I'm quite happy with you."
A slight frown crossed Matthew's face. "You have not been happy…not since Downton." Seeing Mary's mouth open he spoke before she could saying, "You don't have to say anything. Mary I understand. Believe I do understand."
"Do you?" Mary questioned doubtfully.
"I know. It must be difficult to go to Downton and see all that you have lost." His words were so quiet they were almost whispered. "And I know that I am no sort of husband."
"You are the best sort." She reassured automatically. Unwilling to allow Matthew to further blame himself Mary reached out taking his hand in her own. "Darling," She said determinedly. "It isn't that."
Uncertain if she was telling the truth, but willing to accept her narrative Matthew asked gently, "What then?"
"You must give me time Matthew. There are things I must sort out."
Looking unsurprised by her answer, Matthew nodded before replying, "I do understand. And of course you may have all the time you need. I only hope," He paused glancing down at their still joined hands. "I do hope…" Expelling a breath he finally said, "I only want you to be happy."
A wave of emotion flooded over Mary, his kind words clearly affecting her more than she might have expected. "Oh Matthew…"
Running his thumb lightly over her wedding ring Matthew stated, "We have both spent so much of our lives being unhappy. Perhaps in the time we have together we should try and be happy."
Mary studied him her expression guarded. "What precisely does that mean?"
Matthew met her gaze suggesting, "I suppose we shall have to work that out."
"Perhaps we shall." Mary agreed fighting to maintain her composure.
He winced as a pain jerked through his spine making him clench the sheets in his fist. Mary rested her palm atop his forehead, her touch so soothing and cool Matthew could not help sighing. He chuckled slightly in spite of the pain. "I suppose this isn't the best time to have this discussion."
"Well," Mary surmised brushing a stray hair from his forehead, "Timing has never been our strong suit."
"Tell me about the tea." He suggested rising a hand to cover the yawn escaping his mouth. "I know we have graver matters to discuss but for now…could you only tell me about the tea." It was almost a plea.
"It hardly matters now." She asserted running her fingers over his forehead.
"It does to me." He insisted tiredly. "Besides," He said fighting another yawn, " Your voice relaxes me."
A shy smile appeared on Mary's face as she said, "Does it."
"Yes." He said feeling a twinge of shyness himself. "It always has."
"Truly." She asked as if unable to quite believe his words.
"Truly," He promised, before prompting her again; "Tea talk…"
"Well," Mary began, "It was the usual assortment of society…" Reaching up he closed his hand around her wrist rubbing her knuckles lightly against his cheek. Sensing the motion soothed him Mary continued speaking. Her tone growing increasingly soft, watching his eyelids slide closed, and listening to his breathing even out…
.~.~.~.~.