A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews! I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!
Come Alive
Chapter Twenty One
After drying her eyes, Mary left Sybil's room. This time, instead of feeling as if the hallways of Downton were empty, they felt alive. It was as if she could feel the souls of everyone who had ever resided in Downton and all the people who would after she was long gone. As she weaved towards the familiar path to her bedroom, her palms began perspiring. Even though she knew what to expect in theory, there was no telling how Matthew would react.
As she approached the bedroom door, she hesitated, holding her breath. Should she knock? Was he expecting her? Mary pressed an ear, listening for any movement. Silence. Her hand hovered over the brass handle before gripping it. The cool metal warmed beneath her fingers before Mary finally gathered the courage to twist it open.
Even though she had been given forewarning by Sybil, nothing could have prepared Mary for what she found. He stood hunched down in front of the mirror, doing up his own tie— a red one, her favorite color. He wore one of his tan suits... the kind she had grown to love. She caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection. His blue eyes, his parted lips, his careful hands... it felt like yesterday and eons ago all once.
He spun around. "Mary," Matthew said, voice breaking the silence.
"Matthew." Her voice came out as a whisper.
Mary was frozen in place as Matthew walked across the room. Soon they were standing mere inches apart. Matthew reached out, touching her bob. "You've cut your hair," he commented.
A laugh left her, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Mary thought she had ran out of tears to cry but it was clear that was not the case. "I forgot," she said, "you were quite opposed to me doing this."
Matthew let out a laugh as well before cupping her cheek and wiping away her tears with his thumb. His hand was warm and solid... real. "Well, I was wrong. You look radiant, as you always do."
That caused her to smile, in spite of the confusing mix of emotions currently swirling within her. The fact that she was standing in front of him was extraordinary. "I've missed you so much, my darling," she told him. He needed to know— he needed to understand. "Every single day."
"I know, my darling." His voice was soft. "And I've missed being with you." Mary clenched her eyes shut before he said, "I've watched after you and George constantly."
Mary stiffened. Her gaze fell from his face to his shoulder. She supposed it was a naïve hope to wish that only Sybil had seen her. "I suppose you must despise me now," she uttered, trying to keep a level tone but failing. She cursed herself— it was as if she had lost all ability to contain her emotions. "I must be such a disappointment to you." She tried to pull away, only for Matthew to wrap into an embrace.
"On the contrary," he replied, speaking lowly in her ear. "You've made me so unbelievably proud, Mary. You cannot imagine how... how amazed I am with you. You never fail to surprise me."
"I'm sure I've been providing quite a few surprises the past few months," she said bitterly. How must he feel...? Betrayed? Angry? Sybil was a gentle soul, even with her occasional fiery temper, and Matthew was as well, but Mary wasn't optimistic enough to think he would welcome this change with open arms.
Matthew drew away, but not in a gesture of revulsion. He met her eyes, confusion written behind him. She chastised herself inwardly; she had allowed her brusquer side out unthinkingly. It was something she had learned to hide away with Matthew, once she had learned there was no need to fear his judgement. "Mary," he began, taking both of her hands into her own. "Don't you remember what I told you? That night when you told me about the Turkish gentleman?"
Mary swallowed and nodded. I could never despise you. "I do."
"Then you'll know that I'm not upset with you. Not in the slightest." She dared herself to glance up and meet his sunny smile. "Tom was a good friend to me. He deserves happiness, just as you do. I couldn't have picked a better replacement."
"Don't say that!" Her response was instantaneous. "He's not— Nobody will replace you. Nobody can replace you."
His smile faded but he wasn't upset. "No," Matthew agreed. "Maybe replacement wasn't the best word for it. But nevertheless, I need you to understand that I don't begrudge you for moving on." His gaze felt to their hands. "I never wanted to leave you so soon," he whispered. "Never. But... I always wanted you to be happy. And Tom... well, Tom has done that."
"You make it sound so simple," Mary said, wiping her tears away. "But I don't think it will be as easy as that."
"What makes you say that?"
"I'm— well, I can't help but think I'm unworthy of him." The words were out and Mary dared not look at him as she said it. "I know that you love me, but you cannot pretend as though I've behaved admirably the past couple of months."
"Admirably may not be the best word for it," admitted Matthew, causing Mary to let out a self deprecating laugh, "but it's quite understandable."
"How?" She demanded.
Matthew smiled sadly. "While you have been busy falling in love with Tom, you have forgotten about someone else." Ready to protest that he hadn't left her mind for a single day since they had met, Mary was cut off by Matthew saying, "Yourself."
She blinked. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," began Matthew, "you are your own worst critic. When you make a mistake, you take it out on yourself." He paused. "That's not to say you don't have faults— because you do, we all do... that's what makes us human. But instead of accepting it, you treat yourself cruelly and think yourself inferior."
If it were anyone else, Mary might have been alarmed by how accurate the assessment was... only this was Matthew. She felt she had no other choice but to nod.
"I wish you didn't truly think that way, Mary," he said with a sigh. "Because in the past few months, you've done so many wonderful things and you haven't taken credit for them. I only wish you could see the changes you've had on others lives."
"That's funny," Mary mused quietly, "because I'm afraid I rather dread to know." When Matthew gave her a quizzical look, she said, "I ruined Edith's engagement months ago and I've almost certainly broke Tom's heart! I sincerely doubt anyone is thinking of me in a positive light!"
Matthew shook his head. "Edith is happily married now, so obviously the damage wasn't permanent," he pointed out, "and I wouldn't waste anytime worrying about Tom's devotion, not when I can see how much he cares for you."
Mary supposed that what he was saying was true, but she couldn't help but wonder if she was right for Tom. Didn't he deserve someone nobler, someone who wasn't so consumed with herself? Someone with a kind heart? If she were to accept him, would she be depriving him from real happiness with someone better than her— someone who wasn't afraid of her own feelings and would proudly tell the world how much she loved him?
"Have you ever stopped to consider," Matthew continued, "all the problems in place if you hadn't changed things for the better?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "contrary to what you may think, you have been extending you have altered people's lives in the best way possible." He paused. "You are familiar with A Christmas Carol, aren't you?"
"Yes," Mary answered, quizzical... and half dreading what he would say.
"Good. Because, really... you are really the opposite of Scrooge."
"Well, that's certainly relieving to hear," quipped Mary, genuinely pleased to know that she wasn't equal to a miserly old man.
"If you would like, I could be your Ghost of Christmas Future," said Matthew, smiling. "I could show you what your future would be like if you had not made the kindest choice in the moment. Not the cruelest," he emphasized, "but if you hadn't offered the kindest conclusion possible, as you have for these past few months."
Mary blinked, wondering what he meant. Kind. It was a word she didn't associate herself with often. She wondered what he meant by it... and, truthfully, she would take anything Matthew had to offer her. "Alright," she agreed softly.
Matthew smiled. "Alright," he echoed, and Mary closed her eyes.
September 24, 1926
Edith had learned that London never truly slept. No matter the hour, something was always going on. It was fortunate for her, as someone who owned a magazine... but not so fortunate when it was late at night and her thoughts were determined to keep her up into the earliest hours of the morning. There were sometimes she missed the country life. It was hard to believe that not even ten years ago, she was driving tractors and visiting pig farms.
Edith looked out the window at the busy street before sighing and walking to her table, glancing at the stacks of mail. The first was a letter from Marigold's school, requesting donations. She set it aside before turning the letter from Downton. Edith was half tempted to throw it in the fireplace where it belonged but curiosity won her over.
Dear Edith,
I hope things are well. It's been too long since I last visited— I only wish I weren't so busy with the hospital. How is Marigold getting on? Does she still like her school?
Mary is
Edith ripped the letter in half. She knew what the rest of the letter would contain: Mary did this, Mary did that, Mary suffered no consequences from her actions just like always, won't you please come to Downton?
The shreds of paper were deposited where they belonged and Edith lit a match, transfixed by the flame. It was a cool night, anyway— a fire wouldn't hurt. As the fire engulfed Mama's letter, Edith stride over to her bar, where she had accumulated a variety of alcoholic beverages. She poured herself a generous glass of sherry, swallowing it quickly. The burn in her throat had become familiar to her ages ago.
Ever since Bertie had left Downton that day, she had been alone. Not necessarily because of lack of options, but more out of choice. She knew, deep in her soul, that no one would ever come as close to making her as happy as Bertie had. She hadn't heard a word from him since their disastrous, painful break over a year ago, and truthfully, she didn't want to. As much as she wanted him to be happy, the idea of him marrying someone else made her feel ill.
It was funny; she hadn't been to Downton Abbey in over a year. After Mary had ruined her life ever so casually, Edith hadn't looked back. The dining room would forever be the place where her heart had been shattered, the lawn the last place she had been with Bertie. There were far too many memories.
But it wasn't just that. Ever since the incident, Mary hadn't even bothered to apologize— well, at least not sincerely. Therefore, when she had learned of the wedding, she hadn't even bothered to consider leaving London. She didn't even write a letter. Maybe, in a different time, she might have, but there was no way of knowing for certain.
Mama had been her most frequent visitor, unable to stand being away from Marigold for such extended periods of times. Papa had come up a couple times as well, as well Tom. Each time, they tried to convince her to return to Downton, insisting that Mary was truly sorry. Tom had once even claimed Mary missed her, to which Edith laughed. "Honestly, Tom," she had told him, amused by his surprise, "you've missed your calling as a comedian."
If Sybil were still alive, Edith was certain she would dismayed to see how things were between them— but then Edith reminded herself that Sybil never would have been able to predict this and felt better for a while.
When Mary came to, she was somewhat disoriented. Edith, in her London flat, with Marigold, yet otherwise completely alone... she frowned.
"So... no Bertie?" She asked Matthew, confused.
"No Bertie," he confirmed. When Mary's consternation seemed to grow, he said, "Because in this time, you never wrote a letter."
Oh... her letter. "Was that really all it took to change his mind?" Mary wondered aloud.
"Well... yes and no," said Matthew. "He still loves her, but he managed to convince himself that after leaving her, she wouldn't want him and could move on easily."
Mary nodded grimly. Oddly enough, she could picture him doing that. It seemed like the sort of thing Edith would do... they really were alike in so many ways. "But my letter persuaded him that he would still have a chance?" Mary questioned, wondering how a simple letter could make such a difference.
"Exactly."
Mary nodded, mulling it over. She was somewhat stunned— she never realized how meaningful that letter had been... "So who else have I impacted?" she asked.
"Barrow," Matthew offered. He tilted his head to the side. "Have you stopped to consider where he would be now if you hadn't stepped in?"
Thomas. Of course. It was so strange to think how many years they had gone without being friends only to rectify that ten years in. Considering the state Thomas had been when she first extended the offer of friendship. Truthfully, she was afraid to see what would have happened if he had been forced out of Downton. "I try not to dwell on it," she told Matthew. "I know he wouldn't have been happy, no matter where he went. Not when Downton is his home." She only hoped that in this imaginary, hypothetical future, Thomas wasn't as low as he had been at Downton prior to being allowed to stay.
"That's understandable," said Matthew. "But it might do you some good, to see what you saved him from."
Mary hesitated before nodding.
December 14, 1926
The bed springs on Thomas's cramped bed groaned as he sat down on it. It was almost eleven o'clock at night; Sir Stiles has stayed up late, snacking and reading before hobbling off to bed. He wasn't a bad man; in fact, he was decent employer, but the tedium of his life made Thomas long for the days at Downton.
When he had left, he'd had some hope. He knew that some of the people cared about him: Mrs. Hughes, Andy, Phyllis, and Anna, mainly, but even those he'd a fraught history with had been willing to accept he had changed for the better and no longer wished for a solitary existence. They'd wished him well and he had hoped, at his new residence, he could befriend more people.
However, that was not to be. There were only a handful of other servant's, none of them what you would call personable. Thomas's own lack of social skills only exacerbated any divide between them, leaving him feel more alone than ever and bored. He missed being able to play cards with Andy, stealing canapés when Mrs. Patmore wasn't looking, and chatting with Phyllis outside... God, he even missed listening in on the Bateses, no matter how nauseating they sometimes were.
However, Christmas was nearing and he'd already received several letters. Anna was already expecting the next baby Bates whereas Andy and Daisy had become engaged. He had already sent out his congratulations, but instead of feeling closer to them, he felt further apart than ever.
More than ever, Thomas wanted something of his own. A house, a lover, hell, even a family. The closest thing he had to any of these was a cramped room in the attic of Sir Stiles's house and a few letters once a year from his sister, the only member of his family who had yet to completely disown him.
Still, the worst part of all of this was knowing he'd had a chance to return. Mr. Carson has retired almost a year ago, suffering from a medical condition, and they had needed to hire a new butler. In a cruel twist of fate, the letter Mrs. Hughes had sent him was lost in the mail for weeks before finally arriving to him. By the time he had responded, eagerly and excitedly, he was regretfully informed that they had already hired Carson's replacement.
Thomas laid down, crawling underneath the covers. He supposed his life could be worse... but then again, he knew that life could be better.
"Poor Thomas," she uttered. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like, for him to be cut off from Downton like that. She supposed that if she had never befriended him, she would have never realized how badly he wanted to stay.
"It is quite sad, isn't it?" Matthew agreed. "I know he used to cause some trouble downstairs, but I always liked Barrow."
Mary smiled, thinking of the story Thomas has told her about their chance meeting during the war. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "His friendship is rather invaluable to me."
"And, as you can see, to him. In more ways than one."
Mary gnawed on the inside of her lip. She supposed she hadn't exactly been the greatest friend to him... he had been honest with her so many times about Jimmy and the realities of his life. Mary really hadn't done the same. She ought to be better about that.
A sudden thought occurred to her. "What about Jimmy?" She asked Matthew. "Did— well, did he and Thomas ever resume things?" Truthfully, Mary wasn't sure what to classify their relationship as. It seemed more than a friendship, from what she had observed, but also as if they hadn't determined what else they might be.
"I'm glad you asked," said Matthew, eyes twinkling. "Because he's the next person whose future you can see."
Mary wasn't as worried about Jimmy— when she had seen him in London, it seemed as if he was having the time of his life. Out of all the people here, she figured his life would be the closest to being content. "Very well," she said.
January 25, 1927
The unrelenting chill of winter has seeped deep beneath his flesh, seemingly into his bones. Jimmy's teeth chattered as he walked down the streets of London, the worn soles of his shoes mere millimeters from wearing through.
All he had were a couple of coins... a couple of coins to rub together in the pocket of his threadbare coat, to get him through the next week or so, if the letter didn't arrive. And Jimmy was counting on that letter.
It was hard to pass by shops and bakeries and restaurants, knowing that he couldn't afford any of it. His meals these days consisted mainly of vegetables from a can. It wasn't luxurious, but he was pleased to even have that. During the Christmas season, people had been more charitable and donated more to the food pantries but in the months that followed, the supply had dwindled. Now, Jimmy was lucky if he found much of anything... today, all he had managed was a can of evaporated milk and beans.
It seemed shocking to believe that only a few months ago, he'd had a job. The Flower Garden has split up in the summer of that year after the marriage of Flora Kelley and the Honorable Evelyn Napier. Rose and Lilly had tried to keep the group going but after Lilly moved to a different club and Rose's condition progressed, it had all fallen apart. Now, it was Jimmy contra mundum... well, almost.
Jimmy's stomach growled as he passed by the bakery, the croissants and sweets looking utterly delectable. You've got canned peas at home, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously like his mother, And you need to save them for dinner.
He sighed wearily, heading back to the apartment. He hadn't checked the mail before he left to go to the food pantry— Jimmy walked over to his mailbox, dry, cold hands eagerly twisting open the small door with his key... and there was a letter.
Was it... could it be? Jimmy excitedly reached for the envelope... only for his spirits to sink.
RETURN TO SENDER was stamped in red ink, overtop the letter addressed to Thomas Barrow at Downton Abbey. The letter almost fell out of Jimmy's hands to the floor.
No... this couldn't be possible... Jimmy ripped open his own letter, half convinced it must be a mistake, only to stare back at his own words.
Dear Thomas... hate to ask, but I need your help... I would never normally ask this of you... we need your help... any money you can send would be greatly appreciated... rent's due soon... you were always so good to me... were the best mate I'd ever have... I miss you
A humorless laugh escaped him. Figures... By the time he had sucked up his pride, gathered up his courage, and done the one thing he had wanted to do since leaving Downton, the world threw it back in his face. You had your chance to send him a letter all those years ago and you only waited to take it when you needed money from him, didn't you? A nasty voice told him as Jimmy crumpled up the letter before sticking it in his pocket.
Except... well, he didn't just need the money. He needed those words of wisdom that only Thomas could bestow in a way that didn't sound patronizing, needed that reminder from his friend that things would be okay, a compliment that slipped out unbidden to tell him he wasn't as useless as he thought he was... maybe a trip to London every once in a while, to rekindle their old friendship... maybe even—
Jimmy stopped his thoughts right then. There was no point of daydreaming, not when it wasn't ever going to bloody happen. He had his chance long ago and it wasn't ever going to happen. Ever. Jimmy cursed his pride and the stupid things he had once believed and marched up the stairs, unable to stop himself from wondering where in the world Thomas Barrow was.
Mary gaped. "Goodness," she said, shocked. "I wasn't expecting that." She never would have expected poverty was a reality for the Jimmy Kent she'd met in London all those months ago, but she found herself sincerely glad that he had accepted her offer to come to Downton.
"Life can be rather unpredictable," Matthew said, nodding.
Mary swallowed, thinking of that moment when Papa had delivered the news that had changed her world forever. "I know that all too well."
An expression of sadness came across Matthew's features as Mary toyed with the handkerchief from Sybil. "I'm so sorry, my darling." He closed the space between them before wrapping her in a hug.
Mary closed her eyes, savoring the moment. How long had it been since she allowed herself to be truly vulnerable in front of another person? It felt like a lifetime ago...
"Well, I am very pleased that Jimmy is happier here," said Mary once they parted. "For a while, I worried he might have been happier in London." He certainly hadn't been happy the last time she had seen him...
"I assure you, Downton is more than enough for Jimmy. He won't be leaving anytime soon."
Mary couldn't begin to express how glad she was to hear that. "Tell me," she said, tilting her head slightly, "do you think there's a chance he wants to be with Thomas? Only... well, I can't really explain it, but I just feel as though there's something more there than just friendship."
Matthew smirked. "I think there's more than a chance— but you mustn't interfere. Let them set things at their own pace." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten all the excuses your mother would concoct in order to have us spend time together in those early days and how infuriating you found it."
Mary let out a small laugh. The most memorable occasion, in Mary's memory, was the time Mama had practically ordered her to show Matthew the stable yard. He'd tried mounting Diamond in an attempt to impress her, only to lose his balance and fall in the mud. She hadn't been able to contain her laughter as they walked back to the house, poor Matthew red faced and embarrassed. "I haven't. I promise not to be overbearing with them... or with George, when the time comes for it," she added.
Matthew smiled. "Good." He paused a moment before adding, "He'll be happiest if he is allowed the chance to choose his own wife— I know I was."
She felt as though her heart were melting. Still, she couldn't help but be curious as to how all this worked. "Do you know who George marries, then? Or can you only see certain things?"
"Some things can change, but others are set more in stone... but there's really no telling," explained Matthew. "Needless to say, I can assure you that the girl our son eventually marries will be a lovely young woman and has very respectable parents."
"Well, that's what every mother wants to hear," said Mary, relieved. It was soon to be thinking of such things, especially since he was still in the nursery, but the last thing she would want was for her son to be embroiled in scandal as she had once been.
Matthew, seeming to realize they had strayed off topic, said, "There's another choice you've made that was kind, even though you may not have felt that way at the time."
Mary frowned. "And what might that be?"
"Refusing Henry Talbot."
Mary blinked. She hadn't expected to ever hear Matthew utter his name— or, truthfully, for him to be mentioned at all. As she opened her mouth to express that, she suddenly remembered the offhanded remark Edith had made in her memory about a wedding she hadn't bothered to go to. "Oh. I see."
"Darling," began Matthew, gently, "I know that you've— for some reason, you believe there is something wrong with you, for not reciprocating the affections that these men have bestowed upon you. But I want to tell you that just because someone may care about you, it doesn't necessarily mean it would be a good match— and in the end, the kindest thing you did for Mr. Talbot was sending him on his way to find someone more suited to him."
Mary nodded— though truthfully it seemed strange that the kindest thing she had done for Henry was break his heart twice in the span of a few weeks after losing his best friend. "So... so in the future you've been showing me, I married him?"
Matthew nodded. "Tom convinced you that Henry would make you happy and you felt guilty for turning him down. But," he continued, "as you'll see, you spared more than just him from an unhappy life."
Mary didn't like the sound of that— it was so ominous. But nevertheless, she readied herself for what was to come.
February 21, 1927
It was terrible to admit, but some days he wondered if he had made a horrid mistake. If he had read something the wrong way, misinterpreted her actions... wondered if he was truly happy.
Mary was everything he had wanted. From the moment he had set eyes on her, he had wanted to be with her, regardless of what it might cost him. He had eagerly given up so much for her... but now, he confessed, the thrill of it was gone.
It happened, first, when he realized she had never once said she loved him. When he brought it up (in a fight, of all things), she had reminded him that she wasn't a loquacious person and admitting such things didn't come easily to her.
"Do you, though?" He had asked, feeling desperate. He looked into Mary's eyes. "Do you love me?"
She stared back at him. "What do you think, Henry?"
No. But Henry had swallowed and instead said, "I think you must... or else you wouldn't have married me?" It hadn't come out as a question.
"There you go," said Mary, throwing her hands up in the air before they settled on her hips. "Now will you stop being such a child?"
Henry had thought he was happy— for a month or two, at least. But the fractures had appeared— quickly. Before he had time to raise his concerns, Mary had announced she was pregnant and he had been able to forget about them easily.
The only time he felt at ease in his own skin was either when he was with his daughter or when he was at the automobile shop. Cars were more comfortable to him than the spacious great hall of Downton Abbey... not that he would ever confess to that. Mary loved the old house, devoting nearly all her attentions to it. It wouldn't be cruel, not to mention ungrateful, to ever say how he never felt he was at home.
Tom tried to evenly split the duties at the shop, but Henry insisted on undertaking more of the tasks. "Besides," Henry would say, smiling, reassuringly, "Mary needs your help."
Tom let out a scoff, though he smiled. "Mary doesn't need me. But I do suppose she'll want my help..."
Henry wasn't so sure how true that was. Even though he knew Mary was more than capable of managing Downton on her own, she relied on Tom. Henry realized that if he were a weaker man, their close friendship might threaten him. However, Henry had no fear. Tom was a loyal friend and a good man and Mary would never betray him like that.
Still, he wasn't as comfortable in their marriage as she should. He felt like an interloper, an intruder, someone who had been introduced far too late into the story to ever hope of making a difference in her life. Memories of her former husband were present everywhere— in the stuffed dog she kept by her vanity, the photograph of their wedding day on her nightstand in front of their own wedding photograph, and, most evidently, in her son, who was said to look more and more like his father with each passing day. Henry didn't begrudge George for that, not did he resent his wife for the reminders of Matthew Crawley. It was natural and understandable, but Henry always felt as if the late Mr. Crawley was a constant specter hanging over the whole family.
When the opportunity arose, Henry reached for it. "I'll go," he told Tom.
His friend frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Certainly. That is... unless you would rather...?"
Tom shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. I just— well, I figured I would. I don't have a wife..."
"But you do have Sybbie," Henry pointed out. "And she'll miss you terribly."
Tom blinked. "You don't think Mary and the children won't miss you?"
"I'm sure they will," Henry said, too hastily for his own liking. Or rather... he hoped Mary would miss him. George liked him well enough, but Henry sometimes felt the boy saw him almost more as an uncle rather than a stepfather. He was always eager to go for a drive or go look at the pigs when Henry offered, but when he was upset, he always ran to Mary... or sometimes even Tom. Henry tried not to take offense; after all, George had grown up with Tom. And he was young... things may very well change. "But I doubt the baby will ever remember I was gone once I am back, and George will have Mary... and she'll have you."
Tom's smile seemed artificial. "Well, if you're sure—"
"I am."
"Then I suppose it's settled." They shook on it.
Later, once they returned home for the day, Henry decided to seek out Mary and tell her the news. Fields, the butler who was hired to replace Carson, told Henry she was at the office. Henry thanked him before driving out.
When Henry found her, she rifling through paperwork at her desk. She spared a moment to exchange a "hello" and a chaste kiss before returning to it.
"There's actually something I wanted to tell you about," he began. Mary didn't look up. "There's been an opportunity for the dealership. We've been invited an event in Detroit next month."
Mary glanced up. "Detroit? Goodness. That's a long ways away." It was strange, Henry noted, how her words seemed to indicate surprise, yet her voice was flat. She frowned. "But next month is when we need to start preparing for the fair."
"Don't worry," Henry said, trying not to feel too bitterly, injecting as much cheerfulness as he could into his voice. "I volunteered to go. It wouldn't be practical, not for the both of us to go, so Tom'll stay here."
She smiled before returning her gaze to her paperwork. "Very well. I hope you have fun."
April 14, 1927
Please let her be alright, thought Tom, palms sweaty. Dear God, please let her be alright.
She had been sick for several days. Her skin was pale and clammy and she was losing weight fast. Henry was worried, privately disclosing his worries to Tom. After being persuaded to stay in bed a couple of days, Mary insisted upon being allowed to leave and return to work. "I'm fine," she insisted and Tom wanted to believe her. He promised Henry to look after her and drove them both to the office. Things had been fine— until she doubled over, vomiting into the paper bin.
"Mary!" He has risen out of his chair, running to her side, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor with suddenness of his movement.
Mary, paler than ever, peered at him. Her eyes were watering— but whether it was because a byproduct of her actions or she was simply embarrassed, Tom had no idea. "Tom, please don't look," she begged, before heaving once more. His hand flew to her back, rubbing in between her shoulders with one hand. "I don't want you to see this."
Tom averted his eyes as best he could, but didn't have it within him to feel repulsed. Instead, he was panicked. As she continued to vomit, he began murmuring platitudes, especially when he realized she was crying. "It's all right, love," he promised, simultaneously unaware of what he was saying and trying to comfort her as best he could. "It will be over soon."
When Mary resurfaced, she looked exhausted. Tom withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. "I can't," she protested weakly, leaning back in her chair. She looked as though she had no energy. "I'll get it dirty."
"I don't mind," Tom said quietly. When Mary still didn't take it, Tom knelt on his knee, using it to wipe her mouth. She didn't protest... in fact, it seemed almost as if she could barely keep her eyes open.
"Mary," he asked, "how often has this been happening?"
She made a noise. Tom felt even more frightened. Oh, God... but moments later, she began using a single hand, gesticulating it. "Three, four times a day."
Three to four times a day? "Right," Tom said, half to himself, rising to his full height. "I'm taking you the hospital."
"'M fine," insisted Mary, who was clearly not fine.
Tom looked down at her limp form, mentally debating what he should do. He didn't want to leave her alone... Lord only knows what will happen... Tom marched over to the door, opened it, before picking Mary up, carrying her bridal style through the doorway.
It wasn't easy, carrying a fully grown woman across from the length of the office back to the house, but Tom managed well enough. He suspected her loss in weight was helping him, which was concerning. When she began slipping somewhat, Mary instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck with as much strength as she had. "Don't have to do this," she murmured, eyes opening slightly. Her lips, Tom noticed, were dry and chapped.
"Of course I do," he said, panting slightly. "I can't risk losing you." The words slipped out without permission.
Her eyes fell shut again. "So good to me, Tom. You're so good to me." In spite of the circumstances, Tom cracked a small smile in spite of himself.
He reached the garage, finding it empty save for the vehicles. The Sunbeam was gone... of course, Cora had a meeting at the hospital. "Mary, do you think you can stand? You can hold onto me." Mary nodded and Tom deposited her down. Mary clung to his arm as he lead her to the Renault. He helped her into the back before hopping into the driver's side and all but flying out of the garage.
And now he sat in a waiting area, frantic and fearing the worst. He imagined Clarkson coming out with a diagnosis of some life threatening disease...
When the doctor stepped out, Tom leapt to his feet. "How is she?"
"Much better," said Clarkson, causing Tom to sigh in relief. "She'll need to stay here for a day or two, but she will recover."
"But what was wrong?"
"She has hyperemesis gravidarum," Clarkson explained, as if Tom was supposed to understand what that meant. When he received a blank stare in response, the doctor elaborated, "It's more commonly known as extreme morning sickness. It can lead to severe dehydration, which is what happened to Lady Mary." He smiled. "She's going to have another baby."
Tom knew that he should be more glad but he couldn't help but feel somewhat defeated. It was never easy, seeing the woman you loved pregnant with another man's child. But still, Tom smiled. "That's wonderful news," he said, letting out a sigh of relief. "May I see her so that I may congratulate her?"
"Of course," Clarkson said, stepping aside and gesturing towards her room. "Will we be expecting Mr. Talbot sometime soon?"
Henry. Oh, God... Tom had forgotten all about Henry. He hadn't even informed Robert... "I'm afraid I was too concerned with getting her to a hospital to inform anyone," he confessed sheepishly. "I should give them a call."
Clarkson chuckled. "Don't feel too badly, Mr. Branson. Lady Mary is lucky to have a friend like yourself who cares so much for her."
The doctor didn't even know how much. Tom smiled back at him before going to the hospital phone, first ringing up Henry, then Robert. Surprisingly, the former was more forgiving than the latter for not informing them sooner, but they were equally relieved to know their Mary would be alright. Henry planned on closing the shop early before driving to the hospital, whereas Robert was leaving the house immediately.
Mary looked much better when Tom finally entered her room. Some of the color had returned to her skin and she looked more energized. However, he couldn't help be disarmed by the clear tube connected to her arm. "My white knight," she professed, jerking him out of his thoughts. "I suppose I owe you a thank you... and more."
Tom shook his head. "It's nothing."
"I seem to recall you carrying me from the office to the garage. If that's not noble, I don't know the meaning of the word."
Tom felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "Did Clarkson tell you what was the matter?"
"He did," Mary affirmed, adjusting herself on the mountain of pillows that was propping her up. She let out a sudden laugh. "I hadn't even realized... isn't that strange?"
"Perhaps... but congratulations," Tom told her, more genuine in his declaration than he had felt before. "I'm pleased for you."
Mary merely nodded. One of her hands fell to her stomach. "Thank you. It's rare, you know. This condition. I don't know how to feel, if I'm being completely to honest," she admitted. "I'm happy, in a way... but I wonder if I am as happy as I should be."
"I'm sure you are as happy as you are supposed to be," Tom told Mary seriously. Sensing she was battling with herself, he sat down on the edge of her bed. "You're just surprised. You weren't expecting this. Once you feel more yourself, I'm sure it'll hit you all at once."
Mary nodded. "I'm sure you're right. Sometimes I swear you know me better than I know myself." She smiled at him.
"I could say the same about you," Tom said, forgetting himself.
A pink tinge appeared in her cheeks. "I really must thank you," she said, peering up at him through her dark eyelashes. "I don't know how you did it."
"It was simple," Tom said, lost in her eyes. "I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you."
Her lips parted— her perfect lips, the lips he had longed to taste for years— ready to speak, when the door opened. Tom jumped to his feet as Robert entered the room.
"My dear girl," he exclaimed, rushing to Mary's side as Tom stepped away, giving him the room he needed. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," said Mary, her eyes finding him. "Thanks to Tom, that is."
Robert faces him, beaming. "I'm sorry I was cross on the telephone," he said, shaking Tom's hand heartily. "We all owe you a great debt for helping our Mary." Before Tom could say anything, Robert continued, "By the way, Lucy called just before I left." Tom's stomach dropped. "When I explained what had happened, she sent her best wishes, Mary."
Lucy... Tom felt as though he were two feet tall when he was reminded of her. How had he allowed himself to forget about her so easily? It was unfair, not when she deserved so much more...
But Mary would never be his— and staying at Downton and watching her with Henry made his heart bleed day after day. He needed a way to escape it to, make the pain sting less, and Lucy helped with that. He knew that with her, he would be happy...
But maybe not as happy as he might have been.
July 20, 1928
"Do you, Lucille Amelia Smith, take Tom to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do."
"And do you, Tom Eoin Branson, take Lucille to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
A tear fell down Mary's cheek.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared. "You may kiss the bride."
She closed her eyes. Henry's hand slipped into her own, squeezing it slightly. Mary swallowed as the rest of the guests cheered.
It was harder to retain her composure at the wedding reception. Mary spent most of her evening on the sidelines, watching the dancing couples on the dance floor bleakly as she sipped on champagne.
Henry startled her with an outstretched hand. She met his gaze, confused. "How about it?" He asked, a sad smile on his face. "For old time's sake?"
Mary took his hand somewhat reluctantly. Henry lead her to the dance floor. She forced herself to meet his gaze and ignore everyone else— namely the woman in the white dress.
"So," he murmured slightly, after swaying to the music for a minute or so, "when shall we tell them?"
"Not until Tom and Lucy are on honeymoon," said Mary, the latter's name getting stuck in her throat. "We cannot steal their thunder."
"Are you sure?" There was almost a brusqueness to his voice. "If we do it now, Tom might still be able to get an annulment."
Mary stopped dancing. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean," Henry said casually, eyes landing on something behind Mary— probably the happy couple, she thought bitterly, "that if the marriage isn't consummated, I'm sure it would be easier for him now— and less painless for her, to have it broken off so soon."
Her jaw tightened. "Keep your voice down," she hissed, wondering how she could have ever deluded herself to believing she was in love with this man.
"Don't lie and say you haven't considered it, Mary. Not to me." Oddly enough, Henry's voice had no bitter edge, no resentment... only sadness. "It's clear to anyone with eyes... well, clear enough to me, at least." Mary could practically feel her heartbeat pulsing through her body. "You want to be with him."
She withdrew from him, oblivious to stares they had attracted. "Do you honestly think I would ever admit to loving a man who preferred someone else to me?" She asked lowly. It struck Mary as funny, in a perverse way; when she had spoken those very words to Richard Carlisle all those years ago, she had said them in order to keep him, even if it was only to keep her shameful secret— but with Henry, it was to escape him.
Mary left the dance floor, desperately needing to escape. She fled outside, to the very spot Matthew had proposed.
A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Mary leaned against the side of the house, closing her eyes and trying to calm her heart. With Matthew, she had been convinced she would never be happier. Now...
Now she was certain she would never be happy again.
The worst part is that she should be happy. She had a loving husband, children, and a fulfilling career. She should be happy.
But... she wasn't. She loved her children, but her last pregnancy had been a hellish experience that she did not wish to repeat. Numerous other estates had been falling under and the roof was leaking... and her loving husband had asked her for a divorce only last night.
A choked sob escaped her. Her life, was by all accounts, perfect... if only people knew how many nights she had spent crying herself to sleep. The past few years had only reminded Mary of how damaged she was, how no one in their right mind would want to be with her...
Edith despised her... and it was no wonder. Mary hadn't set eyes on her sister in years now, and in that time had grown to miss her. She sent a letter, once, full of apologies and regrets, but received no reply.
Henry had wanted more children. One last child, he had insisted, to complete their family. It had escalated to a full on fight which culminated in Mary declaring that she would rather die than go through another pregnancy as difficult as her last one.
But it wasn't just that. For years, Mary had been going through the motions. She was content, but never quite close enough to approach happiness.
And Tom... she had lost him now. If she were ever to voice such a thing to him (which she knew she never would) he would insist that nothing of the sort was true. But Mary knew better; he would have his new life to distract him.
The worst part is that Mary was almost confident if she had opened her eyes up sooner, she could have maybe had him to herself. She remembered feeling safe in his arms as he carried her up to the house, taking her to hospital. That moment in the hospital, when it was just the two of them alone, was the precise moment Mary had woken up and began to wonder if she had made an error in judgement— if maybe the man for her hadn't been in her life longer than she would be willing to admit.
Unfortunately, that seemed to be the same day Tom had given up on her. He spent more time at the shop, less time in the office, and made more frequent trips to London. Mary had grown to hate the sight of her office and the empty space that was meant to occupied by him. A month before she gave birth, Tom had proposed.
Mary heard the rain before she felt it. She blinked as the rain soaked her to the bone, uncaring. If she were an optimist, she might have gleefully thought of the myth about rain on one's wedding day... but Mary wasn't an optimist. Rain was just rain and Mary would never knew true happiness again.
When Mary finally came to, she found herself overwhelmed. Staggering in place, Matthew's hands reached out to hold her steady. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I should have expected it would be quite shock."
"Yes," Mary said, almost breathlessly. It was a shock... She had always suspected marrying Henry Talbot wouldn't have made her happy, but she never could have begun to predict how catastrophic it could be... nor how jaded and bitter she would become. "Well... I certainly don't feel any regret where that decision is concerned."
Matthew's hands left her. "I'm glad to hear it. There's no reason for you to feel guilty for not reciprocating his feelings. As you can see, you saved both him and yourself from a great deal of pain... as well as Tom."
Mary nodded. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she couldn't help but marvel that another version of herself had fallen in love with Tom as well. She'd always believed her love for Matthew was something written in the stars... maybe it wasn't so impossible to believe her and Tom were destined to be drawn to one another in that same way.
"Do you see now, my darling, how you have changed things for the better?" asked Matthew, sounding earnest.
Mary nodded. "I suppose I can see now some of what you see in me." She wasn't perfect; she knew that no matter how hard she tried, it would always be an impossible task, but all that mattered was that she was trying to be a good person.
He smiled. "You don't know how glad I am to hear that." He paused, before taking her hand again. "There's one last thing," said Matthew, smiling gently. "I can show you a glimpse into the future that you'll have if you decide to be with Tom."
Mary swallowed. If. Truthfully, Mary had already made her decision— but she hoped that what Matthew wanted to show her wouldn't deter her from it. "It won't be as painful as what I just saw, will it?"
Matthew shook his head. "Close your eyes." Mary obliged.
A steady stream of people spilled outside the theater, Mary and Tom amongst them, arm in arm. "Well," said Mary, looking pleased. "What did you think of it?"
"I liked it," admitted Tom as they passed by a sign. "Though for some reason I never thought comedies would be your sort of thing."
"Everyone needs a laugh every once in a while," she justified. As they walked down a sidewalk, she confessed, "It was Sybil's favorite play."
Tom nodded, something close to recognition on his face. "Somehow I'm not surprised. I can imagine she would like a play that allowed a girl to wear trousers."
Mary couldn't help but chuckle.
Tom continued on, "It was much better than Romeo and Juliet. I read it when I was in school and I didn't care for it."
"You don't?" Mary asked, arched an eyebrow. "I always thought it was rather poetic. The plot's somewhat idiotic, of course..."
Tom smiled, shaking his head. "Maybe so, but I don't like unhappy endings. The world is already so cruel... I'd rather watch things that remind me about the things that make life living." He turned to face her, an almost dreamy look in his eye.
Mary met his gaze. "So do I, my darling."
The pair kept walking down the sidewalk, now facing forward. "So what do you think of the name Viola?" Tom asked suddenly.
Mary blinked. "It's very pretty. Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"Perhaps you know me too well," Tom admitted before adding, "Mrs. Branson."
Her smile grew wider. "Don't forget it, Mr. Branson," she told him, unable to hide her amusement as they walked across the streets, the thin gold band on her finger seeming to shine even brighter.
"I think," Mary said quietly, once she had settled back into reality, "I prefer this version of things far more than all the others I've seen." No tears, no loneliness, no secrecy... just her and Tom, finally happy.
"I do as well. I want to see you happy, Mary. Don't forget that." Matthew took her hands in his own. "The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty about living your life, especially when you've spent so much time mourning me. It's time for you to come alive, my darling, and let yourself be free."
Tears streamed down Mary's face and she didn't bother to hide them. "I will always love you," she told him. "Loving him doesn't change that."
"I know," he told her, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss it. "Just as I will always love you." He reached out to wipe away her tears with his thumb. "Please let George know that I— that I love him so very much. He's going to grow up to be a wonderful man and I'm very proud of him." He was crying now as well. "You and Tom will do an excellent job raising him— I don't think I can express enough gratitude." He pressed a kiss on her cheek and she closed her eyes. "Goodbye, my darling."
"Goodbye," she whispered, knowing she couldn't bear to open up her eyes and find him gone as she had with Sybil. She heard a distant voice, miles away, calling out her name as everything seemed to fade away.