A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! This story is definitely a slow burn but I promise we are getting very close to some important revelations!
The Lady in Black
Chapter Eighteen
Blood. Blood was everywhere. On his clothes, on the rug, on the pristine white tablecloth, on his face, on Mama's face.
"Thomas!" Doctor Clarkson yelled as chair legs scraped against the floor and bodies moved frantically about the room. "Roll him onto his side!"
Mary's hand had clapped over her mouth without her own volition as she gasped. He's dying, she thought, staring at Papa sinking to the floor with wide eyed horror. He had collapsed, Granny's arms reaching out to try to stop him, but it hadn't done any good. There he lay, eyes wide, face stained with scarlet.
"What is it?" Granny was panicking.
"His ulcer's burst," Dr. Clarkson said hurriedly, placing napkins underneath Papa's mouth to soak up the blood.
"What?" Mary found herself asking. Wasn't that why he had laid off the alcohol last Christmas? Wasn't he supposed to be better now? This wasn't supposed to be happening, it couldn't be happening...
"Will he be alright?" Edith asked, sounding choked up and as horrified as Mary felt.
"We'll have to get him to hospital," answered the doctor, devoting his attention back to Papa.
Mary tore her eyes away from Papa to meet Edith's eye, an understanding passing between them. This might be it. This might be the last moments they had with their beloved father...
This wasn't fair. He deserved something dignified, falling into a blissfully long sleep in the privacy of his bedroom, not vomiting blood inelegantly for all the world to see. This is not how she wanted to remember her Papa... She wanted to remember sitting atop his shoulders as he walked across Downton, hugging his head for dear life with her skinny arms, letting her pick out which Labrador puppy to bring home, telling her to bring a cowboy to Downton to "shake them up a bit"... not this. What was she supposed to do? Oh, God... Sybil was still in America, there was no way she could come home in time to say her goodbyes...
The rest was a blur. An ambulance was called, Mary lingering off to the side as several men with a stretcher entered the house, led by Edith.
"I've your coat here, milady," Anna said, her voice still unable to take Mary out of herself. Nevertheless, she understood enough to let Anna help her put it on, slipping her arms in.
It was only Mama and Granny's conversation that seemed to remind Mary that this was real life. At first, she heard nothing— then Mama sounded rather impassioned. She didn't tune in until she heard, "There've been too many secrets. Let's have no more of them."
"If you mean Marigold, that's settled and you know I am sorry! Now let us concentrate on Robert!" Granny exclaimed.
There it was; that confirmation that she had been the one left out of the secret. She wanted to feel indignant, just as she had that day Branson told her, but she couldn't muster up anything like that right now. She was still numb from the shock.
"They're ready. They want to take him now." Isobel burst forth from the dining room, Edith trailing behind her. Mary would have to remember to thank her for helping Papa... but that could be done later. There was little time to spare.
"Girls," Mama said, voice shaking as Papa was carried out on a stretcher. He started up at the ceiling, eyes open as if he were trying to soak it in one last time. "Mary, Edith, we must go."
"Edith, dear, telephone with any news. No matter how late," Granny said, summoning Edith over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Mary watched it all play out, as it were a scene from a moving picture rather than her own life. It was only Edith walking out the door that reminded her they were to be leaving.
Branson was out front, waiting for them, looking worried. His eyes were only on her as she stepped out into the night. The feeling of his hand squeezing hers as he helped her into the car was such a comfort for a brief few moments, that reminder there was still something good in this world.
Mary's heart was pounding the whole way there. "Do you think he'll be alright?" Edith asked tearfully, sounding like a little girl again.
"I hope so," Mama replied back, shaken and distraught. "He had better be."
She sounded as if her opinion had a say in any of this... but Mary didn't have it in her to remind her that death didn't care who it took, no matter how much someone was loved. Her nails dug into her knees as the car lurched down the darkened road. She stared at the shadowy outline of Branson's hat, breathing deeply to try and calm herself as he sped down the road. He paid no heed to her distress this time but Mary didn't want him to. She trusted him to navigate the car safely to the hospital, so she simply squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady herself.
As they pulled up to the hospital, Papa was unloaded from the ambulance. There was a shimmering across his face, leading Mary to be believe there had been a fresh bout of blood in the ambulance. Her heart clenched in her chest as they followed them in.
Things finally began to slow as they were shuffled into a waiting room. At last, Mary was able to process things. Papa was in surgery and Clarkson was doing all he could do for him. Mama was pale, a steaming cup of tea in her hand that she wasn't drinking. Edith kept glancing at the door ever few minutes before alternating to stare at her hands.
The silence was was so loud Mary could hear her thoughts with the utmost clarity. Papa might die. Papa might be dead already. And you never had a chance to say goodbye, to let him you loved him one last time...
"I need to get some air," Mary announced, rising to her feet and walking outside. Neither Mama nor Edith paid her much attention, merely lifting their heads to watch her stand and leave.
Mary had never been more relieved to step out into the darkness. A shuddery breath escaped her before she walked further, pebbles crunching beneath her feet as she reached the sidewalk. The stars stared down at her, the moon hidden from view behind darkened clouds.
Mary was shocked when she spotted the car sitting out in the street. She wasn't certain he would be back yet; after all, they were down to one chauffeur these days and Granny and Isobel needed rides home, too. Granted, the house wasn't far, but she was impressed nonetheless. Branson was leaned against the door, glancing up when he saw her. "Mary."
"Branson." She took two steps towards him.
"How is he?"
She shook her head. "We don't know. They haven't said, not yet. He's in surgery..." She couldn't remember the name of the procedure; Clarkson had sent a nurse out to tell them but Mary was too overwhelmed by that point.
"Will he be alright?" Branson sounded worried.
Mary hesitated. "I don't know," she managed to choke out. Admitting that was simultaneously a weight lifted off her chest and an enormous burden.
She didn't even realize that Branson was hugging her until she felt her nose and forehead pressed against the material of his uniform. His voice was soft as he murmured, over and over again, "It's okay. It's alright."
Mary let him hold her, well aware it was perfectly improper and that anyone could drive past and see them, but she was past caring. Let them see, she thought. Given the circumstances, Mary felt it was natural to seek out comfort, no matter who offered it... especially from someone who had long since proved he was a worthy friend to her. She let that stalwart façade slip, now that her face was hidden from the world, face crumpling and eyes screwed shut as she held back her tears and leaned against him. His arms wrapped around her, one hand on the middle of her back, gently rubbing between her shoulder blades. She inhaled deep, that scent she associated solely with Branson nearly overwhelming her and soothing her in equal measure.
When Mary pulled away from him, she managed a, "Thank you." No tears had been shed, thank God, but she didn't allow many people to see her at her weakest. It was different with him, yes, but she didn't revel in being so vulnerable in front of anyone.
"Do you want to sit down?" asked Branson, gesturing to the car.
"Yes... I think so." She walked closer to the car, hesitated, before walking and front of it and to the opposite side of the steering wheel. Branson gave her an astounded look before climbing in as well.
He didn't say anything, which was a relief. He didn't try and convey meaningless platitudes, nor did he ask any questions. He let her sit with her thoughts, silent, but a comfort nonetheless.
"Your father passed away, didn't he?"
Branson seemed surprised she asked. Mary didn't look over at him, instead looking up at the starry skies. "He did, yes."
"How did you manage?" She remembered, what he said about talking... but that was for his cousin. Losing a parent, she figured, was different from losing someone your own age who was gone too soon. A different kind of grief.
"My Mam," he answered honestly. "I felt like I needed to step up, in some ways, but she pushed me towards school. I was the first person in my family to complete it."
"She sounds like an extraordinary woman."
"She is," agreed Branson. "You've a lot in common with her."
Mary smiled wanly, uncertain of how true it was. She doubted she would ever have the chance to meet Mrs. Branson herself, so she would have to take his word for it. "How did it happen?" She asked without thinking. She turned her head quickly, glancing at the profile of his face before hurriedly saying, "Don't answer that if you don't want to."
Branson shook his head. "I don't mind." He hesitated before saying, "It was cancer. In his lungs."
Mary nodded. She wondered if the Bransons had any warning... though they must have. It wasn't sudden like this. "I just don't know what I'll do if something happens," she managed to choke out. It felt strange, being so honest with someone, but there was no one else she could turn to... and Branson had been a loyal friend to her for some time. If she could trust anyone, it was him.
"There no sense dwelling on something that hasn't happened yet," Branson told her. She didn't bother jumping in to point out that she had no idea what was going on or if he was even alive now, merely listening to his steady voice. "If the worst happens... you will see yourself through it. It will be hard, but you've endured loss before. You'll have plenty of people who will support you." Like me was the unspoken addition but Mary heard it loud and clear nonetheless.
She supposed he was right. She turned her head again. "Thank you," she breathed, somehow daring not to speak louder than a whisper, for fear it might shatter this moment. "How is it you always know just what to say?"
He managed to smile— which was a wonderful sight, given all the awfulness of the evening. "I know you quite well by now."
He seemed to achieve what she thought was impossible; she smiled as well. On this horrible night, of all nights, she managed a small yet immensely grateful smile. They both seemed to marvel at it, unable to say anything. Before either of them could, Edith's voice shouted, "Mary! Mary! Dr. Clarkson's just come out—"
Mary's hand was already on the door handle. Before she could make her excuses to Branson, he said, "Go," in an urgent whisper.
"I'm coming!" She called out, voice loud and ringing out in the night. Her heels clicked against the pavement until she was up to the path, moving quickly.
"It was quite bad," explained Dr. Clarkson once the sisters had returned, "but it looks like he will make it."
Mama let out a sob, all the emotions gathering within her during the course of the evening finally boiling over. "Can we see him?" Edith asked.
"You may, but only briefly. He hasn't woken yet... and only one of you may stay the night."
"I'll do it," Mama volunteered, voice shaky. Mary had no intentions of contesting that; she remembered sitting by Matthew's bedside as he recovered during the war, that time more invaluable than anything when she had thought they might be losing him.
Papa somehow looked smaller in the bed, pale and still. It was only the rise and fall of his chest that assured Mary he was still alive. They had cleaned up the blood, thank God, which calmed her nerves slightly. Mama was already sitting on his bed next to him, his hand cradled between her own.
"How did it happen?" Mary asked Dr. Clarkson quietly away from the others. She needed to know, needed to understand how something so horrid could have possibly happened.
"It's hard to say. He needs to watch his diet much more carefully in future and avoid stress. That was what gave him the ulcer in the first place."
Mary nodded solemnly. "When it comes to Downton..." she trailed off, unable to say it.
Dr. Clarkson sighed. "I think it goes without saying that you have been doing a majority of the work for quite some time, Lady Mary. I think it is time you took full responsibility... to relieve him of the pressure of it all. It is too much, with his health being so fragile."
Fragile. Mary swallowed. She could never think her father as that. As a little girl, she remembered thinking he was like a hero from her myths, a brave soldier who went to war, the pinnacle of strength... but looking at him in his hospital bed, still, pale, and seemingly lifeless, she supposed he could be categorized as nothing but delicate. "I understand," she said, before walking away from her doctor to stand next to Edith at Papa's bedside.
"I don't want to sound cruel," Dr. Clarkson said after a while, "but I think it would be best if the two of you went home. You'll need your rest for the morning. I don't doubt her Ladyship will be exhausted and need one of you to relieve her."
"Don't worry," Mary said, somehow regaining her sense of speech. "We understand completely. We're just pleased to see with our own eyes that he is alright." Edith seemed to agree with her sentiments, nodding. "We'll say goodbye and be on our way."
After Edith had finished murmuring her goodbyes to the still sleeping Papa, it was Mary's turn. She knelt down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good night, Papa," she whispered, aiming for the most conversational tone possible, but her voice broke. "I love you." She rose to her full height before walking to Mama and imparting her own farewells.
When her and Edith returned to the car, Branson was already on his feet. He held open the door for them, not speaking. It surprised Mary until she remembered Edith was there.
The ride home was a quiet one. Edith didn't seem particularly talkative tonight, which was hardly any wonder. Therefore, Mary was surprised when it was her who broke the silence just as Branson turned the car into the drive. "We can take it in turns tomorrow. So Mama can have some rest."
Mary blinked, still a little taken aback that her sister had spoken, but recovered quickly.
"Very well. I'll go first. I need to see Matthew tomorrow anyway. Branson can take me there and bring Mama back." She looked at the back of his head, confident he had heard her. It seemed strange, talking about him instead of directly to him.
"What a terrifying reminder," said Edith, voice tremulous. "In one second, your whole life can change."
"Yes," Mary murmured back. "It only takes a moment for everything to feel quite different."
By now Branson had pulled up to the front of the house. Silence fell over the sisters again until after he helped them out of the car. "I'm going to check on the children," Edith told Mary as she advanced into the house.
"Of course you are," Mary said, thinking of Marigold. Then, almost as an afterthought, she called out, "Good night." But she didn't follow after Edith, instead looking at Branson. "I'm sure you heard already, but I'll need you tomorrow. Earlier than usual, I think."
Branson's lips twitched ever so slightly before returning to something more solemn. "How is he? You never said."
That's right, she hadn't. "Of course. I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head. How thoughtless...
"You've had a lot on your mind. Lady Edith, too." Branson gave her a reassuring smile, soothing her and making the guilt less intense. "But he's doing well? Or better than he seemed, at least?"
Mary nodded. "He'll be alright, but it's knocked the stuffing out of him."
"I expect you'll be making sure the load is lightened when he comes home."
Mary nodded again. "I'll need to take full responsibility for the estate." At that, his mouth fell open before he shut it again, clearly stunned. "I'll involve him in the big decisions of course, but he mustn't have any more worry. It's why he got the ulcer in the first place."
"So long live our own Queen Mary," Branson said, wearing a very strange expression. If Mary hadn't known any better, she would say it was something akin to affection. Before she could puzzle it out, however, he was saying, "You must be exhausted. You should go inside and get some rest so you'll be ready tomorrow morning."
Mary loathed to think how early that would be... especially when she realized how sleep would be elusive. "You're right. Of course." She gave him another smile, a wordless way to impress her gratitude, before turning to head into the house.
"Good night," he called out to her before climbing back into the car.
"Good night, Branson," she said back, turning over her shoulder to glance back at him. He was seated in the driver's seat, hands on the steering wheel, but he was only looking at her. It disarmed her, his intent his stare was, but she didn't mind it. Not at all.
It wasn't until she stepped into the hall the weight of the night managed to impress itself upon her. She stood in the middle of it, suddenly feeling quite small. Mary turned in place slowly. Centuries of Crawley history had been made it this place... and now it was fully hers. Maybe not in name, maybe not through a title, but she was finally in charge. It was both a burden and blessing in equal measure.
Maybe it was this along with Mama and Granny's whispered conversation earlier that made Mary freeze on top the staircase. Even though she longed to do nothing more than crawl into her bed after the horrible night she had, she walked in the opposite direction of her bedroom and made her way down the other end of the corridor.
Mary timidly entered the nursery, her footfalls dampened by the rugs. Edith was hovering over Marigold's crib, looking down at her. It wasn't until Mary pushed the door shut with a creak that's Edith noticed she was there. "Mary," she acknowledged, looking startled. "You didn't have to come here. I can handle it."
"I know. But I wanted to." Mary stepped in, checking on George. He was fast asleep, just like his cousin. She wondered if Nanny had told them about what had happened or if they were blissfully unaware of the bloody proceedings of the evening.
She turned around slowly, noting the tenseness in her sister's shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on Marigold, hand hovering near her cheek as if she wanted to reach out and touch it.
"You must think me a fool if you don't think I know already." It wasn't the sisterly sentiment she had been hoping to aim for, but it was what came out of her mouth.
Edith drew away from Marigold's crib as if it were on fire. Her mouth was wide open as she gaped at Mary. "I don't—"
"Don't lie. I know." Mary locked eyes with her sister, who was standing there, looking like a deer in the headlights. Mary crossed the room, to stand by Marigold's crib, before letting her gaze flicker down to the sleeping toddler. "She's very sweet."
"Please don't say anything. To anyone." Edith's voice was trembling. "I know you hate me, but don't do that to her. She's done nothing to deserve."
Mary's brow furrowed before she lifted up her head and turned towards her sister. "I don't hate you," she told her honestly. "I won't deny that sometimes you test my nerves but you're my sister and I do love you. I know I don't always act like it, but I do. It isn't just our truce that's made me be civil
all this time. And after a night like this one, I don't want you to feel you must hide something like this from me."
Edith didn't say anything, focused instead on Marigold whilst blinking rapidly. "Does Sybil know?" Mary asked.
Edith shook her head. "No. And I want it to stay that way. Nobody was supposed to know." She looked up. "How did you find out?"
Mary knew she couldn't reveal the real reason. "She looks like you. And I can see you love her very much." That had been Branson's explanation, had it not? "And we all love her, too." She felt she could speak for the rest of her family when she said that.
Edith nodded slowly. "Thank you." She sounded close to tears.
Mary, growing uncomfortable with the heightened emotion, decided now was the time to withdraw. She managed a smile before saying, "Good night," and nodding her head.
The following days were tiring, chaotic ones but Papa was soon home, although he remained confined to bedrest for a week or so. In the meantime, Mary embraced her role as the head of Downton without reservations. In addition to her duties as agent, she handled the matters that Papa had previously been in charge of. At the suggestion of Edith's new beau, Bertie Pelham (who was an agent as well), she organized a fundraiser for the hospital that consisted of the villagers paying a fee in order to look around the house.
"How exciting," Branson said when she told him.
"Papa thinks it's mad... so I'm rather hoping it proves a success." The last thing she wanted was to fall flat on her face the moment the reins were finally handed to her. "What do you think?"
"I think it probably will be. There's a sort of fascination about places like Downton. People like seeing how the other half lives."
Mary smiled, a subconscious thing. "And what about you?"
"Not really," admitted Branson, with a laugh... then, quickly, as if to be conciliatory, he added, "But it is a beautiful home. And I do love the library."
Mary huffed out a small laugh. "You don't have to worry about being so complimentary, Branson. You've made your views quite clear."
"I don't want you thinking I dislike it here," he insisted. "I know how much Downton matters to you. I certainly prefer it to any other house or estate like it because I understand how much time, care, and devotion is put into it— not just for you and your family, but to the tenants and the staff. Not everyone takes that consideration."
Mary felt quite bowled over by his praise. Of course, he had been bestowing it with increasing regularity, but he was especially effusive today. "Heavens," she was able to finally say with a smile, "What a testimonial."
Branson chuckled and Mary thought she could see a blush creeping up his neck. "I mean it. You've worked hard to make it what it is now."
Speaking of working hard, Tom felt Mary had been doing too much of it, which may have been contradictory of himself. She was often down in the office, working tirelessly. She very rarely came up to the house for luncheon, save for when some guest was staying at Downton, which meant Tom driving down nearly every day with a basket of food from the kitchen, usually some fruit and a sandwich.
"I have my half day next week," he mentioned to her on the way home from the cemetery one day. "There's a rally in York then. I was thinking of going to it."
"You should," she encouraged, beaming as she rooted through her handbag for something.
"I don't suppose you'd like to come with me?"
She jerked her head up. Tom ignored that twist of worry in his stomach. "I think it's more your thing than mine," was her answer, though she seemed hesitant.
"It probably is," he agreed. "But they'll speaking about issues that will pertain to Downton. You can at least tell yourself it has to do with your work."
Mary let out a sigh. "Very well. You've convinced me. I only have one condition."
"And what's that?" Tom was quite confident she could never ask for anything that he would decline.
"We'll have a picnic afterwards."
Tom grinned. "I was already planning on it."
On the day of the rally, he met her out front, dressed in one of his nicer suits and hair absent of pomade. It was a hassle to apply it and he didn't care for it. Evidently, Mary didn't either, for she remarked upon it. "You ought to do your hair like that more often, Branson. It suits you," she told him blithely, as if she hadn't turned his world upside down by complimenting him in such a way. He was so overwhelmed that he couldn't find the words to speak, not even to say anything about Mr. Carson objecting... but hang Mr. Carson and his opinions. He'd suffer a reprimand once or twice, if only to hear her say such things.
Having learned their lesson last time, they made sure to show up early so they could snag seats beside one another. She allowed him to escort her into the building and would lean over every once and a while, leaning over and whispering lowly to him whenever she had questions. Tom tried to concentrate on the candidate, but he underestimated how much Mary's presence would affect him, consuming his focus. He was more captivated by her close proximity and the scent of her perfume than anything some politician had to say.
Afterwards, they went to their field, enjoying a simple lunch and talking to one another. Even though it had become a common occurrence, Tom never failed to feel that thrill of sitting beside her, speaking so casually, and growing to know more about this woman that he loved so much. It was a little different, however, for he did procure a book on animal husbandry and present it to her halfway through their meal. "What's this?"
"Just something I spotted the other day in Ripon. It's new, so it's not in Downton's library yet. I thought it might interest you."
"You'd be right," Mary said as she turned it over, inspecting the back of the book. "But I feel I must reimburse you. How much was it?"
"It's a gift."
"Branson," Mary said, eyes stern yet tone gentle, peering at him through her eyelashes even as she looked down at the book with awe, "you won't even buy books for yourself. How can I possibly accept this without recompense?"
"Perhaps you should consider I'm happier giving things to those I care for than I am spending money on myself," was his easy answer, though it was anything but easy to say those words. Tom kept worrying they'd be caught his throat, unable to choke out the obvious truth. He was well aware she knew he cared for her, but he had never expressed it explicitly with words.
Mary clearly recognized the gravity of the moment as well. Her gaze flickered away from her book to hold a stare with him, eyes swimming with all her unspoken emotions.
Now was the time: the time to spit it out, to tell her how he felt... but Tom couldn't help but feel uneasy. Even though he didn't view Henry Talbot as any real threat, he was wary about the position Mr. Talbot held in Mary's life. She had, of course, said she was only humoring him by going to watch him test the car, but he was still disquieted by him and his blatant interest in Mary, as well as they fact they'd remained in correspondence.
And then the moment passed. "I'd argue more about this, but you're as stubborn as I am," Mary stated blithely. "So I might as well thank you."
"You're welcome."
"But don't expect me to just accept this to be a one way street," she continued, arching an eyebrow. "For every gift you give me, I'll be sure to buy you one in return."
Tom felt a grin slowly spreading across his face. It was without his volition, an involuntary betrayal of his emotions, but Tom knew that even if he had control over it, he wouldn't have stopped himself. He wondered if she could ever possibly know how much he loved her. "Very well. I suppose I'll have to endure your gratitude," he said, absent of any sarcasm.
When she smiled at him in return, Tom felt as if his heart would explode.
All this commitment to the business side of the estate made Mary palatable to Evelyn Napier's invitation to dinner in London once all the hubbub with the house tour was through. She had scarcely done anything to enjoy herself and remind herself of her youth since taking over (save for her day out with Branson) and a night in London (to a dinner where Henry Talbot would be in attendance, no less) seemed too good a chance to miss.
"So what brings you up to London, then?" Branson asked conversationally as he drove her to the station that afternoon.
"A surprise, if you must know," Mary confessed with a wry smile. She had a new dress, in her usual black, of course, but it was quite daring and modern. She looked forward to seeing Henry and Evelyn's reactions, knowing they wouldn't disappoint.
"A surprise?" Branson said, arching a questioning eyebrow when she voiced her intention to leave for an evening.
"Yes. Evelyn Napier invited me to dinner with some friends of his... and a guest I'm going to be surprising," she added coyly. She wasn't sure why she was being so secretive; she trusted Branson, after all... though maybe her hesitance stemmed from his disapproval of Mr. Talbot... yes, that must be it. The last thing she wanted to do was be on his bad side before she left for London. She would never enjoy herself if she knew she would be coming home to a cantankerous chauffeur.
"Do I get to know?"
"No. Not yet. I'll tell you once I return. It can be a surprise for you, too." Though perhaps a not very pleasant one, she acquiesced mentally.
"How very intriguing," said Branson, wearing a smile. "You're a woman of mystery, Mary Crawley."
"I'm glad to hear it," she said in response. There was nothing desirable about being predictable, after all.
Branson helped her with her luggage at the station, despite her insistences she could manage perfectly well on her own. "It's only one suitcase. I'll have to carry it myself in London, you know. I won't have you there to do it for me." The unbidden thought of Branson joining her on the train and escorting her to London suddenly popped into her mind, though she banished it as soon as it came.
"Won't you humor me? Just this once?" implored Branson.
"Oh, very well," sighed Mary, though it was clear to see how unbothered she truly was based on her wide smile.
"I'll miss you, you know." It was stated casually but Mary didn't miss the way his Adam's apple bobbed in throat after he said it.
He was crossing a line by saying it... but Mary couldn't seem to stop herself from admitting, "I'll miss you as well. But I'll see you tomorrow. It won't be for long."
"It will just feel that way," Branson said quietly.
Mary couldn't find the words to respond to that. She wished she could laugh it off and tell him that he was being overly dramatic, that she wouldn't even be gone a full twenty four hours... but Mary recognized it would feel much longer to her as well. London had a curious way of feeling like it was on the other side of the world from Downton.
The whistle blew, shattering whatever moment she was having with Branson. "Go on," Branson said, nodding towards the train. "I'll be here waiting for you tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," said Mary, for she didn't want to say goodbye. She entered her compartment, sparing one last glance for the chauffeur over shoulder. He stood at the platform, arms behind his back, watching her with a sad smile. Turning around to board was harder than it should be.
Once she was situated in her own compartment, with her handbag resting on her lap, Mary peered our the window. She could see him still standing there, head swiveling about as if to scout her location. She kept watching, waiting for the moment when he would finally figure out where she was. She wished she could stick her hand out the window, call out his name, and draw his attention to her, just so she could see him smile.
And at last he did, with no prompting from her whatsoever. Mary savored the sight, thinking of what a marvelous one it was even when the train began pulling out.
After Tom returned from dropping Mary off at the station, he decided to spend some of his free time in the servant's hall, reading his newspaper. He was somewhat surprised when he walked over to the rocking chair and noticed a small figure sitting on the floor behind it.
"Master George?" The boy in question raised a finger to his lips, shushing him. Tom nodded, pitching his voice lower. "What are you doing down there?"
"We're playing hide-go-seek. Marigold has to find me."
"Do you mind if I sit here? I could probably help you hide even better."
George nodded excited and Tom took his seat, spreading open his newspaper, forming a sort of shield. He read his paper with a wide grin.
It didn't take long for George to grow bored. "Mr. Branson?" He whispered.
"Yes?"
"Do you like sweets?"
Tom couldn't help but smile. "I think everyone does."
"What's your favorite kind? I like lemon drops."
"What a coincidence," Tom replied. "Those are mine, too."
"Really?" Even though Tom couldn't see his face, he could tell the boy was smiling. "Do you have any?"
"I'm afraid not, Master George." An idea suddenly occurring to him, he said, "But the next time I buy some, I'll be sure to share with you. How does that sound?"
George was absolutely elated by that idea, excitedly telling Tom how he was now his new favorite downstairs. "But don't tell Mr. Barrow," he added. "I don't want to hurt his feelings."
"Of course not." Strange though it was, Tom suspected Thomas would be hurt if he learned Master George preferred him... though he suspected it was more of the promise of sweets talking than anything else. Thomas doted on George and it was clear to see the boy adored him, too.
"Or Mrs. Patmore. Then she might not let me lick the bowl."
Tom grinned again. "Your secret is safe with me," he promised, angling around to glance at him so he could see George beaming.
A few minutes later, Miss Marigold found him, and George began chasing her out of the servant's hall. They nearly collided with Anna (which made Tom nearly jump from his chair) but managed to avoid her. "Are you alright?"
Anna beamed, staring After them, hand hovering just over her stomach. "Oh, don't worry. It's nice to see them having fun. They are sweet children, aren't they?" Tom nodded. "Lady Mary's on her way to London, then?"
"Yes. Saw her off myself." He tried to ignore the look that crossed Anna's face. He knew he wasn't exactly being subtle around her anymore but he also had enough confidence in her loyalty that she wouldn't dare breathe a word to the wrong person. Anna knew how to handle delicate manners well. "She seems excited about her dinner."
"I think she is, yes." Anna walked over to the table in the servant's hall, wearing a curious expression. Tom didn't know what to make of it, so he returned to his paper, only for her to say, "Mr. Branson... do you know what you're doing?"
He lowered the paper. Anna wore an expression of concern. "Don't worry about me."
"But you see, I do. I don't want you being hurt."
"She wouldn't hurt me."
Anna's mouth fell open for a second. He couldn't blame her; he had never once spoken this plainly. Nevertheless, she recovered from her momentary shock, nodding and saying, "I don't believe she would, either... at least not intentionally. But I don't want you getting your hopes up."
It felt as if she had landed a punch to his stomach. "What do you mean?"
"Only that... Well, Lady Mary loves this place. Downton Abbey is her home and there's expectations placed upon her... she likes to pretend she doesn't, but she cares what other people think. And she doesn't always listen to her heart."
Tom didn't know how to quite respond. He hadn't spoken to anyone about this before, except Jimmy, but he didn't know who she was. "Has she said anything?" He didn't know if he wanted to know the answer, but he knew he needed it. The only thing worse than being mistaken about Mary's feelings was Mary knowing how she felt and ignoring it for the sake of preserving Downton Abbey and the Crawleys reputation.
Anna shook her head. "No. Not like that. But... I can see what's going on."
"I figured you must."
"And you're my friend, Mr. Branson. I don't want to see you hurt. So I wanted to warn you."
Tom shook his head. "I appreciate that, Anna. Truly. But I'm not worried. I know she feels the same as I do."
"Has she told you that? Explicitly?"
"She doesn't need to. I know her," insisted Tom, not liking the doubts that Anna was raising. "If I were just a chauffeur to her... The things she tells me, the way we are with each other... It wouldn't be like that if she felt anything else."
Anna nodded though, much to Tom's dismay, she didn't seem convinced. "What about Mr. Talbot?"
"What about him?"
"She's likes him very much."
Tom scoffed. "I don't see how."
"What do you mean?"
"They've nothing in common," insisted Tom. "I went with them to a pub and all he wanted to talk about was racing and automobiles. He barely said a word to her about her interests." Tom knew he was being harsh, for Mr. Talbot had been a nice man. In another life, Tom might have even wanted to befriend him. Nevertheless, Tom couldn't reconcile the idea of Mary with that man. There was no way she could ever be happy with someone like that.
Anna's eyes widened. "You went with them?"
"He invited me," Tom said, realizing Mary mustn't have told Anna. Obviously she kept things under lock and key. "And before that, she wanted me to stand out beside her and keep company whilst he and his friend Mr. Rogers raced."
Anna blinked. "Oh."
"You see? I mean more to her than she lets on. We go for picnics together, and rallies... I buy her things. If I was crossing some line, she wouldn't have hesitated to tell me."
Anna nodded, less wary now. "I see what you mean... but I still think you ought to be careful."
Tom wanted to be upset with her, for doubting Mary's sincerity, but he recognized that she was only doing so out of care for him. She was trying to be realistic while he still had his head up in the clouds. If it meant that much to her, he supposed he could nod his head and promise, "I will." Even though there was no need.
Nevertheless, even as the conversation shifted to Anna and Mr. Bates's preparations for their nursery, Tom wondered at Henry Talbot in the back of his mind. Mary wasn't excessively romantic; she visited Mr. Crawley every day she was at Downton, of course, but he saw for himself how long it took before they married. She was driven more by her head than heart, yes, but she also wasn't going to marry someone just to marry them. He ignored the voices that reminded him that Mr. Talbot came from a similar station to Crawleys, knowing that if and when Mary married again, it would be for love... and that meant she would marry Tom.
Aunt Rosamund's driver picked Mary up at the station. After finding out what time it was, she told the man she had an errand to run before going to her aunt's. She tried to relax in the backseat but she could never be truly comfortable, especially since London had significantly more traffic than Downton.
The chauffeur brought her to a bookshop, as requested, and Mary walked in, determined. Truthfully, she didn't know precisely what to look for, even if she had attended that rally with Branson. The only thing that has compelled her to accept was knowing it would ensure a relaxing day away from Downton with Branson. She tried to remain engaged, even periodically asking him questions, but truthfully the whole thing bored her. It really was much more his thing than hers.
Nevertheless, after some deliberation, Mary found some book with Bolshevik in the title— Branson was interested in that, wasn't he? She was certain he had mentioned it before— and promptly purchased it before she could have any second thoughts. If she gave herself too long to examine her actions, she knew she would be chastising herself... even if she had vowed to Branson that she wouldn't allow his generosity to go unreciprocated.
Mary was certain Henry would have preferred a more intimate dinner but it was worth showing up to the Criterion to surprise him. She wore a form-fitting, black sequined dress with a matching black headband which caught the light and retained the same somber spirit as all her attire. It was form fitting as well and Mary rather liked the looks she was receiving like from all the men at the table— especially Evelyn and Henry. The latter seemed an exceptional feat, for he always seemed cool and collected, just as she was.
"Heavens. We are quite a party," remarked Mary after approaching the table and taking Evelyn's hand. There were already three women at the table, as well as three gentleman. It was a shame there wasn't a fourth to balance the numbers.
"You know Lady Anne Acland, Mrs. Dupper and Mrs. McVeigh?" Evelyn said, introducing her to the ladies present.
Mary recognized two of them well enough. "Anne and I shared a governess, and Jill and I came out together." Both women smiled and nodded at Mary, acknowledging her.
"Small world." Evelyn nodded to Henry and Charlie next. "You know Henry Talbot, and I think you met Charlie Rogers up at Brancaster."
"We've met again since then," replied Charlie.
As Evelyn shuffled back to his own chair, Henry pulled the empty chair beside him out for her. "I shall read lots into your wanting to be a surprise. Am I right?" he murmured lowly behind her.
Mary didn't respond verbally, letting her smile to all the talking before turning back to the assembled group.
"A table of singletons at our age," Anne said with a smile, "Well done."
"Single now," Mrs. McVeigh said dryly, unamused. Mary felt rather the same way. She didn't exactly embrace her status as a single woman... though she supposed she couldn't fault Anne for being pleased. Her husband had been the same age as Papa and was positively ghastly. Mary remembered pitying her when she heard the news. Clearly Mrs. McVeigh had enjoyed a happier marriage, just like Mary. "We're all war widows."
"I'm not a war widow," Mary replied automatically. Not wanting to dwell too much on Matthew nor the circumstances of his death, she turned to Charlie. "Good to see you again, Mr. Rogers."
"You, too," the man said, wearing a mischievous smile. She wondered why until he said, "Although I haven't been allowed to forget you. Henry talks of nothing and nobody else."
Mary raised her eyebrows, turning to the man in question. "Oh, I didn't think he knew enough about me for that." She was flattered, of course, but it seemed a little overeager in her opinion. "Tell me, are you pleased with your progress this season?"
"I certainly am."
"We're both driving at Brooklands on the ninth of next month," said Henry, piping up now.
"In the car you tested in Yorkshire?" Mary inquired.
"Exactly," Henry beamed, almost proudly. "See? We'll get you interested yet."
"No, you won't," Mary said, a touch sharply.
Evelyn, sensing her discomfort with the topic, began asking everyone if they had seen some new play. However, that didn't stop Henry. "Why not come specially for the race next month?" He whispered. "You could bring your whole family, if you'd like. Watch from the pits with the team."
"Well, I don't keep my diary in my head," Mary said quietly, managing a small smile. He was persistent, wasn't he? "Ask me nearer the time."
The dinner seemed to fly by. Soon the plates were cleared and glasses emptied and Mary found herself ready to bid everyone farewell.
"Good night," she said to Henry tipping her head. "I'm not sure when I'll see you next, but I did have a lovely time, even if we weren't alone."
"Who says the fun has to end just yet? It's such a lovely night. Why don't I walk you back?Where are you based?"
"I'm staying with my aunt in Belgrave Square."
"Perfect," Henry beamed.
Mary turned to Evelyn, who was still lingering near them. She wondered if he'd had similar designs about walking her back. Perhaps he would have better luck next time. "Goodbye, Evelyn. You're a darling." She pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek... even though she knew it was likely going to be a treasured gesture for some time.
"Shall we?" Henry said, offering her his arm. Mary accepted it gladly, linking hers through his and walking slowly out of the restaurant. She felt the stares on them... and really, she wasn't surprised. Henry was an attractive fellow and she wasn't modest enough to pretend she didn't know how she looked, especially in this dress.
"I hope you will come south next month," Henry said once they were out on the street. He had spoken of it being a lovely night when they were at the Criterion but Mary wasn't sure how true that was. It was cool and humid: the perfect recipe for some rain. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to flag down a taxi now, not when she was afforded some alone time with him. "Partly to watch me driving of course, but mainly so that I can see you. And I know you're not interested in racing."
"It's not only that," Mary told him, on edge at the mere mention of his profession. She glanced up. Why was she bothering to hide it? Henry obviously wanted to spend more time with her... and she found she did enjoy his company. "I don't know why I haven't told you before now, but... Matthew died in a car crash."
"Yes, I know. Evelyn told me."
"So you understand," she said as they came to a halt. This can't go much further. She knew he was keen on her but the thought of losing a second husband the same way she lost her first was unbearable to her... not that Henry was her husband or was like to be anytime soon.
"Of course I understand. The car is your enemy," Henry said. It seemed overly simplistic and somehow fantastical description to Mary. Cars were machines, mindless things capable of good and bad. It had been the very thing that had ripped Matthew away from her but it was also the very thing that brought her to him every morning. "But it's my friend, and all I ask is that you give it a second chance. After all, it's not as if you're driving around in a Hansom cab."
They shared a chuckle. No, she certainly was not. She was always at ease with Branson behind the wheel. She suspected Henry must be as proficient a driver but he wasn't acclimated with the things that made her wince or jump.
It was at that precise moment that a low rumble of thunder reverberated beneath their feet. Mary looked up to sky as the heavens began pouring down rain.
"Excellent," Henry muttered sarcastically. She felt a hand settle on her arm, pulling her to the side of the street as she wrapped her coat closet to herself. "Um, in here." He directed her towards a small tunnel. Mary couldn't help but chuckle and he joined in. Of course... just their luck.
The tunnel was completely vacant and Mary's eyes went to the downpour outside, relieved to be out of it. It seemed to be picking up in intensity. Henry was standing quite close to her, not having let go just yet. She turned to face him, realizing he was watching her carefully. She recognized the look in his eyes immediately and waited for it to happen.
The kiss that followed was a passionate one. If Mary were more of a romantic, she could have sworn she heard music swelling to crescendo as their lips met, in perfect harmony with the rain hitting the pavement outside. Mostly though, Mary was glad to feel something again, to know she was with a man who was mad about her and had likely been dreaming of this moment for ages. He wasn't a bad kisser, either, really... A bit better than Charles, if she was honest. She could become quite used to this...
They parted shortly thereafter, Mary a little less composed than she usually was. When her wits were about her again, she asked, "Heavens, Mr. Talbot. Is this part of your plan to convince me?"
Henry shook his head, looking down at the ground while wearing a very boyish smile. "Look. You don't have to if you don't want to. Plenty of drivers' wives never go near the race track."
"Wives?" Mary couldn't help but let the exclamation leave her mouth. She certainly hadn't thought things were at that point yet.
"I only meant that if we do get involved, it doesn't have to be part of the plan," Henry said, seeming to sense her hesitance. "It's not compulsory.
"But you'd like me there to watch?"
"Yes, but only so I can be near you."
The boldness of his words took her by surprise. "Henry, to be honest, this is moving much faster than I'd imagined," she admitted. When he had turned up at Downton, she had thought about looking him up again for some fun and a bit of distraction. Going to dinner with him in London had been a spur of the moment decision. Their personalities weren't completely repellent but Mary also could recognize now he was looking for something serious... and she recognized, much to her own shock, that she wasn't upset by this development.
"Look, I know I'm not what you're after." That came as rather a surprise to Mary, considering even she didn't know what she was after. "My prospects are modest at best, and you... Well, you're a great catch. But you're also a woman that I happen to be falling in love with."
The weight of his words hit her like a sledgehammer. Falling in love with... falling in love with. Falling. In. Love. With.
But it didn't frighten her, hearing those words. In fact, she felt rather... rather excited. She was astonished by how light she felt, even though she was still stunned.
"Gosh, that sounds rather feeble, doesn't it?" Henry said with a slight chuckle.
"No, not at all. As an argument, I think it's rather compelling," Mary said, a bit dazed by his proclamations. She hadn't realized how serious he was until now... nor how undaunted she was by his talk of marriage. It was still too soon for her and Henry but for the first time, it didn't wholly repel her. In fact, Mary could, for the very first time, imagine it. Another wedding, another marriage... another husband. Someone who wasn't Matthew but someone who could make her very happy regardless.
And maybe that was Henry.
"Thank you," said Henry, much less embarrassed now.
Mary looked out to the continued rain, which only seemed to be picking up. They couldn't stay here all night... "Mmm. It doesn't show any signs of stopping."
"No," Henry agreed.
"Should we run for it?" She felt very light and free all of a sudden. It wasn't like her to be so impulsive... but Henry seemed to bring that side out of her. Perhaps that was what she needed. Someone to help her not take life so seriously.
"Well, you're the boss," he answered.
Mary stifled a chuckle as she smiled at him. It was good he understood the order of things, at least. She used her coat as a shield and ducked under it before they set off into the rain, laughing like children as they ran through the streets until they reached Belgrave Square.
Ever the gentleman, Henry followed her to the front doorstep to see her in. "Might I give you a kiss goodnight?" He asked.
"Hmm... I suppose you've earned it," Mary said, eager to let herself be carried away by this mad rush of emotions. She savored the second kiss as much as the first, understanding fully how much she missed doing this.
When she finally went inside, hair wet and dress damp, she decided to have a nightcap before turning up to her room. She poured herself a whiskey and water, reliving the night again and amazed at how everything had managed to change with one declaration and one kiss. She eyed the empty sofa, wishing that either Anna or Branson were here to help her make up her mind.
On the one hand, it was clear marriage was no longer something for the distant future. She was tired of being alone, night after night, not having someone to share all of life's greatest pleasures with. She wanted someone who would fit in well with Downton, somebody who could keep up with her.
But she still wasn't one hundred percent certain Henry was that man. She liked him a great deal and found him very charming... but she wasn't sure if he would be pleased with life on a country estate. He seemed so well suited with a fast paced London life. Wouldn't he be bored?
Then there was George. Thus far, they had never so much as a set eyes on one another, let alone had a chance to know one another. If she were to accept a man, she needed to know he would look after her son as if he were his own.
Then there was the whole car thing... but she didn't even want to think about that now. It was too much for her to contemplate.
Mary sighed. Given how eager Henry was this evening, it seemed clear she would need to make a decision about him. She wouldn't drag things along like she had with Charles. She would contemplate it now and make her choice about whether or not he would be a bigger part of her life when he asked her... and considering his words of love, it seemed that wasn't far off.
Despite herself, Mary couldn't help but smile. When Matthew died, her future had seemed so uncertain. Now she had much clearer picture... and perhaps it included Henry Talbot.