Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1918
"I can't believe you allowed me to oversleep!" Matthew growled as he checked his reflection in the mirror once again. He had just dismissed Bates and was now turning his head left and right to make sure he had combed his hair sufficiently.
"Allowed you?" Mary said incredulously, stretching her arms above her head. "You give me far too much credit."
"Oh, I don't think so," Matthew retorted. "You like seeing me frazzled and scampering around like a fish out of water."
"How did you expect me to wake you when I was also asleep?" Mary arched her eyebrow at him. "Perhaps if we hadn't fallen asleep so late last night, you would have easily roused yourself at your usual time?"
"And who is to blame for our lack of sleep last night?" Matthew asked, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Who couldn't keep his hands to himself in the car ride home last night, or after we retired to bed?" Mary shot back. "I suppose you're now going to accuse me of tearing my own brassiere?"
Matthew blushed and smiled sheepishly. "No, that was me."
"Precisely," Mary smirked. "Allowed you to oversleep…my word…" she huffed.
"Well, who insisted on going a second time?" Matthew smiled, walking towards the bed.
"You did!" Mary exclaimed, smiling as he approached.
"And who pressed her naked body against me while feigning going to sleep afterward?" Matthew said, leaning over and kissing her neck.
"We always sleep like that! Matthew! You're going to be late!" Mary laughed, wrapping her bare arms across his shoulders.
"I don't recall your hand resting in that particular area when we sleep," Matthew said, pushing the blankets down away from her breasts.
"You moved my hand there!" Mary shrieked in delight as he fondled her breast. "Go to work! I won't be held responsible for what happens from this point on if you stay!" she laughed again.
"If I'm going to be late this morning, I may as well make it worth it," Matthew drawled as he turned her on to her side and kissed the nape of her neck.
"Go!" Mary laughed, turning back and pushing him away. "It won't do for you to wander into the office looking like you've had an early morning romp! You're still the heir to the Earl of Grantham and there are standards, you know!"
"Merciless!" Matthew snarled. "You expect me to go to work with you looking like that?"
Mary smiled as she pulled the blankets back over her chest. "I don't know what you're referring to. I'm simply lying in bed is all."
Matthew rolled his eyes and leaned over, kissing her quickly.
"I'm coming home for luncheon, you know," he said, looking at her with narrow eyes.
"Until then, darling," Mary smiled, patting his cheek affectionately. "Oh, could you please send Anna up with my tray? Thank you."
Matthew grunted petulantly, then turned and left the bedroom. Mary rubbed her belly and smiled, lying back on the pillows.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, March 1918
"It's official. The Russians signed the treaty," Reverend Montgomery said as he came into the office.
"The Bolsheviks signed, you mean," Matthew grumbled, flipping the page on the coded message he was working on. "And for a much worse deal, from what I understand."
Nigel glanced up from his desk and smiled.
"Why, Matthew, you don't think that giving up most of a nation's coal and a number of its territories is a sound plan for peace?" he joked.
"I believe that one should not agree to anything simply to escape from a war that continues to rage on," Matthew replied. "The Russians have put us in a very tenuous position. We'll need to defend France with far fewer forces now."
"That's been the case since they pulled out in December, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smiled. "Don't be so quick to award victory to the Germans."
"I'm not," Matthew shook his head. "I just fear that this treaty only benefits the Germans and no one else. It certainly doesn't help us."
"Well it doesn't help the Russians, that's for certain," Nigel added.
"I agree," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "But don't think it's a boon to Germany just yet."
"Why not?" Matthew frowned. "They remove one of their enemies, gain new territories, resources, even liberate the German populations of the former Russian provinces. It seems a windfall to me."
"Does it?" Reverend Montgomery smiled. He glanced over at Nigel, then back to Matthew. "And who do you think will occupy these new territories for the Germans, Matthew?"
"They'll send officials to form the new governments and probably some soldiers to oversee the transition, I expect," Matthew shrugged.
"Precisely," Reverend Montgomery smiled. He walked over to the wall where a large map was displayed.
"Poland, Ukraine, Livonia, Estonia," Reverend Montgomery said, tracing his finger along the territories to be ceded by Russia under the terms of the treaty. "They need to cover a line all the way to the Caspian Sea. Where will they get the men for that?"
"From the Eastern Front," Matthew replied.
"Exactly," Reverend Montgomery smiled. "And that leaves them rather undermanned on the Western Front in France, doesn't it?"
Matthew blinked in surprise.
"The problem with conquering new lands is that the conquered populations generally don't take very well to being conquered," Nigel smiled.
"If the Russians had all manner of problems trying to keep these same territories in line for decades, then how successful do you think the Germans will be at doing it, Matthew?" Reverend Montgomery said, coming over and standing near his desk. "There will be demonstrations, protests, then riots and perhaps even uprisings. The Germans may have removed the Russians as an enemy, but I dare say they've unwittingly taken on a much bigger challenge."
"With the Americans on our side, losing the Russians is less damaging, so long as we can press our advantage," Nigel said.
"It's a race," Matthew muttered. "Between our ability to deploy the full power of the Americans against their ability to placate their new territories and consolidate all their forces freed up from fighting Russia."
"That's right," Reverend Montgomery declared. "We should expect a major operation very soon. They have to move against us. The longer they wait, the more time it gives us to organize our forces. They know they can't stand against us once the United States brings their full might to bear. Which means we need to give the forces something they can use. Back to work, gentlemen."
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1918
"Thank you for coming to meet with me, Mr. Thompson," Mary smiled. "I would rather have come to your office, but I'm afraid that in my present condition, I don't have the same energy."
"I'm always pleased to pay a call to Grantham House," the government official nodded. "And congratulations, Lady Mary. I expect that Lord Grantham and your husband are overjoyed at the news."
"Thank you," Mary nodded. "Yes, it's something to look forward to, and to distract us from all this talk of the Germans and their new attack."
"Indeed, indeed," Mr. Thompson nodded. "Now, I believe that our contract is up for renewal. I sent a new draft to Mr. Crawley two weeks ago. Do you know if he had a chance to look it over?"
"He did," Mary nodded. She turned and called out to Bates. "Bates, you have the contract that Mr. Crawley was reviewing, don't you?"
"Yes, my Lady," Bates nodded. He came forward and handed the document to Mr. Thompson.
The official glanced over the pages, then frowned.
"I'm sorry, Lady Mary, but we simply don't have the resources to agree to the price increase that your husband suggests here. Perhaps I should make an appointment to speak to him?"
"Oh, we discussed it already," Mary said lightly, sipping her tea. "He's perfectly fine with me concluding this business, I assure you."
"Well, then you'll appreciate that as much as I appreciate your family's contributions, we need to be quite strict about these things. In times of war, everyone must make sacrifices, you understand," Mr. Thompson said carefully.
"We do understand that quite well, Mr. Thompson," Mary replied. "As you are well aware, Downton is one of the larger producers of grain in Yorkshire. We converted numerous fields and pastures years ago when demand rose at the beginning of the War, and we have continued to supply at prices far below what we were accustomed to, all in the name of patriotism."
"And so you should be commended, Lady Mary, of course," Mr. Thompson said. "I'm not saying it's fair, but we can't be thinking about profit at times like these."
"No, of course not," Mary shook her head.
"Good," Mr. Thompson nodded. "Well, if Mr. Crawley has given you authority to act on his behalf, then I'll just note that we are using the old prices and we can take this contract as being final."
"And you're quite certain that we are being paid the same prices as other farmers across Yorkshire, and indeed across England?" Mary asked.
"Oh, I'm sure that you are, Lady Mary, yes," Mr. Thompson nodded.
"Funny," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "I must be mistaken. You see, the other day I had a very curious conversation with the wife of Sir Anthony Strallan. It appears that their family has been paid a price for their grain that is nearly ten percent higher than the prices in our contract. But I must have misheard her, because during times of war, everyone's sacrifice is value and everyone is treated equally, aren't they?"
Mr. Thompson swallowed nervously. "Sir Anthony Strallan, you say?"
"Yes," Mary smiled. "His wife is Lady Edith. Lady Edith, my sister," Mary said pointedly.
Mr. Thompson's mouth fell open in shock before he quickly closed it and busied himself with sipping his tea.
"My husband took the liberty of adjusting the prices in that contract to reflect what is already being paid to other farmers in Yorkshire," Mary continued, pressing her leverage. "Perhaps it would be a wise idea for you to initial your agreement on his changes and sign the contract? That way, we can be certain that all is fair and that no one is taking advantage of the war for their own profit."
Mr. Thompson blinked.
"That would be…a wise idea, yes," he recovered. "I'll look into those prices right away and ensure all is equitable, Lady Mary."
Mr. Thompson signed the contract and handed a copy back to Bates.
"Excellent," Mary smiled. "Well, I need to be going. I'm going to take a walk through the park with my son. Bates will see you out. Good day, Mr. Thompson."
Mr. Thompson rose from his seat and watched as Mary walked briskly from the room. Watching her back, there was no sign in either her shape or her stride that she was with child at all.
"Right this way, sir," Bates said, motioning for Mr. Thompson to head to the foyer. The valet glanced across the room and winked at Anna before she left to follow her Mistress.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, April 1918
"Over a million shells on the first day alone," Matthew shook his head, leaning back in his chair and looking over at the map.
The office was essentially empty; only Matthew and Reverend Montgomery having made it in so far. They were receiving reports and messages on the German attack on the Western Front and the numbers were staggering.
Reverend Montgomery sipped his tea before speaking.
"Over 250,000 casualties, to say nothing for the artillery and tanks lost," he said. "But we held Amiens and Arras, so the defence was a success, as laughable as that sounds."
Matthew looked at the map, frowning as he saw the territory where the main push by the Germans had broken through.
"I know it's cold, but we can replace those numbers," Reverend Montgomery said. "Most importantly, the Germans know we can replace them. The American forces aren't entirely in place yet. We have new artillery and tanks being manufactured constantly. The real question is whether the Germans can replace the casualties on their side. Where will their reinforcements come from? They already pushed their soldiers from the Eastern Front."
"So they're ill prepared for a counter attack," Matthew nodded.
"Let's hope they aren't," Reverend Montgomery said.
"The land they won from us was the main battleground around the Somme," Matthew said. "It's been shelled beyond recognition. Without Amiens and Arrras, they've won no advantage."
"How we respond to these smaller offensives will be crucial," Reverend Montgomery said. "We've repelled their largest attack so far. So long as we hold the flank and do not give up any significant ground, it will take them months to regroup."
"But now we wait," Matthew said in frustration.
Reverend Montgomery nodded, "Romans 5:4, and patience, experience; and experience, hope."
The two men sat in silence for a moment until Matthew stood and went to pour himself a mug of tea.
"Nigel said he gave you that message that came in last night?" Reverend Montgomery asked.
"I looked at it briefly," Matthew said. "I should have it done by tomorrow I expect."
"Good," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "Get me some good news, Matthew. We could use some."
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 1918
Matthew sat with George on the floor of the nursery. Numerous wooden blocks were strewn about as they went about the task of constructing a castle. His son held a wooden horse in his chubby little hand occasionally waving it about. The little boy was wide awake despite the late hour. When Matthew had returned from work and checked on his son in the nursery, he had found Nanny struggling to put the child to sleep. Matthew sent her downstairs to have her dinner, assuring her that he would watch the child until she came back up. It was a daily struggle between them and Nanny was far more patient with Matthew than his own mother or even Cousin Violet surely would have been. He was constantly trying to pull George away from her, despite being lectured often by Mary that the boy needed to adhere to a schedule, and that Nanny's job was to keep him in line.
"Pa-pa," George said enthusiastically as he dropped the wooden horse and crawled in his pyjamas towards another basket of toys. However, once he reached these objects, he lost interest. George pulled himself to his feet and waddled back towards his father.
"Pa-pa," George said again as he crashed into his father.
Matthew smiled and arranged the child to sit comfortably in his lap. It seemed that Mary had a new discovery to show him each time that he came home now. George's first word had been 'apple' or so they thought. He had learned to pull himself up months ago, and was walking relatively well in the past weeks. He still seemed to be a risk to topple over at any moment, but he could manage over short distances and Matthew marvelled at that. His young chap was becoming an actual person now who could do things, and the simple actions he was now able to accomplish on his own thrilled Matthew to no end.
"Watch," Matthew instructed as he pushed the blocks, and they all toppled over.
George clapped as he smiled at the destruction. Matthew gathered his son into his arms and moved to the rocking chair.
"How about a story, young man?" He asked his son, to which George simply babbled, eventually grinning widely.
"The first thing I remember my father reading me was The Owl and the Pussycat, so let's try that," Matthew smiled.
George squirmed in his lap until he had his head on the fabric of his shirt, rather than his suit jacket. Matthew smiled as his son reached up to grab the knot in his loose tie. George always found that article of clothing fascinating for some reason. Matthew held the storybook for George to stare at the pictures. Soon he felt his son drift off to sleep, but Matthew didn't move, continuing to rock gently back and forth as he held him against his chest.
"Wake up, darling," Mary whispered in his ear.
Matthew blinked several times, adjusting to the darkness of the room. He glanced about. George was asleep in his crib. Matthew looked at Mary in confusion.
"We put him down about fifteen minutes ago," she smiled. "Nanny found you both asleep and so she took George to his crib and I told her to let you keep sleeping."
"You should have woken me," Matthew yawned. He smiled lazily at his wife, the moonlight from the window casting a silver glow across her skin.
"I found three of George's socks in your jacket pocket," Mary teased him. "You're worse than Dr. Crawley."
Matthew couldn't help but chuckle ruefully at her statement.
"Nanny caught me last week," Matthew admitted.
Mary rolled her eyes but smiled affectionately.
"Come to bed," she said simply as she took his hand. "You're lucky that we ate earlier, otherwise I suspect you would have slept through dinner."
Matthew squeezed her hand. He took one last look at George before following his wife down the hall to their bedroom.
Matthew stretched his arms as he went through to his dressing room. He had stayed at work a bit longer continuing to work on the coded message that Nigel passed to him yesterday, but he wasn't feeling overworked. Perhaps it was just the weight of everything building up over time that had finally caught up to him. He peeled off his suit jacket as Bates arrived to attend to him.
"Bates, Lady Mary informs me that your divorce is now final. Congratulations," Matthew nodded as the valet helped him change into his pyjamas and robe.
"Thank you, sir," Bates said. "It's nice to know that I can move on with my life now."
"And so you should," Matthew nodded. "For what it's worth Bates, I hope that I don't need to tell you that War has a way of putting things in their proper perspective. You may have plans, you may have ideas on how the next week, the next month, the next year of your life will go, what you expect to happen in the decades to come. But all you know is that we have right now, and perhaps tomorrow, and no one can say more than that."
They both heard laughter coming from the bedroom and they both turned their heads and smiled. It wasn't only Mary who laughed.
"Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone, Bates," Matthew smiled.
"Did your father tell you that one, sir?" Bates asked.
"He did," Matthew nodded. "Although he stole it from Picasso, actually."
"I don't know, sir. Where would we live?" Bates asked.
"I think we could find a room here for a married couple, Bates," Matthew nodded. "And when we move back to Downton, you can have one of the refurbished cottages. I'm sure Robert wouldn't object."
"But she's so young, sir," Bates shrugged. "Could you see her taking care of me and this for the rest of her life?" He pointed to his injured leg.
"As flattered as I am by the gesture, Bates, I don't think that it is particularly relevant what type of woman I envision for you," Matthew smiled. "I have a suspicion that Anna could very easily see herself taking care of you for a very long time, indeed. More importantly, do you see yourself with her?"
"Even in my dreams, sir," Bates said quietly.
"Good. Then I will expect you to do the proper thing, Bates, and soon," Matthew declared.
"Yes, sir," Bates nodded.
Matthew wished his valet goodnight and went into the bedroom.
"Ah, there you are," Mary smiled, glancing over at him from the full length mirror. "We were beginning to think that you and Bates had snuck downstairs for a drink."
"And I was wondering what scheme the two of you were up to," Matthew answered. "We both heard you two giggling like schoolgirls."
Anna smiled and covered her mouth.
"We were hardly giggling, Matthew," Mary said haughtily. "Goodnight, Anna. We'll discuss some more in the morning."
"Yes, Milady. Goodnight, sir," Anna curtsied, then left.
"What were you doing in there? It doesn't take you that long to get ready for bed," Mary smiled, sliding underneath the bedcovers.
"I was encouraging Bates with thoughts of marriage," Matthew smiled, joining her in bed.
"Goodness, he's been divorced for less than a week and he already has a new suitor!" Mary teased.
"Funny," Matthew rolled his eyes. "How do you know about such things?"
"I'm married. I know everything," Mary smiled. "My husband has corrupted me with all manner of wicked middle class ideas and thoughts."
"Is that so?" Matthew laughed, sliding his arm over and allowing her to lie against his chest. "Well hopefully Bates will be corrupting Anna very soon."
"Matthew! That's vulgar," Mary scolded him. "But hopefully Bates is inspired to act soon, yes. Anna's quite looking forward to it."
"It's so interesting to see what makes people happy, isn't it?" Matthew smiled. "I mentioned that we could perhaps find a cottage for them to live in back at Downton and Bates was stunned at such a possibility. Having a small place to call their own, regardless of the condition it's in, was more than he could have hoped for."
"What are you saying?" Mary asked, turning her head and looking at him. "I was entirely prepared to live with you in a modest house in Manchester. I still would, just say the word."
"And why would you want to do that?" Matthew laughed.
"To prove to you why Downton doesn't matter," Mary said. "To show you that we can take it or leave it. What's important is my husband and my son. As long as I have the two of you, I don't need anything else."
"Thank you, darling, but life as the heir is not entirely objectionable, truly," Matthew smiled.
"Ah, getting rather used to having servants and dining in splendour, are you?" Mary raised her eyebrows at him. "You've been seduced by this way of life. I knew it."
"The only thing that I've been seduced by is the woman lying next to me," Matthew said, turning her on to her back and kissing her softly. He continued to kiss her as he spoke. "My wife…the mother of my son…the mother of my second child…"
"Mmm…go on," Mary laughed, kissing him back.
"The woman who fleeced the government out of paying us more for our grain, and who's first group of pigs sold for a tidy profit," Matthew said.
"I didn't fleece anyone," Mary said defensively, smiling and closing her eyes as he kissed her neck. "I merely was pointing out certain inconsistencies."
"So you must admit now that Edith marrying Sir Anthony was quite fortunate for us," Matthew said.
"I suppose," Mary sighed. "Thank God I remembered to ask her about Sir Anthony's contract. It never occurred to me that anyone would be paid more than us."
"It was rather devious on their part," Matthew said. "But at least you corrected it."
"I've got a new name suggestion for if we have a daughter," Mary said, smiling at him.
Matthew drew back and nodded. He ran his hand down the blankets and touched her stomach.
"You know that you can't use Reginald or Isobel or any derivation of either," Matthew said, rubbing her lightly. "And frankly, favouring my side of the family for both of our children will not sit well with your parents."
"Neither of them are getting a claim to my children," Mary huffed. "I'd name my daughter after Granny and my next son after Carson before I would consider Mama or Papa."
Matthew laughed. "Don't hold a grudge. It only causes you annoyance and I forbid it. Just be as nice as you are."
Mary smirked at him, but remained silent. Only he thought she was nice.
"I was thinking of the name 'Stella' for a girl," Mary said.
"For star," Matthew said, mulling it over. "I am intrigued. We could say she was our guiding light."
"Just as your father lies in the Heavens above," Mary smiled.
"Stella Crawley," Matthew said. "I like it."
"Good," Mary said smugly. "We'll keep it in mind, then."
"I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for our child," Matthew said, turning and kissing her. "Lately it seems that all I deal with at work is death – dead soldiers, news about attacks and strategies and army movements. To know that my son is healthy and that I have another child coming in several months…God, Mary…you…you can't know how happy you've made me."
Mary closed her eyes and shook her head. She blinked several times to stop herself from crying. She pulled him closer and kissed him firmly.
"I think I have some idea," she whispered, kissing him again.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, April 1918
"This can't be right though, can it?" Matthew asked, staring at the page. "It makes no sense."
"The message says what it says," Nigel nodded. "Whether it seems right or not to you or I is unimportant."
"Are we sure?" Reverend Montgomery asked.
"I think Matthew's got it decoded properly," Nigel replied. "It all checks out to me."
"Ammunition and supplies low. Distance from railway stops too far," Matthew read. "The rest is a listing of the divisions involved in the attacks. But given how much land they've claimed, how can their supplies be low?"
"The attacking forces carry enough supplies for only a few days," Reverend Montgomery said, looking at the map. "To hold the area, particularly against counterattacks, requires a reliable supply chain. Without it, they'll be forced to withdraw."
"Their initial strike is devastating, due to their artillery," Nigel said. "But it's holding the territory that then becomes an issue. Also, they still haven't taken any of the major strategic points – railway stations and towns. They've driven us back a fair distance, but it's over land that we could afford to give up."
"I'll speak to Blinker," Reverend Montgomery said. "This may be worth relaying on. If we know they only have quick strike capability, we can identify points to stiffen our defence, give up some ground but ultimately force them to pull back when their supplies run out."
"It all seems so complicated," Matthew muttered, watching as Reverend Montgomery left the office.
"It's a war of attrition now, Matthew. Which side can hold out the longest," Nigel said. "I think we may be seeing signs that the Germans are running out of time."
Queen Alexandra's Royal Nursing Corps, Mayfair, London, England, April 1918
"You've definitely got me beat," Sybil said as she admired the blanket Mary had donated as part of the items for the silent auction at the charity fundraiser. "You're better at nursing and sewing."
"Hardly," Mary scoffed. "You're the nurse in the family, darling. You're the one who's been properly trained. I just fell into it, literally."
Sybil smiled and squeezed her sister's hand affectionately.
"You remember that I never had very much patience for needlework before. But, I had a lot of free time in Manchester and crochet filled it in the beginning, as I thought I was destined to be a spinster," Mary shrugged.
"And what about when you began seeing Matthew?" Sybil asked.
"I still kept up with it," Mary blushed. "Isobel taught me how to do certain stitches and patterns. Anything was preferable to sitting at Lady Philomena's in the attic by myself."
"I still can't imagine what you went through," Sybil shook her head. "It must have been horrible for you."
"Actually, it wasn't," Mary smiled. "It was pleasant actually, to sit in Matthew's home. We spent time in the parlour after dinner. Isobel and I would crochet and Matthew would read the newspaper or a book and Dr. Crawley would read Bird Notes and News or something similar. We would talk, all four of us, about whatever topic came to mind. It was such…fun. Everyone's opinion mattered, and everyone wanted to genuinely know what each other thought. It was liberating to not only be allowed to speak my mind but encouraged to do so."
"That must have led to numerous arguments between you and Matthew," Sybil smiled.
"It did," Mary nodded. "We would sometimes keep at it even after his parents retired and went up to bed."
"But never with any malice," Sybil nodded.
"Never," Mary smiled. "It's never about who's right or wrong with Matthew. He's more about why a person thinks what they do than trying to convince them otherwise."
"That must be maddening for you," Sybil joked.
"Not really," Mary arched her eyebrow. "I still know how to get under his skin."
They walked along admiring the donated items in silence as the crowds started to appear. Mary put bids down on several items, some that would be nice for the nursery and others that she believed suited her husband.
"What is this?" Sybil asked with curiosity, examining a hat.
"It's a cloche hat," Mary said with interest. "This one's shorter and more snug than most. I think it's designed for the shorter hairstyles."
"What shorter hairstyles?" Sybil frowned.
"They're all the rage in Paris," Mary smiled. "Lady Diana Manners has kept her hair in a bob since she was a child."
"I hope you won't try that," Matthew said, appearing from the crowd suddenly to rejoin them.
"I might," Mary smiled at him.
"I'm not sure how feminine it is," Sybil frowned, staring at the cloche hat.
"I'm not sure how feminine I am," Mary remarked.
"Very, I'm glad to say," Matthew said, turning away from the cloche hat and looking at her intently.
Mary blushed and looked back at him, holding his gaze.
"Would the two of you like me to leave and meet you back at home later?" Sybil asked.
Matthew smirked and looked away.
"Not at all, darling," Mary smiled, taking her sister's arm. "Let's keep going. I'm sure there's an item or two here that you'll love."
Matthew watched them walk away, then looked back at the cloche hat, considering it and repeating Mary's words in his mind. He glanced over at his wife once more before surreptitiously writing down a bid on the hat. Smiling to himself, he quickly followed to catch up to Mary and Sybil.
"How long will you stay, Sybil?" Matthew asked.
"Just through tomorrow night," Sybil replied. "Mama insisted that I take some time off, and Cousin Isobel supported her. I'm anxious to return though."
"Perhaps we'll come back with you," Matthew said. "We're due for a visit."
"Oh, that would be lovely!" Sybil smiled. "Everyone misses George, you know."
"I suppose we could spare a few days," Mary said, smiling at her husband. "But just through the weekend. I can only stand so many helpful suggestions."
"Wonderful!" Sybil exclaimed. "I'll call Mama and tell her tonight."