A/N: I haven't forgotten this story! The Muse took a vacation, as she is wont to do. This chapter might be a bit uneven, I'm not sure. I also couldn't resist the opportunity to reference one of my favourite movies, Easy Virtue starring Jessica Biel. It's an easy crossover here, and I highly recommend checking the movie out!
The Talk
Henry had booked them into a small hotel on the outskirts of London. After they'd deposited George back at Eton they'd taken the long way there – a leisurely cruise, Henry called it. Mary sat with her hands clasped in her lap and watched the scenery drift by. She was startled to see how much of the countryside had been absorbed into the city since she'd last been down this way. "You can't stop progress," Henry commented when she voiced her observations. Mary frowned. "I wouldn't call the disappearance of farmland progress. More a travesty for the farmers losing their livelihoods."
"Adapt or die, isn't that what they say?"
"That's bleak." The comparison was a little too on the nose and Mary had to resist rolling her eyes. "Let's keep things light, shall we?" She suggested. "After all, isn't that what this trip is about?"
"It's about a lot of things. But I agree, we should try to have some fun this weekend. In fact, I've planned the whole evening around it." He said it with a hesitant, boyish smile and Mary reminded herself to enjoy the moment. "You've got something planned, have you? Do you intend to fill me in?"
"Nope."
"Well how will I know what to wear?"
"Wear your finest. Maybe you can borrow something from your Aunt if you didn't bring enough."
Mary laughed lightly, puzzled. "Borrow something from Aunt Rosamund? Why, have you suddenly developed a fetish for matronly fashion? Because if that's the case, I can give her a call..." Henry threw his head back with a shout of laughter. "Well, now that you mention it," he teased, and Mary felt some of the weight lift off her shoulders. They hadn't flirted like this in a long time. For dinner she dressed in her finest as he'd instructed, but it wasn't until they arrived at the restaurant that she understood the comment about Aunt Rosamund. "This is where we had our first date," she said, surprised. It was a sweet, unexpectedly romantic gesture. Henry was grinning from ear to ear as he handed off the car to the valet and led her inside. He held her chair for her and she ordered a scotch and water while he did the same, along with a bottle of champagne.
The waiter disappeared and they were alone again. The silence between them was almost awkward and Mary smoothed out her napkin in her lap for something to do. The silence stretched until their drinks arrived and when Henry finished his in a single mouthful, Mary wondered if his nerves were as frayed as hers. "So," she attempted. "What does the rest of the evening hold for us?"
"I thought we might go dancing, if you're in the mood for it."
"Are people our age even allowed in dance halls?"
Henry laughed and the tension was broken somewhat. "Well, I know a guy who can sneak us in."
Mary sipped her drink and relaxed. It was absurd to feel nervous around her own husband. "George seemed happy to get back to school," she commented, sticking to safe ground. "I confess, I was as well." The last few weeks she'd been at loggerheads with her son, and it was both exhausting and heartbreaking.
"You know he loves you. He's just been feeling a bit pressured about his future."
"Pressured how?"
Henry looked like he had serious regrets even bringing the subject up. "Law school, Downton. He doesn't feel like he has much say in the matter."
"And what would he say?" Mary scoffed. "The last thing he showed serious interest in was conducting his train set when he was five."
"He's shown a lot of interest in the garage lately."
The retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she caught herself just in time. There was absolutely nothing she would say to that that wouldn't ruin the evening right then. It seemed that even George wasn't a safe topic anymore. "And how is the garage these days?" she asked finally. "You haven't spoken of it much."
"Virtually runs itself."
Mary was perplexed, then mildly suspicious of his tone. "Most people would be pleased to have their business run so smoothly." Henry shrugged, and Mary realized she knew that look. "You're bored," she surmised. Henry fiddled with the cutlery beside his plate for a moment, pensive. "Do you remember Larita Whitaker? We knew each other back in my racing days." Mary was startled by the shift in conversation. The name was familiar; Mary recalled a brash American woman who'd earned her living racing. "Vaguely, why?" Planning to run off with her? The thought had Mary's lips twitching, especially when she recalled the rumours of the woman running off with her young husband's father.
"She's come to me with a business opportunity. She's putting together a racing team and is looking for investors."
Mary and Henry had never mixed their money. In fact, they rarely even discussed the state of their personal finances with one another. She immediately thought of the estate and her own money trouble, but squashed the thought flat. "The garage must be doing very well then if you're thinking of this investment."
"Well I haven't made any decisions yet."
Of course you have. You wouldn't have brought it up otherwise. Mary smiled, trying to muster the appropriate amount of enthusiasm. "How exciting." She wondered if he'd discussed it with Tom, who after all was his business partner, but when she considered bringing it up something stopped her. It was infuriating that she couldn't mention Tom's name without worrying over Henry's reaction. Annoyed, she finished off the last of the champagne in her glass.
"So what do you think?"
Mary realized belatedly that Henry had kept talking but she hadn't heard a word he'd said. She winced inwardly. Great effort she was putting up this evening. "Whatever you want to do," she replied, hoping it was the right thing to say. "I support you." Henry's smile suggested he didn't quite believe her. "Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I know you're concerned about the estate. It might not be smart to tie up all the money in a new venture right now."
Mary nearly choked on her dinner roll. "Absolutely not!" The very idea that she'd let a second husband of hers bail out the estate left a bitter taste in her mouth. "No," she said again, more pleasantly. "I appreciate the offer, but it's not necessary. We're managing things." The nerve beside Henry's eye jumped and he brushed off the conversation, and Mary wondered sadly how much truly went unsaid between them. "So," she said brightly. "Where are we going dancing?"
The night hadn't been a total bust. Mary had made a real effort after that awkward moment about the estate, and by the time they'd made it to the dance club, both their spirits were high. Mary couldn't remember what time she and Henry had made it back, but it had been late enough that when Mary woke she found herself in her slip with Henry face-down asleep next to her. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the quiet comfort of a warm bed and Henry's deep breathing beside her before she called down to order breakfast.
"Good morning, Mrs. Talbot," the clerk said pleasantly, and Mary ignored the mild spasm she felt at being addressed as Mrs. and not Lady. She'd had years to get over it, but never really had. Mary scowled into the handset and ordered breakfast to be sent up immediately. "Of course, Mrs. Talbot," the clerk intoned, unimpressed. "Right away. Also I have a message for you from Miss Branson, left early this morning." Mary forgot her annoyance and straightened, concerned. The clerk carried on: "She requested you call her immediately. She said it was urgent but not an emergency." Mary couldn't dial quickly enough, and judging the way the line barely rang, it seemed Sybbie had been standing next to the telephone awaiting her call. "Sybbie, what is it?" Mary demanded. Henry continued to snore beside her. "What's wrong?"
"Everyone's fine," Sybbie insisted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just – I needed to warn you."
Mary was instantly wary. "About?"
"You know how Jamie came over the other night for dinner?"
Mary was well aware; she'd been very sorry to miss it.
"So I guess Dad finally realized that I'm seventeen and that boys are in the picture, and he tried to have the talk with me last night."
Mary snorted, torn between amusement and apprehension at where this was headed.
"Which of course was ridiculous," Sybbie rushed on. "So I stopped him in his tracks and said that he could save himself the embarrassment because you'd told me everything I needed to know years ago." Sybbie's voice turned meek then. "And then for some idiotic reason I told him that I was smart enough to not get pregnant because you'd taught me better than that."
"Ah."
"And he just lost it. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. I am so sorry!"
Mary slumped back against the pillow and nearly laughed. It seemed the universe would never run out of ways to make her life difficult. Sybbie apologized again and sounded near tears. Mary took pity on the girl. "Darling, it's fine. I'll deal with it when I get home." When she managed to talk her niece off the phone, Mary replaced the handset into the cradle and pulled the covers over her head. She had no desire to face the world until she was forced to. Unfortunately breakfast arrived promptly and she pouted over the dilemma of being irritated by good service.
"Who was on the phone?" Henry asked into the pillow as Mary perused the breakfast cart.
"Sybbie. Apparently she's involved in some catastrophe with her father and was thoughtful enough to drag me into it." Mary didn't know what Tom had expected, but to think his daughter would remain ignorant into adulthood was laughable. Still, the more she thought over what Sybbie had told her, the more anxious she got. She hadn't handled it well when she'd thought Tom was angry over the kitchen incident, but now it sounded like Mary needed to prepare for the worst. "All the more reason to be grateful we have sons," Henry muttered groggily. He took a piece of bacon from the tray and suggested they see a film that afternoon. Mary didn't know how to tell him that she had no interest in staying another night. She knew it was supposed to be a whole romantic weekend, but the idea of staying a second night seemed pointless. There were a thousand other things she could have done with her time. Guilt immediately followed the thought and Mary winced inwardly, appalled at her own thoughtlessness. "That sounds fun," she forced herself to agree.
It wasn't. While Claire Trevor and Donald Woods danced around one another on screen, Mary obsessed over what she'd be walking into when they finally made it home. At one point Henry's hand landed on her knee and she jumped, only realizing afterward that he wasn't being romantic, just stilling her restless jiggling. After the film they took a stroll around the park, where Henry called her out. "You seem awfully distracted today. Is something the matter? The estate?"
For the first time in years, Downton was the furthest thing from her mind, but Mary didn't want a fight if she brought up Tom, so she lied. "Always," she sighed. "Now that the holiday is over, it's back to reality. Tax season's looming, you know. That always stresses me out." Henry looked so pleased she'd thrown him a crumb of information that Mary felt like a complete ass, but when he suggested they cut the trip short and head home early she could barely mask her relief.
They made it back home in time for dinner, but found the house oddly quiet. "It's a mausoleum in here," Henry remarked to Barrow, who took their bags. "Where is everyone?"
"Out for the evening, Sir. Lord and Lady Crawley are dining with friends and Miss Branson is nowhere to be found. Shall I have a cold plate made up for you?"
"Oh, that's fine, Barrow. I'll get it myself."
"Very good, Sir. Did you have a pleasant trip Milady?"
"Yes, it was lovely. Why don't you take the rest of the evening off, Barrow? No sense in wasting an empty house."
Henry looked surprised as Barrow hurried off, apparently anxious to capitalize on his good fortune. "That was nice of you." Mary shrugged and casually peered down the hallway. Barrow hadn't said anything of Tom's whereabouts and Mary just wanted to confront him and be done with it. "There's nobody here anymore. It's got to be dreadfully boring for him." She'd held Barrow in a special regard since George was young. The normally recalcitrant butler had been especially good to her son all these years. "It's certainly a lot quieter without the children here," Henry agreed. Mary didn't bother correcting him since he hadn't been around during the manor's heyday, when it was bursting at the seams with staff and family. She had the sudden, piercing realization that one day soon the children would be gone for good, and Mama and Papa wouldn't live forever.
"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Mary shook her head and laughed feebly. "No, nevermind. I was just having a vision of myself rattling around these empty halls like a ghost."
"That's a tad dramatic for you," Henry teased. "Soon enough we'll be grandparents, don't forget."
Which reminded her...
"Do you want something to eat? I'm starved. I'm going to see what's in the refrigerator."
"I'm not hungry."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? You've been acting so strangely all day."
"I'm fine," she insisted impatiently, and physically turned him toward the stairs. "Go, I can hear your stomach rumbling from here." She headed off to the library in search of some liquid courage, and when she heard music playing faintly behind the door, she figured she could kill two birds with one stone. She pushed open the door and went straight for the bar service, only seeing Tom in her periphery. He was beside the fire with a book in his lap and the dog at his feet. The music was Irish, and he only played it when he was in a bad mood. "You're back," he observed tonelessly. Mary downed the first splash of whiskey and poured herself a second one before facing him. "Alright," she said. "Let's have it."
"Have what, exactly?"
Mary set her jaw as the air thickened with tension. "Sybbie called me this morning in hysterics. She's convinced you want to disown us both." Tom set the book aside and got to his feet, clearly squaring for a fight. "You want to do this now? Fine. What I want is to know what the hell you said to my daughter."
"I gave her the facts."
"It sounds like you gave her a lot more than that."
"I told her what she needed to know, woman to woman."
"Woman to woman? She's still just a girl, for God's sake!"
Mary snorted derisively. "No, she's not. She's nearly eighteen. What were you doing at her age? Do you actually expect me to believe my sister was your first and last lover?"
"Sybbie's nothing like – she wouldn't – she's a good girl!"
"You can't seriously be that naïve! And you certainly don't know what it's like to be female in this day and age, so spare me."
Now that she was in the middle of it, Mary was flush with anger. Tom had never been so pigheaded in all the time she'd known him, and Sybbie would have suffered for it if Mary hadn't stepped in. When she said as much to him, Tom nearly choked. "You had no right!" He shouted. "She's my daughter!"
"So that makes you an expert?" She shouted right back. "What would you have done if Sybbie had come to you when she was twelve and had started her monthly, hm? You wouldn't have had a clue. There are things daughters just don't talk to their fathers about!" Tom threw up his hands. "That's not up to you! I'm all she has!"
"Bullshit!" Mary didn't curse often, but there was nothing else to be said as his words cut deep. "She has me!"
"You are not her mother!"
"I'm the closest thing she's got!"
The library door was thrown open then, startling them both. "What in God's name is going on?" Henry demanded. "I could hear you shouting from the kitchen!" Mary and Tom exchanged one more furious glare before Tom stormed out of the room. Mary's fingers tightened around her glass, and in a wildly uncharacteristic move she allowed her rage to take over and hurled the glass across the room. "Damn him!"
Henry's mouth fell open in surprise. "Mary! What the hell happened?"
"He's being an utter idiot about Sybbie and is taking it out on me."
Henry stared at her for a long moment while he processed this. "You two were having a screaming match over Sybbie? Is this what that phone call was about this morning?" Mary paced in front of the fire, replaying the argument in her mind. "Yes. He's mad because I talked to Sybbie about sex without his permission." Henry fell silent again, but Mary paid no attention. She couldn't believe how quickly things had escalated, and she wondered if Tom truly meant what'd he'd said.
"This is why you were acting so odd all day," Henry said slowly. "We cut our trip short because you were upset about Tom?"
Mary faltered as she caught up to what Henry was saying. "It was your idea to come home," she replied lamely. His face lost its colour and seemed to ice over, but all Mary could think was: not now. She was having a serious family crisis and Henry was choosing now to confront her?
"Because you led me to believe you were completely stressed about the estate! You lied to me."
Mary heaved a sigh, exasperated. It seemed like everything was coming out tonight. "Yes, I lied. I'm sorry. But I only did it because you've been so touchy about Tom lately, making all sorts of baseless insinuations. I have to walk on eggshells all the time around you and I don't even know why!"
"Baseless insinuations? Oh, that's rich. Maybe you ought to consider the fact that it drove you crazy to think he was angry with you for one day, but you don't even notice when I'm upset. Doesn't sound so baseless to me."
"Of course I notice when you're upset, Henry," Mary drawled. "It's hard to miss."
"So then it's just that you don't care."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, would you listen to yourself? Of course I care! You're my husband and I love you. Tom is my brother. I wish you'd remember that."
Henry gave her a resigned, almost pitying look and shook his head. "He is not your brother, Mary. He's a man who was married to your sister for five minutes twenty years ago." Mary reared back as though she'd been slapped. "That was incredibly callous," she accused lowly. Henry raked a hand through his hair and shrugged. "Maybe, but it's the truth." Mary's hands curled into fists. "Go to hell, Henry."
"You mean this isn't it?" He muttered under his breath as she stormed out. She considered it a matter of principle that she kept her composure until she slammed her bedroom door shut behind her. After that she didn't know if she wanted to cry or to hit the wall, so she did both.
