37
Wightstead, September 1920
Mary stood looking out the second-storey bedroom window, watching smoke curl from a dozen chimneys in the cool of the morning. The sound of a motor rattled by outside and she let the curtain fall with a sigh, turning away from the view, and walked straight into the corner of her vanity.
"Argh!" She hissed and gritted her teeth, then slowly let out her breath.
Reaching out, she steadied herself against the nearby bedpost and rubbed the sore spot on her thigh with her other hand.
Her gaze moved across the bedroom in annoyance, skimming over the familiar furniture in a place that, even after nearly five months, still did not quite feel like home. Matthew's armchair and dresser lined the far wall, and his armoire stood beside her own against the adjoining wall, leaving only this corner for her vanity. In her present condition, she refused to consider a smaller bed. Perhaps when Isobel left, they might turn the guest room into Matthew's dressing room.
Mary released her grip on the bedpost and tried to flex her hand, but her thickened fingers refused to close into a fist and she gave up with a frown. Straightening, she wove carefully between the bed and the vanity. Matthew would be returning home this afternoon. Perhaps he and Tom could see about rearranging the furniture then. If the vanity were moved to the other side of the bed—but no, then Matthew would likely be the one injuring himself on the corner. She could manage. She just had to be more careful, more patient in her movements. She'd never felt so inconvenienced when she was carrying George, but then he hadn't gone to full term. This baby seemed quite content to stay the course. Looking down with a smile, she paused and rested a hand on her swollen belly, wondering who this new child would be.
There was a clatter downstairs, and the sound of raised women's voices. Mary sighed. She really ought to go down and see what was the matter. She had permitted herself quite enough delay; Anna had gone back down ages ago.
But it was only the late morning, and already Mary felt weary to her bones.
Lifting her chin and bracing herself, she opened the bedroom door and descended the stairs.
"You cannot leave the bairn in my kitchen!" Mrs Harrow barked at Nanny Hollis, a dishcloth in one hand and a dirty glob of dough in the other. "Look at this mess!"
The nanny had scooped up the crying George and was making calming noises, rocking him.
"It's not so bad," Isobel protested. "Just dust everything off a bit, scrub here and there if needed, and pop them right into the oven. The heat is sufficient to kill off any harmful germs."
"I'll not serve dirty rolls to the lady!" Mrs Harrow snapped. "This wee fiend is not fit to be here!"
Isobel bristled, but Anna stepped in with an upraised hand.
"That's enough!" Anna hissed, glaring at the cook. "If you must yell at someone, direct your anger at me. He was in my care."
Mrs Harrow turned on Anna. "I am directing my anger at you!" With an exaggerated show of difficulty, Mrs Harrow lowered herself to her knees. "This'll set me back an hour's effort. Don't blame me if there's only cold parritch for lunch!" Anna bent to help the cook pick up the globs of dough from the floor, but the irate woman batted Anna's hand away.
Straightening and gritting her teeth, Anna looked at the nanny. "Is he all right?"
"Is he all right?" the cook muttered from beneath them, but Anna kept her gaze locked on Nanny Hollis, who nodded.
"I'll go put on his mac," the nanny said calmly. "It looks like there might be a spot of rain."
"I'll come help," Isobel agreed.
Anna stepped aside as the nanny moved carefully around the overturned tray of uncooked rolls and Mrs Harrow, who was still grumbling under her breath.
"What's all this?" Mary's irritated voice came from the hall as she opened the kitchen door. Nanny Hollis paused directly before her and Mrs Harrow's muttered imprecations immediately ceased. The cook quickly finished gathering the rolls on to the tray and stood—again with some difficulty. Mary's tired eyes flickered over George and Isobel and then rested on Anna, the senior servant in the room.
"There was an accident, my lady," Anna replied. "I was to watch Master George while Nanny took a brief break—" Anna's eyes glanced in the direction of the bathroom, "—but I took my eyes off him a moment and he overturned Mrs Harrow's tray of rolls."
The skin around Mary's eyes tightened, but she only nodded. She looked at the nanny. "You'll be taking him out for his morning walk, I expect?"
"Yes, my lady," the nanny answered. Mary gave her son a tired smile and caressed his leg as the nanny moved past her in the hall, Isobel on her heels.
"Is any serious damage done?" Mary asked Mrs Harrow, when the kitchen door had closed again.
"No, m'lady," the cook replied, "but there is no place in here for a wee one."
"I'm inclined to agree," Mary said, eyeing the hot, cast-iron stove.
"I'm sorry," Anna put in, glancing between them both. "I was coming in to fetch the grocery list for today's shopping and needed to discuss an item with Mrs Harrow. I'll not let it happen again."
"I should hope not!" Mrs Harrow shot Anna a superior look.
"That's enough," Mary said sharply to the cook. "I'll thank you not to raise your voice in this house again. Anna has made her apology, and as I see it, there's no harm done. Are all the rolls lost?"
"No," Mrs Harrow replied, a sullen note in her tone. "But lunch will be late."
"Very well," Mary said. "Carry on."
Anna found John in the front parlour, repeatedly pushing a carpet sweeper over a spot in the floor and glaring at the unsatisfactory results.
"Why don't you just try the Hoover?" she asked.
"It's too loud," he replied, pressing more of his weight on the carpet sweeper as he tried again. "I didn't want to add to all the racket."
Anna sighed and leaned against an armchair, watching her husband.
"Ah!" He finally succeeded at sweeping up whatever crumbs Master George had most recently embedded in the carpet.
"I have the list. Are you ready to go?"
"I am," John replied, limping past her with the sweeper in hand. She followed him out into the hall, passing Nanny Hollis and Isobel, who were tugging Master George into his mackintosh and galoshes, amidst his protests. John put the sweeper in the hall closet and Anna passed him, going through the kitchen and back up to their apartment to fetch her hat. He met her there a minute later, shopping basket over one arm and his stick hooked over the other. She glanced at him in question as she lifted her hat, then gasped when he pressed her firmly against the wall and lowered his mouth to hers.
"You'll make me bend the brim!" she protested faintly, giggling as he promptly dropped the basket and the stick and tossed her hat on to the floor behind them.
"I'll make you bend more than that," he growled under his breath, grinning back, and covered her lips with his own. She responded warmly, running her arms up over his broad shoulders as he took her in his embrace.
"We should really be going," she murmured, some time later. "Someone is going to notice us missing."
"They think we're shopping," he answered.
"So what will they think when we reappear in the kitchen?"
"Let them think what they will," he said, running a hand over her bare hip. "I'll not care a whit."
She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his lips, then rose to dress.
When they did emerge into the kitchen, Mrs Harrow did nothing more than shoot them her usual glare, and Anna was more than happy to be out of the cook's domain. They went out into the garden, crossed to the side hedge, and went round the house to the pavement. The residential street was quiet in the late morning, the occasional lorry or woman pushing a pram their only company.
"Mr Matthew is coming home tonight," John observed.
Anna nodded.
"I thought perhaps we might approach them soon," he continued.
She shook her head. "I don't want to complicate matters now. We should wait until after the baby is born and Lady Mary is back on her feet."
John sighed. "If the birth is difficult for her, that might be a while, and I don't want to delay for so long that Mr Matthew goes away again before we have the opportunity to discuss it."
"I know," Anna replied.
John paused, putting a hand on her sleeve. "You do want this, don't you?"
Anna gave him a quick, genuine smile. "Yes! Very much." She pressed her lips together and looked away. "It just might change everything."
"That could be a good thing," he said.
She frowned up at him. "Are you very unhappy here?"
"No, not at all," he answered, smiling down at her. "This is a very good situation for us...right now." He sighed. "Although I can't help feeling a bit useless from time to time."
"Well, Mr Matthew will be home with a full week's laundry to keep you occupied, soon enough," Anna said with a grin. "And you could always have another go at that stain in the nursery carpet."
"I'm not that bored." John chuckled, then jutted his chin towards her pocket. "All right. What's first on the list?"
"There." Isobel picked up the sheet of stationery and waved it to dry the fresh ink. Pleased with the result, she folded up the letter-paper and tucked it neatly inside the last envelope, pausing to flex her stiff knuckles in annoyance when the paper caught on an edge. She sealed and addressed the envelope, making sure to put her return address as Wightstead. She expected to remain at Mary and Matthew's home for the next couple of weeks, at least until she was confident that Mary had suffered no lasting complications from the birth, and that both mother and child were thriving.
Smiling widely at the imminent prospect of a second grandchild, Isobel rose and gathered up her writing supplies. When she went out into the hall, the crisp clacking of Mary's typewriter was audible through the office door, so Isobel knocked firmly.
"Come in," Mary answered, her voice muffled by the thick wood.
Isobel took a step into the room. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"You are..." Mary turned away from the typewriter with a smile that became a slight wince as she twisted in her chair. "...but I would welcome the distraction."
"What are you working on?" Isobel asked. She went across to Matthew's desk and rummaged in the middle drawer until she found the sheet of halfpenny stamps, then carefully tore off a row for her letters.
"Oh, just one of Matthew's contracts," Mary replied, turning back to glance at the document she'd clipped to the stand beside the typewriter. The pages were filled with Matthew's neat handwriting, in black ink, and marked up in blue ink in Mary's slightly more flowing script.
She began typing again, then stopped abruptly and exhaled in annoyance. With another slight wince as she reached forward, she partially unrolled the sheet of paper from the typewriter, rubbed out a letter with the eraser wheel and carefully swept away the remnants with the attached brush before rolling the sheet back down into place. Her posture was not perfectly straight as per usual; because of her distended belly, she was obliged to round her shoulders and stretch her arms further forward to reach the top of the typewriter. With a soft hiss, Mary arched her back slightly and kneaded the lower muscles, then resumed her steady, clacking progress.
Isobel frowned as she finished affixing stamps to her envelopes. "You should be resting, my dear."
Mary only shook her head. She completed a few more keystrokes before speaking. "I want to finish this before Matthew comes home."
"What's so pressing?" Isobel said. "Matthew won't be visiting clients on the weekend."
Mary's frame stiffened and she paused in her typing. "I've already fallen behind on what I promised him I'd do," she answered. "I can't afford to put it off any longer."
"He won't hold it against you, surely."
Mary's jaw worked a moment. "I will not disappoint him." The steady clacking resumed.
Isobel came up behind her daughter-in-law and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "No, you won't, no matter how much—or how little—work you finish."
To Isobel's shock, Mary stopped typing and her shoulders shook as she curled inward. A small sob a moment later brought Isobel quickly round to face the younger woman. Isobel bent to look at her—Mary had covered her eyes with her hands—and she gave Mary's upper arm a gentle squeeze.
"What is it, my dear?"
But Mary only looked away, twisting slightly to hide her face again. Her lovely features were pulled down in a rictus of pain as her tears increased.
"Oh, my dear..." Isobel murmured, and she bent to hold Mary in a patient embrace. It was a testament to how overcome the younger woman was that she did not immediately try to break away from the circle of Isobel's arms. "Whatever is the matter?"
Mary did not respond, just shaking her head as she pulled a kerchief out of her dress pocket and pressed it to her eyes. Her breath came in quiet gasps.
Isobel waited patiently, giving Mary's upper back a comforting caress.
After a long moment, Mary raised her eyes to Isobel. "I mustn't..." Mary's voice wavered, "...fail at this, too." Her shoulders shook as she squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face in her hands again.
"'Too'?" Isobel asked sharply. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I've ruined everything!" Mary exclaimed, dropping her hands down to her sides in an angry rush, the dampened kerchief still clutched in one fist. Isobel stood back as Mary pushed herself heavily to her feet and paced a few steps away. Mary gave another jerk of her arms, turning and taking in the whole house with her gesture, and laughed bitterly. "I had intended to begin making arrangements to attract new clients for Matthew and Tom, but I have nothing to show for it." Mary's mouth trembled as her eyes took in the room, each sight seeming to only make her more agitated. "My household is in conflict! I have failed to maintain order and those under my charge are unhappy. I can see it when they look at me." The corners of Mary's mouth pulled down again, but she fought it, bright tears forming in her eyes. "George fussed instead of nursing this morning. I couldn't calm him. He wouldn't stay in my arms. He screamed for Nanny instead." Mary hugged herself tightly.
Isobel folded her hands together. "I think you expect too much of yourself."
But Mary only shook her head and looked away, her expression hardening. "I should be able to manage a small household, a single child, and a light workload. Don't tell me that you did any less when Matthew was young."
"I tried," Isobel conceded, "but it takes time to learn the knack of it. I had days when I felt a failure, too."
Mary looked up, her eyes wet and reddened. "You did?"
"Of course," Isobel answered with a smile. She drew close to Mary. "We all do."
Mary gave her a weak smile.
"What you need is female companionship," Isobel said brightly. "Other women your own age who are in a similar place, raising young children and overseeing a household. You'll lift each other's spirits considerably, and laugh at your own foibles when you hear of theirs."
Mary's face fell. "I've tried, but... I've been...forgotten."
"In what way?" Isobel asked, frowning.
Mary gestured at a series of notes, cards, and letters that were spread along the side of her desk. "Politely-declined invitations," she replied, turning away. She sniffed, drawing herself up, and crossed to the window to look out until she had regained her composure. Isobel went to the desk and peered down at the cards.
"Lady Constance Kendall," Isobel murmured, reading the topmost envelope. "Who is she? Have we met?"
Mary dried her eyes and shook her head, her mien once again elegant and distant. "If you did, it may have been at Sybil's ball, before the war. I had counted Constance among my close friends. There was a small circle of us. We'd been presented together, and had shared our first Season." Her expression hardened and she looked away. "Before we had each married, we'd maintained a certain easy acquaintance, visiting one another's homes. Later, we exchanged a few letters during the war, updates on our husbands and brothers, and our charitable efforts, for the most part, and Mama and I had them all to luncheon at Grantham House only the summer before last. They were polite and friendly enough at the time, but there was a certain distance that I hadn't expected. I'd dismissed it then, but it's become quite impossible to dismiss now."
Isobel's heart squeezed. "Because you married Matthew?"
Mary nodded, still looking out the window.
"There is no one among them whom you can still count as a true friend?"
Mary drew in a deep breath, exhaled. "Lady Caroline, who most likely would have remained friendly, died when the Spanish 'flu..." Mary swallowed, her eyes meeting Isobel's a moment. "But Frankie remains warm and open in her letters."
"Mr Napier's sister? Oh, how is she doing?" Isobel asked. "I did so enjoy her conversation when we last met...before young Harry was born, was it?"
Mary nodded and chuckled softly. "Frankie is married and has a daughter now, Matilda. Her husband is a much older man, Viscount Pendleton. She speaks fondly of him."
Isobel smiled. "I should like to meet him, then."
"Me, too," Mary agreed, but then she frowned. "Their estate is in Lancashire."
"You could telephone her."
"I could."
"Do you have any other friends in London?"
Mary shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I suspect the rest would be no more eager to see me than this lot."
Isobel drew herself up. "So make new friends, then. Ask Mrs Harrow to bake some pies, and go introduce yourself and George to the neighbours."
Mary frowned and looked out the window again. "A few came by when we first arrived, but they've kept a polite distance since then."
"They're probably taking their cues from you," Isobel observed. "I'm quite sure they know who you are, and they don't wish to give offence. You are in a position to greatly influence the social life here, if you choose to make use of it."
Mary sighed. "I'm just a curiosity to them."
"So become a friend," Isobel replied. "No matter the difference in your backgrounds, I expect you will find that you have more in common than not." Isobel smiled. "I have certainly discovered that with your grandmother."
Mary chuckled and her frame finally began to relax. She tucked her kerchief back in her pocket. "I must confess, I'm rather jealous of Matthew and Tom. They spend more time at Downton now than I do." She sighed. "I knew I would miss it. I just didn't know how much I would."
Isobel nodded and came to stand beside Mary at the window. "It's not just the place, though, is it? It's everything that it represents."
Mary turned away from the window, going back to sit in front of the typewriter. "Yes. But that's all behind me now. It's no use crying over spilt milk. I must do what I can, and right now, if I can aid Matthew in his work, I will."
Isobel frowned slightly, watching as the younger woman found her place in the document and returned to her typing. After a long moment of this silent observation, Isobel collected her stamped envelopes and crossed to the door.
"Thank you," Mary said, turning to look at her. "Truly."
Isobel nodded, gave her a quiet smile, and went out.
"Da da da da!" George exclaimed, waddling in a determined fashion towards the side window of the front parlour. "Da!"
Isobel looked up from the tower of blocks she'd been building. "George, dear, look! I've made you a new tower!"
"Da da!" George cried, ignoring her and trying to heave his chubby little body on to the armchair under the window. Nanny Hollis gave him a boost just as a rumbling motor cut out outside, under the window.
"Oh, Mr Matthew's come home," the nanny observed, glancing out. "No—Master George, don't climb on the sill. Just stay... Here, hold on to the chair-back."
"Da! Da!" George exclaimed, excitedly bouncing without lifting his feet. "Da!" He batted his chubby palm at the window, putting little handprints on the glass.
"He's got very good hearing," Isobel observed, chuckling at her grandson's antics. He was leaning towards the window with a wide, open-mouthed grin on his face.
"Da!" he shouted at the window, then emitted a string of unintelligible, excited burbles.
"Come along, Master George," the nanny said, picking him up from the chair.
"I'll bring him." Isobel carefully got to her feet, then dusted off her hands and held them out. George accepted her embrace willingly enough, but he was all protests and straining back towards the window as she carried him into the foyer, trying to shush him. George fussed until he heard Matthew's footfalls on the front steps and the turn of the doorknob. At that, George twisted and stared.
Matthew's face lit up when he saw his mother and his son waiting to greet him. George let out a screech and buried his face in Isobel's neck. Matthew chuckled as he stepped inside, bending to give his mother a kiss on the cheek before he ruffled George's hair.
"He was excited to see you only a moment ago," Isobel said, smiling.
Matthew set down his briefcase, satchel, and bag, and made to drop his coat and hat on the pile until Bates appeared, efficiently taking the clothing from him.
Matthew grinned. "Thank you, Bates."
"Good afternoon, sir." Bates's answering smile seemed relieved.
Matthew and Isobel stepped aside as Bates picked up all the bags and carried them off. Matthew's gaze was focused wholly on George.
"How's my dear little chap?" Matthew asked softly, prying his son from Isobel's neck as she handed George over. George huddled against Matthew without looking at him, and pushed his thumb into his mouth.
"He's done well today," Isobel said, glancing towards where Nanny Hollis stood in the parlour, her hands folded together, nodding. "Nanny took him for a walk in the park and he had beetroot for lunch."
"Beetroot!" Matthew exclaimed in pride and mock horror. "What a good boy you are!"
"Beetroot is sweet," Isobel protested, "and a great, fun mess to play with."
Matthew made a face. "Beetroot is vile, Mother—" He craned his neck in an attempt to catch George's eye. "—although I will agree it makes for a great mess. Did you stain everything pink, Georgie boy?"
"We put him on an old sheet in the garden while he ate," Mary replied, grinning as she came into the foyer, "and he had a bath directly after. So yes, but the damage was contained."
Matthew's eyes lit up at the sight of his wife and Isobel smiled to see it, but his glance was only brief.
"What else have you been doing today?" Matthew asked George softly, his tone eager to hear every mundane detail. George lifted his head and looked towards the front parlour. Following his gaze, Matthew spotted the pile of letter-blocks on the floor in front of the fireplace. "Ooh! Building towers?"
George looked up at him with wide eyes. "Bada gaa!" He wriggled in Matthew's arms, throwing his small body towards the parlour.
This was apparently a confirmation and Matthew chuckled, immediately bringing George into the room to play. The two were soon engaged in an energetic game of building and happily-shrieked demolition.
Isobel smiled and glanced at Mary beside her. Mary's eyes were soft as she watched the scene. Isobel saw the joy in her gaze, but there was something in the set of her mouth, a line of tension, that reminded Isobel of their conversation a few hours earlier. Isobel returned to watching Matthew, who was wholly engaged in playing with George and had not spared a second glance for Mary.
Isobel frowned slightly. She would not meddle. What took place between her son and his wife was none of her concern. But still she worried.
Mary followed Matthew into his study, entering the room as he peered into his satchel. Bates had left the bag and Matthew's briefcase on the swivel chair in front of the desk. Matthew rolled back the desk cover and set down a thick manila envelope, then pawed at his stack of post as Mary closed the study door.
"How was your trip?" she asked in a polite tone, standing straight and folding her hands over her belly.
"Torture, without you there," Matthew answered. He quickly crossed to her and cupped the sides of her face. Bending forward to accommodate her protruding belly, he pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. She stiffened at first, but by the end of it, she exhaled a barely-audible sigh of pleasure.
Despite this, she gathered herself and smoothed out her dress as he drew back.
"That's a rather over-dramatic description, surely," she said.
He only chuckled and shook his head, reaching out to still her hands. He bent his head to look at her with a slight frown. "How are you, my darling, really?"
"Well," she replied, meeting his eyes and giving him an intentional smile. "Between your mother, Anna, and Nanny, I'm not allowed to do a thing." Her smile relaxed slightly. "But I did manage to type up the contracts for Mr Uxbridge and for Kyp and Knight's." She gestured towards her desk. "I put them in the top left drawer, to keep them away from George. He made rather a mess of the two bottommost drawers yesterday. The papers were scattered everywhere. I haven't had a chance to sort them yet."
Matthew gave her a half-smiling frown as he went towards her desk, pulling open the aforementioned drawers, which looked neat enough. "What's this?"
"Well, your mother tried to put all the papers back, but they're not in their proper folders, not how you like them."
Matthew waved a dismissive hand at the drawers and pushed them shut again. "Never mind that. I can sort them later." He was smiling. "How did he get into them?"
Mary's smile faltered. "It was Nanny's tea. I had been reading to him, but he wanted to play on the floor, so I sat and read a magazine while I watched him. But then I realised it was too quiet and I looked up and saw that he'd got in here..."
She felt the corners of her mouth start to pull down, so she quickly looked away, her gaze falling on the bottom of the bookshelf nearest her. Or, rather, at the stacks of papers and ledgers blocking access to the bottom shelf. She'd meant to have those moved upstairs, but she'd forgotten. Matthew didn't like the overflow from the office to remain in his study; this room was his sanctuary in the house, and he wanted to be able to pluck any book from the shelves at will. She felt a sudden urge to cry, but blinked it back and frowned. What was coming over her? It was merely a pile of papers. There was no use crying over it.
"This looks very good," Matthew said, from across the room. Mary looked up. He was flipping slowly through the pages of one of the contracts.
"I know you left me the Hale papers and Sir Lionel's will revisions, but I haven't finished those yet." She tried to flex her hands but they resisted, her fingers feeling thick as bangers. She frowned down at them in dismay.
"Oh," Matthew answered, sounding distracted as he read something more closely. After a long moment, he finished with it and went over to lay the contract down on his desk. "Well, that's all right. Although I really ought to ring Mr and Mrs Hale before this week is out, to inform them of the delay." Matthew fished his diary out of his briefcase and flipped through it, murmuring to himself, "It's been a month already. Murray won't be pleased."
"I can work on those papers some more tomorrow," Mary offered, her stomach twisting. She swallowed the knot back down and put a pleasant expression on her face.
"If you like," Matthew answered absently, giving her a quick smile as he laid his diary down on his desk and bent to finish writing. He closed the diary and started to walk away from the desk, but Mary put up a hand.
"Anything you want to protect from George, you really ought to lock up," she said, a wry smirk tugging at her lips.
Matthew chuckled and returned to his desk. He pulled down the roll-top and locked it, then moved his briefcase and satchel up to a nearby shelf. "There. Is that high enough?"
"Yes."
Matthew grinned at her. "A year old and into everything!"
"Everything," Mary agreed, letting him take her hand. She squeezed his fingers gently in response and released him, turning to pull open the door. Going out into the front office, she skirted past the drafting table as she spoke. "We've had to move every bin in the house up off the floor. Nanny follows him around and tries to keep him occupied, but he sets to screaming whenever he's thwarted from playing with the rubbish, so we've found it's just easier to remove the temptation."
"Ah," Matthew replied, glancing round the room as he followed her through. "I was wondering why the bin is on top of the filing cabinet."
They moved through the space, the corners of which were piling up with the detritus of property analyses and the remains of more than a year's worth of notes and other documents.
"Did you make any progress on finding an office to rent?" he asked.
Mary shook her head, her gut twisting again. Her lower back ached and when she reached the door that led to the foyer, she leaned against the frame to rest a moment.
"I'm afraid I haven't felt up to travelling round the city these past two weeks," she bit out in annoyance.
Matthew's warm hand pressed against her sore back. "Of course not, darling, I'm sorry."
He looked as though he wished to kiss her, but at George's sudden squeal they both glanced across the foyer to the open door of the front parlour opposite. They smiled at the sight of Isobel kneeling on the floor beside her grandson, who was taking great delight in knocking over the small wooden block towers she was building, while Nanny Hollis stood looking on from her spot near the fireplace. The nanny noticed Mary and Matthew watching the scene and smiled at them.
Matthew smiled back and glanced down at his wristwatch. "We have an hour before dinner..." he suggested to Mary, a glint in his eye.
"A half-hour," Mary corrected him. "Aunt Rosamund's coming and it's going to be a proper dinner, you know that. I've had Bates lay out your things." Matthew sighed, and Mary frowned. "You did tell Tom, didn't you?"
"Yes." Matthew gave her a look of fond exasperation, then smiled. "But that's still enough time to see to your back, so up you go. You should rest before our guests arrive."
"I'm not in fragile health," she protested quietly, but she went up the stairs ahead of him. Receiving even a brief massage was a welcome prospect.
"I never said you were," he replied, caressing her bottom. She blinked in disbelief. She was taking each step so heavily and felt as though she were waddling—how could he find this gait attractive?—but still she smiled to herself. Now that he was returned, she did so want to have him all to herself for a few minutes. His touch was soothing, and really, she wanted something more than a mere massage.
But her chest was beginning to feel tight, so she focused on her breathing; she didn't want to appear winded when they reached the top of the stairs. He'd insist on coddling her if he noticed any distress.
"How did your meeting with Evelyn and Mr Blake go?" she asked, controlling her voice.
"It didn't."
"What?" She frowned and twisted briefly to look back down at him, but the movement was aborted by her heavy form, so she continued up the stairs, drawing in a determined breath.
"The arrangements weren't going to work, between our travel and theirs," he explained.
"You can't keep putting this off."
Behind her, Matthew sighed. "It's not intentional, darling."
They reached the top of the stairs and turned towards their bedroom, Mary drawing in slow, deep breaths and keeping up an even pace. Perhaps she ought to make some enquiries, and arrange for a dinner party with Evelyn and Mr Blake within the month. If Matthew and Tom were to be successful in establishing a new firm, she would need to try harder to make use of social connections to attract and maintain business prospects. This was as good a place to begin as any. But one could not simply invite the men directly; it was far better to invite their wives or mothers, and let the women make the arrangements. Mary knew nothing of this Mr Blake, and Evelyn's mother had passed away many years previous. So were there women to whom Mary should write, extending an invitation that would include the two men? Frankie could most likely shed some useful light on the situation. Mary frowned, considering who else might be a suitable prospect for an invitation.
Matthew followed her into the bedroom and closed the door, but when he pulled her back into his arms with a soft groan, all thoughts of business fled as he reminded her of an altogether more pleasurable occupation.
"Don't touch the pudding!" Mrs Harrow hissed, and Anna drew back with a frown. "I'll tell you when it's ready to come out."
John came through from the dining room, shooting Mrs Harrow a frown as he spoke to Anna. "Could I have a hand?"
"Gladly," she answered, escaping the kitchen. When they were safely out of earshot in the quiet of the dining room, she muttered, "Don't blame me if the pudding is burnt."
John shook his head and smirked at her. "I won't." He bent to lay out a place setting, and Anna took up a handful of silverware and went round the table to lay out another. They worked efficiently together, and when they neared the far end of the table, John finally looked across at her. "I've been thinking. We ought to approach them tonight, before they retire. It'll be a quiet moment."
Anna met his glance, then went back to adjusting the placements of each item in front of her. "I'll consider it, but if Lady Mary is too weary..." Anna shook her head.
"Of course," John agreed. He straightened up and reached for his stick. "I just don't want to delay a moment longer than necessary. We'll need to make plans, if they aren't willing to accommodate us."
Anna pressed her lips together, but nodded.
He turned to look at the row of three decanters and three matching bottles of wine that he'd set out on the sideboard. "Now. Which of these would you say ought to be served first? I'm afraid I've never been much of a connoisseur."
"Neither am I," Anna replied with a grin, coming round to join him. "I prefer sharing a pint at the pub with you."
"True," he said, playfully jutting his elbow against her. "But you've served at table with Mr Carson long enough to have learned a thing or two."
"Very well, Mr Bates," Anna agreed, putting on an air of toffee-nosed authority. "The white should be served first. But let me show you how to properly decant the claret; there's an art to it."
John's eyes darted towards both of the closed dining room doors as leaned close to her, and he smiled as he stole a kiss. "Yes, ma'am."
Matthew helped Mary lower herself to the bed, then flopped down beside her with a long sigh of contentment. She turned over to face him, her swollen belly resting against his bare hip. She lay with her eyes closed, quieting her breathing, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. Tendrils of hair clung to her temple and neck, and he reached out to brush them back, letting his knuckles drift down to caress the swell of her breast. She gave a low, satisfied hum and smiled, still not opening her eyes.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips; she made a brief response with her own and opened her eyes to look at him.
Her smile widened. "You missed me."
"God, yes," he breathed, cupping her breast and kneading it gently. "I should think that was obvious."
She gave a contented sigh as her eyes drifted closed again. "I can't say I disapprove," she murmured, "but I still don't understand how you find this—" She gave a brief wave over her belly. "—attractive."
Matthew slid his palm over her taut skin. There was no movement from the child within, but there would be later, probably just as they were trying to fall asleep this evening. Matthew often felt the kicks and turns then, when his arm was draped over them both. While he'd been away, he'd missed falling asleep with the feeling of new life surging under his hand. Although it must be tight quarters now; with the pregnancy gone to full term this time, it was a wonder there was any room for the child to move. His child.
Smiling, he drifted his fingers down Mary's back until his hand reached the underside of her thigh, and he pulled her leg up until her knee rested on his. When she gave a happy sigh and shifted her frame to match the new position, he fell to idly stroking her skin, then paused with a frown.
"What's this?" he asked, lightly running his fingertips over a dark blotch on her thigh.
Mary's leg twitched slightly, but she didn't pull away. "It's nothing. I just...walked into my vanity."
Matthew's frown deepened and he pushed up on one elbow to take a closer look. The wide bruise was dark, but misshapen, with greenish-yellow edges. "More than once, I would say." At Mary's answering sigh, Matthew looked round the cramped bedroom. "I'll move it," he said. "I don't need my armchair in here right now. I'll put that in the spare room."
"You'll have to find a space between all the boxes and maps," Mary observed dryly. When Matthew returned his gaze to her, he saw her beautiful brown eyes on him. He smirked and settled down beside her again.
"It'll all be out soon, I promise," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead in apology. She hummed softly, closing her eyes, and settled a hand on his hip. Drawing back, he smiled. "Now, where were we?"
"We were getting ready to dress and prepare for our guests," she answered, but didn't remove her hand.
He rubbed her damp skin with his thumb and smiled. Mary on any day was a sight that made him smile and often rouse, but in this state—when she wasn't struggling to breathe—she was full and warm, with an undeniable womanhood that made her even more deeply beautiful. Her cheekbones had softened slightly, her breasts had filled out, and even her legs and arms were rounder. He had always found her slender figure attractive, but this fuller version of her pulled at something deep in him. Pride in his ability to bring her to this, certainly, but also admiration of her strength, and a fierce desire to protect her. Well, he wouldn't be forced to go away again for some time. Murray had granted them three weeks' leave.
Three weeks in which to reunite and enjoy this time together. Matthew's smile widened. He reached up and plucked her nipple, causing her to inhale sharply and open her eyes, giving him a look of amused reproach.
"You're not asking to go again so soon, surely," she said.
He chuckled. "No...although I wouldn't object to another round after supper."
Mary gave a mocking groan and closed her eyes again.
"Don't pretend you don't want it, too," he said, caressing her thigh. "I heard you before. You'll be asking again, soon enough."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, her tone haughty.
His hand drifted down and she moaned. He gave a little laugh. "We just finished and you already want more."
"Well, if you hadn't finished so quickly, I might have had more," she replied, a little grumpily, batting at his arm.
He chuckled and kissed her. "Challenge accepted. You'll not escape me tonight."
She pushed drowsily at his chest with a mournful groan. "Tonight. The dinner party. We must dress."
"You're right," he murmured, sliding away and down. "That sounds an eternity. We mustn't make you wait that long."
Mary's eyes flew open. "Matthew! What are you—?" But he spread her legs, pushing her on to her back, and lowered his head. Her words cut off with a moan as she writhed slightly. "Matthew—wait—we'll be late...oh!"
His fingers continued what his tongue had been doing as he lifted his head with a soft laugh. "In your present state, no one will hold it against you, darling." He lowered his head again.
"But I—" she hissed in pleasure and grabbed hold of the bed sheets with both hands, speaking through gritted teeth. "—will hold it against you!"
He chuckled, the low sound coming from somewhere on the far side of her enormous belly. "You certainly will..." He hummed in encouraging pleasure, and the sound, the warm touch of him playing on and within her, sent her over the precipice again with a soft cry.
As Sybil hurried down the hall towards the back of the house, she glanced over her shoulder at the knot of people in the foyer. Rosamund was exchanging pleasantries with Matthew and Isobel, Mary was keeping the adorably-clad George from making an excited, squealing escape out into the front yard, and Bates was taking coats and hats. Sybil quickly opened the door that led down to the basement, then noticed Anna emerging from the kitchen. Giving the housemaid a quick smile, which Anna returned with a knowing glint in her eye, Sybil slipped down the stairs and pulled the door closed behind her. There was the sound of firm tapping coming up towards her and Sybil smiled as she descended the steps. She bent forward eagerly.
When Tom came into view, she saw that he was wearing black tie, but he'd removed his suit jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. His waistcoat and trousers fit him well. He was driving even rows of small nails into new wall-boards, and nearly half the far wall looked finished. The remaining exposed bits of insulation and wiring and pipes interested her a moment, but her gaze soon fixed back on him, travelling over his figure as she continued to smile.
He paused a moment with his hammering and her heels clicked in the brief silence as she reached the bottom of the stairs. He immediately turned round and, seeing her, matched her grin with his own. He dropped the hammer on the worktable and they were together in two quick strides, a wordless greeting that spoke volumes. When they finally parted to breathe and laugh softly together, Sybil wished she could just chuck the dinner party upstairs and spend the rest of the evening alone down here with him.
"We only have a minute or two," Tom murmured, not loosening his embrace in the slightest.
"Mmmm," she answered, and kissed him again. Everything about the way his body felt against hers, the way he smelled, the way he moved, left her hungry for more. She licked her lips and shifted into a comfortable embrace, resting her forehead against the side of his neck. He smelled of something but it wasn't overpowering, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. "God, I've missed you!" she said, feeling his answering groan. With a final squeeze, she reluctantly stepped back, and he released her. "How were your travels?"
Tom, whose eyes were glowing at her in the low basement light, paused a moment before he answered, and the glow dimmed as he looked away with a shrug.
"The usual," he said. He looked back at her. "How are your studies going?"
"The same." She rolled her eyes. "Wiggins is a taskmaster, but he knows the material."
"Do you think you'll be ready in two weeks' time?"
She glanced aside and shrugged, letting her fingers drift against Tom's upper arm when his hand found her waist again. "I don't know. I'm hopeful. If he didn't think I have a chance, he wouldn't still be bothering with me, so there's that." She nodded her chin at the construction. "How's it coming along?"
He shrugged and dropped his arms, turning to gesture at the wall. "I've made some progress, but not as much as I wish. I'm just never here for long enough."
"That's all right," Sybil said. "You won't be travelling for at least a few weeks after the baby is born, so you can make more progress then."
Tom pulled a face. "Yes, but I doubt Lady Mary would appreciate someone pounding away while she and the baby are trying to rest."
"The sound is muffled," she replied, drawing closer to him. "I didn't hear your tapping at all while I was upstairs."
He made a distracted, vague noise of agreement as they kissed softly.
A discreet knock sounded on the basement door and they both looked up towards it.
"That's probably Anna," Sybil murmured. "She saw me come down. Everyone will be going in to sit now. We mustn't draw attention."
Tom sighed and nodded. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, which relaxed and widened into a genuine one when she pressed up to kiss him one last time. Unrolling his sleeves, he allowed Sybil to affix his cufflinks to each one, smiling at the small furrow of concentration between her brows. Then, grabbing his discarded suit jacket, he quickly shrugged it on and followed her up the stairs.
"If Robert can buy out Simpson and Tucker," Matthew said, sitting back to allow Bates to refill his wine glass, "quite a chunk of the estate will be back in hand. He'll be operating a real business."
"And if it works," Tom agreed, "he'd be farming a third of the estate directly."
"He's become quite taken with it all," Isobel observed, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Before I left, he was talking of pigs with great gusto."
Tom nodded. "He's finally found a good pig-man, young Mr Drewe."
"There's an example of how others are also benefitting from the changes," Matthew observed. "The Drewes are allowed to keep their tenancy, and there's a new job opportunity."
"But not everyone is benefitting, surely," Rosamund said, her eyes narrowing.
Matthew nodded, his gaze flickering to the table, but then he smiled and lifted his eyes. "Robert isn't letting anyone fall through the cracks."
"He's a good landlord," Sybil said quietly. There was a quiet murmur of agreement.
Mary made a sudden, sharp inhalation and Isobel, seated beside her, immediately set down her utensils.
"Mary, are you quite—?"
Mary put up a hand, a careful smile on her face. "I'm fine. Please, don't mind me. I just...bit my tongue."
Mary's hand had gone to her belly, under the table, not to her cheek, but Isobel did not press further. As conversation resumed, Isobel shot a look at Matthew, who only smiled at her. She frowned, glancing between him and Mary, but the two of them were not looking at one another. The only person who met Isobel's worried gaze with a matching look of concern was Anna, but the maid merely carried a plate towards the kitchen and disappeared through the door.
"I hear Papa has been trying to recruit you and Matthew for the house cricket team," Mary said lightly, to Tom.
"I told him I won't play," Tom answered. "Besides, it doesn't seem right. I don't live there any longer and I'm not yet officially a member of the family."
Matthew gave him a look. "Admit it: the real reason you refused is because you don't know how to play."
"Freely," Tom replied with a grin. "And I've no intention of learning."
"Ah, well," Matthew sighed, giving his plate a rather jaundiced look before selecting another bite to eat. "I don't expect we'll be at Downton during the annual match, in any case."
Rosamund set down her glass. "Did you have a chance to visit Edith and Anthony while you were there?"
"Oh yes," Matthew answered, smiling. "Mother and child are doing quite well. Little Peter has the brightest shock of ginger hair."
A chuckle went round the table at this news, but Mary frowned as she watched Matthew leave his remaining food untouched. The beans were limp, but she had thought their odd taste only a result of her own peculiarities while she was with child. Various tastes and smells repulsed her now that normally did not affect her otherwise. But if even Matthew did not want to eat this course—
As discussion of Edith's new son continued, Mary beckoned Bates over, and he bent down slightly at her gesture.
"My lady?" he murmured.
"Clear away these plates and bring out the roast at once," she said quietly.
He gave her a nod and strode to the kitchen door. Isobel was watching her, so Mary smiled and smoothed her napkin on her lap, fighting down a rising sense of inadequacy. A short while later, Bates and Anna reappeared, Anna with the main course on a large platter, which she set carefully on the sideboard. The two of them swiftly cleared the table and served up the new course, and the conversation momentarily slowed as everyone began to eat. The roast was too salty and dry, however, and Mary quickly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and frowned. Soon after Anna had disappeared into the kitchen with the cleared plates, a general air of reluctance grew at the table, and Mary's stomach twisted in knots as she watched everyone politely trying to hide their distaste for the meal. She met Rosamund's glance and burned with shame, despite her aunt's commiserating smile. Mary saw that Bates had also noted the mood at the table, and his expression was stricken as he began refilling everyone's water glasses.
"Ethel was much the same at first," Isobel said gently to Mary, setting down her fork and reaching for her wine glass. "But Mrs Patmore took her in hand and now the girl is doing quite well. I could see if Mrs Patmore is willing to share her recipes."
Mary gave a polite nod of thanks, struggling to keep her bearing although she felt everyone's eyes on her.
"So you've taken Ethel on?" Tom asked Isobel. He gamely took another bite of the roast and then dug into his mashed potatoes.
"Yes, several weeks ago." Isobel smiled. "She's a very hard worker, a bright young woman."
"What of her little Charlie?" Sybil asked, and the table quieted.
Isobel blinked and pressed her lips together, looking down. "His grandparents...came to take him away a few months ago."
Rosamund looked round the room. "What's all this?"
"Ethel was one of Mama's housemaids during the war," Mary explained, picking up her glass as she met her aunt's eyes. "Her son's father was an officer, a patient at Downton. He died during the last days of the war."
Rosamund's mouth made a silent 'ah' and she gave a slow nod.
"She's rather alone, to be honest," Isobel said suddenly, into the awkward silence. "Word has spread about her in the village and she's being treated abominably." Sybil made an annoyed noise and Isobel looked up with a grim nod. "Cousin Violet has been trying to find her a suitable new position, but Ethel is reluctant to move too close to London—her son's grandparents live near here—because she fears that she wouldn't be able to resist trying to see him." Isobel pressed her lips together again and drew in a deep breath. "I only wish I could do more."
Mary met Matthew's gaze across the table, seeing his pained expression. The situation was regrettable, but what could be done? Mary's heart clenched at the thought of being forced to give George up and never see him again, but she set her jaw and looked away. Ethel had made her decision and now she had to live with it.
Everyone poked at his or her food and Mary frowned down at her own plate, desperately searching for a way to rescue the conversation. This was supposed to have been a celebration, the first real dinner in their new home, and a cheerful night off for Sybil, who would once again be sitting the medical school entrance exam in only a fortnight. Mary lifted her head and turned an intentionally-cheerful smile on her sister.
"Have you and Tom decided when to wed?" Mary asked, glancing between them, and everyone lifted their heads, warming to the new topic. "Have you heard back from the dean yet?"
Sybil nodded, smiling. "Dr Henley has agreed to meet with us in mid-November," Sybil answered, then sobered. "Assuming that I pass the exam this time."
"You will," Isobel said, giving Sybil a warm smile. Sybil looked down, hope clearly tugging at her lips.
"We're still trying to work out where to have the ceremony," Tom said. "We want to avoid the public record of having the banns read, but I haven't yet found a priest or vicar willing to waive that requirement."
"Of course not," Mary said. "There are good reasons why clandestine marriages are discouraged."
"But those reasons don't apply to us," Sybil protested.
"Our original plan had been to go to Gretna Green..." Tom continued.
Rosamund winced, but Matthew leaned forward. "It's not a terrible idea," he said, and everyone looked at him. "You can be married without the banns if you're willing to give up having the ceremony in a church." Tom frowned as Matthew went on. "But there's a complication: Scottish law requires twenty-one days' residence in the country for at least one of the parties before a marriage can be performed."
"I wonder how Shrimpie and Susan are getting on," Rosamund mused. "It's been several months since we last spoke. I could have them to dinner."
"But would they agree to host us at Duneagle if Papa does not approve of us?" Sybil asked.
"Shrimpie and Susan might not need to know everything," Rosamund answered shrewdly.
Tom and Sybil exchanged a frowning glance.
"They're likely to say yes, as Matthew and I haven't been up to Duneagle since before the war," Mary agreed, setting down her wine glass. The glass wavered slightly as another spasm tightened her abdomen, but she thought she did a more creditable job of hiding this one. The spasms might mean something, or they might not. In any case, there was quite a long time between them, and they weren't powerful, just mildly distracting. There was no need to break up the dinner party just yet. "We used to go there every year. A holiday in the Highlands would be a welcome change."
Rosamund raised her eyebrows and met Mary's gaze with a knowing smile. "Yes, I believe it would."
"Could this really work?" Sybil asked.
"We shall see," Rosamund answered, sitting forward, her eyes alight with the prospect of organizing a new scheme. "Whether or not Shrimpie and Susan know our true purpose, we would need to arrive under some other pretence, if we are to avoid drawing attention."
"Perhaps Christmas?" Mary suggested.
Rosamund chuckled. "Oh yes, that would do nicely."
"We wouldn't be able to marry until the end of December?" Tom asked, choking slightly on the words. He flashed Sybil a look of alarm.
Mary eyed him with some exasperation. "You'll need to spend at least three weeks in Scotland to meet the residency requirement, not to mention at least a week's honeymoon before you bring Sybil to meet your family in Dublin," she said, "and I can't see you disappearing in November for a five-week trip without raising questions." Her gaze moved to Matthew. "What would you tell Murray? Could you find some plausible excuse earlier than Christmas?"
Matthew shifted and shot Tom a commiserating glance. "Taking a long Christmas holiday wouldn't draw as much notice," Matthew admitted. "She has a point."
Tom's jaw worked and he glared at the table. Sybil watched him with wide eyes. She put a hand on his arm and he looked at her, his expression softening until he relented with a sigh.
"Of course I do," Mary said, spearing a bit of food.
"Don't you have any clients in Scotland?" Isobel asked Matthew and Tom.
Matthew shook his head. "A few, but winter's not the season for tramping about the countryside, evaluating the land, particularly so far north. No one's calling us up there right now."
Mary looked at Rosamund. "So it's settled, then?"
Rosamund gave her a firm nod. "I'll do my best, but I can make no guarantees. If Susan doesn't extend the invitation, it might all be for naught."
"And how could we secure an invitation for Tom?" Sybil asked. "He's not family."
"Leave that to me," Rosamund said. "Even if he isn't invited to Duneagle, he's perfectly capable of taking a room somewhere and meeting you for the wedding."
Tom exchanged a worried glance with Sybil. Then she gave him a bracing smile before returning to her meal.
"It would be nice to see dear Rose again," she said, looking at Mary. "I haven't seen her since before the war. She must be nearly eighteen by now, wouldn't you say?"
"She is," Isobel answered, and Mary, Sybil, and Rosamund all turned to stare at her in surprise. Isobel continued cheerfully, "She's a delightful young lady, very much looking forward to being presented."
"How would you know that?" Rosamund asked.
"She's living with Cousin Violet at the Dower House," Isobel answered, unconcerned. "We sat together at dinner the night before I left."
"When did Rose move to Downton?" Mary asked, nonplussed.
"She arrived last week," Matthew replied. "I thought you all knew. Cousin Violet didn't seem to think it a secret."
"So Shrimpie and Susan aren't in London at the moment?" Rosamund asked sharply. "I would have thought his position with the Foreign Office was keeping him here."
"Oh, it is," Matthew answered.
Mary blinked and frowned. "...so why is Rose living with Granny?"
Isobel shrugged. "Lady Flintshire wrote to ask if her daughter might stay at the Dower House for the next few months, until Lord Flintshire's work lets them leave London. Something about how much Rose hates the city and wanted to get away."
Sybil and Mary exchanged an incredulous look.
"This is Rose we're talking about?" Sybil pressed.
Isobel frowned. "Lady Rose MacClare, yes?"
At Sybil's and Mary's nods, Isobel smiled and returned to her meal.
"I suspect young Rose is more eager to get away from her mother," Mary observed. Rosamund chuckled, but Matthew shot Mary a 'don't be horrid' look. Mary arched her eyebrow in return. "Don't be too quick to judge me, darling. You haven't met Lady Flintshire."
Matthew opened his mouth to retort, but just then Mary grabbed the table's edge and hissed, dropping her fork with a clatter as she curled towards her plate.
"My lady?" Bates took a quick step towards her, from where he'd been standing near the sideboard.
"Is it time?" Isobel asked calmly, rubbing Mary's back, and Mary nodded, breathing through the pain. When the cramp eased, she sank back in her seat with a sigh of relief. "I thought it might be," Isobel said, nodding to Sybil. "Come along, then."
Bates strode quickly towards the kitchen, beckoning as he opened the door. He murmured quietly to someone on the other side.
"Shall I telephone the doctor?" Matthew asked, getting to his feet. He had gone rather pale. A wide-eyed Tom quickly rose beside him as Sybil and Isobel helped Mary to stand.
"Yes, but there's no need to rush," Isobel answered. "We're still in the early stages. Ring him in a quarter-hour, after we've made her comfortable and we're sure things are progressing."
"I'm sorry to cut our evening short—" Mary began, but everyone waved her off.
"Never mind that, my dear," Rosamund said with a smile, nodding as Anna hurried into the room, saw what was happening, and went out directly with a determined expression on her face. "We'll see ourselves out. Tom, you're welcome to ride with me; Hurley can drop you at your flat. Sybil, I assume you're staying the night?"
"Yes," Sybil answered, glancing back over her shoulder as she ushered Mary towards the hall. "Would you be willing to bring me some suitable clothing? My nursing uniform is in the bottom drawer of the dresser."
"Certainly," Rosamund replied, as she stepped out from her place at the table. "I'll return in an hour."
Sybil's eyes met Tom's. "Wait for me?"
He nodded, and the three women went out, leaving Matthew, Tom, and Bates to stare at the empty doorway.
"Well," Rosamund said briskly to Bates, as she rounded the table. "You'd best fetch the whisky and some glasses. This might take a while."
When Sybil entered the study, Matthew was standing in front of the window, his hands gripping the wooden moulding on either side as he stared blankly out at the grey, overcast light of early dawn. Tom slumped behind him in the armchair, a glazed, weary expression on his face. A half-empty bottle of whisky stood beside two drained tumblers on Matthew's desk.
Tom lifted his eyes to Sybil's as she came in, and the look of dread and fear in his expression gave her pause. She'd come down the stairs with a smile on her face, but the sight of the two men reminded her that it was likely neither of them had endured such an experience before. By now, Sybil knew what to expect and she knew that Mary had done very well.
Sybil swallowed, giving the moment the gravity it deserved. She waited until Matthew had released the window frame and turned, flexing his stiff fingers, before she smiled gently at him.
"You have another healthy son," she said.
His mouth dropped open and he took half a step towards her, his eyes wide in a pale face. "And Mary?"
Sybil grinned. "She's perfectly well and resting."
"Oh, dear God, thank you!" Matthew exclaimed, his whole frame relaxing. He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, grasped her shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before rushing from the room. Sybil laughed and turned to watch his giddy delight as he disappeared up the stairs.
When she turned back, she saw that Tom had gotten to his feet.
"She's well, truly?" he asked.
Sybil nodded and stepped up to him, sinking into his embrace with a tired, but happy, sigh. "Mary did brilliantly."
Tom's arms tightened. "But it sounded so...awful."
Sybil chuckled. "She's not one to hold back, is she?"
Tom shuddered and pressed his face into her hair. They stood a moment in silence.
"It makes me glad we won't be putting you through that any time soon," he murmured.
"If all goes according to plan," Sybil replied. She drew back. "Are you terribly upset about waiting until Boxing Day?"
"Not a day longer," he begged in a whisper. "Please."
"No." She nuzzled him and he pressed his lips softly to hers. When they finally parted, she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as he rested his cheek against her forehead.
"I appreciate the effort that Lady Mary and Lady Rosamund are willing to go to on our behalf," Tom said, "but I don't like the idea of lying to Lord and Lady Flintshire while we enjoy their hospitality."
Sybil straightened with a sigh and a nod. "I agree." She lifted her eyes to his. "Lady Flintshire can be...difficult. But I like Shrimpie. I think he can be trusted with our secret. Is that good enough for you?"
Tom regarded her a moment with narrowed eyes, then nodded.
"If my marks are good, I'll go visit him before Mary and Aunt Rosamund set their plans in motion."
"Thank you." Tom smiled and cradled her head against his shoulder again. "Matthew and I have been talking. Lady Rosamund is right about how careful we need to be to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. The neighbours will talk if we're seen moving in at the same time. We've agreed I should move in before I finish the basement."
Sybil lifted her head in surprise. "But where will you sleep?"
"I'll take the guest room when Mrs Crawley leaves," Tom answered. "Besides, if I'm living here, it will be easier to make progress on the rooms, and once one of them is fit for a bed, I'll move downstairs."
"But haven't you signed a lease with your landlord through the new year?"
Tom nodded. "We'll move all the boxes and sundries out of the spare bedroom upstairs—we need to begin readying it for you, anyway—and Matthew wants to stop using this front room—" Tom gestured towards the adjoining parlour, "—as a makeshift office. We'll work out of my flat until we find a proper office to rent."
"I'll need some bookcases upstairs," she mused. "And a desk."
"If we put an armoire, a dresser, a vanity, and bed up there too, it might be rather tight."
She chuckled. "No, I'll only use the upstairs room to study." She lifted her head and looked up at him with a grin. "Put those next to your furniture, downstairs."
"As you wish." He grinned back.
"I'm warning you, though," she said, her lips tugging up into a teasing smile. "If I'm accepted into the programme, I'll eventually be coming home at all hours, and likely waking you up when I get in."
His grin only widened and he hummed briefly, rocking his stance in amusement as he drew her close. "I'm counting on it."
He silenced her giggles by kissing her quite thoroughly.
Matthew sank down on to the bed in awe, reaching out to take the tiny bundle from Mary. She pulled back a bit of the swaddling blanket to watch the wide-eyed little features as the baby took in the world.
"'Charles Robert' suits him well," she said. "I think he has Papa's hair."
"And something of Carson's sharp gaze," Matthew agreed, laughing softly. "Oh, look at you! What a darling little chap! He's looking at everything."
"He hasn't nodded off since he came into the world," Mary observed with a contented smile.
"I'll ring everyone with the news after breakfast," Matthew said, chuckling again. "God, look at him!" He gave the baby a little jiggle of delight. Charlie blinked owlishly, and Matthew turned to look at Mary. "How are you?"
"Tired," Mary replied. "But very very happy."
With a smile, Matthew leaned in to give her a kiss. The baby's arms flailed in an uncoordinated fashion, bumping against Matthew's chest. Matthew looked down at Charlie with a grin. "I think he's jealous."
"As he should be," Mary replied. "I'm all yours."
Matthew smiled at her, his eyes damp.
There was a knock on the door and Mary reached out. "That'll be Nanny with George. I heard him crying and asked Isobel to fetch them."
"Ah." Matthew handed Charlie back to Mary and went to usher in the new arrivals. With a grin of delight, he bent to scoop up George and carry him back to the bed.
"Will that be all be, my lady?" asked Nanny Hollis.
"Yes, thank you," Mary answered. With a quick nod and warm look at the baby, the nanny left, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Come meet your new baby brother!" Matthew announced, going round the bed to his side and depositing George in the middle. George crawled directly to Mary and clung to her arm as she displayed Charlie.
"Wa ba?" George asked. He pulled roughly on Charlie's swaddling blanket. Charlie started to cry and shift his arms and legs.
"Let's give this a try," Mary murmured. "First time..." Quickly opening her nightgown, Mary tickled Charlie's nose with her nipple until his mouth opened wide. As soon as he latched on, he began suckling with surprisingly loud gulps for so tiny a person. Matthew laughed. George hit Charlie on the face and the baby gasped, blinking.
"Oi!" Matthew exclaimed, making both Charlie and George jump. Charlie wailed as Matthew pulled George away. "Don't hit your brother!"
"It's a natural reaction," Mary said, comforting Charlie until he settled back into nursing again, his eyes finally falling closed. She looked up at George, who squirmed, red-faced and sobbing, in Matthew's arms. "Come here, darling. Come to Mummy."
Matthew delivered him back to Mary. George climbed into the circle of her free arm and cuddled against her side, his little body still shaking with his sobs.
"I'm sorry," Matthew said, bending to wipe George's eyes and runny nose with a handkerchief. "I didn't mean to frighten them."
"It's all right." Her face broke into a wide smile.
"What?" Matthew asked, as he tucked the dampened handkerchief away.
"It's a welcome sensation: comforting all three of my boys at once."
Matthew chuckled and settled back beside her, stroking George's head until the boy's sobs quieted.
"Would you fetch me an extra pillow?" Mary asked, wincing slightly as she tried to shift the now-dozing Charlie without jarring George.
"Of course," Matthew replied. He slipped off the bed, glancing round the room, and when he didn't see any spare bedding, he went out into the hall. The house was quiet in the early dawn, except for a low murmuring that echoed up from the foyer. A moment later, the front door closed and Isobel came into view.
"I just saw Dr Henderson off," she said. There were deep shadows under her eyes, but she was smiling broadly as she mounted the stairs.
"Thank you."
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
"Yes, only—where are the spare pillows? Mary is nursing and needs to prop Charlie up a bit."
"Oh yes, of course," Isobel answered. She slipped past him and went into her room. "We put all the spare bedding in here last night." She found him a small pillow. "Now, is there anything else you need? I'm rather done in."
"Where's Anna?"
"In bed, I hope. The poor girl was exhausted. I sent her off just as soon as it was over." Isobel shook her head. "She wouldn't leave a moment before, even though I assured her that Dr Henderson and Sybil and I had everything quite under control."
Matthew frowned. "Why did you want her to leave sooner?"
Isobel gave him a knowing look. "Never you mind. Now, can you manage with keeping an eye on Mary for the next hour or so? Bates should be up by then and Mrs Harrow will have breakfast started."
"Yes."
Isobel turned away, then suddenly looked back. "Oh—I'm to tell you that Tom is bringing Sybil back to Painswick House. He'll return in the early afternoon to start moving things."
"Thank you, Mother." Matthew reached for her hand and squeezed it. Giving him a warm but tired smile, she squeezed back, then turned to prepare for bed. As he stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him, Nanny Hollis emerged from the nursery.
"Would you come fetch George?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes, sir," she replied. There were deep lines under her eyes, too, but she smiled up at him and followed him down the hall.
"Did you and he sleep at all last night?"
"He got a few hours at first, sir, but not once...well, you know."
"Yes," Matthew replied, glancing at her with an apologetic grimace. He pushed open the bedroom door and looked in. Mary raised her tired eyes to his, then smiled and inclined her head down towards George, who had pushed his thumb into his mouth and was nodding off against her side. Matthew grinned, standing aside to allow the nanny to gather up George and carry him away.
Closing the door behind them, Matthew brought the pillow over and waited until Mary had moved Charlie to her other breast. Matthew propped her up comfortably with the pillow, and she watched as he moved round the bedroom, tugging off his shoes and socks, unbuttoning his waistcoat, and shrugging out of his wrinkled shirt and trousers. He pulled out a set of pyjamas and dressed, then went out to relieve himself. When he returned, he settled in beside her, exhaling a long, happy sigh.
"You are such a wonderful mother!"
Mary smiled. She nursed for a few minutes more while Matthew watched with rapt attention and then, reaching down, she gently broke Charlie's latch with her index finger. He was fast asleep when she gave him to Matthew, who held the baby and stared at him in awe while Mary extracted herself from the blankets and pillows and swung her feet to the floor.
"Can you manage on your own?" Matthew asked, frowning at her in concern when she stood up. She was steady on her feet, but moving very slowly.
She shook her head. "I can walk, but best come with me, just in case."
"All right." He rose, still cradling Charlie, and escorted Mary to the bathroom and back. When they'd finally returned to the bedroom and laid Charlie in the bassinet, the full weight of Matthew's weariness settled upon him. He made sure Mary was comfortable and, drawing her close, he fell asleep only moments after his head landed on the pillow.