XX
Mary lovingly watched Matthew cradle their son in his arms. His eyes were closed and his face softened as he touched his cheek to George's ever so gently. The eight month old was fighting sleep. His eyes blinking hard and fast. Matthew quietly crooned a traditional English folk song.
A frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigh ho! says Rowley,
A frog he would a-wooing go,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,
Heigh ho…
They were seated on the old stone wall that had become a favored spot of the couple. Mary had lifted George out of the pram and handed him to Matthew who leaned his body against a support column to more easily balance holding the child.
So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigh ho! says Rowley,
So off he set with his opera hat,
And on the road he met with a rat,
With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach…
"I've never heard of that one," Mary said.
"Father used to sing it around the surgery as he was doing busywork like disinfecting the instruments or arranging his daily schedule of visits. I'd sometimes help out during school holidays."
She noticed his wistful look. "It's a lovely way to include him in George's life."
He gave a half smile. "He'd have loved the little chap. Mother of course is over the moon."
"So is Papa."
She saw Matthew's face scowl briefly and then return to a more even expression before he hoped Mary saw.
But she did.
"I wish you two would work out your differences."
Matthew shifted to get a better grasp of the child.
Mary instinctively reached out in case Matthew lost his balance.
"I'm fine," Matthew reassured quietly. "Is he asleep?"
She couldn't help but feel a pinch of concern but was relieved Matthew didn't mind her wariness. One of the things she had opened up about in the past few months was her fear of him stumbling or losing his grip while holding the baby. She tried to couch it with "I know you won't…" but he had stopped her and said "you have every right to be worried. I don't mind that you keep a cautious eye out. He's precious and you're his mother. We put ourselves into your tender care to make sure that doesn't happen."
So now she just retracted her hands back into her lap. "He's fast asleep."
Matthew continued the thread of their earlier conversation. "I will try harder with Robert but he still thinks I should just hand him over money on his word alone that it will be well invested." He scoffed slightly. "I just can't. You know I can't. Reggie's money can't be thrown away on a whim."
"Maybe when we get back from Cannes we can make a start on the accounting books," Mary answered indifferently.
He looked skeptical and said guardedly, "Will you really want to go over them? It might end with some aspects of the way things have been done that we might not be quite sure about."
"Is that your diplomatic way of saying you suspect Jarvis of fiddling the books?"
"I'm afraid it is," Matthew answered honestly. "Or at the very least that he's let things go that can no longer be allowed."
"Papa doesn't like hearing that about trusted family retainers. He's very loyal."
Matthew's mouth tightened. "He can keep his head in the sand about it but if he has any hope of modernizing the estate it's got to be done."
"Noses will be put out of joint. I'm not sure I want to be a part of that." Mary's voice was sounding strained.
Matthew heard it. "Let's not talk about it now," he relented. "I want our time in France to be free of any discord."
Mary breathed a sigh of relief. "Anna finished packing my trunks. She said Lang would have them all taken down so Hodgkins can drive them to the station in time for our departure in the morning."
"The agent at Thomas Cook and Son said that the chatelaine has been informed of our arrival time." He had been pleased at the selection of the Villa Belle Rive for their stay. François-Henri Lavanchy-Clarke, the owner, was a philanthropist as well as business man and had helped found the Swiss Red Cross and opened workshops for the blind after the Franco-Prussian War. As soon as Matthew heard that he knew that was villa for them. As with so much of France the Côte d'Azur was struggling in the wake of war. Fewer returning tourists meant the beautifully set villa had been available for a long stay at a significantly reduced price. He hoped that did not mean spartan accommodations as he wanted to spoil Mary on this vacation.
They both deserved it.
Mary made a move to get up from the stone wall. "Florence will be expecting me back for George's midday meal. She says he grabbed the spoon yesterday and put it in his own mouth and then tried to feed her with it."
Matthew laughed merrily. "What is he eating now?"
"Oatmeal. Peas and cut up carrots or apples and pears. He's becoming quite adventurous."
"Has he any more teeth?"
"His upper incisors have only just broken through." She reached out and took George from Matthew's arms and put him back in the perambulator. Matthew swung his legs over the side of the wall and gingerly stepped down, reaching out for his cane but not finding it in the spot he had rested it.
"It's fallen over," Mary said. She retrieved it from the ground and put it in his hand.
"Thank you darling." Matthew grasped the silver tip. "Perhaps we can steal an hour or two later with him in the nursery before his bedtime? I'd really like to before we leave in the morning."
Matthew had been putting in long hours setting up the Swire Trust for the Employable Blind on the estate and had not been able to spend as much time with George as he wanted. When they returned from France he intended to pull back and allow the new chairman Trevor Sanderling to get everything ready for the grand opening set for October. Trevor was a legally blind veteran who had come highly recommended by Sir Arthur Pearson at St. Dunstan's who said the young man had a head for business and a heart of gold. Matthew offered him the position and he had accepted. Gwen Dawson had also agreed to the post of office manager and was already proving an asset in getting the administrative end of things organized in the cottage set aside as the main office.
"I have to finish a letter to Sybil and meet Mama for tea with Granny. How much longer will you be?"
He reached out and felt the arm of the pram and guided his fingers towards his son's blanket and then finally his little fingers and face. Gave George a last kiss on the cheek. "Bye bye Georgie boy."
The baby started to fuss so he knew Mary had to get him back for his lunch. He turned to Mary.
"I shouldn't be more than a few hours. Trevor and I are meeting the builders who are finishing up the braille classroom and then with Hanson who was kind enough to come up from London to work on the model farm and woodshop."
She moved closer and touched his arm. Matthew leaned in and she met her lips to him.
"Until later."
XX
The nursery maid Florence met Mary in the salon of Downton to retrieve Master George and take him back upstairs. Mary gave her son a kiss and walked into the small library to the desk where she had left her letter to Sybil half finished.
She missed her sister so far away in Ireland. And she worried as the news from Dublin had become more and more prone to political unrest. But she knew enough to keep her correspondence light. Sybil liked being in the thick of things and didn't want her sister fussing.
…
Edith is once again on bedrest now that she's less than a month from her delivery date. She's itching to get back to working on the estate but Dr. Clarkson is adamant she remain well rested in case of any complications. She's really not had the easiest last few months with bouts of severe nausea so we're all on the doctor's side. Mama tries to visit her every other day and we are all eager to welcome a little cousin to George.
Mary expected a letter any day from Sybil saying that she was with child and wondered how their father would react to having a Catholic grandchild. Another worry for another day.
She continued to write
Speaking of George, he's getting so big! He's about ready to start crawling as he pushes himself around the nursery floor on his stomach, little grunts of exertion making everyone laugh. Matthew asks all sorts of questions about George's development. His face light's up when George wraps his little arms around his papa's neck. He won't say anything because he's determined to always be cheerful so that George won't ever believe his father distant or detached, but I see shadows cross his face every so often as he realizes George has grown and changed so much from the night he was born. We don't really speak of it. He will get down on the floor alongside George and carefully feel around and build tall towers out of blocks and then knock them down just to listen to George clap and make this delightful gurgling sound. When you visit next you must see this for yourself.
I'm not sure how Matthew will take being parted from George but we're off to the south of France tomorrow via the Brighton Railway leaving from Victoria at 10:00 in the morning. We'll catch the ferry and the boat train to Paris late tomorrow evening and then switch to another train from St. Lazare finally reaching Cannes in the afternoon of the following day. A long couple days travel but Matthew's found a villa called Belle Rive just a few minutes' walk to the beach so it sounds ideal. I hope the weather will not be too hot. There are concerts at night. And the casinos. I admit to a certain curiosity but Matthew is such a conscientious bean counter I doubt he'd approve of any frivolous gambling.
I do know he's looking forward to having some time alone. Living at Downton alongside Papa has not always been easy for him. I do wish they could put aside their differences. Matthew had wanted to call in Mr. Murray to look over the estate accounts as he knows I'm reluctant to interfere in Papa's business but I put a stop to that. We should not look outside the family for help. Papa must be involved at every step or he will be humiliated. In time Matthew will understand.
I will write when we are settled at the villa,
Your loving sister,
Mary
She rose from the desk chair, walked into the salon to drop her letter off on salver for the post, and stepped into the larger library hearing her grandmother's voice, "Spratt is quite the diva."
Mary knew that was the new butler at the Dower House.
"He's even more a snob than I am." She tittered in light laughter.
"Will Matthew be joining us?" Cora turned to her daughter.
Mary sat down across from two older women. "No. Not today. He's finishing up at the cottages before our trip tomorrow."
Robert opened the door to join the family. Hearing the last part of Mary's announcement, he said "when will they be finished? All these builders traipsing about on the estate. Mama's car was held up on the drive just now…"
Violet turned to her son. "Don't put me in the middle. We must all help our brave boys. Matthew spoke to me about it at length about what he hoped to accomplish. It's quite ambitious and can only bring honour on the Crawley name."
"Swire more like," Robert continued to grouse. "He's named it after him."
"Do stop this nonsense, Robert or I will take away your sweets as I did when you whinged as a little boy. It is his money but it's on our estate. Matthew told me they intend to call the location Downton Hall."
"See Papa." Mary gave her father a mollifying kiss on the cheek. "Besides you won't have to endure it much longer. Matthew says they will have the grand opening in a fortnight with the residents moving in shortly after."
"How many?"
"About twenty at first I believe."
Another long-suffering groan from her father.
"Papa you've been very obliging, don't change now. Matthew assures me no one in the house will even know they are on the estate. It's completely autonomous after the side road is laid down."
"It's all in a worthy cause," Robert admitted. "It's just that Downton has existed for hundreds of years in perfect harmony. I hope these changes won't be too disruptive."
Mary said nothing but knew Matthew intended more far reaching changes for the estate if it was to survive.
"I do have some news as well." Robert turned towards his daughter. "I've got word from Jackson that Brompton Farms has some very strong hunters and he has eye on two or three chestnuts. Now that they're no longer being mobilized we should take a look. Berkeley and Adams have been onto me to start the hunt again."
Mary, despite her irritation with her father regarding Matthew's ventures, was intrigued. Now that George was older and she had returned to her old self she longed to return to the chase. Diamond had been requisitioned and almost immediately killed at Mons in 1914. She had gotten word of this only because the cavalryman recognized the horse as one he admired the previous year at a hunt in Yorkshire. To her sorrow Mary had not remembered the young man at all whom she later learned lost his life at the same battle. Patrick didn't like her talking with male members of the hunting parties before the war. He was ever concerned with appearances.
"Can they wait until after our return?"
"I'll drop a word we're interested." Robert knew that their shared passion in the hunt would return Mary's good graces. "We might start again in October or November if we can get enough mounts."
Mary's pulse started to race at the mere thought.
XX
Matthew soaked in the warmth of Cannes. It had been chilly and dampish in Yorkshire and he had been looking forward to the sun. Everyone said don't go to Cannes in the dog days of summer but by late September the worst had given way. To an Englishman not prone to being a mad dog going out in the midday sun the temperatures were just perfect.
Mary and Anna were inside. Anna finishing up the unpacking of the trunks and Mary talking with the chatelaine on the daily schedule for their stay. Mary's French was delightful on his ears. Her confidence built from years of tutoring and travels. His own language skills were more scattered. He had learned Latin and Greek at school though he struggled to pick up classic works in Braille, finding it easier to learn through speaking. His German was proficient and his conversational French was good, though tinged with words from a regional dialect as one of his friends at school was Provençal, a native of Marseilles who rebelled against the eradication of the old languages in his native region by learning some of the old tongue from his nanny much to the chagrin of his progressive parents. Matthew had found the differences in pronunciation and word usage fascinating.
He was seated on a large wrought iron chair on the open corner terrace, the heat tempered a bit by a fig trees overhanging the villa. Lang had finished unpacking and was working on organizing the rooms at the back set aside for himself and Anna. There was a hired cook for daily meals taken at the villa while they also hoped to dine out frequently at restaurants along the promenade of La Croisette Boulevard.
"Settling in?" Mary walked through from the interior. She approached Matthew and gently touched her hand to his back. He noticeably relaxed and she began to run her hand up and down.
They had arrived later than expected the previous night and went immediately to bed. This morning they were finally getting organized.
"I am." He lifted his head. She bent down and kissed him. Matthew struggled to remember the correct phrasing, "Je… T'aimi de tout meu cor…. mon Cœur…er…" He started to laugh as her lips tickled. René had tried to teach him some Provençal love poems and he was getting the words mixed up with his knowledge of standardized French.
Je t'aime de tout mon Cœur…" Mary responded in the Metropolitan dialect.
"Oui…" Matthew continued kissing while speaking.
"Tu dis ça à toutes les filles," Mary jested.
"Non, non…" Matthew's mouth covered hers in a cavernous kiss. "Seulement toi…"
Matthew lifted her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder. It was their favorite embrace. She knew he loved the feel of her body sideways next to his.
"We should try to make an international call later to make sure George is sleeping without us saying good night."
Mary loved Matthew's wistful voice. "Do you miss him already?"
Matthew had to admit, "Yes." But then he said, kissing her again. "I like this as well."
He snuggled closer.
"What shall we do today?"
"Maybe a stroll along the boulevard?" Matthew suggested.
"After being cooped up in that train for so long it sounds just the thing."
They set out after a petit dejeuner of café and croissants.
"It's a beautiful day." Mary said casually. Then wondered if that was something she should be saying. "I mean…" hesitating she paused.
She felt Matthew's arm slide down. "Don't…" He spoke quietly but firmly.
"What?"
They stopped.
He squeezed her hand. "Don't pull back your words on my account. You don't have to do that. Do what you want. Speak what's on your mind always."
Mary then shocked him by kissing his lips lightly then with more purpose.
"Darling," he teased. "Out in public?"
"You said to do what I want." Mary brushed a stray lock of hair away from his cheek. He was just so very handsome.
Matthew pursed his lips and looked pensively out over the water. "There are so many things I'm going to miss out on. I'll never seen the Mediterranean in the morning. I've been told it's so iridescent it dazzles and hurts those that gaze upon it."
Mary delicately ran her fingertip down his cheek. "Your eyes are the same colour as the water. Every time I look at you I will remember this place. This day."
"Mon Cœur…" He turned, kissing the palm of her hand as it rested on his cheek.
They continued walking.
"Have you a choice for a restaurant? I've been told of a place at the Hotel Carlton, La Belle Otero."
"Rosamund told me about the hotel." Mary shaded her eyes with her hand. "I believe it's right up there. You can't really miss it." The imposing structure dominated the skyline.
Matthew started to laugh.
"What is it?"
He flushed red as he answered. "It's said that the domes on the corners of the hotel were designed using the …erm… the rather shapely endowments of 'la Belle Otero' that is Carolina Otero the famous Spanish courtesan as the model."
"And how do you know so much about it?" Mary needled, loving his embarrassment.
He licked his lips cheekily. "Didn't I tell you about that misadventure in Paris during the war?"
She smacked his arm. "Oh you…"
He chortled. "There's a lot of idle talk in the mess. Stories get spread. Should we try out the restaurant?"
"Only if we can go to the Casino Municipal after…" Mary could tease right back. "I've heard it's got the best gaming tables on the Riviera."
"The casino?" Matthew clearly took a dim view of that possibility. "You want to gamble?"
It was Mary's turn to laugh. "Papa is right. You are a middle-class bean counter."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Matthew's mouth twitched in amusement. "The middle classes have their virtues. Understanding the value of money is one of them. Your granny's prohibition against such talk as vulgar notwithstanding."
"We didn't always have to keep on top of it," Mary admitted ruefully. "The war changes many things."
She sounded so forlorn all of a sudden, Matthew relented. "Do you really want to go?"
"Just for a bit. It would be a shame to go to Cannes and not visit one." Her voice getting excited once more.
"If you really want to…"
Mary giggled and pecked his cheek. "Thank you darling."
He gave her a puckish grin. "You better win."
"I fully intend to do just that."
They clasped arms again and continued their turn along the boulevard.
XX
"It's what I'd expect the ninth circle of Dante's hell to sound like," Matthew observed dryly as they made their way through the casinos' doorway and handed their coats to the attendant.
'Shush," Mary said. "You'll love it."
Matthew felt himself jostled by a group making their way towards the exit. They laughed raucously and smelled of cigars and alcohol.
"What shall we play?" He offered gamely. "Baccarat? I've no idea what the rules are…"
"Roulette," Mary decided firmly.
"A game of utter chance?" He sounded aghast at the very notion.
"All the more reason." Mary took him by the hand and led him to the table.
The croupier called out "Faites vos jeux…" as they approached.
A shuffle of sounds. Then "rien ne va plus…"
Matthew heard the bounce of the ball as the wheel spun. It fell into a pocket.
"Rouge vingt-deux."
Then a series of moans or gleeful claps. Someone lost. And someone won.
Mary put some chips down on a colored square. She had changed money for some earlier.
"What did you do?" Matthew asked.
"Noir trente-six."
Matthew waited for the croupier to spin.
Mary groaned. "No win."
"Try a lower number," Matthew said confidently. "A manqué. Say rouge deux."
"Why?"
He shrugged insouciantly. "I have a feeling."
Faites vos jeux…"
She did so.
"Rien ne va plus…"
The ball skipped and the wheel spun.
"Rouge deux," the croupier called.
Matthew grinned smugly. Mary was astonished.
"I thought you didn't like gambling?" She bantered.
He wrinkled his nose in faux disgust then said, "I hate losing."
Mary rolled her eyes and placed another bet.
They played several more rounds and quit before they lost. Matthew gathered the winnings and they sauntered out onto the balcony and sat down to get away from the noise inside. Matthew put up his hand in hopes of waving over a waiter to order a bottle of champagne.
One was nearby and very soon it arrived.
"To you my sweetest Mary." Matthew raised his flute. "I never knew this kind of love was possible."
Mary reached out to touch his glass. "I feel the same my darling."
They finished the bottle and started to walk out after gathering their coats. The night had turned chilly and Matthew put his arm around Mary's waist.
He staggered ever so slightly.
"Are you tipsy?" Mary asked, then burped to her horror.
Matthew snorted in delight. "No more than you my dear." He slurred the last part of the sentence.
"We should go straight back to the villa and go to bed." Mary covered her mouth before another fizzy burp slipped out.
Matthew gave her a wicked side eye. "You read my mind. I intend to do just that."
"What?" She moved closer to hear him better.
He whispered in her ear. "Take you to bed."
Mary felt a shiver of desire shoot through her as his hot breath met her skin.
He paused for effect. "But I've no intention of sleeping..."
XX
Rated M chapter next😊. Forgive my French (all blame to me not my darling beta) and all mistakes on roulette. I tried my best.