This one took me longer than I thought. I toyed around with a few scenarios, but in the end this one won out. I doubt I'll get one in before Christmas now. So, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.


Mary sat in her bed staring at the rain that was falling down the window. Although the curtains had been closed for her a short while previous, she had taken a moment to open them so she could watch the water run down the windowpane. It was soothing. Like small glistening orbs, they tracked downwards, following each other by a path set by the drops before. It had been a pleasant day, and it seemed that the weather had held off so she could show Carson and Mrs Hughes the reason why she had gone to that tree. It had been windy, and she could still hear the shrill of the wind as it tried to penetrate the home like an invading force, trying to chill the occupants. Even if it had, there was a roaring fire in her room, and she could feel the warmth from the flames even though she was sitting in her bed with the covers over her legs.

Since being home she had noticed that people were acting significantly different to their usual ways. Anna, whenever she was around, looked at her with a wide-eyed worry, like she was watching for any sign that Mary was about to break into pieces. It was her way of looking out for her, she knew that, but it had left her feeling mildly irritated. Before she had left her room she had asked Mary if there was anything that she needed, which was normal, but she had hovered longer as if she was waiting for something else. Everyone would get there with her eventually. It was like her to sometimes crave attention, but in this instance, she wanted to move forward in her own terms. It was understandable. It all was, and Mary needed to allow them their grace, no matter how hard it was.

A set of books had arrived in the late post that were from Carson, and she knew that it was going to be so she could choose one that she wanted to write down all of her favourite memories of Matthew in. There had been many different types, and it had taken her a short while to go through them and see which one she thought was the best fit. There were plain ones, decorated ones, and then there was on that sat at the back of the pile. It was a beautiful shade of light blue. When she had spotted it she had removed the others from on top of it and she had run her fingers over the top. It was embossed with an intricate pattern of flowers that laced around the edge like a frame. The spine had the same pattern, and she had realised that the colour reminded her of Matthew's eyes. It was silly, but she knew straight away that it was going to be the one. When she had opened it she could see that it was filled with thick smooth pages, and when she had run her fingers over them she could feel that they felt almost silk-like. It was expensive. Paper like that had to be specially made so it could reduce the resistance when writing. It was beautiful.

The book was propped open on her lap, a pen sitting idly in her hand, the pages blank as she sat thinking about the very first thing she wanted to put in there. It was like the opening of a movie, a prologue, it had to set the scene or precedent for the pages to follow. In her head, she had gone over various things that she thought might fit. The way he was, the things they had done or just a brief paragraph on why she loved him. It had been hard, and she had created sentences and lines in her mind that just didn't feel like they could justify the man that she had loved and lost. It needed to come from the heart and without thought. She had to speak the words her heart wanted to speak, and not the lines that her mind thought were fitting for such a book. It was hard, but she had to let go of her thoughts and write.

Taking in a deep breath, she gripped the pen in her hand and placed it onto the paper.

"Never a spirit so kind. Never a person so pure. My heart had lived behind a wall of stone before I loved you. Like the warmth of the sun on a spring day, you came and melted the ice that had kept me so stern for so long. You loved me with everything you had, and you made me into your Mary. We had a precarious start as we fumbled through our feelings, navigated through the societal conformity that pushed against us with force. You brought me to life, Matthew. With the eyes of an angel, you made my world new and bright. You showed me who I could be. I love you. I will always love you. I will make you proud and bring your son up in the way that you wanted. George will know you. I'll love you always, my darling Matthew. Until we meet again."

A stray tear fell down her cheek and so she used the back of her hand to wipe it away before focusing on her son's name on the paper. It had been a thought in her mind almost constantly since being home, and she had purposefully avoided him through fear of breaking down. Thinking about all of the conversations she had had with Carson over the days, and knowing she had to pull herself back from the brink because of her son, she had to see him. Matthew wouldn't delay, and she had to take this with a firm grasp.

Mary reluctantly climbed out of her bed, searching for her dressing gown as she did, knowing there would likely be a chill in the air when she walked down the corridor. Once located, she put it on and tied it tight before putting something on her feet. When she took the handle of the door to her room, she turned to look at the visible window and exhaled before inhaling and opening the door.

As she walked, step by step in the direction of the nursery, she kept her husband at the forefront of her mind. Tracing the outline of his face with her internal eye, seeing the warmth in his smile and gaze which kept her feet moving in the right direction. There were moments, although brief, where she felt the pull of her emotions driving her to move back to the place of comfort that her room had become. Then she would force an image or memory into the forefront of her mind and she drove on. Step by step. Breath by breath.

As she came to the partly opened door of the nursery, she turned to look down the eerily dark corridor, feeling the pull of her room all the way from where she was standing. It was like gravity. It told her she wasn't ready. It told her to return. Mary had to deny those thoughts with sheer determination. The easier options always fitted.

The warm orange light that seeped through the crack in the door spread down her body, highlighting the worried look on her face as she peered into the room beyond. There was a small figure shuffling around the room, and she knew that it was going to be Nanny. The small body casting shadows over her as she walked in front of the light source. Mary had to tell herself that it was not an excuse to turn around because the woman was going to be there regardless and was just something she would have to do something about. It would be simple. It was her house after all and her son was in there, so all she had to do was tell her to leave.

Mary held her breath, taking a minute to calm herself and focus on whatever she could see through the door, hoping that the gravity would change so that it would pull her into the room and not push her away.

"I'd like a moment with George please," Mary said quietly, her eyes fixated on the small crib that George still slept in as she entered the room.

"Yes, My Lady," Nanny said, picking up some things from the side. "I'm going to pop downstairs to get the children's menu in for tomorrow anyway. I'll be back in a short while."

Mary nodded, her feet stuck completely to the floor as if her shoes were made from marble. Then she watched as the door pulled to a near close behind her and she suddenly felt gripped with fear. The room was warm, but she felt cold and clammy. The room was silent aside from the fire, and yet the silence was deafening.

It took her a moment as she contemplated her move, building herself up so she could finally put to rest the fear she had of her own son. Then she moved towards the crib and reached out to take the metal railing. Inside she was trying with all of her might to pluck up the courage to lean over and peer at the child below. To peer at her son. The noise from her hammering heart became deafening and she felt, momentarily, as if she was stood on a rocking boat. When she lifted her hand she could see that it was shaking, and she had to mentally scold herself for being so worked up about seeing her own son. To anyone else, it would be ridiculous, but most people did not have demons controlling their movements. Then she pictured Matthew's face, confident and yet soft. She could do this. If not for her then for him.

Then she leant, carefully and slowly over the crib. The first thing she could see was a clenched fist with plump little fingers that were holding onto a blanket. The more she moved her head, the more she could see, and then she could see the blonde hair splayed out above his head. He didn't have much hair, and what he did have was fine and barely visible because of how blonde it was. The roundness of his young face showed his immaturity, but at the same time, she could see the spitting image of her husband facing up at the ceiling above. At first, Mary thought that he was asleep, but then she could see his eyelids flutter open. As a child and a boy at that, he had long dark eyelashes that encased his perfect blue eyes. It took him a moment and then he focused on her face and babbled and smiled up at her. Mary instantly burst into tears. Matthew.

George lifted his arms and waved at her. In his little mind, he must recognise her, or just be so inclined like his father to be happy even amongst strangers. The guilt coursed through her veins when she thought about the fact that she hadn't been able to be his Mother. In her own ignorance at the pit of despair, she had so easily brushed the child off as if he was nothing but an ornament of her grief. The boy, so pure and beautiful, was so much more than that. As plain as day he was the spitting image of his Father, genetically and in predisposition, he radiated Matthew in warm and soothing rays. It made perfect sense for her to push him away as she did. Through the weeks and months previously she had denounced anything that reminded her of Matthew. The pain consumed her breathe, her thoughts and everything that made her who she was. It forced her into a corner, crippled her personality and she had become a shadow of her normally domineering self. It seemed that he was more of a cure now. Now she knew she had to focus on him as Matthew would, she knew that he would soothe her as Matthew did. The piercing blue of his eyes, even now, searched hers for something and so she instinctively reached down to take him into her arms.

The rocking chair that sat nearby was obviously unoccupied, with a blanket hanging over the edge of the arm and so she leant down and picked it up so she could cover her legs when she sat down. The room wasn't cold, it never was, and was always the perfect temperature. The fire was on and it roared, the pops and cracks intermittently filling the air as the fire consumed the fuel that kept it going. Mary wondered to herself how she had managed when the fuel that had kept her going had gone. Maybe she was as strong as Carson had always said she had been?

When she sat down she sat him on her lap and faced him in her direction, and he smiled, his toothless grin taking over his face as he happily grinned at her. Taking her hand, she ran her fingers through his fine blonde hair, moving it to the side and flattening it so it lay neatly on his head. Then she took a moment to look at him from top to bottom. The light from the fire reflected from his eyes and she looked at his rosy cheeks. There was that infantile chubbiness to all of his appendages, but she marvelled at how he had grown. There was an image imprinted in her mind of the moment she first held him, and the way that Matthew had looked when he had also laid his eyes on his son. Since then it had been like she had been in a state where she hadn't taken anything in. Of course, he had grown, and she had seen him many times over the passing months and yet she hadn't realised just so much. The way that his face had slowly filled out, and the way he had started to take even more of Matthew's form in such a short while amazed her. There was an unmistakeable bubble of love that seemed to erupt from within her as if her eyes had just been opened for the very first time at the marvel that was maternal love. This boy was hers, he was half of her and half of Matthew and she had to do everything to keep him safe. Something twigged in her brain when she thought about how her Mama was sometimes with them, and it made perfect sense. The love of a parent was unmatchable. She loved this child with everything that she had, and the contact she had with him didn't seem enough. She wanted to keep him safe, protect him and love him with every fibre of her healing mind.

"I'm so sorry, my baby boy," Mary whispered, taking her arm to nestle behind him so she could hold him against her chest. "I should never have abandoned you as I did. You did not deserve such treatment because none of this is your fault." Mary sniffed and tilted her head so she could look at the ceiling, trying with all of her might to blink away the falling tears.

"But you see," she croaked, clearing her throat as she got more and more upset. "You remind me so much of your Papa," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him on his forehead. "And I know none of this means anything to you because you're just a baby, but I couldn't see over that. I couldn't get past that, and in turn, you became the very thing that I couldn't bear to look at."

Mary could feel the tears overflow from her eyes and she took her spare hand to wipe them away as quickly as she could. As she did she could feel the chair rock backwards and forward and so she fell into the rhythm, letting the chair soothe her as she did, reminding her to focus on keeping herself straight. "Your Papa was a wonderful man. He was kind. He was warm. He was beautiful." In her mind, she could picture the evening when he had asked her to marry him when they were outside in the snow. "We had our problems, but we navigated back to each other as people who are meant to be together do, I suppose. You were a product of our love which is a beautiful thing."

Baby George was peering up at her as she spoke, his eyes blinking slowly as he reacted to the gentle rocking of the chair and the warmth of his Mother's body. He let out a content noise as he took hold of the blanket in his hand and moved it up to his face as his thumb fell into his mouth. It was obvious that he was fighting sleep, intrigued by the soothing voice of his Mama. Even though she was speaking things that were painful to her, there was always a maternal connection to a voice. As if the noise from the womb transcended into his mind at an early age. They hadn't spent much time together since he had been born, but she still comforted him.

Mary rocked backwards and forward for a while, the tears never stopping completely as she spoke, her heart aching in her chest. "What you need to know, above all else, is that you are loved," she cooed softly as he nuzzled his little head into her body, finally succumbing to the inevitable sleep. "You are loved beyond the comprehension and expression of words. Your Papa loved you with everything that he had, and although he isn't here any longer, I will do everything that I can to teach you about him. I will do everything to show you who he was as a man. You'll be proud, I know you will when you finally understand. I hope," she paused to gently run her fingers over the now sleeping boys face. "I hope that you will forgive me."

The guilt itself burnt strong within her and she felt as if she needed to apologise over and over, like the words that she had spoken had not been enough. It made her feel nauseous to think that she had wanted to end her days and leave this precious bundle in a world without any parents. Mary knew that she could not help the way she had felt because she had been in the darkest pit that she had ever been in her entire life. It had not been rational. It had not been her. It was hard to stomach, knowing how hard it had been to keep herself in this world. Without Carson, she would have been nothing. Mary let out a gentle sob, crying hard but as silently as she could. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "So sorry."

It felt like it was the hardest apology she had ever had to give. Often in her life, she avoided apologies because it was rare that she was ever in the wrong. Matthew had been a big part in her change of view of the world and the impact of words. Inside she was still Mary Crawley, but a part of her had melted. Although the death of Matthew had reformed some of the ice that had defrosted through love, she knew that it wasn't forever. The loosening of her grief had begun to warm her again, and the spirit of Matthew coursed within her as it reminded her of what she was to him. Matthew's Mary was not just a person that lived in the presence of another. He had changed her, whether she had liked it or not, and she could see that now as she cradled her sleeping child against her.

The wind still howled outside, and she leant herself completely back into the chair, rocking herself and George as she felt the warmth from the fire lick at the skin that wasn't covered. Mary could feel sleep bite at her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she could feel herself drift off without something pulling her away. It reminded her of lying in bed with Matthew, the cares of her world dissipating with his sleepy breaths. Instead, she now focused on the sound of George's shallow sleepy breaths, and she let the sleep wash over her with a welcome sigh. Life was getting there. She was going to make Matthew and her son as proud as she could.


Cora snaked her hand behind Robert as he stood staring intently through the gap in the nursery door. Not a few minutes before he had noticed his daughter go in, and it had intrigued him because he knew that she had rarely spent any time with her son since he was born. A part of him wanted to make sure that she was doing well. Things had started looking up, and he had sensed her shift in being since she had been home. He still worried a little though, because he felt like there was a part of the puzzle that was missing as if he had been placed on the outskirts to keep him happy. In his mind, he liked the lack of knowledge. All he wanted, regardless of why she had done what she had, was for her to be better and be well. That's all he had ever wanted was for his daughter's to be happy. He knew that Mary had been given the pressure of the estate on her shoulders, and out of all of his daughters she had taken more of a burden than he had wished to give out. It was inevitable, and with the inclusion of Matthew, he thought that he was going to be able to ease that. The loss of that darling boy had shaken them all. And it seemed as if a new burden had graced his beautiful daughter's mind.

Cora had spotted him standing down the corridor, and she had curiously come up to see what was happening. "My love?"

"I just saw Mary come in here. It intrigued me. I know she has kept little George at arm's length since Matthew passed. I know it's understandable, the lovely thing is a reminder of Matthew through and through. I've caught myself looking at him and it's uncanny, especially the eyes." Robert took her hand that was settled on his hip.

"I think she has needed to do this. I think she needs to give her son some attention so she can get over that hurdle." Cora rested her head on his shoulder.

"My darling," Robert paused to turn his head. "I have a feeling that you know more than I about the full extent of our daughter's grief. I'm a proud man, and I love my daughters beyond words. If you do know, I don't need to know unless it's paramount. I just want her better. I want Mary back."

Cora nodded her head and peered through the gap in the door as best she could. "I know you do. We all want that. I honestly think she is nearly over the line."

They could both hear Mary beyond the door, speaking her truths and crying as she did. Cora could see that her husband was getting upset, and she held his hand tightly. "I'm wondering whether I should go in and comfort her?" Cora whispered.

Robert shook his head. "No. I think this is something that we need to let her do herself. I shielded her from so much for so long, but this, this is something her heart has to do alone. It'll help her. I may have been ignorant before about it, but I feel that we know what to look for with her."

"I suppose," Cora said, feeling her daughter's pain seeping through the crack in the door. It was drawing her in, telling her to go in and soothe her daughter's unhappiness. Rather than do so, she turned to wrap her arms around Robert so she could seek comfort in his broad body, her head nestling against him as she felt him draw her closer. "All of this has been a nightmare."

Robert kissed the top of Cora's head. "I know, my darling. I know. I feel that we are getting there though. She knows that we are all here for her, but I think that she has come a long way in herself. She has a light behind her eyes now. A light that has been extinguished for so long."

For a few moments, they held each other as they listened to Mary's words seeping through from beyond in the nursery. It hurt them both to hear her unhappy, but there was also a cathartic nature there because Mary was showing that she wanted to do right by George. As any parent would. As they would. And then the room grew silent, and Cora pulled away from her husband so she could peer through the gap in the door again.

"Oh, Robert," she whimpered, turning to look at him. "Just look at them."

Robert stepped forward and peered over his wife's head, looking to see what it was that she was instructing him to see. Mary was sat on the rocking chair completely asleep, her mouth open just a little as she snoozed with her son nestled against her. The young boy's thumb was firmly in his mouth and he had most of his body turned against Mary as he felt comfort from her body. For the first time in a while, their daughter looked at peace, as if the creases of worry and guilt had evaporated with the touch of her son. "If I had a camera I would take a photo," Robert said, his voice filled with pride and contentment. "But I'll have to use my mind instead."

Cora reached out to take his hand and squeezed it. "Let's go to bed," she said quietly. "Let's leave them to rest. We can let Nanny know to not disturb them for a while."

"Yes," he agreed, turning to move into the corridor with his hand still wrapped around hers. "Oh, my darling," he sighed. "We have been through a lot, haven't we?"

Cora grimaced and nodded her head. "We have. But we will get there, Robert. We always do."

"And there is no woman that I would rather have by my side," Robert smirked.

"And that's where I will always be, my darling," Cora whispered, moving to plant a small kiss on his cheek. "And that is where I will always be."