The chemistry between them at breakfast was palpable: A smouldering sideways glance from Mary as she spooned fruit languidly onto her plate set Matthew's heart racing. When he reached for the teapot, Mary found herself entranced by the fineness and elegance of his hand and how perfectly it was accentuated by his snowy white sleeve and lustrous gold cufflink. Every word spoken to the other had a double entendre. Any excuse and their hands brushed.
Sybil and Edith both noticed, and threw each other furtive, amused glances. Carson noticed. He was back on duty for the first time since his illness, and he was so very pleased to see their utter devotion to each other that he could not stop smiling.
When it was time for Matthew to leave for Ripon, Mary didn't want to let him go. They kissed hungrily at the main entrance, not caring in the least who was watching. Finally, after Branson had tooted the horn cheekily for the second time, Matthew put his hands on Mary's shoulders and gently pushed her back. "Darling. I'm already late for work."
Mary stood up. She took his hand once more and pressed it to her lips. "Until tonight then," she whispered seductively. Flushed and a little breathless, he reluctantly bade his wife farewell and crossed the drive to the waiting car.
0-0-0-0-0-0
An early telephone call to the office from Charles brought Matthew crashing back to reality. "Carlisle has got people working for him," he told Matthew grimly. Charles had travelled to London the night before, and he had already managed three meetings with contacts there.
"Howard and Hunter are working on his defence, and he's retained the services of a couple of private investigators, both of whom, you could say, deal with the shadier side of the business.
"From what I'm hearing, he's busy looking for dirt on anyone and everyone he suspects might have been behind selling him out to the Military Intelligence Service," Charles paused and cleared his throat. "Including you, Matthew."
There was a silence on the telephone. Eventually, Matthew spoke, forcing himself to keep his voice even. "I see. And is there any word on exactly what he might have on Lord Grantham?"
"Nothing specific as yet. I'm fairly confident from what I heard last night and this morning that he's still trawling quite widely. So that has to be something in Lord Grantham's favour."
"A small comfort. For now, anyway," Matthew commented. "Have you got any names yet?"
"I should have by the end of the day with the meetings I've got to come."
"Thank you for all of this, Charles," Matthew said fervently. "It means a lot, you getting onto this so quickly."
"Never a problem, my boy," Charles said jovially. "Anything for you and Lady Mary! And besides: I can't say I wasn't happy handing you the task of trying to please Brookby's for a change. Always one of our more demanding clients." He gave a chuckle. "It will be a good test of your diplomatic skills."
"Given diplomacy isn't always my strong point, I worry you are putting a little too much faith in me," Matthew said ruefully. "They are tough taskmasters all right. They have already been back with a series of questions on what I sent through late yesterday!" The two men conferred on some other work matters for a few minutes and then bade each other good morning.
Matthew replaced the receiver and leaned back and shut his eyes, Charles's comments about Sir Richard Carlisle replaying in his mind. It was to be expected. Of course, Carlisle would be doing all he could to fight the charges. But it was still disconcerting knowing he was deliberately looking for anything that might expose those he suspected of wronging him.
And Robert has gone and left himself wide open engaging in this tomfoolery with a maid in his employ! Matthew thought with a flash of anger.
But what bothered him most was the uncomfortable knowledge that the person doing the watching must be local at the least, or possibly on the Downton staff at worst. If the chap watching has got stuff on Robert, then what might he have on me? Or anyone else at the Abbey? he mused. He rubbed his face with his hands and straightened up. It was a question to which, at this particular time, he had no answer.
Opening his eyes he could see the large file that was Brookby's sitting atop his desk. It seemed to be staring at him balefully. He exhaled deeply. Hit the books Matthew, or you won't be home until midnight, he muttered to himself, and finding the place where he had left off, he resumed reading the dossier of papers he had been part of the way through when Charles had called: albeit a little distractedly he remembered with a flash of guilt.
He allowed himself a moment of pleasure to recall the antics of the previous evening and early morning with his beautiful and oh, so insatiable wife. He grinned to himself and gave a heady sigh. And then taking a deep breath, he focused his attention back on the papers before him.
0-0-0-0-0-0
"How are your wedding preparations coming along?" Mary asked Edith over luncheon. They were the only two in the dining room: Sybil was at the hospital, and Cora was resting. Robert's continued absence and failure to get in touch were starting to affect her, and she had slept very badly.
"Reasonably well," Edith said. "Anthony's staff are very good, and Mama and I got quite a lot done that week before we both ended up getting sick. I got to London finally for my dressing fitting. The concept Lucile has for it is rather lovely," Edith said enthusiastically.
"Nice that one of us at the least will have been married in a couture gown!" Mary said wryly.
"Oh, I don't know. Your gown was stunning. Perfect for the formality of a military wedding. I doubt many of your guests would have known it was bought ready to wear," Edith countered.
They concentrated for a few minutes on their luncheon and the tasty vegetable soup that Mrs Patmore had prepared. "Anthony seemed in good spirits when I saw him yesterday," Mary remarked. "He spent a lot of the time I was on shift out of doors talking with one of the gardeners!"
Edith smiled. "That sounds like Anthony. He's impressed with what we have done here with the roses. And he is a lot stronger," she paused and looked at Mary with a serious expression. "We're hoping he can be discharged early next month. Major Clarkson has a specialist coming in a few weeks to examine him before they make a final decision."
"I wish Evelyn could be doing the same," Mary said solemnly. "How was he this morning?"
"Quiet," Edith sighed. "But he was looking forward to going to the Grantham Arms with Matthew tonight, so that is something."
"And has Sarah-Jane talked with Major Clarkson yet?" Mary pressed.
"As a matter of fact, she has. She got quite cross with him! It seemed to work as he agreed to get another opinion. Last I heard from Sarah-Jane just before lunch was that one of the York doctors will be here to see him tomorrow."
"I am relieved to hear it," Mary frowned. "I really didn't like how he was talking yesterday. You know how stoic and uncomplaining he's always been."
"You are right," Edith agreed. "It is out of character for him to be so down."
"I'm not convinced it is just melancholia, you know," Mary went on. "I worry he's a lot more unwell than anyone realises."
"That's what I have started to get afraid of too," Edith said in a low voice. "Thank heavens Sarah-Jane insisted on another opinion, and right away."
They were both quiet for a moment. Evelyn was a dear friend to them both, and Edith, like Mary, had been alarmed at how he was when she had finally returned back to her duties at the convalescent home a few days earlier.
"And what do you think of your home-to-be?" Mary asked Edith, deciding they both needed a change of subject. She was interested to hear a little of the property Edith would be moving to, now that making a home was also on hers and Matthew's horizon.
"Loxley?" Edith said. "I like it. It's a little masculine, given how long Anthony has been without a woman in the house, but it has nice rooms, and there is a lot of potential to improve it with some re-decorating. The gardens have good bones, although I'd like to see them with a bit more colour."
"Let's hope Brown gave Anthony a few tips about the roses yesterday then!" Mary said a smile.
Edith chortled. "I do hope so. And little light gardening should be something he will be able to cope with."
"Matthew and I are going to look for something near the village," Mary said, looking at Edith thoughtfully. "He wants to be close to Isobel."
"So you won't stay on at Downton?" Edith asked in surprise.
Mary shook her head. "Not initially. Of course, at some time in the future we will end up back here, but both of us like the idea of our own home, at least for the early part of our marriage."
Edith smiled. "How exciting!" she paused and looked at her sister thoughtfully. "Although there won't be much about that is suitable, of course."
"No," Mary agreed. "We will probably have to settle for a property with a decent acreage and then extend whatever home is on it to suit."
The two of them continued to discuss ideas for their respective homes a while longer until Carson returned and announced that one of the nurses was asking for Lady Edith and could she return to the ward.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Arriving home at twilight from her hospital shift, Sybil took a detour to the garage, hoping Tom was still there. She needed a distraction. It had been a tough afternoon, with several children very ill with measles: there was one she was sure they would lose by the morning. To her great relief, she saw the light was still on.
"Good evening!" she said cheerily, entering to find Tom with his shirt sleeves rolled up, in the midst of putting tools away: it was clear he had been doing some work on one of the cars.
"Sybil! What a nice surprise. I didn't think I'd see you after your shift," Tom said his eyes lighting up as always at her smile.
He leant down and with considerable ease, picked up the heavy steel toolbox in one hand and the oilcan in the other. He carried them to the end of the garage and put them away. Sybil followed, enjoying watching his powerful forearms ripple and flex as he went about his task.
"I had to see you," she said. "It was a difficult shift. We had two very sick children and one of them is unlikely to last the night."
"Oh dear," Tom turned to her and frowned. "As if you haven't had quite enough illness and death to contend with of late!"
"It is getting a bit much," Sybil admitted. "With the war over, I think I expected things would get easier, but of course people do get sick as well as hurt."
Tom walked across to the sink. He soaped his hands and began to scrub them vigorously with the nailbrush.
"Well here's hoping you get a physical therapy position. I imagine that won't be quite so tough as the nursing has proved to be."
"No. It tends to be a lot more positive because it's all focused on recovery," Sybil gave a heavy sigh. "And it can't come soon enough!"
She leaned against the garage wall watching idly as Tom continued with his vigorous scrubbing.
"It all depends on me finding somewhere of course," she said a little glumly. "There are some worrying signs about: I heard recently that women who are married are finding it hard to renew their teaching posts with education boards wanting to give preference to returned servicemen. And there's some talk of a marriage bar in medicine as well!"
"Well, getting the vote was never going to mean the battle for women's rights was over," Tom said reasonably. "You girls are going to have to keep fighting every step of the way. You know that."
Sybil rolled her eyes. "Just like the Irish are going to have to continue to fight the English for independence every step of the way!"
"Too right." Tom looked at her seriously, and then he grinned.
"But thinking just about us for a moment, I've got some good news," he said.
"Oh?" Sybil looked at him expectantly.
"I've got an interview for a position with the Daily Herald in London next week," Tom said his grin widening.
"What's that?" Sybil asked, frowning.
"It's a socialist paper that George Lansbury and a few others established before the war," Tom replied. He paused, and then said a little hesitantly, "They have been active supporters of the pacifist movement right through."
Sybil's enormous dedication to the soldiers she nursed had left Tom a little uncertain on where her former views on movements like pacifism now stood.
To his relief, Sybil nodded approvingly. "At least someone has been speaking out against the madness of the fighting," she said grimly. "Whilst the rest of us have been too busy cleaning up the mess it has made of far too many young men's lives." She looked at him thoughtfully. "It sounds like a position that could suit you very well."
"I hope so," he replied. "The pay won't be brilliant. But it's a step in the door to a career as a journalist if I get it. Who knows? Perhaps in a year I'll have the sort of position that's almost respectable, and maybe then we can be together properly."
Sybil gave him a slightly troubled look.
"You know, Tom. I've been thinking. The awful business with the 'flu..." her voice trailed off. "And then, today, Mary…" she began to smile.
"I was about to say the Captain!" Tom interrupted with a chuckle. They both looked at each other knowingly and began to laugh.
"Mary was floating around looking like the cat that ate the cream!" Sybil snorted.
"And Captain Crawley was completely distracted! I doubt he got any work done at the office!" Tom grinned. "I had to toot them twice. He was already late for work and they did not want to stop kissing!"
Sybil gave another snort, and then both of them began to laugh so hard they couldn't stop.
"Have you ever seen two people so completely head over heels in love?" Sybil said eventually, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Not to that extent. But then…" and Tom stopped laughing all of a sudden, and he looked at her. A longing, wistful look, his blue eyes fixed on hers so intently that Sybil felt her body begin to tingle. She returned his gaze, unblinking, willing him, wanting him to say something. He didn't. He just kept looking at her.
Say it yourself, silly. You started this, Sybil told herself grimly.
"What I was trying to say, Tom," she ventured finally, "Today, Mary and Matthew… oh, for heaven's sake, it's time!" she said, her eyes wide. "Time to us to move forward. Let's stop waiting and just do it."
"Now? Tom said, opening his mouth in surprise.
"Now. Life's too short Tom! People keep dying!" she said beseechingly. "It's made me think. Reassess. I don't want us to delay getting what Mary and Matthew have got a minute longer!"
Tom straightened and wiped his hands on the towel. He turned to her and said slowly, "I'm sorry. But I've waited so long for those words I can't believe I'm hearing them. You won't mind burning your bridges?
"Mind? Who is there left to mind? It's not as if Papa has got any moral leg to stand on!" Sybil blurted out bitterly. "And he's not even here. Let's go and start our new life. Fetch me the matches!"
Tom was staring at her solemnly.
"You know my girl. A while ago I'd have been all for it. But now… oh, damn it, Sybil. I'm not happy with us eloping. It doesn't seem right. Can't we do this properly? Your parents don't deserve the deceit. I'm thinking of your mother," he added hurriedly when he saw Sybil's face darken. And it's not just Lord and Lady Grantham, he thought to himself. I couldn't let the Captain down. He will expect I do the right thing. And I know he will support us if I do.
Sybil face softened, and she looked at him steadily for a long moment. "I think you are right," she said at last. "But they will object, you know that don't you Tom."
"They will. But you don't need their permission. And at least this way they are forewarned and we have a chance to explain ourselves to them before it becomes public."
Sybil started to smile. "Very well. Let's do it properly. Tell me how you think we might go about it," and the two of them sat down together on the garage bench and began making plans.
0-0-0-0-0-0
A little later that same evening, Branson drove Evelyn to the Grantham Arms to join Matthew for dinner. Matthew had been with Molesley at Crawley House, catching up on the work of the Trust they had set up to support the district's wounded soldiers into jobs. A light drizzle was falling and there was a chill in the air when Branson opened the passenger's side door and helped Evelyn to stand. He passed him his crutches, saying, "I'll accompany you inside, Sir."
"Thank you," Evelyn replied.
Branson had to steady him twice as they made their way from the motor to the entrance of the Grantham Arms. It pained him to see Lieutenant Napier struggling with yet another setback to his recovery. Branson had developed a lot of respect for him over the preceding months, witnessing the quiet, yet highly effective way he had gone about the task of persuading local employers to take on wounded men. The Lieutenant, like Captain Crawley, was a man who Branson had never felt patronised or belittled by, in stark contrast to the many others of his class he had so often had occasion to chauffeur.
"I see the Captain's landed the best table," Branson said with a chuckle when they were safely inside the warmth of the public house.
Evelyn managed a smile. "That will be Joe," he said in reference to the publican. "He'll do anything for us these days - so much business with us holding the meetings here!"
Sure enough, they were immediately greeted by a friendly shout from behind the bar, and Joe the publican came around to meet them, drying his hands on a towel as he went. "Lieutenant Napier! Great to see you out and about now that awful flu is over," he grinned. "Come this way. Captain Crawley's already here," and he led Evelyn to the table beside the fire where Matthew sat, so absorbed in reading some papers, that he was oblivious to their arrival. He looked up with a start when Joe pulled the chair out for Evelyn and Branson helped him to sit down.
"Glad to see you taking the committee papers so seriously!" Evelyn quipped by way of greeting.
Matthew grinned. "Too right. And I'm glad you could make it old chap. It's a bit of a miserable night out there."
"Would you like your sore leg elevated sir?" Branson asked. Evelyn nodded. "You are very kind, Branson. Learning a few tricks from Sister Crawley I see!"
Branson blushed slightly and gave a chuckle. "Have to say I am, Sir."
Joe had overheard, and immediately brought across another chair and a cushion for Evelyn to rest his leg on.
"I'll be back for you at eight o'clock," Branson said to Evelyn, and he farewelled them and turned to go.
"And what may I get you, gentlemen?" Joe enquired.
"Unfortunately, because I'd kill for a whisky, I need to stick to soda and lemon tonight," Evelyn said ruefully. "But you'll have a whisky, won't you Matthew?"
"I most certainly will. And we're here for dinner too, thank you, Joe."
"Yorkshire pud tonight," Joe replied. "I'll be back shortly with your drinks gentlemen," and he returned to the bar.
Evelyn grinned. "I have to say it's bloody nice to get out."
Matthew chuckled. "I thought you might feel that way after being cooped up the last couple of weeks! It reminds me of the first time I came here with Roy and Alfred. It felt like such a novelty, and we were all so unused to drinking we all ended up half cut. Luckily Branson turned up, or I think we would have spent the night in a ditch somewhere!"
Evelyn laughed. "Those two are a couple of characters all right," he said. "Alfred has written to me a few times. He's enjoying being back at the bank. And it sounds like he might be seeing his former girlfriend again."
"Really? I thought she had called it off," Matthew was surprised.
"Well, she had. But it's back on again now. Perhaps she decided she could cope with him being without legs after all."
Evelyn's face fell. "It's not easy you know. Alfred's back to his old career and you and Eddie are out getting on with your lives. Back at work and enjoying it. And you're married. And you've got your health. You're getting stronger all the time Matthew! I just seem to be going backwards," he gave a heavy sigh.
"You are having a bloody awful time of it, that's for sure," Matthew said solemnly. "What is Major Clarkson saying? Could you ask for a referral?"
"He's been reluctant," Evelyn said heavily. "But Sarah-Jane was with me this morning when he came in, and she got pretty direct with him and insisted, so he's finally organised for another opinion. Tomorrow, all going well."
"I'm glad to hear that," Matthew said. "And it's great you've got an advocate in Sarah-Jane! God, if I hadn't had Mother doing that for me early on, I wouldn't even be here to have this conversation with you."
Evelyn smiled a little bitterly. "I guess that's true. I suppose I should be thankful she hasn't given up. Even if I have."
Matthew's heart gave a lurch on hearing Evelyn's words. "Don't give up, old chap," he said gently. "You've got too much to live for! Your wedding for one thing!"
Evelyn was silent for a moment. "We keep delaying it," he said glumly. "The thing is, Matthew, I wanted to be able to walk down the aisle for my own wedding. I didn't think that was too much to ask. But now…" He glanced at Matthew and shook his head, "I'm sorry Matthew. I shouldn't be talking like this!"
"Talk how you want," Matthew countered. "If I had been in your position with a real chance, I'm sure I would have been exactly the same."
"So what would you do now if you were me?" Evelyn looked at him sadly.
"I think you need to work out what would serve you best right now," Matthew said firmly. "With Sarah-Jane.
"If getting married sooner gives you something nice to aim for, no matter where you are with your recovery, then do that. But if you want to focus on a full recovery first, well that would be fine too."
He looked at Evelyn and gave a sheepish grin. "But I must say old chap, being married is an awful lot of fun. If I were you, I think a wedding is what I would choose."
Evelyn laughed in spite of himself. "I can tell. You and Mary. You're both glowing!"
"But seriously, Evelyn," Matthew said. "Perhaps that is what's more important right now. Being able to be together properly with Sarah-Jane. You light each other up. And you might find that helps you recover quicker anyway."
"But what if I don't recover Matthew?" Evelyn said unexpectedly.
Matthew looked at him, shocked. And then he saw it. Evelyn was scared. Actually, scared didn't really cut it. He was terrified. It was in his eyes. Naked, raw fear. He's not low, Matthew realised with a growing sense of horror. He's afraid. He really thinks this is it. He really thinks he's going to die! Is he more unwell than anyone knows? Matthew felt a lump come into his throat.
"I hope to God you do recover Evelyn," he swallowed. "But I'm not going to say anything glib. We've both seen far too much for that. But for god's sake, insist this new Doctor assesses you properly," he said looking steadily at his friend. "And you know what? If you are that worried? Get married soon. Tomorrow if you want! Give up on waiting for the right time. You both love each other. God damn it, that's enough. And god damn it you of all people deserve the love of a good woman!"
Evelyn looked away from Matthew, into the fire. He was blinking back tears. Matthew nursed his shot glass, staring as he swirled the liquid around and around. He felt quite shaken up. They were both silent.
A little while later, the publican arrived with their meals. He set the steaming plates down with a flourish and looked at them both.
"You boys are looking a little solemn tonight! Another round of drinks? These ones on me?"
"That's very generous of you Joe," Matthew said gratefully. "How about it old chap? You don't want to change your mind and have a whisky?" He glanced at Evelyn.
Evelyn shook his head. "Not the whisky. But another soda and lemon would be nice thank you, Joe."
They ate their meals in silence. Evelyn could only manage a few mouthfuls, which disconcerted Matthew even more. Finally, Evelyn pushed his plate away and looked across at his friend.
"Give me a distraction Matthew," he said, managing a half smile.
"Bloody hell, Evelyn," Matthew fought the swirl of emotions threatening to engulf him. He swallowed and forced himself to grin. "Very well, what might do the trick?"
"Let's start with here," Evelyn replied. "Just what in heavens name is going on at the Abbey? Robert stalks off over a week ago now, Cora shouting at him from an upstairs window! And since then, there's been an atmosphere so thick you could cut it with a knife."
"A messy story," Matthew said ruefully. "And I really shouldn't be saying anything," he looked Evelyn in the eyes. "Can you guarantee it goes no further?"
"Of course," Evelyn chided him gently. "Remember I spent most of the war in defence intelligence old chap. I'm an expert at keeping my mouth shut!" He gave Matthew a mock salute, and with that, Matthew began to talk.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Friday morning felt like Thursday morning at the office all over again. There was an early phone call from Charles with a little more news on what Carlisle's henchmen had been up to. And the next round of to and fro with Brookby's over the advice Harvell and Carter were providing for the pending deal. But shortly after eleven o'clock, it didn't feel like Thursday anymore at all. There was a knock on the office door. "Come in," Matthew called. Beatrice, the receptionist entered and stood a little timidly just inside his office.
"Mr Crawley," she said hesitantly, "I have message for you. Lady Mary will be here at midday and she is expecting you to take her to luncheon."
"Oh, she is, is she?" Matthew's face broke into a delighted smile. "And from the way you are saying it, I have no choice but to do as Lady Mary has instructed?"
"It would appear that way Sir," Beatrice replied her lips twitching a little. "I did take the liberty of checking your appointments, however, and you are free up until two o'clock."
"Thank you, Beatrice. And would you mind booking us a table at the Spa Hotel, please? If we are too late, please select us another suitable establishment. You know what I like to eat."
"Of course, Sir," Beatrice smiled politely and she turned to go.
With the pleasant prospect of luncheon with Mary to look forward to, Matthew returned to the Brookby file with renewed energy, and by the time Beatrice knocked on his office door shortly after midday to announce Lady Mary's arrival, he had almost finished his report.
"So tell me," Matthew said curiously when they were finally seated at their table in the Spa Hotel dining room. "What business is it that brings you all the way to Ripon to see me for lunch?"
"I've got news, both good and not so good. And since we had so little time together yesterday with you out all evening, I wanted to do it in person," her face was serious.
She reached across the table and took his hand. "Evelyn has been taken to hospital in York," she gave a gulp. "The doctor who came this morning insisted he is admitted to the military infirmary there. I imagine the ambulance will have arrived by now."
"Oh, my," Matthew said at last. "I can't say I'm not relieved."
"Me too," Mary said grimly. "He immediately suspected the infection had got into the bone. It may be worse, they are not sure yet. So Evelyn is definitely in the right place. And Sarah-Jane travelled with him. She told me that Lady Branksome is going up there too."
Matthew reached across the table for Mary's other hand, and the two of them held each other tightly.
"I think he knew," Matthew said almost inaudibly. ""He was so afraid, Mary!" Matthew's voice shook.
Mary swallowed and held Matthew's hands a little tighter. "He was. Edith and I could see it too." She gazed at Matthew her eyes dark and her face solemn. "Let's pray for him Matthew," she said. "In case there is a God. Go to church after lunch."
Matthew couldn't help a small smile at Mary's earnestness to pray, despite her own doubts. He squeezed her hands. "Of course," he answered gently.
A polite cough from the waiter brought them back to the practical business of choosing a dish from the menu. Over their meal, Mary shared the better news she had: a constructive meeting with Jarvis, who in Robert's absence, seemed keen to bring Mary up to speed as quickly as he could on the affairs of the estate. "He's given me a rather large box of files to start reading through," Mary said with a rueful smile. "And he also told me the steps he's been taking to deal with the tenants in arrears."
Oh?" Matthew smiled, in spite of himself.
"Perhaps it's me being married to you, but he went through each of the situations in detail and told me exactly where each was at!" Mary said with a chuckle.
Matthew smiled a little more. "You're going to be fabulous in this role, Mary," he said enthusiastically. "Getting such good cooperation from Jarvis shows just how much respect you've got around the place, and how you are already viewed as a manager."
Mary blushed at his praise. "But it's you who has been the one identifying the problems," she countered.
"That's the easy bit," Matthew retorted. "Doing something about them is where it gets tough, and that's where you have proven yourself. Look at the way you turned the hospital around!"
"Aided by the huge injection of funds from the army though," Mary replied. "Which would have been frittered away and wasted without your careful management," Matthew reminded her. "There were no systems, nor accountability remember? It was you who put all that in place."
In spite of herself, Mary beamed. She had never been one to seek out praise, and for the most part, she was uncomfortable when it came her way. But when it was coming from Matthew, well, that was an entirely different matter. Impulsively she leaned across the table and gave him a lightning quick kiss.
"You are so very good for me Mr Crawley," she said softly. "I think I must be the luckiest woman in the world."
"And I, therefore, must be the luckiest man," Matthew replied, his magnetic blue eyes fixing her with such a warm and loving gaze that Mary's skin prickled.
The waiter returned to clear their plates, and they ordered tea to finish.
"Mary," Matthew hesitated. "I ended up telling Evelyn about the Robert Cora saga last night. Confidentially of course. But he reminded me that Viscount Branksome is also a member of a lesser known gentlemen's club called Trumps and that one offers accommodation, including to non-members if they are endorsed. I tried them today and they said no, but there was something about the response I got when I phoned that did make me wonder."
"Well, perhaps we need to try all of them again," Mary said practically.
Matthew nodded. "Very well. I'll do that later this afternoon," he paused. "Mary, there are some other things to do with Robert that I need to ask you about. Are you all right with that? I mean, it is a difficult enough day with what is happening for Evelyn."
"Just say it, Matthew," Mary said with a sigh. "The longer he is away with no word, the worse Mama is. She slept badly again last night."
"Very well," Matthew said. He leaned down and picked up his leather folio, which he had placed on the floor beside his chair. Opening it, he removed a sheet of paper and pushed it across the table in front of Mary. "This is a list of names. Can you tell me if there are any on there that you recognise? Local people, or… Downton staff."
Mary quickly scanned the list and shook her head. "None of these are familiar," she said. She fixed him with a frown. "Where did you get these names from?"
Matthew looked down at the table and drummed his fingers on its edge. He took a deep breath. "These people are either employees, former employees, or known acquaintances of Sir Richard Carlisle," he said heavily. "Charles got them. He's in London."
Mary gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "You don't mean…" she said tremulously, "oh no. Matthew, is it him? Is he behind this?"
"Unfortunately it's starting to look that way," Matthew said grimly. "I'm really sorry, Mary!"
Mary had begun to shake. Matthew reached across and took her hand. "Mary, I wish I hadn't had to tell you this. But I had to. Someone is watching Robert, is watching me, and possibly others at Downton too, on behalf of Sir Richard. We need to find out who he is."
"Of course you had to tell me," Mary swallowed. "Oh, Matthew! I thought this was all behind us!"
"So did I, Matthew said grimly. "But Carlisle is facing treason charges. The way his mind works, he'll be looking around to take as many as he can down with him."
Mary stared at him frowning slightly. "Have you warned Sergeant Barrow?"
Matthew shook his head. "No," he paused. "Why?" and then he gave an audible gasp. "Oh god, no. Maurice!" and Mary saw his hands tremble.
Mary took a deep breath. "And it sounds like I'm going to have to name a few more on the staff who have pasts, so we can keep an extra special eye out for them too," she said reluctantly. Matthew nodded. "Unfortunately yes," and he removed his notebook from his folio and picked up his pen. At the top of the page, he wrote Barrow – warn Maurice. "All right my dear, let me have them."