"How are you managing?" Dr. Clarkson asked Matthew as the two of them made their rounds through Downton.
Each of them were looking for different things. For Dr. Clarkson it was to check on the more troubled patients, the ones that usually had just arrived and had the worst injuries. Technically Downton was supposed to be a place where those that had mild injuries were allowed to recover and others who had mere disabilities (and how it hurt Matthew to call such life-changing injuries mere 'disabilities', for it seemed so crass to dismiss such things after he himself knew how painful being 'just a cripple' could be) and not for the gravely injured. They weren't supposed to take in the mortally wounded or those that were so injured that death and life would be decided by the angels flipping a coin. It was why, as he had later learned, it had taken Violet calling upon every favor she had in order to get William placed at Downton. And Sybil had later told him that if it weren't for the fact Matthew was Downton's heir he would have never been brought there, as it had been Mary and Robert that had demanded Clarkson send for him. But that didn't mean there weren't patients that still needed attention, to ensure that they didn't relapse or take steps back that would risk their health. Thus why Clarkson would travel the halls, quietly checking on patients without making it clear that he was checking on them.
As for Matthew he was also checking on the soldiers but for far different reasons. It was cold of him to say but he didn't care about the injuries the soldiers had. His focus, rather, was on ensuring that the men understood that they were still members of his Majesty's Armed Forces as must behave as such. Yes, they were no longer expected to wake up each morning checking their weapons or doing drills or ensuring the foxholes held up. Instead they were allowed to spend their days recovering, enjoying luxury that the poor buggers in Europe could only dream of. But that merely yet another reason why the men should remain on their best behavior. And Matthew knew that was never going to happen if one didn't use a heavy hand at times. Many of the soldiers had merely been boys that hadn't ever been far from home and then found themselves in the worst place in all the world.
'Is it any wonder then that they should feel the urge to live? To be daring and seize the day?'
Thus it was Matthew's job to be the villain that prevented them from having their fun. Shut down the betting rings. Confiscate the liquor they managed to squirrel away. Stop the fights with each other and the seduction of the maids; those two seemed to always happen together, one bleeding into the other. It reminded him of his time at Radley, when the Head Boy would seek out any excuse to go to a professor and reveal all of the sins the students were committing. God, had he hated that little loose-lipped bastard and Matthew had been one not to engage in such activities-
"Well?" Clarkson said, pulling Matthew back out of his own thoughts.
"Pardon… could you repeat that again?"
"I asked how you were managing, being back here." Matthew glanced over at the doctor and the older man gave a slight shrug. "You'll forgive me but people talk. Especially in small villages like Downton. I know we've never really discussed it but I know that you and Lady Mary and her sisters didn't journey to London just because you had grown to dislike the clean air and quiet nights."
"No… I suppose we didn't."
"So I was merely wondering how you were handling being back here."
Matthew sighed, peaking into one room and relieved that there wasn't a soldier enjoying some carnal pleasures with a maid or a nurse. Already he and Sybil had been forced to dismiss one nurse and send a soldier back to London because of such things and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that again any time soon. He just couldn't understand why some men were so… lacking in control. Even during his first life he had been a virgin when he'd gone to his wedding bed.
'Bloody hell, I had more control than Mary!' he dimly realized; he wasn't referring to Pamuk… he would never count that event as experience in bed. No, it was the fact that while he had been worried about hurting her she had been the one encouraging him to keep going. And then he thought about how things had been reversed in this life and it had been him who had come to their bed not a virgin and encouraging Mary to be daring and test the waters for more powerfully. Which of course led to him thinking of Mary-
"The work is fine enough," Matthew told Dr. Clarkson. "It is just…"
"You miss Lady Mary."
"Aye."
Clarkson smiled at that and he was reminded briefly of his father. Matthew had never been close to Dr. Clarkson in his first life… the man was nice enough but he'd been too self centered during that first round, focusing on playing the rebel and the martyr at the same time. And then had come his misdiagnosis that had honestly left him a touch bitter when it came to the man. After what had happened with Sybil both he and Mary had insisted on a hospital for George's birth and… and then he died and there was simply no time.
But now, with him and Robert dancing about each other on cracking ice, testing the thickness, while the General was off in London and not easy to seek advice from? Dr. Clarkson seemed like a man that perhaps could become a good soundboard for Matthew. Perhaps. He wasn't for sure quite yet.
"I understand of course," the doctor said and when Matthew raised an eyebrow at that Clarkson laughed. It wasn't a boisterous sound like the General's or a sharp deep thing like Robert's, not a tittering sound like Mary's. Rather his was a soft, dry, whisper of a laugh, like he thought that raising his voice too loud would bring doom upon them all. "I do. I remember what it is like to be young and in love."
That gave Matthew pause. "You were married?"
But Clarkson's face grew slightly tight, his smile pained. It was a look Matthew remembered well Tom wearing whenever someone had asked him how he was managing after Sybil's death.
"No… no I wasn't. I would have but… she got sick. Consumption, or Tuberculosis as it is properly known. Our entire village got it, I believe… only 10% of people actually show signs of it, you know? You could have it now and not even know it. Oh, you would be perfectly safe to be around as one can't catch it if it isn't active in someone but… well, Lizzie was one of the 10%." Dr. Clarkson grew even quieter, his strides growing smaller and his eyes glazing out at nothing at all. "The doctors… they were so very good with her. So professional. Her parents blamed them for failing her but I saw that they eased her suffering. A month after she passed I truly began to apply myself to my studies. We were promised to each other young… I was only 15 when she died but…" He shook his head, as if he were trying to flick the thoughts from his mind. "I loved her and still do. Her death gave me a final gift of showing me what I must do with my life."
"I'm sorry."
The older man waved him off. "It is in the past. Literal history at this point. We were speaking of your living wife, not my nearly wife who is looking down upon us and shaking her head at me being a stubborn man." Now it was Matthew's time to smile tightly at that comment. "When will you be able to see her again?"
"In a few weeks," Matthew stated. "My plan was to visit London every other weekend but I want to get myself established here first. It wouldn't do for the men to see their commander go running off because he is besotted with his love."
"Perhaps if they saw what Lady Mary looked like they would understand-oh!" Clarkson's eyes went wide. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"
Matthew though laughed. "no no… don't apologize. Honestly it is nice to have another person who will talk to me without it feeling like we are tiptoeing around a mine field." The two of them reached the stairs and descended down, passing by one of the maids who quickly scurried past them with her arms filled with sheets.
"And there is no chance that she will come and visit you here?"
"I suppose there is always a chance," Matthew said. "Just like there is a chance that the Dowager will announce that she has decided to run away with a beet farmer from America and live on his farm raising rabbits."
Clarkson laughed again at that as they moved towards the main infirmary, now seeing more nurses moving about with their tasks. "I suppose that is a polite way to say that it will never happen."
"The hurt between Mary and her father is too deep. I hope it can be healed, as I don't think it does either of them any good to be feuding, but it will not be cured quickly."
"So like a broken leg then. The injury comes quick but the road to recovery is a long one that requires far more work."
"Very much so," Matthew said as they passed by the beds. Everything was in order, which was to be expected with Sybil running things, but still it never hurt to check. Though he and Clarkson were both careful to never make it seem like they were assuming she'd done something wrong; Sybil was a fierce creature as many had learned in the last few weeks and woe to any that thought she needed a man who didn't know what they were doing to explain how to do her job. Poor Carson had merely tried to suggest an alternate path for the nurses to take and the withering glare he'd sent his way had caused him to scurry out of the room like a church mouse spotting a hungry cat. Tom had informed him later that, per Mrs. Hughes, Carson had actually been impressed by how Sybil had handled herself, saying that she reminded him of the Dowager in that moment. It had made him swell up with pride that the little girl he'd once known had become such a force.
The nurses greeted them as they passed and Matthew paused to say hello to some of the new arrivals while Dr. Clarkson checked charts.
"How's the bed?" Matthew asked one man, Simon, who was propped up against the outer wall. The man had a bandage wrapped around his face, obscuring one of his eyes and half his hair shaved off.
"Better than what I had in France," Simon joked, managing a crooked smile. "Though I'll miss the mud."
"Is it true that French mud is better than English mud?" Matthew joked.
"Oh, of course sir, of course. It's why we all enjoyed playing in it so much." Simon was in good spirits, which was a wonderful sign; Matthew knew from experience that a bitter outlook only hampered recovery. He and Sybil had discussed his time in the wheelchair and she was sure he'd have been out of it far sooner if only he hadn't been such a bitter little pill. "Views were better too. I don't know how much I'll enjoy looking at that wall. Especially with-" he waved at the window behind him.
"Talk to me in the morning when the men in the other beds are woken up early by the sun shining into their eyes."
"Not a problem for me, sir. Only have one." He gestured at the wraps. "Well, at the moment, at least. The doctors think I'll keep the eye, so long as the cuts aren't that deep."
"Well, when you get both your eyes available will give you a better view. For now let the nurses know if you want something to read."
"Thank you sir-" the man began only for shouts to fill the air, muted thanks to a closed door so they were hard to actually discern but still there. "Oh… I thought they were done," Simon said as Matthew looked towards a closed door, the nurses all flinching before they went back to their tasks.
"Who is it?" Matthew asked, rising to go deal with another mess.
"The Matron… Crawley I believe?" Simon frowned. "Your wife?"
"My wife's sister," Matthew stated absently, at once changing his mind on what he would do. Sybil could handle herself, whatever the problem was. Others would have laughed at the idea of leaving a lord's daughter to deal with a soldier… or stared at him in horror for such a plot… but Sybil wasn't some meek little thing. None of the Crawley girls were. Mary would destroy a foe with such acidic words they would melt on the spot. Edith would be all kind smiles and then plot a slow painful death that would take decades. Sybil… Sybil would kill. She would plunge her hand into a man's chest and rip out his heart if need be. And then probably eat it.
Matthew got up and took a step towards the room. Maybe he should save the poor fellow?
But Clarkson caught him by the arm and shook his head, leading him out. "Leave her be. The nurses will get us if Matron Crawley needs us and honestly do you want to turn her rage on us?"
"That… is a good point," Matthew admitted.
After that the two of them had continued out of the room and, upon seeing the time, decided that it would be wise to get some lunch. Afternoon meals at Downton had always been rather interesting as it seemed like no one knew quite how to handle them. They weren't casual affairs like breakfast (or casual for Downton's standards) nor were they the pageantry of dinner. Luncheon was just… luncheon. People came in to eat and would be halfway through their meal when another member of the family would show up to begin theirs. A lot of movement and little conversation that truly mattered. The same was true now, with Robert and the senior staff having dinner in the smaller dining room while the soldiers ate in the small dining room (which was actually smaller than the 'smaller dining room' but the founder of Crawely family apparently was horrible at naming things). Matthew hoped for a bit of beef today though he wagered that was unlikely, thanks to shortages; they were lucky to get fowl and poultry recently.
'Though anything is better than hard tack and dried meat,' he thought, remembering the meals he'd had on the front. The only truly good bit of nourishment he'd had was when Thomas joined him for a warm drink…
There was a crash and Matthew shared a look with Clarkson before the two shared a sigh and walked towards one of the game rooms. Young soldiers always seemed to get in trouble and Matthew lived in fear of the day when one of the new pool tables that Robert had purchased would be reduced to kindling because some fool decided to dance on it.
Thankfully it was nothing of the sort. Rather he found three soldiers trying to help up a fourth, a simple wooden chair with a snapped off back lying beside him.
"Easy, easy," Clarkson said as he moved to help them. "Nothing broken? How is your vision?"
"I'm fine," the fallen soldier said gruffly, clearly embarrassed. "Stupid thing just broke."
"It broke because you're too fat for it, Sig" another of the soldiers said.
"Shut it, Jerry."
Yet Matthew found himself agreeing with the one called Jerry's comment: Sig was a heavy set man. Thick cheeks, pear shaped gut. Yet not all of him was fat for he had normal hands and his legs looked rather the same, not the stocky tree-trunks the bloated tended to develop in order to handle their bulk.
'And then there is his uniform,' Matthew thought as the four soldiers began to bicker with each other. The jacket was unbuttoned because Matthew didn't believe there was any hope of stretching it across his girth to get it fastened without strangling Sig. The shirt was stretched so much that it could have been wadded up in a ball and left in the corner for a week and still it would have been rendered smooth. 'Recent gain then,' Matthew decided to himself. 'In fact Sig is merely the most extreme… the rest of them are getting a bit of bloat as well.' He didn't know if that was something new to this timeline or not… he hadn't really paid attention to anyone when he was in his sulk during his first life so soldiers could have gained weight during their stay. Matthew had put on a few pounds himself in the last year of his life…
"Well, everything seems to be in order," Clarkson said, satisfied.
"Not quite," Matthew said, coming to a decision. "Dr. Clarkson, would you say that proper fitness is the best thing for one's health?"
"There are many things that aid in healing but… yes. Yes I would agree with that. One who is already healthy bounces back from injury far quicker and is less likely to develop the problems that can bring pain and suffering needlessly into one's life."
"As I thought." He looked at the four. "While you are here to recover that does not mean we can grow lax in our training and discipline." He held up a hand to forestall any complaints the men might have made. "Yes, you are here to heal but this is not some trip to the sea, where all you do is sit and eat salty-sweet snacks."
"What? You're going to put us on a restrictive diet?" Jerry asked.
Matthew shrugged. "Perhaps if it comes to that. But I was thinking exercises in the morning, like back at basic training. A run, jumping stars, that sort of thing."
"Are you kidding?" another soldier asked only to belatedly remember just who he was talking to and adding a quick, "Sir".
"You just heard Dr. Clarkson. It will do you all good. I'll draw up a plan and inform everyone once all the details are in place."
He turned and was three steps from the door when he heard Sig mutter behind him.
"Would you care to repeat that, soldier?"
"No sir."
"Let me rephrase." Matthew turned and squared his shoulders. "Repeat that."
Sig grit his teeth before snapping out, "I said its easy for you to demand that, sir."
"I think the words 'pampered pup' were also uttered," Clarkson chimed in, offended by the show of disrespect.
Matthew merely raised an eyebrow at that, more amused than anything. "Is that so?"
The heavy set soldier glowered at him before clearly deciding he was in for trouble so he might as well make it worth it. "You spent the war sitting behind a desk doing nothing. You have no idea what it is like-"
Matthew calmly began to remove his coat.
"-in the frozen muck, wondering if today is going to be your last. So yeah, the moment I get a chance to feel an ounce of joy I'm going to take it because-"
Setting the jacket on a chair Matthew loosened his tie before unbuttoning his shirt sleeves.
"-I know life is short and cruel. You see the war through papers and all that. You aren't a real soldier! Never have been! You're-"
He rolled the sleeves up past his elbows before rotating his shoulders.
"-just a soft man who never had to work hard a day in his life! We-"
Matthew dropped to the ground with ease and began to do the push-ups, quietly counting them off.
"-were… put…"
"You're falling behind," Mathew said, not pausing as he lowered himself to the ground before moving himself up again. When Sig continued to stare at him Matthew paused for a moment. Just a moment. "I'll even start my count over, if you want."
The challenge was simple and Sig couldn't help but take it. He lowered himself to the ground, belatedly realizing he needed to remove his jacket as well, but soon the two of them were doing push ups, the man's friends cheering him on while Dr. Clarkson watched on, bemused. To his credit Sig did better than Matthew expected but the man had gotten soft during his time at Downton. Muscle, if he'd ever had much of it, had turned to pudding and soon the man was slowing while grunting in pain. Matthew, meanwhile, had secretly begun an exercise routine when he'd arrived back in the past, swearing that he'd never end up like had had been during the weeks leading up to his wedding to Mary, where she'd happily poked his belly and jibbed him about his gain. Thus he'd quietly begun his exercises in his room, starting out slow but over the few years he'd been back in his life finding pleasing results. For himself… and Mary. Though she'd never said a word about it he had seen her flash admiring glances his way, even when they weren't being intimate… glances that he'd never seen in his previous life.
As the old saying went the spirit was strong but the flesh was weak and after 10 push-ups Sig was already panting and by 15 Matthew was managing two pushups for his one. Finally at 21 the man collapsed and Matthew merely rolled onto his back, knees draw up as he began to do situps.
"Any other challengers?" he asked as he continued on.
None of them stepped forward.
Finally, after doing just 10 situps to prove his point, Matthew stopped and got to his feet. "Do you know that about 8 months back there was a storm that risked a shipment of blankets and new boots?" he slowly, carefully, rolled his sleeves back down, taking care to button them properly. "I stayed up for 36 hours monitoring reports to make sure that ship made it through the maelstrom and when I wasn't checking reports on the weather from our observers I was contacting our sellers to arrange another shipment, just in case."
"Sir," one of the other soldiers began but Matthew cut him right off.
"The food you ate? They wanted you to have some canned food that… well, to call it bland would be an insult to every tasteless piece of food ever poured into a can. I personally ate it for a week and then made the higher ups sample it as well to convince them to invest in a different company that actually tried seasoning things. Yes, it was only salt, but it was better than nothing." Cuffs fastened and back in place he grabbed his jacket and dusted it off before slipping it on once more. "The clothing you wore? I made the numbers DANCE to ensure you got boots that didn't soak up water like a sponge or leave your feet freezing at night. Stoves that actually could be lit, guns that didn't jam, medicine that wasn't expired. All me." He tugged on his coat, a bit rougher than he needed perhaps, before shooting them a firm commanding look. "No, I was never on the Somme. I didn't dodge bullets and have my ear drums rupture from explosions or covering my mouth and pray the smoke drifting over my foxhole was just that and not whatever poison the Germans had decided to cook up. But don't think I don't understand what you lads went through and did all I could to help." He stepped once more towards the door. "I trust that I'll be seeing you all tomorrow morning for a work out?"
"Yes sir," all four snapped out.
"Good."
Dr. Clarkson shook his head, bemused by the entire thing as they continued on their rounds. "Was that truly necessary?"
"Most likely not," Matthew admitted. "But if I had just given them a command that would have been the end of it. That little show? Oh, it will spread like wildfire. I imagine there will be men that I won't even see today that will seek me out tomorrow for a run around the Abbey's perimeter and some jumping stars in the early morning light."
"That seems… devious."
"When a leader does it you call it 'cunning'," Matthew stated.
"I hope you aren't cunning with me then."
"I'll leave that up to Sybil."
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes: For those shocked by the quick update… I was on vacation this last week and went on a writing blitz. 6000 words a day so basically I was able to get every story I write a chapter and thus every story got an update early!
For those going, "Huh, story is moving a touch slow" that's only because we have some very serious and twisty stuff coming down the pipe soon. We are moving towards that faithful day where in canon Matthew was injured, the fake Patrick, and after that the Spanish Flu. In this we not only have that but Robert trying to fix things with his family, Vera's return, and taking out Carlise. So this chapter and the next few are really just setting the stage before we hit into those massive events, because once they hit I can't go back to these little moments to establish the world we now see before us.
Now, the plotbunny and its an interesting one. What if things were… reversed? In one very important way.
What if Sybil was the eldest Crawley daughter?
What would happen if she were the first born? What would have happened with Patrick? Would Mr. Carson still love Mary, now the baby of the family, the most? Or would he be protective of Sybil and her more liberal ways? How would Sybil react to Matthew arriving? Would she argue even more fiercely that the estate should go to her? Or would she be the reverse and hyper supportive? And what of Mary? Now the baby, the youngest of the sister? How would she deal with Matthew arrive? And what of Edith who had a big sister who wasn't as patronizing at Mary was to her? And what happens when Tom arrives?