A/N: Hello dears, just made it before the promised week was out *phew* Thank you so so much for all the wonderful reviews and messages and I can't even tell you how happy they've made me! I've actually just noticed that this story has its one-year birthday today, no kidding! And it would never have grown so without you guys and your amazing support! Well we're near the end now, but I'm sure you won't mind where it's heading in the last few chpts ;)
...starting with this one here, really hope you enjoy :)
XXXIV.
When the automobile reached Downton, Matthew and Evelyn seemed to initially blend in with the rest of the wounded soldiers who were moving in and out of the great house that afternoon. The Granthams and their wedding guests had just returned from a lengthy walk across the estate in a bid to release some of the tension before tea time.
Matthew tried his best to ignore the blantant stares and shocked expressions that greeted him as he carried himself into the dining room. He'd been dreading such scenes...
Twelve pairs of eyes glued to his injury, then quickly withdrawn, followed by hectic effusions of relief and delight that he had made it home alive at least, upon which he was compelled to say his thanks and shake hands and smile politely.
Always smile and nod and look grateful.
Of course there was pity. Nothing but pity whenever they became aware of his impairment...
"Oh my dear chap..." Robert broke out, clutching Matthew's shoulder in what was clearly meant to be a supportive gesture, though Matthew felt rather exasperated by it. "...I can't tell you how glad I am to see you." Matthew smiled wrily, somewhat appeased. It was still nice to know that he hadn't been entirely replaced by Patrick Crawley yet.
Isobel came rushing into the drawing room. She had been making the rounds with the nursing staff in the convalescent part of the house. "Matthew!" The others seemed to back away slightly to make space for the mother. Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Mary move.
Isobel embraced him and for an instant, he felt like breaking down into his mother's arms and just cry into her shoulder like a little boy...
But he didn't, thank God.
Once she had composed herself, Isobel insisted that he should see Major Clarkson at once. Matthew wanted to protest, but then Sybil came up out of nowhere and turned into 'Nurse Crawley'. "Really, Matthew, you must." she said firmly. "You should do nothing but rest now and let yourself be taken care of."
Of course he was exhausted beyond imagination and 'rest' sounded heavenly, but he did not fancy being treated as if he were too feeble to stay and be decent company. He'd lost his leg, not his brain. His eyes searched for Mary, to see her reaction, but she wasn't anywhere near him.
It was foolish, but he'd hoped that she would stay close after the way she had held him at the station...
When he found her, Mary was sitting next to Violet, discussing something urgent in hushed tones. Matthew swallowed, fighting the urge to limp towards her, just to hear what had her so engrossed. Then again, he should leave her alone if she didn't want to accompany him. Isobel took his cap and gloves as she helped him down the hall. He could sense that she was willing herself to remain strong and unaffected even in the face of what had happened to her child...
"Thank you, Mother." he mumbled quietly. Isobel smiled. "You're home." And that seemed to be all that mattered on this afternoon.
The doctor nodded his approval. "Clean cut...healed well...no complications so far?" He raised an eyebrow at Matthew, who could only raise a sarcastic eyebrow in turn. As if this whole bloody thing wasn't a complication! "Well, it's a sight to get used to, of course...but I dare say, you've been lucky, all things considered." Major Clarkson concluded as he packed his medical case.
"Yes." Isobel agreed as she put the bandage back over the stump on Matthew's leg. There was really no arguing with this assessment, but Matthew still felt too bitter to rejoice about his 'luck' just yet. He turned away from the sight of his mutilation and looked around the room Cora had arranged for him. It was the same he had stayed in last winter at Downton...where Mary had nursed him back to health and slept in his arms and...
The door opened just as Clarkson tried to exit. "Lady Mary." he greeted her in passing.
She seemed to hover on the doorstep until Isobel called her in. "Mama thought you might also like to take a bath...Eve...Captain Napier is having one, before dinner." Matthew caught sight of the nervous way her gloved fingers were tugging at the collar of her coat. Of course, he thought grimly, she didn't know how to be around him now...or perhaps she feared he would get mad at her because she had not written to him...
He was mad. But what good was it to make a scene now? He could hardly accuse her of not caring when she was clearly trying to be good to him, to treat him decently...
But he didn't want her pity.
"Oh, I think that's a nice idea. Don't you think, Matthew?" Isobel said cheerfully, eager to compensate for her son's rudeness. "Yes, thank you." he muttered, still avoiding eye-contact with either of the women in the room. The embers in the fireplace were interesting enough for now.
"Good. The footmen will bring in the bath then...and...could I have a word with you? Outside?" Mary gestured towards the door. Matthew looked up in confusion to find that she was talking to his mother. Just was well. He turned back towards the grate as they left the room.
A few minutes later, three footmen entered, panting as they carried a large brass bathing tub, followed by a dozen maids with buckets of boiling hot water. One footman suddenly stepped up to Matthew and saluted. "Good to see you, Sir." It was William Mason, one arm in a sling.
Matthew's gloom gave way to relief for a moment. "At ease, Mason." he smiled at the boy. "I'm glad to see you've made it home...after..." There was no need to go on, the haunted look in William's eyes mirrored Matthew's. What they had seen in that last action, what had brought them home in this state, it did not need to be discussed.
"Thank you, Sir." William hesitated. It had been a while since he'd spoken to the Captain, and back here at Downton, it seemed more inappropriate to ask personal questions than it had in the trenches.
"We've been worried...since no one had heard from you in such a long time."
Matthew frowned. Surely Mary would have told someone that he'd written to her...or hadn'd she? Perhaps not. The pain and fury over Mary's evident non-chalance that he'd surpressed all day suddenly returned with a vengeance...
It was then that the door opened and the Lady herself came in. "Well...if you need anything, Sir." William nodded and withdrew, reading his officer's countenance correctly. Mary smiled at him as he exited before she placed a couple of towels on a near-by table.
There was a long silence, only broken by the sound of the crackling embers in the fire and a lonesome lark outside the large window. It was late for the season.
"The water's getting cold." Mary finally said, nodding towards the large brass tub that was still steaming away. When Matthew didn't react, she moved towards the tub, peeked inside, only to turn and walk back to the table to re-arrange the towels and the soap she had brought.
Matthew's eyes followed her, though he remained still on the edge of the bed.
"You don't have to be here, you know." He said it very quietly, half hoping she wouldn't listen, as he slowly began to unstrap his gear. Matthew stared down at his knees. "There is no obligation for you to...nurse me, only because I'm...crippled now." He took a shaky breath. "It's alright...there is really no duty to..."
Out of nowhere, the mattress under him moved a little and Mary sat next to him on the bed. What was more, she leaned in to push his hands away and began to work on the buckles of his leather belt.
Matthew stiffened, petrified for the moment. He hadn't expected this. His heart thudded in his chest as she began to unbutton his khaki jacket. "Mary..." His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. She ignored him, but at the fourth button her fingers trembled so much that she could not operate them. Frustrated tears began to spring up in her eyes and that alarmed him.
He stilled her hands. "Stop...my darling, stop." Matthew said with gentle urgency. When she looked up at him, he was struck by the fury in her dark eyes. Why was she upset? Why was she doing this, if she didn't care all these months?
"All this time...what were you thinking?" he shook his head, a frown creasing his brow. To his surprise, she only smiled sadly at him and moved closer still. His breathing hitched as he took in the delicious scent of her clean feminine skin and a hint of vanilla...
"The same as you." Mary said and then he felt her soft lips on his cheek and nothing else seemed to exist anymore. Matthew's hands went out to clasp whatever he could reach of her body to pull it against him.
"Matthew..." The word resonated through him, working like sweet balm on his soul and there he realized that it did not signify what she had done or failed to do in the past months, as long as she was here with him now.
And perhaps she would stay...
Mary nuzzled the stubble on his cheek, making him shudder. "Don't you want to know why?" she wondered, but suddenly pulled away as if startled by a realization. Before he could ask what she meant, Mary had stooped down to pull on his left boot.
His only boot.
"Now the water is really getting cold." she explained and nearly tumbled backwards as the leather boot finally gave way and slid off his foot. Matthew reached out quickly to catch her. When a small chuckle came over her lips, he could not help but smile in turn, though his confusion was only mounting...
His jacket came off quickly, followed by his khaki shirt. With every garment that landed on the bed, the tension in the room grew thicker while Matthew's nerves grew thinner. Didn't she want to turn away or leave?
Apparently not. Instead, she busied herself on the buttons that closed the trousers of his uniform and he began to sweat profusely. "God...Mary." he gasped and his cheeks turned crimson. Blood began to pound in his ears in time with his heartbeat. The sight of her nimble fingers flying over the buttons on his crotch was enough to drive him mad...
And then he saw the ring.
Glittering in the light that reflected from the fire place, his engagement ring was still firmly placed on the fourth finger of her left hand. More bewildered than ever, Matthew tried to speak, to ask if this meant that she was still his...or perhaps she only wore it out of duty...he didn't know whether he wanted to know and frankly, all his wits simply evaporated as her knuckles briefly brushed against the incriminating bulge at the front of his trousers...
Matthew knew that he ought to stop her, but it was beyond his will power and so he watched in shock and fascination as she peeled the rough fabric off his thighs. Any moment now he expected her to get up and excuse herself...surely once she saw what was left of his leg...
"Did the doctor say if it's alright to get wet?" Mary asked softly, once she had cast the trousers aside and Matthew sat in front of her in nothing but a pair of white cotton under-drawers. He nodded, trying to find his voice. "It's...fine...the wound is closed." It took some effort to press out the words.
She stared at the stump for a few more torturous seconds, but he could read nothing but stoic calm in the workings of her lovely face. Matthew licked his lips and shook his head slightly. "It's frightful, I know. Don't look." Grabbing the khaki shirt next to him on the bed, he covered his knee.
Mary's only reaction was to stand and hold out his crutches. With a sinking heart, he thanked her and made his way to the tub. She checked the temperature of the water, pleased that it was still hot. To give him at least some privacy, she turned then to retrieve the soaps previously acquired from Anna, while Matthew attempted to step into the water on one leg.
He cursed under his breath and threw a furtive glance at her back. It would be beyond humiliating to ask for her help, but then again she hadn't even offered to assist him in the first place. The water sloshed and sprayed all over the rim of the tub as he had to let himself fall in from where he tried to perch on the edge.
"I'd help...but knowing you, darling, I'd only get myself into trouble for treating you like an old man." Mary shrugged her delicate shoulders as she finally turned towards him and slowly walked up to the tub. Matthew was speechless, struck again by the realization that she knew him better than he could ever know himself.
"But...perhaps you don't mind me helping you a little." It was a rare occurence to detect something like shyness in Mary Crawley's demeanour. "Only...if you really want to." Matthew croaked weakly, blinking through the steam.
The hot, clean water felt wonderfully relaxing on his aching muscles.
With half-closed lids he leaned his head back and allowed himself to simply indulge in the bath and in the sight of Mary, perched on the edge of the tub. She was wearing a long skirt with a very pretty rouched blouse on top. The rosy florals accentuated her cream-coloured skin. Matthew had to close his eyes for a moment.
She was so lovely, so beautiful...much too beautiful to sit here and tend to one of the walking wounded – except that he wasn't walking, was he - he was even more damaged. And yet, Matthew could not bring himself to urge her to go again.
He had allowed the selfishness into his heart and he hated himself for it.
Mary dipped a wash cloth into the water, then a piece of soap to lather it up with. He noticed that her hand trembled as she touched his shoulder to start cleaning his back. Matthew surpressed a groan and tried not to be too affected by her touch. She was being so kind, so caring...he must not take advantage of it though.
Floating in the warm soapy water, his severed leg felt heavier than it usually did, and then there was this slight twinge and tingle below his knee...almost as if it was still whole...as if he was still whole.
A phantom, he knew. An illusion. Like everything here. He glanced up at Mary, whose face was pinched with concentration as she tried to reach further down his stiff back. Truly, he intended to tell her to stop, not ot strain herself, not to pretend that she was still all his...
The closer she leaned into him, the more Matthew had to grapple with himself. He sat on his hands, lest he should lose control and attempt to touch what was so temptingly close. Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself to keep a respectable distance, to be good and patient.
And perhaps...perhaps one day...
"Goodness...wherever you were hiding from me, you really didn't care to take a bath." he heard Mary complain in mild disapproval. The words hurt and confused him. So she did know that he had been hiding...she had indeed read his letters! Irritation and pain suddenly overcame him...
"I wouldn't have guessed that you would care, when all this time..." he started to growl.
With a tiny shriek and an almighty splash, Mary's bottom slipped from the edge of the tub and landed her in the water on top of him, effectively cutting off the snarky response he had been about to throw at her.
"Oh God...I'm so sorry, darling." Mary gasped, struggling to heave herself off him, but her knees were still angled over the brass edge and something...holding her...made it impossible to get out of the water.
The low rumbling chuckle emanating from his chest had quickly escalated into hoarse laughter, as Matthew clasped her to him, without hesitation or shame. The idea that Mary, his utterly perfect, eternally graceful Mary, had such a clumsy accident...it was too adorable for words.
In fact, it was entirely too adorable to let her out of his grasp again...
"Mary..." He could not possibly hold back anymore. For anything. Tears welled up in him as he pulled her closer, from laughter or pain, it was difficult to tell. Leaning forwards, he pressed his lips to hers, very softly at first...carefully testing...
Mary's heart stopped for a moment when she realized what was happening. She had her darling back, holding her in his arms, naked and asking for her kisses. And yet he kissed her as if it were the very first time...
So tentative and shy.
"Kiss me...properly." Mary mewled against his lips, more than satisfied when she heard him whimper and her mouth was nearly swallowed by his. Her arms closed tightly around his neck as she pulled her legs off the edge of the tub to turn onto her front and crawl up the length of him, never parting from his mouth.
Soon, she could feel the effect that their frantic embrace had on Matthew, and she quickly shifted to the side. Panting for air, she buried her head in the crook of his neck and simply held him for some minutes, until they had both regained a semblance of control.
"My darling?" he asked cautiously. Mary reluctantly dragged her closed lids open. "Yes?"
She could feel him swallow thickly. "So...you are still...my darling?" His voice cracked and she felt his whole body tense with anticipation. Full of confusion, Mary was about to ask why he would ever ask such an idiotic question, but then it occurred to her that she still hadn't told him...
"When was I ever not?" She could practically hear the cogs in his brain working furiously as he absorbed her flippant answer. He grew restless now and his arms closed tighter around her body.
"When...but..." he spluttered and she could feel his heart race under her wrist.
"You never replied to any of my letters...and...you wouldn't see me when..." He broke off and she could only imagine how bad it must have been for him. A fresh wave of rage coursed through her mind at the thought of Patrick and his pernicious scheme.
"I thought you had changed your mind again...or that you forgot about me...or that someone else..." Her lips shushed his words with a soft, yet urgent kiss. "Matthew..." she whispered.
"...and of course, I understood...because of my damn leg, and..." He stared with open despair at the murky silhoutte of his right thigh in the water, half hidden under Mary's long skirt. Her eyes followed and she pressed her lips together. It was only too easy to make a quick remark now, but that would be fatal.
"Matthew, look at me." She cupped his face and turned it towards her with gentle determination. "I know this is dreadful and you'll need time to get used to it, but if you imagined for a moment that this injury, however terrible it may be, had any bearing on my feelings for you...that I would be so shallow as to throw you over because you've lost some flesh and bone..."
To her consternation, he shook his head stubbornly. "I'm a goddamn cripple, Mary...don't try and make it small...don't pretend as if this wouldn't bother you...with everything else that went wrong!"
Mary knew he was referring to Patrick and the loss of the estate. For a moment it was simply impossible to reign in her indignation over what he was implying. He obviously still believed that she was more interested in status and appearances...
"If you mean Downton...I can assure you that I have no scruples leaving it to our dunce of a cousin, but perhaps you'd rather leave me here as well and start a new life somewhere...then my looking at you won't bother you anymore." Once she had spoken, Mary wondered why on earth she was so easily provoked by Matthew's words, when she didn't care what most people thought.
He stared at her in pained silence for a few heartbeats. "Don't play with me...and for God's sake don't pity me. I don't want your sympathy!" He was clear on that.
"So you want...indifference? Don't you think that's a bit silly?" She said more softly, the hint of a teasing smile was playing around her rosy lips. "Oh, silly, am I now?" Matthew grumbled, still tense.
"A little bit...but to be fair, it's through no fault of your own, my love." Without giving him time to react, she pressed her lips against his ear to kiss it. Matthew groaned softly and practically melted under her touch.
It was time to tell him what he could not possibly imagine.
"Speaking of Patrick and fatal mistakes..." Mary attempted to rise from the tub to speak with a clear head. Her clothes had become soaked while the water had slowly turned cooler, but his arms remained stubbornly around her middle, his breath bated. "...thanks to him I'd spent three utterly miserable months without receiving a single letter from you." She raised a delicate eyebrow at her flabbergasted fiancé, who only had one word.
"What?"
Mary watched with mild amusement as realization dawned on him. There was shock and disbelief, quickly followed by rampant outrage, as she had fully expected. "He just took my letters? All the letters that I've sent you since..." Matthew spluttered, moving so hectically in the water that a few more pints slopped over the edge of the tub.
"He did. But a lot of good it did him. Edith found him out and I finally received my notes...the ones you wrote to me and the ones that I'd sent to you." The last piece of information halted Matthew's agitation momentarily. His pale eyes grew impossibly wide and his mouth hung open. "You...still wrote to me then?"
Mary blushed for reasons inexplicable to her. "Of course I did."
It seemed to take a few moments for Matthew to fully grasp this. He breathed hard and Mary could feel his fingers flexing repeatedly around her waist as he blinked up at the high ceiling of the room. He was about to crumple in front of her, but was saved by the door behind them opening and closing with an audible snap.
Isobel came into the room, a bucket of hot water dangling fron her arm. She seemed flustered for only a second. "The dressing gong was just heard and your grandmother has already asked for you twice." Isobel informed Mary.
The young Lady hastily got onto her feet, slopping water all over the floor as she climbed out. Matthew's mother did not seem in the least surprised to have found her in such a compromising position, which was slightly worrying and a relief to her at the same time.
"And Matthew..." Isobel walked up to her son with the steaming bucket and a large brown bottle along with a comb tucked under her arm. "We need to wash out your hair and see if there are any lice..." She turned to Mary. "Have you seen any?"
"Mother, for God's sake..." Matthew snapped, clearly mortified. Mary merely smiled and shook her head. Isobel nodded gratefully, then turned away to place the bottle and comb on the table.
This brief respite was all it took for Matthew to reach for Mary's hand and press it quickly to his face and lips. She bent down just as swiftly to kiss his forehead before she left. It was a promise understood by both without question, that they would find more time together later tonight...
The addition of two more guest to the dinner party was no great inconvenience, except perhaps to Mrs. Patmore who promptly took it out on the kitchen maids. The table in the dining room would be rather crammed tonight.
Mrs. Branson kept making apologies, insisting that the Irish family could well have had their supper downstairs to make way for the officers. The Granthams, however, would hear none of it. Since the arrival of the convalescents, 'space' had received a new definition in this house...
Cora had arranged for Mary to be seated next to her fiancé, while Edith had asked to sit next to Captain Napier. Cora had not given much thought to this request, but if it pleased Edith, she had no objections.
If there was one merit in the display of Matthew's new 'condition', it was that the rest of the party felt so awkward towards him that they found it much easier to engage with each other than they had last night. The only person who did not seem at all relaxed was sitting between Edith and Clodagh Branson...
Patrick cut his lamb with a nervous energy that caused the knife to scrape uncomfortably on the fine china plate. He chewed without tasting the meat and furtively observed his company.
Someone knew.
Someone at this table had taken the letters out of his briefcase and he had no clue who it might have been because they all behaved completely neutral towards him. And it drove him mad...not to know who was onto him!
It could not have been Mary, otherwise he would have felt her wrath by now. The little minx had always felt superior to him in every conceivable way and never been shy when it came to putting him down, even in front of others...
"...and what exactly is it that you do?" Patrick flinched. The Irish girl next to him had spoken. He gave Clodagh a quick once over. Pretty, dark-haired with green eyes. Not a show-stopper exactly, but nice enough. He smiled smoothly down at her.
"I...am involved in Canadian politics and finances." He took a sip of wine. The girl snorted. "A capitalist, of course." She had lost interest already and turned back to her food. Patrick scowled.
From across the table he looked straight into the furious face of the chauffeur...
Tom did not appreciate his sister being 'smarmed up' by the likes of Patrick Crawley. He glared at the man, attempting to convey with his eyes what he would very much like to say out loud. That the bloody scum had no business talking to his sister, or sitting at this table with them all, come to think of it...
But this was the reality of the world. Good, hard-working people like his mother felt that they ought to eat in the basement with the staff, while people like Patrick would inherit entire earldoms...
"Tom, what's wrong?" Sybil hissed into his right ear. "Nothing, dearest...just nerves." He smiled at his bride. Sybil leaned in a bit closer, lest anyone should hear. "You don't think there will be a problem?"
"No...I've spoken to Thatcher in Ripon, he knows. It'll be alright." Tom whispered cautiously and pressed Sybil's hand. She smiled, somewhat relieved. The main course was cleared away and she turned to speak to Papa on her other side.
Under the table, Mary's foot repeatedly brushed against Matthew's, causing them both to start and flush every time they made the tiniest bit of contact. Mary could feel her body humming with the desire to touch...kiss...press against...
And she knew he felt the same. Every time their eyes met, they had to quickly look back down at their plates. They could barely speak, but not because they had nothing to say...the trouble was they had far too much to say.
There were too many unspoken things...too many unexpressed emotions to share...
Unfortunately, these emotions would have to be surpressed over the course of a crab salad, an English lamb and a delicious raspberry meringue. It truly felt like the longest dinner in the history of the British Empire...
Mary turned in confusion as she heard Matthew chuckle darkly. "What is it?" she whispered, smiling because his laughter was so infectious. It truly was like music in her ears...
"That pudding..." he pointed at their plates. "Don't you remember, my love?"
Of course she remembered, but it was too good an opportunity to tease him a little. "Of course...that night when you ran off on me." she said in mock offence. As predicted, Matthew bristeled on the spot. "Me? You were the one who ran off with Sir...whatshisname?" he grumbled, causing Mary to laugh now.
"I'd been so hopeful that night...what a fool..." Matthew chuckled then, watching besottedly as her lovely face crinkled into a mask of pure joy. His heart beat thickly with longing...nothing was more beautiful to him than her laughter...
"Oh, Matthew." Her hand tugged at his elbow, until his hand came down to engulf hers under the table, so that they could at least hold onto some part of each other. Their moment was harshly interrupted when an argument at the other end of the table rose above all other voices...
"...and I'm simply wondering why you would say that!" Patrick snarled at Tom, whose face had taken on the colour of the raspberry meringue. "None of your business...I just can't stand hypocrites, that's all."
"Tom!" Mrs. Branson warned, whereas his brother started to applaud on the table in appreciation of Tommy's audacity.
"That coming from you, eh?" Patrick was in high form. He threw down his napkin and took a sip of drink. "Sitting at this table...enjoying his Lordships good food and wine..." he toasted sarcastically. "...and all the while, you've been going behind his back, haven't you?"
It was Sybil who sprang to her feet first. "Shut up." Tom gently pulled her down. No use shouting, it was too late...
"Not like this...later." He entreated Patrick. If he could at least get the chance to explain it all, and not in front of the others...his family...her family.
"Oh, I don't think so, Paddy." Patrick spat, twirling the stem of the glass between his fingers. Tom's fists clenched at the insult, but he stayed in his seat for Sybil's sake. Mrs. Branson did her best to restrain Ciaran.
"Steady on!" Robert called out in indignation, rising from his chair. Evelyn and Matthew followed. "What on earth is this?" Lord Grantham demanded, though he was almost afraid to ask. Everything had went so well all evening, surprisingly so. Must there always be trouble brewing in this house?
"Why are you looking at me? Why don't you ask him..." Patrick pointed at Tom. "...ask him what he's done with your daughter while they were both over in London last season."
A deafening silence fell over the dining room.
Robert swayed slightly, glaring down at Tom Branson now. But before he could demand an answer, Sybil rose again. She held her head up high and regarded everyone at the table with defiance. "Tom and I..." she had to clear her throat, wanting them all to understand her clearly.
"...we got married in London last June."
It took a few moments for everyone to process Sybil's words. Carson nearly dropped the half-empty bottle with the pudding wine, something he would surely never have lived down.
Robert finally acted. "Everyone please follow Lady Grantham into the drawing room...Sybil and...Branson will stay." The way Tom's name was pronouced made it clear who would get the brunt of the blame.
As the guests left the table, Matthew limped over to Robert. "I might have done the same, you know." he whispered and fixed his elder cousin with a look, asking him to judge fairly. Besides, the real scoundrel was just making his way out of the room with a satisfied smile. Matthew saw Tom's eyes follow Patrick's progress, his expression murderous...
And he understood only too well how his fingers must be itching...
Credit had to be given to Cora who managed to put up her best act as a hostess to date. One might not have noticed that anything was amiss were it not for the raised voices booming out of the dining room.
In a wise move, Patrick had withdrawn into the small library. Evelyn was almost tempted to join him, only to get out of the Grantham's hair. This was family business and he felt awkward sharing in it now that he was no longer connected to the family...not officially anyways.
Only the fact that Edith seemed to want his presence made him reconsider...
After a tense half hour, Robert entered the drawing room, followed by his youngest daughter...and her husband. The storm had abated and Lord Grantham merely shrugged as Cora came up to him. He gratefully accepted the brandy Carson had prepared for him.
Sybil and Tom appeared chastised, though hardly broken. Together, they perched on the settee in front of the rest of their families. Tom Held Sybil's hand in both of his as she started to speak.
"Like I said to Papa...we are so terribly sorry! But really, we never expected you to relent and allow us marry." Robert huffed into his drink. "Tom is working so hard in London and I knew he would wait for me...but I didn't want to wait anymore."
Matthew threw a quick glance over to Mary.
"And it really was my idea...Tom didn't want to sneak behind anyone's back!" Sybil shook with rage, though Patrick was clearly not present. "So we got a licence and one afternoon we simply went to get married in a church in Clapham."
"But...was there a clergyman? Who was bridesmaid? And what did you wear?" Cora could not contain herself any longer. It pained her not so much that Sybil had lied to them, but the fact that her baby had married without letting her be a part of it...
"Imogen was my bridesmaid and Tom's colleague came as best man...and I wore, well, my normal day dress." Sybil said sheepishly. "I'm so sorry, Mama. Truly. If I'd thought there had been any other way..."
In Mary's head the puzzle pieces suddenly fell together. Sybil – quoting Romeo and Juliet all the time in London. Sybil – making 'church visits' with Lady Imogen. Sybil – saying that the wedding 'circus' didn't matter to her at all...
"A Catholic priest married us. Father Furlong." Tom admitted then, addressing his mother. At least this piece of information seemed to calm the poor Irishwoman who had been quiet all this time. "Well done, Tommy." Ciaran toasted his brother. Clodagh elbowed him into the ribs.
"But Sybil darling...what were you thinking keeping this from us?" Cora shook her head in disbelief. "And you couldn't have been wed twice now..."
Sybil sighed. "I know. But...you see everything went so well with Papa inviting Tom to Downton and accepting us being together...I didn't want any more discord." This at least was understandable. "I thought there would be no harm in having a second proper wedding for everyone else. Nobody would have known the difference."
"God help me with this child!" Robert exclaimed and covered his brow.
Matthew hated to speak up and second Robert on this, but Sybil was erring. "Actually, there would have been trouble...because the registrar in Ripon would have found out that you were already registered in London. Legally, it's not possible to be...doubly...married."
Tom pressed his lips together. This would probably be the wrong moment to mention that he had made a deal with the registrar, Mr. Thatcher, regarding their case. The man was a bit of a crook and would probably sell his own mother as long as a nice sum of money sprang out of it...
The party gradually calmed down. There was nothing to be done about it anymore, except to accept the facts...
In one corner of the room, Mary joined Matthew who seemed preoccupied. "What are you thinking about?" she asked gently. His hand immediately went out to clap hers and there was an anxious look about him. It was clear that he had something specific on his mind...
"Just..." Matthew licked his lips, clearly nervous. "...it's..." He regarded Mary intently, then stared down at the carpet. "It's nothing...a stupid idea." Especially since he had only just got his darling back. It would be wrong to push her now...
"Tell me." she prompted, pressing his hand in hers. Matthew looked up, trying to read her features. He took a heart.
"I was only thinking that...if Sybil and Tom are not marrying tomorrow...perhaps...we could do it instead." There he'd said it. Matthew held his breath while he waited for her reaction, praying that she would take kindly to his proposition...
She laughed. His heart sank and it took all of his strength to pull the muscles of his cheeks up and pretend to be amused as well. "Yes, I know...it's stupid...I told you so." he chuckled tensely. Of course it was stupid! With a painful flutter he recalled last winter, their passionate night in the library, when he'd asked her to marry him the next day. She had not been impressed...
Mary's thumb caressed his knuckles. "Matthew...I don't even have a dress." she reminded him.
One eyebrow shot up and his mouth suddenly curved into a genuine smile. He gazed at her lovingly. "Oh, my dear, you could wear a white tablecloth and you'd still be the most beautiful bride that was ever seen..."
It might have come out as a joke, but Mary knew that he meant it every word. She blushed and her fingers contracted around his as she struggled to hold herself back. On a chaotic night like this it was only too tempting to let all propriety fly out the window and just devour him with kisses...
Matthew retracted, afraid he had gone too far. "I'm sorry, my darling. It was just an idea. Of course you want to wait and...be sure that this is right...and have it all done 'properly' and..." And perhaps she also needed time to get used to him again and the way he was now. Matthew bit his tongue.
"Come." Mary suddenly stood and helped him up by the arm. He leaned on his right crutch and let himself be pulled towards his Lordship who was venting his disappointment quietly to Violet over his second brandy...
"Papa?" Mary approached him warily. "Before you tell the cook or the maids or the footmen to call off the wedding..." Mary held her head up triumphantly. "We volunteer." Her father must have thought she was jesting, or perhaps it was the effect of the liquor, but Robert started laughing. His mother's bony hand on his arm stilled him quickly.
Violet frowned at Mary. "Are you going to get married in your day dress as well? Or why not in your riding clothes and make them dirty beforehand...that seems to be the new bridal fashion." The Dowager sniffed disapprovingly.
"Oh, Granny." Mary exclaimed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She turned to Matthew, looking for support, but her poor fiancé was simply too overwhelmed to say anything. His cheeks were glowing and the slight twitch around his mouth made it clear that he needed a moment to get a grip on himself.
"Well, I don't know, Mary." Robert said, seeking Cora's advice. The Countess of Grantham was also torn. On the one side, she was loath to have another wedding muddled up. Getting her daughters married off properly was her job after all. On the other side, she wanted Mary to be happily settled without delay...
"I think it's a fine idea." Rosamund barged into the conversation. "Plus, it will distract from the business with Sybil. People will talk, but it will look much tidier this way." This much was true, they had to concede. Calling off the whole wedding would lead to more nasty questions. And in these war times, a spontaneous ceremony was not as uncommon as before...
"It is settled then." Robert heaved himself out of the chair to shake Matthew's hand.
The young soldier was still rather gobsmacked but as realization hit, his demeanour gradually reflected the delight that had rendered him momentarily speechless. The more people kept pouring congratulations and good wishes upon him, the easier it became for Matthew to believe that this was truly happening:
Tomorrow, Mary would become his wife!
Once the crowd had left them alone, Mary carefully guided her husband-to-be to the door. Cora had insisted that Matthew spend at least the night at Crawley House, or it would be 'bad luck'. Since the others appeared to be occupied for the moment – either discussing the arrangements for tomorrow or persuading the Branson family to stay – the couple sneaked into the library to catch at least a few minutes of tenderness...
Matthew eagerly pulled her gloves off and kissed both her hands in front of the fireplace. "You make me so happy, do you know that? I'm so happy, I can't even..." he declared with a tremor in his voice. Mary laughed quietly and nodded. "Me too, darling."
He regarded her more seriously then. "But this is truly what you want? I didn't mean to push you there..." Matthew had to make sure. "...because, my darling, I would wait, no matter how..."
"Shhh.." Mary silenced his worries with her lips, pleased when she felt his joyful groan in her mouth. Her fingers clawed in his golden hair, still damp from the bath earlier. "I'm sure, Matthew, as sure as I could ever be." she whispered softly.
There was still one thing that held him back. "And...you won't mind this?" Trying to keep himself steady, he lifted the remains of his right leg a little and in a brave move placed Mary's hand tentatively on it. She could feel the anxiety radiating off him, his wounded limb quivering slightly under her touch.
"I won't mind." she said simply. Before Matthew could tell her how much this meant to him, the screens that separated the library into the convalescent and the private part shifted aside to reveal a very drunken Patrick.
"But of course she doesn't mind." his voice slurred. The empty decanter of brandy in the corner of the library was suddenly accounted for. Matthew pulled Mary aside and a little behind him. In their excitement they had completely forgot who was lurking in the library...
"She's glad to have found someone who'd still have her...aren't you, dearest?" Patrick drawled. He took two steps towards the couple, then put his empty tumbler onto a table. "To think of the irony...the beautiful Lady Mary, who could have had anyone she wanted six years ago...and now she'd even settle for a useless cripple with a desk job..." A nasty snicker escaped him.
Mary tried to burst forward, but Matthew held her off, turning his back towards Patrick.
"And all I can say is...thank the Almighty that I came home in time to this shabby little castle..." Patrick pointed two long fingers up at the high panelled ceiling. He surpressed a burp. "It's a pile of rubble really compared to the new palaces they are building over there in the modern world..." He threw his arm out to what he supposed to be the west side.
Matthew could feel Mary shake with the force of her fury. He breathed hard and caressed her cheek, trying to ignore the man raving behind them. Mary tried to peek past his shoulder, wondering how Matthew could remain so stoic...
"But...this is still my inheritence and to think that it might have all gone to a puppyish lawyer with only one leg..." Matthew knew that Patrick tried to provoke him. But he would not give him the satisfaction, as hard as it was to keep calm. "Then again, I believe you would not have been the first cripple with a title..."
Every time he used the word, Mary was nearly screaming with the desire to claw Patrick's face into shreds, but Matthew kept her close and tried to turn her gently towards the entrance. "Ignore him." he whispered softly and even in her furious state, Mary had to admire Matthew's capacity for self-control.
They were about to leave, when Patrick found his mark.
"So really, if it wasn't for me...the honourable House of Grantham would have fallen to a crippled nobody and some Turkish fellow's shameless little slut..." He spat out the last word with such venom that spit flew out of his mouth.
A second later, Patrick himself flew across the carpet. Mary screamed and tried to hold Matthew back, to no avail. Something inside him must have snapped as he swung around to punch their hateful cousin straight into his smirking mouth...
Mary had never seen him like this. Her reasonable, kind, sweet Matthew ringing down the hulking figure of Patrick Crawley, who still had a few more pounds on the war-worn officer, not to mention two legs to stand on. But Matthew's primal reaction had surprised him and once they had clumsily tumbled to the floor, the unassuming lawyer pushed Patrick's face into the carpet with surprising strength...
"Stop this!" Robert roared as he bustled into the library, followed by Tom and Evelyn Napier, who quickly sought to pull the brawling cousins apart. The party had just been about to disperse in the great hall, when they had caught the racket.
The Bransons and the Ladies watched in confusion how both Matthew and Patrick tried to regain some semblance of composure. Pulling their dinner jackets straight and smoothing their hair, the two men glared at each other. Robert cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps you had better move back into the Savoy for now." he addressed Patrick. There was no doubt about it. He certainly would not stay for the ceremony tomorrow...
Patrick nodded curtly, then stumbled out to order his cases to be packed.
Matthew turned to Robert. "I'm sorry...about the mess." He gestured at the broken glass and the stains on the carpet. A vase and a decanter had been sacrificed in the ungainly struggle. Robert smiled wrily at him. "Tell that to Carson...I'm not the one who has to clean it up."
When the butler appeared, Matthew actually apologized, but Carson had a good idea what may have brought on the 'mess' and so Captain Crawley was instantly forgiven. All this time, Mary had kept silent and merely watched her fiancé from the side lines. Her dark eyes raked over his body as he tried to tidy himself up. Perhaps it was wrong...but a small, unaccountable part of her had been rather thrilled by the display.
And she wasn't the only one. From where he stood, Ciaran Branson nodded proudly at Matthew and slapped Tom happily on the shoulder. "It isn't so boring here after all." Violet heartily agreed with him on that.
Mrs. Branson was adamant that the family should leave as well now. It would be wrong to stay at a wedding party if they were not actually involved. While all the Granthams were busy trying to assure their guests that they were still very welcome to the wedding, Matthew watched with satisfaction as Patrick came down the stairs, dressed for travel. His valet followed with a suitcase. The rest would be sent down later...
Outside, the car had been ordered to take the heir of Grantham onto the station to catch the last train going out. Matthew slowly made his way towards it on one crutch, followed by Tom and Evelyn.
They watched Patrick climb into the back of the car. Tom went to help the driver by starting the engine for him. With some effort, Matthew managed the last few feet to the open door of the car. He was quite exhausted, but there was still one last thing he needed to do...
Patrick startled when he caught sight of the officer with his crutch. "What now?" he barked at him.
Matthew's face was impassive. He breathed through his nose, willing himself to remain calm. "You'll keep your mouth shut about Mary." he stated calmly and was greeted with an indignant huff.
"Or what?" Patrick sneered. "Or...I'll tell he truth about you. The whole truth." Matthew said cooly. Patrick laughed, too shakily to sound casual. "Oh, and what would that entail exactly?"
"I think you know." Matthew said, never blinking. "I'm just giving you a fair warning. One word against Mary and you'll find your own name all over the papers...and yourself in prison." Patrick's lids widened and a fine sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. In his cheek, a nerve began to twitch.
Matthew had to strain his own features to conceal his surprise. He'd never expected that his threat would actually hit home. Their cousin blanched visibly while his green eyes kept flickering from Matthew to Evelyn who stood behind him. Captain Napier nodded at the man in the automobile, as if he knew the whole story...
At long last, Patrick made a dismissive noise and tried to pull the door shut, but Matthew was stronger.
"If you stir one finger against my wife...or my family...you'll regret it." Matthew growled, his voice unfamiliar with menace. Tom and Evelyn exchanged a glance behind his back. It was unlike the otherwise docile lawyer to spew threats...then again, they had seen him capable of giving into wrath tonight.
The trenches were not very far off in that moment...
"I mean it, you'll leave us in peace." Matthew clarified with finality. The warning in his piercing blue eyes was enough to make Patrick uneasy. Any trace of arrogance had quite disappeared, replaced by panic. He had to watch his back...
"Alright then..." He seemed to collect himself enough to attempt a smile of assent. "...no names, no packdrill, eh?" Patrick's finger ghosted over his dry lips to seal the pact. There was no other choice...
Matthew said nothing. It was enough. He threw the door shut on Patrick and turned his back on the car that finally sped away into the night, leaving a fog of gasoline in its wake.
The three men remained outside the great house for another minute. Evelyn pulled his cigarette case out and offered one to his companions. They declined, Tom rather regretfully. He'd promised Sybil to stop smoking. She didn't fancy the smell.
"How did you know?" Evelyn addressed Matthew, who pressed his lips together and scratched his head. A sheepish smile softened the previous scowl. "I didn't..actually." he shrugged.
"You...were bluffing?" Evelyn gaped at his fellow officer, nearly choking on his cigarette. He covered his mouth as he started to laugh and cough simultaneously. Matthew smiled and shrugged again.
"I took a shot...of course we have nothing to prove against him...not yet anyways." His gaze went out into the dark fields surrounding the estate. "But you can just tell he's been into some bad business...whever he was these past six years." Matthew inhaled the nightly air, suddenly filled with nothing but relief. "Someone who lies, cheats, blackmails and steals...it's as plain as the nose in his face that he's in big trouble." Matthew turned back and smiled crookedly at the two men who were evidently impressed.
"What do you reckon he's done?" Tom wondered. Matthew shook his head. "God knows...but it must be bad...seen how he panicked there...but always so glib...like the cat who ate the canary."
Evelyn grinned. "I used to think Mary was a bit mad, leaving me for a solicitor..." he chuckled. "...turns out she was quite clever." Napier appraised Matthew with genuine interest. "If I ever need a good lawyer, I'll know where to find one."
Matthew rubbed his slightly bruised brow and looked down. Praise always left him rather embarrassed, so he merely smiled modestly at the other two men and turned towards the house.
The only person whose admiration he truly craved was inside there...and by this time tomorrow, she would be his wife!
The others watched in amusement as he stumbled inside and straight into Mary's arms to steal a goodnight kiss before they would be forced to part again for the night.
Happily, it would be for the very last time...
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Needless to say, it was a great pleasure to write Patrick out ;)
Next chapter: It's happening...at last. Here's hoping that Mary finds something better to wear than a tablecloth...