21
Isobel was in a foul mood indeed when Lord and Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess arrived at Locksleigh House in all their state. Isobel didn't mind so much that she wasn't dressed for dinner; she much preferred the practical comforts of her working-day clothing, but she didn't like being reminded of how little influence she had at this juncture. By the time she had been able to leave the hospital and go to Locksleigh House to see Edith, it had been too late to send for clothing and change properly for dinner. Edith had graciously offered to lend Isobel a dress and the use of her lady's maid, but that had only been a polite gesture. Isobel was many years past having a hope of fitting into Edith's long, elegant gowns.
Still, it was not really the clothing that bothered Isobel, but her sense of powerlessness. Right now the three aristocrats represented everything that irritated Isobel most about their class differences. Men were suffering and dying and something could be done about it, but no one was lifting a finger to help. She had been so hopeful after her conversation with Major Clarkson and Sybil this morning. Major Clarkson had finally agreed to approach Lord and Lady Grantham about using Downton Abbey as a convalescent home, and Sybil believed that Lt. Courtenay's death could be enough to convince them of the necessity. Even Mary had come around. But Isobel's subsequent visit to the Dower House to recruit additional support, at Mary's suggestion, had not turned out as Isobel had hoped.
If anyone noticed that Isobel's greeting to Cousin Violet was less cordial than usual, no one mentioned it. Their collective attention soon turned towards little Harry, as they handed him around and exclaimed over him.
"He has Anthony's hair and eyes!" Cora said proudly, smiling at her grandson as Robert looked on from where he stood behind her seat. Even he was making amusing faces at the boy.
"And Edith's smile," Sybil cooed. "What a big boy you are!" She tickled Harry's chin and he giggled and turned away, hiding himself in Cora's neck, while Edith looked on with the contented expression of a proud mother.
Mary and Matthew sat opposite Cora and Sybil, watching the family scene with small smiles on their faces. Isobel found herself wondering what a child of theirs might look like. She secretly hoped it would have Matthew's unusual blue eyes.
Harry started to fuss, so at a glance from Edith, Nanny swooped in and carefully extracted him from Cora's lap, turning to give the family one last chance to bid him their good-byes before he was taken upstairs to bed. Everyone waved and gave him their friendliest grins—with the notable exception of Cousin Violet, who simply looked upon the proceedings with an expression of slight disapproval as she held her cane out in front of her—and then Nanny whisked him away.
"He does so look like Anthony." Cora gave a happy sigh.
Sybil looked at Edith. "Have you heard from Anthony?" she asked hopefully.
Edith's face fell and she plucked restlessly at the arm of her chair before putting on a brave smile and looking back up again. "No."
Mary frowned. "Still nothing?"
"There could be any number of reasons for the delay," Robert said. "Perhaps he hasn't had a chance to post his letters yet."
"Or the post has been waylaid," Isobel added. "Some of Matthew's letters have arrived out of order."
Edith nodded miserably and glanced at Matthew, who merely gave her a small, tight smile.
Cora murmured something to Sybil as Robert settled himself in the empty chair beside Matthew and crossed his legs.
"I missed taking you on a tour of the cottages today," Robert said with a smile. "Jarvis has some new things to show off."
Matthew nodded. "I'd like to see them. I'm sorry for not coming by this afternoon. I decided to spend the whole day with Mother and Mary."
"Of course." Robert waved a hand dismissively as he smiled at Mary and Isobel. "The cottages can wait."
"I'll come by tomorrow morning," Matthew offered. "After breakfast?"
"Certainly," Robert said. "What was it like at the hospital today?"
Matthew's polite smile fell away, and Isobel noticed how quickly Mary turned to listen.
Matthew didn't answer immediately; he seemed to lose himself for a long moment as he stared into the middle distance, and Isobel frowned. She'd been so busy getting the new group of wounded men settled that she hadn't paid much attention to her son.
Matthew's voice was quiet, and somehow the entire room had stopped to listen. "At the front, the men pray to be spared, of course. But if that's not to be, they pray for a bullet that kills them cleanly." He swallowed. "For too many of them today, that prayer had not been answered."
Robert looked at Matthew, discomfited, his earlier jollity lost.
Isobel regarded Matthew thoughtfully. He'd not spoken much of his experiences at the front—none of the men did—but she found it curious what he'd chosen to focus on. She was disturbed at the thought that this war might be putting him through a crisis of faith. He was far more shaken than he let on, she realised. But could she really say she was surprised?
Sybil cleared her throat. "Mama, Papa...there's something you should know."
Robert frowned and looked at her.
"Yes, dear?" Cora said.
"Lt. Courtenay: you remember that I spoke of him at breakfast yesterday? Lord Dunstan's heir, he was blinded by a German gas attack?" At her parents' nod, she swallowed and her gloved hand flexed on the arm of the sofa. "He...took his own life last night."
Cora gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Isobel pressed her lips together as she saw where Sybil was going with this. Good girl.
Robert had uncrossed his legs and he sat forward. "Why did no one inform me of this?" He shot Isobel a concerned look.
She straightened and held her hands in her lap, careful not to betray her eagerness. "Major Clarkson is at Farley Hall this evening and this was my first opportunity to see you and Cousin Cora since it happened." Isobel glanced at Sybil before returning to Robert. "It did not seem appropriate conversation prior to dinner."
"Why not?" Violet asked sharply. "That's never stopped you before."
Isobel stiffened and shot her an angry look.
"Mama." Robert gave Violet a quelling glance, then turned to Sybil. "What happened?"
"He was depressed," Sybil answered. "Cpl. Barrow and I were just beginning to teach him how to navigate a room without his sight, but then he received news that he was being released to his family." She paused, then looked directly at her father. "He wasn't ready to go."
Isobel watched Robert's face. She could see that he understood very well what Lt. Courtenay's likely reception at home would have been. She sat forward eagerly.
"What is needed is a local convalescent home, for those soldiers who still need care and rehabilitation, but no longer require a hospital bed," she said. "Major Clarkson and Sybil and I think that Downton Abbey would be ideal for this purpose."
Robert and Cora looked shocked.
"Downton Abbey?" he repeated in disbelief.
"Yes, it's an excellent idea—" Isobel began, unclasping her hands and getting ready to make the case that she'd been rehearsing all day.
"I think it's a ridiculous idea!" Violet said with a huff.
"Why?" Sybil demanded angrily.
Violet turned to look at her. "Because Downton Abbey is a house, not a hospital."
"But Granny," Mary said. "A convalescent home is where people rest and recuperate."
"But if there are lapses? What then? Amputation in the dining room? Resuscitation in the pantry?"
Cora looked distressed. "Oh, it would certainly be the most tremendous disturbance! If you knew how chaotic things are as it is!"
Isobel turned eagerly towards Cora. "But when there's so much good can be done—"
The sharp report of Violet's cane striking the floor made everyone jump.
"I forbid it!" Violet declared. "To have strange men prodding and prying around the house, to say nothing of pocketing the spoons! It is out of the question." She turned away, as if the conversation were finished. Isobel's mouth dropped open in shock.
Cora lowered her head and spoke in a rushed and slightly trembling voice that Isobel had never heard before. "I hesitate to remind you, but Downton Abbey is my house now, Robert's and mine, and we will make the decision."
Unexpectedly, Cora launched herself across the room towards where Maxwell stood with the drinks tray, and she picked up a glass, taking a quick swallow.
Violet looked stunned, although there was an odd twinkle in her eyes. "I see!" Her voice wavered, which made Isobel narrow her eyes. Since when did Violet allow her voice to waver? "So now I'm an outsider who need not be consulted?"
Cora looked past the tumbler she held in her hand. "Since you put it like that, yes," she hissed.
Isobel watched this exchange with fascination. She had never seen the two women address each other in such a bald fashion before, although she had long sensed that they were not the best of friends. She looked at Mary in confusion, but Mary's expression was of no help. Isobel looked back at Violet—
—and Violet met her eyes and gave her the smallest nod before looking away. Isobel's mouth dropped open again before she quickly closed it. Her earlier anger at Violet dissipated entirely as she realised what the Dowager Countess had done, and then she pursed her lips and fought down a smile as she looked down at her hands. Masterfully done, she thought.
The room remained in a tense silence for several long seconds, and then Mrs Shore stepped into the room, giving Maxwell a nod.
He addressed Edith. "Dinner is served, my lady."
She rose gracefully and Isobel admired her poise.
Moving to stand beside her, Matthew offered Edith his arm and, smiling, she took it and they led the way to the dining room, the rest of the family following behind. Robert brought up the rear, with Isobel and Violet walking directly in front of him. After an initial glance, the two women did not look at one another as they crossed the main hall side-by-side.
Over the course of dinner, conversation flowed smoothly as the family exchanged bits of news and made small talk. Edith had seated Mary and Matthew beside each other at the foot of the table and they watched her preside over the meal with aplomb, engaging Robert and Isobel in quiet conversation.
Matthew leaned slightly towards Mary, speaking quietly. "Edith seems jolly tonight."
Mary set down her fork. "She's found her métier. Farm labouring."
"Don't be so tough on her."
"That's like asking the fox to spare the chicken."
Matthew chuckled and shook his head. "What about you?" He smiled knowingly at her. "Have you found your true calling?"
She smirked and nudged her foot against his. "What do you think?"
"You know what I think," he murmured with a cheeky grin, nudging her back, and she was quite certain that he wasn't thinking primarily of hospital accounts. She felt a blush rise on her skin as she reached for her glass of wine.
There was a sudden crash and clatter at the other end of the table and they both jumped, Mary narrowly avoiding knocking over her glass.
Robert and Cora each reached out with cries of "Edith!" and Isobel rose quickly from her seat. Matthew was up and beside her in an instant. Robert was standing half-out of his seat, holding Edith's arm in an awkward grasp as she tilted dangerously to the side. Matthew quickly moved to catch Edith, and he and Robert lifted her carefully from her seat and at Isobel's direction, laid her out on the floor.
"Fetch Major Clarkson," Cora commanded Maxwell, who was standing nearby with a tureen and a stricken look on his face.
"He's staying over at Farley Hall tonight," Mary said, now standing herself. "He'll not be back until tomorrow noon."
"Edith, Edith dear," Isobel was saying quietly, patting Edith's face. "Edith, can you hear me?"
Sybil had crouched down beside her sister and her fingers were pressed against Edith's wrist. "Her pulse is normal."
Isobel gently tugged at one of Edith's eyelids, and Edith winced and moaned, turning her head away slightly. She pulled her wrist from Sybil's grasp and pressed that hand to her opposite shoulder.
"Anthony..." she murmured.
"Anthony's not here, my dear," Isobel said gently, frowning down at Edith's shoulder. Edith's eyes blinked open and she started trying to sit up.
"Perhaps you should—" Robert started, but Sybil and Matthew were already helping Edith to sit.
Edith looked down at her dress in dismay, where there was a large, dark purple stain from her toppled wine glass. "My dress." She plucked unhappily at the wet fabric.
"Never mind that," Isobel said. "Do you feel pain in your shoulder?"
Edith winced again and frowned at her, and then the look of confusion slowly cleared from her face. "No...not anymore. What happened?"
"We don't know," Isobel answered. "You fainted."
"No, I—" and then Edith stopped. Her eyes widened and she suddenly put her hand to her mouth as her chin trembled. "Anthony!"
"Anthony's not here," Sybil said.
"No, he's...he's..." and Edith burst into tears.
Mary, who had come to stand beside Matthew, exchanged a quick, worried glance with him.
"We should get her to bed," Matthew said, looking down at his mother, who nodded. "I'll take her up."
"Let me help." Robert came around Edith's other side. The two men crouched down and soon Edith was settled in Matthew's arms, sobbing quietly. Cora pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
"I'm, m'sorry," Edith said, around a hiccough, as she wiped at her eyes.
"Shh, my dear." Cora smoothed Edith's hair back from her forehead. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"We'll see her settled," Sybil said to her parents.
Maxwell led the way out of the dining room with Matthew following him, and Isobel and Sybil close on his heels.
Mary remained behind with her parents and grandmother. Cora sat down shakily in the nearest chair and Robert put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The four of them spent a long moment in silence.
"This is becoming a disturbing pattern," Violet observed, from where she still sat. "Two collapses in two nights? What is happening with this family?"
"Edith will be all right," Mary said, with more conviction than she felt. "She just needs to rest."
"She misses Anthony," Cora said.
"We all do," Robert answered.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree, if only for Edith's sake," Violet agreed. "He's not a bad sort."
"No," Cora said.
No one spoke, unwilling to voice what they all feared.
Finally Robert sighed and gave Cora's shoulder a squeeze. She placed her hand over his and pressed her lips together.
"No news is good news." He spoke quietly. "We must remember that."
After another long silence, Branson, slightly out of breath, pushed open the dining room door and took a few steps inside. He held his cap in his hand. "Lady Sybil sent me," he said. "Mr Marsters and I can ready the cars if you wish."
"Thank you, Branson," Robert said. "Perhaps now is a good time for us to take our leave. Mama?"
Violet nodded and rose. "Quite."
Branson held open the door for them all to pass through. Maxwell was coming down the stairs, and he crossed the main hall to retrieve their coats.
"I'll go up and check on them." Mary moved past Maxwell. Matthew appeared on the landing and she went up to meet him. "How is she?" she asked in a lowered voice, when they neared each other.
"Mother says she'll be fine. There's no cause for concern. Although," he added, giving a small smile, "she commanded Edith not to host any more dinner parties until after the baby is born."
Mary smiled.
"She's asking for you," Matthew said.
"Your mother?" Mary asked, confused.
"No, Edith."
Mary frowned at this but continued up the stairs, brushing her hand against his as they parted. He went down to speak to her parents and grandmother while she walked across the gallery and knocked on Edith's bedroom door.
Isobel opened the door to let Mary in. Cook, Edith's lady's maid, was helping Edith undress, and Sybil stood beside her sister, giving her an arm to brace against.
"I'm leaving now," Isobel said quietly to Mary. "But someone ought to stay with her tonight."
"How is she?" Mary asked, matching Isobel's low tone.
"It's not serious. I don't think she has a blood clot, but she's shaken. Would you stay? Sybil has an early shift tomorrow morning and I need to be available at the hospital until Major Clarkson returns."
Mary nodded. "I'll stay."
"I'll tell Matthew," Isobel said.
Mary gave Isobel a small smile of thanks as she went out.
Mary stood and watched as Edith was readied for bed. She was intrigued by Edith's pregnant form, but looked away to give her sister privacy. When Edith was settled under the covers, Cook left with the stained dress and Sybil brought Edith a glass of water. Mary stood at the foot of the bed with her hands folded together, waiting until Edith looked up at her.
"You asked for me?" Mary said.
Edith nodded and reached out a hand. Slightly uncomfortable, Mary came around the bed and sat down on the edge of it, acquiescing.
"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've put everyone to." Edith's eyes were round and her face was pale. She held Mary's hand in a tight grip. "It just came upon me so suddenly, that's all."
"You must rest," Mary said.
"Oh Mary... Do you think we might get along a little better in the future?"
Mary regarded her with some surprise. What had brought on this uncharacteristic sisterly warmth towards herself? Mary thought briefly of Edith's desperate calls for Anthony.
"I doubt it," she answered dryly, patting Edith's hand in a perfunctory manner. "But as we both understand what it is to have a husband at war, let's declare a truce until we have both of them back safe, for good."
A ghost of a smile passed over Edith's lips.
"Would you ask Papa to telephone the War Office tomorrow and inquire after Anthony?" she asked.
"Of course I will," Mary answered. "And I will stay with you tonight."
"You needn't do that," Edith said. "I'll be fine."
"Oh, I'm not doing it for your sake," Mary said. "I've given my word to Isobel, and you know what it's like to cross her." Mary resisted the urge to smile. "Now that I live with her, it's out of the question."
"Not to mention work with her," Sybil added, smiling.
"I'll tell her you said that," Edith told them.
"Don't you dare," Mary said, finally smiling, and she drew her hand out of Edith's grasp and rose. "I must go down and speak to Papa before they leave."
"I'll stay here until Branson gets back," Sybil said.
Mary nodded and left the room.
Upon reaching the main hall, however, she saw that it was empty and realised that she was too late. She heard a soft clink of dishes and looked into the dining room, where she found Maxwell directing the clean-up of dinner.
"My lady," he said, coming round the table. "Mr Matthew asked me to tell you that he's taking Mrs Crawley home and that he will be back shortly with your things."
Mary smiled. "Thank you, Maxwell."
"I've instructed Mrs Shore to make up a room. If you go up, she'll show you to it."
"Excellent. Have a good evening."
"And you, my lady."
Mary decided to wait in the library first. The maids were probably readying the room and she would only be in the way if she went up now. She walked across to the small room and ran her fingers over the tomes until she found a G.A. Henty that she hadn't yet finished reading, and she pulled it from the shelf. She settled herself in a chair to wait for Matthew and began to read.
Or rather, she tried to focus on the novel. Instead, her thoughts kept returning to Edith's strange mood. Since when had Edith ever seemed to want to be on good terms with her? The dinner scene echoed in Mary's mind. She thought back to Edith's desperate calls for Anthony and then her cries, revealing her half-formed fears that something terrible had happened to him—but were they half-formed? She had spoken with such an odd air of certainty before dissolving into tears. Mary felt a strange chill, but she shook it off and frowned down at the pages before her. Matthew would return shortly with their things and one way or another, they would eventually hear news of Anthony. Mary would remain nearby during the night if Edith needed anything, and she would offer whatever comfort she could in the morning.
When Tom Branson stepped back inside the foyer of Locksleigh House, Mr Matthew and Lady Sybil were coming down the stairs. Sybil's eyes softened when she met Tom's gaze, but then she composed her face and Tom's heart twisted a little at the sight. He was careful not to continue looking at her.
"It's a long night for you, Branson, isn't it?" Mr Matthew said with friendly smile.
Tom returned it. "I can't complain, sir." He glanced at Sybil, looking forward to being alone with her on the drive back.
Her eyes flashed a warning at him and he fought down the urge to grin. He looked back at Mr Matthew, who had caught the exchange and his brows twitched in curiosity. Tom straightened and erased any look of familiarity from his face, playing the part of the consummate, impersonal chauffeur once again.
"Will you be needing anything after I bring Lady Sybil home, sir?"
"No, thank you, Branson. Lady Mary and I have all our things."
Maxwell approached them, holding Sybil's coat and hat. She went past Tom, not looking at him, and began to put them on. He kept his eyes trained on Mr Matthew's face.
"Lord Grantham said to tell you that he'll be by in the morning before church, to check on Lady Edith," Tom said.
"And to collect us, I imagine," Mr Matthew said.
"That's a good idea," Sybil observed. "That way, Marsters will remain here in case Edith needs anything."
"That was Lord Grantham's idea," Tom said. He gave Mr Matthew a nod and turned to Sybil. "If you're ready, my lady."
She gave him a brief nod and he went out ahead of her.
Sybil turned to Matthew.
"Good night," she said warmly. "Thank you for seeing me out. I'm so glad that you'll be in England for the next few months, even if you can't be with us for the whole of it. Cousin Isobel and Mary are so happy I think they'll burst."
"I know. It's a welcome reprieve." Matthew smiled at her. "Good night."
When she went out, she saw that Branson was beside the car, holding the door open for her, standing straight and sharp as usual. His face was expressionless and he didn't meet her eyes. She hated it when he played the part of a chauffeur who was no more a person than the motor he drove, and she knew that he was doing it now as a message to her for curbing him earlier. She climbed in without a word and sat down, straightening her gown as he closed the door and went round the front of the car.
They pulled out of the drive of Locksleigh House, the only sounds the rumbling of the motor and the crunch of gravel under the tyres. The car was soon on the road that crossed Sir Anthony's property and would take them into Downton village, and Sybil sat quietly in the back seat, her hands resting on her handbag as she gazed out the window at the darkened landscape.
She was weary, now that the day's excitement was behind her, and she looked forward to peeling off her corset and stretching out in bed in a warm nightgown, to steal as many hours' sleep as she could until she rose at dawn to get ready for her shift at the hospital. The long days when the family held soirées and fundraising concerts were tiring, but she wouldn't have traded her life now for anything. She felt useful, and she had a purpose, and she went to sleep knowing that she'd helped. That counted for something, even if the work was hard.
In the darkness, she couldn't see Branson's eyes when he looked at her in the rear-view mirror, but she knew when his mood had shifted—there was something indefinable in the set of his shoulders—and she looked at the back of his head. She found his presence comforting even when he was piqued with her, for he always listened and he always took her seriously. She smiled quietly to herself, remembering his rushed and impassioned declaration a few months earlier, when he'd brought her to the auxiliary nurse training hospital.
They'd not spoken of it afterwards, but it remained always between them, this secret confession. She knew that he took her continued silence, her refusal to tell her family about his shocking breach of propriety, as a tacit approval of him. It wasn't that at all, she told herself. She didn't fancy him. She just thought it would be terribly unfair to sack a good man simply because he'd fallen in love with someone he ought not to have.
And then she thought about ought and should and why and why not, and she wondered if any of it was right. There were reasons why the classes didn't mix, practical reasons. Could love really overcome them? Real life wasn't like the novels. Mary and Matthew seemed happy, but their situation was very different. Matthew had fit easily into the role of a gentleman. But unlike Branson, he had never been working class.
Branson would never be accepted by her family, and could she bear that? What would her life be like, no longer able to take money for granted, no longer welcomed among her old friends, no longer able to work as a nurse merely because she believed in the cause, but because if she didn't, she wouldn't be able to eat?
And when her thoughts took that turn, she grew uncomfortable and she wondered why she was even thinking about such things. Indeed, not a day had passed since Branson's declaration that she hadn't thought of them.
She wasn't sure how she felt about Branson yet—although she knew how she ought to feel—but she knew she wasn't ready to begin anything with him or with anyone else. Her duties at the hospital required all of her energy and attention and she had no use for distractions right now. Perhaps when the war ended...
"How is she?" Branson asked quietly, breaking into her thoughts. "Lady Edith."
Sybil looked up. "Tired. Worried."
"About Sir Anthony," Branson said with a nod. Sybil looked back out the window, but aside from shadows and the silhouettes of trees, there wasn't much to see.
"Yes."
They went on in silence once more, and when they had passed through the village and driven on to the road that led to Downton Abbey, Branson cleared his throat.
Sybil automatically glanced at the rear-view mirror, but of course she still couldn't see his eyes.
"Did you mean it when you said that you couldn't go back to your life before the war?" he asked, referring to their brief conversation that afternoon when he'd come by the hospital with a lunch basket from her mother.
She lifted her chin, partly dreading and partly curious about what he might say next.
"Yes, I did."
"What do you think you'll do after the war?" he asked.
Sybil frowned.
"They won't need all the auxiliary nurses once it's over," he added.
She looked at the pool of light that spread in front of the car. Everything outside of it was hidden in shadow.
"What will you do?" she asked, instead of answering him. "You've said that you won't be a chauffeur forever."
He sat up straighter. "I have a plan."
She smiled, but did not laugh. "Of course you do."
"What does that mean?" he asked, and there was slightly defensive tone in his voice.
She rolled her eyes. "Only that I expected nothing less," she answered.
His cheek changed shape and she knew he was grinning.
She smiled and looked out the window again, watching as her home came into view, its warm lights welcome in the darkness.
"I think she's rather extraordinary, actually," Matthew said, climbing into bed beside Mary. "All three of you are. Sybil is always willing to try to new things, Edith is a force to be reckoned with, and you have a real talent for assessing people and seeing what's important in a complex situation." He chuckled. "God only knows what you'd do if you three went into business together."
"Three women going into business together?" Mary scoffed. "The war hasn't changed things that much. You must be mad."
"Certainly not. And it's not a new idea. The woman in Proverbs 31 ran her own business."
Mary's eyes narrowed. "Proverbs? I don't recall that. I recall things like, 'Who can find a virtuous woman? Her price is far above rubies.' and other such charming sentiments."
"Yes, but she buys fields and plants vineyards and sells the things she makes. That sounds to me like a woman running a business." He grinned. "And you are worth far more than rubies."
Mary looked away with a small smile and adjusted the blankets. "I still say that Edith is behaving oddly. She wanted to mend our fences."
Matthew frowned. "How is that odd? That sounds perfectly reasonable to me."
"Since when? Darling, it's Edith."
Matthew gave her a look. "Has it occurred to you that she might not enjoy your rivalry as much as you seem to?"
Mary smirked. "Of course it has. Why do you think I do it?"
Matthew's frown was sharp. "You really can be horrid sometimes."
"So you've said. But you love me."
He rolled towards her. "I do, and I always will. But I think you should mend your fences. You don't know what's coming. Perhaps she senses something. It seems to me that this pregnancy is harder on her than her first one was. At least, Mother is a little more concerned for her this time."
Mary frowned, considering this. It was easy to forget that even now, with all the advances in medicine, women still died in childbirth. Although she now found herself looking forward to having a child to share with Matthew, the prospect of such a happy time ending so terribly made her heart tighten in her chest. She didn't want to think about it.
"Besides," Matthew continued, his voice quieter now. "She hasn't heard from Anthony in almost three months. The post isn't usually delayed that long."
Mary looked at him, her worry shooting to the surface again. "If something awful had happened, they'd have sent a telegram."
"If they knew about it."
"But even if he were missing in action, they'd have told her."
Matthew's gaze became unfocused for a moment. "He might be behind enemy lines."
Mary frowned. "But even if he were a prisoner—"
"No," Matthew said. "He might be there on purpose."
Mary's eyes narrowed. "On purpose? What do you mean?" She stared at him and he looked back at her, waiting. She gave a small gasp and covered her mouth with her hand, then drew it away. "You mean that he might be gathering information?"
Matthew nodded, lowering his voice still further. "Of course we can't know for sure, but I suspect that he's in the intelligence service. I saw a naval medal in the library, above his desk. And he's not in uniform, but he's clearly being called away for the war effort and he's always been evasive whenever I've asked him about it."
"Sir Anthony Strallan, a spy?" Mary gave a soft giggle. "You can't be serious. And why are you whispering?"
Matthew chuckled and spoke normally again. "I don't know. Why are you?"
"Because I don't want Edith to find out that we know she's married to the Scarlet Pimpernel." Mary was still giggling.
"Oh, I love that novel," Matthew sighed. "It's so romantic. I've always wanted to see the play."
Mary smirked. "You are so soppy."
Matthew gave her a half-hurt, half-amused look, which quickly turned mischievous as he reached for her. "Is it so wrong of me to like a story about a husband and wife who fall passionately in love?"
He nuzzled her neck as his hand grazed over the curve of her bottom and he soon had her giggling again as he licked the sensitive skin along the underside of her jaw. She squirmed and then sighed in pleasure, reaching up to run her hands into his hair and pull him closer. They kissed warmly, tasting one another and relaxing against each other's bodies.
"Would you like to...?" she murmured.
"Yes, please," he answered with a rumble, and captured her mouth with his own. She gave a small moan and hooked her leg over his, feeling herself quickly warming and growing sensitive to his touch. Her body began to ache for his. She slipped her hand over the front of his trousers and cupped him, drawing an open-mouthed groan from him, and she smiled. He was quickly becoming ready and she was thrilled by how easily he responded to her.
She pulled away and sat up, pushing back the covers, and she started to pull her nightgown over her head. He followed suit, getting out of bed and stripping, and then they were together again, their bodies eager and ready and their mouths hungrily tasting and teasing each other. Their sighs and smiles mixed together and she deliberately mussed his hair, enjoying the look of him like this, especially when she knew it was due to her attentions. He paused and closed his eyes with a sigh as her fingers worked over his scalp.
When he opened his eyes again, he reached for the ribbon that held her braid in place and he tugged it down. Then, with a smile, he took a long moment to fully free her hair. She lay happily, watching him work and letting her eyes travel over the lean, muscular planes of his soldier's body. Gone were the softened places from before the war, and although she might have thought him a little too thin now, she couldn't help admiring the way he moved and the long, beautiful lines of his torso. She grinned and tightened her leg around him, and she took the opportunity to enjoy the firm curve of his backside. He smiled down at her, his muscles flexing under her palm, and she hummed.
He finished freeing her hair and his hand curved under her head, cradling it as he met her for a long kiss.
"God, I love you," he breathed against her skin, and she squeezed her eyes closed and held him.
"I love you, too, darling. More than I can believe, sometimes."
"Now who's being soppy?" he murmured, running his hand softly over her breast. Her nipples tightened at his light touch.
"I don't care," she said, and she pushed against him.
He acquiesced with a contented sigh, rolling on to his back, and she quickly climbed down and took hold of him. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft groan as her tongue ran up his length, and his hips twitched. She continued, raising her eyes to watch him as he tossed his head, his whole body straightening and then pushing up slightly to meet her. She so dearly loved the sounds he made and the way he seemed entirely at her mercy in these moments; the experience sent a jolt of arousal straight through her and she couldn't wait to take him. She rose up and climbed atop him.
He opened his eyes and held her hips as she positioned herself. When she settled down on to him, he arched up to meet her with a groan of pleasure, his eyes squeezing shut as he pushed his head back against the pillow. She was perfectly comfortable and she moved slowly, watching his eyelids flutter as his mouth remained open. She grinned. He was so beautiful and he was all hers.
She bent down and nibbled at his lips, still moving her body as he kissed her. They moved together easily, unrushed, and he played with her breasts, finally teasing at her nipples. She gave a small moan and squeezed him with her inner muscles, and he hummed in response. His strong hands moved up her back, making her arch towards him, and he pulled her down and lifted his head to suckle on her breasts as she squirmed in pleasure. They played together in this fashion for a short while and then he paused and turned his head to glance at the side of the bed, a curious expression on his face.
"What is it?" she asked.
"This bed is higher than our bed at Crawley House, isn't it?"
Mary sat up straight, disappointed at the seemingly random turn of events. She couldn't care less about the relative heights of the beds.
But then, he'd never asked a question during their lovemaking that didn't have some purpose, and it was usually a very pleasurable one.
She tilted her head, curious, and looked at the edge of the bed. "I suppose. Why does it matter?"
He gave her a slow smile and then his hands on her hips urged her to get up. She pushed off of him and let him roll away from her. Rising, he stood at the side of the bed, inspecting its height relative to himself, and then a wicked grin grew on his face. She was already wet and warm and she felt herself growing more so at his expression, but she was annoyed that he'd stopped her pleasure to inspect the bed.
"Come here," he said.
She pursed her lips and looked up at him as a sudden playful, rebellious urge rose in her. "Make me."
She was on her knees and she made to twist and scurry away from him, but he was too quick for her. His arm came around her waist and he caught her with a growl, pulling her back towards him as she gave a laughing squeal.
"Shhh!" he commanded, and she subsided, still grinning.
He had one foot still on the floor and his other leg was now kneeling on the bed beside her. He had pulled her bottom firmly against himself, one of his hands anchored against the front of her hip and his other arm wrapped around her chest.
Slowly, keeping his hand firmly pressed against her hip, he moved his other arm down until that hand was cupping her breast. Then, as his fingers played with her nipple and she pulsed and pushed back helplessly against him, he murmured in her ear, with a satisfied smile in his voice, "You're not going anywhere, darling."
She felt a small shiver of anticipation and grinned.
"Now," he said, "move back towards me—slowly—until you're standing beside the bed."
This time she obeyed, her body eager for him. He was still behind her, and he bent her over gently, encouraging her to put her hands on the mattress. This bed really was higher than their bed at Crawley House, or even her old bed at Downton Abbey. The top of the mattress pressed comfortably against the front of her upper thighs.
He slid into her and she squeezed her eyes closed and gave a small moan.
He made a knowing, pleased sound and bent down behind her, kissing her between her shoulder blades and moving slowly.
"Is this all right?" he asked.
"I like it."
"Good." And he pulled back, standing upright. His hands roamed over her bottom slowly, caressing it as he moved within her.
God, she was so swollen and alive tonight! Matthew's every stroke was a renewed pleasure. She loved it when she felt like this, when he felt like this.
He gave a sudden forceful thrust and she gasped, her body rocking forward—but not as far forward as usual: she was trapped against this higher bed. His thrust went deep and she groaned and dropped her head. He chuckled.
Her breathing began to speed up as she realised what he had planned, and she braced her arms against the bed, taking a fistful of the sheets in each hand. As she'd expected, his idly roaming hands quickly found their way to the front of her hips, and he began to pound into her. Her body quickly went from pleasantly aroused to overwhelmed with pleasure and she moaned and gasped for breath, her heart beating wildly. A small scream began somewhere in the back of her throat, rising out of her with a sudden shocking intensity as every nerve ending in her body exploded, radiating outward from her core. She pulsed with it and his pounding continued, drawing out her crescendo until she was fully finished and suddenly trembling and exhausted, her remaining moan becoming a half-sobbing laugh of disbelief.
He slowed and stopped and bent over her, and she could feel his laboured breathing against her skin. He was a little out of breath as he spoke.
"Are you all right, darling? You've never made that sound before..."
She released a shaky laugh. "Yes. Oh, God...yes."
His soft laugh of relief made her sigh, and she turned her head to nuzzle his cheek, giving him a tired kiss before dropping her head again. Her arms and legs trembled and ached and she just wanted to collapse and lay as limp as a rag.
He seemed to sense this, for he pulled out of her and stood back, laughing softly as she climbed up and flopped unceremoniously on to the bed, her head not even on the pillow but merely beside it. She felt the mattress dip as he climbed up beside her and then he settled down, his body warm against hers.
"That was good, I take it," he said dryly, his voice a low rumble.
She gave a short laugh, her eyes still closed. "Don't let it go to your head, darling," she breathed.
"Too late," he murmured, his face close by, and his hand drifted over her belly.
"Oh, God..." she said. "What was that?"
"A good idea," Matthew answered, settling his lips near her ear. Her body was too heavy to process the contented shiver that ran through her and she just lay there and basked in the warm relaxation. "From Him, incidentally."
She smirked. "You give Him entirely too much credit. That was all you."
He just laughed.
"What about you?" she asked, when she eventually opened her eyes. She had not felt the usual movements from him that indicated his own loss of control.
"I'm ready whenever you are."
"Mmmm." She turned slightly towards him with a sleepy grin. "I'm ready."
"Good," he said, and immediately rose up and knelt before her. He remained kneeling as he entered her, not straightening out over her yet. He pushed aside the pillow that was next to her head and sat back on his haunches, thrusting slowly and stroking the undersides of her thighs with his hands, lifting her knees to either side of him as his eyes roamed over her body. She watched him enjoying himself and smiled, feeling relaxed and sated and content and happy.
Soon enough, he was ready and she welcomed his weight, grasping his backside firmly and putting the last of her energy into matching him. His mouth fell open as he thrust and she smiled, knowing when he was close.
"Yes, Matthew..." she whispered in encouragement.
Her body was riding a second rise, and it echoed the first one pleasantly as he moved within her. She moaned and felt him push hard, his whole body tightening, and as he followed his body's instincts and finally finished, her head fell back and her eyes closed and she relaxed into the warm yellow light and held him close.
They dozed for some time, still together, and when she next awoke, she rubbed his back and he roused. He gave a slight groan and rolled off of her. He lay with his eyes closed, limp and smiling softly, and she kissed his lips.
"That was lovely, darling, thank you," she said. "You leave me a very happy wife."
"And we still have tomorrow," he murmured sleepily.
She laughed. "True. I look forward to it."
"If I have anything left, it's yours," he mumbled.
He half-sat up, groaning softly again, and slowly rolled off the bed to gather his pyjamas. She did the same, and when they finally settled back together under the covers, they quickly fell asleep in each other's arms.
Before going down to breakfast the next morning, Mary knocked softly on Edith's door.
"Edith, it's Mary. May I come in?"
She heard a muffled assent and pushed open the door. Edith was sat up in bed, her breakfast tray nestled in front of her protruding belly. She was cradling a mug and she smiled when Mary came in.
"Hello, dear," Mary said in a businesslike tone. "How are you feeling?"
Edith smirked at her. "Don't start with the endearments. They don't suit you."
"Oh good," Mary replied, settling herself on the edge of the bed. "They don't suit you, either."
Edith just shook her head and hid a smirk in her mug. Mary suspected that Matthew was wrong about how much Edith enjoyed sparring with her.
"Truly, though, how are you? Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough," Edith said, setting the mug on her belly. They sat in an awkward silence for a long moment and then Edith added, "I saw him last night."
Mary frowned. "Who?"
"Anthony. He's been hurt. In some dark place." Edith said this with such a matter-of-fact air that Mary blinked. She wondered if perhaps the stress of everything hadn't done more damage to Edith than anyone realised. Edith watched Mary's face and smirked. "I'm not crazy."
Mary raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you quite certain?"
Edith looked away, her expression haunted.
"Perhaps it was just a dream," Mary suggested, trying to be conciliatory. She had, on occasion, had vivid and intense dreams about Matthew while he was away, although she'd never given them a second thought before.
"During dinner, while I was wide awake?" Edith asked. "That seems unlikely."
"But you fainted," Mary pointed out. "Perhaps it was during—"
"No," Edith said, her voice firm. "I saw him first. And then I fainted."
Mary frowned and looked away.
"You don't believe me."
"What I believe isn't important," Mary said, trying to keep her tone gentle, despite her irritation with Edith's dramatic bid for attention. "You're understandably worried about him and you're getting yourself worked up. You've been overexerting yourself. You must wait patiently. Papa will telephone the War Office and you'll have proper news soon enough."
Edith nodded unhappily and looked down. Mary felt a stab of regret and she reached out to touch Edith's hand. Edith looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"I'm sorry," Mary said. "I don't know what you saw. I just don't want you to worry."
Edith gave her a tight smile. "But how can it be helped? How would you feel if you hadn't heard from Matthew in almost three months?"
"Petrified," Mary whispered.
Edith's chin trembled and Mary impulsively squeezed her hand.
"You won't be left to face this alone, I promise you," Mary said.
Edith swallowed and looked at her, pressing her lips together. She gave a quick nod.
"I'll make sure Papa telephones you by this afternoon," Mary added.
"Thank you." Edith's voice was thick.
Mary nodded, gave Edith's hand a final press, and rose, wishing that she could give her sister some assurances. She walked to the door and opened it, looking at Edith one last time before she stepped out. Edith's hand was resting on her belly and she was staring towards the window, her face drawn and pale. Mary turned away and went out, unsettled.
She started to turn towards the stairs but was stopped by the sound of a young child's laughter.
"Again!" the little voice commanded. "'gain!"
Mary smiled at the sound of Harry's demands and decided she would go into the nursery to bid him a good morning. Her feet slowed outside the open door, however, when she heard Matthew's voice respond. She had thought that he'd gone down to breakfast.
"This little piggy went to market...and this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little piggy went 'wee! wee! wee!'—" at this, Harry shrieked with laughter, "—all the way home!"
Mary looked into the nursery and found Matthew sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a rolling, giggling little boy. Matthew finished tickling his nephew and pulled his hand back with a grin.
Harry immediately sat up. "'Gain!" he demanded.
"Master Harold," his nanny said. "That is quite enough. Your Uncle Matthew is waiting to go down to his breakfast."
"No! No! 'Gain!" Harry commanded, giving Matthew a stern look.
Matthew exchanged a chagrined smile with the nanny and Mary before looking down at Harry again.
"I've created a monster," he observed fondly.
Harry nodded. "Monst'. Again!"
"All right, one last time," Matthew said.
"Yay! Piggy!" Harry exclaimed, clapping, and he held out his bare foot towards Matthew.
So Matthew repeated the nursery rhyme, tugging each of Harry's toes in time with the words, and again elicited shrieks and giggles from Harry on the last line. Mary couldn't help grinning and her heart squeezed at the sight. Of course Matthew wasn't worried about becoming a father. What reason would he have to be worried? He was a natural with children. She watched him take his leave of Harry, whose happy giggles quickly turned to cries of disappointment when Matthew rose to his feet.
Harry clung to Matthew's leg and the nanny started to reach for him, but Matthew held out a hand to stay her and picked up the boy.
"Harry," Matthew said, his face and voice serious. "You must obey your nanny and your mama. Do you understand?"
"'stand," Harry echoed, smiling.
"I'm not sure he does," Mary said dryly.
"That's all right," Matthew answered, still looking at Harry. "I'm going down to breakfast. You eat your porridge for Nanny, yes?"
Harry nodded and looked away, clearly unhappy.
"There's a good chap," Matthew said, setting him down slowly. "Good-bye."
Harry pushed his lip out and crossed his arms angrily, turning away and refusing to answer. Mary and Matthew suppressed smiles as Matthew crossed to her.
"Good-bye, Harry," Mary said, but Harry just renewed his piqued posture.
"Aren't you going to say good-bye to your Aunt Mary?" Matthew asked.
"No." Harry pouted.
"Master Harold!" Nanny said.
"It's all right." Mary smiled, and she saw Harry turn to watch her and Matthew walk away. Harry burst into a new flood of tears and Nanny bent to comfort him.
As they started across the gallery, Mary said, "I saw that the abécédaire you sent him for Christmas was open on the nursery floor. He must like it if he's still reading it months later."
Matthew beamed proudly. "Nanny Olsen said that it's his favourite book."
"That's more than I can say for Edward, unfortunately," Mary said dryly.
Matthew looked at her with a frown. "Really? Have you read it to him?"
"Of course I have," she replied. "I brought it to him at Christmas and read it to him directly after I presented it."
"And didn't he like it?"
Mary smirked. "He enjoyed it well enough until we reached pomme, and then he insisted that I was reading it wrong, because a picture of an apple is clearly supposed to accompany an 'A', not a 'P'."
Matthew chuckled. "Why didn't you tell me about that in your next letter?"
"And make you feel rubbish at giving gifts, because he threw it across the room? Why ever would I do that in a letter? I'd much rather tell you in person."
Matthew shot her an amused, chagrined, and reprimanding look that quickly settled into a confident smile.
"You don't seem to think I'm rubbish at giving gifts."
Mary just smiled demurely at him. He knew well enough what she thought of his skills in that arena.
"He's a good lad," he said to Mary as they descended the stairs. "They both are. And clever, too."
Mary nodded. She was prouder of her nephew and her brother and more fond of them than she would have expected. She could easily imagine the two of them getting up to all sorts of trouble in a few years' time.
She wondered if she and Matthew would soon have another little one to contribute to the play group. After last night's enjoyments, she certainly hoped so. Her smile widened.
Matthew glanced at her, smiling as he met her eyes, but he didn't speak. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
Mary was nursing her second cup of coffee and watching two blue tits fluttering from branch to branch in the tree outside the window, twittering cheerfully, when Robert walked into the morning room at Locksleigh House.
"Lord Grantham," Maxwell announced, before returning to his post beside the sideboard.
Matthew looked up from The Times with a smile, quickly folding the newspaper and setting it aside.
"Good morning," Mary said to her father.
"Good morning," he replied, stopping beside the table. "How has the night been?"
"There were no further incidents," she answered. "Although..."
"Edith has not been behaving oddly." Matthew gave her an amused look as he pulled his serviette off his lap and laid it on the table.
"I spoke to her this morning," Mary said, shooting him a sharp glance. She turned to her father. "She's understandably very worried about Anthony. I think it all might be taking a toll on her."
Matthew frowned in concern. "What did she say?"
Mary shook her head, looking away. "Nothing of note."
She lifted her mug to her lips, taking a sip and avoiding Matthew's eyes. The coffee had grown tepid and she set it down.
"I telephoned Shrimpie this morning," Robert said. "He promised to look into it immediately." He looked at Mary. "Do you think she might be ready for me to see her?"
Mary nodded and rose. "I'll go up and tell her you're here."
Matthew stood as she left the room and Robert turned to him.
"Oddly how?" Robert asked, his eyes narrowed.
Matthew gave a small smile. "Mary said that Edith tried to mend their fences last night."
Robert's eyebrows rose. "That is odd."
"Oh, not you, too."
"If you had lived with them for the past two decades, you wouldn't dismiss it so easily."
Matthew chuckled and shook his head. "It's long past time for them to make peace."
Robert gave a chagrined tilt of his head, acknowledging the point. He looked up as Maxwell moved away from his place by the sideboard.
"Are you and Lady Mary finished with breakfast, Captain Crawley?" the butler asked Matthew.
"We are," Matthew answered. "It was excellent, thank you."
Maxwell gave him a nod.
"Maxwell," Robert said, his tone thoughtful. "You aren't required to answer this, of course, but has Lady Edith been running the place tolerably well in Sir Anthony's absence?"
Maxwell paused with the saucers in his hands. "She has been, yes. More than 'tolerably', if I may say so." Robert nodded slowly, and Maxwell looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps if she weren't...in her condition...things might be easier on her."
"Of course," Robert agreed, frowning now. "It's difficult for her."
Maxwell gave him a polite smile and continued clearing the table.
"I'll collect our things," Matthew said, starting towards the door.
"Maxwell, have Thornton come see me tomorrow, at his earliest convenience," Robert said. Matthew turned and frowned slightly at his father-in-law.
Maxwell paused, his eyes flickering uncertainly between Matthew and Robert, and then he gave Robert a slight bow. "Of course, my lord."
Matthew would have broached the topic with Robert when they went out into the main hall, but Edith was coming down the stairs to greet them and his concerns were soon forgotten in the flurry of solicitous inquiries.
On the last evening of Matthew's leave, he, Mary, and Isobel were reading quietly in the sitting room at Crawley House when they heard a motor pull up outside. They all looked up in surprise and they heard Molesley move to the front door and open it. A moment later, Robert appeared in the doorway, still wearing his coat and cap.
"Cousin Robert," Isobel said, rising in concern. "What brings you by at this hour?"
"Edith's had word of Anthony!" Robert exclaimed, smiling.
Matthew and Mary rose with exclamations of happiness.
"It's good news, I take it?" Isobel asked.
"Yes, he's on his way home, to stay this time. He sent her a telegram. He's been wounded, but he's alive and eager to see his family."
"Of course he is," Matthew said, but although he was smiling, the look he exchanged with Robert indicated that he understood that something was amiss.
"What a relief," Mary said.
"Yes," Isobel added. "He'll be here for the birth!"
"I wanted to give you the news before you left," Robert said, smiling at Matthew and pushing aside their silent concerns. They would deal with whatever came. "Enjoy your tour of the northern counties."
Matthew chuckled. "I expect to, but it'll be some time before I do. We'll be starting our tour in Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire."
"Ah." Robert nodded. "When can we expect to see you again?"
"I'm not sure. It's up to the discretion of General Strutt, of course, but we'll probably reach Yorkshire by end of the summer."
"Well, I'm sure the place will look different by then, now that we're to be turned into a hospital," Robert said.
"A convalescent home," Mary corrected. "I'm afraid we've all bullied you into the whole thing. I hope you're not dreading it too much."
"Not dreading it, exactly, but it's a brave new world we're headed for, no doubt about that. We must try to meet it with as much grace as we can muster."
"Well said," Isobel agreed with a smile, and Robert returned it.
In an unusual show of emotion, he suddenly reached over the back of the sofa to clasp Matthew's hand.
"It's so good to have you home," Robert said. "Is there any chance it might be permanent? That we can count you out of danger? It would be such a relief."
Matthew smiled and squeezed back before releasing Robert's hand. "I wouldn't want that, I'm afraid. General Strutt has promised to get me back to France when he's done with me."
Robert nodded, meeting his gaze a moment, and then he looked away. "Well, I'm off. Good night."
"Good night," they echoed, and he left.
When they heard the door close and the motor start up again outside, Matthew turned and met his mother's and then Mary's gaze. He could see that his words had shocked them both, but he also knew that nothing he could say would help them to understand. He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and kissed his mother's forehead. When he stood back and looked down at her, he saw her draw in a deep breath and let it out before she nodded.
Then, taking Mary's hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, meeting her eyes and asking for her forgiveness. Her eyes were wide as she searched his face, and she finally pressed her lips together and looked down. He tugged her hand gently and she lifted her head to meet his gaze again. When he smiled, he watched her match it, although he saw sadness in her eyes. He knew she wanted to protest, to try to convince him otherwise, but she held her peace and followed him silently as he led her out of the room.
They would have tonight, and he would be back again before he returned to France, and he would be spending at least three months more in the relative safety of England.
There was nothing for it but to carry on.