Author's Note: M Chapter.
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Arthur Farnham was a good twenty minutes into the meeting at the Manhattan offices of White and Case when the penny dropped as he perused the written brief he had just been handed: there was no 'John Smith,' and the 'company' he had been led to believe he was investigating the shareholder misappropriation for, was, in fact, several sizeable companies, including one he knew from the New York Times that very morning was currently under investigation in the United States for wartime corruption.
He inhaled sharply, thinking hard. Why all the cloak and dagger? Was the real client a criminal? He frowned and looked across at the young assistant, Brown who was sitting patiently on the opposite side of the desk.
"It's legitimate." Brown had been waiting for the question. "I swear," he lifted up a pocket Bible and eyed him. "It is, of course, your decision whether you believe me or not. Feel free to depart if you don't. No questions will be asked as long as you maintain the confidentiality agreement we signed earlier."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Arthur had a lot he wished to ask. Questions he knew he was unlikely to have answered. Who was this 'client?' Why was he afraid of outing these people? Was he a competitor, aggrieved that someone else had ended up with the spoils of war? Or like him, someone horrified at the allegations he saw on the papers before him, and keen to see the profiteers brought to justice, but afraid, for some reason, of retribution? He sat motionlessly and contemplated for some time what he ought to do.
Brown appeared relaxed, casually reading through a couple of files, and occasionally glancing back up to see if his visitor was ready. Finally reaching a decision, Arthur cleared his throat. Brown looked up instantly and Arthur gave a curt nod.
Brown nodded back. "Good," he muttered. "Stays Mr John Smith, and Whitley Holdings in all our talk, all our correspondence. Understood?"
"Understood," his visitor echoed, and Brown reached for a large file tied carefully with a green ribbon and pushed it across the desk.
"Read it. When you are ready, come and find me through the receptionist. I'm your assistant for the week. I can set up meetings, fetch you the law books. We have an up to date set of English statutes in our library here. And I'll do my best to source anything else you might need." He stood. "Best of luck, Sir," and with a brief nod, the younger man left.
And so Arthur began to read. As he read, he began to feel a little excited. Then uneasy, then excited again. For the more he learned, the more he realised the implications. The allegations were very serious. And there was a lot of evidence that bore the allegations out already. And if they could be proven before a Court, more than a few pillars of English society could end up behind bars guilty of war treason. And for the first time in a very long time, Arthur Farnham smiled.
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Mary would never have believed that the horror of what she had endured firstly with Kamal, and then with Richard might ever be of use. But here it was: as she struggled to comfort her distraught maid and friend at her hospital bedside, she was able to understand and empathise with Anna's irrational sense that she was to blame in a way that neither Mrs Hughes nor Anna's husband could.
"He saw that I recognised him!" she sobbed. "I shouldn't have given myself away!" she kept saying, over and over.
"He followed you, Anna! Before you had even seen him, to know who he was! He is a bad man. It is inexcusable that he set upon you like he did! He did it deliberately. Nothing you did, nothing at all warranted him attacking you." Mary repeated for the umpteenth time.
"It looks so bad," Anna continued tearfully. "What if John doubts me? Thinks I led Mr Green on?"
"Bates knows the truth, my dear," Mary reassured her yet again. "He knows it wasn't you! You are the good person in all this, Anna! Mr Green is the villain!"
"How can you so sure of what John thinks?" she choked.
"Because of what he has been telling everyone: Of what Barrow said to him when he tried to get him to leave the concert. Of what he saw: How very brave you were. How all you were worried about when he finally got to you was Barrow! He is so very proud. All of us are. We really are," Mary remonstrated, taking her maid's hand and pressing it against hers.
"But I wasn't brave," Anna began to sob again. "I… I was so very frightened. I was scared half to death."
"Of course you were," Mary soothed. "You were dealing with a monster. Anyone would have been afraid. And I'll bet, when Barrow is well enough to talk, he'll say he was afraid too."
"Do you think so?" Anna sniffed, dabbing ineffectually at her eyes with her sodden handkerchief.
"I know so," Mary said resolutely.
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"I'm glad Miss Haversham sent you," Matthew said to Sybil as she met them at the entrance to the hospital in Shepherd's Bush. "She would have all the right words of course, but you're a friendly face. And today I feel I need one," he sighed heavily.
"Oh Matthew," she touched his arm briefly. She and Mary glanced at each other. He really wasn't good. The last few days had put years on him, and the latest police revelation that Green was now thought to be part of a crime ring suspected in a chain of brutal attacks had further soured his mood. Mary was hardly much better: walking slowly alongside Matthew, she looked completely drained. As if the last few months hadn't been demanding enough, she, like Matthew, was deeply shaken by what had happened to their closest staff.
With Green still at large, Anna was too terrified to be left alone, and Mary, Mrs Hughes and Mr Bates had been taking turns to always have one of them with her. Matthew remained concerned about Barrow, and whilst he had visited, he hadn't yet had the chance to speak with him: Barrow was still too groggy, with concussion and severe pain - Green's brutal fists had dislocated his jaw.
As a result, it had been with considerable reluctance that they had both departed Downton that morning for the trip to London and Matthew's appointment.
As they proceeded towards Doctor Jones's office, Sybil, for her part, felt a sense of relief they were seeing him at last: Matthew's extreme tiredness had been concerning her for a while now, and none of the other doctors or the more senior therapists seemed to have had an answer: they had just kept encouraging him to keep putting the effort in, reassuring him it would get easier. But it hadn't.
I just hope he can say what's going on, she thought grimly. For Matthew and Mary's sakes!
Doctor Jones greeted them warmly as he welcomed them into his book-lined office, his friendly smile an immediate tonic to the solemn group. Acknowledging Mary's now unmistakeable bump, he added, "and Lady Mary. Mr Crawley told me some time ago of your happy news! Please let me offer you my very best wishes. And you must promise me you will bring your bundle of joy along to one of Mr Crawley's future check ups – I shall be delighted to meet your little one!"
Mary smiled, in spite of herself. Despite it happening frequently now, she still felt a thrill of delight when people congratulated her. She was pleased to see that Matthew, too, had managed a smile at the Doctor's words.
The appointment began with Doctor Jones asking Sybil some questions about Miss Haversham's report. He then sought Matthew's response to a number of the matters raised. When they got onto the matter of his tiredness, Mary couldn't help but feel shocked at just how badly it had been affecting her husband: having been apart most weeks until the last she hadn't realised the extent. Matthew didn't hold anything back, but he was clearly unhappy at what he was made to relay, especially having to admit how his work had been suffering.
When the interview concluded, they sat quietly and waited whilst Doctor Jones wrote down a few notes to complete his report. Eventually, he capped his fountain pen and leant back in his chair.
Looking across at Matthew, he cleared his throat. All of them stiffened slightly, aware from the changed expression on his face that what he was about to say was not good news.
"Mr Crawley," he began. "First of all, I would like to thank you for your willingness to have been a part of yet another trial. Medicine, as you will know from your father growing up is a field in which an awful lot remains unknown, and having patients prepared to be part of trials is an invaluable way through which we can learn and improve our treatments.
"However," he said delicately, "the strength tests conducted with you last week showed no improvement from the tests conducted in mid-October when the trial began."
"None at all?" Matthew looked shocked.
The Doctor shook his head. "None. And therefore I am going to recommend to Miss Haversham that you cease your participation in the trial forthwith," he paused, "because it is my belief it's now doing you more harm than good." Matthew started to ask something and then stopped. Doctor Jones continued. "Your symptoms indicate that you have been doing too much. You have already sustained some minor injuries. I am worried that if you continue you may injure yourself more seriously. When your sense of touch is so compromised it is hard for you to know when that is the case."
"Except through referred pain," Sybil pondered aloud. "Doctor Jones, does that explain why Matthew has had bouts of severe back pain these past weeks? And why the muscle spasms have been more frequent?"
"Yes on both counts," he answered soberly.
Mary saw Matthew wince, and her heart went out to him. This was not what he wanted to be hearing.
"And what about the tiredness?" Sybil persisted.
Doctor Jones paused and put his fingers together in a steeple shape. "That has been the most vexing question," he frowned. "Mr Crawley, I took the liberty of discussing your case with Doctor Head, whom as Nurse Branson knows, is one of our visiting neurologists with expertise in spinal injuries. He confirmed with me that this is a pattern that he has also seen among patients with incomplete injuries similar to yours." Matthew nodded, and he went on.
"Doctor Head is of the view that the tiredness directly relates to the overuse of the muscles, as we have just discussed. He believes it is not something that will disappear with time. Instead, as you have found, Mr Crawley, more intensive therapy will make it worse," he gave Matthew a serious look.
"But how can that be?" Mary asked. "It's not like Matthew has been training to be an athlete. It has just been therapy to improve his walking."
"Your husband uses a lot more energy than you or I do just to stand and walk," Doctor Jones explained kindly. "It requires a lot of upper body strength. There is also a lot of extra stress on the muscles that have at least some function to compensate for those that have no function at all."
Matthew stared straight ahead, tapping his fingers together. "So walking will stay hard," he said flatly. Doctor Jones gave a solemn nod. "It won't get easier," Doctor Jones nodded again. "Ever," Matthew added and this time the bitterness in his tone was unmistakeable.
"No," Doctor Jones said a little sadly. "I wish I could say otherwise, but I cannot."
There was a silence in the room. Matthew looked into the distance, his lips pressed tightly together. It was a bitter blow. After the months and months of effort; the slow but steady progress until the last difficult weeks; the finality of these statements were a shock.
Matthew glanced sideways at his wife. Mary was twisting her handkerchief and there was sadness in her eyes. A wave of hopelessness came over him. He had failed her. Failed his mother, and failed himself. He closed his eyes and rocked slightly, wishing the floor would open and swallow him up.
"And… so what can Matthew do to be less tired?" Sybil's matter-of-fact tone interrupted his destructive train of thought.
"Walk less," Doctor Jones said simply. "Use the wheelchair some of the time."
His straightforward reply brought Matthew further back to his senses. Pull yourself together, Crawley he told himself. And show some manners. It's not the good Doctors fault you got downed by a German shell and left with a broken body. He took a deep breath and made himself look at Doctor Jones as he continued to speak. "Some patients do their walking as part of their daily therapy only. Others walk at home, and use a chair when out and about," he explained. "Mr Crawley, it will be up to you to establish a routine that conserves your energy, yet still sees you maintain the benefits to your life expectancy from standing and walking, for some of each day." Matthew gave a tight nod.
"To assist you in that," he looked down at his notes. "I'm going to recommend an appointment weekly with Miss Haversham for the next month. I'll also be asking her to reassess your exercise and stretching programme. Maintaining your overall fitness and upper body strength remains of utmost importance." Matthew nodded again, and this time he managed to say, "thank you, Sir."
Doctor Jones surveyed him for a minute, knowing full well what was going on for the young man. This was a version of a conversation he had held many, many times in the course of his service as an Army Doctor. Conversations that the passage of time had not made them any easier to conduct.
"I know this is difficult for you Mr Crawley," he stated. "All I can do is urge that you to focus on what you have gained these past months, and what it is you can do. We've all been mightily impressed with the effort you have put in," he smiled. "And I feel it's important to emphasise that as a result, you have got quite a way beyond where I privately thought we might ever get you with your recovery. I just wish the damage was less extensive and we could work with you towards even more improvement. But unfortunately, that is not to be."
"Thank you, Sir," Matthew said at last. "It's not been the easiest of news. But then this week hasn't been the easiest of weeks," he gave a heavy sigh.
"Your Valet," Doctor Jones frowned, shaking his head. "Of course."
"Yes. But in a strange way, it's almost better to hear this now. When I get through this horrid week the only way will be up," Matthew said, trying to sound positive.
"That's the attitude," Doctor Jones looked at him approvingly. He gathered the papers on his desk and returned them to the file before closing it. "I'll forward a copy of my report to Miss Haversham and your regular doctor. And please, if you have any further concerns, do ask for an appointment. Otherwise, I'll see you for our scheduled check up in six months time."
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Barrow's face lit up with relief when he saw Anna making her way slowly down the ward towards his bed assisted by a young nurse. His first slurred whisper to Doctor Clarkson the previous day when both his grogginess and the pain in his jaw had lessened to the point where he could speak, had been, "Anna. Anna. S'll right?" And when Doctor Clarkson had gently reassured him that she was, he had cried. At which, the usually dry Doctor Clarkson had patted him kindly on the shoulder and said, "and that she is Mr Barrow, is in no doubt thanks to you. You're quite the hero here and up at the big house!" and Barrow had felt a rare sense of genuine pride in his own actions.
The nurse found Anna a seat and helped her to sit, and the two of them looked at each other for a long moment.
"Oh, Mr Barrow," Anna said finally, and she couldn't suppress a sob at the sight of his badly beaten face.
"S'all right," he smiled as much as his aching jaw would let him.
"It better be!" Anna choked. "But it's going to take a while. You poor old thing!" she shook her head, distraught at the damage Green had so brutally inflicted. He nodded and attempted another smile, and Anna continued.
"I had to come. To thank you! You saved my life," her voice trembled a little. "You know that don't you?"
"I know," Barrow whispered. "…' heard what he said… what he intended…" His eyes darkened at the memory of the terrible scene he had witnessed. "Bad man… very bad." Anna gulped and nodded.
Barrow took a deep breath and said cautiously, "Did… Did he …?" he dreaded the answer but felt he must know all the same.
To his relief, Anna shook her head. "He… you… stopped him just before…" her mouth quivered. "And then John came. Just in time," she bit her lip. "But if you hadn't come..." she pressed her hands together to try and stop them shaking.
"Whew," Barrow sighed with relief, shakily reaching to pat her hand. " 's… something! Thank bloody God," he swallowed, and despite her own tears beginning again, Anna nodded and even managed a wan smile. They sat quietly and Barrow shut his eyes for a few minutes. When he opened them again, he saw that Anna had a question for him.
"Mr Barrow, can I ask you something," her voice was just above a whisper. "Were you… afraid?"
He straightened a little and looked directly at her. After a moment he nodded. "Yes," he said his voice low. "Very," he shivered. "Never seen such hate!" His eyes grew dark. "Not even in the blasted trenches," and upon hearing his admission, it took almost all of Anna's self-control to avoid bursting into loud sobs of relief.
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It was a sombre group that left the hospital. When they reached the waiting cab, Sybil asked Matthew what he wanted to do and he muttered, "Get some fresh air." She nodded and directed the cab driver to a spot she knew of nearby on the riverside where there was shelter from the wind and a park bench. She asked that he return for them in half an hour: it was cold and whilst they had hats and coats, any longer outside and they would all risk chills.
When they reached the bench, Sybil took herself off for a brief walk, leaving her sister and brother-in-law alone.
There was a desolate beauty to the iron-grey expanse. The call of waterfowl and the lapping of the waves against the riverbank were the only sound. Matthew hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, lost in his own thoughts.
Mary sat bolt upright, hands clasped rigidly in her lap. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to think. What could he think? There was nothing to think and no one to blame, except the blasted war of course, and what use was that. This was it. With all the unfinished-ness, the imperfectness, the hopes of more recovery raised but not fulfilled.
But she couldn't say it. Whatever she said would not be right. So instead she sat motionlessly, churning inside, angry she couldn't comfort him. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she squeezed the lids together furiously.
She heard something scrabbling, and then a splash. Then another. And another. She opened her eyes. Matthew had reached down for some pebbles and was skimming them across the water. And then, with the end of his stick, he dug a rock out of the ground and picked it up. His forceful throw saw it arc high and long, and when it landed, quite some distance out, the splash was so resounding that geese paddling nearby took to the air in alarm, in a cacophony of honking and flapping.
She looked at him impassively. He returned her gaze, his face expressionless, and then he looked back to the ground again to unearth another rock. This one reached even further, but the geese had gone, and this time all that could be heard was the slap when the rock hit the water. Hunching forward again, he put his head in his hands and scrubbed his face.
A little hesitantly, Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away, and a moment later he reached up and patted her hand briefly. But neither of them spoke until Sybil returned to say the cab was approaching and it was time to go.
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"And what is the latest?" Mr Carson sat down heavily at the table in Mrs Hughes's sitting room a few minutes after the police officer had left.
"Well. It seems that thanks to our photograph, they have been able to confirm who the fellow who claimed to be Edna's brother actually is. A well-known con man apparently. An expert in disguise, as we saw! There's also mention of a real brother, who is suspected to be a professional forger. And his description matches that of the other man who had been about the village asking strange questions." Mrs Hughes had to stop herself from continuing, sorely tempted to share her suspicions that the notes professing to be between Lord Grantham and Jane Moorsum were his work. But Mr Carson was unaware of the existence of the notes. And best for all concerned that it was kept that way.
"And how's the cut on your head? Feeling any better?" she changed the subject slightly.
"A little. Still a bit tender, I'll admit." Mr Carson gingerly touched the bandage on the side of his head. He pursed his lips, pondering the year that had been, and the dramatic events of the past week. "This. And all the muckraking about his Lordship! It isn't just Sir Richard Carlisle's doing, is it?" Mr Carson knitted his eyebrows. "There is something bigger going on."
"It is certainly starting to look that way," Mrs Hughes nodded soberly. "Although exactly what, the Lord only knows!" She shivered. "And for a start, let's just hope they find that brute quickly. And then we will all be able to sleep a little easier," and Mr Carson had to agree.
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"Thank you for suggesting this," Mary's voice shook a little, as Sybil turned the key in the lock and gestured her sister through into the flat's small sitting room.
"You both needed some looking after," Sybil replied matter-of-factly. "Tom is going to suggest to Alex they take Matthew to the pub. And with Clarissa away, I thought you should come back with me. In the hope I can cheer you up a little," Sybil tried to get a smile out of her solemn-faced sister.
Sitting down with a groan, her back again a little irritated by her pregnancy, Mary looked across at Sybil. "I feel for him so much," her voice caught. "He's worked so hard with so very little complaint and now he finds out it will never be enough! It just seems so unfair."
"It's not easy to accept I'll say that," Sybil eyed her sympathetically. "But unfortunately, fairness never comes into it where damage inflicted by war is concerned."
"I know," Mary sighed. "And what's the worst of it for me, is that I can't seem to comfort him! He can be so prickly when he is like this. So I keep quiet. But that doesn't help me!" she blinked rapidly.
"Of course it doesn't," Sybil's voice was soft. "You want to be able to work through this together. And he's gone into his shell! But it is common you know. That's one thing I've seen so much, nursing these men the past few years. When men are upset they seem to need to retreat. A lot of them anyway! Not Papa of course," she shrugged. "He's just always yelled!"
Despite herself, Mary couldn't help smiling at Sybil's words, and Sybil giggled too, thinking of their hot-tempered father. Her face became serious again as she continued with what she had been saying. "And of course, your Matthew has a very strong sense of how things should be," she pursed her lips. "And being a bit stubborn and a bit of a perfectionist means accepting what is, can be hard for him. Right now, he'll be feeling that he has let you down."
"But he hasn't!" Mary raised her voice. "How much he recovers has never mattered. Never, ever! I mean I have obviously wanted it for him and his health," she qualified, "But in terms of us, goddamn it I would have married him bedridden! We're meant to be together, he and I!"
"And in his heart, he knows that," Sybil replied gently. "He just needs some space to reconcile it all."
"Well I hope it won't take long," Mary choked. "I need him, Sybil!" a tear ran down her cheek, and she dabbed at it furiously with her handkerchief.
"Matthew, try and put your wife first in all of this," Sybil found herself thinking. "She's carrying your child for god's sake!" But even as she thought it she found herself asking whether it was fair. News like this was surely hard for anyone to take. What if it were me? she thought. How would I feel?
"Give him some time," Sybil answered at last. "It's been a horrible afternoon for him. On top of a horrible week, and a not so flash couple of months!
"Alex and Tom will help you know. And if he continues to brood, get Evelyn to talk to him."
Mary laughed, despite her tears. "So some time to retreat and lick his wounds. And then I put him to the lion to make him see it's time to be my husband again."
"Something like that," Sybil gave her a wan smile. They stared at each other pensively for a moment, and then Sybil shook herself and stood up.
"Well. How about we eat. It will probably make us both feel a lot better! And I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
Sybil's housekeeper, Mrs Parkes, had prepared a simple but tasty meal that she had left to keep warm in the oven. Mary ate hungrily. Initially, she was surprised at her own appetite, but then she remembered how little she had been able to eat at breakfast and lunch, so nervous she had been for what was to come at Matthew's appointment. "She does a nice roast mutton," she commented to Sybil as they ate.
"She does. We've been a bit lucky. Cooking wasn't really her background, but she's befriended an older woman in our block who is a retired cook. She offered to teach Ethel. She also minds her baby when she's on the stove. A good arrangement that we have been the beneficiaries of!"
"I'll say. And I'm pleased you haven't had to worry about that side of things when you have been so busy with all of your study," Mary remarked.
"Yes," Sybil's face clouded for a moment. "Well," she shrugged a little hopelessly.
"What is it?" Mary asked, sensing something wasn't right. In fact, she'd known something wasn't right with her sister since the weekend, but with everything else that had been going on there had been no chance until now to ask her about it. To her horror, Sybil burst into tears.
"Oh Mary, I'm so worried about my exams. They were hard. Very hard! And, and… I ran out of time and didn't finish the Latin paper," she sobbed.
"Oh darling," Mary reached across the table to pat her sister's arm sympathetically. "We are a pair tonight! I'm sure you'll be fine. You put in a lot of work."
"I hope so," Sybil hiccupped. "But the last few nights I've had this same, awful dream where I find out I haven't passed a single one. And Doctor Jones has turned into this monstrous figure and he is telling me off and saying they are dismissing me from the Hospital! Mary, I wish I wasn't so goddamn stupid," she wrung her hands.
"You are not stupid. Far from it," Mary said firmly. "Getting into this field of work is very different to anything you ever had growing up. We had very little instruction in the way of science or languages! That's why it's hard."
"And our education shouldn't have been so wanting," Sybil remonstrated. "It is so unfair. All of us would have been better off born boys."
Mary pursed her lips. She felt for her sister. But there was nothing either of them could do about their past. The only thing that mattered now was the present and the future. She just prayed Sybil had scraped her examinations.
"How about we have some of that pudding," she said at last. "And a cup of tea."
Sybil nodded and gulped. She stood and went next door to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. Mary pushed herself to her feet and went to fill the kettle. She lit the gas stove and put it on, thankful it was similar to the model they had installed in the Land Agent office. She brought the lemon pudding to the table and set about plating it up.
When Sybil returned she was calm again, and her face wore a resolute expression. She sat down and addressed her sister. "Mary," she began. "Can you promise me something?"
"Depends on what it is," Mary smiled.
"If your little baby is a daughter, or if any future child you have is a daughter, promise me you will give her a proper education!"
"Of course!" Mary's smile widened. "On that matter, you will be pleased to know, Matthew and I have already agreed."
"You have already talked about it?" Sybil was surprised.
"We have. As a matter of fact, it followed a conversation very similar to the one you and I have just had. Except of course, in that case, it was me who was complaining and not you!" Sybil began to laugh, and over mouthfuls of Mrs Parkes's fragrant dessert, they began to talk of other things, enjoying the rare opportunity to catch up as the two of them alone.
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"How was it?" Alex asked nervously. Matthew had just arrived back from his appointment to the residence and he didn't like the expression on his friend's face.
"Tough," Matthew muttered. "Can we…"
"Have a drink?" Alex interrupted, deciding instantly he needed one himself, and Matthew nodded. "Where's Mary?" Alex frowned.
"She's gone to have a meal with Sybil. Sister talk. Probably knew I wouldn't be good company tonight," Matthew grimaced.
Alex raised an eyebrow and led his friend through to the drawing room.
Fortified by the snifter of peaty single malt that Giles served a few minutes later, Matthew explained what he had been told by Doctor Jones.
"So, hang on a minute," Alex sounded relieved. "You're not sick? You've just been doing too much?"
"That's right. I'm not sick. But I can't sustain being on my feet as much as I have been," Matthew sounded defeated.
"Well, thank god that's all it is!" Alex gave an audible sigh. "I was terrified it was something serious. Some awful complication," he swallowed. "Both of us have been as worried as hell.
"And this is all it is? Thank god for that!" he repeated and he smiled at Matthew.
Matthew looked at him, incredulous. "You don't think this is big deal? That I'm not going to lose the bloody chair?"
"Well, of course, it is for you. I mean, hell, if it were me being told this was it, no more improvement, I wouldn't be feeling like a box of firecrackers either," Alex admitted, "but as your friend," he shook his head. "Well. Yes. I'm relieved as hell," his voice cracked a little.
"Because you thought I was ill," Matthew said lamely.
Alex nodded. "I couldn't…" he stopped and looked away, his fingers tapping nervously on the side of his glass. He couldn't say it, but Matthew knew. "I couldn't lose another friend you bastard! Especially not you! Not now!"
"Oh," Matthew took a mouthful of whisky and stared into the distance.
Alex stared at the fire. "I don't know what to say, old boy," he said eventually. "You survived when the Doctors didn't think you would. And you've had an amazing recovery from where you were. But now you know it can't ever be a full one." he shook his head and shrugged.
"I don't know what I feel," Matthew said flatly. "A bit hopeless I guess," he set his jaw. "These last awful months all for nought."
"Not really," Alex countered. "You got yourself off the crutches and you've got better with your balance. And this last period has at least taught you your limits."
"Which I don't want to face," Matthew said heavily. "It feels like giving in."
Alex gazed at him, pondering his words for a moment. "So you're saying you think you should be walking all of the time, at all costs because otherwise, it's giving in," he stated.
Matthew shrugged. "I suppose."
"But is it giving in?" he challenged. "Or is it looking after yourself so that you can concentrate at work. And not be endlessly grumping at your wife? And for god's sake old boy," Alex frowned. "You're going to be a father soon. Don't you want to be able to enjoy your child without being dog-tired?"
Matthew looked down at his glass and swirled the pale liquid round and round, mulling over Alex's words.
A while later, when both of them agreed they had talked the subject out, Alex passed on Tom's suggestion that they go to the pub. "He called a few minutes before you got back," Alex explained. "How about it?"
Matthew frowned. "Perhaps," he contemplated. He sighed. "All right. I suppose it's better than staying here sulking."
"I would think so," Alex replied, and with that settled, he rang for Giles to get a message to Tom at his office before he left for the day.
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"Mary. Mary!" someone's voice broke into her dream and Mary startled awake. Where was she? Momentarily confused, she realised she was on the sofa in front of the fire in the Shipton's drawing room.
"Did you fall asleep?" The voice belonged to Alex, and looking up she saw he was smiling. There was a red tinge to his cheeks and the tip of his nose that told her he was a little tipsy.
"I must have," Mary's voice was rough from her nap. She pushed herself up slowly. "I wasn't ready for bed when I got back from Sybil's so I decided to read." Sure enough, looking around she saw that the book she had been reading had fallen to the floor. "Where's Matthew?"
Alex's grin widened a little. "We've put him to bed. Decided not to disturb Alfred! He, ah, well…" he chortled.
"You got him drunk?" Mary didn't know whether to laugh or get cross.
"He got himself that way. I suppose I could have said something when he asked for his fifth whisky…"
"Oh good heavens," Mary rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me anymore! I just hope he doesn't have a meeting first thing."
"He doesn't," Alex said immediately. "He's got another day of leave – arranged in case the hospital had wanted him back. Although I do want him in for our staff meeting in the afternoon since he's here."
"Good, well he can sleep it off in the morning then," Mary put her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. "I had better get to bed now too."
"You had better! A lot more comfortable than this sofa," Alex grinned. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.
"And thank you, Alex," Mary said. "You are so very good to him. Well, to us both."
"As you are to me," a shadow crossed Alex's face. Trying not to think of his own troubles, he said, "He'll be all right you know."
"I know he will," Mary nodded. She sighed. "And thank you again for being there."
0-0-0-0-0-0
Upon their arrival back to Downton on Thursday afternoon, Matthew went immediately to see Barrow, having heard from his mother who had met them at the station, that he was now able to talk. Barrow was sitting up, a nurse having just brought through a cup of tea. One eye was swollen shut. The rest of the face was mottled yellow and purple and a long line of stitches held together a deep cut from his hairline to his swollen jaw. Matthew's heart lurched. Somehow the colour of the bruising working its way out made his face look even worse than it had in the immediate aftermath.
"Barrow. Bloody hell! By God, I'm pleased to see you awake! We've been terribly worried," Matthew struggled to keep his tone light.
"Sir," Barrow's lips turned upwards, the best he could manage by way of a smile.
"I'm so sorry," Matthew continued. "That this happened and we didn't see it coming! I really am." He was rambling, repeating what he had already said when he had visited the barely conscious Barrow before departing for London.
"Why ' you apologising?" Barrow interrupted, slurring, which was as much as his damaged jaw would let him. "… Not your fault. You didn't know. Photo, you hadn't seen…" he had to stop, as the ache in his jaw went from thumping to stabbing.
"Mrs Hughes told us," Matthew replied, the lucidity of Barrow's reply calming him a little. "And Maurice filled me in on the rest."
"You talked?" Barrow said in disbelief.
"Of course," Matthew said firmly. "He needed to know. I'll call him again now I've seen you too. Oh, and he asked that I convey to you his best wishes for a speedy recovery."
"… Sir," Barrow was overcome by his employer's thoughtfulness. He was quiet a moment, and then shifted painfully. "Speedy… If only…" he grimaced. "… be a while… Sir, how… how you going to manage?" he looked worried.
Matthew gave him a wry smile. "At times like this I think I am supposed to reassure you and say I will be fine, and that no one is indispensable. However, in your case, Barrow, I would be lying. You will be amused to know it is taking three people to replace you."
"Sir?" Barrow raised an eyebrow, his lips again turning upwards.
"Yes. Three," Matthew repeated. "Mary is going to be my driver. Mother is coming in morning and night to help with my stretching routine, and we've borrowed Alfred to be my Valet," he chuckled. "So you see, Barrow. You are, after all, indispensable."
Barrow's lips had curled into the most of a smile he could manage. "… Sir!"
Matthew grinned. "And it goes without saying I will be pleased as punch when I can have you back! But," he added hastily. "Not until you are properly healed. We can't have two walking wounded in our household. I drive my poor wife mad enough as it is."
"… that be right Sir!" Barrow's eyes crinkled with mirth.
A while later, after Matthew had updated Barrow on the latest in the hunt for Green, he finally broached the subject he should have raised weeks earlier, asking Barrow whether he was interested in becoming their Butler. As Matthew ran through the conditions, Barrow was astonished to hear the position included exclusive use of the self-contained flat over the garage. When Barrow sought to clarify if that included the freedom to have guests to stay, Matthew replied, "of course."
"And… L… Lady Mary?" Barrow asked cautiously.
"It was her idea," Matthew replied to Barrow's utter amazement. "You have proven your loyalty to us both this past year. And now with what you did for Anna…" he smiled.
Barrow couldn't trust himself to speak. A position as Butler to the future Earl of Grantham was attractive enough. But to have it offered such that it did not need to come at the price of seeing less of Maurice was beyond what he could ever have imagined.
"Think about it," Matthew said after a pause. "You will have a footman to assist you of course, but it will still be a lot more work." He put his hands on his wheels. "For now I'd best be off. The police are back around shortly to tell us where they are at tracking Green."
"Y 'll right?" Barrow frowned registering for the first time that Matthew was in his wheelchair.
"Long story," Matthew's face fell a little. "Doctors orders to stop the tiredness."
"Ah," Barrow said knowingly. "… been wondering," he nodded at him. "Tell me next time."
"I will," Matthew promised, and the two men bade each other goodbye.
0-0-0-0-0-0
"Chief Inspector Wilkinson," Alfred announced, as he showed the stooped man through to the Vicarage drawing-room later that afternoon.
"We've a breakthrough Lady Mary, Sir," he went straight to the point. "A gentleman fitting the description of Mr Alexander Green was found collapsed outside the York Infirmary this morning. Upon his admittance, it was found that in addition to facial injuries sustained in his collapse, he had also sustained serious damage to… well a rather delicate area," the Inspector's moustache twitched. "Refused to say what happened! But as luck would have it, a sharp-eyed nurse had seen our 'wanted' poster and slipped out to call the police whilst he was being examined."
"Where is the fellow now?" Matthew asked.
"In the hospital under police guard. He is scheduled for an urgent operation this evening," the Inspector frowned. "He is being rather obstructive, to be honest. Refuses to confirm who he is, despite our photographs," he shook his head. "His face is cut and badly bruised, however. So to be on the safe side, we've asked Lord Gillingham to make a positive identification."
"When will Lord Gillingham be able to do so?" Mary enquired.
"He's travelling to York on the morrow," replied the Inspector. Mary and Matthew glanced at each other.
Addressing the Inspector, Matthew said, "This is very good news. Especially for Mrs Bates and Mr Barrow! Inspector, please accept our heartfelt thanks – you and your team of officers. We have felt well served by the North Riding Constabulary this past difficult week."
Matthew's calm and upbeat words belied his inner turmoil: Whilst thrilled that Green had been apprehended, he knew that once there was a positive identification, their chances of keeping Green's arrest and whereabouts under wraps were nigh on impossible. Both he and Mary had come to the conclusion Green would need protection if he were to be of use in the case against Doncourt and his cronies. They needed to work out a plan.
As soon as she heard the front door shut behind the Inspector, Mary turned to her husband and said immediately. "I'll get hold of Tony. He's our only hope to keep this under wraps."
Matthew's face broke into a wide smile, his first real smile for days. "You must have been reading my mind!"
"Perhaps," Mary raised an eyebrow. "Great minds think alike. Isn't that what they say?" she quipped, pleased to see his smile, her own mood much lighter too after hearing the Inspector's news. Batting her eyelashes at him, she stood up, stretched out her aching back, and went to use the telephone in the hall.
0-0-0-0-0-0
Arthur Farnham had just closed his suitcase and was reaching for his coat and scarf ready to depart for the wharf and his ship when there was a knock on his hotel room door.
"Come in," he called, and a bellboy entered with a tray, upon which was a small envelope.
"A message for you, Sir," the lad gave a slight bow. "The fellow who brought it in said it was urgent."
Arthur removed the envelope from the tray and nodded his thanks. The lad turned and left. Walking to the desk, Arthur picked up the letter knife and slit the envelope open, retrieving the small piece of paper from inside. He quickly unfolded it and inhaled sharply when he read the words.
"New information on WH. Delay your return. Meet me at the office. 1:00pm. B."
Frowning, Arthur stood silently for a minute. What was this new information? His heart began to beat fast. It had to be significant for them to ask that he stay on. Folding the note up again, he slipped it into his pocket and opened his briefcase to find the papers he would need to re-arrange his travel. And then taking up his purse and the room key, he headed for the elevator to reception.
0-0-0-0-0-0
"It was a rather odd message," Violet began frowning. "Kenneth will write. Protect him." Literally just that," she shook her head. "Do we know who this 'Kenneth' is?" It was Christmas Eve, and Violet was recounting to Mary and Matthew the message from her rendezvous with PI Craddock the day before.
"He said Kenneth will write?" Matthew repeated, and if Violet hadn't been so unsure of the message, she would have sworn her grandson-in-law looked pleased.
"Yes. And pray do tell, who on earth is this Kenneth?" she asked again.
"The war correspondent who was charged with war treason at the same time as Richard," Mary explained. "He is in Pentonville as well."
"Aha," Violet suddenly realised the significance of the message. "So he, or by the sounds, they both, are going to confess! And do we take from 'Kenneth will write' that this will be in some public manner?" she looked from Mary to Matthew and back again.
"I think we do," Matthew said at last. "I think it's a signal that Carlisle has accepted he can't win, and that, as we thought, he intends not only to confess but to also take these other accomplices down with him," he shook his head. "I must say, it would be rather clever of him if he does manage to do that in a public manner, all from inside!"
"But why?" mused Mary. "An admission of guilt and simply naming the others would reduce his sentence without him needing to go to all this trouble to furnish an entire case against them. Have they wronged him, perhaps, in the past?"
"Or do they have something else on him that if revealed could cast doubt on his testimony?" Violet said darkly.
"It could be both I suppose," Mary frowned.
"And what about him letting that thug loose at the Abbey," Matthew's voice was hard. "What was going on there? A pretty extreme way to make it look like he was continuing to try and intimidate Lord Grantham!"
"Extreme, but perhaps required to keep Doncourt from knowing what he's really up to?" Mary pondered. "Because, of course, if he had really intended to intimidate Papa, he would have released my scandal, given he now has so little left to lose. But for some reason he hasn't."
They all looked at each other, none of them able to make Carlisle out.
"And aren't we just as contradictory with what we are planning?" Violet remarked eventually. "Aiding and abetting the actions of a man complicit in a brutal attack on some dear staff?" There was an uncomfortable silence as the three of them pondered her words. "So be it," Violet gave a heavy sigh. "The world and the things we are made to do in it can be very strange at times. And continuing with strange tasks, the next question we must answer, of course, is how on earth we might do something to protect this Kenneth fellow when he is already surrounded day and night by a whole bevvy of guards!"
"You know, there is someone who could probably help us with that very thing," Mary considered. "Someone with experience on the inside. And someone, I understand from Anna, who may have a friend amongst the Pentonville jailers. Matthew?" Mary looked across at her husband. "I think it's time you and I sat down with Bates."
0-0-0-0-0-0
It was the weekend after Christmas. Stepping into the lobby of their building carrying a fresh loaf of bread, Tom found the postman busy placing letters in various residents' letterboxes. Theirs was the last letterbox, so after exchanging greetings, Tom asked if there were any in his bundle for Branson he could take straight away. Looking through them, the postman extracted three letters and passed them to Tom. He took a quick look as he walked towards the stairs. One was from his mother. Another, he recognised from the handwriting, was from Edith. The third was an official-looking envelope addressed to Mrs T Branson, with 'Bedford College' stamped in the corner.
"Her exam results, I'll bet," he muttered to himself, and he hurried upstairs to their flat to find her.
He watched anxiously whilst she ran the paper knife along the edge of the envelope and removed the letter. Smoothing out the paper, she began to read, and to his relief, she saw her face break into a smile.
"I passed Tom. I passed them all!" her voice was a little tremulous. "Oh," she laughed a little nervously. "By just three marks in the Latin!
"But, Oh," her face lit up. "Look what I got in the science!" she pushed the paper across the table to him. The mark was 73%.
"Well, that's something to be proud of!" Tom looked across at her admiringly. "For a girl who never had much of that subject at all growing up!"
He stood up and held his arms out. "Come here. That deserves a very big kiss!" and laughing, they embraced and kissed, and then Tom let out a whoop and danced her around the floor.
"It's still only the first step. I have to apply and be accepted, of course," Sybil mused when they were seated again and enjoying a celebratory cup of tea. "Passing the courses just gives me that option!"
"That's true. But what about that work Doctor Clarkson had published recently about the trial? You're listed as an author! More than a few people talking about it, isn't there? I mean, with that foreword from Doctor Jones commending the research, and naming you as one of those involved! That's going to mean a lot, surely," Sybil nodded. "Yes. I suppose it is," she smiled. "It should. Oh, Tom! I want this so very much!" and she clasped his hands and the two of them shared another joyful kiss.
0-0-0-0-0-0
"If it's fine tomorrow, I thought you and I might like to go for a ride," Mary announced, climbing into bed beside her husband.
"Take the horses out?" Matthew asked. "What a marvellous idea." He hadn't yet ridden with Mary at Downton. He had been out with Sybil and Lynch a few times, getting to know his new horse and familiarising himself with the modifications Lynch had made for him in the yards. He felt a little thrill of anticipation at the prospect. But upon noticing that Mary was rubbing her back, he frowned and said suddenly, "But should we? Is it safe for a pregnant woman?"
"Of course," Mary scoffed, continuing to rub her back. "It's not as though I've begun my confinement! And besides. Women have been riding horses for millennia at all stages in their child-bearing!"
"All right, all right. Forgive me," Matthew put his hands up, knowing immediately this was not an argument he would win. "But promise me you won't do anything mad like leap over things," Matthew leant across to kiss her. "Because I'd worry."
"Promise," Mary caught his hand. "And if you must know, all I wanted was a gentle ride that we can enjoy together," she smiled. "Although I do want to show you the latest plans for the farms that Anthony and I have been discussing whilst we're at it," she looked slightly guilty.
"No rest for the wicked I see," Matthew murmured, kissing her again. "Can't keep you mind off work even when it's a holiday!"
"It's more that I'd like to get some of the major decisions made, and the work under way before my confinement," Mary admitted.
"Of course. And rest assured that we will," Matthew said confidently.
Mary smiled. She was getting her Matthew back. He had his quiet days, and she knew he was grieving for the further recovery that would never be. But with the cessation of the trial, and the chance afforded by the Christmas holiday to rest and sleep, he had begun to get on top of the tiredness. And as his energy had started to return, so had his good temper.
"It's so wonderful to see you so rested and relaxed," she murmured.
"I'm enjoying being in our home," he said simply.
"And I'm enjoying having you back at home," Mary's eyes were bright.
He hummed and batted his eyelashes at her in an alarmingly alluring fashion, and a current ran between them. They studied each other for a long moment and then Mary moved closer to him. She gently touched his face, tracing the crescent of each eyebrow, the delicate skin around his eyes, the dimples on his cheeks, the outline of his oh so perfect lips. Cupping his face with her hands, she kissed him very gently. He quivered, and a frisson ran through her body in response. She shifted onto her knees, and taking his hand she guided it to the strings on the bodice of her nightgown.
"Undress me," she murmured. Fixing her in his magnetic gaze, he deftly loosened the strings. And when he eased the gown up and over Mary's head he gave a gasp of delight at her ripening body. He straightened up a little and motioned her to sit on his lap. He traced the curve of her rounded belly, noticing where it was fuller now, where the feel of her skin had changed as the baby took more and more room, and the delicious heaviness and heat of each breast as he gently cupped them. His breath began to quicken. His lips found one nipple and he began to tease it with his tongue. The sensation was so intense that Mary gasped.
He stopped and looked at her questioningly. "Does it hurt?"
"Not exactly," she whispered. "But it is very intense. I think it's my body readying itself for birth and nursing." His blue eyes softened, and he touched her belly again, wonder at the miracle of their growing child written all over his face. Mary felt a rush of love for him: his expression always became delightfully boyish whenever they talked about the baby and her pregnancy. She guided his lips back to her nipple again, moaning a little as he worked it once more with his tongue, the slightest bit more gently this time. The sensation was so overwhelming she had a strong sense a climax might be possible from that alone. The mere thought of that titillated her further, and she guided his other hand to her triangle of dark curls and the sweet spot beneath that his fingers were now expert at working.
Her panting, the writhing of her curvy body against him and the moans she uttered with increasing frequency sent Matthew into paroxysms of pleasure of his own, and his own breath began to come shallow and fast. Her climax, when it came, was explosive, and he held her tightly as she bucked and jerked in his arms, so aroused now himself, he found himself kissing and kneading her skin incessantly. She tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention and extricated herself from his arms. She knelt and faced him. "Lie down," she instructed, eyes hooded, voice sultry. Drunk with desire, he lay back, and she helped him slide off his pyjama pants. She straddled him, admiring the strength and tone in his arms and shoulders. With a sigh of pleasure, she ran her hand's feather light down the smooth lines of his chest. Her mouth followed, administering a shower of gentle kisses.
Lifting her head up, their eyes locked, and he found himself lost in her sheer loveliness. She was so vital, so radiant and so utterly sexy. He groaned and reached to cup her breasts, delighting again in their heat and weight. His arousal already heightened, it took only a few firm strokes of her hand before he was ready, and with a cry of pleasure, Mary worked him inside her and rode him, sitting up. He kneaded her bottom, exalting in its softness, the visual feast of her body rocking above his unleashing in him an almost violent desire. As he neared his peak he pulled her down onto his chest and kissed her with an urgency and a fervour that left her breathless. Oh the sweet taste of her! The dewy touch of her skin against his! When at last he went over the edge the intensity was such that he shouted out, and Mary held him tightly, wishing to prolong that precious moment of intimacy for as long as possible.
0-0-0-0-0-0
At 9:00 sharp on Friday, just as she had every week since his arrest, Sir Richard Carlisle's 'housekeeper' dumped the basket full of food down on the visitor's room table in her usual surly fashion. As she took up the empty basket from the previous time and turned to go he caught the slightest flash in her eye and his heart beat fast. She had brought him a message.
He uttered his customary grunt of thanks, and as always, the prison officers came across and unloaded the basket, checking each item before repacking it. All was as it seemed: the usual loaves of bread; fruit, butter, jam, cheese and bars of chocolate, one of which, as he did every time, he gestured for the guards to keep. Dismissed, a guard led Sir Richard Carlisle back to his cell and locked him in.
He found the envelope when he broke open the bread, his interest immediately piqued by its weight and thickness.
Checking the peephole in his door first to ensure the guard hadn't loitered to peer in, which on occasion they were want to do, he eased it carefully from the middle of the loaf and slid it immediately under the books piled on the small table. He made himself a few sandwiches, enough to destroy the evidence of the hole in the bread, and after once again checking the peephole for prying eyes he retrieved the envelope, opened it, and began to read.
0-0-0-0-0-0
They were a large crowd gathered beneath the Christmas tree in the Great Hall that New Year's Eve. The soft light from the candles and the aroma of cinnamon, spice and citrus from the Wassail being handed around added to the festive atmosphere.
Notable in their absence, but mentioned often in the course of the evening were the Bates's, installed in a small seaside Inn in Whitby whilst Anna's broken ribs and cut limbs healed, and Mr Barrow, 'being looked after by his cousin in York,' until he, too, was well enough to return to work.
"Tomorrow it will be the 1920's," Matthew said, as he and Mary gazed about the crowded room from the comfort of the fireside sofa in the Grand Hall. He still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he had lived to see the new decade in; adopting a fatalistic attitude had been a necessity during the long years in the living hell that was the trenches.
But he had. And what's more, he was soon to be a father, with family life to look forward to. He smiled and reached for his wife's hand.
"Happy?" she whispered, radiant in a teal drop-waisted evening gown, nicely set off by the long silver necklace he had gifted her for Christmas.
"Very," he nodded. "I was thinking about our little one," he patted her stomach gently.
"A baby will certainly change things," Mary observed. "But in a good way," she squeezed his hand. "And I'm looking forward to seeing how you take to fatherhood," she smirked. "And whether I'll get a look in where baby is concerned!" They both laughed. More guests were arriving, and a few minutes later, Tom, Sybil, Anthony and Edith appeared. They had spent the afternoon together walking the Strallan farms, taking dinner at Locksley before travelling to Downton for the evening gathering.
"Papa said you were over here," Edith said, pleased to see a seat. A little further on in her pregnancy than Mary, she was starting to really feel it. Anthony perched on the arm beside her, and Tom and Sybil shared the footstool. They began to talk, catching up on each other's news and discussing the continuing drama with Mr Green, who remained incognito under police guard at the hospital in York.
Sybil, already a little tipsy thanks to the fine wine that had been shared at the Strallan's dinner table, said unexpectedly. "I found out something about Green yesterday. Want to hear it? But it must stay strictly between us." she leant forward conspiratorially. The others looked at each other but they all nodded, and in a low voice, Sybil began.
"Sarah-Jane is friends with one of the nurses there, and it turns out she was the one that recognised him. And apparently," Sybil began to giggle, "She told her that it appears he may lose his manhood."
"What?" Edith and Mary looked scandalised, and the men cringed. Unabashed, Sybil continued. "It seems that wallop Bates gave him did some serious damage," she smirked.
"Sybil," Edith sounded perturbed. "Is this really a laughing matter? I mean it's…"
Sybil cut across her, eyes flashing. "When the laughter is at him?" she said a little louder than necessary. "Yes! I think it is. The bastard got what he damn well deserved."
"Sybil!" Mary and Edith hissed in scandalised tones. "Your language!" Shocked, they looked around praying no one else outside of their group had heard.
"They're all laughing," Sybil said belligerently, and sure enough, Matthew, Anthony and Tom, eyes full of mirth, were sharing sideways glances and struggling not to snigger.
"It's no laughing matter!" Edith repeated in a furious whisper, this time to the men.
"Of course not, my dear," Anthony said mildly to his wife. "But it must be said that hearing your genteel younger sister voice the truth in so plain a manner most certainly is!" and at that, all of them had to smile.
A little embarrassed by his wife's drunken outburst, Tom suggested a change of subject that they each share what they were looking forward to in the coming year. Starting off, he reported that he was to travel to Ireland in February for a month researching the political situation for his newspaper. "They want to provide a greater range of viewpoints on the troubles," he explained. My role will be to get us connected with some new contacts, on both sides of the conflict. Although the main area we need the contacts is among the Republicans, not surprisingly," he finished.
Edith went next, and it transpired that writing was also her focus. "Michael Gregson, the editor at The Sketch, wants me to start a regular column," she announced. 'The modern woman's view on societal change."
"What a marvellous feather in your cap, Edith!" Matthew said warmly. "And what do you plan for your first one?"
"Lady Astor's appointment as our first female Member of Parliament," Edith replied promptly. "But with it, I'd like to critique the Representation of the People Act too. It doesn't go far enough in my opinion. Why should the right to vote be restricted to women over 30, property owners and such like? We need universal suffrage in the way the Act allowed men to have it."
"My goodness. No hiding from controversy I see!" Mary said in surprise. "Don't let Papa in on your plans then!"
"Of course not. And anyway, what Papa thinks doesn't matter. I'm a married woman now!" Edith lifted her chin in the air. "And Anthony supports me. Don't you dear?"
"Of course. I wouldn't dare do anything else!" Anthony said mildly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Tom and Matthew grinned at each other.
Sybil talked about her work, and her application to read for a degree in Physical Education. "Doctor Jones's protégé, Mary McMillan did that, and she has gone a long way in the field since! Did you know she has been heavily involved in establishing physical therapy in America?" she commented. "Walter Reid hospital apparently."
"And do you see yourself following in her footsteps?" Edith asked.
"Well, she is a woman I admire," Sybil admitted. "My first step is just getting in of course, but if I do complete the degree, I think I would like to make things happen out in the world as she has. Perhaps building on that research I was involved with here. It's terribly exciting, especially when you try something out that you then find actually works for the patients," she glanced at Matthew and they shared a knowing smile.
"How about you, Anthony?" Tom asked, and Anthony replied that he was enjoying working with Mary and her staff at the Land Agent's office on the plans for modernising the farms and that that, and the birth of his first child would be his focus.
Matthew and Mary also said the main thing they were looking forward to was the birth of their child. "Although I must say I'm also looking forward to some peace and quiet too," Matthew added, thinking to himself how much he wished for the ongoing drama with Carlisle and Lord Doncourt to be resolved and over once and for all. He was surprised to hear a gale of laughter from the others. "Who told you fatherhood brought with it peace and quiet?" Tom chortled.
"Oh," Matthew replied, nonplussed. "I meant… peace from other things," he said hurriedly, and then he grinned. "Of course I don't expect fatherhood to be peaceful! But at least it will be fun."
As the musicians began their repertoire of waltz music, the dancing began, and soon couples were whirling merrily around the room, the Strallan's and Branson's soon joining them. Mary and Matthew watched, enjoying the gaiety.
"Look!" Mary pointed, speaking in a hushed voice. "Evelyn and Sarah-Jane are dancing!" And so they were. And there were more than a few smiles among the friends and family there that knew them as Evelyn and Sarah-Jane, eyes only for each other, swayed in unison together across the floor.
Mary and Matthew looked at each other. "He deserves this, doesn't he Mary?" Matthew said. "To have things turn out. What a year they have both had!" he shook his head.
"He most certainly does," Mary said softly. "So very ill for so much of it, but hardly letting that stop him doing so much good in the world! Did you know that Papa is intending to thank him, and you too of course, for your work with the Trust in his speech tonight? Lavinia showed him some of the thank you letters the soldiers have sent in – those who you have supported already, and they seemed to have a real effect on him. And he was so proud when he found out you've now more than doubled Reggie's bequest, a lot of which was from the benefit concert!"
"Well, he and Cora had a lot to do with it being such a success," Matthew countered. "And not just their help with the planning. Look at how they stepped in for us so smoothly when we couldn't host the activities on the Sunday, for instance? And kept the whole drama with Green under wraps! Most of the guests went home none the wiser," Matthew finished, still amazed at how they and the staff had pulled together to make it so.
There was a shout, and looking up, they saw Evelyn limping towards them, hand in hand with Sarah-Jane. They were both grinning widely. They sat down and accepted fresh glasses of champagne being offered about by a footman.
"So when are you two going to have a dance?" Evelyn said expectantly. Matthew gave a non-committal shrug. "Come on Crawley. If I can manage a dance on a tin leg, I'm sure you can too," Evelyn urged him.
"But I don't want to trip up my pregnant wife," Matthew protested.
"Your pregnant wife, who is feeling exceedingly clumsy these days doesn't want to trip you up either," Mary sniggered. "But Evelyn is right. We should at least give it a go."
"Very well. But we must wait for something that's not too racy," Matthew insisted. And so when, a few dances later, the music changed tempo, they stood up and moved to the edge of the dance floor.
"How are we going to do this," Matthew muttered nervously.
Mary pursed her lips and contemplated him for a moment. "How about this way," she replied eventually, reaching under his tailcoat and looping her fingers firmly into the waistband of his trousers. "Take your weight off your sticks," she commanded. "Is this enough support?"
She took his weight easily. "Yes," Matthew said, a little amazed. "For such a slender creature you're remarkably strong!"
"Not slender now!" Mary scoffed. "But I did spend a year nursing don't forget. You're not the first man I've had to hold up!"
"Don't remind me. I might get jealous," Matthew poked his tongue out at her. He nodded to Alfred to take his sticks and Mary placed her other arm firmly under Matthew's elbow.
"How does this feel?" she asked him. "Secure?"
He nodded. "It does." He looked at Alfred. "Keep an eye out, all right? If I start to fall, I don't want Mary going over too."
"Of course, Sir" Alfred replied, rather impressed Matthew was game enough to at least try to dance.
The pair began to sway gently in time to the music, both privately enjoying that necessity demanded they stand so close together.
"Do you think you can manage some real steps?" Mary murmured after a few minutes.
"Small ones, perhaps," Matthew replied. They tried a few test steps, and when Matthew felt he had it figured out, they gave it a go. It took all his concentration to do it, but they managed a few rounds in a passable version of a waltz before they stopped and simply swayed again. Matthew was breathing hard but there was the hint of a smile on his lips.
Mary reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Not bad Mr Crawley," she observed. "Not bad at all. We weren't quite to Evelyn and Sarah-Jane's standard, but then I am pregnant after all!" her eyes twinkled, and Matthew gave a snort of laughter.
"What would I do without you," he smirked. "You never let me take myself too seriously. You're like a good tonic you know."
"I'll remember that for the next time I'm born," Mary quipped. "And come back bottled as one of your favourite single malts."
Matthew laughed again. "I do love you so terribly much. Do you know, really know, just how much I do?"
"Of course," she murmured, her eyes suddenly bright. "You show me your love in what you say, and in what you do, with me, and for me, every single day." And as they began swaying again, this time to Strauss's Blue Danube, they found each other's lips and began to kiss, a long, sweet and very tender kiss.
There was a cheer from somewhere in the room. Then another. And another. Soon it seemed that everyone around them was cheering. They broke apart and looked at each other, mystified. "Is it the New Year?" Mary whispered. "Did we miss the chimes?" And it was then, when they both finally looked around to see, that they realised, at first embarrassed, and then humbled and pleased, that the cheering was for them.
And only a short while later, after a series of acknowledgements and accolades on the year that had been, led by a rather merry Lord Grantham, the chimes really did begin, and when the final note sounded, the toasts drunk and the greetings shared, the crowd broke spontaneously into lusty song:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
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Authors Notes
Medical comment
Fatigue in the manner Matthew experiences in this fic is a known phenomenon among some SCI patients with incomplete injuries who have regained the ability to stand and walk.
It's also worth noting that as a result of WWI, Britain was quite 'ahead' in its use of physical activity as an aid in rehabilitation... unfortunately this went backwards later in the post-war period when the Government, in an effort to balance the books, did not support the continuation of the good work started.
Bedford College was founded in London in 1849 as the first higher education college for the education of women in the United Kingdom. It played a leading role in the advancement of women in higher education, and in public life in general.
Early on it became clear that the standard of education many of the students had had was lacking, and preparatory courses were developed to allow the predominantly governess-taught students to catch up before commencing full university studies.
In 1900, the college became part of the University of London.
Lady Astor, on 1 December 1919, entered Parliament as a Unionist (also known as "Tory") Member of Parliament. Britain's first woman MP.
Representation of the People Act 1918
The Representation of the People Act 1918 widened suffrage in Britain by abolishing practically all property qualifications for men and by enfranchising women over 30 who met minimum property qualifications.
Mary McMillan worked under Doctor Robert Jones in the UK before travelling to America in 1915 where she was instrumental in establishing physical therapy and training what was then called 'reconstruction aides.' She worked at Walter Reid hospital. She is now known as 'the mother of physiotherapy.'
