A/N: Happy Monday! As promised, here is Part 2 of ATiL's 2x07. Actually, there's nothing directly from the episode here but it's definitely within the time-frame, and there's a certain crossover... as you will see.

Thanks so much for your responses to Chapter 25 :) I appreciate them so much. And huge thanks to EOlivet for making sure my Robert was on track, here. (Though as Silvestria helpfully pointed out to me; Robert seemed so OOC for most of S2 anyway that who could really tell!)

Basically, I hope this works..!

Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Six

By breakfast the next morning, the sense of elation that still bubbled around the great house showed no signs of fading. Matthew simply couldn't remember being happier in his life.

He had a wife, children, he had his health, he had freedom, prospects – he had everything. As Mary sat next to him at the long table, he couldn't keep the smile from his face, and neither could she. And it was infectious; Edith, Sybil and Robert all grinned into their coffee as well, as they talked mindlessly of the future and of plans that could now be made.

Matthew speared the last of his salmon onto his fork, chewing contemplatively, when the atmosphere of peaceful joy was shattered by Mabel and Catherine dashing across the room, Miss Ludbrook hovering with a smile in the doorway.

"Beg pardon, my Lord – Mr. Crawley, they were anxious to see you, I hope you don't mind –"

"Goodness, no!" Matthew laughed, turning to greet them.

"Papa –"

"Miss Ludbrook says you was wanting to see us, Papa!"

"I always want to see you both, darling," he grinned, lifting Mabel to sit on the edge of the table, and then Catherine, kissing them each softly on the cheek as he did so.

"B'ekfast!" Catherine grinned, grabbing a fistful of eggs from Mary's plate beside her. "Oh –" She frowned as Mary tutted softly, wiping her hand before she had a chance to enjoy it.

"Kit, look!" Mabel patted her arm impatiently. Her eyes grew impossibly wide as Matthew slowly stood from his chair, Mary's hand supportively under his elbow.

Mabel pressed her hands together, a little frown creasing her brow. "But Papa, what about you's chair!"

Matthew chuckled gently. "Do you know, Bel… I reckoned the war's been over quite long enough, now, for me not to need it any more. What do you think?"

Catherine peered, blinking as she chewed the lacy cuff of her dress, not quite realising what the fuss was even as Mabel began to squirm excitedly.

"That's – good, yes?" she grinned up at her father, an earnest light shining in her clear blue eyes.

"My darling, it's very – very good," Matthew beamed.

"Ve'y good!" Catherine echoed, clapping her hands excitably.

"I think they rather approve," Sybil laughed from across the table, as Matthew eased back into his seat with Catherine happily in his lap.

However, it was at breakfast only a week later that the atmosphere of happiness in the house was utterly, completely destroyed.

Everything was quite as usual. Matthew had walked himself from his wheelchair to the table, not quite ready yet to manage the whole journey from the bedroom on his feet, even with his new cane and Mary's support. Quiet chatter bounced back and forth over the table; Sybil was going in to Ripon for a meeting, Matthew might go with her to visit the old firm, Edith suggested she might drive them. Why not bring the girls along, Mary wondered; they could all make a day of it. Robert had some letters to write then some tenants to see about farm use; he'd talk over it with Matthew later on.

But first, he wanted…

"Carson," Robert twisted round to where the butler stood quietly by the door. "Haven't the papers come, yet?"

A beat passed before Carson answered. "They – well – I believe they're downstairs, my Lord." A bead of sweat appeared on his brow, a definite air of discomfort about him. Sensing this shift, the family turned curious glances to him.

"Well whatever are they doing down there, still?" Robert frowned. This wasn't like Carson at all. "Have them brought up at once!"

"I'm – not sure that would be best just now –" Carson tried. A coldness seemed to settle over the room. Mary was convinced he had glanced at her. No. She couldn't imagine that… She turned to Matthew, but he only frowned back, puzzled.

Robert was losing patience. "Why not, Carson?"

It was absolutely impossible. But it was more, more than any of them could know. The butler's voice dropped.

"I really couldn't say, my Lord. Only – I might bring them to you in the library, in a short while?"

He was being clearly evasive. Robert could not imagine what on earth his hesitation stemmed from, and his patience quickly waned, a note of hardness edging his tone.

"I'd like to see my newspaper now, thank you." Carson had him worried, and he would not wait, would not be ushered and primed by his own staff.

Carson swallowed, and nodded, casting a glance that was almost (definitely) apologetic in Mary's direction as he went out. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, her chest felt tight. It could be anything… Anything. It had been so many years, so much had happened, surely no-one could still care… She almost gasped as Matthew's fingers closed around her hand beneath the table. His grip indicated his thoughts lying along the same path, but it couldn't…

"What on earth do you think it is?" Sybil wondered aloud. "Didn't it seem he was trying to hide something?"

"Sounds like something unsavoury," Edith muttered. Then it suddenly seemed to catch up with her, and she glanced at Mary, too. It couldn't be. Mary's lips trembled as she pressed them together, and she simply shook her head.

"Whatever it is," Robert sighed as he folded his napkin, "I don't see why on earth Carson thinks he should keep it from me."

"Papa –" Mary tried, but Carson had already returned.

The butler's hand seemed to shake as he held the tray out with the Earl's paper. Calmly, Robert took it.

Deafening silence settled over the room; breathless curiosity, quiet dread.

As Robert's eyes flicked over the page, his expression to start with was carefully impassive. His brows knotted, once, his lip curled, then, faint colour touching his cheeks as his eyes scanned down.

"Good Lord," he muttered under his breath. Mary trembled as she watched him, Matthew steady and reassuring beside her, ready to stand by her.

The Earl was too calm. Frighteningly calm. "It seems a vile and thankless thing, for a valet to serve an Earl when his wife's been killed in cold blood," he read slowly.

A deep breath of relief eased from Mary's chest, and a weight lifted from her shoulders. It was about Bates. Of course that was hardly better, but… Thank God. Matthew squeezed her hand.

But then Robert carried on. "Killed, you might ask? Unlikely, it seems. Suicide was the first suggestion. Who would suspect the valet? It might seem too scandalous to attach such a rumour to the great Crawley family. Until the news is brought to light that the Earl of Grantham – more particularly, his eldest daughter – is no stranger to scandal. A secret – of unthinkable proportion – that the unfortunate valet's wife knew."

"My God," Matthew whispered. Mary gasped quietly beside him, her hand covering her mouth as her father lay the newspaper down with trembling hands. His face, at last, was a mask of impenetrable fury.

"Papa –"

"Mary?" Sybil frowned. She didn't understand.

"I have never," the Earl cut sharply across them all. "Never, in my whole life, been more disappointed and – frankly – disgusted, than I am at this moment." His voice suddenly rose as he came to his feet, leaning forwards with his hands desperately gripping the table edge. His cold eyes were fixed squarely on Mary. The very room seemed to shake with his words. "How could you?" he finally shouted. "You stupid, stupid girl!" He shook his head in anger.

"Papa!" Mary cried desperately. "I'm sorry – it was so long ago, I didn't –"

"Cousin Robert, I really think –" Matthew tried to support his wife.

"You knew of this?" His anger turned to Matthew, now; why didn't matter, it was irrational, he couldn't think through his rage.

Matthew's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Yes, I – Mary told me before we married."

"So, you knew what sort of a woman you married," he practically spat. Matthew riled in defence of her.

"I knew her truth, and I loved her anyway; it was only a mistake –"

"A mistake!" Robert scoffed. "And I wonder why you were so forgiving. If you expect me now to believe your claims of propriety about your wedding; I honestly thought –"

"Papa!" Mary could not let him finish the cruel accusation. "How can you possibly imagine –"

"I could never have imagined this from you!" he flung back at her. "I have nothing to say to you. I must speak to Bates." He swept from the room, crumpling the paper into a ball and flinging it over the table to land before Mary's plate, where she could see her own name sickeningly sprawled in print.

Her eyes pressed closed, after a moment of staring at it in horror. And then she fled the room, every limb seeming to tremble, Matthew following her as quickly as he could manage.

After a lengthy, painful discussion with Bates and fevered telephone calls back and forth to London, it transpired that, as suspected, Sir Richard Carlisle was responsible for the publication. Vera Bates had threatened her husband with releasing it (no-one seemed quite sure how he'd even known), but Carlisle had managed to sit on the story while it suited him. With the war on, who would have cared about the younger exploits of the daughter of an Earl, now happily settled with children?

But then, things had changed. The war had ended. Bates' wife had died… Yes, it looked like suicide, but considering the valet's devotion to the Crawley's, the motive was clear. The temptation of the two stories together seemed impossible to resist, and not even a friendship with Lady Rosamund would stand in the way of his profit.

And for that profit, he had thrown the family into scandal, torn their relationships apart, and cast criminal doubt onto his Lordship's valet.

Wearily, Matthew allowed the door to close behind him, leaving Mary exhausted and upset in the cool sanctity of their bedroom. As he wheeled slowly across the hall, he met Sybil at the bottom of the stairs. He'd not seen her since the breakfast table. He smiled weakly when she stopped.

"Oh! Matthew... How's Mary?"

"Drained, and terribly upset," he sighed, but appreciated her asking. A thoughtful frown crossed his face. "You're not shocked," he observed.

Sybil shook her head. "No… I mean, I was – but I just don't see how it can matter now. Such fuss! Over a silly mistake she made seven years ago. I know – I understand that it's terrible for calling question onto Mr. Bates, and it's – bad for the family… But Matthew, why should that matter! The world is changing, it's moving forward! To blame Mary for an act of – passion – so long ago, when she's so happy now… It doesn't seem fair!" Something had released within her. "And as for Papa's insinuation about your – about your marriage, well – he's an unkind fool!"

Matthew couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you…" he smiled gently. "I'm going to speak to him now, actually. Do you know, I – I think Mary would be very glad to see you," he suggested.

"Oh, I'm sure – yes. I'll go and see her now. Good luck with Papa…" She rolled her eyes, smiled reassuringly and went her way.

Matthew figured he'd need it.

Silence reigned for several moments after he went into the library. Lord Grantham was sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. The weight on his shoulders was palpable.

"Lord Grantham –" Matthew began hesitantly.

"Do you know," the Earl interrupted him immediately, "that suspicion of murder is now cast onto Bates?"

Matthew swallowed. "I do. And it's… dreadful, and damned unfortunate, but it's not Mary's fault." This was difficult, horribly difficult.

"Without her foolish actions there would be no story, Matthew. Who knows! Without the knowledge of that story, the late Mrs. Bates would have had nothing to hold over her husband. All this mess started with Mary's foolishness. And now Bates, and we, must pay the price."

Matthew glowered, fighting to keep his voice calm.

"How can you possibly lay this on her? She was – foolish, yes, but if you'd take the time to listen he never gave her very much choice! She could have had no concept of what –"

"Of what consequences there might be?" Robert turned angrily to him. "No, no I don't suppose she could have! She didn't think. And to think, my own wife knew of it – was party to it!" His fist clenched on the desktop.

"It can't have been easy," Matthew swallowed. This was intolerable. His blood boiled at such slander on his wife, from her own father… But fighting would achieve nothing. His tone hardened. "But I think we need to consider what best can be done now, rather than dwelling on –"

"Yes, yes. I've been thinking about that. Murray's looking into things," Robert muttered quietly.

"Good. If you like, I'll –"

"And Cora and I were talking, only the other day, Matthew. Now that you're on your way to recovery – we're all so thankful, of course – we wondered if it mightn't be better for you to take back up in Crawley House. I know you appreciate your independence, and carrying on here isn't the most conducive to that, I'm sure. Your mother would be glad of it, she misses the girls, she must do. Wouldn't you say?"

His eyes glittered coldly, holding Matthew's gaze. The younger man was taken aback, his breaths coming quick and shallow as he unconsciously gripped at the arms of his wheelchair. Of course… Of course. It stung, it stung terribly. But there was no possible argument; nor should there be, only… the barb behind it was bitter.

"Of course," he almost whispered, his expression hard and set, concealing the pain he felt. "We've imposed on you for far too long already. You've been – so kind, to put us up as long as you have."

"It was only right, Matthew."

He was family, of course. But now, with the revelation of Mary's indiscretion, with the trouble it had brought to the family… they were no longer welcome. There was nothing else he could say.

Within the space of a week, they moved back, out of the Abbey. Back home. It really was their home, and they were grateful for it.

To stay at the Abbey, they quickly realised, would have been intolerable anyway. Robert's sense of betrayal was acute. Tension thrummed between he and Cora, making for an unpleasant atmosphere over dinner. He could barely speak to Mary, barely even look at her, which angered Matthew who had to bite his tongue on more than one occasion. Mary was indignant, hurt, furious with Anna – if she'd have only known, she might have done something about it – and couldn't bear the way everyone looked at her (whether it was with pity or shame). Edith was quiet, a sense of guilt and shame pricking at her as she wondered whether it was all her fault for sending that letter. She'd tried to apologise to Mary, and she'd accepted it for what it was worth… which wasn't much. And Sybil seemed to be quietly frustrated by the lot of them.

In fact, the atmosphere had been simply foul. Mabel and Catherine had quickly picked up on it, and become tearful and fussy. It was horrible.

So it was with some relief, then, that the small family settled back into Crawley House with Isobel.

"You don't mind, Mother?" Matthew asked, for the hundredth time.

"Of course not, of course not my dear," Isobel fussed. She'd been shocked as well, admittedly – almost horrified at the secret, and that Matthew had known all this time. It very nearly changed her opinion of Mary. But – it couldn't, not when Matthew loved her so much. And in fact, the awareness that Matthew did love her so much, and had done knowing of her past all this time, had loved her and married her in spite of it… Well, in some ways it only increased Isobel's admiration for them, in the end.

"Thank you, so much, for this." Mary couldn't stop thanking her.

"My dears, this is your home!" Isobel chuckled. "Please, stop and be comfortable. Things will settle down." She looked sympathetically at them. "You know, it was bound to come out at some point during the investigation anyway. The manner was unfortunate, but… it's done, now. There's nothing you can do."

"I know," Mary smiled weakly.

"And the damage to the family is much less with you married and settled. It will pass. We must believe that."

They tried. They really did. And as days passed, and the world did not end, and no abuse came, they began to succeed. It was difficult… and painful, to have had family ties cut so sharply – for that seemed to be what had happened. No calls came for them, and they did not call, not wishing to subject themselves to Robert's anger or Cora's misery. The Dowager Countess (wisely, perhaps) had retired to London to visit Rosamund, to escape the worst of the atmosphere and to see what could be done.

So though the silence was hurtful, it did give them hope that… they could get through the future. Together. That was all that mattered.

But it was not long before even that seemed to shatter.

It happened not even a week later, one morning as they read quietly in the sitting room after breakfast. Matthew's eyes scanned down his newspaper, Mary curled on the settee with a novel, their fingers casually linked between them. Isobel was visiting a refugee centre, as usual, while the girls were being washed and dressed upstairs. Winter sunlight shone brightly into the room, the frost in the garden sparkling under it.

Everything was so peaceful.

Then; the door opening, voices in the hall. Molesley knocked quietly and stepped in. Matthew glanced up, unconcerned.

"Lord Grantham's to see you," he seemed to stutter.

His hesitance became clear as Robert stormed into the room behind him, his expression thunderous.

"Papa," Mary twisted, and rose quickly to her feet, helping Matthew to his.

Molesley quickly ducked out again while the Earl took a moment to gather himself. Finally he spluttered,

"As if you hadn't caused enough bother with your foolishness!"

"What?" Mary exclaimed, unable to think. She'd done nothing, nothing he hadn't already known of… Matthew's eyes narrowed, feeling his muscles tense on edge as he waited for the lash of Robert's words. He'd never seen him so angry.

Robert gestured furiously. "Sybil – Sybil! You have put ideas in her head."

"That's hardly fair –" Matthew started, to no avail.

"It is fair!" Robert shouted. Mary winced; the whole house must hear it… "Your unthinking actions have impressed upon her, she has followed your example –"

"For God's sake, be clear!" Matthew exclaimed in frustration. "Mary has set no – example to Sybil, what on earth –"

"Don't speak of what you don't know, Matthew," Robert snapped at him. His gaze turned again, burning with anger, to Mary. "Your actions put the idea into her head that she may do as she wished, and consequences be damned. That she might indulge these – appetites –"

"Papa, what's happened?"

"She's eloped. With the – the bloody chauffer."

"My God –"

"What! Branson?"

"Yes. Sybil has eloped with the chauffer. No-one saw her last night, she claimed illness and – this morning it was too late. They are gone; married by now. Edith's gone with Thomas, of all people, to search –"

"But I – I don't –"

"Sybil's thoughtlessness must be her own doing," Matthew tried to calm things down.

"Must it?" Robert shouted again. His eyes narrowed at Matthew. "And would she have had the idea, to elope, without you having shown her that example?"

Mary gasped. Matthew could not believe it. His marriage being called into question again, to be slighted; it wasn't the same…

"It's hardly the same!" he bit back. "Mary and I did not elope; we married quickly and properly, that is all – for God's sake, you've been happy for us these past four years!"

"And have you forgotten my anger at the manner in which you did it? Do you think Sybil understands the differences that might have made it acceptable for you to do so, where for Branson it is not? He's a chauffer!"

"I'm very sorry for it, but it is not our fault –"

"You made her think it was alright! She's an impressionable girl –" His anger switched again to Mary, now. "Well. I hope you are quite satisfied with the consequences of your actions. To – take a lover, to snare Matthew to marry you in a similar fashion, I wouldn't doubt –"

"Papa there was nothing improper –"

"Oh, how do you expect me to believe that of you now?" he flung the words spitefully at her. Mary's hand rose to cover her mouth as she wilted, her body trembling under the force of his anger.

It was enough for Matthew.

"I'll pardon you not to upset my wife by speaking to her in that manner." His cold, quiet words burned as his cold, piercing gaze did, into Robert.

Robert glared back at him. "I will speak to my eldest daughter how I choose, Matthew." He was angry, it was their fault, his precious, innocent daughter had abandoned herself at their example and nothing could cool his rage. They deserved to know what they had done.

"Not in this house." Matthew's opinion on the matter was perfectly clear. Mary watched him with wide eyes, her heart pounding with affection even now as he defended her to her irrational father.

"And who gave you this house? Or do I need to remind you," Robert's voice lowered dangerously.

That stung, bitterly, and Matthew drew in a sharp breath. He felt everything slipping away; everything he knew, his place in the world as he had known it. And then a soft, a beautifully soft voice called from the doorway.

"Papa?"

Mabel's head peeked around the door, her small hand curling around the frame. "Oh, hello Grandpapa!" She smiled, unsurely, and went over to him. She'd missed him!

At once, the hearts of all three adults in the room broke a little. The anger seemed to flood from Robert's body in the presence of his eldest granddaughter, and her perfect innocence. She must know none of this… He smiled, and brushed softly over her hair.

"Well, hello –"

"Mabel, will you go to your Mama please?"

Mabel turned and blinked at her father. He looked cross, and Mama looked sad. She hoped she hadn't done anything – but went immediately, as she was told, over to her. Mary sank down into a chair and took Mabel into her lap, pressing soft kisses to her blonde, ribboned curls to calm herself. Her father's words had hurt her terribly, more than she'd ever believed she could be hurt. Sybil… Stupid, stupid girl! But that she should be blamed… Thank God for Matthew.

Robert watched her, watched them, and questioned himself. Oh, he was angry – and he had a right to be angry. But he couldn't help the twinge of his heart to be reminded of definite reality of his grandchildren. That he might not have – well, he wouldn't, certainly not Bel – if his eldest daughter had not eloped with his heir. Whatever they wanted to call it.

He almost startled when Matthew addressed him again.

"I think perhaps it'd be best if you left, now, Lord Grantham."

The young man stood sure, and strong, every muscle in his body evidently tensed in an instinct of protection. Robert had almost forgotten that Matthew had been a soldier, the strength he must bear of mind and body – and suddenly shame flared amongst his anger.

"I will show myself out."

"Do let us know when you hear of Sybil."

Robert simply nodded, his eyes narrowing at Matthew one last time before he left. The door closed with a ring of finality behind him.

"Papa?" Mabel twisted in Mary's lap, stretching a hand out to him. Emotion flooded over Matthew; despair and love and regret and a host of other things until he couldn't tell what on earth he was feeling.

"Oh, my darlings," he murmured, grabbing his cane to walk the few, difficult steps to their side. Perching carefully beside Mary, he wrapped his arms protectively around them as his wife sobbed against his shoulder in grief at her father's words, and their daughter clung to both of them, not understanding but somehow knowing that they only needed that. And whatever else – they loved her, and Kit, very much. She was always sure of that, as Matthew's hand rubbed firmly over her little back.

TBC

A/N: There we are! The war's over, Matthew's healing, but they're not quite out of the woods yet. I very much hope you enjoyed it, and would love to know what you thought (particularly being so different in tone from last chapter) - reviews always make my day! :) Thank you so much for reading!