The River in Egypt

Mary watched the sunrise for the second day in a row. She sat in the armchair she'd dragged over to the window and put her feet up on the edge of the vanity as she lit a cigarette. She'd abandoned her rule against smoking in the bedroom after the first night of insomnia. She looked away from the lightening sky to observe Henry's side of the bed, which was still made. He'd been gone for two days. After their fight the other night he'd taken his still-packed bag and left without a word. She'd told everyone he'd gone to visit his father but truthfully she hadn't a clue where he was or when he'd return. She wished she could stay angry but once her self-righteousness had burned off she was forced to look at the situation from Henry's perspective and she knew she'd made a giant mess of things. Mary finished her cigarette and realized she wasn't going to solve anything moping in her room. Making a snap decision, she dressed hastily and hurried down the stairs to call for a taxi. If she rushed, she could make the first train to London.

She arrived at Belgrave Square just as her aunt was sitting down to breakfast. Rosamund was in the process of buttering her toast when the butler showed Mary in, and it took one look from her niece to have her clearing the room. "Who died?" She demanded immediately. Mary sighed and sank into the nearest chair. "My marriage." Rosamund pursed her lips and put down the toast. Mary felt the urge to squirm under her scrutiny, which was far too reminiscent of her grandmother. She pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ease the tension behind her eyes, and to avoid her aunt's probing gaze. "Henry walked out two days ago."

"What happened?"

There was a wealth of concern in Rosamund's voice. Mary relaxed slightly, then couldn't help but jump out of her seat to pace. She would have chewed her fingernails right off if it weren't so common. "Henry thinks..." God, it was ridiculous even saying it aloud. "That there is something going on between me and Tom."

"Well, is there?"

Mary's mouth fell open. "Don't be absurd!" Rosamund looked completely unruffled. "That doesn't answer my question." Mary rolled her eyes. "No, there is nothing going on. How can you ask that? Need I remind you that we're family?"

"By marriage, which hardly counts."

Mary scowled. "That's what Henry said."

Rosamund's face softened and she reached out to grasp Mary's hand. "What else did he say? Tell me, from the beginning." So Mary filled her in on everything, beginning with the chilly communication between herself and Henry all the way up to the argument that had driven him away. It didn't escape her that when she put it all together, she was unavoidably the villain. "Have I been as selfish as I think I have?" she asked, bitterly ashamed of herself. Her aunt remained pensive for a long moment. "Mary, I can't pretend to know enough about marriage to tell you what you want to hear. Marmaduke and I were only together a few short years before he died. I do know enough to say that marriage takes a lot of sacrifice and compromise, and that neither of those are your strongest qualities."

"No," Mary agreed. "But Henry knew that about me when he married me."

It was Rosamund's turn to roll her eyes. "Let's not kid ourselves, you hardly knew each other when you got married." Stung, Mary scowled. "Well had I known he was so inclined to petty jealousy..." she mumbled.

"It doesn't sound petty to me. You and Tom have been thick as thieves for years. If the situation were reversed, how would you feel?"

Mary struggled, torn between seeing her aunt's point and trying to prove her own. "It's not that simple. Tom is my closest friend." Her only friend, if she was honest with herself. "He plays a part in my life that Henry can't. Maybe Henry just refuses to believe a man and woman can have a real friendship."

"So you don't have any feelings for him?"

Mary threw up her hands, exasperated. "NO." She'd come to her aunt for sympathy and advice, not opposition. For her to even suggest-

"It's not such an absurd notion," Rosamund chided. "As you say, he's your closest confidant. He knows you better than anyone. He's handsome. Why is it so unreasonable?"

"Because." Mary had so many objections she found it impossible to know where to start.

"I see. My Dear, if you hope to convince your husband there's nothing to worry about, you should convince yourself first." The shock of that unglued Mary's tongue. "I care for Tom because he is my brother, and my partner in the estate, and because he treats me as an equal." From the day he'd moved into Downton Tom had treated her no differently than he did any of his male contemporaries. She'd never thought of it before, but now that she had it was obvious. By the very nature of their marriage Henry should have been head of the household, but she'd had a taste of that freedom and they'd been engaged in a power struggle ever since.

"Tom is also the only man that has never fallen at your feet." Rosamund pointed out, bringing Mary back to Earth. "Some women find that quality in a man very attractive."

"God help me if I'm ever that predictable."

Rosamund didn't look convinced but she played along. "Alright, but what about him? Does he have feelings for you?" Mary's knee-jerk reaction was to deny it, but she forced herself to consider the possibility. "Obviously I can't read his mind," she replied after a long moment. "But he's never given any indication that he does. I find it highly doubtful."

"He's never remarried."

"Neither did you," Mary reminded her aunt drily. "Some never do, and he himself has said he just hasn't found the right woman."

"Or he has but is too much a gentleman to say so."

Her aunt looked so enthusiastic that Mary couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing. Of course there weren't any feelings between herself and Tom. She couldn't believe Rosamund had had her questioning that for even an instant. "Tom is quite involved with Faye Delaney at the moment and I need your advice on what to do about Henry, so please, can you abandon this ridiculous notion and help me come up with a plan?"


Rosamund's advice was simple: grovel. Swallow her pride and apologize for her wretched behaviour. Mary believed it would have been easier to sprout wings and fly than to admit to Henry she'd been wrong in not putting him first, but if she wanted to save her marriage then it had to be done. After her conference with her aunt she'd spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around London, peering into windows here and there, half-hoping to find Henry in one of his usual haunts. It had been a pathetic exercise and had left her feeling sad more than anything. She'd reluctantly returned home only when the wind picked up, ushering in a storm.

Mary's preoccupation carried over into dinner, which was a more painful affair than usual. Sybbie was up at Brancaster for the week and Tom was out with Miss Delaney again, so Mary was left with just her parents for company. As sheets of icy rain slapped against the windows Mary knew Henry wouldn't be returning that night, and she wondered briefly if Tom would bother braving the storm either, or if he'd just stay with Miss Delaney. She immediately quashed the thought and washed it back with a healthy swallow of wine. What he did or didn't do with Faye Delaney was none of her concern. Still, she couldn't keep her train of thought from turning back to him. All of her aunt's ridiculous theories aside, Mary missed Tom. He hadn't spoken to her since their fight, the same night Henry had left. She felt absurdly adrift without either of them around; however, she didn't dwell on the fact that she wasn't worried about mending fences with Tom, but wasn't sure if she could expect to make reparations with her husband.

Mary quickly realized that the wine was doing nothing to quell her inner turmoil or drown out the inane dinner conversation, so she skipped dessert and closed herself in the library. She poured herself a real drink and switched on the radio, hoping to find a program to provide some distraction, but she quickly found herself rehearsing what she'd say to Henry, should he ever come home.

I'm sorry. I haven't been fair to you or your needs. No, that made her sound weak.

I'm sorry, you were right. I haven't been considering your feelings. That was better. I've been too busy running this estate, a snide voice whispered. I'm sorry if that hasn't left me the time for coddling.

Well, it was no wonder she'd run him off. She couldn't even muster a half-decent apology in the privacy of her own mind. She snorted derisively and refilled her glass again.

"What's funny?"

Mary jumped out of her skin. Tom stood in the doorway, observing her warily. "You scared the life out of me!" She accused, her hand pressed to her racing heart. "Sorry," he said shortly, hesitating briefly before stepping over the threshold, closing the door behind him to keep the heat in. He didn't look at her as he went over to the bar and Mary experienced a moment of unexpected disappointment. She looked away and pretended to turn her attention back to the program. He sat in the chair he liked by the fire while Mary watched from the corner of her eye.

"You're drinking gin?" He observed, breaking the pregnant silence. She shrugged. "We're out of whiskey." She paused and finished her drink. The gin was starting to make her head swim. "I wasn't sure you'd make it home in this weather," she remarked lightly, unable to help herself.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Why would you?" She muttered and reached for the bottle on the table.

"I take it Henry's still visiting his father?"

Mary met his gaze and found an intensity there that surprised her. It was as though he was attempting to see right through her. She decided to let him. "Do you actually believe that?"

"No, I suppose not. Where is he really?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"What happened?"

The whole miserable story was bursting to come out, and the gin wasn't helping any, but she managed to keep herself in check. She adjusted the throw around her legs and regarded him coolly, forcefully reminding herself of their last conversation. "So you're speaking to me again?"

"So it would seem." He sighed heavily and set his glass aside to lean forward on his knees, serious and troubled. "I owe you an apology. What I said to you was inexcusable."

Mary recalled the harsh words he'd used and felt the wounds reopen. She'd been hurt deeply when it seemed as though he didn't value her input in Sybbie's life. "As you made abundantly clear, she's your daughter."

"Don't do that," he scowled.

"What?" She asked obstinately.

"Don't be passive-aggressive when I'm trying to apologize."

"Would you rather I be aggressive-aggressive?"

Tom abandoned his chair to join her on the sofa and took her hand in his. "I'm so sorry, Mary," He said vehemently. "I never wanted you to think that you're not an important part of our lives. It was a shock for me to hear all of that. I wasn't ready for it, and I took it out on you. I'm grateful that Sybbie can come to you. I know she couldn't love you more if you were her mother." Mary battled with emotion for a moment as the ice thawed in her chest. "Thank you. I suppose I should have at least told you what I was up to," she admitted. "I'm sorry too." He squeezed her hand but didn't let go, and they lapsed into a companionable silence. She relished the comfort of being tucked up next to the fire with Tom while the storm raged outside. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been.

"What happened with Henry?" He asked again, eventually. Mary drew her hand away under the guise of topping up their drinks. She owed it to him to tell the truth - after all, it involved him, but suddenly everything her aunt had said that afternoon came rushing back and she couldn't look him in the face. "Truth be told... you. He's jealous of our relationship."

"Ah." The utter lack of surprise in his voice had her forgetting her embarrassment to look at him sharply. Tom seemed resigned by her revelation, and perhaps a little annoyed. "I thought we'd settled this." Mary's stomach dropped. "What? What do you mean? Has Henry said something to you?" Tom grimaced slightly. "Once or twice," he admitted. "I thought I'd set him straight years ago but we had a serious disagreement a few weeks ago."

Mary was at a loss for words, completely mortified. This had been going on for years? "What did he say?" She demanded when she found her voice again. Tom sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "You can imagine. Just insinuations about you and I. He was angry."

"And what did you say?"

"What do you think? I told him the truth - that he was being ridiculous; that you and I are close because we're family and we run the estate together."

"Exactly what I said." Mary could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her ire at Henry mounted as she imagined the exchange that had occurred between the two of them. She wanted to take Tom's hand again to reassure him, to convey her regret that he'd been dragged into the middle of her tumultuous marriage, but she reconsidered in light of their current dilemma. "I am so sorry about all of this. Henry is being completely unreasonable." Tom surprised her by shaking his head. "I don't think that's fair. He'd be a fool to not worry about losing you."

Mary felt a pang in her stomach that left her flustered. She reached for her drink in an attempt to process the odd feeling. "That's kind of you to say, but at this point Henry might disagree with you." She tried for flippant but came off sullen. He looked troubled and downed his own drink in a mouthful. Then his face cleared and he was back to his usual affable self, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know that's not true. He'll come around." Mary didn't know what to say. His reaction had unsettled her, stirring up emotions she couldn't identify. She grasped for something to fill the silence. "This hasn't affected your partnership, has it?"

"The garage doesn't need much hands-on attention these days. It practically runs itself."

"That doesn't answer my question and you know it."

He smiled ruefully and shrugged, and Mary decided to let it drop. She didn't want to add to the odd tension between them. "Sounds like you might need a new hobby then," she ventured lightly.

"It just means I have more time to dedicate to the estate."

"And we need all hands on deck to save this sinking ship," she mumbled into her glass. It was almost refreshing to transfer her anxiety back on to the estate. The gin was beginning to taste bitter and she grimaced. Tom frowned and eyed the gin bottle. "How much of this have you had?" Mary squinted at the bottle on the table, which had been full when she'd started. There wasn't much left. "What does it matter?"

"Well, you're not usually so -"

"Honest?"

"Cynical, I was going to say."

Mary shrugged. "What is there to be optimistic about? I've driven my husband away, my children barely tolerate me, and I am on the verge of losing my home." Tom pried the glass from her fingers and put it out of reach. "Enough of that. George and Robbie are only behaving as all young men do. The estate has a long way to go before we're out on the street, and as for Henry..." He trailed off. Mary was struck, probably for the first time, with the reality of what an awkward position Tom was in. She so desperately needed someone to confide in and he clearly wanted to be that person, yet the advice she needed was about him. She knew it was extremely unfair to keep dragging him into her marriage, but she couldn't stop herself. "What should I do?" She implored. He looked deeply regretful. "I can't tell you what to do about Henry."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm biased."

Oh. But of course Tom only wanted what was best for her, the same that she would want for him. Mary sighed. "I appreciate that you want me to be happy but I wish you would tell me what you think. Anything would be better than my aunt's advice. She thinks I should beg Henry's forgiveness."

"And that's not your style."

"Well my style hasn't worked so far, has it?"

"That's more Henry's problem than yours, I'd say."

Mary was surprised. Tom was usually the diplomat who tried to give everyone's perspective equal footing. She could see the tension and restraint on his face and wondered what he wasn't saying, but was nevertheless pleased to hear him defending her position. "Thank you. I think he's being very childish. It's not as if I've done anything wrong, besides being inconsiderate."

"Well, clearly this has been bothering him for a long time," Tom conceded, the diplomat once again. "I can imagine how that feels." Unease curled in Mary's stomach. "Do you think Rosamund's right? Should I just give in?"

"No."

"So you agree that Henry's overreacting?"

Tom started to say something, then hesitated. "No," he said again. "But I think that it really isn't my place to tell you how to handle your marriage, Mary. Please don't ask me to."

"I-" Mary didn't know what to say. This conversation had taken on a life of its own, crossing a line that she hadn't realized existed between herself and Tom. Discomfort prickled down her back and she decided to put a pin in things before they got any more intimate. "Right you are. I'm sorry, that was unfair of me. I think I should probably call it a night," she said, but when she got to her feet, all the gin she'd drunk hit her like a ton of bricks. The room tilted and she flung an arm out to steady herself. "Oh…damn." Tom was on his feet in an instant to steady her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she insisted and shook his hand off her arm. She took a moment to regain her balance and muster her dignity. Tom didn't touch her again but stayed close by her side. "I'll walk you up," he insisted over her protestations. As she focused on carving a straight line from the library to her room, Mary did what she could to avoid replaying their conversation in her mind. "How was your dinner with Miss Delaney?" she asked abruptly. Tom frowned, as if he'd forgotten all about it. "Fine, thank you. Why do you ask?" Her door was in sight and she had the overwhelming need to lock herself in, alone. "Because you smell of her perfume," she said quietly, as though someone might overhear. His mouth fell open slightly, but before he could speak she smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Mary-"

"Good night," she said firmly, and all but closed the door in his face. Her stomach heaved and she only just made it to the loo in time. As she rested her cheek on the cool porcelain she realized she'd never felt more confused in her life.