A/N:Happy Friday, everyone! Well, early Saturday morning for my readers across the pond. :)
Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and for all the PMs and support. You're all just wonderful!
Lots of love to Willa Dedalus for being my sounding board. It is always so very appreciated. :D
Chapter 37
The more Mary tried to convince herself that Matthew hadn't nudged her with his knee while asleep, the more she couldn't dismiss the incident from her thoughts. That, combined with the worrying changes in his behavior, had her very concerned for his well-being. When he grimaced in discomfort again the following day, she said nothing, but placed a hand on his arm, giving him an eloquent look. He knew she saw his preoccupation and wished to know what was wrong; she didn't have to say the words. When he, once again, tried to put on a brave face and dismiss her concerns, she only raised one delicate eyebrow and moved away.
She lay awake much of that night waiting for any further hints of movement from under the blankets, but, as she suspected, nothing happened. The next night, it was much the same. When she felt nothing on the third night, she was quite ready to dismiss the entire thing as a figment of her imagination.
On the forth night, however, it happened again.
The movement was so slight that she might have missed it if she hadn't been wide awake and lying so close to him. It was only a small spasm of the muscles of his upper thigh and a little jerk of his leg that lasted no more than a single instant, but she felt it unmistakably where her thigh was pressed against his.
She was still awake in the small hours of the morning when Matthew woke with a nightmare. Stroking his sweat-dampened hair and kissing away the few tears that trickled down his smooth cheeks was as soothing to her own ruffled nerves as the actions were to him. Soon, she was able to fall asleep, her head tucked securely beneath his chin.
When Matthew left her for his usual few hours with her father, Mary decided to search for answers. Matthew was ensconced in the study with her father; Edith, Sybil, and her mother were making arrangements for the departure of the officers. No one would miss her if she stepped out for a couple of hours.
Resolution set, she ordered the motor brought around and had Branson drive her to the hospital, where she immediately located Dr. Clarkson just finishing up his rounds.
"Lady Mary, what can I do for you? I hope all is well with the occupants of the Abbey?" he asked kindly.
"Dr. Clarkson," Mary began, twisting the handle of her handbag between her gloved fingers, "I was wondering if I might take a few minutes of your time. I know you're busy, but I have a rather...pressing question to ask. It's about my husband."
"I see. Very well, Lady Mary. If you'll just wait a few minutes, I have one last patient to see."
Mary nodded her agreement and turned to leave the ward. Before she went, she turned back for one final look at the room where she'd spent so many hours when Matthew had first arrived, broken and battered inside and out, but very much alive. She compared her mental image of his prone body in the small hospital bed to the handsome, robust man she'd sat across from at dinner the previous evening, exchanging furtive glances over the rims of wine glasses when they thought no one was looking. He had come so far, but there was still so much more she hoped to help him accomplish.
She was so lost in her thoughts, that she was almost startled when Dr. Clarkson lightly touched her elbow and asked her to follow him to his office.
"Please take a seat, Lady Mary," he offered, seating himself behind his desk and folding his hands in front of him. "Now, what is it I can do for you?"
"Dr. Clarkson," she began, "I'm concerned that Matthew's back might be hurting him. He hasn't said anything, but sometimes he seems uncomfortable or...distracted. He's also..."
Here she paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Dr. Clarkson would surely think she'd gone mad. To think that Matthew had experienced some movement in his legs was one thing; to say it aloud was another thing entirely.
"Yes?" the doctor gently prodded.
Mary gathered herself, sitting up straighter and setting her jaw determinately, daring him to mock her or think her an ignorant female. Mary Crawley was never unsure of herself.
"Three nights ago, he nudged me in his sleep...with his knee. Last night, I felt one of his legs sort of...quiver. I know I didn't imagine it."
A knowing look came over the doctor's wizened face, and he looked down at his joined hands. For a moment, Mary was surprised, braced and ready as she was, that he didn't immediately dismiss her claims. She was truly taken aback when he spoke.
"I have a letter here," he opened a drawer in the desk and removed a folded letter, "from Sir John. It was sent a few days after his examination of Captain Crawley."
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the fierce beating of Mary's heart as it whirred fiercely in her ears.
"It seems," Dr. Clarkson continued, "that Sir John was of the opinion that, given time, it isn't impossible that Captain Crawley might regain full use of his lower body."
Now Mary was truly stunned. For a moment, her mouth dropped open, and she quickly snapped it shut.
"I see. How?"
"Sir John wrote that, upon comparing his findings in Captain Crawley's case to others of his experience, that his spine might have been only bruised, rather than transected, and that, once the bruising heals and the pressure on the nerves releases, feeling and motor function might then return. There's no way to predict this with any certainty, of course, which is why I hesitated to share this information. I wouldn't want to give Captain Crawley false hope when we know so little about this type of injury."
"Of course not. Why ever would you want to do that?" Mary responded sarcastically, trying to retain her composure when, inwardly, she was seething with anger at the doctor for keeping such an enormous piece of information from them for so long while Matthew continued to suffer without hope. Then there was the other thing - the possibility that Matthew might be regaining the use of his legs. But, no, she wouldn't think about that yet. It was almost too wonderful to contemplate, certainly not with any equanimity.
"Sir John's letter - may I take it with me?" Mary asked, giving Clarkson a look that would brook no argument.
"I suppose so, Lady Mary," Clarkson said after a moment's hesitation, replacing the folded paper in its envelope and tossing it across the desk to Mary. "It might be of some help, considering the task I have for you to perform. In his letter, Sir John lists several possible signs that might offer further insight into your husband's changing condition. I'd like you to monitor him for the next several days and report back to me if things continue to escalate. Then we can make a decision on whether or not to give Captain Crawley the good news and conduct another examination."
Mary's eyebrows shot up as she retorted,
"Dr. Clarkson, are you suggesting that I keep this information from my husband?"
"I am recommending that you do so, yes," Clarkson answered. "I've witnessed first hand what disappointed hopes can do to a man in Captain Crawley's position, with some very tragic results."
"Ah, yes," Mary spoke, her voice deceptively calm. "Sybil told me about the blinded young man who took his own life. Tragic, indeed."
"So you see my point, Lady Mary."
"Actually, I wonder if it might have done him some good...to at least have a ray of hope, however false, to cling to until he'd had time to accustom himself to his condition. It might have saved his life."
"It's a difficult call to make, Lady Mary. I won't argue with you there. But, as a doctor, I do what I feel is right for my patients. It's all anyone can do."
Still reeling from the new information and her own turbulent emotions, Mary took the letter, thanked Dr. Clarkson as politely as she could manage, and left the hospital.
The day was chilly, but Mary found the biting November air a welcome distraction from her own emotions. She walked with her usual outward confidence through the streets of Downton Village, but, inside, she felt as though the earth on which she strode had turned to quicksand. A part of her was elated, while another was frightened. She was worried, yet thrilled. Hopeful, yet terrified of that hope. It was all terribly confusing.
More worrying was the thought that, if the news threw her into such a tumultuous state, what might it do to poor recovering Matthew? Her darling who still had night-terrors and meltdowns? who had asked her never to keep anything from him, yet was keeping such a potentially life-changing secret from her? Then again, she realized, he probably didn't understand what was happening to him. He deserved to know of the hope that Sir John had predicted. Of course he did. She only worried that it might cause him another setback. Conversely, it could also be a great stepping-stone on the road to his emotional recovery.
This was one area where she wasn't able to confidently predict his reaction. If he could accept it, he would be overjoyed, but...what if he couldn't accept it? The hope budding in her own heart was frightening to her, but to Matthew it would be so much more formidable.
If they had learned this information before, it might have been better. But to hear it only now, when he had made such strides in coming to terms with his condition...If he were to have his heart set on a full recovery and it never happened, they would have to start all over from square one. Matthew had already been through so much. She hated to see him suffer anything more.
She was so lost in her thoughts, that she almost missed the cheerful voice that called to her from the doorway of Crawley House.
"Mary! Mary, dear, won't you come and have some tea with your mother-in-law?"
"Good morning, Isobel," she replied politely, managing a smile for the older woman as she pushed open the gate and entered. "I'd love some. Thank you."
Mary allowed herself to be ushered into the warm, welcoming house. She handed her coat and hat to a cheerful Mosley, deciding at the last second to slip the letter from Sir John into her skirt pocket to show Isobel. She had been a great help with understanding Matthew before; perhaps she might be able to help her sort out how to tell him what she knew she must.
"You seemed awfully pensive when I saw you walking by the house," Isobel began as the two made their way into the sitting room.
"I've just come from a meeting with Dr. Clarkson," Mary offered, knowing it was useless to try to hide her preoccupation. Her observant and tenacious mother-in-law would talk it out of her sooner or later. Better to simply come clean up front.
"Oh?" Isobel's eyebrows shot up, but she withheld further comment until they had seated themselves. Mosley entered with the tray, providing a brief distraction.
"Would you like me to pour, Mrs. Crawley?" he asked.
"No, thank you, Mosley. That will be all."
Mary watched as Isobel poured their tea, graciously waiting until she had taken a few bracing sips before questioning her.
"Mary, I've tried, since your marriage, not to interfere in Matthew's affairs," she began, "but I think that the welfare of the women to whom my own son's happiness is tied qualifies as my business, as my happiness is tied to his."
She didn't need to say anything more. Mary knew perfectly well what she was being asked.
"It wasn't for my own welfare that I visited the hospital this morning. It was about...about Matthew."
Isobel's eyebrows rose again, wrinkling her high forehead.
"Matthew? I do hope he isn't unwell."
"Quite the contrary, in fact," Mary spoke as she placed her cup on the table and removed the letter from her pocket.
Mary spent the next few minutes relating the events of the past several days to Isobel, ending with Dr. Clarkson's acceptance of Sir John's theory that Matthew might eventually regain the use of his legs. She waited patiently while Isobel pursued the letter carefully, her mouth hanging unconsciously open in surprise as Matthew's so often did, reminding Mary of the subtle resemblance between mother and son.
"Well, this is marvelous news," Isobel finally exclaimed, folding the letter neatly back in its envelope. "Strangely enough, Mary, I can't say I'm truly surprised. A part of me - call it mother's intuition, if you will - has always...sort of known that that blasted chair wasn't my boy's ultimate fate. I had thought I was simply unwilling to face the facts, but perhaps I was right."
"I have to tell him," Mary spoke up for the first time in several minutes, jumping straight to the matter currently weighing on her the most. "Dr. Clarkson tried to tell me not to say anything to him until it was more certain. But I promised Matthew..."
"Well, of course you must tell him at once, my dear," Isobel interrupted. "Dr. Clarkson is a good doctor, but I've often found his methods rather antiquated. We've discussed this before."
Mary nodded her acknowledgement and took her final sip of tea as she waited for Isobel to continue.
"I can't pretend that it will be an easy thing for either of you to face, but the good news is that you will face this, and whatever else life throws your way, together."
Mary left Crawley House with a generous hunk of Mrs. Bird's lemon cake for Matthew and a book on physiotherapy, which, as Isobel proudly pointed out, was a practice that had been officially founded by four women in the 1890s. Sybil would certainly approve.
She flipped through the pages as she walked, glancing over several diagrams and descriptions of techniques that she hoped might be of use to Matthew. It was still early stages - after all, he hadn't consciously moved his legs yet - but she was hopeful that he soon would. Perhaps if he suspected that it might be possible, he would try and...
Her heart fluttered wildly as she entered the Abbey, accepting Carson's gentle welcome with grace and poise, though she made no attempt to hide her preoccupation from the caring butler. Carson knew better than to pry into his young mistress' affairs, but he did offer her a concerned smile that bolstered her spirits.
"Is my husband still with Papa, Carson?" she asked, allowing formality to slip somewhat, as she sometimes did when it was only the two of them.
"His lordship and Captain Crawley are in the library, milady."
"Thank you, Carson," Mary answered with a fond smile and a gentle touch of his arm.
She headed straight to their bedroom to hide the book and letter in the top drawer of table beside the bed, not wanting Matthew to see either until the moment was right. After refreshing herself, she went straight to the library in search of him. Her knock was answered by her father's cheerful voice. Upon entering, she was greeted with the charming sight of Isis and Puck playing tug of war with a bit of rope which was knotted at both ends. She smiled at the scene, knowing Isis could easily have gotten the rope away from Puck if she'd truly wanted to.
Her eyes moved next to Matthew. He was smiling somewhat sedately as he watched the dogs at play. His smile grew when he caught sight of her, though she could see in his eyes that something else had his mind occupied. For the first time, she had some suspicion of what that might be.
Feeling empowered by the insight into his strange, silent moods that she now possessed, Mary made her way to Matthew's side and bent to place a light kiss on his cheek, which he tilted willingly upwards for her.
"Have you had a good day, darling?" she asked with a hint of concern as she seated herself in the chair nearest Matthew.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, my dear. Very good." His brows knitted together as he struggled to get the words out.
Mary placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.
"It must have been productive, for I can clearly see that it's tired you," she spoke as cheerfully as she could. "Perhaps a nap after luncheon would do you good."
"Perhaps," Matthew agreed, at last seeming to return to himself. Mary's smile grew as his warm hand covered hers on his arm.
She hoped that the nap would do them both some good, as it was unlikely either of them would get much sleep that night.
Well, Mary knows! She may or may not share her new knowledge with Matthew next time. *twirls mustache*