A/N: Thank you so much for all the lovely comments last chapter!
Come Alive
Chapter Seventeen
In hindsight, it was foolish to think their secret would be hidden just because they wanted it to be. If life had taught Mary anything, it was that hidden things would often be discovered. But nevertheless, she found herself woefully unprepared.
The breakfast, Mary had to admit, had been an unexpectedly wonderful idea. George and Sybbie were both terribly excited yet made sure to be on their best behavior lest they be sent back to nursery. George sat beside Mary, a cushion placed on the seat for an additional boost, and Sybbie across from him. Every couple of minutes, Mary caught Tom's eye and nearly flushed each time he bestowed an especially tender look upon her.
"Barrow, may I please have another sausage?" Sybbie asked Thomas sweetly, holding up her plate.
"Sybbie," Tom began, half scolding, "if you want another sausage, you can ask Aunt Mary or me. You don't need to pester Mr. Barrow."
"That's alright, Mr. Branson," Thomas assured him. He smiled warmly at Sybbie before taking her plate and saying, "I'd be honored to fetch you another sausage, Miss Sybbie."
It really was quite sweet, Mary thought as she sipped at her tea. Thomas was such a dear with the children. When she had informed him that the children would be dining with him, she could have sworn he was ready to dance a jig.
Not wanting to be left out, George loudly requested that Mr. Barrow get him a sausage as well. "George, you must say please when you ask someone to do something for you," Mary instructed him. Thomas had his back to her but she knew he was grinning. "Besides, you still have half a sausage left, darling. You need to finish that before you can ask Barrow for another."
George was evidently unsatisfied but said nothing, merely biting at his half eaten sausage.
"I liked that," Tom told her later as they walked to their office afterward. The ground beneath their feet was damp and spongy from the rainfall from the previous night. "Having the children with us at breakfast. It was nice."
"I liked it as well," Mary agreed. "I wish we could spend more time with the children."
"Why can't we?" Tom suggested, stopping. Mary turned around, facing him. "I mean, that is... most families spend plenty of time with their children. I ate dinner every night with my parents when I was growing up. Why shouldn't we, while we have the chance?"
"Things aren't done that way with us, Tom," Mary explained, though even to her ears it sounded like a weak, flimsy excuse. "I enjoyed myself as well, but when guests come over for dinner, it will be awkward—"
"I was talking about while your parents were away," Tom cut in, saving her from needless ramblings. "I was thinking the children could eat with us for every meal. It would give Nanny a break and we could spend more time with them..."
"Oh." That was quite a good idea, now that he said it. "Alright," she agreed, "I'll mention it to Thomas once we get back to the house."
Tom beamed, opening the door for her as they approached the office. "Ladies first."
"Thank you," she said, smiling back at him. She walked over to the front over desk, divesting herself of her gloves and hat as she did so. "You know, you weren't raised a gentleman, but you certainly have the manners of one." Or, in some cases, better, Mary thought.
"Speaking of manners," Tom said as he shut the door, "I thought I might give you a proper thank you."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "For what?" She places her gloves on the desk.
Tom shrugged artlessly, striding slowly towards her. "For coming up with your wonderful idea."
"You're welcome," Mary said, wondering if she should be worried or excited as he came to stand mere inches from her. As he fell to his knees, she said, rather breathlessly, "Oh, I see. You meant a proper thank you." Her heart rate spiked instantaneously.
"Yes," Tom murmured with a chuckle. His fingertips were tracing the back of her knee, making it more and more difficult to concentrate.
Mary was glad her desk was behind her to keep her steady, because even now, even though nothing had happened yet, her knees were weak. What has he done to me? She wondered internally before all conscious thought was banished from her mind.
George and Sybbie became a permanent fixture in the dining room as the days progressed. They didn't understand the proper etiquette yet, of course, but Mary found she couldn't care. She liked hearing about what they had done that day with Nanny; Sybil was learning to read and enjoying it immensely whereas George was still more interested in his toys.
Granny, of course, was scandalized when she learned about this. Papa called Mary the night before to let her know that they had arrived safely to their villa and asked her to pay a call to Granny. "What do you mean the children are dining with you?" She sputtered, gripping the head of her cane. "Have you decided to move your meals into the nursery?"
"No, they're coming to us. It's a real treat for them."
"But they aren't old enough!" Granny insisted. "Sybbie is only five years old, and George is even younger than that! They cannot possibly be ready!"
"It's hardly as if we have company over," Mary said, defensive. "And besides, I quite enjoy it."
Granny let out a titter. "What's next? Shall you invite Barrow to pull up a chair? Or the footman?"
"His name is Andy," Mary informed her. "And he is a very nice young man. I wouldn't mind dining with him, or Barrow for that matter... but I wouldn't want to be responsible for putting you in hospital."
"I'm tougher than that, Mary," Granny said, narrowing her eyes, clearly unamused. "But you mustn't joke about such things. It isn't appropriate." she reached for her cup of tea before adding, "And neither is allowing the children to eat in the dining room with you before they are quite ready." She took a sip before asking, "Now how are your mother and father?"
Mary couldn't deny that criticism from Granny stung. She loved and admired her grandmother a great deal. It was enough to make her reconsider before she stopped herself. Maybe she was breaking the rules of society, but what rules hadn't she already broken? She had gone into her first marriage without being a virgin, she befriended the servants, and she was now in some sort of romantic and physical entanglement with her sister's widower. What was one more rule broken, especially when it was to spend more time with her child?
That very afternoon, Mary marched downstairs to Thomas's office. The door was closed and she distinctly heard the sounds of laughter coming from behind the door. She knocked three times. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Barrow," she said, wondering who could be in the office... before recognizing that she knew exactly who it was. "Is now a bad time? I can come back later."
"No," Thomas replied, "come in, milady."
Mary felt a smug satisfaction when she saw Jimmy sitting across from Thomas's desk, one of Tom's shirts draped over his lap. "Hello, Kent," she said with a smile before meeting Thomas's eye and arching an eyebrow. He responded with the roll of an eye. "How are you this afternoon?"
"Quite well, milady," Jimmy said, rising to his feet. He placed the shirt over his arm. "I'll see myself out." He gave a quick nod before hurrying out of the office. Mary thought about asking him to stay, but decided against it.
"I am sorry if I was interrupting something," Mary said after Jimmy shut the door behind him.
Thomas rolled his eyes again. "I can assure you, you weren't. We were having a chat. That's what mates do." Something about the way he said the word lead Mary to believe there was a story behind it... but if he was willing to share it yet, Mary had no clue.
"I actually do have something important to say," Mary began, "For lunch tomorrow, I'd like to have a picnic with the children. Nothing too extravagant," she said, thinking of the mess that was likely to be caused... George and Sybbie had good manners, but sometimes they were a bit messy. "Just tell Mrs. Patmore to pack some simple foods and we can carry it in the basket."
"I'm sure Master George and Miss Sybbie will enjoy that," Thomas said with a smile before jotting down some notes on a piece of paper.
"The thing is," Mary started, feeling nervous suddenly, "we need enough food for four adults and the children."
Thomas stopped writing. "Four adults? Are Mrs. Crawley and her Ladyship planning on coming along?"
Mary almost chuckled. Isobel would probably enjoy it— actually, Mary knew she would. She could practically hear her now: How very refreshing! But Granny— Granny would shudder at the idea of sitting down on a blanket outside, using her hands to eat fruits and cheese. "No," said Mary, smiling, "I'd like for you and Andrew to join us."
The pen fell from his hand. "What?"
"I'd like for you and Andy to join us," she repeated. "You're my friend and the children love you— and besides, it might be nice to know Andy a bit better. You'd normally be serving us during that time anyway."
Thomas gave her a dubious look as her picked up his pen again. "What's brought this on?" He asked warily.
A wry smile found its way onto her face. "Granny gave me the idea," Mary said simply.
The picnic was an success. The fresh air was rather invigorating, especially compared to the dining room. With the sun shining, the children were pleased to spend more time with their beloved Mr. Barrow... and, much to the surprise of nearly everyone, Sybbie developed a fondness for Andy, after it came to light that he was currently taking reading lessons from one of the teacher's at the school. "I'm learning how to read, too!" Sybbie proclaimed proudly. "We can learn together!"
Thomas seemed more morose, even as George begged him for a piggy back ride. The smile on the butler's face didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Thomas seems terribly blue today," Mary murmured to Tom, who was seated next to her. Andy was being entertained by Sybbie, who was excitedly telling him about her favorite stories. "Do you know what it it's about?"
Tom arched an eyebrow but muttered back, "Not really. But now that you say it, Jimmy did seem put out when I mentioned the picnic this morning. He was a bit forceful with his brush, though I don't think he realized it." His lips quirked upward.
Mary wasn't finding the humor in the situation. "Oh, dear. Do you think I ought to have invited him along?"
"I'm sure he'll be fine," said Tom. He shifted his weight, propping both hands back and leaning. "But I can talk to him, if you'd like?"
"I'd appreciate it," she said, gracing him with a small smile.
Tom grinned and she could almost feel her heart melt. "I never realized you were such the matchmaker," he said, even quieter now. "A regular Emma Woodhouse."
"I never realized that, either," Mary said, averting her eyes and reaching for an apple. "But I'm not sure how well I'm doing. Besides," she said, being sure to be even more quiet than before, "I'm not even sure if Jimmy is... well, interested in Thomas."
"Maybe he's not," said Tom, leaning in closer so that his lips were at her ear. "But I'm not so sure you aren't right." He adjusted his hand, so that his fingertips were resting on top of her own. "If you'd like me to, I can try and see? After all, I see him more often then you do, and I'll make sure I'm subtle."
"Yes," Mary breathed, finding herself lost in his eyes as he drew away. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
They were so distracted in one another they didn't notice the momentary look of surprise that crossed Andy's face as his eyes focused in on their now intertwined fingers.
With Mama and Papa away, it made things easier. They had to remain discreet, yes, but there was no looming fear they would be caught out. It was practically becoming routine— every other night, Mary would slip out of her bed and wander into the bachelor's corridors, slipping before into Tom's room. On the other nights, he would go to hers.
It wasn't just sex; not every night, at least. Sometimes, they just kiss one another and talk with each other until the early hours of the morning until they drifted off into sleep. Inevitably, someone would have to wake up and walk back to their own room before either Anna or Jimmy caught them.
However, on this particular night, Mary had her hand resting on Tom's door knob, ready to twist it open when the door swung open, revealing none other than Jimmy. "Milady!" Jimmy gasped as Mary wrapped her robes closer to herself— she usually didn't bother fastening it, not when she went to see Tom. "I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. Mary caught a glimpse of a stunned Tom before the door shut with a loud thud behind Jimmy.
"It's quite alright," Mary replied, shaken. Her heart was racing a million miles a minute. "It's my fault— I was—" Damn, what legitimate excuse did she have for parading across the house in her nightgown and a robe? "I was— I was on my way to visit the nursery," she stammered, thinking it a better answer than a silly I came to ask Tom a question— Jimmy was hardly an idiot and he'd see through that excuse just as he had seen through her nightgown. "And I wanted to see if Tom wanted to join me!"
"I see," said Jimmy, slowly regaining his bravado. "Well, I've seen to him, so he's all yours, milady." Jimmy gave her a quick nod before walking hurriedly down the hallway.
Mary hesitated, watching him walk away. Did he know? Had Tom told him? Or had he connected the dots himself? But if he had figured it out, who else knew? Should she even be here, or should she walk back to her room? "Mary?" The door opened a crack, then more as Tom revealed himself in the doorway. "Aren't you coming in, love?"
Love. The word was like a siren's call to her, even though he sounded more frightened than she had ever heard him in her life. She offered him a feigned smile before walking into the room. "Sorry," she said, voice shaking slightly. "That was... Well, it was quite an experience." God, she hoped Jimmy wouldn't tell anyone... not even Thomas.
"It's my fault," Tom said, letting out a sigh. "I kept him longer than usual. I asked him about the whole picnic thing."
"And?" She took a seat on his bed.
"And... I don't really know." Tom ran a hand through his hair. "He insisted that nothing was wrong but I'm not sure if I believe him. He mentioned something about Andy..."
"You don't think he's jealous of Andy, do you?" Mary asked. They're initial meeting hadn't exactly gone swimmingly...
Tom shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know. Jimmy didn't say much..."
Something in Mary deflated. Of course, she was curious... but in the end, she supposed it was none of her business. "You don't think he suspects anything, do you?" She looked up, meeting his eye. "About us?"
"I don't think he has enough evidence," said Tom, though he sounded uneasy. He sat beside her on the bed. "Besides, even if he does, I doubt he'll tell anyone."
"But he can't know, Tom," she whispered, panicked at the mere thought. All it took was the implication that he knew something and rumors would spread like wildfire. Anytime she'd been with a man out of wedlock, she had been discovered. Why would this be any different? "We'll be ruined."
Tom's frown deepened. "Ruined?"
"Yes, ruined!" She jumped abruptly as he reached out for her hand, pacing the room. "All it takes is for one person to realize what is going on between us, and we're ruined! If he were to breathe the wrong word to someone, it's all over!" She wasn't quite sure what she was even talking about anymore— if she was referring to their reputations or their relationship. Either way, it seemed a horrid possibility.
Tom rose up as well, calmer. "But surely people don't care about that sort of thing anymore," he murmured. "At least not as much?"
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You'd be surprised."
Tom's forehead furrowed. "You sound as if you know from personal experience," he finally said, lightly as possible, but she could hear the unspoken question in his voice.
Mary knew that she couldn't lie to him about this— she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know or not, but when he asked, she found herself compelled to answer him. She averted her eyes, and that was all he needed. "But... nobody knows about you and Tony Gillingham."
"You do," she corrected. "I didn't even have to tell you and yet you were able to guess it. And Granny knows," she said, cutting him off when it seemed as if he were going to speak again. "Spratt saw me leaving the hotel with him and told her. Granny covered it up and pretended we were there for some legitimate reason but..."
"But your grandmother hasn't told anyone," Tom said, prompting her to continue.
Mary sighed. "But a chambermaid at the hotel did. Or, that is, she was going to. She tried blackmailing me, but in the end Papa paid her off. So he knows about it, too." She shrugged, smiling as she did so, but not feeling particularly joyous.
Tom's face was impossible to read. It was as if his features were frozen. "When was this?" He asked, voice hushed. He turned around, unable to face her.
Shame threatened to overwhelm her. She thought this would be the easy part... he already knew about her brief affair with Tony. But now he couldn't even look at her. "When you were in America," she said to his back.
"Oh God," he choked out, and Mary averted her gaze to the floor. He was disgusted with her now... that's obviously what it was... but before she knew it, she felt herself being pulled into an embrace. "Oh, God, Mary... I'm so sorry," Tom whispered, burying his face into her neck.
"Don't be," she said, startled. Her hand began gently patting his back and she stood there, uncertain on what to do. It seemed strange, that she was the one to comfort him, especially when her nerves were so fraught. What was this? Why was he so apologetic? "You had nothing to do with it. Besides, it's my fault—"
"Don't say that," he said, pulling away from her so that he could meet her eye. "It isn't your fault, Mary. Not at all."
"But it is!" She insisted. "You don't understand, you don't know the full the story!"
"Then tell me! Tell me so I can understand!" Tom begged.
This was it... the one thing she hadn't wanted to tell him. It had taken her years to gather up the courage to tell Matthew for fear he would despise her. She clung onto the words he had spoken to her following that confession: I could never despise you. She only hoped Tom would feel the same way.
Mary took in a deep breath. "Were you working here when Kemal Pamuk came to stay?" She couldn't remember, it had been so long ago.
Tom shook his head. "No. I came after. But I heard about him, certainly."
Of course. She supposed the story of the handsome foreigner found dead at Downton had become a popular legend downstairs. "So you know that he was found dead in his bed?" She asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking.
"I do."
Mary inhaled again. "Well... he didn't die there. Not in his bed." She swallowed, unsure if she could bring herself to utter the words but managed to say, "He died in mine."
Tom stared at her eyes, mouth agape before he closed it. "Oh." He turned around, sitting back down on the edge of his bed again. "What... how did it happen?"
"I... I don't really know. He was fine one moment and then he cried out suddenly and... well, then he was dead." She shook her head. "The coroners said something about his heart but I don't really know what did it."
"And how did you move him?" Tom asked. His voice was quiet. "Did you do it yourself?"
She couldn't stop herself from letting out a laugh. "No. I tried, but I could hardly shift him on my own. I woke Anna up but he was so heavy that not even two of us could manage it alone, so we woke up Mama. And the three of us carried him back to the bachelor's corridors."
"God," Tom breathed. "But... how did anyone find out?"
Mary shrugged. "Someone must have seen us. I don't know how... but then Edith found out and wrote letter to the Turkish embassy to inform them, so everybody figured that it must be the truth." She remembered all too well the lack of invitations and the wonder she had felt until Evelyn appeared at Aunt Rosamund's with news of Edith's treachery. Of course she forgave her sister now, but at the time it been a rude realization that her own sister was trying to ruin her life.
He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mary," he said quietly.
She shifted uncomfortably. "Don't be. It's my fault, not yours."
"No," Tom murmured. "Don't... don't blame yourself, Mary. It's nothing... you shouldn't be ashamed of yourself. At all."
"But do you see now? Why we must be careful?" She stared at him until he looked up at her.
"I understand." He held out a hand, beckoning her towards him. She closed the gap between them and placed her hand in his before sitting beside him. "But if... if someone does find out, I won't abandon you. We'll get through it. Together."
It scared her when he said things like that; it made things sound so final. As if he had already decided that this was a permanent part of his life. But she said nothing, merely leaning so that she could rest her head on his shoulder.
The days waned on. Mary and Tom began taking George and Sybbie to York to see the shop and George had eagerly clambered into the cars, pretending to steer them. Sybbie wasn't nearly as interested, more concerned with her new book. "I can't read all the words yet," she explained to Mary as they sat on a bench, "so Nanny has been reading it to me. But it's my favorite!" She showed it to Mary proudly.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Mary couldn't help but smile. "My nanny read this book to me when I was younger, too," she told Sybbie, taking the book from her hands and inspecting it. "Your mother loved it."
"My mother?" Sybbie's mouth opened, looking back and forth between the book and Mary. It occurred to her just then how very little Sybbie would know about Sybil... especially about what she was like as a child. Mama and Papa might be able to provide some small anecdotes here and there, but Mary and Edith had been with her every single day of her childhood.
"Yes," said Mary. Running her fingertips over the title, she said, "If I remember correctly, she was especially fond of the White Rabbit."
"Why?" asked Sybbie, cocking her head to the side.
"Well," Mary began, crossing her legs, "when we were quite small, your Auntie Edith had a stuffed rabbit called Beeny, but eventually he became your mother's." Mary suspected Beeny was still somewhere in Downton unless Sybil had taken him to Dublin as a momento of her childhood. Perhaps she might give him to Sybbie, if she could find him.
"Why was he called that?"
"I'm not really sure," Mary replied with a frown. "It was something your Aunt Edith came up with. I believe she must have been younger than you at the time... she was probably around Marigold's age when she named him."
At the mention of Marigold, the curious look in Sybbie's eyes vanished, replaced by sadness. "Why did Marigold have to go away?" Her fingers played with the hem of her blue dress. "I miss her."
Mary hesitated. Then, she said, "Aunt Edith married Uncle Bertie, remember? And she wanted Marigold to go with her."
"But why couldn't she stay with us?"
"Because Marigold isn't like you or George," said Mary. She was blatantly dancing around the truth and seconds away from lying to Sybbie, but what choice did she have? Five years old was too young to fathom how harsh the world could be. "She hasn't a mother or a father to look after her, so Aunt Edith has decided to look after her with Bertie."
"Like how you and Daddy look after me and George?"
"Yes," said Mary, glad that she had grasped what she was saying. "Just like that."
Sybbie smiled sweetly at her. "Will you read to me, Aunt Mary?" She pushed the books into Mary's hands.
"Of course, darling." Mary opened it up to a random page before flipping them aimlessly. "Now where did you leave off with Nanny?"
Mary resisted the urge to grumble as Anna threw open the curtains, spilling bright light into the bedroom. "What time is it?" She mumbled, eyes still closed.
"Almost ten o'clock, milady," Anna replied.
"I've missed breakfast, then?"
"The children ate with Mr. Branson," said Anna, placing a tray onto her bed as Mary began rubbing her eyes. "He said he's taking them out for a 'secret mission'."
Mary frowned, glancing down at the full tray. "Secret mission?"
"That's all he said," Anna said, grinning. "But I suspect it has something to do with your birthday."
"My birthday?" Mary said, mentally calculating the date. "But that's two weeks away!"
"Maybe they're picking out a present for you, milady," Anna suggested before turning around and nearly tripping.
"Anna! Are you alright?" Mary asked, horrified. She was ready to leap out of her bed and run to Anna's side if needed.
Anna shook her head. "No, it's alright," she said, spinning around. "I just..." she trailed off, eyes fixed on something on the floor. Anna knelt down before standing up once more, holding two pairs of men's slippers. Mary felt her stomach plummet. "Whose slippers are these, milady?"
Mary's mouth went dry. What could she say? Whose name could she spit out that wouldn't lead to Anna to some incriminating assumption? Her mind was racing, unable to focus or fixate on anything—
"Are these— are these Mr. Branson's?" Anna asked after the pregnant pause, glancing at the slippers she was currently dangling.
"Yes," said Mary, voice shaking. "They must be Mr. Branson's." She swallowed, a story coming to mind. "Tiaa must have stolen them from his room and dragged them in here," Mary said, forcing out a hollow chuckle.
Anna didn't laugh, but smiled all the same. It didn't quite make it to her eyes. "I'll see that these make it back to his room, milady," Anna told her. "I'll be back once you need me."
"Thank you, Anna," said Mary, trying look as unaffected as possible, even after the door closed. She picked up a piece of buttered toast and took a bite, even though she was the opposite of hungry at present.
"How are things, without Mama and Papa?" Edith asked. "It must be terribly lonely."
"Not really," Mary replied, leaning against the small table. The telephone was growing heavier the longer she held it, but it was nice hearing from her sister. "We've been spending much more time with the children now that they're away. They've been joining us in the dining room. Granny hates it, of course, but it has been working for us."
"How wonderful!" Edith said on the other end. "Perhaps Marigold ought to join us at some point... that is, whenever it's just the four of us... though that's becoming rarer and rarer these days."
Mary nodded, even though she knew Edith couldn't see her. She supposed Brancaster must be a hub of excitement at all times, what with their new Marquess and Marchioness. She doubted there was ever a dull moment. "How are you enjoying it?"
"I like it," Edith replied. "It's been quite an adjustment— I never thought I would end up with a position this grand, but in a way it's something we were trained to do as little girls. It's nice to put those skills to use... but I would like a break every now and then."
"I don't blame you."
"Sometimes I think you'd be much better at this than me," Edith said with a sigh.
"If you're going to start doubting yourself, I'll hang up," Mary said, half teasing and half serious. "You said it yourself, it was what we were trained to do as children. You're every bit as capable of doing these things as I would."
Edith laughed. "Thank you. I needed that. How's Tom?"
"He's doing well," said Mary, eying the door. "He's out with the children right now on some sort of secret mission."
Edith let out another laugh. "What sort of mission?"
"I haven't a clue. I was still asleep when he left. Anna thinks it has something to do with my birthday."
"That's right! It's only a couple weeks away, isn't it?"
"That it is." Thirty five... she could hardly believe it was approaching. She supposed that wasn't very old, but whenever she had looked towards the future, thirty five was never the bench mark. She had imagined herself at twenty five as a young girl and wondered in awe at what sort of husband she would have or pictured herself at eighty five, a replica of Granny, but thirty five had never crossed her mind.
"You don't think he's getting lonely, do you?" asked Edith. "I've been wondering if he'll start looking for someone else."
Mary froze, every muscle tensing. "What do you mean by that?" She demanded.
"Well it's been time since Sybil... and the last time he showed interest in someone was Miss Bunting. I'd almost been hoping he'd take a shine to Laura Edmunds but she said he wasn't interested."
Mary was inwardly seething. So Edith has been shoving and encouraging Miss Edmunds to pursue him? Why couldn't she just trust him to make his own choices?
"He hasn't said anything to you about having his eye on someone, has he?"
"Not really," Mary said, sounding as breezy and uninterested as she could manage given her unmitigated rage. "We don't talk about that sort of thing really."
"Well, I thought I'd ask," Edith said with a sigh. "If he was going to talk about it with anyone, I suspect it would be you. He hasn't mentioned anything to me, either."
"Then why did you even bother asking?" Mary snapped, aware that she was being overly harsh but unable to control herself.
"Because Laura said something about him being interested in someone else!" Edith said, sounding just as upset as Mary felt.
"Well, obviously he would tell her that!" Mary said, as if it were completely obvious... and hoping she sounded authentic. "You know Tom; he wouldn't want to hurt her feelings when he rejected her, so he must have invented some love interest!"
"There's no need to be so angry, I'm only trying to puzzle things out."
"I just don't see why you need to fixate on Tom's love life!" Mary said, gripping the telephone more tightly than necessary, trying to remain calm. "When Tom— when he brings home the right girl, I'm sure we'll all love her."
"I suppose you're right," Edith said with a sigh. "I just want him to be happy, but I'm not convinced Downton is the place for him."
Mary felt as though her stomach were plummeting. "Why would you say that? Downton is his home!"
"Of course it is— for now, anyway."
No— not for now, forever. "Look, Tom has already tried staying away from Downton and it was no good," Mary said, voice tight. "America wasn't right for him and so he came back to where he belonged because he missed us."
"Just because America wasn't the place for him doesn't mean he won't find it elsewhere," Edith pointed out, unaware of how unhelpful she was being. "Who knows— maybe he'll find his home somewhere in London or in York— you've said his shop there is doing quite well."
"Can we stop talking about this?"
"Alright," Edith said, put out. "But you need to face the facts, Mary— Tom won't be at Downton forever. I know the two of you are close, but you won't be the only woman in his life forever."
Mary had half a mind to hang the damn telephone up right there and then. "Do you have anything else to say?" She asked frostily.
"No, not really—"
"Then goodbye." She slammed the telephone back onto the table after hanging up and marched into the library which was, blessedly, vacant. She took a seat on the couch.
All at once, the tears started to fall. Mary didn't really know why— After all, she was well aware that this dalliance with Tom wasn't built to last. Between the two of them, she was the only one seeing sense half the time, trying hard to be reasonable for the both of them. All they could do was have fun for as long as they were able before moving on with their lives... she would continue with Downton and Tom could marry someone worthier of him than Mary could ever hope to be...
The thought made Mary cry even harder. She didn't want Tom to leave... not now, not ever. She knew she was being contrary, but she couldn't help it. If he were to leave, she wasn't sure if she could bear it— she had been barely able to stand it when he had left them for America and that was when things were purely platonic between them. How could she stand strong if he were to go now, after everything that had passed between them?
She remembered what Tom had said in the library after Papa had stormed out the day they had brought Jimmy home— I don't even know if I could leave here. But he would someday, wouldn't he? Unless he brought his new wife to Downton— and that would almost be worse. It was bad enough when Matthew would bring Lavinia around for dinner, but Mary tried to imagine what she would do if she had to spend dinner across from someone who would almost certainly be better than her in every way— that would be nothing short of torture. The constant comparisons would drive her mad...
Mary hardly noticed the door breaking open, but knew that Tom was there when she heard him say, "Sybbie, George, go find Barrow downstairs. Tell him we need some tea and come up with him when he brings it."
Mary craned her head around, catching only a glimpse of Sybbie and hearing the sound of their small feet running though the hall. Tom stood in the doorway, closing the door behind him, evidently concerned. "What's wrong, love?" He murmured, which only brought a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and bringing her close to him.
"Nothing," Mary lied, blinking to rid herself of the tears forming. "It's stupid, really."
"I doubt that," Tom said, and she let herself lean into him. When she said nothing, he said, "You can tell me, you know. It might help you feel better."
Mary opened her mouth, ready to dismiss it as nothing yet again before stopping. Tom could tell when she was lying. "It's just— I was talking to Edith on the phone and we had a disagreement. I wouldn't call it a proper argument but it... it upset me."
"Oh, love," Tom whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," She said, slowly gaining more of her strength. She wiped at her eyes. "It's hardly your fault. I just... I'd hoped we could communicate with each other better, that's all." It wasn't a complete lie— the more she thought about it, the more upset she was at how close she had come to flying off the handle when speaking to Edith. She deserved an apology of some sort... Well, Mary would get to that tomorrow.
"What was the fight about?" asked Tom cautiously.
She shook her head, swallowing. "Nothing to bother you with," she said dispassionately. "I just need to compose myself before the children come back. I don't need them getting worried when I'm perfectly fine."
Tom nodded and removed his arm. Mary mourned the loss of his touch and almost asked why he had done such a thing before stopping herself. She needed to get used to it— Edith was right. Things wouldn't be like this forever and she needed to recognize that. "So," She asked, forcing a smile into her face, "What were the three of you up to earlier?"
"That's a surprise," he said, grinning now.
"I hate surprises," she informed him, albeit playfully. "I'm too impatient."
Tom chuckled. "Trust me," he said, smiling. "I think you'll like this one."
Mary was about to pry further when the door opened, revealing Thomas carrying a tray, followed by Sybbie and George. "Mummy!" George cried out, running to over to Mary and hugging her fiercely. Her question was immediately forgotten.
Mary closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She was going to memorize this; the touch of Tom's fingers against her cheekbones as he brushed a stray piece of hair, the sound he made when she let her hands wander, the warmth she felt as she fell asleep in his arms... she would miss it.
But Edith's words had been a painful reminder. Somehow, with Mama and Papa out of the way, Mary had shirked all reason in favor of living in a fantasy, and now her bruised ego was paying the price.
It would hurt— more than Mary had expected it would when they began this. But it was for the best, she reminded herself, curling up next to his side. Tom's beating heart lulled her to sleep.
"Hello?" an unfamiliar, gravely male voice answered the phone.
"Excuse me, is this Brancaster Castle?" asked Mary, frowning. It had to be their butler... either that, or Edith had neglected to mention that Bertie had developed a terrible cold.
"It is. How may I help you?"
"I would like to speak to Marchioness of Hexham," she said. "This is her sister, Lady Mary Crawley."
"I'm sorry, milady, but neither her nor Lord Hexham is here at present. They caught a train early this morning without much warning—" Here Mary detected a trace of resentment, "—and said they would be back by the end of the week at the latest. Would you like me to leave a message?"
"No, but thank you." She hung up, holding back a sigh. She would have to try London later, she supposed. Something must have come up at the magazine... she hoped Edith wasn't terribly upset with her. Their bond was still tenuous and she may have ruined it beyond repair with her harsh words.
"No luck?" Tom lowered his newspaper as she entered the dining room, reading the disheartened expression on her face. The children were sitting by each other this morning, Sybbie excitedly telling George about the chapter of Alice in Wonderland he had fallen asleep to when Nanny read to them the night before.
"I'm afraid not. It seems that both her and Bertie have gone away and their butler isn't exactly certain when they'll be back," said Mary, trying not to sound disappointed but failing miserably. She took her seat next to Tom, setting her napkin on her lap.
"I'm sorry," said Tom, genuinely sounding it. "Have you tried calling London yet?"
"No. I'll try later, though." She reached for her tea, and that was the last of it.
Nanny collected the children soon after breakfast. Mary was ready to return to her room and collapse into an inelegant heap on her bed, but Tom convinced her join him in the library instead. Mary tried to remain interested as he explained his newest plan for his automobile shop, but her mind kept straying to Edith. Had she ruined things permanently?
Tom noticed her reticence and pauses his monologue. "Is it Edith?" He asked, sitting beside her on the sofa, taking her hand into his. When she nodded, he let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, love." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and Mary leaned into it, yearning to feel as much of him as she possibly could before their untimely and ill fated union came to an end. "I wish I could take all the pain away for you."
Mary contemplated his words for a moment before letting her gaze fall to his lips. "Perhaps you can," she mused aloud before meeting his eyes again. "For a while at least."
It was how Mary's found herself in a supine pose, hands grasping within Tom's shirt as he turned his attentions to her neck. His hands were resting on her hips, gripping onto the fabric of her dress. One of her legs was wrapped around his waist in an attempt to bring him closer to her. Mary knew each second that passed between them was numbered and she intended to make the most of it. She moved her head so that their lips met again.
"Mary," he gasped, breathless and in awe of her. She reveled in her ability to unwind him like this, to see him this way.
Her hand was inching to his belt when the door opened.
"The Marquess and Marchioness of Hex—"
The words died in Thomas's throat as Mary and Tom pulled violently apart and jumped to their feet, only to find Thomas, Bertie, and Edith gaping at them.
