The next day dawns bright and sunny, but cold. Mary opens up the curtains and smiles to see the sun, but presses her lips together in disappointment to observe the frost accumulated on the ground. It is nearing the end of October, so it is only natural that the cold should be descending. But Mary misses the warmth, and for a brief second wonder why, of all places, she decided Scotland was the best place for them to go.
"Are you going on your ride today, Mary?" Matthew asks, as he makes his way to the dining room table for breakfast. He doesn't look like he slept at all the night before; Mary left his room after about an hour for fear she would fall asleep there, but obviously Matthew had not fallen asleep.
Mary shakes her head and takes a sip of tea. "It's too cold, I'm afraid. I'm not sure I'll ever get my ride in until the winter is over, it may not warm up again."
He sighs. "Perhaps being here in the winter isn't the best. I've never been to Scotland in the winter, but I've heard tell of the snow here and frankly that much snow must be miserable."
"I don't know, I quite like the snow," Mary says, standing up and looking at the frost covering the bright green grass. More seriously, she turns to Matthew. "But do you want to go back?"
"I..."
"Because if you do, of course we can go back."
Matthew sighs and rubs his injured leg. "I don't know if I can handle going back... I know I'll have to someday, but I still don't feel like going back would be wise at this point."
"Then we'll stay here," Mary says cheerfully. "Whatever is best for you."
"Sometimes I wish you didn't have that mindset."
Mary furrows her brow. "What?"
"The 'it's all about Matthew' mindset, because while I appreciate all that you've done for me here, it's also hard to absorb all the attention. I almost feel like I have to perform, to be better, even when I feel so much worse sometimes. But I want to be better, and part of that is for you, so that all this hard work you've done... it hasn't left you still with a useless shell of a man whose mind is nothing but war and terror."
"Matthew, you can't possibly believe..."
He almost laughs. Almost. "I'm not saying your intentions are that at all. I think you arranged this out of the goodness of your heart, which Mary, I know you have. But I also know that if by the end of this, I'm not back to... 'normal', as they say, you'll believe you haven't done enough when it's absolutely the opposite."
Isobel comes downstairs before Mary can say anything else. She shuts her mouth and turns her attention toward Isobel. "Good morning," she greets, unsatisfied with their conversation.
Isobel smiles and takes a plate and begins to arrange her breakfast. "Good morning. How did you sleep, Matthew?"
He doesn't feel like lying. "Not particularly well."
"You should take one of the sleeping draughts Dr. Warren prescribed you, then."
"I don't like how they make my head feel all fuzzy. I'd rather be able to think and not be groggy."
Isobel sighs. "Was last night because of the nightmares or because of the pain?"
He averts his eyes from her gaze. "Both."
"That makes sense. The onset of cold will often cause injured body parts to ache, and I'm sure you were already in considerable pain considering you haven't been taken the medication prescribed for you."
Matthew's eyes widen. "How did you know that?"
"If you had been, you would have asked me to run into town for a refill long before now. But I checked in your bathroom, and sure enough, the bottle was only half empty. Matthew, that medication is there to help you. Especially once you start putting weight on that leg, you'll need it to make the most of your recovery."
Matthew sighs and takes a bite of his breakfast. "My mind has enough trouble without addling it with drugs. Besides, I've seen too many men get addicted, and I have enough problems without an addiction on top of it."
"That is wise, Matthew, but all the same, I wish you'd at least take something," Isobel says. "Even if you might refuse to admit it, you were injured quite badly and that is exactly what the medication is designed for."
Matthew puts his spoon down and turns dangerously cold glittering eyes toward his mother. "I'm not a child anymore, even if you think I am. You may think you know best, and maybe in some cases you do, but you have no idea what is going on inside my head. And I know that because frankly, sometimes I have no idea. So please stop pretending you do."
He seemed almost like a petulant child, in an almost comical fashion, but Mary and Isobel know better than to laugh.
He reads all day, but he doesn't read at all. Mary stays in the library with him for hours on end and observes that he only turns the page once or twice in an hour, after startling and realizing that he hasn't turned a page in a while.
It concerns her.
She wants to ask what's on his mind, but she fears it. After all, he says he cannot tell. And she believes him. Matthew has never been a particularly closed off person, but even if he was, she doubts he would lie to her.
She doesn't really read her book, either, instead keeping a careful eye on him. He is deep in thought, but obviously it is not thought about the book.
The clock ticks. Slowly. Maddeningly.
"Would you like to read outside?" she asks him, finally, unable to handle the oppressiveness of the time and silence within the library. "It seems to have warmed up quite a bit."
Matthew looks up from his book, finally, and shrugs. "Why not?" he concedes.
"Excellent. I'll just ask Molesley to arrange us some seating out there, and get our coats. It should be lovely."
She isn't sure what she's doing, but anything, anything at all would help to break up that silence and the cold fear that seems to be rooting itself in her heart. Whatever Matthew is thinking about, it certainly can't be good.
The clattering of forks and knives against plates, or more specifically, mostly against Isobel's plate, is distracting and irritating. Neither Mary nor Matthew eat very much; Matthew conceded to taking a dose of medication which took away his appetite, and Mary can't even focus on eating when she is so worried.
"I think I may go run a few errands in town tomorrow," Isobel says nonchalantly. Her eyes are trained on Matthew's still full plate. "I arranged it with Shrimpie's chauffeur. Would you like to come with?"
Matthew shakes his head. "I'd just be a burden."
"Nonsense, it would be good for you to get out," Isobel says.
"I'm... not ready yet," he says, his words slow and carefully chosen. "I'm afraid I might have an episode in the middle of town. Not to mention, I'm not looking too good right now."
That is true. Matthew is very pale, paler than his mother has ever seen him, and his hair seems thinner. His body, too, is much thinner, but in a sickly way. Mary misses the more robust solicitor he had been before the war. His eyes, previously so beautiful and vibrant, are dark and sunken. The color is still there, but the life has gone out of them, and it is shockingly noticeable. Isobel had been worried about him looking at himself initially, but after he had taken a glance in the mirror, he had simply remained sullen, which in recent times was really something mild.
Mary bites her lip and tries to keep her eyes away from him. "I think maybe you should just go. I'll stay here."
"You should go if you want to," Matthew says. "I'll be alright alone, and I won't even be alone, the servants will still be here."
"No, I don't really want to go," Mary replies. "I'm not sure if I can show my face anywhere yet."
He sighs. "You should be able to. People should respect you. If that bastard Carlisle didn't..."
"Matthew," Isobel says sternly. She senses that he is about to have a meltdown, and she wishes to stop it in its tracks.
He pulls back and stubbornly cuts up his meat.
Later that evening, Anna and Daisy cannot find one of the knives when they are cleaning the meal up. They say nothing; utensils seemed to disappear and reappear all the time.
Mary sits at her vanity, observing her face. "Anna, do I look tired? I know it doesn't matter much here, there's no one really to see me, but I feel like I look tired."
"You do a little bit, milady," Anna replies honestly. "Have you been getting much sleep?"
"Not much," Mary says. "I'm afraid Matthew cries out in his sleep quite often, and it wakes me. Sometimes I have to go calm him down. But don't tell his mother that, I don't want her to know."
Anna begins to plait Mary's hair. "Your secret is safe with me. But if you'll excuse my saying so, is it really your responsibility to go do that?"
"No, but it is my wish. He needs it, so desperately. He's struggling and I want to do everything that I can to help. I want to bring him back to who he used to be. Oh, I know he won't ever completely be the same. But..."
Anna understands, or at least she thinks she does. "You loved him."
"I..." Mary is afraid to say the words out loud. "I love him. Shellshocked or not. But I know he misses the way things used to be, and I know he wants to be more like he was before, and so I'm determined to bring him back to that."
"The poor man, it seems like he's going through so much," Anna observes.
"How is Daisy?" Mary asks. She has been so focused on Matthew, she hasn't spared many thoughts for the recently bereaved cook.
Anna shrugs. "It's odd, really. She's grieving William, of course, but she also seems to be grieving how she treated him. She doesn't feel like she was good enough to him."
"She married a dying man, how much better to him can she get?" Mary asks incredulously.
"She thinks she betrayed him by marrying him, since before he was injured she was planning to break off the engagement since she didn't love him as more than a friend," Anna explains.
Mary stares at herself in the mirror. "That's utterly unreasonable and yet I can understand where she's coming from."
"And how about you? How are you holding up?" Anna asks.
"Just fine, I think. I'm not sure, I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about myself. Which is good, I've almost forgotten that the scandal was published. That was what I came here for. Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, but there has been some benefit to being here."
Anna gives a half-smile, but she is obviously not convinced. "Very good, milady."
He isn't sure why it's such a hard night, but he starts falling early and it doesn't stop and there's no sleep that comes to stop his downward spiral.
Maybe it starts with his leg.
The pain is intense, throbbing and aching snd unyielding, and Matthew can't ignore it, try as he might. He should have taken the pain medication like his mother advised, but he had felt better before going to bed and had stubbornly refused. He regrets it now, but there is little he can do. He could call for someone to get it for him, but he tells himself that would be giving in. Or he could go it himself, but that would involve trying to get out of bed and upright in the dark, and Matthew isn't too confident that would go well.
So he tries his best to divert his mind from the pain.
Unfortunately the only way he can distract himself from the pain of his leg is to focus himself on the pain of his mind.
The last few days have set a spell of hopelessness over him. He knows what the problem is, even if he is loath to acknowledge it.
He can now think about the future.
For the past four years, he has barely given a second thought to the future. Even when proposing to Lavinia, he never expected to get to marry her. He figured, even as he held the ring out for her, that he would die long before a wedding could take place. He was partially wrong, but also very right.
In the trenches, it was rare to hear anyone talk about tomorrow, let alone next month or next year. That suited Matthew; if he could live in the present and not think about the future at all, the stresses of the future were irrelevant.
But now he has to think about the future, and realizing the extent of his healing, or lack thereof, forces him to consider it.
What can he do with his life now? Marriage... he isn't sure he can ever bring himself to marry, to bind some poor women into union with such a mentally and physically broken man. He knows that, as earl, he will be expected to marry. But he can't quite stomach the idea. Could he work any longer? He supposes a solicitor's office could give him privacy if needed, but his focus is certainly not where it needs to be to work the long days as a solicitor. He's never really considered any other job, and he seriously doubts he would be suited to any other job.
Anyway, eventually he'll be the earl. And that will mean work, although work of a different sort than what he's used to. But some of it he won't necessarily be able to do.
Which brings him back to his leg.
He can't imagine the burning pain in the limb ever leaving him, it seems too deeply ingrained in him. And he shudders to think how much worse walking on it will hurt. But he must walk on it again. And he must walk around the estate to visit farms, because to not would be shirking his duties as an earl.
And Matthew is nothing if not a creature of duty.
What will he do if he cannot fulfill his duties?
Perhaps the war isn't completely at fault for his mental condition. Perhaps the war just exacerbated issues and an identity crisis that had been ongoing ever since he opened that letter way back in 1912. He's never been entirely comfortable with the idea of being the earl, really. It is just his duty, and one that he has always been privately quite terrified he cannot fulfill.
It's time to start pretending he's capable of this now, he decides. Maybe he isn't capable at all, but he'll cross that bridge later. At this point, if he doesn't believe that he can fulfill his duty, no one else will.
And it will start with his leg.
If he's actually going to manage to sleep, he really does need the medication.
He sits up, managing to pull himself into an upright position with feet off the edge of the bed. The pain isn't too much worse. He reaches for the crutches propped by his bed and pauses a minute, unsure of how to accomplish his goal. Eventually, he decides putting his weight on his good leg while he tries to get the crutches under his arms is the best way to go. He manages to stand up, but ends up putting a little bit of weight on his injured leg to get his balance, and it is all he can do to keep from screaming. He can't scream though. If he screams, Mary will come in and she will know his weakness.
She pretty much knows his many weaknesses already... There is really not pretending with Mary.
And yet, Matthew still has this little bit of pride left to uphold.
He stumbles in the dark to his bathroom, somehow staying upright. Eventually he finds the bathroom light, turns it on, and finds the medication. It is a dark green bottle and frankly, Matthew thinks it's more alcohol than anything else. But anything right now is helpful for the searing pain that was just exacerbated by his trip.
He takes a swig of the unfortunate tasting medicine, makes sure that is all he has to take for one dose, and begins to make the trip back to his bed.
He manages to get back in bed without much trouble, but he is exhausted.
And he still cannot sleep.
He can feel hot tears crawling down his face. The tears come out of utter frustration, of sadness, of exhaustion, of something Matthew can't even understand.
The pain in his leg may have lessened, he can't say for sure. The pain in his heart, however... that's something that won't go away at all.
He can't take his mind off the future, now that he knows there is one.
The future is terrifying.
But as his thoughts spiral further, he has an idea.
Perhaps the future won't be quite so terrifying after all.
Sorry I'm a week late with this one, I was busy with the MM Secret Santa (which was fantastic and I'm so grateful to all who participated) so I decided to push this back a week. Thanks for reading and reviewing, your words mean so much to me! If you happen to be looking for something else to read, I'll give a little bit of self-promo and tell you to read Hold On Through the Dark, which the amazing galindadaee and I are writing together under the account your mary crawley and we would love it if you checked that fic out too! Thanks again for sticking with this story, and reviews are the best part of a writer's day!