December 1st, 1917
A biting wind whipped at Mary's face as she stepped out of the car at the Dower House. It had been drizzling all day, and she felt the cold, hard icy rain that was to befall them soon. There was a distinct wintery-ness to this particular winter, and Mary sighed to think that there would be no Matthew to warm her as the nights grew darker and colder. His last letter, a scribbled note saying that the fighting had intensified, that he loved her and George and thought of them constantly, had arrived two weeks ago. Since then, there had been silence. Mary refused to allow herself to worry. So long as there was no telegram, Matthew was alive and safe.
She stepped into the warmth of the Dower House. Fires crackled in every room of the house, whether or not it was occupied. While this should have given the house a sense of bustle and life, the emptiness of the rooms made Mary shiver a little. And Granny still refers to this as her little cottage.
Spratt, moving oleaginous in front of her, announced Mary's presence in the morning sitting room, and left, in an equally oily manner.
"Goodness, what is wrong with Spratt today?", asked Mary seating herself down on the settee.
"He's in some sort of altercation with the cook, and it brings out his obsequious side, just as insurance against my wrath. No matter, I am applying the correct pressures and he will calm down soon. Have some cake."
Mary readily took a slice, and waited for her grandmother to continue. After all, it was the Dowager who had sent the summons.
After observing Mary for a few minutes, the Dowager spoke.
"I am very glad to know that in these last two months you have been behaving sensibly. I hope that all your politics are a thing of the past."
Mary simply looked at her blankly.
"Mary, you mustn't be difficult. You aren't a teenager. And you must stop punishing your Papa for what he said to you. He was entirely in the right."
Mary helped herself to a cup of tea. "Is the scolding over, Granny?"
"For now. I understand your mother has invited the Blake boy and his mother for Christmas. Has she thought it through? There is no shooting because of the war, and the house is crawling with wounded soldiers. Where will she even house them? His friendship with Sybil is at too delicate a stage."
"Charles is very happy to be amongst his fellow officers. I rather think it was Sybil who suggested that they be invited to give him a sense of homecoming for Christmas. As for rooms, Mama held back a guest room from the Army, and they can put Mrs. Blake into my old room. The Strallans and their offspring are staying all through Christmas and the New Year, so I shall be safely ensconced at Crawley House. I think Mama expects you to keep Aunt Rosamund."
"How vexing. I know Rosamund is my daughter, but she's very difficult to live with. We'll be so squished together here."
As she finished speaking, the heavens opened and an icy rain began to fall, a veritable thunderstorm of freezing rain. Mary felt a swift and sudden chill, and dropped her tea into the plush carpet.
"Mary! What on earth has gotten into you?", demanded the Dowager.
"I apologise, Granny. I suddenly felt quite…unwell."
"You ought to be getting back. As it is, I shall have to prepare the staff for Rosamund's arrival. Christmas is such a tedious business."
Xx
December 15th 1917
Isobel was thankful for mittens. She walked the ten minutes between Crawley House and the school, toasty in wool from head to toe, with her very best and most sensible long underwear on for extra heat, and delighted in the snow that had finally replaced the ice and sleet of the last few weeks. The snow touched the village in all the right places, and Isobel thought to herself that it all looked rather like a picture postcard. Isobel is a woman of a very prosaic imagination. She would not provide for us musings on 'azure hues' and 'icy spears.' Matthew did not receive his moony genes from her.
She stomped into the classroom, dusting some light snow from her coat and looked about her with satisfaction. They had decided to hold a small Christmas gathering for the young men and women in their charge and the room was alight with candles and holly.
"Well done, Edith, dear. I think we will be able to give them a jolly party."
"It didn't take much effort, and Mr. Moseley was the captain of this ship, not I."
"Well done, Mr. Moseley."
"My pleasure, ma'am. Will you have a cup of wassail?"
Wassail is drunk to the good health of all, and mince pies speedily digested. Edith, Anthony and their staff leave first. Mary has not attended due to feeling rather under the weather. Isobel wraps up again and she and Dr. Clarkson make their way back to Crawley House.
Walks to and from the village had become a habit for these two, ever since Isobel's return to the village. Dr. Clarkson would often pick her up on his way to the hospital and then escort her on her way home. They had developed a rather close friendship during this time, even though most of their talk consisted of syringes, sterilization and sutures. Isobel was glad of it. When she left she had felt so out of place and unwanted, but the attentions of Mary and Dr. Clarkson had allowed her to feel a sense of belonging in the village again. Isobel invites Dr. Clarkson in for a warm drink and they are soon enjoying some coffee by the fire.
"I trust Lady Mary will not be disturbed? Has she been taking the tonic I prescribed?"
"Yes, she has. She has been just very tired lately."
"If she doesn't improve soon, I ought to take another look at her."
"If she will allow it."
Dr. Clarkson laughed. "It is a tidy match that they have made, but I am not sure how well they are suited to one another."
"You do not know how stubborn Matthew is. Mary is more than a match for his obstinacy."
"Ah, hard headed. Like two coconuts, you just knock them together."
Now it was Isobel's turn to laugh. "Precisely. Although, I must say that Mary has a good heart, underneath all of that projected ice."
"I always remember her as an intelligent but haughty sort of girl. "
"I don't think that has changed. I remember my late husband and I once discussing what particular traits can stay with a child as they develop into an adult."
"A stimulating conversation, no doubt. There have been many radical advances in analysing the mind, and the trauma that soldiers are going through now will only galvanize such a process."
"It is too sobering to think how much medical study benefits from war time."
He looked at her so peculiarly that Isobel was prompted to query him.
"It is nothing. I often forget that you used to be a doctor's wife, and that such conversations would have been part of your daily life."
"Yes. was a very progressive man, and shared his books, studies and thoughts with me. We could discuss iodine treatment for hours!"
"You must miss him greatly. Have you ever thought of marrying again?"
"One always feels lonely, but I still had my work and Matthew to fill my time. What about yourself?"
"There was someone once, but I was a young medical student and time and chance passed me by."
"How very sad. Why did you not try again?"
"A physician's vocation is to his patients and not to his family. And you forget that I had to be at the beck and call of Granthams."
"Ah. Dr. Crawley and I struggled with that in our early marriage, too."
"How did you get through it?"
"I cannot say. It was what you did, wasn't it? You soldier on, and things resolve themselves. We did love each other a great deal."
A moment of silence, then the doctor said,
"I can certainly see why he would care for you so."
Maybe it was the lingering effects of the wassail, or the strength of the fire, but Isobel felt a certain warmth that had nothing to do with her long underwear.
Xx
December 21st 1917
The Strallans arrived at Downton on a crisp winter afternoon. Mr. Carson, brows twinkling at the young children, shows them in to the library where the rest of the family, including the Blakes, are just sitting to tea. Cora makes a bee line for her grandchildren, and sets them up in a small corner with Nanny and little George. As children are not often taken places with their parents, this was the first time that the cousins were meeting, and George inaugurated the meeting by promptly catching a hold of young Marigold's hair and pulling.
Had the Earl not been afraid of his life, he would have remarked that history was repeating itself. Instead he ordered Nanny to take the children upstairs to the day nursery, and went to sit by his wife who was mediating the exchange between Mrs. Blake and the Dowager. The conversation ran thus:
Dowager: Well, Mrs. Blake, I am so pleased to see how well Captain Blake is recovering. How terrible if he had remained an amnesiac for the rest of his days!
Mrs. Blake: He has been well attended, and has such strength of personality.
Dowager: Indeed he does. Although one would hope that he does not possess too resolute a disposition. It would not make him a sound prospect for matrimony. The ideal husband must be one who is temperate in all his ways.
Mrs. B: One would imagine that it is for the wife to provide the sober influences, so that the husband can fulfil whatever duty his station in life calls him to.
Cora: I think it important for both parties to be level-headed.
Dowager (as if Cora has not spoken): But for a man to have too much vigour is almost vulgar.
Mrs. B: Yet, I am sure you are all too aware of the follies that uncontrolled passion in a woman can lead to. Charles has significant responsibilities in his future, he cannot have a wife who is…sub-par.
Dowager: I do not recall a mere baronetcy ever requiring much more than effort than waking up in the morning.
Cora: Mama!
Mrs. B: Of course, a baronetcy is not an Earldom, but the estate at Ballygoyne is twice the size of Downton, and has far greater responsibilities to the county. Politically, especially. Of course, here in drowsy Yorkshire, you have no understanding of the political importance of a peer in his county.
Dowager: Political upheaval is only the result of mismanagement. Our family has been blessed with sterling capabilities of administration and leadership.
Throughout this exchange, Mary and Edith have kept watching Sybil intently. For the subtext of this inimical pas-de-deux between the Dowager and Mrs. Blake centres on the match that everyone feels is imminent. Edith notes with alarm that Sybil's expression is one of absolute revulsion. She looks ready to burst through the window. Edith flicks her eyes to Mary, who nods and says,
"Charles, Sybil, won't you come with me to the music room? I want to show you what we have prepared as entertainment for the servicemen's Christmas gathering."
The three of them leave, and the ensuing gap in the conversation allows Isobel to engage Mrs. Blake in a discussion about memory treatments, and for Edith to seek her grandmother's advice over the reconstruction of the ornamental garden at Locksley. You see, when you belong to these aristocratic circles, you must either become an adept strategist, or die trying. The hills and dales of Britain are scattered with the corpses of young men and women who could not or would not learn, the Art of Manoeuvre. In the face of women like the Dowager, Sun Tzu is a mere schoolboy doodling with crayons.
Xx
While Sybil and Charles are going over a piece of music, Mary excuses herself on the pretext that she needs to speak with Mrs. Hughes. As she enters the hall, she finds Anthony waiting for her.
"Sister Mary, I wondered if we might speak."
"Anthony, I will ask you this once and then never again. I find it too odious to be called Sister Mary."
"Very well. I do apologise. But may we speak?"
"If you must."
"I feel that I have not had the opportunity to express my grief over your recent incarceration."
"It was hardly an incarceration. More of an inconvenience. I do not wish to discuss it any further."
"I hope it does not mean that you will be discouraged from participating in any future events."
"In all honesty, I have decided to heed my father's advice and take a temporary hiatus. I have not had a chance to speak with Matthew about the ..incident, and it would not be fair to him for me to take a decision without his consul."
"An admirable response, Mary, admirable. May I just say that I do hope you come back to it, and that I highly commend the risk that you took in the first place."
"Ah. I feel that I have taken all the risks I wish for a life time."
Anthony nods his head and returns to the library, while Mary goes to wait just outside the music room. It would not do for anyone to notice that Sybil and Charles were unchaperoned.
As Anthony re-enters the library, a rousing shout of hurrah disturbs the peace, for, on the other side of the screen, some servicemen are engaged in a spirited game of table tennis.
The Dowager shivers and says to Anthony, as he sits down by his wife, "It's like living in a second- rate hotel. I rather wonder why I ever championed Isobel in this scheme!"
"Come now, Granny, we should be proud for sacrificing our comforts for the men who have served our country. Mama and Papa are to be commended."
"The Granthams have never shirked from duty.," said the Dowager dryly, "on the subject of which, my dear, I hope you are taking good care of yourself. You mustn't get overexcited with all the festivities."
"Whatever do you mean, Granny?", asked Edith nervously.
The Dowager raises an eyebrow. "How far along are you?"
"About three months. Oh Granny how did you guess?"
"Neither you no your husband are particularly subtle people, my dear. I am pleased for you, of course, but my,my, Sir Anthony, you do step up to the plate with alarming regularity, don't you?"
And with this, the Dowager leaves them to consult Robert on some matter.
Xx
Charles is very aware that he has been left alone with Sybil. She is also equally aware and keeps moving around the room pointing out different objects to him in an effort to distract herself. He finally catches her by the window and places her hands in his.
"Charles, I am not sure this is wise."
"Let me do it, Sybil. You know how much I have come to care for you. You are so brilliant and beautiful, a woman of true substance."
"Thank you Charles. You know that I highly esteem you as well."
"Can it be more than that? Will you be my wife?"
Sybil takes her hands from his and goes to sit by the window. He joins her.
"I would be dishonest if I did not say that you were in my heart. I think we would be happy in our marriage, and yet, if I were to choose you, I would choose a life I no longer wish to lead. My time as a nurse has shown me that there is no going back to 'Lady Sybil'. Not for me, at least."
"Do you suppose that I will be a typical peer?"
"Certainly not. Neither will Matthew, but he will be a peer, eventually. Mary calls their life now their 'little idyll', but they both know where their duty lies. As do you. There is no mechanism for you to not be a Baronet."
"There is honour in duty, and much change that can be affected through a peerage. You would be the ideal companion to help me do that."
"Charles, it is very tempting, but it is not the life I want. And you must know that there is also someone else in my heart. He can give me a simpler life."
"I will not press you, I only thank you for your frankness."
She kisses him impulsively, and it is a sweet, long, kiss.
" Do not forget that you did touch my heart, Charles.", she whispers.
"A memory to keep me warm through the lonely nights! Don't look like that, I am only being facetious. I thank you again. I am not likely to marry anyone else very soon, so perhaps you will let me know if you have a change of heart? May I be allowed to hope?"
She only squeezes his hand in reply. "I must go back to Mama."
Sybil leaves him and goes out to find Mary. Her elder sister observes her keenly. "You have refused him?"
"I have refused him."
"Very well. It shall be the chauffeur, I suppose."
"It might. Oh, can we not tell anyone what has happened?"
"I think that that would be the most advisable course of action. Let me go to Charles, go rescue Papa from Granny."
Xx
Christmas is a riotous affair, for the soldiers are in good spirits, as are the downstairs staff and the merriment affects the family. Mrs. Blake notices a certain change in her son, but is cheered to see the joie de vivre in his face from being around his fellow army men, and Charles is glad to be distracted from his recent disappointment. After a good humoured evening of playing 'The Game', Isobel and Mary are driven back to Crawley House. Little George sleeps soundly in Nanny's lap.
They retire to bed almost immediately. Mary settles in with a book, and Isobel, thinking a little of Dr. Clarkson, peruses a medical journal. They hear a knock at the door, followed by Barrow's footsteps as he goes to answer it.
Mary waits on tenterhooks. A knock on her bedroom door brings Anna in to the room. "Sergeant Barrow would like a word, milady."
"Of course, is Mrs. Crawley awake?"
"Yes."
Mary and Isobel open their doors with trepidation, to where Barrow waits for them. He holds out his hand and says words that belong to Mary's nightmares.
"A telegram from the war office, milady."