A/N: Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! I appreciate them all immensely!
The Lady in Black
Chapter Seven
Branson's day off came and went with little fanfare apart from the departure of Evelyn and Charles. She was surprised by how glum she was to see the latter go. He had managed to grow on her during his stay... and he wasn't a terribly persistent suitor, either, which made him more palatable to her tastes than Evelyn.
Mary walked herself to the cemetery that morning, taking advantage of the summer sunshine and planning to pay a visit to Isobel afterward to see how she was getting on. She told Matthew about Charles and his kindness towards their son. "I'm not looking for someone to replace you," she emphasized... because how could she? Matthew had been someone who had, despite her own intentions, consumed her mind since he came to Downton. Even when she didn't want to think about him, he was there. And he was still there. "But I don't know if I like the idea of spending the rest of my life alone."
It was a frightening thing to admit, even in a cemetery where no one save for the chirping birds could hear her, but it was nevertheless significant. "I don't know if I'll ever marry again," she told him, "but I do feel dreadfully lonely without you, my darling. And perhaps— perhaps it would be good, for George." That part seemed hardest to say; it was one thing to talk about potentially being open to a suitor, another entirely to contemplate having some sort of male figure in his life... especially when she knew Matthew would have been the best father. She didn't necessarily agree with what her mother had said all those months ago but she didn't like the idea of being her son's only influence in life.
"But please don't think it's easy for me. I know it won't be. I've only ever loved you. I don't even know if I know how to love anyone else," Mary said. It was sentimental talk for her, but she was alone with Matthew. She knew there was to be no judgement for speaking her feelings so plainly, not like with the others. "And maybe I never will. But... perhaps I could try."
"So," Mary said the following morning, suppressing her own dislike for Miss Bunting and reminding herself that Branson did like her and she needed to play nice, "how was your date yesterday?" Before his day off, he had seemed unable to talk of anything else.
"It was nice." There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Mary tried not to gloat. She was pleased if this meant he was going to throw the woman over and find someone worthier of him. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you."
"That sounds ominous," said Mary blithely, ignoring the lurch in her stomach at that vague statement. He hadn't proposed to Miss Bunting, had he? If she had consent to allow Miss Bunting to live in the chauffeur's cottage, as his wife, Mary felt she might become apoplectic.
"When we were in Thirsk... I saw Lady Rose."
Mary blinked. That was his big news? It came as rather a relief, compared to horrors Mary had been imagining. "Yes, I knew that. She was shopping."
"No," Branson said, shaking his head, "she was not shopping. She was meeting a man. I saw her as she reached up to stroke his cheek."
Mary's eyes widened ever so slightly, but her features soon rearranged themselves into her usual, nonchalant expression. She wasn't surprised, not really. It was like Rose to do this. "Oh, golly. Who is it this time?" Trust her cousin to find yet another suitor... though Mary supposed she was hardly one to talk.
Branson hesitated before saying, "It was Jack Ross— the singer with the band who came up for your father's party."
Mary didn't react, simply gazing at her lap and trying to process things. So... They were still carrying on. Mary supposed she shouldn't have underestimated Rose's ability to engage in a long-term, secret love affair. After all, Matthew had told her about that married friend of Shrimpie's she had been carrying on with in London. "I see."
"He's the man you were talking about that one time, isn't he?"
"He is," Mary said with a sigh. "Thank you for telling me, Branson. I see I'll need to sort things out."
"So you'll make her break with him?" He sounded incredulous.
Mary sighed through her nose. "Of course I will. I have to."
"Why? What for?"
Mary simply settled for giving him what she hoped was an appeasing smile. "I know you don't agree with our way of doing things, but I surely you must know that it would never be permitted amongst our sort of people." There were too many factors working against them for them to even thinking of making a proper go of it. Mary rather liked Mr. Ross and had no objections on a personal level— but she knew her family and she knew their world too well to think it could ever work, even if it was something serious... which, given Rose's flightiness, she assumed it was not.
"I know that," said Branson, a little agitated. "But you didn't seem so concerned about it when you caught them together the first time. What's changed?"
"I didn't realize she would actually carry on with him," said Mary, brushing it off with a defensiveness. "In any case, I know it will reflect badly for her and us if we let her get away with it."
"And suppose she loves him?"
"I don't see how she could," said Mary. She supposed her cousin's phone calls and excuses to visit London were all to spend time with him, but how well could they know each other, really? At any rate, she hadn't thought things through and was merely nursing an infatuation.
"I didn't take you as someone with prejudices."
His tone was unusually harsh. Mary's jaw nearly dropped. She supposed it was testament to their peculiar friendship that he not only did he feel he could talk to her in such a manner, but that she wasn't flying off the handle at his accusation. "I don't! I think Mr. Ross is a perfectly nice man. His race isn't of consequence to me."
"So what is the problem?"
"Shrimpie might not agree with me and Susan most definitely won't." Cousin Susan could be a miserable old cow, even in the best of times. Mary hadn't forgotten the way she helped spread the rumors of Mr. Pamuk throughout London. "In any case, she's young. What does she know about love?" Mary certainly hadn't known anything about it when she was twenty.
"I was younger than she was when I fell in love the first time," he pointed.
She briefly recalled that conversation, back in those early days, and fired back, "You said yourself you don't even know if it really was love. I doubt sincerely doubt Rose does, either."
"I'm flattered you remember."
What did he mean by that? Nevertheless, Mary could hear the faint traces of sarcasm and could feel her temper skyrocket. How was it that he knew how to push her buttons? It was that mounting pressure that made her come out with, "Look, Branson, theres no sense making me out to be a villain in all this. I'm only trying to protect her and my family from scandal. She has been entrusted in our care by her parents and if she runs away with a Mr. Ross before she has even been presented in court, it will reflect very badly on the rest of us!"
"So you don't think her happiness matters? Because she is a lady and he is beneath her in the eyes of society?" He challenged.
Mary took in a deep breath. "I admire that you take such an optimistic view of the world, Branson. Truly, I do. But I'm not quite convinced Lady Rose could be happy with the sort of life Mr. Ross could hope to offer her."
Branson scoffed. "You think me optimistic, but I'm not sure many people would agree. We live in a cruel world and I acknowledge that. But I also believe that sometimes sacrifice is needed for a world worth having... and just because youwouldn't be willing to give up your wealth and splendor doesn't mean Lady Rose would."
Something inside her snapped once he singled her out. He didn't understand! "I'm not thinking about myself! I am thinking about my entire family! If she does this, we will all be tarnished by association! I've been married before, but Edith and Sybil still haven't, and I won't let their lives be ruined because Rose wants to throw hers away! I won't let the legacy of Downton be ruined for my son because I stood by and did nothing when I knew full well that I could stop it!" She was growing steadily furious, especially when she caught a glimpse of his cool gaze in the rear view mirror. His blue eyes were like ice, unfeeling and imperious, such a difference from what she knew. "I may not know anything about your world, but you certainly know nothing about mine. You don't know how devastating it is like having a scandal dangling over your head and having doors slammed shut in your face."
"No," said Branson tightly. "I don't. And I never will because those doors were never open for me in the first place."
There was something about the way he said it, a sort of condescension that made her bristle. Still, Mary held her tongue. She didn't want to argue with him anymore about all this. Still, the anger festered inside her and she felt the pressure increasing in her forehead. She was not looking forward to the evening ahead of her.
Still, deciding to try and smooth things over, she addressed him when he helped her out of the car. "Thank you for telling me about this, Branson. I know you and I won't see eye to eye about this, but I'm glad you decided to tell me about it at any rate."
"Well, at least one of us is glad, milady," he replied tersely, more guarded than she was used to. "Because I'm very much regretting it."
She blinked, shocked by his bald honesty. Branson didn't give her much time to react or respond before he climbed back into the car, not sparing her a second glance as he left her behind, indignant and fuming.
"But why not?"
Mary was unfazed by her younger cousin's petulance. She had summoned Rose up to her room after dinner, perfectly calm and told her what she knew. "Surely you can understand that it will never work."
"But why shouldn't it?" demanded Rose, face flushing. "I love him, Mary! I want to marry him!"
"I'm sure you think you do."
Rose actually stomped her foot. "Honestly, you can be so disappointing!" Her voice grew so shrill that Mary was almost confident that only Isis could hear her.
"Do you honestly think your parents would allow it? You're not old enough to marry without their permission yet, anyway." Before Rose could speak again, Mary questioned, "How do you think it would reflect on us, if you were to run off with some bandleader under our care?"
"I don't care! I'll wait for him if I have to!" exclaimed Rose, face screwing up. She actually looked as though she might cry. "He's so kind and wonderful and... and when I'm with him, I feel like I'm the beautiful girl in all the world."
Mary couldn't help but feel uneasy. It was quite poetic talk... and certainly she remembered how radiant she felt under Matthew's affectionate gaze. As if she were the only girl in the world... "I'm sure you do," she answered. "And I'm very sorry if you think I'm trying to hurt you, because I'm not. All I want is your happiness."
"If you want that, then there is nothing to object to!" exclaimed Rose.
"But you aren't being reasonable," Mary carried on, as if she hadn't spoken.
"You're the one being unreasonable!" Rose burst out. "If Cousin Sybil were here—"
"Well, Sybil isn't here. You're stuck with me and I'm not going to let you do this." Rose glared at her, anger simmering in her eyes. Mary let out a sigh. Rose, in so many ways, was more like a much younger sister than a cousin and Mary didn't want to earn her hatred. "You haven't thought things through."
"You don't know what we have discussed and what we haven't! You don't know anything about what it is like with us!"
"Oh really? So have you considered the fallout that will occur when your parents discover that Mama and Papa let their youngest daughter elope with someone they do not approve of?" Rose said nothing, so Mary continued, "Have you thought about what will happen to Edith and Sybil's reputations? Have you discussed where you'll live?" Silence. "Have you thought about the fact you won't be able to go dress shopping and seeing all your friends? You'll not be allowed to do the Season or any of it. Your life will be entirely different."
Rose sniffled. It was then Mary realized her younger cousin was crying. "But I love him."
Mary sighed again. "Love isn't always enough."
"But why can't it?" Rose was wiping tears away from her eyes. "And besides, what would you know? You were married to Matthew and he was the heir of the estate. You found love and position in the same man! What about for those of us who only find the one part that matters?"
Mary thought of Aunt Rosamund urging her to wait before accepting Matthew to find out if Mama's baby was to be a boy and her own insistences that she wasn't sure she wanted to wait that long... that she wouldn't mind being the wife of a middle class lawyer, as long as that middle class lawyer was Matthew. She remembered the regret that burned in her as she wept at the garden party, watching him walk away, wishing she had the courage to tell him about Mr. Pamuk and just accepted him. But she pressed on. "There would be a scandal. A big one. And it wouldn't affect just affect you, but the entire family. We would all be ridiculed."
"Why do you care so much what other people think?" Rose asked, tearful and sounding broken hearted. "Why can't you understand that I want to be with him?"
"Because I don't believe you're seeing things clearly. I believe your judgement has been clouded and while I don't blame you, I'm afraid that your affair with Mr. Ross must come to an end." She waited a beat before asking, "Do you want to tell him or shall I?"
Rose shook her head. "You can't. You can't go about making decisions for me and my life!"
"Then either send him a letter, call him on the phone, or pay him a visit to tell him that it is over, or I will do it for you."
"Suppose I run away with him? Suppose I get pregnant? Then I'll have to marry him and you can't do anything about it!" Rose sounded almost triumphant, pleased with the conclusion she had drawn.
Rather than appearing horrified by her cousin's suggestion, Mary furrowed her brows and shook her head slowly. "Please don't do that to him, Rose. If you love him as you claim you do, you wouldn't do that to him, not when people can be so horrid to a man like him." She could already see Susan insisting Rose had been raped and involving the police... and the law would skew in her favor. Though the scandal Rose would bring on their heads was monumental, Mary was willing to bet it would be more devastating for Mr. Ross should things take an unpleasant turn. "This is as much for his good as yours, Rose."
Rose was weeping now, shoulders shaking. Mary felt sorry for her. "I can't do that to him," she managed to choke out.
Mary sighed. "Very well. I'll see to it myself."
"Don't. Please," begged Rose.
Mary didn't want to be harsh with her. Obviously Rose felt this very deeply. "Go to bed," she instructed her with as much kindness as she could muster. Rose left the room with slumped shoulders and a resigned posture, still crying softly. Mary stared at her now closed door before ringing for Anna.
Mary arranged a trip for London the following day, a quick trip that she offhandedly mentioned to Papa and him alone. She figured Rose might try to stop her otherwise and she couldn't deal with another row. She instructed Branson take her to the station after she visited Matthew that morning. He drove her there in silence.
It agitated Mary. It was hard to believe there had been one point where this had been the norm for them. In fact, she rather missed hearing him chattering about some inane bit of gossip from the servant's hall or telling her about his brother or imparting advice about sheep... She would even welcome a story about his date with the loathsome Miss Bunting right about now.
But she didn't say a word. She was stubborn too and she wouldn't let him know that this silence was bothering her. She stared out the window, biting back sarcastic remarks.
When she found herself at Matthew's grave, she tried to explain herself. "You know as well I do it's a bad idea. We had enough problems as it is, and that was when we loved one another and everyone wanted us to be together. What chance could they stand in a world that wants to pry them apart?"
Truth be told, it was hard to imagine what her beloved husband might say in response to that. Being welcomed into the fold of a great, noble family had changed him from the man he had been when he arrived. He understood the way things were meant to be done and had developed a sense of honor when it came to the family... but at the same time, he had never forgot his humble beginnings. Furthermore, he had always been much more of a romantic than she had, spinning her stories about how he truly believed they were fated for one another, about how she was the second half of his soul... he'd said these things so often that she started to believe them. Perhaps he would balk at the idea of her splitting apart young love.
But Mary, as romantic as Matthew had sometimes made her, was a pragmatist at heart and she needed to protect the ones she loved from her cousin's folly. So she wished her husband farewell and started back to the motor and Branson.
The chauffeur continued to give her the silent treatment on the way to station. He only broke it when he helped her out and asked, "What time will you be due back?"
"I'm not sure. I'll telephone the house before I depart King's Cross. At any rate, I'll be back by evening."
"You're going there to break it off, then?" asked Branson, obviously disapproving.
"Yes."
"Shouldn't it be Lady Rose? She's very nearly a grown woman." Honestly, if Mary didn't know any better, she would suspect her cousin and the chauffeur were in a cahoots.
"Well, she isn't yet. And until she is, I'll do what I have to in order to protect her and the family." She was ready to march to the platform when something stopped her. She steadied herself before saying, "I know you don't agree with me and as I said yesterday, I know you don't understand. But these things must be dealt with practically."
"But why must they? Why can't how one feels play a part in it? Especially when we're talking about love."
Had Mary been more in control of herself, she would have realized that arguing with her chauffeur at the station was something that could easily draw attention to herself... but she didn't. "Look, if you don't mind making a fool of yourself and want to make a mess of your life, that's your concern," she snapped. "But there are certain things expected of women like Lady Rose and myself. There are rules that must be followed."
"But who says she wants to live by those rules anymore? What if he matters more to her than anything wealth and position can offer her?"
"I'm not going to stand around and argue with you about this any longer," Mary resolved, frustration nearing its breaking point. "I have a train to catch." She marched away, utterly furious.
Mr. Ross, as it turned out, had doubts of his own. His concerns were similar to hers, knowing an interracial marriage could bring forth ugliness from others and he didn't want Rose to suffer any of that. She was relieved when he told her that he planned on breaking it off with Rose gently. "I won't even tell her you were here," he said with a sigh.
"Thank you," Mary said, uncertain if she would bother pretending or not. Rose had to know by now where she had gone and she certainly would if Mr. Ross called her to break things off.
He glanced down at the table. "Could I see her one last time? To say goodbye to her properly?"
Something about the look in his eyes when he spoke of Rose made Mary's heart ache. If she had known at the hospital when she was speaking to Matthew that it would be the last time, she would have made the most of it. "I think I could allow that, yes. But I urge you not to do anything foolish... and don't let her try anything rash," she added, thinking of Rose's declaration that she would get pregnant. She had no doubt Mr. Ross was an honorable man but she expected most young men would be tempted, especially if Rose was eager enough.
"I won't," Mr. Ross said sadly, "Just a chance to say goodbye."
Mary nodded. She rose to her feet, figuring her business here was over.
"It doesn't mean I think it's right," Jack said, drawing her attention back to him. "I wouldn't give in if we lived in even a slightly better world."
"It may surprise you, Mr Ross, but if we lived in a better world, I wouldn't want you to." If the consequences of Rose's romance weren't so severe, Mary would readily accept him as a worthy suitor for her. He certainly loved her and was a good man... but unfortunately the world they lived in wasn't ready for that yet.
When Mary called Mama from King's Cross, she was shocked to learn of the developments taking place at the house since her departure that morning. "Gone? What do you mean?"
"Your Grandmama said that Harold needed his help. He's managed to get himself tangled up in some scandal and they believe the influence of an English lord on their side will be beneficial."
Mary supposed that made sense. She knew that nobody would give a fig about her ideas for the estate unless they knew it was coming from Lady Mary Crawley. Something about titles impressed people... and considering Americans had no nobility at all, all the better. Mary remembered Sybil's earlier letters, marveling at how shocked the new friends she made were to learn she was a lady.
"So he's gone, then?"
"He left this morning with Barrow."
"Not Bates?"
"Apparently he didn't want to leave Anna behind. He's still a bit protective after the ordeal with Lord Gillingham's valet."
He won't have to worry if Branson's there, she almost said before stopping herself. Why was she thinking about Branson? "I take it he'll see Sybil?"
"Of course." Mama sighed, sounding envious. "I would have gone along, only there's the bazaar to plan. I don't know how we'll manage it without your father..."
Mary allowed Mama to chatter on for a while before cutting her off so she could board her train in time.
Mary couldn't help but be disturbed by Branson's reticence after he picked her up at the station. He had greeted her, albeit curtly, and told her that he expected they would return in time for the gong. Apart from that, he remained silent.
It disturbed Mary, how much she disliked Branson avoiding her. This was the way things were supposed to be— this was the way they had been before. She ought to be used to this; it was hardly as if she struck up conversations with James as he helped her with her dinner. Why should be Branson be any different?
But the simple fact was that Branson was different— to her, at least.
Maybe it was this odd irritation or the long train ride, but Mary found herself fed up and argumentative. "There's no need to give me the silent treatment, you know," she said with narrowed eyes as she seethed in the backseat. "Mr. Ross was already planning on ending things."
"Was he really?" Branson asked sarcastically. It was clear he was unconvinced.
"Why the disbelief?"
"If you had seen them together in the tea shop, you'd have a hard time believing a man as in love as he is would just give up on her if the idea wasn't placed in his head."
"Well, he was." With some spite, she added, "And perhaps it's because he loves her that he feels the need to end things. Unlike you, Mr. Ross doesn't live in fairy-land where everyone does as they please with no thought of the consequences."
Branson actually laughed, which only angered her even more. "I'm the one living in fairy-land?" Before she could explain herself, he said, "You're the one who lives in a fancy house and has everything she wants within arms reach. Not everyone is as lucky or as fortunate as yourself... certainly not me."
"I may be lucky in that respect, but you're very wrong if you think life has always been easy for me. You simply don't understand the burden of what being a woman is like, let alone a woman born into a life like mine." She thought of all the times she had been passed over in favor of male relations, how many times she had been flung at wealthy bachelors, how the slightest bit of scandal had turned her world upside down. "Being allowed to live in a place like Downton and ease in that respect is one of the few advantages to a life like ours... and I won't let Rose just toss it away."
"Believe it or not, there are worse things in the world than not living somewhere like Downton Abbey. Us lowly serfs find a way to get by, no matter how pitiful you might find us."
"Don't make me out to be some sort of snob," snapped Mary, affronted. "You're putting words in my mouth." When he didn't have any sarcastic retort to that, Mary quickly sought to regain the upper hand. "You're right. There are worse things. But can you honestly see my cousin content with living a flat in London, probably not a very nice one, keeping house? A life where she can't go shopping or see her friends? One where people will treat her poorly just because of the man she had married?"
"I'm not saying it would be easy. I know it would be very hard for her," Branson replied tightly. "But I also don't see what sort of a life she could live without love."
"She'll get over it," Mary said brusquely, more dismissively than intended. Truth be told, she was weary of discussing this subject with him. She wanted things to return to normal. "She's young. She'll find someone else."
Branson scoffed. "Yes. Your family will shove her off onto some old codger with a title and some money because none of you believe she could be happy unless she was living at some other version of Downton Abbey." His words conjured images of Sir Anthony Strallan, seated beside her at dinner, droning on and on about agriculture, something that once upon a time hadn't interested her in the slightest; now she spent hours pouring over books about it.
Mary narrowed her eyes. "Things are different now from what they were when I was her age. She'll have a say. She'll fall in love with someone else easily." She already had a propensity for becoming infatuated with any handsome gentleman who paid her the slightest bit of attention; Mary had no doubts in her mind that Rose would soon come to see her preoccupation with Mr. Ross for what it was when she was older and wiser.
Branson scoffed. "Yes. Because I'm sure that's worked so well in your experience."
Mary couldn't believe he had just said that. She blinked, stunned, before saying, "That is not the same thing. Mr. Crawley and I were truly in love. I am astonished you would bring it up."
"I just don't think it is fair when you dismiss Lady Rose's feelings for Mr. Ross so easily."
"Look, I don't want to discuss this matter with you anymore," Mary said, starting to feel pressure near her forehead. "You just have to accept that it is done and over with."
"Very well, milady." Mary's eyes narrowed at his tone. "And what else must I do, since I'm to have no opinion and do your every bidding?"
The reminder this was just his job hurt more than it ought to. It made her wonder if she saw it as some sort of duty, to talk and listen to her cares and concerns, same as driving the car. Did he even like her? Or was he merely entertaining her? Right now it felt like the latter.
"Just take me home," Mary said, though she herself realized it was superfluous, given how close they were to the house. She could already see the tower of the house peeking overtop the dense trees. It was her own bruised feelings that made her add, a touch too emotionally, "And if that's how you feel about me, then I won't bother you anymore with my problems."
Silence met her from the front seat. Mary was a little more stung by that than any of the caustic words he had hurtled at her. He wasn't even fighting it... Clearly she was the only one who felt their conversations held any value.
Mary didn't bother looking at him when she climbed out of the car, though she did mutter a, "Thank you, Branson," before walking inside, a strangely hollow feeling now residing within her as she felt a prickling behind her eyes.
Charles's arrival to Downton that very evening so soon after his initial leaving surprised Mary a great deal. "I wanted to make things perfectly clear where I stand," he said with a smile. Before she could say anything about Matthew or uncertainty about being ready yet, he quirked one eyebrow and said, "That I am looking forward to helping your family with their bazaar."
She narrowed her eyes, giving him a disapproving look, which she was willing to bet didn't look so severe as she gave him a smile. "Well, we'll certainly welcome an extra set of hands."
Having Charles there was wonderful distraction, at any rate. Her fight with Branson still troubled her, illogical as it was. Mary only tried to remind herself that she wasn't supposed to be nearly so friendly with him in the first place and that perhaps it was best to take a step back.
However, when Charles wasn't there to keep her mind off things, Mary was unusually sullen as Anna dressed her for dinner that evening. "Is everything alright, milady?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Anna," Mary assured her.
"I only thought you would be happier Mr. Blake is back."
"I am glad," Mary insisted. "He's a very nice man." Realizing Anna wouldn't be satisfied with these paltry explanations, she decided to be honest. "I'm concerned with Lady Rose."
Anna's eyebrows furrowed. "Lady Rose? Whatever for?"
Mary told her everything then, realizing midway through she really ought to have done this sooner. Anna had proven herself time and time again to be trustworthy and usually her advice was sound. That had been part of her mistake, Mary noted, confiding such personal matters to Branson. It should have been Anna she spoke to all along regarding this. She couldn't believe she had been so foolish as to offload so many matters onto him when Anna was the clear candidate... especially when he obviously didn't even like her. Still, Mary didn't linger on that, simply relaying the facts to Anna.
"You think I did the right thing, don't you?" Mary found herself asking her maid. "For her and for the family?"
"Of course you did," Anna assured Mary, adding more pins to her hair. "I think you're right that Lady Rose wouldn't adjust well to that sort of a life."
Somehow that didn't settle her mind at ease. "Would you tell me if you disagreed?"
"Of course, milady," Anna responded with a frown. "Are you having second thoughts?"
Mary hesitated before shaking her head. She didn't. "No. Besides, Mr. Ross told me himself he was already planning to end things." Still, she wish she could dislodge that oddly guilty feeling inside her. She cursed Branson; clearly this was his fault. His staunch defense of Rose had clearly caused her to doubt herself. And Mr. Ross's mournfulness when he spoke of ending it, Rose's tears...
But Mr. Ross knew it was an impossible situation and was taking it into his own hands. Mary hadn't even needed to do anything. So she oughtn't blame herself, not when he was already doing the sensible thing.
Still, that lingering doubt and the guilt festered at her all evening. Charles, who had at first proved a distraction, was no longer adequate in taking Mary's mind off of things. All she could think about was her argument with Branson. It did seem a touch hypocritical, especially when she knew Charles was below her. Nevertheless, there weren't any of the other complications...
She wondered why it bothered her so much. After all, it was obvious Branson didn't even like her... he had made that obvious to her. She wondered why he had tolerated listening to her for all these months when he even care about what she had to say. Perhaps he had pitied her... which was somehow even worse.
It wasn't until after dinner that Mary briefly excused herself to get some air outside. The discussion in the drawing room had been consumed by the preparations for the bazaar and Mary needed a moment to herself. It was dark out though there were only a handful of stars twinkling in the nights sky. Mary leaned against the door, appreciating the coolness of the stone, even though it wasn't a warm night.
"You don't have to walk me home," an oddly familiar female voice said.
Mary's brow furrowed. Who was that? She planned on standing where she was, to see who it was, until she heard a familiar Irish brogue say, "Just to the end of the drive then."
Oh, God... it was Branson and Miss Bunting! For reasons completely indescribable to Mary, she felt rather embarrassed by the idea of seeing either of them at present. Mary hid behind the place where the front door jutted out as Branson and Miss Bunting rounded the corner. Their shadows revealed they were holding hands, standing quite close.
"I think you're becoming a real hero to Daisy. She talks about nothing but you."
Miss Bunting chuckled. "And what about you? Do you talk about me, too?"
"Of course."
Something in Mary twisted at that.
"Well, I'm glad to know I've made an impact on her life. I hate the thought of her stuck being a servant and serving the likes of the blessed Lady Mary the rest of her life," Miss Bunting said, tone seeped with unmistakable disdain. A beat later, she said, "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Of course there's nothing wrong with being a servant."
"No. There isn't." Branson paused. "But you're right. There is more to life than that." Mary was trying not to feel hurt when Branson added, with some firmness, "But you shouldn't be so unkind. There's more to Lady Mary than meets the eye."
They stopped walking. Mary could see their silhouettes, stagnant. "I am sorry for her," acquiesced Miss Bunting, which only made her temper flare. If there was anything Mary hated, it was being pitied. "I'm sorry she lost her husband. From what everyone has said, he seems like he was a decent man. But she acts so superior every time I've dealt with her."
"You've only met her the once." Mary was surprised by the unrelenting disgruntlement in his voice.
"You mean you don't hate her?"
"No. I don't." Mary's mouth fell open. "I'm not a hater. I don't hate anyone, and certainly not Lady Mary. I know you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but she's a lovely person once you get to know her."
Miss Bunting made an odd noise as Mary felt an odd but not unpleasant in her stomach after his pronouncement. "You don't sound much like a socialist."
"I don't believe in types. I believe in people. And I don't see how the world can move forward if you hang onto resentments just because of the sort of life someone in born into. What good does that do anyone?"
Miss Bunting let out a laugh. "You're a strange man, Mr. Branson," she said, and they resumed walking.
"That doesn't exactly sound like a compliment," he retorted and she laughed again.
"No, I suppose it doesn't, but it was meant as one." Their voices soon became too faint to hear and Mary paid it no mind.
I don't hate anyone... certainly not Lady Mary. He had spoken it as if it were an incomprehensible notion to him. It seemed she had been incorrect; Branson did like her after all. All the melancholy surrounding her had vanished in that instant. Still, she couldn't help but wonder how he could just say it sort effortlessly, without a second thought, even when he had made his displeasure with her known.
And then... She's a lovely person. It almost seemed a bit... poetic. Flowery. More than she was used to from Branson. While lovely didn't really mean anything, it seemed a strange adjective for Branson to use to describe her. She wouldn't bat an eye if Evelyn or Charles used it... but Branson...
Sensing she was about to contemplate the absurd, Mary gathered up her wits and went back inside the house, now that the danger of Branson and Miss Bunting was gone.
"There you are!" Charles greeted her almost immediately upon reentering the house. "Your mother was sending me out to see if you were alright."
"Of course I am. I just needed a moment. I'm a little tired out from my trip to London, that's all," she said.
Charles cocked his head to the side, not looking totally convinced. "Are you sure? You seem a bit flushed."
Flushed? How could that be? "I'm perfectly alright," she insisted. "Now how far into the planning are we?"
It was hard, play acting as though she were still cross with Branson in the morning when she met him out front, but Mary carried it off well enough. All night the conversation she had overheard troubled her and she had so many questions she wanted to ask him... but at the same time, she didn't want him to know she had overheard his private discussion with Miss Bunting. So she retained that artificial sense of formality (which she grudging reminded herself was the way things were supposed to be, if done properly) and shoved down any urges to ask him about just what he meant by calling her lovely.
Mary was unsurprised when, in the morning, Branson started off with, "I want to apologize, milady. I think I may have given you the wrong impression."
It took a great deal of effort not to smile. She raised one eyebrow and said, "Oh?" in what she knew what very haughty tone.
"You said... you seem to think I dislike you."
"Well, don't you?" she asked. Then, quickly finding a way to finagle in one of her many questions, "Don't you dislike all people like me?"
Branson shook his head. "No. I don't dislike you at all. In fact, I respect you and your family a great deal." He swallowed. "I've given a great of thought to what you said."
"Have you?" Now she was really interested. She had no idea what specifically he was referring to.
"I understand why you had your concerns. There's a lot working against a marriage between two people like them," answered Branson. He had no idea how relieved she was to hear him say that; finally, they were on the same page again.
Mary nodded. Then, feeling as though she should meet him partway, "You know, Mr. Ross said something that rather stuck with me. He said that if we lived in a slightly better world, he wouldn't be giving up on her." Branson looked up at her. "And I told him that if we did, I wouldn't want him to." She straightened her shoulders before saying, "It was never personal. I only knew that it would cause a huge mess and I didn't know if either of them would be able to survive it, let alone everyone else's reputations. If I had felt I was infringing upon something that really would flourish if given even half a chance, I might have held back."
Branson nodded. "I don't know if I agree. I know what I saw and it looked real enough to me... but like you said, he was ending it already and I know why you were concerned."
Mary nodded. She couldn't deny that Mr. Ross's feelings were genuine... and she was sorry for him. Still, she felt happier that her relationship with Branson was amicable again. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I must admit, I didn't care much for feuding with you."
"Nor I," Branson confessed, glancing back at her in the mirror. She could see the relief written all over his face. "Let's try not to do that in future."
"We can try, but I don't know how well it will work," Mary said with a smile. When Branson wore a look of incredulity, she pointed out, "We both have strong personalities, are incredibly stubborn, and have plenty of differing views. I think it's fair to say you and I will disagree again at some point in the future."
He laughed. "Fair enough... but it doesn't have to be this bad."
"Very well. I'll try my very best," said Mary. She had little confidence in her ability to not to fly off the handle again or lose her composure, but she resolved to remember what it felt like to argue like this and how little she cared for it. It would serve as a reminder in future.
"And so will I." There was a comforting lull of silence before Branson asked, "So... you wouldn't object to his lack of money, if we lived in a better world?"
She tilted her head to the side, something like a smile tugging at her lips. "Why do you ask that?" Out of all the things about the whole affair, she was surprised he had latched onto that.
"No reason."
Mary stared at the back of his head for a moment, not certain she believed him, before answering, "I think it can be important to a marriage, for the couple to enter it as equals. Money can play a role in that."
"I don't think it's the most important role," Branson said. "People can be each other's equals in other ways."
"I agree," said Mary, wondering if she had surprised him. She hoped so; she hated being predictable. "It's one way, but not the only way." She knew she shouldn't say it but she said, "When Mr. Crawley proposed to me the first time... when my mother was pregnant, I very nearly said yes. The idea of being a solicitor's wife was preferable than never being his wife."
"So that wasn't why you turned him down?" Branson asked, voice full of awe. Seemingly realizing what he said, he hastily clarified, "I'm sorry. It's just... Well, I always thought that was the reason."
"No," Mary replied, too disarmed by the realization of how the whole affair had been perceived by an outsider to be offended, "No, there was something else. It's dreadfully boring, I'm afraid." She knew that there was no reason to provide an explanation, not when all it would take was a curt I don't want to talk about it, but doing so would disrupt the newly acquired peace... and Branson didn't deserve that.
Mary could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't believe her but said nothing to the contrary. Instead, he asked, "So are you keen to have Mr. Blake back so soon?"
Mary welcomed his change in topic gladly, filling him in on everything she had wanted to tell him for the past couple of days, pleased she was finally able to now.