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There was a knock at the door, then Bates entered.
"Good morning, Lady Mary, sir," he said with a brief smile.
"Good morning," Matthew and Mary said in unison as Bates brought Matthew's chair to the side of the bed.
"Ready, sir?"
"Yes, let's give it go."
Mary tried not to look anxious as Bates helped get Matthew from his stomach to his back. When he was finally turned and lying back against the pillows, Mary asked, "How are you feeling now?"
"So far, so good." He looked at Bates and nodded. Bates leaned down, and Matthew reached up, clasping him around the neck. Bates's arms came around Matthew, and he raised him slowly, then stopped, holding him against his chest, letting him rest.
He was a bit light headed, but so much better than yesterday. After a moment, Matthew said, "I'm all right, keep going."
Cradling Matthew's back with his left arm, Bates brought his right arm under his thighs and slowly and carefully turned him, bringing his legs over the edge of the bed, then let him rest against him again.
After a moment, Matthew glanced at Mary saying, "Don't look like that, darling, I'm feeling fine." His arms still around Bates's neck, he said, "All right, let's get me in my chair."
Bates brought his other arm around Matthew's back, pulling him to the edge of the bed before lifting and turning him to set him in his chair. As he did, Matthew's legs dropped down, and his feet touched the floor.
His feet were touching the floor. It wasn't that he could feel it in any kind of normal way, but he knew it had happened. Matthew looked down in shock, but as soon as he did, the room began to spin wildly. His feet were touching the floor, and he knew his feet were touching the floor. He pulled his head up, and the spinning grew worse. He heard Mary cry out, as if from far away, as her arms came around him. He reached out and felt her take his hand.
"Mary," he murmured. And then he fainted.
Matthew's eyes fluttered open, blood pounding in his ears. He looked around, trying to understand why Bates was laying him down on the bed as Mary was lifting up his legs. He heard Bates say something about getting a flannel and a basin of cold water, his voice sounding as if it came from the depths of a well.
Mary leaned over her him, her face stricken with worry, taking his hand, running her fingers through his hair.
"Did I faint?" Matthew murmured.
"Yes, I think you must have, only for just an instant. Your eyes opened as we were getting you back in bed."
Bates came in with the basin and flannel, setting it on the bedside table. Mary immersed the flannel, wrung it out, and placed it on Matthew's clammy forehead. He was white as a sheet.
"Thank you, Bates. I'm going lie here a bit. We'll ring when I'm ready to try getting up again." His voice scraped just above a whisper.
Bates nodded and withdrew. "Very good, sir."
Mary's eyes had never left Matthew. "Do you want some water?"
He realized his mouth and throat were quite parched and gave a small nod.
She poured a glass, raised his head and helped him drink it, then set the glass down and climbed up to sit next to him on the bed, taking his hand again.
Matthew looked up at her silently, his mouth slightly open, a somewhat stunned expression on his face.
"Darling," Mary began, "I think we must call Clarkson. The vertigo was getting better, but now it's clearly much worse and—."
"No." Matthew shook his head. "No. I know why it happened."
Mary frowned. "Why, then?"
Matthew licked his lips. "I looked down at my feet, and everything began to spin, and when I lifted my head back up, it got even worse."
"But why would looking at your feet give you an attack of vertigo?"
His eyes held hers. They were such a blue, she lost herself for a moment. But then he said, "I looked down at my feet because they touched the floor."
She shook her head in puzzlement. "I don't—."
"My feet touched the floor, and I looked down because. . ." He clasped both her hands, his eyes bright, his breathing quickening. "Because, I knew they had touched the floor." He nodded as he saw her begin to understand, her eyes growing wide. "Yes. Yes." For the first time, he began to smile. "Yes."
"Oh, my God. Oh, Matthew, oh, my God," she cried, now feeling a bit lightheaded herself. She took his face in trembling hands, shaking her head. "What does this mean?"
He covered her hands with his and took a deep breath, and another, and then allowed himself to say, "I think it means Clarkson was wrong."
.
And finally, finally, he told her everything about his conversations with Miss Jordan and then Miss Archer.
"Please don't berate me, Mary, for not telling you before—I really didn't know what she had meant, and I couldn't put you through wondering about it, especially when Coates will soon be here. But now . . ."
"No," she smiled. "I understand, I do." She thought her heart would burst. "Oh, darling." He reached out, and she fell against him. They held each other, unable to speak for a moment.
Matthew stroked her hair. "We still don't really know what it all means for me, and won't, until Coates examines me," he said gently.
Mary pulled back a little to look at him. "I know that's true, but still . . ." she pressed her lips together.
"It's not that I'm feeling anything else, and what I felt isn't any kind of 'normal' feeling." He frowned a bit. "It's not like I could have said my feet were touching a carpet, I just knew they were touching something."
"But you did feel it. You knew," Mary responded, kissing him tenderly. "And the pins and needles feeling that became so strong recently, and the way you've been sensing where your legs are—it has to mean there's been some kind of repair to your spine."
Matthew reached up and held her face. "I think so, yes. Something has changed—is changing," he nodded, then added softly, "although I'm afraid to say it aloud."
He pushed up on one elbow. "Ring for Bates. I want to get up."
"Are you sure you're up to it already?" she asked skeptically.
"Yes." He was actually a little queasy, but he had to know. "I need to see if it happens again—no, not the vertigo," he added hastily seeing her alarm. "I need to know if I can tell when my feet touch again. Then I'll know it's real." He thought a minute. "It was looking down that started the dizziness, and then the shock of it all and trying to bring my head back up. This time, I won't look down; in fact, I'll keep my eyes shut. And I'll hold your hand and squeeze it if I feel them touch, and you can look to see if I'm right."
Mary smiled, nodding. "Yes, all right, that should work." She kissed his forehead, then slid off the bed and rang for Bates.
The door opened a few minutes later. "I'm glad to see your color so improved, sir," Bates observed as he approached the bed, relief evident in his face.
"I feel much better, thank you," Matthew smiled. "I want to get in my chair."
"Yes, sir."
They began the process of getting Matthew up again, allowing him to rest after sitting up, and again after turning him so his legs hung over the bed. When he was ready to be pulled forward and lifted off the bed to his chair, Mary wrapped her right arm around his back, as Matthew took her left hand in his; he reached up and clasped Bates around the neck with his right.
Bates frowned a bit at this change in their usual routine but said nothing.
Matthew felt he had to come up with some sort of explanation, but before he could say anything, Mary raised her chin and said firmly, her tone brooking no contradiction, "I think this will help keep him steady."
Matthew couldn't help snorting. Oh, Lady Mary!
Bates's mouth pulled up as he inclined his head. "Very good m'lady."
Matthew nodded to Bates. "All right, let's try this again." He closed his eyes.
A moment later, Matthew gripped Mary's hand as if he were holding on for dear life. He heard her intake of breath and felt her hand squeeze his as her arm tightened around him. Then Bates lifted and pivoted him, and he felt himself lowered into his chair.
He opened his eyes to find Mary standing behind Bates, holding a hand to her mouth and nodding at him, her eyes glistening. Bates was lifting his legs to set his feet on the foot rest of the chair. One foot placed, then the other. Matthew looked at Mary, nodding back, Yes, they're there. I know it. I felt it.
She saw him begin to pale and stepped forward. "Matthew?"
"Just a bit dizzy." But he was smiling.
Mary came behind his chair and brought his head back to rest against her. "Bates, could you turn the wingback?" she asked.
As Bates moved quickly around the bed, Mary followed, wheeling Matthew. She maneuvered his chair so that it was backed up to the wingback. Matthew reclined his head and closed his eyes, sighing heavily in relief.
"Thank you Bates. We'll let him rest again. Could you tell Anna and Mrs. Patmore that we'll have breakfast in the sitting room—I'll ring when we're ready. Just say that Mr. Crawley is indisposed. We'll dress afterward."
"Very good, m'lady."
Matthew opened his eyes. "Thank you, Bates. I'm sorry for all the bother."
"No bother, sir," Bates smiled, then turned and left.
Mary stroked his cheek. "How is it, now?"
He looked up at her. "Get the letter opener."
Mary frowned in confusion, then stared at him as it dawned on her what he was proposing. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he replied firmly.
As she started for the sitting room, he called after her, "It's not on the desk. It's in the back of the bottom left drawer under a stack of letters."
Mary stopped at the door and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
Matthew shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile. "Out of sight, out of mind."
She returned momentarily, fingering the point of the opener. It really was quite sharp. She looked at him questioningly. "How do you want to do this?"
Matthew drew his brows together. "Well, I mustn't watch. I'll close my eyes, so I can't see you move." He glanced over at the bed. "Just to be extra sure, cover my legs with that," he said, indicating the throw blanket.
She picked it up and draped it over his lap and legs, then knelt in front of the chair.
Matthew leaned his head back against the wingback and closed his eyes, waiting to feel something; praying that he would. But nothing. His heart sank.
Opening his eyes, he shook his head. "I didn't feel anything."
"That's because I haven't done anything yet," Mary replied sheepishly, adding softly. "I'm afraid to."
He exhaled a small laugh of relief. Shaking his head, he took her hand and kissed it. "Don't be afraid. If I can't feel anything, well, I can't. It doesn't change what's happened."
She nodded, and he closed his eyes again. Very carefully, she lifted the throw, pulled up his right pajama leg, and started pricking his skin on the side of his calf with the sharp point. There was no reaction at first, but then, as she moved to another spot—
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes. Yes. Yes." He frowned, eyes still shut, when he felt nothing again—he couldn't know she had stopped and was watching him. And then—
"Yes," he smiled exultantly as he felt another prick, this time on his left leg, "Yes!" And then he felt her arms come around him, and they embraced each other tightly, rocking together, not sure if they were laughing or crying.
.
They decided they needed to let Anna and Bates know what was happening, what with Bates being so intimately involved in Matthew's care, and Mary confessing that she didn't think she could stop herself from telling Anna.
But after talking it through, they resolved not to say anything to the family yet, not until Coates's visit. As wonderful as this change was, they had no idea what it meant in terms of any further recovery for Matthew. Better to wait, just a week and a few days now, and not get anyone's hopes up.
That resolve lasted until they joined the family in the drawing room before dinner that night.
.
They stayed in their suite the entire day, simply too excited and distracted to be around anyone else. After lunch, Matthew had tried to catch up on work for the office that had been neglected while he was working on the estate, but he couldn't concentrate, nor could Mary as she tried to read and write letters.
He finally threw down his pen in exasperation. "I'm going to have to call the office and tell them not to send anything new until after Coates's visit. I'm not getting anything done."
Mary came over and stood behind him, her fingers soothing the tension in his temples with a practiced touch. He closed his eyes with a grateful sigh and leaned back against her. Eventually, he roused himself and looked up, smiling apologetically, shaking his head.
"There's such an unreality about it . . . I feel as if I'm falling down the rabbit hole and don't know when I'll land."
"Rabbit hole?" She looked at him blankly, then caught his meaning. "Oh, do you mean the Alice books?"
"Yes, I—." Matthew stopped as he took in her puzzled frown and stared at her in disbelief. "Oh, Mary, surely you've read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass? Or someone read them to you? My mother read them over and over to me until I could read them myself. Your papa and Aunt Rosamund know their Alice," he added. "They are always saying something is 'curiouser and curiouser.'"
"Is that where that's from? They must have had a nanny who liked reading the books." Mary shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid Mama didn't read to us much like that. Yes, Alice was read to me by our nanny once, I think the one we had when I was about six or seven. I never read it on my own. I don't remember much besides the rabbit hole and looking-glass. Well, and there was a white rabbit, and a mad tea party, and Humpty Dumpty. And I remember she grew very tall, with such a long neck; I didn't like that picture. . ." She frowned, concentrating, then shrugged.
"Well, darling, we must rectify this sad state of affairs immediately. My copy is right here." He wheeled over to the shelf next to his desk and took out the well-loved volume. He handed it to her as she curled up at the end of the settee, then positioned his chair next to it so she could lean against him, their arrangement for reading together in their sitting room; not as perfect as the window seat in the library, but they made do. His arm came around her, and she began leafing through the pages, looking at the pictures.
"It really does have marvelous illustrations," she observed.
"Yes, it does. A good book must have 'pictures and conversations,' or so Alice says, and this has both."
Mary handed him the book and nestled her head on his shoulder as he began:
"Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole"
"Oh," she laughed, "I had forgotten we get to the rabbit hole right away."
"Yes. Shh."
"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'"
"And already with the pictures and conversations."
"Yes. Shh."
Matthew continued reading, his voice changing for the different characters, as his mother's had when she had read it to him. Mary was quite enchanted with the story, and took up reading when Matthew tired. They read through the rest of the afternoon, the story giving them a respite from the effort of trying not to think about what it all might mean for Matthew's future. Eventually, their heads dropped together, and they dozed until the dressing gong sounded.
.
Yes, they were quite resolved to say nothing to the family when they entered the drawing room, the last to arrive. (Mary had found Matthew in his room alone, sitting in his chair dressed for dinner, but barefoot, glorying in the sensation that his feet were touching something; it took a bit of time to get his socks and shoes on. Then he had wanted her to test his legs again with the letter opener; he felt many more pricks this time, some even in the places he hadn't done before.)
Robert came up, clapping him on the shoulder. "I hope you rested well, you've had us worried, you know."
"Thank you, Robert, I—," Matthew began.
"You've worked yourself to exhaustion with the estate. I'm sorry."
"No, no, that's not it at all, I just needed a bit more—."
But he was interrupted by Sybil.
"There you two are! We've been so worried, Matthew, but it's good that you're taking care of yourself. You can't be too careful!"
"Yes, quite right, thank you, Sybil," Matthew murmured as she leaned down to peck his cheek. His eyes found his mother's across the room, and he realized at once that he couldn't keep up the charade, even for a few days.
Isobel rose from her seat next to Violet and came to them, first kissing Mary's cheek, then leaning down to kiss Matthew's. "I was so sorry to hear that you were feeling unwell, Matthew." She smiled, but couldn't hide her concern.
"Please don't worry, Mother," Matthew reassured her earnestly. "Really, I'm fine. More than fine."
He gave her hand a squeeze, then exchanged a look with Mary and gave a small shrug. Mary smiled and nodded. She could see her mother was about to suggest they go through to dinner, and Mary caught her eye and shook her head. Standing next to his chair, she reached out, and he took her hand.
Matthew didn't really know how to begin. "I'm very sorry that our absence today caused any concern for my well-being. In fact, the opposite is the case. We just needed some time because . . . well, you see, I . . . I am . . ." He paused and ducked his head, licking his lips, then looked up and around at the family. "You mustn't make too much of it, we really don't know what it means, but—." He stopped to look at Mary, who smiled, giving an encouraging nod. "Well, the thing is," he paused again, his pulse beginning to race, finding his mother's eyes. "The thing is, I seem to have regained some feeling in my legs."
There was a stunned silence as the family absorbed the import of his words.
"Yes, it's true," Mary added, nodding again, beaming. "It's quite true."
As if a spell were broken, everyone began talking at once.
"I can't believe it!"
"You were told it was impossible!"
"But this is wonderful!"
Isobel leaned down, her arms coming around him. "My darling boy," she murmured through her tears. "My darling boy." Matthew embraced his mother, barely maintaining his composure.
Robert came to him, clasping his hand in both his own. "Oh, my dear chap," he said, his voice heavy with emotion, "my dear, dear chap. I can't begin to tell you what this means to me."
Matthew smiled up at him, one arm still around Isobel. "It's pretty good news for Mary and me, too," he returned huskily, and everyone laughed in appreciation.
"But, please, please remember," he continued, his gaze taking in each person in turn, "we really don't know what this signifies for any further recovery . . . if it means that I might . . ." he broke off, and everyone finished silently walk again. "We won't know anything," he finished, "until I've been examined by Dr. Coates."
"But what does Dr. Clarkson say about this?" inquired Violet. "Evidently, he was wrong in his diagnosis?"
Matthew looked at Mary and gave his head a barely perceptible shake. Because of his conversation with Miss Jordan, it had not occurred to either of them to call Clarkson, and he really didn't want to try to explain the why of that to the family.
"We haven't spoken to him yet, Granny," Mary offered.
"Well, I want to know what he has to say," stated Robert. He looked at Matthew. "I'm going to ring him right now and send Branson to pick him up."
"Robert, it's late, we can call him tomorrow—," Matthew began.
"No." Robert was emphatic. "It's not that late, and I pay his salary. He can come and tell us what this signifies." He turned to Matthew and said quietly, "You've lived with a wrong diagnosis all this time; you shouldn't have to wait."
And Matthew remembered that last time he had gone to Clarkson after Christmas to ask about the new sensations—the burning, the feeling like electric shocks were going through him—and the exasperated pity in his reply. He looked up at Robert and finally nodded.
"All right. Call him." He turned to Mary. "Let's hear what he has to say."
.
"I caught him just as he was leaving the hospital. Branson's on his way," Robert reported with satisfaction, returning to the drawing room. "Carson has told Mrs. Patmore that dinner will be late."
While they waited, Matthew and Mary gave the family a more detailed account of what Matthew had been experiencing lately, and what had happened that morning.
"But you must understand," Matthew cautioned. "I seem to know where my legs are, but I can't feel them or move a muscle. When I say that I 'feel' my feet touch down, it's not any normal kind of feeling. Perhaps," he shook his head, "nothing further will change."
"But," said Mary, "you felt the pricks of the letter opener, and you felt more of them this evening than this morning."
"Yes," Matthew smiled, "yes, that's true."
Carson appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Clarkson."
Clarkson walked swiftly into the drawing room, carrying his medical bag, the brown leather soft and worn from years of use, his eyes immediately settling on Matthew. He stopped, frowning, then looked at Robert.
"I don't understand, Lord Grantham. You told me that Mr. Crawley had made a miraculous recovery. But . . ." He gestured in puzzlement at Matthew.
Mary gave a small gasp and started forward, but Matthew reached out and caught her wrist and stoppoed her at the side of his chair, clasping her hand and lacing their fingers. He stared impassively at Clarkson, but his breathing quickened and his eyes were dark.
"I did not say that," Robert replied, not attempting to mask his irritation. "I said that something miraculous had occurred, that apparently Matthew was recovering from his injury."
"Something miraculous?" Clarkson turned to Matthew. "Is it a new phantom pain, then?" he asked gently. His tone was kind, but the edge of pity and condescension in it, and in the way he looked at Matthew, was unmistakable.
Mary was enraged, but before she could say anything, Matthew squeezed her hand, then wheeled forward.
"No, Dr. Clarkson," he said, looking up at him. "And no miracle recovery, if by that you mean that you expected to come here and find that I had leapt from my chair. But, yes," he continued, nodding, "yes, it is quite miraculous for me, my wife, and my family."
Clarkson raised his eyebrows. "Well, what's happened then?" he asked skeptically.
"I have regained some feeling in my legs and—."
"Mr. Crawley, we have been over this many times—."
Matthew held up his hand. "Stop." The word, spoken quietly, was like a shot. Clarkson drew back in surprise.
"I am not going to argue with you about this," Matthew continued. He pointed to Clarkson's bag. "I assume you have a probe in there. If not, we have a letter opener that will do the job quite nicely. You can examine me in the small library."
And without another word, Matthew wheeled himself out of the room, his arms shoving hard at the push wheels of his chair. Clarkson looked around at the family, then turned and followed.
Mary clenched her hands. "He's told me he doesn't want to talk to Clarkson about anything having to do with his condition, and no wonder. You saw how dismissive he was."
Robert looked at Mary. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I shouldn't have suggested calling him."
"No, Matthew would have stopped you if he had wanted to," Mary replied. "I think he's decided he wants to have it out with him."
"What did Clarkson mean when he said 'phantom pains'?" Cora asked. For the next several minutes, Mary, Sybil, and Isobel explained to the rest of the family the phenomenon, and how it and the muscle spasms had been affecting Matthew.
Robert shook his head. "I had no idea Matthew was dealing with so much. I'd see him grimace from time to time, but he'd always brush it off as his being uncomfortable from sitting in his chair."
"He has learned to live with them, and truly, he doesn't like to talk about any of it," Mary replied. "In fact, it was only—."
She stopped as Matthew wheeled himself into the room, followed by a very sober Clarkson.
Matthew wheeled over to Mary. He looked up at her, his mouth set, but his eyes were triumphant. He turned his chair, then watched as Clarkson looked silently around the room, his face troubled and rather pale.
"Well?" Robert asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Mr. Crawley is quite correct. He has regained some feeling in his legs, and he is able to tell when his feet touch a surface. And because of that, I would have to say that the sensation he describes of knowing where his legs are is not the manifestation of an illusory pain, but rather an indication of some repair to his spine."
Violet's eyes narrowed. "And how is this possible, Dr. Clarkson?"
Clarkson turned to Matthew. "There is only one possible explanation." He paused, his eyes holding Matthew's. "It starts with my own mistake. Every indication told me that the spine was transected, which would mean that recovery would not be possible. But clearly, something has changed in your condition, Mr. Crawley."
"But when Sir John Coates came to examine Matthew, he agreed with you," Robert interjected.
Clarkson was silent, then took a deep breath. "Well, he didn't. Not entirely."
Mary and Matthew looked at each other as the rest of the family stared at the doctor in shock.
Finally, Robert asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "What are you saying?"
"Although he said my diagnosis could be correct, Dr. Coates thought it more likely to be a case of spinal shock that was impeding the leg mechanism as well as other bodily functions."
"But which could heal?" Mary's voice remained steady, but she gripped Matthew's shoulder.
"Yes." Clarkson frowned. "In the cases of spinal shock that I've treated, the patients began to recover feeling and function in days or a few weeks." He shook his head. "But, clearly, Mr. Crawley, there has been repair to your spine. I . . . I think it quite possible you will see further recovery, but I'll leave any prognosis to Dr. Coates."
"And why didn't you tell me about Dr. Coates's diagnosis?" Matthew asked, his eyes boring into Clarkson's.
Clarkson hesitated. "Because I didn't agree with him, and I didn't want to raise your hopes to no purpose."
Matthew stiffened, but otherwise showed no reaction, continuing to hold Clarkson's gaze.
Mary's eyes were blazing. "But Matthew came to you again and again!"
Matthew reached up and took her hand. "Dr. Clarkson." He paused and took a breath, and then another. "You are a good doctor. I should be dead, but because of you and your care, I am alive today, and in good health." He looked up at Mary and for a moment, his voice grew soft. "I will always be grateful to you for that." Matthew squeezed her hand, then released it and wheeled his chair toward Clarkson until he was directly in front of him, his piercing blue eyes unrelentingly holding the doctor's.
"I don't blame you for your diagnosis. After all, as you know, Dr. Halley, the doctor Mother consulted, agreed with you. And I do believe," he continued, his voice rising a bit, "that you thought it was in my best interest to withhold Dr. Coates's diagnosis." He paused and looked down for a moment, then raised his head.
"But Dr. Clarkson, it was wrong—." Matthew bit out the words, then stopped, and his mouth worked as he fought to keep his anger in check; he gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles were white. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. "It was wrong. You should have told me. You should have told me."
After a moment, Clarkson said quietly, "You're right, Mr. Crawley, I should have told you. I'm very sorry."
Matthew gave a short nod, then looked away, breathing heavily until he felt Mary's hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
The room was silent; then Robert said tightly, "Thank you, Dr. Clarkson. Branson will take you home."
Clarkson picked up his bag and started to leave, then paused and turned back to Matthew. "I hope you can believe me, Mr. Crawley, when I say I'm glad I was wrong, and how very happy I am at this turn of events."
After a moment, Matthew looked up and met his gaze. "I believe you. I do." He paused, then added, "And I meant what I said. I will always be grateful."
Clarkson inclined his head, "Thank you, Mr. Crawley." He nodded to Robert and withdrew.
It was if the room had been holding its breath and now had started to breathe again. Matthew looked up at Mary, reaching to take her hand that still rested on his shoulder, as she whispered, "Oh, darling."
Robert went to the drinks cabinet and poured out two fingers of Scotch. Handing the tumbler to Matthew, he murmured, "I'd expect you could use this."
Matthew accepted the glass, taking a grateful swallow. He looked around at the family. "I do apologize for having inflicted that conversation on you. It was necessary, it needed to be said, but it didn't have to be here, tonight; it should have been done privately. Please forgive me."
"My boy—," Robert began.
"Nonsense!" Violet's voice rang out across the room. She pushed up from her chair and crossed the room to Matthew, her eyes never leaving his. "Nonsense," she repeated, leaning on her cane as she reached out and gave his shoulder a pat. "It did need to be said," she stated firmly. "And you spoke for us all."
.
The tension of the drawing room soon fell away as the family gathered around the table and ate and drank together, the good news sinking in.
Matthew revealed the mystery of his conversation with Miss Jordan, a mystery now essentially solved. But over the conversation and laughter, the recounting again of the remarkable—seemingly miraculous—changes that had happened, and everyone's wonder at it all, hung the unasked question: would he truly recover?
Mary and Matthew had excused themselves immediately after dinner—they were both completely worn out. They held each other in bed, the room lit only by the slice of moonlight streaming through the crack in the curtains, their bodies exhausted, too tired even to read Alice. But although neither spoke, their minds were spinning, replaying the day, imagining, in spite of themselves, what the future might look like. They couldn't help it; they had fallen down the rabbit hole.
Finally, Matthew kissed the top of Mary's head, saying softly, "Hope is a wonderful and terrifying thing. Perhaps I was too hard on Clarkson."
Mary pushed up on one arm and turned to face him. "No, you weren't," she said firmly, holding his eyes. Then she sighed. "And, yes," she whispered. "It is." After a moment, she settled back against him, her head tucked under his chin, her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. "But at least we'll know soon."
She could feel him shake his head. "That's thing, though. It's possible even Coates won't be able to say." He took her hand and kissed it. "And, he could say that, yes, there's been some repair, but I'll always be in a chair. We must be prepared for that." He paused, running his thumb over her knuckles, then continued, straining to keep his voice steady. "If it's not to be, it will be very, very hard on both of us, we can't pretend it won't."
She turned and pushed up again, a hand reaching to cup his face. "You're right, I want this for you so badly. But my darling, you do know that I love you just as you are now, and I always will," she choked out, a tear running down her cheek.
He cradled her face, his thumb brushing away the tear. "Oh, my love, yes, of course, I know." He pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. "Of course, I know."
Hope is a wonderful and terrifying thing. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.
More progress for Matthew in the next chapter-and Dr. Coates! Thank you for reading-reviews make the strings of my heart go zing!