Excerpt from the personal diary of Matthew Crawley
May 15th, 1918
Mary is a light sleeper at night but a heavy sleeper in the morning. I shall have to adjust to that. I don't have to heart to wake her in the mornings, she sleeps so peacefully. She does, however, have a rather tight grip. I find myself having to wrestle her arms away from me to get up in the mornings lest I wait for her to rise.
Accounts of Mary and Matthew Crawley
He laid awake in bed staring at the ceiling until the sun pierced through the windows and flooded his eyes with the harsh rays of the early morning. He tried to dodge it but there was little room for him to move as he was held down tightly by Mary's embrace. She had quite a bit of strength considering her dainty frame. He didn't feel like fighting her clawing grasp this morning. But he was restless. He felt the urge to get up and move around. His leg was getting better and the rest of his wounds, despite the scars, were all but healed.
"Mary, my darling," Matthew said as he held her close and shook her gently.
She simply furrowed her brow, buried her face deep into his chest, and nuzzled him. This was a common tactic she employed. How could he deny such a loving and frankly adorable act? Matthew had never thought that Mary would be the cuddling type. Perhaps, it was a new development. Either way, Matthew found himself in an odd position.
"Mary, it is morning," Matthew said as he gently blew into her face, jostling the stray strands of her hair across her face, tickling the sensitive spot on her nose.
"It is morning when I say it is," Mary muttered through her veil of sleep.
Matthew fell back into the pillow, defeated a little frustrated. He closed his eyes and turned away from the window. He could still feel the heat of the sun on the back of his head but at least it wasn't in his eyes anymore. He stayed like that for a few minutes more until the movement of the sun had passed to the point where it was no longer in his eyes. He had to do something about the placement of the bed.
He decided the only way he was ever going to get up was if he fought her, like usual. It wasn't pleasant, hence his initial reluctance. But he was wide away, bored, hungry, and had to urinate. He had developed a tactic for this. He would slowly entwine his fingers into her hands. Then he would push with his elbow and slowly slide her arm off from around him. Once she realized what was happening, and she always did, he would pinch his arms to his side so that she had no room to rewrap her arms around his torso. He would then promptly roll out of bed before her vicious claws could retake him.
Mary would eventually wake up several hours later. He was never in bed by that time. She would languorously drag herself out of bed, get dressed, which took her a few days to get used to doing without Anna's help, wash up, and go downstairs. Usually, she would find him sitting outside, smoking a cigarette staring out into the horizon. Other times, she would find him doing push ups in the living room for which she would always give him a harsh reprimand, for in her estimation, he was not yet well enough for exercise.
On this particular morning, Mary found him sitting at the dinner table, with some toast and eggs that he had made. Breakfast was just about the only meal he could make without assistance, although he was learning much from Daisy and Mrs. Bird, much faster than Mary was. There was something about the way the morning rays of sun cast against his golden hair that made him look absolutely splendid. She watched him from a distance as he poured himself tea. Was this what happiness was? Had they finally made it?
Excerpt from the personal diary of Mary Crawley
May 19th, 1918
I know that he loves me in his own way. Papa can be so cruel sometimes. I wonder if he notices me at all sometimes. I know that I have always been a little difficult in his eyes but I wish he could see how much I've grown in the last year. I know that my life has not been hard and Papa had done his utmost to make me comfortable, but as a result he sees me as little more than a child. What must I do to earn his admirable and his respect?
It was the knock that woke her up. Had it not been for the knock, she might have slept the morning away. She only meant to rest her eyes for a few moments, but her old bed was so soft and so comfortable compared to what she had been sleeping on for the last few weeks. She didn't realize how much she missed it. Mary promptly forced herself up off of the bed just as Anna stepped in.
"Sorry," Mary said embarrassed as she straightened out her outfit, "I must've nodded off."
"It's quite alright, milady," Anna said with a genuine smile. "We're ready to head back to the house now."
"Alright," Mary said as she picked up the pile of linens from her bed.
Mary and Anna made their way out of Mary's room, across the gallery, and downstairs. They were hoping to avoid contact with as many of the officers and staff as possible. Mary and Matthew had been missing for a while now and naturally the rumours grew in their absence. But no one knew where they were or what had become of them or if they were even together. Mary had long since given up caring what people said of her. She finally had Matthew back. Against all odds, against the war, against Lavinia, against her own foibles, she had him back and all the teasing and all the gossip in the world, that which was the bane of her existence before the war, felt so little and so inconsequential now.
Mary and Anna were just about out of the front doors before they heard "Mary?"
She was so close.
Mary turned around to find Robert approaching from the library. Mary forced a smile and greeted her father.
"How are you, Papa?" Mary said cheerfully.
"Well," Robert replied gleefully, "do you have a minute to talk?"
"I'm awfully busy," Mary replied.
"I was just wondering how you and Matthew were doing," Robert said.
Mary nodded understandingly. She looked over her shoulder at Anna and gave her a half smile. Anna immediately knew what it meant. Mary followed her father into the drawing room so that they would not be disturbed. She found a spot to put down the pile of linens she had been carrying and frantically tried to adjust her hair all the while knowing that it was hopeless. She looked like a mess and no amount of tucking her hair was going to fix that.
"So how is he?" Robert asked.
"He's… he's doing well," Mary answered nervously, "his leg is healing."
"Good, that's good to hear," Robert said an expression of relief overtook him. "When do you think he can return to Downton?"
"I'm not sure if he's ready for that just yet," Mary replied.
"It's only that…" Robert said hesitantly, "The men and the staff are beginning to talk. They don't say anything to me of course but Bates brings word from downstairs. I've tried to drop a few hints that Matthew has been transferred to another convalescent home but it is rather a less salacious story, I'm afraid. People are inclined to believe what they want to believe."
"Then let them," Mary replied as she tried to suppress her irritation, "I don't care much for what they say anymore. And you shouldn't either."
"Mary," Robert said in his fatherly voice, "the war hasn't changed everything."
"It had changed enough," Mary replied sternly, "Matthew almost died out there in the front. Beyond that else just pales in comparison."
"You still have his and your reputations to think of and after that ugliness with Lavinia..." Robert speed before he upset Mary any further. "All I'm saying is that it may seem unimportant now but when the war ends, these things can become quite unpleasant."
"Then we'll deal with that when we come to it," Mary replied curtly. "But as for right now, he needs the peace and quiet. What he does not need is the rumours and whispers."
Robert sighed and rubbed his forehead as he could see the frustration in Mary building.
"Well…" Robert said softly, "keep it discrete and don't tell your mother."
By the time Mary arrived back at the house, it was getting dark. She had been gone all day, picking up supplies with Anna and Daisy, ferrying both of them to and from Downton with the help of Branson. It wasn't an easy task as they were trying to avoid notice wherever possible and the presence of Mary didn't help at times. Luckily, they knew the hidden passages through the house quite well and with the exception of Robert, Mary's presence back at Downton seemed to have gone unnoticed.
She was exhausted by the time she got back to the house. Mary saw Matthew setting up the dinner table as she walked in. Their eyes met. Her expression broke. She held out her arms and instinctively Matthew went to catch her. She fell into his arms and for a second he thought he was going to collapse but managed to make it over to the couch and settle her down gently.
"Rough day?" Matthew said as he hovered over her.
"The very worst," Mary said as let out an exhausted sigh.
Matthew leaned in and gently kissed her.
There was a moment of serenity.
"I think I deserve more than just one," Mary said in a huff.
Matthew smiled, leaned in, and kissed her once again. This time, longer and with more passion.
"That's better…" she whispered as his parted hers, leaving behind only a gleeful smile upon her face.
"So, tell me about your day of labours," Matthew said as played with her delicate fingers.
"Linens, linens, and ever more linens," Mary chanted, "what is there to say really?"
"Is work not what you thought it'd be?" Matthew teased.
"Oh shut it," Mary said as she sat up and pushed his face away, "you work in an office. Don't pretend like you know what it is to carry a heavy weight all day long."
Matthew maintained his smile as he looked away. It took Mary a second to realize what she had just insinuated.
"Oh God, Matthew, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's okay," Matthew said understandingly, "It's rather nice that you still think of me as a solicitor. Although I'm not sure if I can go back to it now."
"Whatever you do, I'll support you," Mary said.
"Thank you, my darling, for being so patient with me," Matthew said as he turned to look at her. "Now tell me what's wrong."
"What do you mean?" Mary asked as she furrowed her brow.
"What's bothering you? Because I know it isn't just because you're tired," Matthew insisted, "give me some credit, I know the difference."
"It's Papa," Mary relented with a hint of a smile as she leaned into his chest. "I don't really want to talk about it but needless to say he's being insufferable once again."
"Surely, he can't be that bad," Matthew said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulder.
"He wonders how you are doing?" Mary commented blithely.
"But he didn't ask after you…" Matthew said, finishing her thought.
"No… he didn't," Mary confirmed as she nuzzled against his chest.
"You know he loves you," Matthew said as gently kissed the top of her head.
"Does he know it, though?" Mary asked rhetorically.
"He can be quite forgetful at times," Matthew said jokingly. "Remember that incident with the snuff box?"
Mary tried not hard not to laugh, it was her moment to sulk. These moments came few and far between now. But Matthew seemed determined to make her feel better, one kiss and one awful joke at a time. And despite her most valiant efforts, she did feel better after sitting on the couch with Matthew's arm around her for a while. At least well enough for Matthew to have dragged her off of the couch and into the dining table so that they could finally eat dinner.
Excerpt from the personal diary of Matthew Crawley
May 28th, 1918
It is good to see Mary smiling again. She has smiled so little in the last month. I'm afraid caring for me has been a far greater burden than she had initially anticipated. I could've told her that. Still, she wants to do this and who am I to stand in her way? She knows her own mind and will not be deterred, certainly not by a cripple like me. But the leg is getting better, I can walk small distances without the cane, although it is still quite painful. To be honest, I'm not sure if I will ever be able to ride again.
Matthew sat by the window as he read his book and drank his tea. Occasionally, he would peek out the window and stare out into the horizon often did. Occasionally, he would grab his leg and wince in pain. He tried to do that as little as possible as to not worry Mary. But she noticed every time. She did her best not to react. She knew that he would downplay it for her sake but she couldn't help hurting with him when he hurt. But the spasms of pain seem to be less and less frequent so she was thankful for that.
The clock struck eleven. Mary immediately sprung up from her chair.
"Right, shall I prepare luncheon?" Mary asked.
"You?" Matthew asked as he looked up at her curiously.
"I can do it now," Mary said.
"Why not let Mrs. Bird handle it?" Matthew asked.
"She's not here," Mary replied.
"She will be," Matthew insisted, "she's never late."
"What's wrong?" Mary asked suspiciously. "Are you saying you don't like my cooking?"
"You're rather new at it," Matthew answered with a chuckle, "you learn a couple of things or two from Mrs. Bird and suddenly you think you're the worlds greatest chef."
"Is that right? At least I don't cook like a soldier," Mary said as she shot him a vicious look.
"I am a soldier," Matthew replied simply.
"Well, your stunning lack of faith in my newly acquired skills aside, I'll go prepare something for us to eat-"
"Wait," Matthew said as she jumped to his feet.
"What it is?" Mary said as she turned around and gave him an unimpressed stare.
Matthew picked up his cane and hobbled over to her and put his hands on Mary's shoulders. Just then there was a knock on the door.
"Oh thank heavens," Matthew said with a sigh of relief. "They're here. If I actually had to stall, I have no idea what I would've done."
"Who's here?" Mary asked in a rather confused voice.
Matthew zipped over to the front door and opened it.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Anna said in a pant.
"It's quite alright, Anna," Matthew replied.
"Anna?" Mary asked, still confused, "What are you doing here? I didn't request that you come today."
"I know, milady, but…" Anna was about to say before she looked over at Matthew. "You should tell her."
Matthew walked over to Mary and again and stared intently into her eyes.
"What's going on, Matthew?" Mary asked.
"Close your eyes," Matthew said.
"Why?" Mary asked suspiciously.
"Close your eyes," Matthew repeated.
Mary relented and did as Matthew commanded. Matthew then took Mary's hand and gently led her outside. Once there, he put his hands onto her shoulders and repositioned her. There was a few moments of silence.
"Okay, now you can open your eyes," Matthew said.
Mary opened her eyes and couldn't believe what she saw. It was her horse, Diamond! Mary hadn't ridden in ages. Not since she followed Matthew into the woods where he had buried his friend. That was a year ago. She was stunned mute. How did she get here? Was this what Matthew was looking out the window at this whole morning? How much work did it take for Matthew to arrange all of this? Her joy became overwhelming as she spun around to look at Matthew. Matthew merely returned her exhilaration with his signature smirk.
"Anna brought your riding clothes," Matthew said.
"How did you manage this? How did you manage to bring Diamond all the way out here?" Mary asked as she put her hands on his cheeks, leaned in and kissed him passionately.
"Nevermind that," Matthew said.
"Was it difficult?" Mary asked.
"Nevermind that," Matthew insisted.
"Oh Matthew, I'm so thrilled," Mary said as tears of joy began to well in her eyes.
"Mary, my darling, for the past few months, you have done nothing for yourself. Your singular focus in life has been nursing me back to health and while I am eternally grateful for your efforts, I cannot in good conscience let you live this life of toil and burden on my account," Matthew said.
"You're not a burden," Mary whispered through her quivering gentle sobs.
"But I am, you have learned to clean and cook and change my bandages. You help me walk wherever I go and despite your propensity to walk fast, you always try to keep pace with me. You have become my nurse, my maid, my cook… I have seen you struggle and I have seen you overcome…" Matthew said as his eyes narrowed. "And I know that you want to do all of this for me and you don't want me to feel guilty. But I do. I simply do and I can't help it. So this… gesture, don't think of this as anything grand. Because it isn't compared to what you've done. It is the least I can do to repay you for the sacrifice of your own comfort and your own joy. I simply cannot let you sacrifice anymore of it on my behalf. So I want you to have fun today, promise me that."
Matthew took Mary's hand and raised it to his lips. He planted gentle kisses on her fingers.
"I will, I promise. But what about you?" Mary whispered. "Aren't you going to join me?"
"I can't ride," Matthew replied, "not with my leg the way it is."
"There have been plenty of English kings that had trouble with their legs and could still ride," Mary said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Unfortunately, I'm not a king," Matthew replied with a melancholy smile.
"You are to me," Mary said as she leaned in and kissed him once again.