I don't think I'll be writing chapters in just a few days all of the time, but my plan is to get this finished whilst I have the time inside! I hope you like it. The way this planned out was not what I expected in all honesty, but I do love when something falls into place like that. Hope you're all keeping well in this difficult time.


There were many layers to Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, and there were not many people who could peel them away to realise the person that lay beneath. As the matriarch of the family, she led with a stern resolve and iron tongue, determined no matter what to keep her family at the highest possible peak of the socialite and aristocratic hierarchy. The family had been around for some time, and all of her persistence and drive in the era before them was placed solely in navigating them through the ever-evolving world that threatened constant change. One of her key facets, known to more than not, was her sharp tongue and subtle hostility that often people did not know how to take. It amused her mostly, to watch people lost for words after a conversation with her. Over the years she had defined her status in society, and she knew that people often would avoid subjects so as not to feel the lashing poison of her tongue. As well as this, she was also incredibly perceptive about the people around her and could sniff things out like a boar to the truffle by listening to their lies, seeing their facial tells and aversions to her direct gaze. It had shaken her to the core, more than she cared to admit, that she had not spotted her Granddaughter's nonsensical mentality that enabled her to act in such a way. What Violet knew was that perhaps the words to Mary, the clear-cut and acidic tongue she had used, potentially had pushed the young woman to do what she had done. There had not been many times in her life where she had wished she could take her words back, but perhaps this had been one where she had wished she had gone about it a different way. What Violet also knew was that she didn't understand it, but perhaps should have been less direct with what she had to say. After all, all she had meant to say was that there was only life or death, and to be back into the world of the living would help her. Isobel Crawley, as annoying as she was, could see through her harsh exterior and had noticed the internal fretting she had done about Mary and had been the one to push her into going to the hospital. What Violet had wanted to do was wait until Mary felt better, but Isobel had instead visited the young woman herself and witnessed the downtrodden spirit and thought she should see her. So, there she stood at the hospital, her stick resting on the floor beneath her as she leant her weight into it, looking through the arch with a sense of slight bewilderment.

Violet raised her chin and began her walk into the hospital, casting her eyes over the rooms as she had always done, overseeing how it was being looked after. It was a habit she had picked up since day one and did it in almost every place she was. This hospital had always felt dear to her after all of the time she had used to help shape what it was today. As she walked towards the stairs, she noticed the nervous side-glance from a passing nurse who scuttled away like an ant to the nest, and it made her smile. Taking her time to navigate the stairs, she listened contently as her stick made a melodic thud against the firm surface beneath.

The rays of the sun cascaded through a window at the end of the corridor, and Violet could see the minute particles of dust dancing in the sunlight like little fireflies. The place needed a clean. Coming to the correct room, she moved through the threshold and stared at the room and located Mary in the far corner, a book in her hand and a distant expression on her face. The gaze she gave the outside world did not falter, so Violet cleared her throat. "Well, child, is there a marching troop of clowns outside that is taking preference over greeting me?"

Mary blinked, bringing herself back to the room and raised her eyes to meet the visitor. "Granny," she said warmly, bringing the book up to her chest and stepping away from the window slowly.

Violet watched her curiously before moving to the unoccupied chair next to the only used bed, sitting down slowly before grimacing. "These chairs are appalling."

Mary felt a rising discomfort in her chest when their gazes locked, knowing that the last proper conversation that they had was the catalyst to her downfall. If she dwelled on it, she knew that her Granny had not meant for her to lose herself in her mind and heart, or react in such a way, and had only wanted to push her into an act of realisation. "Would you like me to get someone to get you a better one? "

"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, I'm not here to talk about furniture." Violet laughed in that warm bubbly way she had as if she had created a crowd roaring joke.

Mary just smiled and nodded politely before placing the book down gently into her lap, ensuring she could still remember the place that she had gotten to. It felt surreal to be still in the hospital, and she had almost grown to enjoy solidarity. Although her sleep still felt broken, and she had moments where she felt panicked and anxious, she had developed a routine. At certain points each day she anticipated a visitor, she would visit Carson, she would read, she would watch, and she would make mental notes about how she felt. Once Carson had awoken, and she had gone to get help, she hadn't been able to go back in and see him. At first, this bothered her because she had so much to say to him, but she accepted that work needed doing to make sure he was well and truly on the mend.

"Why haven't you gone home yet?" Violet said in a flat and unimpressed tone. "You look well enough."

"Dr Clarkson and Mama wanted me to stay here for as long as possible, to keep an eye on me no doubt. I don't mind, it's the least I could do." Mary turned her gaze to the window as she had noticed the narrowing of her Grandmother's eyes.

"Well, I think it's ridiculous. You need to get back into it. Get back to your family and your son!" Violet put her other hand on the top of her stick and leaned into it.

"Yes." Mary let her eyes cast down when she thought about George. The young boy, her son, was on her mind a lot but she felt that she wasn't quite ready to see his innocent face. There was so much she had to apologise for, even though he didn't understand, and the thought of seeing him scared her beyond belief. The young child had been on this planet for such a short time, and his life had been so complicated without him even knowing. A few more days wouldn't harm him, it's not as if there wasn't a nanny to help. Returning her gaze to her visitor, her heart and mind homed in on the stack of letters vibrating beneath her. There had been moments, long and arduous moments, where she toyed with the idea of giving these out to people to try and help them understand. Was it so she didn't have to verbalise it? Probably. Did she remember what was in them? Not really, but she knew that each of them was filled with love and adornment, as well as an insight into her drive in that dark and consuming time. "Granny?"

"Hmm?" Violet said as she redirected her gaze to her Granddaughter.

Mary reached under her pillow and lifted out the stack of envelopes, thumbing through them until she located the one she was looking for. "I wrote this for you." Mary watched as her Grandmother went to talk. "No, please. I'd like you to read it when you get home."

Violet sharply lifted her gaze to Mary's face and tried to decipher what she was trying to do. There was still a sadness in her eyes, a nervousness to her gaze, and an unambiguous fear which was no doubt directed at the reaction to the words. "My dear, it's not often one can read a letter in the presence of the writer. I'm reading it here and don't even try to persuade me otherwise. I'm too old to go home and then read it to then come back again to give my opinion of the words. I tell you I'm not writing to my granddaughter when times like these require direct interaction."

Mary's eyes grew wide, and she leant heavily into the pillow, succumbing to the words her Grandmother had spoken. It was time to face the music it seemed. Unlike facing Mrs Hughes, her Granny was more of a daunting task. Lifting herself from the bed, she moved over to the window. "I can't look at you when you do then."

Violet lifted the envelope and took the paper from within, flattening it out before tracking her gaze over to the window where Mary was stood. This was not what she had expected.

"My Dearest Granny,

I look at you as the person that keeps this family together, as a glue to the Abbey and our family as a whole. I love my Papa, but you will always be the head of this family because you are so strong. A lot of people see you for your sharp tongue and unfaltering stubbornness, but I see that you have the truest intentions for us, and you had the truest intention for me. I have always admired your fiery resolve, and the way you would fight to the death if anyone ever stepped out of line or against us. You are a force to be reckoned with, Granny, and I am always thankful that you are on our side.

I don't want you to blame yourself or feel guilty for giving me that talk, because it was the simplest form of advice and you were only trying to give me a nudge in the right direction. It was a conversation born out of love, to guide me and help me in what I can only describe as the worst time of my life. I have to choose either life or death. I know it's been said that I get my stubbornness from you, and this would be one of the finest compliments that I could receive, and why my choice should not be held against anyone but me. I've dragged this out in more ways than one as I have tried to right myself, and still, I keep falling.

I'm in pain, Granny. I'm in more pain than I could ever put into words. I've been enveloped by unfathomable grief and I see no end to this internal struggle I deal with in every single breath. You were right, you were so very right, and I love you for having that directness and desire to try and steer me to the correct path. Everyone else has avoided it, tried to keep me wrapped in cotton wool, to let me fester in my grief until I come out the other side; apart from Carson. What I've chosen would be seen by people as the wrong choice, but it's what I must do, and I want you to respect that. I know you will. I don't want you to feel that you were the catalyst to this, because you have helped me get to the destination quicker, saving me from even more agony.

I love you more than you will ever know. You have given me my voice, my determination, the pig-headed stubbornness that has driven me and made me who I am today.

I really do love you. Forever."

Violet placed the paper in her lap and closed her eyes. This letter was like a stab in the chest, but poignant and beautiful, and she got it. There was a sense of relief because it addressed what she came here to talk about, and although she never found it difficult to talk about things because she preferred the direct line of conversation, it was hard to read. Mary was her first-born grandchild, and Violet had watched her with great pride as she became the daring young woman that she had become. The young woman was beautiful, elegant, stubborn, fiery, caring and everything that she had hoped she would be. Mary was like her, and the rationale made sense, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow.

Violet sighed and got to her feet, stamping the stick down onto the floor in a soothing motion before striding, as best as she could, to where her Granddaughter was standing. Violet knew that Mary could see her out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze firm on the outside world. As she looked outside, following Mary's gaze, she watched as a leaf fell aimlessly from the tree and was taken by the wind up into the sky and above the hospital. "A leaf may fall, my dear, but that doesn't mean it will fall and hit the ground. Life is precious, funny, scary and downright unfair. Believe me, I've seen much more than you know, and I have seen the strongest person falter in unprecedented times. I've faltered, many times. Carson did us all the biggest gift in bringing you back. You are not done in this world, Mary. You're the leaf that fell but continues being taken by the wind. You'll fall, more times than you'll expect, but you'll always rise again. I respect everything you put in this letter, and my darling girl, I am relieved beyond all known facets that you stand before me right now."

Mary listened to the words, relieved, overwhelmed and grateful for her Granny. What she had expected was a verbal lashing of some description, but the words she could hear were soft and kind and not as direct as she was used to. "I'm so sorry, Granny," she said quietly, feeling herself get emotional and the tears begin to rush into the forefront of her eyes.

"Don't be sorry, Mary, be strong." Violet placed her hand onto Mary's and squeezed it.

Mary turned and smiled, nodding gently before leaning down to kiss her Grandmother on the cheek. "Thank you."

Violet nodded her head. "Now, I must go and have a conversation about getting this placed up to scratch. It needs a good scrubbing. Never take your eye off the ball, Mary, or let anyone take the ball out of your view."

Mary smirked, completely relieved, emotional and happy now with her decision to give the letter to her Grandmother. "Goodbye."

Violet walked away, her heart aching and the letter grasped tightly in her hand. That certainly did not go as she had expected. The conversation she thought would have been abrasive, a verbal chiding against her granddaughter but also an apology for speaking to her and saying what she did in the first place. It was clear though that Mary did not hold her to account, but in fact, respected the words for what they were; a steer to make things better. A burning relief and feeling of pride swam inside of her like prized Salmon, ready to jump up any stream that came her way. The Crawley woman were the strongest kind, and that was something to make her proud.


Carson stared up at the ceiling for what felt like the tenth time that minute, letting the surrealness of his recollections wash over him as he tried to piece everything together. It felt like there was a mist that covered his memories like a net, preventing them from forming clearly defined pictures in his mind. The run-up to the incident was blurry but the pain and gut-wrenching sadness and despair of his Lady Mary were seared into his memory like a branded mark on livestock. Anything and everything that followed that was a mess, whether there was much of it to piece together, but he could remember the strange nightmare that he had lived before he woke up. When his eyes had opened he had been met with the worried expression of Dr Clarkson, who hovered over him with a light and made him follow it repeatedly until he was happy. In the corner of his eye, he vaguely recalled seeing Lady Mary stood at the doorway before being ushered out. Since then, and since some other random tests, he had been alone. It seemed like such a long time ago since he had spoken to anyone, a real unnerving sense of time hovering over him. Days had apparently passed, but to him, it seemed longer, and he couldn't quite put that feeling into something understandable to anyone but himself.

Carson was not good at keeping still, but he was good at taking orders. Dr Clarkson had explicitly informed him that he needed to keep still, to rest and keep himself relaxed to keep the healing process moving in the correct direction. When he moved his legs, a restlessness forming in his tired muscles, he had to force himself not to just resign and get up for a walk. At first, when he had awoken, he had felt a searing pain that coursed over his head like waves of lightning infused fire, making him wince as he tried to focus on the world. Dr Clarkson had made him go through some speech tests, listening tests and also asked for a consensus on how he was feeling. Carson being Carson, wanting to get back to the house, had played down his ailments. Dr Clarkson had seen through this and told him that if he didn't tell the truth it could hamper his recovery and see him bed-bound for months. They had given him painkillers that had helped wonderfully, and so he lay in a numb and warm cocoon with nothing but his thoughts.

Carson was not a man to dwell too much on his thoughts, always being focused on the job at hand and the desire to get things done properly. The problem with being in your mind, and so he had found, was that he began to worry. The slight detour from his normal thoughts had him thinking about Mary, and how she had gotten so wrapped up in her grief, and there was a bit more understanding as he felt his stomach twist when he wondered about how the house was coping without him there. The idea of Thomas taking overfilled him with dread, the tasks he divvied out would no doubt be laced with malice. Although perhaps it was Mrs Hughes that was driving from the front. If that was so, he had nothing to worry about because she would not let him down.

The image of Mrs Hughes' face sprang to his mind and he thought about the unusual dream. In his head he had seen her suffering and worrying about not being able to cope without him, the tears falling down her face like little mirrored balls of sadness. The feelings he had felt towards her were so pronounced at that moment, how he had wanted to reach out to her as she crumbled in front of his eyes, the vulnerability so crystal as it emanated from her whole body. They had worked together for so many years, and although he had seen her in some predicaments, she had always remained resilient and strong which is why it had bothered him. Carson sighed, feeling anxious and off as he imagined her being so unhappy and him not being able to help her. Mr Carson, whether he liked to admit it or not, always kept a watchful eye over his colleague. It wasn't because he thought she couldn't do her job, or that she required it, but it was because he cared about her. This level of care was not one of someone that looked after a house, it was deeper than that, so much deeper than anyone could ever guess. That was his secret, and he would continue to do that for as long as he was head of the house. It had developed gradually until she resonated deep within his heart, taking him by surprise one day when he caught himself watching her write, a warm feeling sitting inside him as he gazed upon her from a distance. When he looked at her, gazing over her features, the desire to hug her and touch her filled every muscle. Carson was good at keeping himself at bay because he was a man of the job, a man of a high standard and he had never wanted to jeopardise any of that. What he had grown to know was that he was content, if he had to be, with her just being someone he worked closely with. Having that companionship, the one he had with her, was a blessing in itself and was enough to keep him warm at night. They were around each other throughout the day and always rounded off the evening with a conversation that encompassed both work and themselves. At that moment he wondered if she would come to visit him, so he could see her, check that she was ok and see how the house was going. Squashing that idea, he knew she would likely be too busy to think about being at the hospital because she would have to eat and to rest whilst juggling the tasks at hand. It wouldn't be long until he was back on his feet, and back in his place within the home, and his place by her side.

The temperature had dropped a little as the sun had fallen in the world outside, so Carson decided he needed to do what he could to get himself better. As painful and irritating as it was, if it was the way to get out of here then he was going to do what he needed to get himself back on his feet. As it had cooled, he lifted the blanket high to his chin and calmed himself. Working in the job he had he was quite able to drop off to sleep when he needed, his body accustomed to squeezing rest in when he had the time. As he slowed his breathing, taking drawn-out exhales and clearing his mind of anything that didn't need to be there, he pushed all the tension from his body so all of his muscles relaxed. The hardest part of the whole wind-down process was clearing his mind completely and making it blank. The thoughts of the house were expelled quickly, the worry for Mary put into a space in the back of his mind, and the various questions and concerns in a vault for tomorrow. The final thing to put to rest was the image of Mrs Hughes, her features soft and caring as her eyes looked back, his body feeling warm in her gaze as she locked eyes with him. At that moment, he delayed the wind-down process for a few more seconds so he could take in her beauty one last time before he went to sleep. At night, she was always the last thing on his mind before he went to sleep, and that would never change. It was always going to be her.