A/N: Hi! Thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed this story. We hit a benchmark and it is very much we because you guys have supported me throughout this story and continue to do so. Thanks for asking about my family member. Things remain the same. But thank you again, for all the support and for helping this story hit the 1k mark! Like I said on tumblr, I don't really look at the number, but I read each one. I do try to reply to them all but recently the story has so many twists and turns, I've had to keep mum.
Thanks to La La Kate for a pre read of the beginning. Also, thanks to Piper Holmes for reasons.
For those of you who are really tired of the angst, congratulations. For those of you who really lost patience with Mary, I feel your pain but I am sorry I am not sorry. My story did not have the luxury that JF has in setting Mary's grief six months later. I wrote about Mary directly after losing her husband and in the year and a couple of months after. So. It was ugly and it was bitter. But I hope you saw her journey in the last chapter.
And now...I've saved the best part of the story for last. I can't wait to write these upcoming chapters. I think you'll see why.
Chapter Twenty Nine
"Telegram for you, Mrs. Crawley," Molesley murmurs as Matthew and his mother finish their breakfasts. Matthew hardly glances up until his mother makes a noise, dropping the telegram, as if it burns her.
"What is it?" Matthew asks. "Is everything all right?" He tries not to think of Mary but it's impossible not to–there's been very little news of her in over a year and a telegram causing his stalwart mother some upset? He make a grab for it.
"No," she struggles to say, reaching for it at the same time. "It's not addressed to you, Matthew." She sounds so much like a mother scolding a little boy but Matthew is not a little boy any longer. And Matthew is quicker than his mother.
Cousin Isobel STOP Received letter from Lavinia STOP Says she is sorry Mack died STOP Says you told her STOP L also asks that I marry your son STOP Expect a letter from me directly STOP MJC STOP
Matthew drops the telegram into a bit of jam. "You'll show me that letter when you receive it, Mother."
"I'll do no such thing," she replies stiffly.
"You will," he tells her, his jaw aching. "Considering most of this revolves around me."
"It's really...What I mean to say is, Matthew–"
"My former wife wrote my..." Matthew stumbles over a word to describe what Mary is to him. "Well, Mary. She wrote Mary, expressing condolences over Mack, who died over a year ago, and asked her to marry me? And since when are you writing Lavinia? You have no right. No right, whatsoever."
"Matthew." His mother sat looking down at her plate while he stood fuming. "I never told Lavinia to write to Mary. I would never do that."
"Then explain to me how this happened," he explodes pointing at the telegram. "Mary should not have to deal with...any of this. These are my problems, not hers. Consequences from my decisions."
"Lavinia wrote to me a few months ago," Isobel begins slowly. "Matthew, I didn't talk to you about it because I didn't want to upset you. But you know how she is...a bit needy at times. I think she is happy where she is but a little homesick. So I wrote her a chatty letter back and she replied again. She asked about you directly and about Mary. I ignored the first question and answered the second. Matthew," Isobel reached for her son's hand and gripped it. "I thought I could do the right thing without upsetting anyone. Now, I see she was fishing to see if the two of you were together. It sounds as if that is what she wants or thinks is right or...I don't know. I only wrote her two chatty letters, Matthew."
But Matthew is angry. Lavinia wrote Mary. Mary wrote his mother. Yet, he has no contact with her as Cousin Cora and Cousin Violet prepare a bevy of future countesses for him to choose from–it's time that you marry again, have a family–and it's never been more clear to him that the only one that he could ever do any of that with is Mary Crawley herself. He steps away from his mother.
You can't always get what you want.
"Show me the letter when you receive it," he tells her through his teeth before he leaves to walk to Downton Abbey to go over some things with Robert.
Dear Tom,
Congratulations on your girls. I am so glad to hear that all is well–that Sybil is all right and that, as you said, "you have two for the price of one." Perhaps one day, I will come to see them. In the meantime, there are very few people I can write to that would understand what is happening here at Downton. I don't even know how to explain it to myself except that Cora and Violet and even my own mother seem to be like dogs with bones in their mouths. (Please do not pass on my comparison.)
You should marry again, Matthew. Don't you want a family, Matthew. You do have a duty to the estate, Matthew. (I forgot to mention Robert.)
It's terribly inconvenient, you see, because, as you probably know, I am in love with Mary Crawley (Duncan Banks). And there was a time when I tried to marry someone else, to start a family with someone else and we all know how that ended. I am sure that there is no one I would ever enter into the institution of marriage again with but Mary.
I think they know I love their daughter and their granddaughter. They must. I have done so little to hide it. And I know more than anything, Robert wishes that Mary and I would marry. But they have given up hope. They are looking for a replacement.
I am not much different than them, I suppose. I, too, have given up hope that Mary will ever be mine or that I will ever be hers. But I refuse to do to another woman what I did to Lavinia. There is no second place when it comes to Mary, for me. I think you understand this since for you there was never anyone but Sybil that you could ever agree to spend your life with. These Crawley women...
In all of this, like, for example, Cousin Violet asking me if I prefer brunettes or blondes, or discussing childbearing hips, I have some small window of what it must have been like for Mary after Patrick died. What it must of been like for all of them.
It's horrible. I hope you're shivering at the thought of Cousin Violet talking to you about childbearing hips.
I meant this to be much more chipper and congratulatory. I am truly happy for you and your family. And I am very sorry for the melancholy of this letter. Give Sybil my best and all the children a kiss for me.
Sincerely,
Matthew
The letter is airmailed. The envelope crisp and the page within it folded exactly into thirds. He can imagine her slim hands on it, pressing it into the desk, carefully but with a bit of anger too. "There you are," his mother sighs. "Although I don't understand why I can't read it first, Matthew. I am your mother. And it is addressed to me."
"Do not push me on this," Matthew insists.
When he opens it, he has to sit. The sight of her handwriting is so comforting, the way she cross her t's and dots her i's. He misses her and this is just a small part of her that he can hold in his hand while he wishes things were different. He wishes so many things were different.
Dear Cousin Isobel,
As a widow yourself, you can imagine that the journey back to yourself after losing a man you loved very much, a man you thought would be your partner throughout your life, is not an easy one. For every one step forward, there are two steps back, sometimes. I hope, though I can't be sure, that you will be glad to hear I am doing well.
Only a few weeks ago, I spent the anniversary of Mack's death with the sun on my face and a book of poetry in my hands. I went to sleep and woke up. I survived. A year without him. Three hundred and sixty five days without him. I finally feel like myself again. So imagine my surprise when a ghost from the past snuck inside of my life in lieu of a letter. That very letter is enclosed so you can understand how completely taken aback and angry I was upon reading it. Needless to say, I won't be writing her back.
You do not seem like the type of person who enjoys being told what to do, Cousin Isobel. I believe we share that trait. I don't want condolences from Lavinia over my husband, as if he died yesterday. She does not get to bring him back that way. She doesn't have the right. And I certainly will not be told to marry her former husband. How dare you write her about me?
I won't tell you who to write. Write Lavinia about the weather. Write Lavinia about your work at the hospital. Write Lavinia about Matthew...with his permission (!) But do not write Lavinia about me or my life or anything having to do with me. You do not have my permission. Am I understood?
Mary Crawley
She signs her name with a flourish, without a sincerely, or warmly, or best wishes, a period to a very direct order to his mother.
(And yet, with his back turned away from his mother, Matthew allows a smile to linger on her face. She sounds like herself again. She sounds like a woman very much in charge of her own future and though the band around his heart squeezes, he smiles because he loves her, and he, now older and probably wiser,only wants her happy and free. More than anything, more than even wanting her, he wants her to be free.)
He doesn't hear back from Tom which isn't a surprise since there are now three children in his household. He tries not to be cross over it; it's been two months. But Tom has a wife and children and a life. He may be one of the only people he knows that can understand but he is responsible for Sybil and the children.
Over dinner, while Cora and Violet, and yes, his own mother, plot over the upcoming house party, Matthew is silent. He doesn't care if the Duke of so and so is coming and bringing his daughter. Or if Sir Whatever's daughter is very lovely and has a nice smile. Of course, he will be lucky to entice any of them since he is divorced. So unfortunate, his marriage to Lavinia. So, so, unfortunate.
(On this, he can silently agree.)
And all the while Matthew sits and listens to it. He feels trapped. Where can he go? What can he do? He does have a duty to the estate. Mary did hers. Robert certainly did his. And now his turn is coming and he cannot turn away. He can only be marched forward, Cora and Violet holding each of his arms, making sure he does not falter on the path.
His heart aches for Mary all through the night. Not just missing her, that is, of course, a constant ache, one he grows used to over time. However, he cannot imagine what it must have been like for her. Of course she quirked her head at him when they first met. Of course, she said, "I wouldn't want to push in." They wanted thher to marry him and she wanted none of it. Before that, they wanted her to marry Patrick and she was so young. How could she say wait, stop, I want something else for myself? And even if she knew she could say such things there was duty to consider. There was the future of the family. Her needs were so little when compared to all the rest of it.
He walks home with his mother. She asks if he is all right.
"Of course," he lies. He lies because he has to and he wonder how many lies Mary told because it's easier. He aches for her.
But after his mother finds her way to her room, Molesley finds him. "Sir, Mrs. Byrd gave this to me when you were at dinner. Seems there was a bit of a mix up. My apologies."
It is a telegram from Tom.
Matthew STOP Come to Ireland now STOP I really insist it be now STOP Trust me STOP Tom STOP
In the morning, he is gone.
It's a Sunday when he arrives at their little flat, in the row of flats. He recognizes it by the number and the letters he and Tom exchanged over time but also by the trio walking nearer on the Sunday morning, presumably from church. "Matthew!" Declan cries with a bit of a lisp, letting go of each of his parent's hands to run ahead and pounce on him.
"And how are you?" Matthew asks, hugging the boy and then looking at his round, happy face. "I hear you are a big brother now."
"Yes," Declan scrunches up his face. "They cry a lot."
"Declan," Sybil calls. "Remember we call him Cousin Matthew?"
Declan glances at his mother. "But he's not my cousin!" the boy insists. "Aiden's my cousin and Danny and Eileen. They're little like me."
"You can call him Uncle Matthew," Tom offers, wincing, Matthew can see from Sybil's elbow in his ribs.
"Cousin Uncle Matthew!" Declan squeals. "I'm going to go inside and get everyone!"
Matthew sets the boy down and watches him open the gate to run inside the small front yard and up the steps. "Everyone?" Matthew asks. "Are the girls walking already?" He tries for a joke and Tom muffles a laugh while Sybil inches her elbow more firmly into his ribs.
"Matthew," she murmurs. "It's so good to see you." She hugs him and he can tell her words are genuine but there is something else here that he cannot seem to figure out. "And you're always welcome, of course, only, I'm wondering, did someone invite you at this particular time?"
Behind her Tom shakes his head frantically.
"No," Matthew replies slowly and Tom's body sags in relief. "Tom gave me a standing invitation and there were...some things I wanted to avoid at home. I didn't really think," Matthew continues, realizing he truly is taking a punch on Tom's behalf. "I just needed to get out of there and I ended up here."
Matthew is not a good liar. Sybil turns towards her husband, hands on her hips. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Tom defends. "I didn't tell him she's here. He only needed a place to stay. I didn't think he would actually come. God forbid something actually works out in those two favor."
"Tom, you have no right–"
From the doorway, Declan shouts, "Come on, Uncle Cousin Matthew. Don't you want to see 'em?"
"We're coming, boy-o," Tom replies and takes his wife by the elbow. "Will you let it be? See how it is? Who knows?"
"You could have told me," Sybil hisses.
"I didn't think he'd actually come!" Tom defends.
"Excuse me," Matthew follows awkwardly. "But, could you fill me in? Is there something I've done? Should I go? I'm sorry. I just thought–"
By now they've walked up the steps. He enters the small house and turns the corner. He is shocked into complete stillness to see Mary, in a rocking chair, with two babies curved into her neck, sleeping against her.
"Hello," he says. It's the only thing he can think of in that moment.
"Hello, Matthew," she whispers, for the babies benefit. And when she smiles, it is genuine. That smile curves across her whole face and lights up her eyes. She goes on rocking and smiling, her eyes on his. "Funny meeting you here."
It's so silly, so strange to see Mary in Ireland. Not just Mary, but Mary. He could kneel in relief. But instead they only go on smiling at one another while Tom and Sybil watch them with wariness and amusement, and Declan calls for Uncle Cousin Matthew to come play trains with him.
In Ireland, they just go on smiling at one another.
A/N: Reviews are, as always, much appreciated. Xo, LDI
