The more Robert thought about Sybil's pregnancy, the more he got used to the idea and the more excited he became. He decided to invite Sybil and Tom for Christmas, a decision which surprised and delighted the rest of the family.
He had decided to have a traditional Christmas like the ones before the war, with guests, and shooting on New Year's day, and a Christmas tree, and everything else that they had not been able to have during the war, and then because of the fact that Downton had still been convalescent home the year before.
Robert and Cora enthusiastically drew up guest lists, and Robert discussed the shooting at length with the gamekeeper.
"Don't you think people may have had enough shooting for one lifetime?" Cora cautioned him, when she saw the number of proposed guests for the shoot who had fought in the war.
Robert thought for a minute, then shook his head.
"It's different. That was war, this is sport. And that is what we have always done on New Year's day."
Cora looked unconvinced, but kept quiet. Once Robert had decided to keep tradition, there wasn't much she could ever do to change his mind. If she tried, he would only say that she was American and didn't understand.
"Do you think Tom can shoot?" he asked.
Cora smiled to herself. If it turned out that Tom was a good shot, it was likely Robert's opinion of him would improve vastly.
"I don't know. I doubt he's ever shot pheasants before though," she said. Robert thought for a minute.
"What about Anthony?" he asked.
"With one arm? I very much doubt it, Robert. He couldn't hold the gun up," Cora replied.
"It's a shame. He used to be such a good shot," Robert sighed. He though for another minute, and Cora guessed what his next question would be before he asked it.
"What about Matthew?" he asked.
"I don't know why you think I would know Robert. Can you shoot sitting down?" Cora answered.
"I don't see why not," Robert said thoughtfully. "Yes, it seems entirely possible. Should I find Mary and ask her?"
Cora rolled her eyes. She doubted they would hear any conversation from Robert that wasn't about shooting for a long time.
"Yes, go on Robert. And I'll write to Sybil about Tom. I'm sure he could have a go, even if he hasn't done it before."
Robert went to Mary and Matthew's sitting room and knocked on the door. It was the place he was most likely to find one, if not both of them. He opened the door when he heard Matthew's voice saying 'come in'.
Matthew was sitting at the desk working. Mary was sitting on the sofa reading a book. She set it down when Robert came in and smiled at him.
"Papa! It's unusual to see you in here," she said.
"I wanted to talk to you, Mary. You're usually in here."
"We shall have to go somewhere else if you wish to speak to me, Papa. Matthew is working," Mary said. Hearing her, Matthew twisted around in his chair to look at them and said,
"Oh, don't worry. Don't let me drive you out."
Robert still couldn't understand why Matthew worked when there really was no need to, but he had given up trying to understand a long time ago.
"No, it's alright. You look busy, my boy. I rather fancy a walk in the garden; it's quite fine, for the time of year. We'll leave you in peace," he said amiably, and Mary stood up. She went over to Matthew and kissed him quickly on the cheek, making Robert smile as he watched their easy intimacy.
"This is all rather mysterious, Papa," Mary said when they were out in the garden.
"Oh, it's nothing exciting or mysterious really. You know we're holding the New Year's Day shoot again this year?"
"Yes Papa. You've talked about nothing else for the last few days," Mary said, smiling but still curious.
"I was wondering whether, erm, whether Matthew could take part. Do you think he could?" Robert asked hopefully.
"Well, to be honest, I should think he's probably had enough shooting for one lifetime. But I suppose it is possible to shoot sitting down. Ask him," Mary said.
"I will. I just though I ought to ask you first. So he wouldn't be embarrassed if he had to say he couldn't."
Mary smiled at her father and shook her head.
"You needn't tiptoe around him like this, Papa. But anyway, I can predict precisely what he will say. First, he will say it would cause too much trouble for everyone. Then, if you suggest that perhaps he couldn't do it or that it would tire him out too much, he will say he'll be fine. But I think as long as William can get his chair to the right place, he should manage. Ask him at dinner," she said. "Just… try not to make him feel as if he has to, Papa. I mean, it would be perfectly understandable if he never wanted to hold a gun again. And it was hardly his favourite activity even before."
"Of course I won't make him feel he has to. And shooting for sport is very different from shooting in a war. I just thought it would be enjoyable."
"Like I said, ask him."
Robert nodded, and went back to the house. Mary went to sit on her favourite bench and enjoyed the weak sunlight after the rain they had been having for weeks. Whatever her father said, she knew he would almost certainly make Matthew feel that he ought to go shooting. She knew perfectly well that although it was true her father wanted everyone to enjoy themselves, and that his idea of enjoyment was shooting, it was also true that he was going to take this opportunity to show off his new sons-in-law to all the guests.
But perhaps it would be alright. Perhaps Papa was right that shooting for sport was not the same as war.
Robert asked Matthew at dinner that night as Mary had suggested, and Mary didn't even bother trying to stifle her laughter when Matthew answered exactly as she had predicted.
"Perhaps you should go out once at least before New Year," she suggested, and Robert and Matthew agreed. They would go out the following week, and shoot the first birds of the season.
"Got one!" Matthew shouted triumphantly as he saw a pheasant fall from the sky and into the trees. He still felt the sorrow when he killed one of the birds. It seemed such a shame to kill them just for sport. But their death was quick and they were raised for this purpose. It seemed ridiculous to be sad about a few birds after what he had seen and done in the war…
But he had told himself he wouldn't think about that now.
"Well done," Robert shouted encouragingly, and Matthew smiled. This was only the first one he could be sure he had hit, and they had been out for a while. Robert was being very helpful and encouraging, but Matthew knew he wasn't much good. At least he could actually do this; he hadn't expected to be able to do any of these country sports again. He didn't particularly enjoy shooting, but he knew Robert wanted to show off his three new sons-in-law over Christmas and New Year, and didn't want to let Robert down.
Robert fired another shot, and hit his target. Matthew fired again and missed again. Then Robert handed his shotgun to his loader.
"Shall we call it a day?" he asked.
"Yes, if you want. I suppose it must be getting rather late. I have managed a grand total of one, or possibly two," Matthew replied.
Robert walked over to him and patted his shoulder.
"That's not so bad. Perhaps we could go out again before New Year," he said.
"I'd like that," Matthew replied. And it was true; despite the fact he didn't enjoy the actual shooting, and the fact that he was not very good at it, he had enjoyed spending the day with Robert. It reminded him of the days he spend with his father when he was young, when they had left behind the streets of Manchester for the countryside. He remembered fishing and riding and how he had adored and almost worshipped his father, thinking him to be the cleverest and most interesting man in the world. It was not the same with Robert, of course; he did not have that childish devotion to him that he had had to his father. But Robert was the closest thing he had to a father now and they really had had a good day.
He was, however, glad they were going back to the house now. As William pushed him back to the waiting car, each jolt because of the uneven ground caused pain to shoot through his lower back. His shoulders were aching too, and he was gritting his teeth without realising it.
Mary was at the door to meet them when they returned. She had been expecting Matthew to be tired and cold, and had had Anna run a hot bath ready for him. She bit her lip when she saw his grimace as William lifted him out of the car. She went to push his chair, thinking he looked rather too tired to do it himself.
"There's a hot bath waiting for you inside," she said. Matthew smiled appreciatively.
"You have no idea how welcome that news is!" he said tiredly.
"How did you do?" she asked.
"How do you think? You know I've always been a bad shot. My grand total was one. But I enjoyed it. Robert did too, but then, I doubt he could even keep count of how many he got," Matthew said, making Mary smile.
Matthew sighed with pleasure as he sank back in the hot water. The warmth was welcome after a day spent outside in the cold winter wind, and it soothed his sore muscles. He closed his eyes and relaxed. He was so very tired…
"Don't fall asleep, darling," Mary teased, and she reached out and splashed him with the bath water. He opened his eyes and splashed her back.
"Matthew!" she said indignantly, "I'm dressed! You can't splash someone who's fully dressed."
"You shouldn't sit next to the bath then," he replied, unrepentant. "Anyway, you'll have to change for dinner soon enough."
He began to wash himself and Mary watched him, loving watching his body. She loved him so very much; the smooth suppleness of his skin, the strength of his muscular arms and torso, every inch of his body. We might be able to have children, she thought as she looked through the water at that part of his body. That seemed to be all she could think about at the moment, and she suspected it was the same for him, considering the frequency with which he suggested they 'experiment'.
She reached out and stroked his hair, then moved on to massaging his shoulders. He stopped washing himself and relaxed.
"I'll be in here all night if you carry on like that," he said, although really, he wished she would never stop. But Mary drew away, teasing him. He twisted around and reached out to pull her back towards him, but slipped somehow and cried out as he felt himself slipping down into the water. He'd momentarily forgotten how hard it was to balance without his lower body.
Mary stood up and caught him in time, and stayed with her arms around him for a minute.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"Fine," he said, feeling embarrassed and a little foolish. Then he looked at Mary as she stood back, and laughed.
"What?" she said. Matthew gestured towards her clothes. She looked down and realised she was soaking wet. "Oh. That," she said, and laughed.
"Can I splash you as much as I like now?" Matthew asked mischievously.
"No," Mary replied, "you'll make the floor wet and slippery."
"Come and join me then," Matthew said. "Come on, you're so wet already."
Mary looked at him, and couldn't resist. She slowly took off her wet clothes, and her dry ones, Matthew watching transfixed, and climbed into the opposite end of the bath from Matthew.
"Come here," he said, and reached out to pull her closer. She turned and carefully parted his legs before sitting between them and leaning back onto his warm body. He ran his hands up and down her thighs and arms and back, and she turned around to kiss him.
"I do love you, you know," she said when she drew away, "even when you splash me."
They lost track of time, forgetting about dinner and oblivious to the fact that the bath water was getting cold, until they were both startled by William's voice calling through the door,
"Are you ready to get out, sir? Mr Carson's rung the dressing gong."
Mary sat up straight. Was it that time already?
"Yes, just a moment, William. Lady Mary's with me," Matthew called back. They had long ago given up pretending for William and Anna.
Mary climbed out of the bath and found a towel, then went through into her bedroom, where Anna was waiting for her.
She and Matthew dressed in rather a hurry, and were still a little late for dinner. Neither Robert nor Cora commented on this though.
Dinner was rather quiet, as it often was these days now it was only the four of them. Robert and Cora had a conversation about who to invite for New Years Eve, and Mary and Matthew half-listened, being no more than mildly interested in who would be there.
When Mary and Cora went through to the drawing room, Robert went to sit next to Matthew. He carried on talking enthusiastically about going out shooting again soon, and about the guests who were coming for New Year, but when he realised Matthew sounded less enthusiastic, he trailed off and looked hard at his son-in-law.
"I haven't tired you out have I? Are you alright?" he asked.
"It's been a long day. But I'm alright. Just a bit tired," Matthew replied, taking a sip of brandy.
"Don't let me keep you up. Go to bed if you're tired. I'll tell Mary," Robert said concernedly, but Matthew shook his head, and Robert didn't press him. But he did suggest they go through to the ladies rather sooner than he would otherwise have done.
Almost as soon as the men came through, Mary said she was going to bed, knowing Matthew would come with her.
When they were in bed, Mary gave him a thorough massage, and Matthew felt the pain in his back and shoulders begin to ease, and it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep.
The guns were banging deafeningly loudly, but not quite loud enough to block out the screams of terror and pain. Explosions were going off in every direction, so he couldn't tell which way to run. He heard something behind him and turned to see a German soldier rushing at him with a bayonet fixed to the front of his shotgun. He reached for his own gun, and just in time, managed to shoot before the man reached him. The blood sprayed everywhere, but when it reached the ground, it disappeared in the pools of red already there.
Then someone was shouting at him to run; they were coming, the voice said. He realised he had fallen over at some point and was lying on his back in the mud and the blood. There was more shouting, but the guns were too loud. He tried to get up, to stand up and run, but he couldn't. He was stuck in the mud, he thought at first. But he looked down and saw that he wasn't. Then why couldn't he move his legs? He tried again, but nothing happened. He knew from some primitive instinct that they, the enemy, were approaching. They would be here soon, and then he would be dead. He had to get up and run, but now his arms wouldn't move either. He lay there helpless, waiting for death, desperately willing his limbs to obey his mind, but finding that they wouldn't.
Then the sound of the guns got louder, and above then, the sound of the high-pitched whistle that meant the enemy were attacking. They were coming, and there was nothing he could do. He tried to turn his head, so he could at least see them coming, but found that even that wouldn't move now. He was totally paralysed and all he could do was listen as he heard them come closer and closer, firing shots in every direction, one of which was bound to hit him… And then they were there, and he felt their heavy boots treading on his helpless body, and there was nothing he could do…
Matthew woke from his dream, and couldn't remember where he was, or what was real. All he knew was that he had to get up and run, because they were coming for him. He sat up and tried to stand, but his legs still wouldn't obey him. He tried to roll sideways and swing his legs around, but something went wrong and he felt himself falling, then hitting the floor with a thud.
Mary woke up, terrified as one is when one is woken by a loud noise. She sat up and turned to look at Matthew, but he wasn't in bed. She shook herself to wake herself up properly, leaned over, and saw Matthew on the floor. She got up and rushed around the bed to him.
"Darling! What happened? Are you alright?" she asked frantically.
The fall had woken Matthew properly, and everywhere he could feel seemed to hurt.
"I… I had a dream, a nightmare. There was so much blood… They were coming for me, I had to get up and run, but I couldn't…" he said almost too quickly for Mary to understand.
"Hush, darling. You're safe now, I've got you. You're home, with me. Nobody's coming for you. It's over, my darling, it's all over," Mary said comfortingly, holding him in her arms.
His whole body was shaking with violent sobs. Mary rubbed his back like she had done when he was ill in the hospital and held him tight in an attempt to contain and stop the shaking.
Slowly, the sobbing subsided, and Mary drew away a little to look him in the eye.
"You're safe, Matthew. I'm here. You're safe. I love you," she said gently. He looked back at her. She saw with relief that his eyes had lost the terror and confusion she had seen in them earlier.
"I'm sorry. It was just so… real," he said quietly. Over the past months, his nightmares had decreased in frequency, but not in intensity.
"You do not need to apologise, my darling. Now, have you hurt yourself anywhere?" Mary asked, deciding that the best way to calm Matthew down was to be calm and methodical about it. She helped him sit up, leaning against the bed, and checked his whole body to see if he'd been hurt in the fall, her touch gentle and soothing. Thankfully, he seemed to be alright. She breathed a sigh of relief.
"I think you're alright. I expect your legs will be bruised, but, well…"
"I can't feel it. It's fine," he said calmly.
"You gave me such a fright! Was it… the war?" Mary asked.
"I can't remember a bad dream that wasn't about the war," Matthew replied.
"The shooting yesterday. Reminded you, I suppose," Mary said.
"I don't need reminding," Matthew said darkly. "It was just… the noise. I thought, yesterday, that I could put it out of my mind, the war. But I'll never be able to do that. I seems so long ago, but the memories are as fresh as if it had been yesterday."
Mary felt her heart clench in sympathy for him, and leaned closer to kiss him gently. At first he didn't return the kiss, but then his mouth responded, and they kissed properly.
"Right," Mary said, suddenly taking charge. "You need to get back on the bed. We can't stay on the floor until William comes."
"What time is it?" Matthew asked.
"Early morning. Five, six o'clock? Come on. How are we going to do this? I don't think I can lift you all the way onto the bed. Can you pull yourself up a bit?"
Matthew tried to pull himself up, holding onto the side of the bed, but he couldn't do it. Then Mary tried lifting him, despite his protestations that he was far too heavy for her, but that didn't work either.
"Looks like I'm stuck here until William comes then," Matthew said.
"We could ring the bell. Or I could go and find someone. Some of the servants will be up by now," Mary suggested.
"No. They'll be busy, and I expect William is still in bed."
Mary thought for a minute, then took all the pillows off the bed and put them on the floor. Then she went and brought the cushions from the sofa and armchairs next door and put them with the cushions.
"Come on. We'll lie on these together. More comfortable than the floor," she said.
They lay together on the mattress of cushions until Anna came in to wake them. She stared at them on the floor, looking so astounded and confused, Mary had to laugh.
"It's a long story, Anna," she said, and Anna nodded, still looking confused. "Would you help me lift Matthew onto the bed?"
Anna nodded, and together, they managed it, and all three of them were laughing by the time they had. Anna picked up the cushions and pillows and returned them to where they belonged.
Mary and Matthew drank their tea in bed together, as if nothing had happened.
"I don't suppose I could persuade you not to go shooting with Papa again?" Mary asked, without much confidence.
"No. I doubt the same thing will happen again. Sorry about all that. I expect you were fast asleep before I woke you."
"You have nothing to apologise for. Anyway, I don't think I've lain on the floor since I was a very small child. It was… fun," Mary said.
"Have I ever told you how magnificent you are, Mary?"
"Once or twice. But you can never say things like that enough times."
"Fine. Mary, you are magnificent and I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"And I love you, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Now kiss me, if you're so insistent on apologising," Mary said playfully, and he did.