Living
Accounts of Mary Crawley
Mary smiled at Tony politely as she opened the door and left him to the cold winter night. It was dark inside the house. But of course, it would be. The poor girl probably hasn't left her bed in weeks and the staff, except for the nurse who opened the door for her, have probably long since retired. It was just as well. Mary was looking forward to having some private time. It had been a long time since she's stepped foot in this house. In a strange way, she missed it. She missed having a friend.
She made her way up the creaky stairs trying to not make too much noise as she did so. Her hands held steady to the railings as she made her way up. Slowly but surely should could feel her heartbeat increase. She was nervous. She knew she would be. She tried to control it but in the end she knew that it was inevitable. Her thoughts began to wander. What would she be like now? Would she be happy to see Mary? Would she be angry? She had every right to be. How sick was she?
She knocked on the bedroom door gently as she let herself in. She put on a smile, despite her own trepidation, as she moved the light of the candle on the nightstand. Mary was surprised. Lavinia looked rather fine, a little weak but nothing too horrific, considering the stories she had heard of the Spanish flu.
"Mary!" Lavinia said with the startled of voice as she jumped a little in her bed.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Mary said that she made her way into the room.
"No, not at all," Lavinia said as she adjusted herself to a more upright position. "It's been a quite a while hasn't it."
"Yes, it has," Mary said hesitantly.
"Please, take a seat," Lavinia said as she pointed to the chair beside her bed.
Mary smiled nervously as she sat down.
"I wasn't expecting you," Lavinia said.
"I know," Mary replied. "And considering how we left things last time, I'm not surprised. But when I heard about your condition, I couldn't leave London without seeing you."
"That's very kind," Lavinia replied.
"I mean it," Mary said. "When I think about how terribly I treated you the last time you were at Downton."
"Please don't mention it again," Lavinia replied. "It's forgotten."
Mary breathed a sigh of relief.
"How are you feeling?" Mary asked.
"Quite well, it hasn't been too serious for me," Lavinia replied. "Not like the stories I've been reading in the newspaper."
"Yes, I've read this as well," Mary replied. "How terrible."
"It's not the only things I've read in the newspaper these days," Lavinia commented.
"Yes well, I can't help what journalists think of me," Mary said with a forced smile.
"Oh nevermind them, you have plenty of supporters yourself, it seems all of London society has rallied around your cause," Lavinia said. "Or perhaps they just find Sir Richard that repulsive."
"I can't say I disagree with that sentiment," Mary replied.
"How is Tony?" Lavinia asked. "You two make quite the dashing couple in pictures. It seems the entirety of London is rooting for you two."
"I don't know about that," Mary said with a blush.
"How does Matthew feel about all this?" Lavinia asked cautiously, as if trying to feign indifference.
"I wouldn't know," Mary answered tersely.
"You haven't seen him since?" Lavinia asked. "You haven't visited him in prison?"
"It's too difficult…" Mary whispered as her head dropped.
"Mary…"
"Don't you start now. I get enough of this for my father," Mary said with a sigh.
"You two were meant to be together," Lavinia said.
"It seems fate has other plans," Mary replied glibly.
"Fate? Or you?"
"You didn't see him. You didn't see him in the moment. What he was like. What he was capable of he wasn't Matthew," Mary replied as her voice began to tremble.
"You already knew about his violent past. What he did is a war," Lavinia said.
"No, it's not the same. It's not the same as seeing it for yourself, how angry he was, how savage… it was horrifying," Mary explained.
"You promised to be there for him, to take care of him and to help him through this terrible time," Lavinia said.
"What if it is too difficult? What if it breaks me? How much more Matthew do I have to suffer? First it was the rejection, then you, then the war, now this… Shouldn't he have to suffer me for once?" Mary asked.
"I'm sure he is right now," Lavinia said.
"No… it's not the same," Mary said as she looked away and closed her eyes, lest a tear escape. "I have a life now. I am desired again. I am welcome in society once again. I have a life once again. For the first time in years I feel free. Free from Pamuk, free from shame, free from guilt…"
"Free from Matthew?" Lavinia asked.
Mary paused for a moment.
"I didn't say that…" Mary whispered.
"Mary…"
"Yes?" Mary said as she forced her attention back towards Lavinia.
"Should I die…"
"Let's not think like that," Mary tried to say.
"I know, I know, but if…" Lavinia pushed. "Promise me, that you will marry him. So that our fight and the squandered friendship between us won't have been for nothing."
"Lavinia…" Mary said as tears welled up once again. "What happened between you and me was horribly unfortunate but…"
"Please Mary!" Lavinia begged. "This is not just for me. This is for you too. You just have to be strong enough to realize it."
"Lavinia, I am truly sorry what happened between us."
"I know you are," Lavinia said as her desperation broke into a smile. "But when you are here, where I am, staring my own mortality in the face… you come to know what is important. I know you Mary. I know you like to think of yourself as an impenetrable enigma but… I do know you… and he's the only one for you..."
Mary merely stared at the poor girl, begging Mary to marry the man that she once loved fiercely; the man that she had sacrificed their friendship for. She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Her breathing quickened, her expression broke. How could Mary refuse her now?
"Promise me."
January 5th, 1919
Mary arrived at Downton Village at midmorning, having eaten breakfast on the train. Tom Branson, the chauffeur, waited for her at the trainstation. The ride back to Downton Abbey was a quiet one. Mary sat alone in the back staring out at the countryside as Anna sat with Tom upfront. Neither dared speak to her unless absolutely necessary.
She entered her home through the front door. It was quiet. Far more quiet than she remembered. There no maids scurrying around, no nurses wheeling wounded soldiers about, no doctors inspecting patients. It was completely empty. At least, that's what it felt like. She knew that somewhere within this vast structure, her mother, her father, her sisters, and the staff were around but standing in the Great Hall, looking up into the arcades and the gallery above, she never felt so alone.
She made her way into the library and took a seat on one of the couches. It had been a while since she could sit in the room by herself, alone, and uninterrupted. She didn't like it. She didn't like the feeling of being alone with her thoughts and her memories of… him. It pained her so much to be at once, away from him, tied to him, and disgusted by him. Who was this man that she had given her heart to? How much more had he kept hidden from her?
Suddenly, she could hear the approach of brisk footsteps. She turned around to see who it was.
"My dear girl," Robert said with a gleeful smile. "I'm so glad you're bad. How was London?"
"Wonderful," Mary answered, returning his smile with her own. "But I'm glad to be back."
"Yes well, things at Downton have been quite quiet as you can see," Robert said.
"I'm sure I'll get used to it again," Mary replied.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Robert said with a sigh. "You're mother has plans for the place. She seems keen on keeping busy these days."
"As well she should," Mary said.
"And it seems that our mystery cousin has vanished mysteriously," Robert said.
"At last, some good news," Mary said with a sigh.
"Don't be so cruel, Mary," Robert replied.
"Why shouldn't I be cruel? Why is it that I should be polite and cordial to a man aiming to steal Matthew's inheritance out from underneath him?" Mary let out in a burst of righteous indignation.
"Speaking of…" Robert said tentatively.
"I didn't get a chance to see him," Mary replied curtly.
"Mary…"
"Honestly, I didn't have the time," Mary insisted. "I wish everyone would just leave it alone!"
Accounts of Matthew Crawley
The rib shots were the worst. Every time they landed, Matthew wondered if this time, they would finally crack and break. He knew first hand what would happen to him should one of his bones break and his marrow leaked into his bloodstream. He had seen too many faces with the same expression of agony as the pain overtook them.
He held the back of his head with both hands. He knew that was the most vital place to protect. Broken ribs would heal given time, as would his hands. The liver shots may have been cripplingly painful but he knew that the pain was only temporary. But a shot to the back of the head could kill him. And despite everything, despite how horribly he had ruined both his and Mary's life, the deplorable condition of his current existence, and the future that he had shattered in a moment of rage, he still valued his life. If only due to his primal instincts.
Even with the ringing and the blood that had pooled in his ear, he could hear the insults that that spewed at him as they kicked him. Lady Mary's a whore, she's a no good slut, Sir Richard was right about her. Apparently these were his people. Matthew hadn't paid much attention to the news from the outside world while locked up but he could deduce that Sir Richard was probably using his newspaper to rally up the working classes to his side. As the conservative publications and the aristocracy took up the cause of Lady Mary Crawley. The labour publications, most of them owned by Sir Richard, tried to spin the narrative into a story of us versus them, the idle rich versus the working poor. Evidently, at least some of Sir Richard's propaganda efforts were paying off.
If he had the urge to fight back and break the noses of all who assailed him, it was too late now. Besides, he had promised the warden, no more fights. And he intended to keep that promise. He was right afterall. These men didn't care that he was to be a future lord. They didn't care that he was a soldier of distinguished merit. In fact, they took great joy in having the opportunity to stomp an aristocrat into the ground.
He tried to take his mind into another place. He knew that eventually his assailants would get tired and get bored. He just hoped that he still had some fingers left by the end of it. He wondered about Mary. What was she doing? How was she holding up against the daily slanderous articles that appeared in Sir Richard's publications. He had through rumours that she had been welcomed back into society as an act of aristocratic solidarity and that she was attending parties nightly, reclaiming her rightful place among them. He prayed that this was true. Then at least, his act of unforgivable violence against Sir Richard won't have been in vain.
Suddenly the sharp pain of limbs crashing against his organs stopped. They had stopped hitting him. First he checked his fingers. They were a little bruised but he could still move them. A good sign. Why had they stopped? Were they bored already? Was it the warden?
"Get away from him…" a familiar voice commanded.
Matthew lifted his head to see the terrified looks on the faces of his assailants. He then turned to look at the man who had saved him. It was John Bates.
