Season 1 Episode 2
October 2001
"I don't understand why we're rushing into this so quickly," Cora complained, strolling around the campus with Robert. "After all, Matthew Crawley only just got your e-mail yesterday and he's already meeting us for dinner."
"Matthew is still my successor," Robert responded, clutching his wife's arm. "But Patrick can't be replaced so easily! He was such a presence on the campus," Cora countered, not quite ready to move on from Patrick's death yet. It had only been a month since the Towers crashed, but it seemed like years longer.
"Cora, that's exactly why we need Matthew to acclimate to his new position so quickly." Cora looked up questioningly at her husband, not quite seeing where he was going with that. "You saw how many of the students and the faculty attended Patrick's funeral - that was the fullest the chapel had been in years. They need a new figure to rally upon, a new leader," Robert concluded.
"A new Patrick," Cora finished sadly. "Oh Robert, I still wish Mary could inherit Downton instead of a virtual stranger."
"But Murray said it's settled, whether you like it or not, my dear," Robert said matter-of-factly.
Cora was surprised at her husband's easy acceptance at Mary's expense. "Oh, nothing is really settled. Not until your mother is buried in her coffin," she joked, a smidge of hope creeping into her voice at the thought of Mary inheriting Downton.
—
"Here you are, ma'am. The president's house," the taxi driver announced to Matthew and his mother.
Matthew was less than excited to be there, looking up at the sprawling house critically. "Some people have so much and others have so little," he mused.
"I agree with you, but you need to be polite, Matthew," Isobel chided her son, a hint of annoyance palpable in her voice. "I still don't see why I couldn't just refuse the offer," Matthew retorted.
Isobel looked exasperated. "I don't see why you would. Most people vie for this position and it's just being handed down to you on a silver platter. You will be the president of Downton University, a university third only to Oxford and Cambridge in the nation."
Matthew still didn't look convinced - prestige and title had never meant two pence to him. "Of course, you could just throw this opportunity away in the trash bin with your dirty dishes and beer cans," Isobel finished triumphantly, knowing she had played the trump card with her son. Matthew had to admit that for someone who wasn't a lawyer, his mother sure knew how to construct a case for something.
"All right," Matthew sighed. But then a balding man dressed in a suit dashed out eagerly to meet him, instantly making him regret his acquiescence to Isobel's wishes. "Hello, sir. I'm Joseph Molesley, your personal assistant."
"I'm quite sure I don't need - " Matthew began, but Isobel effectively cut him off before he could say anything rude. "Wonderful! I'm Professor Isobel Crawley, and this is my son, Matthew," she said brightly. A woman dressed in an apron stepped out too, introducing herself as their new cleaning woman and chef.
Molesley made a note to himself as Matthew sulked away after his mother. "I won't let them change me," he declared fiercely.
Isobel feigned confusion. "Why on God's green earth would they want to change you?"
This time Matthew was the one to look exasperated, unable to grasp that his intelligent mother was missing the obvious. "Mum, President Crawley has just made the unwelcome discovery that his closest successor is a middle-class law student who prefers fish and chips to filet mignon and is the son of a middle-class doctor and a nurse."
"Upper middle-class," Isobel corrected. After all, she was a professor.
"All the same, he'll have to limit the damage by changing me into one of them," Matthew explained. "The personal assistant and the cleaning woman are only the first step. And if you've ever met that snobbish Mary Crawley, you'd know that it's not exactly a good thing to become one of them. I just want to go back to being a regular grad student, Mum!"
Isobel sighed. "The Crawley family expects that you won't be cultured, that you'll dismiss the hired help at the first chance you get. Just promise me you'll keep an open mind and that you'll prove them wrong."
"I have to be myself, Mum! I'll be a lawyer soon and I have to be honest with everyone about who I am. And I'll be choosing my own wife, before you get any ideas about playing the matchmaker. It's my life, after all," Matthew told his mother firmly.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she protested.
"Clearly, they're going to want to shove one of the daughters at me! They will have zeroed in on that ever since they heard I was single, especially if they want to keep Downton in their family! Oh well, as long as they don't force me to date that ice princess Mary, I'll be fine," Matthew snapped back.
"Snobbish ice princess Mary, at your service," a cool female voice rang out.
Matthew was stunned into silence at the sight of her. Mary Crawley was beautiful, to be sure, but a severe and cold beauty with those snapping brown eyes and perfectly plucked dark eyebrows to match. And the cold politeness of her voice was set off by the look of appraisal painted in her eyes and on her pink lips. Matthew wondered how much of what he'd said she'd actually overheard.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting something," Mary said, her voice dripping with false politeness as she strode over to meet her new relatives.
"Miss Crawley, how lovely to meet you," Isobel said stiffly, shooting a glance full of daggers at her son.
"Call me Mary." Again, the fake cordialness of her voice set Matthew at unease at her two-faced manner and in awe of how she could play two parts at once.
"My mum sent me to ask you to dine with us tonight at the Upstairs Café — unless you're too tired from poring over your textbooks." Mary shot a pointed look at Matthew and waited for the Crawleys' answer.
"Of course. Thanks so much for the invitation," Isobel said politely, shaking Mary's hand.
Mary turned to go back inside the house, and Matthew sprinted after her. "Mary! Wait!" he called, feeling guilty over his unfair insults about her. Even though she pranced around Downton as if she owned the place and expected everyone to cater to her every whim, he knew her as little more than a pretty face and campus royalty — what kind of lawyer was he to judge her without having all of the facts about her?
Mary spun around, seemingly irritated. "What?" "I hope you didn't misunderstand me — I was only joking!" Matthew apologized weakly.
"Oh, I didn't misunderstand you," Mary responded, her face unreadable. "Oh, good!" Matthew was relieved not to completely get off on the wrong foot with his distant cousin. "I know exactly what you meant, and what you meant was to insult me," Mary snapped, a tinge of hurt in her voice. "But I agree with you — this whole inheriting business is a complete joke."
She dashed away in frustration to the safety of her parents' house.
—
Thomas lounged around in the staff room, sharing a smoke with Sarah O'Brien. All anyone could talk about was the future president of Downton University, and O'Brien always knew the latest gossip, which she gleaned from various tactics of eavesdropping, blackmailing, and flattery. Thomas was up to his usual tricks, including pulling the chair out from under his subordinate waiter, a kind working-class teenager by the name of William Mason.
"So what do you think we'll make of Matthew Crawley?" Thomas asked his co-conspirator. O'Brien laughed spitefully. "I can't think we'll think too highly of him. I mean, his mum's just a professor who hasn't even got a personal assistant."
John Bates overheard the scheming duo and limped over to them. "What, so that determines a person's worth now?" he countered.
"No one invited you into the conversation, Aquaman," Thomas cruelly mocked the war amputee. John shook with a mix of frustration and embarrassment, but reminded himself not to do anything rash. He was already close enough to losing his job anyway thanks to his prosthetic leg. "Hey, be kind," a soft but fierce voice chimed in.
John looked up and saw Anna, arm-in-arm with a pretty redheaded teen. He wondered sometimes why she still stuck up for him after everything — it wasn't even like she knew him that well.
"As if we have to do anything you say," O'Brien scoffed disdainfully. "You're not even supposed to be in the staff room, Anna!"
"No, but Mary sent me with a message for you," Anna explained. "She said her mother might need you to help her get ready for the dinner with the new heir to Downton tonight. Anyway, I work as a waitress part time - I am technically allowed to be here."
"Here to stick up for your boyfriend, I see," Thomas mocked. "He's not man enough to stick up for himself, is he?"
At that, John straightened up angrily, but Anna touched his arm gently. "Let it go, they're not worth it. They're just jealous that no one has ever cared about either of them in their lives," she said softly.
John and the redheaded girl both snickered as Thomas and O'Brien both looked furious. Anna led John and her friend away. "I'm sorry you had to deal with them," she apologized. "It's not your fault," John assured her. "But why do you bother to help me? It only makes things worse for you to help a cripple like me."
"Because you're my friend," Anna replied simply, touching his hand. "And that's what friends do, silly."
John smiled at her words and at her touch. "I'm John, Mr. Crawley's personal assistant," he introduced himself to the girl with the red hair.
"I'm Gwen Dawson, Anna's co-worker at the café," she responded. "Anna sure talks a lot about you!"
"She does?" John was shocked. "Gwen's working here as a waitress now to try to save up for college," Anna informed John. "Impressive," he complimented the younger girl.
"But I doubt I'll ever be able to go. I'm too poor, even if Dean Hughes and the administration here would allow it," Gwen lamented.
"You don't know that! Your friend here won a partial scholarship, and you can too. All you've got to do is keep trying," John encouraged her. Anna grinned at him, pleased that he was getting along so well with the girl who was like a little sister to her. She felt flurries in her stomach whenever she spoke to him, although she hadn't mentioned him to Mary yet. Mary was a pragmatist, and she would say that John was too old for her, even though he couldn't be more than fifteen years her senior. Anna knew her own mother would think the same thing.
So he would be Anna's (and Gwen's) little secret for the time being.
—
Mary sat on her bed in her bathrobe, getting ready for another dinner with her family. She was less than excited to be seated next to Matthew for the next hour and a half - and he seemed to be just as unenthusiastic as she was, if his insults about her that she'd overheard earlier were any clue. Nevertheless, she had to look her best and dress to impress, so she selected a sleek black cocktail dress with sheer lace sleeves.
Mary opened the door to see her mother. "Hello, Mama," she greeted her. "Mary, I just wanted to ensure you'll be polite to our guests tonight," Cora said as a way of greeting her eldest daughter. Mary rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Mama, why are they even here if you're going to undo Grandpa's will?"
"That's the thing," Cora sighed, helping Mary into her dress. "Your father and his lawyer aren't certain that they can undo the will."
Mary's hopes were dashed yet again - she should've learned by now not to get them up, after everything that had gone terribly in this first semester. "But you'll still try?" she implored Cora desperately.
"Your granny and I will try everything possible to let you inherit Downton," Cora replied, wincing at the mention of her mother-in-law. "An unlikely alliance if there ever was one," Mary observed teasingly. "Well, desperate times call for desperate measures," Cora joked. "But actually, I can't bear to see my fortune go to someone else and your granny can't bear to see the estate go to a middle-class lawyer who's practically a stranger. That makes us 'allies, not friends' as she would put it."
"But Papa's not willing to try," Mary noticed, feeling disappointed that her father wouldn't support her completely. "Not yet," Cora admitted. "So, what are Matthew and Isobel Crawley like?" she asked, trying to steer the subject away from Robert's stance on the successor of Downton.
"Cousin Isobel seemed nice - but Matthew's awfully full of himself," Mary scoffed. "Really? Why?" Cora asked, surprised. "Oh, just an impression, but you can see for yourself," Mary responded, her tone letting her mother know that she didn't wish to discuss that subject any longer either.
Cora picked up on this and sighed at her daughter's irritable mood but decided to drop the topic. "Come on, dear, let's go down to dinner before we're late."
—
The Upstairs Café was in full business mode as the cooks tried to perfect the feast for their employer and their future employer. Amid the hustle and bustle, the young sous-chef in training, Daisy Robinson, stopped stirring the pot of onion soup for a brief second to wipe her sweaty brow, anxiously looking up to see if her boss, Mrs. Patmore, noticed. But nothing ever escaped Mrs. Patmore's meticulous glare. "Daisy!" she hollered angrily, her plump face turning the color of a ripe cherry tomato. "What in God's name are you resting for? You can't slack now, we have to prepare dinner for your future employer. Get back to stirring before I knock you down and serve your brains as fritters to the Crawleys!"
Daisy quickly returned to her careful stirring of the pot, sighing at the fact that her boss was so hard on her. She'd never even finished her schooling beyond a few years of basic culinary courses because she'd been so desperate to get away from a struggling family that didn't care one way or another about her. The job at Downton University had seemed like a door opening unlimited opportunities for her — and maybe it was. But she hadn't expected Mrs. Patmore to be almost as verbally abusive as her own pa.
William rushed in with a thick package and handed it to Gwen. "I've got a parcel for you, they just delivered it," he told her. Gwen looked oddly nervous but thanked him, straightening her black waitress uniform.
"Gwen and I will want some very precise reporting when dinner's over since we won't be waiting on them," Anna shouted to William and Thomas over the din of pots and spoons clanging. "Mary said Matthew's pretty full of himself, but I don't have any classes with him so I'll have to see for myself."
"Are we to treat him like we treat President Crawley, with 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and all that?" William asked Thomas.
"Oh hell no, not a doctor's son from Manchester. He'll be lucky if he gets a civil word out of me!" Thomas scoffed. "We're all lucky if we get a civil word out of you," Anna snapped back, and Gwen and William laughed.
Thomas prickled at the insult. "Oh look, Anna has her own laugh track now!" he said mockingly about Gwen and William, relishing the blushes of embarrassment that evidently developed on each of their faces. "I'll interpret that as a compliment. At least people think I'm funny," she returned, walking away to take a customer's order.
"Daisy!" Mrs. Patmore yelled again. "I told you to add bay leaves to the soup, not parsley! Have you gone selectively deaf?"
—
Matthew finally walked into the café — fifteen whole minutes late. His mother glared at him, the grandmother looked at him with utter disgust, and he could have sworn that Mary was snickering in amusement at his faux-pas.
He approached the table nervously. "Hello, I'm sorry for being late. I just had to study with a friend for a midterm exam I have on Monday."
"Oh, it's completely fine," a pretty brunette that he vaguely recognized as President Crawley's wife said kindly. "It's good that you prioritize your studies over a silly dinner." Matthew smiled in relief. Maybe not all of the Crawleys were as cold as Mary — the president's wife seemed quite nice. "Here, Thomas, take Matthew's coat for him," she said, signaling a dark-haired waiter.
Matthew noticed that the waiter - Thomas - looked at him contemptuously as he removed his North Face jacket. Matthew awkwardly thanked him, feeling weird about the poshness that he wasn't accustomed to. The restaurant was really nice - the type of restaurant with a fixed menu that students only ate in if they were trying to impress a hot date or if their parents were Crawleys really didn't like to do anything themselves, did they? With all of the cleaners and personal assistants and waiters they could pay for with their millions, they wouldn't need to.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew," President Crawley, a burly man with graying brown hair, said. "Yes, we're so excited to be here, aren't we, Matthew?" Isobel said pointedly. "Oh yes, President Crawley, just so excited," Matthew added a bit of sarcasm to his polite words, hoping his mother would pick up on it. After all, she'd been the one who'd forced him to go from being an average graduate student to this nonsense.
Either Isobel didn't notice his sarcasm or didn't care, because she didn't throw a disapproving professor look his way. President Crawley forged on with the introductions. "Call me Robert, or Cousin Robert," he said amiably, and Matthew immediately felt bad for his own unenthusiastic attitude toward the Crawley family's kindness. "Of course," Matthew tried to place more enthusiasm into his voice.
"This is my wife, Cora," Robert continued, nodding at the kind dark-haired woman. "My daughters: Mary, Edith, and Sybil." He pointed them out according to their age. Of the three, Matthew only slightly knew Mary and recognized Edith from seeing her around the campus, but he had never seen Sybil before. Edith smiled awkwardly at him, Mary gave him a stone-cold glare, and Sybil tossed him a reassuring smile.
Matthew shook each of their hands and Cora told him to sit next to Mary, who looked rather disappointed at that. "This is my mother, Mrs. Violet Crawley — technically Lady Crawley, because our family comes from noble blood — but I don't use those titles too much anymore," Robert continued, nodding at the elderly woman dressed in purple who was regarding them haughtily. Isobel stepped forward with her hand outstretched. "What should we call each other?" she asked pleasantly.
Violet looked at Isobel's proffered hand as if it was offending her personally. "Well, we could always start with Professor Crawley and Lady Crawley," she suggested, refusing to shake Isobel's hand.
—
"So you're a nursing professor, Cousin Isobel?" Sybil asked with interest over the plates of salad nicoise. "I've always thought nursing was such a selfless job."
"One that you won't ever be doing," Robert put in, and Sybil looked hurt for a split second before changing her face back to its polite, calm expression.
"Yes, I teach Nursing Fundamentals here," Isobel responded. She considered adding that Sybil should take her class, but then she reminded herself of Robert's face when Sybil had acted interested about nursing and she thought better of it. "I really would like to improve the quality of the campus hospital here, but we haven't found the money to pay for it."
"Oh good, let's bring money into the dinner conversation," Violet responded sarcastically. Isobel looked stricken. "I was only —" Robert cut her off. "Mama used to help out at the hospital when my father was the president of Downton. She's still pretty interested in it," he explained. "Really," Isobel remarked.
"And Matthew, you're a law student, right?" Cora asked. Matthew nodded, making sure not to speak with his mouth full of salad. "I didn't go here for undergrad though - I studied prelaw at the University of Manchester, but then Mum got the teaching job here."
William cleared the salad dishes as Thomas arrived with the meats for the main course. "Here, you choose it yourself," he patronizingly told Matthew. "Yeah, I know. But thanks," Matthew said, selecting a piece of chicken in a fancy sauce that he definitely didn't know how to pronounce.
"Don't worry, you'll eventually get used to the way we Crawleys do things," Mary said kindly. Matthew looked up suspiciously at her sudden change of attitude toward him. "Yeah, you're right. I'm used to a very different type of life than you, I guess," he responded, thinking in his head that he was used to a much more do-it-yourself life than she was.
"Anyway, I have an internship coming up soon with a law firm in Ripon called Havel and Carter. I'll be working on industrial law," Matthew continued. Violet suddenly looked up with interest. "Oh really? So you won't be defending O.J. Simpson on a murder he obviously committed, then?" she asked dryly. Matthew had to laugh at Violet's clearly limited knowledge of what most lawyers actually did — desk work.
Robert looked disapproving at this news. "Matthew, you do know I plan to involve you in running Downton, right?"
"Don't worry, I'll help out with that on the weekends," Matthew said reassuringly.
Violet looked completely bewildered. "What-what is a weekend?" she asked, very much like a kindergartner would innocently ask their teacher what something was.
Matthew was surprised that she didn't know what a weekend was after all of the years she spent being married to the president of a university. "Granny was a former debutante - she's never had an actual job even though she still thinks she knows everything," Mary whispered to Matthew, and he laughed, covering his mouth with a napkin. Mary joined in his laughter as the rest of the table looked confused and soon the pair of them were just laughing and talking easily the rest of the night. The ice was finally broken, and they were acting as if they'd known each other their entire lives.
—
The next morning — Saturday
"I just can't believe he still wants to be a lawyer!" Thomas said incredulously in the break room over a cup of English Breakfast tea. "After they said they want him to run Downton, too!"
"Why shouldn't he be a lawyer? I think it's wonderful that he knows what it's like to really work," Gwen countered. "Well, true gentlemen wouldn't work as a smarmy lawyer, silly," O'Brien said patronizingly.
Anna, who worked the full day on Saturdays that way she could go out with her friends during the night, exchanged a glance with John. "Don't listen to her, Gwen. Her logic's pretty faulty if you ask me." "Well, no one asked you," O'Brien snapped defensively.
"I just feel bad for Molesley, his personal assistant. I mean, that lawyer probably won't even let him do anything. Not a job I'd want," Thomas observed.
"Then why did you apply for it?" John questioned curiously.
"To get away from you, Mr. Bates," Thomas quipped sharply.
Dean Carson strolled in and everyone stood up nervously. Besides Robert, he was widely viewed as an important figure of authority at the university, having had years of experience in his job. As he poured himself a fresh mug of tea, his sharp eyes centered on an imperfection. He approached William and William swallowed nervously. "Your uniform has a tear in the shoulder, lad," he remarked disapprovingly. "Sorry, sir," William said in a near whisper. "Never appear in that state of undress again — a good worker at all times retains a sense of pride and dignity that reflects the pride and dignity of the place he serves. And never make me remind you of it again."
Dean Carson walked away, and Daisy placed a small hand on William's shoulder. "Cheer up. He's like that to everyone." "But it's the first time I've ever gotten yelled at, and I don't want to lose this job. What would my dad think?" William lamented. "If I had a pound for every time he's been furious at me, I'd be as rich as the Crawleys," Daisy joked.
"He's just seemed extra tense lately. And I've seen him around the café's kitchen a lot lately - maybe that has to do with it," Anna mused.
—
Robert was in the middle of looking over some documents when John announced that Violet was waiting to see him. Robert groaned and got up to meet her — but as he did, O'Brien subtly kicked John's cane away and he fell onto the floor right in front of Violet. Violet clucked disapprovingly. "You ought to get a new assistant who can walk more than 5 feet before tripping," she whispered. John reddened in embarrassment. "Mama, he saved my life in the Gulf War. And he works hard. I can't exactly dismiss him," Robert told her.
"What do you want?" he asked "Be more excited to see your mother, Robert," Violet said, amused. "Sorry, but it always seems like you only talk to me when you want something." "That's true, I'll give you that," Violet conceded wryly.
"I think Mary should marry Matthew," she stated bluntly.
"What?!" Robert was completely astonished, having expected his mother to ask him and Cora to throw a party or something instead of that. "But we just met him officially last night!"
Violet shrugged. "So?"
"Never mind that. I thought you didn't like him?" Robert was bewildered.
"Oh, what does it matter? I have plenty of friends I don't like. But he's a nice boy, even if he's a lawyer," Violet countered.
"Would you want Mary to marry one of those friends you don't like? I mean, this is her life, too. Sometimes I forget she's just like any other twenty-one year old," Robert admitted.
"Why do you always have to pretend to be nicer than me?" Violet shot back.
"Maybe I am," Robert told her. "At least I want my daughter to choose her own life. She's had it rough lately what with Patrick and the inheritance business, and I just want her to be happy."
Violet wasn't going to let her son win their argument. "Then pity Cora. She's the one whose entire oil fortune must go to this odd young man who talks about weekends and industrial law jobs. If Mary were to marry him, then all would be resolved."
—
Anna hung up her waitress jacket in the back room of the café. "I'm going out with Mary to a concert, I'll see you later," she called to Gwen. Gwen didn't acknowledge her at first, so Anna walked over. "Gwen?"
Gwen hurriedly shut the piece of paper she was writing on. "Yeah?" "I was just letting you know I'm leaving for the day. But what have you got there?" Anna asked curiously.
Gwen was quick to protest. "Nothing!" "What kind of nothing?" Anna pressed on. "Ooh, have you got a crush that you're writing love notes to, Gwen?" she asked teasingly.
Gwen laughed. "No. As if we could even meet any men who aren't like Thomas or William here." "I don't know about that." Anna flushed, thinking of John.
She decided to change the subject, realizing Gwen wasn't going to share whatever her secret was just yet. "Mary's going to need extra cheering up tonight. John heard old Mrs. Crawley telling President Crawley that she wants Mary to get married to Matthew, who she barely knows!"
"Huh. It kind of makes sense though — Mary was going to marry Patrick, right? Isn't marrying Matthew kind of the same thing?" Gwen wondered.
"Yeah, but I know Mary better than anyone else does. Most people think she's a bitch because of her attitude, but I've known her since first year orientation and I know she isn't deep down. She knows what she wants, most of the time anyway. And I don't think she would have been submissive enough to marry Patrick when it came down to it."
—
Matthew walked to his mother's apartment to ask her for some money, but when he got there, he saw Cora and Violet sitting there talking to her over some sugar cookies and iced tea. All three women looked shocked to see him, as if they'd just been talking about him.
"Hey, everyone. Mum, can I please borrow forty pounds for a sweatshirt?" he asked. "Um, sure. Just let me get my wallet," Isobel got up to get her purse, leaving Matthew in an awkward silence with Cora and Violet until she returned, handing him a few bills.
"We have to go," Cora said, grabbing her scarf and coat. "But you'll think about it?" Violet pressed Isobel. Matthew wondered what the hell they'd been talking about. "Of course," Isobel nodded.
—
Gwen was closing down the restaurant alone when she heard a mysterious quiet scuffle coming from the kitchen. "Hello?" she called out, immediately feeling like an idiotic girl in a horror movie who asked if the murderer was there and then got brutally murdered.
She darted into the kitchens, gathering all of her bravery, and saw Dean Carson there, grabbing food from the fridge and placing it in a plastic bag. "Dean Carson?" she asked, confused why the dean of discipline was stealing food from the kitchen. The dean jumped, startled. "I thought no one was here," he said sheepishly.
"Do you need help?" Gwen asked tentatively. "Er, no. But thanks…Gwen," Dean Carson refused her offer of help anxiously, checking her nametag for her name.
—
Monday
"I've never seen anything so odd," Gwen whispered to John. "What?" He was curious. "Dean Carson was in the kitchen last night, and he appeared to be stealing something. But don't tell anyone yet!" Gwen confessed.
"I'm sorry, but I have standards," O'Brien was saying to Thomas through a mouthful of crisps. "And if anyone thinks I'm going to bow and scrape to this Mr. Nobody from Nowhere -"
Just then, Cora walked in to the break room, causing all of the faculty - waiters and professors alike - to stand. "O'Brien," she said scoldingly. "Yes, ma'am?" O'Brien looked oddly frightened of what Cora was going to say.
"Were you discussing Matthew Crawley?" Cora asked, but something in her tone told O'Brien she already knew the answer. "Caught her there," John whispered to Gwen, who giggled quietly.
"Yes, I was," O'Brien said, ashamed to have been caught. "Is it your place to do so, especially since his mother is your colleague?" Cora continued, and Isobel looked up indignantly at the personal assistant.
"I've got opinions, just like anyone else," O'Brien defended herself, wringing her hands nervously.
Mrs. Hughes heard the commotion and scurried over. "Do you need anything, Mrs. Crawley?" she asked. "Oh, I just came down here to discuss some potential charity scholarships with you, which we can do later. But then I heard O'Brien speaking in an appalling, disrespectful manner about Downton's new inheritor," Cora responded, with a pointed look at O'Brien.
"But - But you don't like him yourself, ma'am. You never wanted him to—" O'Brien protested, realizing as soon as she finished speaking that she'd made a mistake.
Isobel was furiously clenching the arms of her chair and the look on Cora's normally placid face was sheer ice."You're sailing perilously close to the wind, O'Brien. If we're to be friends, you will not speak in that way again about the Crawleys or any member of my family. Now, I'm going up to take a little catnap. Wake me up at 3:30, please." She exited with poise, nodding at Isobel as if to apologize for O'Brien's behavior.
"I don't think that's fair," Thomas said indignantly. "Not here in the staff room in front of all of your co-workers, at least." "I agree. If she was a real professional, she wouldn't have come down here. She'd have paged me and then yelled at me, that's all," O'Brien was enraged and embarrassed from her dressing-down in front of all of the other faculty members.
"This isn't their territory, we can say what we like down here," Thomas added. "Who says?" Mrs. Hughes put in. "The law. And parliament. There is such a thing as free speech. Mrs. Crawley should know that, she's from America after all." Thomas retorted, stubbornly coming to his ally's defense.
"Not when I'm in charge! Don't push your luck, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes scolded. "Now, tea's over. Back to work!" she hollered at all of the faculty, who were currently gawking at O'Brien. "
"'Friends - as if!"' O'Brien scoffed as she sauntered away. "Who does she think she's fooling? We're not friends." But O'Brien's severe voice seemed more hurt and vulnerable than usual, her voice portraying the opposite of what she was saying.
"You're not?" John asked, surprised. He had always been pals with Robert despite their new employer-employee relationship, so he couldn't see why Sarah O'Brien and Cora Crawley weren't the same way based off of the amount of time they spent together. "Nope. And you're not friends with the president, neither. We're employees, you and me, and they pay us to do as we're told, that's all."
—
"Mr. Carson?" Carson looked up from his papers with a jolt at the female voice. It was Gwen, the ginger-haired waitress who'd seen him gather the food in the kitchen. With growing dread, he wondered if she'd told anyone about what she saw. He was done for if she had.
"Yes, Gwen? What are you doing here?" he asked anxiously. Gwen noted his expression and wondered about everything she'd seen lately concerning the dean of discipline. "A man was at the Upstairs Café asking for you. He said he knew you, so I brought him here."
And then Carson looked upon the face of the man of his nightmares. "Grigg," he spat. "What in God's name are you doing here?"
"I came to receive my dues, except you weren't there," the grizzled older man told Carson. "Dues?" Gwen was confused. "Mr. Carson, do you owe this man money?"
She'd caught him in the act. Now there was only one person who could help him deal with his old friend — the person who he least wanted to learn his secret.
"Gwen, do me a favor and bring me the president," Carson commanded, and the petite waitress scurried off. Minutes later she returned with Robert Crawley.
"What's going on, Dean Carson?" he asked, glancing between Grigg and the dean. "This scoundrel, Grigg, was my old theater partner before I went to university," Carson began anxiously.
"Carson? You did the theater, old chap?" Robert sounded amused rather than angry. "Yessir, we were the Charming Charlies, a comedy act," Grigg responded cheerfully. Robert and Gwen both began to snicker, and Gwen covered her mouth before she could be reprimanded by one of her superiors.
Carson's face flushed red at the mention of his past. "And then I went to university, and he -" Carson pointed at Grigg. "-he became a lazy bank robber."
Everyone else in the office gasped. "Yes, for the past week, he threatened to reveal my past. He blackmailed me, sir! He told me to feed him, to give him money or he'd publicly shame me."
"So what did you do?" Robert questioned tentatively, dreading the answer from his trusted dean. "I paid him money from my own paycheck and fed him from the Upstairs Café," Carson whispered, shame palpable from his voice. "She " - he nodded at Gwen - "saw me try to gather some food."
Robert looked furious, and Carson braced himself for his boss's rage. "You bastard!" he exclaimed, directing his anger at Charles Grigg instead. "First you rob a bank, then you blackmail my best employee!" Carson's heart swelled in relief at the compliment.
"That's about the size of it," Grigg replied, trying to edge out of the office.
"Well, you won't get away with it. I'll call the police myself if you ever come back to Downton, Grigg! I'll give you twenty pounds and that's all," Robert stated sternly, passing the thief a note. Grigg grabbed the money and quickly left.
"Why didn't you turn him in, Carson?" Robert was confused. "Because once upon a time, he was my best friend. And I couldn't do that to my best friend," Carson admitted.
"Just don't hide your past from me again, Carson. I'll be asking you some stories about your theater career later!" Robert joked.
—
"Mary, you look so upset. Are you all right?" Sybil asked, noting Mary's tense expression as the sisters ate lunch at the student union together. "Mama told me Granny and Papa think the best way to keep the university in our family would be marrying Matthew," Mary wearily told her. "And I don't exactly want to do that."
Sybil looked surprised but Edith didn't. "I'll take him if you don't want him!" she exclaimed eagerly. "He's not that desperate," Mary shot back dismissively. "Mama said she didn't see any point in disliking him anymore, now that he's here and he turned out to be nice. She said I'd be able to partly run the university, too, so that's something, I guess."
"There's got to be another way, right?" Sybil wondered out loud. "This is 2001, not 1912. You should be able to choose who you want to be with, not Mama and Papa and Granny."
"Mama and Granny still want to change Grandpa's will, so we'll see. But Papa doesn't think there's a chance, so marrying Matthew might be my only choice." Mary sighed, pressing her palm to her temples. Another headache. She'd been getting them for weeks now, ever since Patrick's death. The pressure and weight of her family's expectations must finally have been catching up to her.
"I mean, it might not be so bad," Sybil said, ever the optimist. "I thought you two got along marvelously at dinner! You were laughing and chatting away and all. He's actually pretty cute, too!"
"I like Matthew - more than I thought I would - but I don't want to marry him, at least not yet. I barely know him and he used to call me a stuck-up bitch," Mary confessed. "Maybe because you are a stuck-up bitch," Edith muttered under her breath. "He's my distant cousin too — people only didn't make fun of me to my face for dating Patrick because everyone adored him. Plus he can barely hold a fork right or speak without his mouth full of food," Mary scoffed, continuing as if she hadn't heard Edith.
"Oh Mary, you exaggerate," Sybil laughed. "Who really cares how someone holds a fork anyway?" she wondered. "Don't let Granny hear you say that," Mary warned teasingly. "She'd have a seizure right on the spot!"
"Someone's manners shouldn't make a difference, though," Sybil giggled, making a point of talking with her mouth full of her burger. "See, this is how I'm talking now — just like you said Matthew talked. It's not so bad, is it? Does it change your opinion of me?" "Not really, because you're usually polite, even though now I can see chewed-up cow and mayo in your teeth" Mary observed wryly.
"Then it shouldn't be a reason for you to not fall for Matthew," Sybil said. "It's old-fashioned and pretentious to do that."
"Oh Sybil, what would you know about these things? You're only eighteen. Mama and Papa don't expect anything from you and they expect everything from me. You're barely old enough to drink beer," Mary scoffed defensively, talking down to Sybil as if she was just a kid.
Sybil's cheeks burned. She hated it when Mary treated her patronizingly, as if she was too foolish and young and naive to do anything or to know anything. Half the time Mary only told her secrets to Edith, even though she acted like she hated her.
"Hey! You don't know everything about my life, Mary. It's harder than you'd think, and I do drink sometimes," Sybil defended herself. "No offense," she added hurriedly, not wanting to anger Mary. Her older sister was absolutely terrifying when you were the object of her irritation.
"None taken." Fortunately, Mary was amused by her sister's outburst rather than angry. "Anyway, I have other romantic options besides Matthew. I actually just found a guy on that I might get a cup of coffee with!"
"Ooh, is that E.N.?" Edith asked curiously. "Yes, but how did you know?" Mary looked irritated. "I saw his online message account on your computer when you left the tab up and I just had to take a look!" Edith responded defensively, and Mary threw a glare her direction and muttered something about respecting people's privacy.
"Just tell me too! It's no fair if she knows too!" Sybil begged Mary, leaning forward eagerly for the gossip.
Mary sighed, feeling cornered by her sisters. "His name is Evelyn Napier."
Sybil snickered, almost spitting out the sip of water she'd just drank. "Evelyn? Isn't that a girl's name?"
"Yeah, I guess," Mary said, smiling in spite of herself. "But he's cute and he's nice and he's rich so that's enough for me."
—
Mary didn't want to ask Matthew outright if he knew about their parents' conspiracy for them to wed. She instead decided, in classic Mary fashion, to stealthily get her meaning across to gauge his reaction.
"I've been studying the story of Andromeda in my Classics class, do you know it?" she asked at a family dinner one night when Violet had once again pointedly sat her next to Matthew.
"Of course, I took that class a few years ago. Why?" Matthew was bemused by Mary's sudden change of topic.
"Well, her father was King Cepheus, whose country was being ravaged by storms, and in the end, he decided the only way to appease the gods was to sacrifice his eldest daughter to a hideous sea monster. So, they chained her naked to a rock."
"Really, Mary, we don't need to hear the plot of a pornographic movie," Violet remarked dryly, uncomfortable at her granddaughter's unsuitable choice of conversation.
Mary rolled her eyes. "It's a Greek myth, Granny, not a sex tape."
"But the sea monster didn't get her, did he?" Matthew asked. Sybil was sitting on the edge of her chair. Her blue eyes were darting back and forth between her sister and her cousin, intent on the family drama taking place right before her eyes.
"No. Just when it seemed he was the only solution to her father's problems, she was rescued," Mary answered.
"By Perseus," Matthew recalled, still trying to decipher Mary's true meaning. He looked up at her symmetrical face for a clue, transfixed by her lovely chocolate eyes.
"That's right. Perseus, the son of a god. A handsome hero. Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?" Mary asked pointedly. And then Matthew got her meaning: she was angry about the marriage idea. She didn't want to marry him — she wanted someone better, someone who wouldn't steal her university from her right under her nose. He was the sea monster to her Andromeda in her story. And all he wanted to do was to be her dashing Perseus, the hero to save her and to fall for her. And to think a few weeks ago he used to hate her.
"That depends. I'd have to know more about the princess and the sea monster in question," Matthew responded, taking great care to keep the hurt from his voice.
Mary glanced at him thoughtfully and then turned to Sybil, who was seated on her other side. "I'm thinking I'll ask Evelyn Napier to go to the rugby match with me next weekend."
"Really?" Sybil was completely surprised. She'd noticed Matthew's stricken look when he'd realized what Mary meant by telling him Andromeda's story.
"Yes. After all, who would want a sea monster when they could have Perseus?"
A/N: I know, I'm sorry for staying away so long! I have been absolutely swamped with school and everything. Also, these chapters take so long to write that I either condensed or got rid of a few storylines, like Isobel vs. Violet at the hospital. Please tell me what you thought of this chapter. How is my modern adaptation? Did you like it? Remember, reviews are my motivation. Like food, they energize me to be more active :).