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Chapter 21
Cora looked around the table and smiled, inclining her head. "Shall we go through?" As the ladies filed out, Mary stopped by Matthew's chair. To their mutual frustration, they had been seated on either side of Cora during dinner. Smiling down, she reached out and brushed a stray lock of his hair off his forehead. "How are you holding up?" she inquired softly.
He took her hand. "If you mean, how am I holding up not being able to gaze into your eyes over dinner or feed you dessert," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, his voice low, "the answer is, not very well." He brought her hand to his lips. "But if you mean, how am I feeling, I'm fine, darling."
Mary leaned down, whispering. "And I'm having a great deal of difficulty restraining myself from kissing you right—."
"Mary!" Granny called from the doorway. "Let the men have their time alone!"
Mary sighed and rolled her eyes. At least they'd had a moment together before dinner.
.
She had popped her head into his room as soon as she heard Bates leave by the corridor door, then entered. Matthew's face lit up, and he held out his hand. "I was just trying to figure out if I could manage the door like this," he said, gesturing at his outstretched leg on the raised leg rest, as with his other hand, he pulled her down for a kiss. He noticed she was wearing the bracelet and locket, and he gave the locket a gentle tug, smiling up at her.
"I thought that might be the situation," replied Mary, with a concerned smile. When she had checked on him before starting to dress for dinner, he was still in bed, waiting for Bates. Now, she gestured at his leg. "How's it doing, then?"
"Very much improved, I'm happy to report. We're just giving it an extra stretch until dinner." He made a face. "But I'm afraid I'll be on my stomach tonight, as well."
Mary kissed him again. "Absolutely, you will."
"Shall we go, then?" Matthew asked.
Mary came around behind his chair and started massaging his shoulders. "Mmmm," she shook her head, "your muscles are very tight."
He gave a moan of pleasure. "Darling, that feels so very nice, but you're going to make us late."
"We won't be late," Mary hummed.
"Did you have a good visit with your family while I was gone to bed?" Matthew had lasted through tea and then had had to excuse himself.
"Papa needed to meet with Jarvis, so he left shortly after you did." Matthew was glad Mary couldn't see his face at the reminder that, now the wedding and honeymoon were over, he was going to have to tackle in earnest what was going on with the estate management.
"So, you ladies had a good gossip, then?" He asked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against her as his shoulders began to relax.
"Oh, yes. Of course, they wanted to know all about our honeymoon and were excited that we had managed going to York. Sybil is quite pleased with herself for her role in acquiring the album, as you can imagine—but remember, don't say anything in front of Granny. She still thinks Sybil was visiting at a friend's."
Matthew chuckled. "My lips are sealed."
"Yes," Mary continued, "they wanted to know everything." Matthew stiffened. "Well," Mary laughed, "of course I didn't give them all the details." As Matthew relaxed, she added, "But they all had noticed how we were looking at each other." She bent down, her mouth next to his ear, and whispered, "So I'm afraid I did tell them that my husband had made me a very happy wife," she paused significantly, then finished, "in every way."
Matthew jerked his head around and looked up in alarm. "Mary, you didn't!"
She raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin. "Well, yes, I did. Do you really mind?"
He opened his mouth, then looked at the pleased expression on her face and burst out laughing. "No, I guess I don't."
She laughed with him. "Mama, will tell Papa, of course."
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "My blushing will light up the room when I see them again." He opened his eyes, gazing up at her. "Oh, Mary, how am I going to learn to share you?"
She leaned down and took his face. She kissed his forehead, then his eyes, finally his lips, their mouths opening in a burning need made even more intense by all that they had been through earlier. Without breaking the kiss, Mary dropped to her knees next to his chair, one hand holding the nape of his neck, the other clutching his hair, as his arms embraced her. When they simply had to breathe, Matthew began teasing her ear, then began kissing and tasting her neck, and, finally, the soft skin of her breasts exposed above the low-cut bodice of the evening-gown she had worn on their wedding night. She breathed a soft moan as she held his head to her, feeling herself respond as one of his hands pressed her inner thigh, the feel of his fingers through the silk of her dress an exquisite agony.
Finally, with a groan, Matthew pulled back. "We've got to stop, or I'll have to ring for Bates to put me back to bed," he murmured, as their foreheads touched, and they breathed together.
"What would they do if we just didn't show up for dinner?" Mary asked, and they both laughed, picturing it. Mary kissed him again, brushing his hair back and smoothing it, as Matthew reached up and straightened one of her earrings. She went to a mirror and tidied her hair, then turned back and inclined her head. "Ready?"
"Yes, go ahead."
Mary lifted and then carefully lowered the leg rest, and Matthew repositioned his foot, then looked up. "Could you?" He pushed himself up, and she tugged and straightened his tails. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head.
"I am going to miss you in black tie," she sighed, then opened the door, and he wheeled himself into the corridor.
"Believe me, I miss being in black tie, but we can't disappoint your granny, now can we?"
"Since our honeymoon was her idea, no, we can't," she returned, starting to push him down the corridor. She leaned down and nuzzled his ear, whispering, "Mama will tell Granny, too, you know."
It took Matthew a moment to follow what she was talking about, then he groaned and grabbed the push wheels to stop the chair. Turning his head he looked up at her. "And I suppose you'll tell Mother? What am I going to do with you?"
"This," she smiled, leaning down, and their lips met and opened.
They were a bit late, after all.
.
"Learning to share," Mary whispered in his ear, then followed her grandmother out.
Robert came around the table and drew out the chair next to Matthew. Carson set down a tray with a decanter of port and two glasses. Robert poured them each a glass, then Carson held out the cigar box. Robert made his selection, but when Carson turned to Matthew, he held up his hand.
"None, for me tonight, thank you."
Carson frowned slightly. "Very good, sir."
Robert raised his eyebrows as the butler set down the box and left the dining room.
"I've never known you to turn down a good cigar, Matthew."
"You're quite right, I do enjoy them. But I've gone over a week without one, and I find I didn't miss them." He paused. "I've decided to give them up."
"What? Give up cigars?"
He smiled at Robert's startled reaction. "Just trying to take better care of myself." He paused, then added softly. "I've a reason to, now, you see."
Robert's eyes filled as he took in his meaning. He raised his glass in a silent toast.
Matthew followed suit, then took a sip, his tongue savoring the golden-brown liquid a moment before letting it slide down his throat. He looked at Robert. "This is very good. I hope you didn't open it for me."
"Certainly I did. To welcome you into this house as my son." Robert held his gaze. "That is, I've looked upon you as a son for a very long time, but now it's official. I can't tell you how glad it makes me."
Matthew nodded, smiling, "Thank you, Robert. I feel the same."
They drank in silent appreciation of the moment, then Robert drew in on the cigar and exhaled, shaking his head. "Watching you and Mary . . . I thought you two were close before the wedding, but seeing you today . . ." He rolled the ash off the tip of the cigar and regarded Matthew. "I am very happy for you both."
Matthew smiled, but his eyes were serious. "I can't believe the life I have now," he said quietly. "I'm the luckiest man on earth."
Robert passed him the decanter to refill his glass. Matthew took it from him, filling the glass only halfway, then passed it back.
His father-in-law inclined his head as he poured and filled his own glass. "You're not giving up drink as well?"
Matthew laughed. "No, no, not at all. I assure you, I drank copious amounts of champagne every night of the honeymoon." He raised his glass and added lightly, "But moderation can't hurt, can it?" He took a sip. "Now tell me all about London."
.
Mary entered the drawing room and was pleased to see that the chair next to Isobel, seated on a settee with Edith, was vacant. She crossed and sat down, accepting a glass of sherry from the tray Thomas offered. He and Carson finished dispensing drinks and coffee and left the room. Isobel turned to Mary.
"My dear, no one needed to ask how you enjoyed your honeymoon—it is very clear that marriage agrees with you both," Isobel smiled. She squeezed Mary's wrist, adding, her voice catching, "I never thought he could be this happy; really, I never thought he could be happy again."
Mary laid her hand on top of Isobel's. "We are completely happy together . . . in every way," she said quietly, blushing a little, her eyes steady. She thought Isobel understood her, but that was all she would say.
Isobel's eyes glistened, and she nodded her head, smiling. "I'm so glad," she whispered.
"Thank you." She thought a moment, then went on, "Do you know, I didn't think we could get any closer, but today, for the first time, he finally was willing to talk to me about the phantom pains he feels."
"He hadn't spoken of them before?" Isobel asked, shaking her head. No, she thought, of course, he hadn't.
"No. He had mentioned the spasticity, only because he had a muscle spasm a few days ago. But no, he hadn't said a word about these pains and sensations. He was trying to ignore them when they happened, thinking I wouldn't notice, but I could tell and . . . well, we finally talked about it, about a lot of things. It was such a huge relief, for both of us."
"I'm sure it was," Isobel replied. She paused, then said gently, "He told you that they are common when one has paralyzed limbs?"
"Yes," Mary nodded. "Has he told you that they are getting worse and happening more frequently?"
"No," Isobel frowned. "He has spoken of it very little to me, and not for quite a while. I'm very sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, that's also not uncommon."
"Yes, that's what he said. He also had a very bad spasm this afternoon—he's all right now—but, well, he's agreed to call Dr. Coates and ask to become his patient."
Isobel's eyes widened. "Really? That's wonderful! I had tried to get him to call for another consultation, but he didn't see the point since Coates agreed with Clarkson."
"Yes, I know. This wouldn't be with any expectation of recovery, rather to be under the care of a specialist at the top of the field in order to have best treatment possible for managing his condition. I just wanted him to think about it, but he agreed straight away. He's going to call Coates's office tomorrow."
Isobel squeezed her hand. "He's so lucky to have you."
"And I am so lucky to have him." Mary looked down for a moment, remembering their words as they listened to the wedding madrigal—could that really only have been the previous night? She looked at Isobel, and her voice hitched as she said, "We said only last night that we must never take each other for granted, that every day we have together is a gift. Because who knows what's coming?"
Isobel breathed in sharply, and her eyes filled with tears. "Then he's . . . he's told you . . .?"
But Mary's puzzled look told Isobel, too late, that she had misunderstood.
Mary gave her head a small shake. "Told me? I'm afraid I. . ." She smiled and shook her head in confusion at Isobel's words. Her smile faded as she saw the pain and sadness in her mother-in-law's eyes.
But Isobel covered her mistake quickly. "Told you, just as his father told me, that every day is precious when two people love each other."
"Yes," Mary nodded, "oh, yes." And now her eyes filled as she thought of Isobel losing her husband. How had she managed to go on? She couldn't bear thinking about what her life would be like without Matthew.
Isobel smiled and reached out to finger Mary's locket gently, purposely changing the subject. "Now that bracelet is absolutely stunning, but I have to say I prefer this."
Mary's face lit up. "I do as well! It has a special meaning for us, a line from a poem . . . I can't believe he found it."
"It's wonderful you got to York."
"Yes, and it was all Matthew's idea, you know. We were—." But just then, Robert and Matthew entered the drawing room.
"You're rejoining us rather soon," Violet observed as Matthew wheeled himself over to Mary, and Robert went to the drinks tray. He held up the decanter of Scotch to Matthew, who smiled and shook his head.
"They are newlyweds, after all," Cora smiled, inclining her head at the couple. "They can't be kept apart for long."
"Mary," her father observed. "You've been married just more than a week, and yet you've already managed to domesticate your husband."
"Papa, whatever do you mean?" Mary asked, laughing as Matthew took her hand.
"Matthew barely drank the best port in our cellar, and he's given up cigars! So, yes, we're rejoining you rather early."
Mary turned to Matthew. "Really? No cigars?" She realized he hadn't drunk much at dinner, either.
Matthew kissed Mary's hand. "As I told your father, I'm just trying to take better care of myself." He hadn't expected Robert to make an announcement, but at least he was making light of it. He knew how his mother and Sybil would react.
"Bravo," Isobel nodded. Mary saw she was tearing up again, even as she smiled at Matthew.
"Yes, bravo!" Sybil agreed, nodding vigorously, her eyes quite serious. "Very wise."
"That seems rather drastic," Violet observed. "In fact, perhaps ill advised. My husband always said a good cigar was necessary for proper digestion."
"Come now, even you can't believe that," Isobel scoffed.
"Do you know, we saw so many more men smoking cigarettes in London, even on the street, than we ever have before," said Edith. "We all remarked on it."
Matthew nodded, frowning. "I'm not surprised so many have the habit now. It's the war, you see. We were all given cigarettes as part of our rations. Food and drugs wrapped up in one neat package."
"What do you mean, 'food and drugs?'" asked Cora.
"Smoking suppresses the appetite and calms the nerves," Matthew replied. His voice was steady, but Mary could feel him tense.
"Did you smoke, then?" asked Sybil.
"I did, yes," he answered quietly. "I was lucky, in that I never took to it as some men did. When I was on leave, I smoked rarely, if at all. But, yes, at the front, it did help you get through it, both boredom and battle. I smoked as much as the next man." Mary squeezed his hand. Matthew spoke so rarely of anything having to do with the war. He gave her a quick smile and squeezed her hand in return.
"You know, women are smoking, too, just hiding it," Edith said. "The powder room at the Savoy absolutely reeked of smoke. I was afraid people would think I had been smoking when I came out."
"I think women should smoke," Sybil announced. Robert frowned, as Mary rolled her eyes, and Violet huffed.
"You can't mean that, Sybil," Matthew countered. "It's a filthy habit and very bad for one's health. You're a nurse, you know that. The American soldiers called them 'coffin nails.'"
"What I mean is, women should be allowed to do anything men are allowed to do." She raised her chin. "And I would smoke myself just to make the point, but, of course, I won't because, yes, of course, I do know how bad it is," she finished.
"Well, we're all very relieved to hear it," said Robert. Sybil launched into a disquisition on women's rights, and Robert poured himself another Scotch, glad, at least, that she wasn't going on about Ireland.
.
Mary opened the door from the sitting room, shedding her kimono as she crossed to the bed. Matthew was lying prone, one thin pillow under his head, his arms straight and next to his sides. She climbed into the bed and brushed the hair from his forehead, and he smiled at her without lifting his head from the pillow.
"Hello," she said softly.
"Hello," he returned. "I'm a mess."
Matthew had been determined to stay up until Violet and his mother had taken their leave, even though Mary could see by how he was sitting that he was in pain. He had tried to push himself as they bade good night to the family, but had had to give up. It had been a very long day.
"Is there something that can be done to help your back?" Mary asked, opening the door to his room and pushing him in. She began to massage his shoulders as he leaned back against her, closing his eyes.
"Mmm, you mean besides what you're doing right now? Yes, actually. I'm afraid I'm going to be covered in water bottles when you come to bed," he smiled ruefully.
She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you," she said softly, as she continued to work on his shoulders.
"For what, darling?"
"For talking about it with me. For letting me know, before I come to you."
"Oh, Mary," he said huskily, looking up at her apologetically.
"Shhh," she smiled, shaking her head, treasuring this new intimacy.
So it was no surprise when Mary now pulled back the blanket and sheet, revealing three hot water bottles wrapped in flannels, two covering his shoulders, one on his back.
She kissed his forehead, then pushed one of her pillows aside and slid down under the covers, lying flat as he did, her head turned to face him. Her eyes betrayed the ache she felt to see him like this, unable to move at all. She couldn't imagine enduring it for hours on end. "How do you bear it?" she whispered.
He smiled, awkwardly bringing his arm up so he could caress her cheek. "It's not so bad."
She looked at him intently, taking his hand and kissing it, holding it under her chin. "I don't believe you."
"It's only for a few hours. I won't be able to stay still longer than that, and then I'll have to get these things off and move, at least a bit." He smiled. "Besides, you're here with me," adding softly, "What did I tell you? I can face anything with you."
"Will you wake me up when you need to move, so I can help you?"
"I was going to say, I hope I don't wake you." He looked at her, and after a moment, squeezed her hand. "Yes, all right, I will. I'll wake you."
He released her hand and pulled her head to him, kissing her tenderly. "Now, please, darling. What I can't bear is to see you so uncomfortable."
After a moment's hesitation, Mary got on her side facing him. He took her hand again and brought it to his lips, smiling. "That's much better." Then he reached up and tugged her braid, raising an eyebrow. "I guess the honeymoon's over? You're plaiting your hair again?"
Mary ran her fingers through his hair. "Anna begged me. It gets so tangled when we don't." She kissed him. "But I won't let her do it every night."
"Good," he smiled.
She took his hand in hers and held it to her chest, as her other hand continued to stroke his head.
Matthew closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered.
"So much," she answered. She watched until he was asleep, and then she closed her eyes.
.
Mary awoke with a start. Had she been dreaming? If so, she remembered none of it. She looked over at Matthew, breathing softly. It seemed he hadn't moved at all. She reached under the covers and felt the hot water bottles—they were still warm—then looked at the clock: a little past three. She wondered when he would awaken and want to move. In the meantime, she needed to relieve herself, so she sat up, getting out of the bed carefully so as not to disturb him, and went through his room, then the bathroom, to the water closet.
Returning, Mary adjusted one of the hot water bottles that had slipped a bit, then climbed back into bed. She wasn't the least bit sleepy, so she propped herself up and gently combed his hair with her fingers, watching him sleep, letting her mind wander back over their honeymoon, each day an adventure of discovery in love and intimacy. And then today, everything had seemed to fall apart, but they had come through it even closer than before.
Matthew frowned and began mumbling, making small cries of distress, so she began running her thumb back and forth along his brow. Please, no nightmares tonight, she prayed. He was so exhausted. The furrows soon relaxed, and he began breathing evenly again.
Mary had been surprised at how much she had enjoyed being with the family, as hard as it had been to "share." But it had felt rather marvelous, really, to be with everyone now that they were a married couple. She had watched her parents, married nearly thirty years, and wondered what she and Matthew would be like when they had been married that long.
Who knows what's coming?
Isobel had been a bit teary tonight, unusual for her, but then, perhaps to be expected as she recalled the turn their conversation had taken; how their vow to take nothing for granted had reminded her mother-in-law of her late husband's words. Mary's throat got tight again thinking of Isobel losing her husband so soon. Yes, every day is precious.
Who knows what's coming?
Matthew's resolve to take care of himself, she was sure, must be of a piece with his willingness to consult Coates. She was so happy, she couldn't help smiling. Isobel and Sybil, too, had been so pleased. She had been a bit taken aback by their reaction—Isobel tearing up again, Sybil so very serious—but really, that wasn't surprising, she supposed; he always said they were his "medical committee," along with Clarkson, so of course they would be glad to hear he was trying to watch after his health.
Who know what's coming? The words she had herself spoken in the library, and again tonight to Isobel, kept inserting themselves into her thoughts like an unwelcome refrain.
Isobel and Sybil. Mary remembered how, when Matthew had come down with a bad cold in the middle of December, they both had hovered around him. Matthew had been quite irritated with all the bother, Mary recalled. In fact, Clarkson had come to listen to his lungs every day, finally putting him to bed, and Isobel had insisted on staying in his room with him, sleeping in a chair that night. Clarkson let Matthew up after a day, but he had continued to check him daily, sometimes twice a day, until he was satisfied he had completely recovered. She frowned and pressed her lips together as she remembered how concerned Sybil had been until Clarkson had been satisfied that his lungs were clear; remembered overhearing her chide Matthew after he had complained about the fuss: You know that someone in your circumstances can't ever be too careful. She had thought Sybil was just being a nurse, simply saying what she'd say to any patient. Mary had just been glad to know that Matthew was well.
Then, he's told you?
Every day is precious.
I'm just trying to take better care of myself.
Very wise!
Who knows what's coming?
Mary looked down at Matthew, and her heart began to race.
I'm just trying to take better care of myself.
Each day we have together is a gift.
I will love you until the last breath leaves my body.
Who knows what's coming? Who knows what's coming? Who knows what's coming?
Mary got out of bed carefully and put on her kimono and slippers. She quietly opened and closed the door to the corridor and began walking quickly down the hall. The house was silent, the great hall illuminated by the moonlight streaming thought the panes of the glass dome.
She entered the library and stopped, giving her eyes time to adjust: with the shutters closed, all but the doorway was nearly pitch black. Eventually, she made her way to the nearest lamp, then over to the table with the Victrola and records. Turning on the table lamp, she found The Mikado album at the top of the stack.
She stared at it, then finally reached out and opened the album, her hands shaking, as his had been when she had come upon him, she now realized, replacing the pamphlet with the lyrics to the opera's songs.
Darling, what's the matter? You're so pale.
Everything's perfect my love—you're here. Let's have some champagne.
With trembling fingers, she withdrew the pamphlet and began turning the pages until she found the wedding madrigal. As she scanned the lyrics, blood pounded in her head. The words began to blur, and she stopped reading,
"Matthew, we must never take us for granted. Who knows what's coming?"
"No, never. Every day we have together is a gift. But you can take one thing for granted: I will love you until the last breath leaves my body."
Closing her eyes, she crossed her arms and held her sides, rocking back and forth. She made no sound; she cried no tears. She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally slid the pamphlet back in its sleeve and returned the album to the stack. She switched off the table lamp, then the lamp by the door, and crossed the great hall, walking faster and faster, almost running, until she reached their suite. She started to enter her room from the corridor, then stopped herself; if Matthew had awakened, he'd wonder where she had gone. Instead, she entered his room, then carefully opened the connecting door to hers and stood in the doorway, holding onto the door frame to steady herself.
He was still asleep, and she watched as his back rose and lowered with his breathing. I will love you until the last breath leaves my body. She couldn't blame him for not telling her, for trying to spare her this pain; for not letting her into this one last part of his world. And perhaps, deep down, she had known, but hadn't wanted to face it. One day, they would have to face it together, but until then, she would say nothing.
After a moment, he began to stir, and his arm reached out, feeling for her. He lifted his head slightly. "Mary?"
"I'm right here, darling, just had to relieve myself," she called softly, moving quickly to his side of the bed. Her voice sounded to her as if it were coming from far away.
He pushed up a bit and turned his head, smiling. "Perfect timing then. Could you take these things off me?" She pulled down the covers and gathered up the hot water bottles, setting them down in his chair. She came around to her side of the bed, removing her robe and slippers, and climbed in as he pushed up on his lower arms and rolled his shoulders, groaning a bit. "So good to move, my back feels ever so much better. I—Mary, you're shivering! Come here, dearest, and let me warm you." He pushed up on his left arm and with his right pulled her to him, taking in her haunted eyes. "You're shaking so. Did you have another bad dream?" he asked, kissing her forehead.
"Yes," she whispered, holding him tightly. "A bad dream. Don't let me go."
"I won't, my love." He worked his left arm under her, pressing kisses to her hair.
"Please, Matthew, don't go."
"Shhh," he soothed. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He felt her begin to calm. "That must have been a very bad dream."
"Yes. A very bad dream. But I've already forgotten it, now that you're holding me."
She let her breathing match his. Every day is precious. Every moment is precious. This moment. This. She cradled his face and pressed a kiss to his lips. Their mouths opened, and they began making love.
This is the end of Part 5. Part 6 will take up the story a few days later.
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