Sybie was Christened in April, the week before Easter Sunday, which by then Mary was four months pregnant. She had announced it first to Matthew, back in February. He had been shocked, like he couldn't believe it. Then he reacted like any other man being told he was going to be a father for the first time, excited and anxious.
Tom wanted Sybie to be Catholic, much to Robert's strong disapproval, that the Crawley's have always been part of the English Church. Matthew had told them that Sybil had wanted her to be Catholic.
"Really?" This from Mary. She thought she had known her sister. Though she felt that she should honor her wish.
The spring season dissolved into the sweltering days of summer, the annual charity Bazaar, which was usually on the first of June, was in question, if it were to be held. The responsibility to organize it had originally fallen to Cora, as part of her countess duties. It would have also fallen to Lady Sinderby if she had married Robert but she felt the prejudices were too strong. She wouldn't spoil his good name. The death of Sybil had seemed to drive them apart anyway and Rachel wasn't even his wife, and Sybil hadn't been her child. Mary supposed it was because she had become close with the family. Seeing her father like that day after day, struggling to keep things together, must had put a toll on things. They had decided to remain friends. Mary had felt that it had been her fault, that she had her father drive her away because of her obvious disapproval. She wanted her father to be happy and not send Rachel away because of her.
"Don't send her away because I've been acting sorely."
Her father then discussed the details. She did want her father to have happiness and purpose again. Throwing the Bazaar this year would be a welcome distraction and it would bring in some money for the estate.
Back in June of 1919, six months after Cora's death, Mary, Edith and Sybil put themselves in charge of the Bazaar. Even Isobel had helped. Sybil had been given the credit of having ran it successfully. That year, when they were gathered around the table, going over the details, Robert had recalled to his family, he had looked close to tears, that he and Cora had met at a Bazaar in Paris.
"We absolutely hated each other. She accused me of being occasionally impulsive with a touch of self reckless righteousness."
"Just occasionally impulsive? Not much has changed, Papa." Sybil was the one to tease him.
Sybil had just been with them six months ago. They must have the Bazaar this year in their mother's honor, just as they had the christening in Sybil's.
Their father agreed as long as it could still host the annual cricket match. Cricket was Matthew's favorite sport as well but he couldn't play anymore. Robert wanted Tom to be his replacement. Mary thought it a good idea. It would be a way to let Tom know and feel he was accepted by the family.
Anna helped Mary get dressed for dinner. She had been in a peculiar mood recently. Mary asked her about it.
"You can tell me what it is."
"Nothing bad, Mi 'lady. With a baby in the house and with one on the way, Bates and I have been discussing about starting our own."
"Oh, Anna. That's great!"
"But there is one thing that I'm concerned about."
"You don't need to worry. You'll still have a job as long as I'm living here."
"Thank you, Mi 'lady."
"And if you needed to make any appointments, I know just the man for it. You can go to doctor Ryder in Harley street. You'd be in good hands."
"I couldn't possibly..."
Matthew caught the tail end of their sentences as he entered the room. "What were you two talking about?"
"Women stuff." Mary put on her earrings. "Your ears must've been burning earlier."
Matthew sat down at the window seat. "What?"
"Papa's been discussing the cricket match. He's been looking for a replacement."
"He must be getting desperate, considering the village has thrashed us the past few years." And the fact he couldn't play anymore. He couldn't say that he quite missed it, with Robert's competitiveness.
"He was thinking about Tom but he has no interest in playing."
"You want me to persuade him."
"If you put it like that."
"I'm sure I'll be able to give him a few pointers. I suppose Bates must count himself lucky to be out of it as I do." He said to Anna.
"I think he'd like to walk normally, sir. If the price of cricket was the only price to pay." Anna said, straight faced.
"Of course. I'm so sorry. Stupid of me." Matthew muttered.
"It's quite alright, sir. I was only joking." Anna tried but failed to keep from smiling. Mary exchanged a smile of her own, as if to say, see, I told you he can be a complete dork. Matthew didn't catch on.
Anna was still smiling as she descended down the steps to the servants hall.
"How's the cricket match coming along?" Matthew asked at luncheon the next afternoon.
"We're still too short." Robert replied.
Matthew turned his head toward Tom, "And you're still determined not to play?"
"It's not that I won't play. I can't play. I don't know how."
Ah. So he said he didn't have any interest because he's embarrassed to admit that he can't play. He knew that feeling. For an entirely different reason. He had been embarrassed about being too good at it, when he was asked to be part of the team when he had first come to Downton. He hadn't wanted another reason for Mary to hate him. But it had turned out that it hadn't mattered.
"I can teach you." He sensed all eyes on him.
Mary had almost held her breath. Unsure how this would be successfully achieved.
As if he sensed her concern, he added, in a bit humorous manner, "I can still throw a ball." He turned to Daniel, who had been serving them. "Daniel, you look like you got a good pair of running legs. How would you like to put them to use?"
"Yes, sir!" The footman was obviously eager to get out of work. "I was always the best growing up, playing it with my cousins. We'd skip church just to practice. I think it's about time it payed off."
"I just found your other replacement Robert!" Matthew said, proudly, (genuinely quite proud of himself) giving him a wink. Robert was stumped but then it dissolved into a smile of thanks.
Mary sat on the blanket watching baby Sybie, at the same time watching Matthew toss the ball to Tom. He still had a great throwing arm. Mary marveled at the sight, (how strong his arms were) smiling, as Matthew smiled and laughed, enjoying himself. It was as if he had forgotten the he was partially crippled.
The two brother-in-laws were bonding. It was like they were true brothers. Sybil would be looking down, smiling too.
That wasn't the only thing that had Mary in high spirits, her and Matthew's anniversary was coming up on the fifth of June. Granny had announced that her niece, Susan wanted her to stay with them in Scotland for the rest of the summer, and the family was invited. Matthew protested, with Mary being pregnant.
"Darling, it's not the 1850's." She said as Anna was getting her ready for the day. "No one expects me to hide in doors till the baby's born. We'll be staying four months in Scotland." Still sensing his worry, she added, "We'll be back long before the due date. Then soon I can get settled at the hospital."
"Alright. But if you change your mind at any point and want to come home, just tell me."
"And I will do the same for you."
"Are you sure you should be going?" Robert asked. They were gathered in the library. "We leave the day of your and Matthew's anniversary. You could have the house to yourselves."
"I think it would be a marvelous idea to spend it there. I still have several months."
Carson cleared his throat.
"You don't want me to go either?"
"I think you should take care of yourself, my Lady."
"I agree. No grandchild of mine is going to be born in Scotland. It will be born here."
"I'd rather decide where my child should be born. And I want it to be in a hospital." Matthew offhandedly stated.
"Utter nonsense." Robert protested "Crawley's have been born at Downton for over two hundred years!"
"Hospitals are much safer and cleaner these days, or rather the one in the village, with my mother's management to keep it modernized, or least I remind you what happened to Sybil." It had come out harshly and Robert had almost struck him, if Tom hadn't intervened. Matthew lost his balance as he moved away from Robert, as Tom stepped in between them, arms outstretched, holding them off. Tom had caught him, knocking into a pillar with a vase. It shattered as it hit the floor. Granny told them not to worry about it, that it had been a wedding gift from her frightful mother in-law, that had been haunting her for more than half a century. She was glad to be rid of it.
Matthew was debating weather he should stay home after the fight with Robert, "it might be best to stay out of his way."
"He needs some time to brew and there'll be plenty of space, so you can avoid each other. Trust me, that's all he'd want to do."
"Still. I think he'll have all the more reason to not listen to my ideas now."
"He'll come around and eventually forget all about it, and silently forgive you because he's not too big on sharing his feelings and he'll deal with them by shooting something."
"Ha, ha." Matthew laughed. He moved closer to her side of the bed, placing his hand on her stomach. "What's more important is the baby. Are you sure you don't want to stay here? What if something happens and I'm not there or you have the baby and I'm not there? I want to be there, at our child's birth. I might only get one chance, if we don't have more."
"We will have more than one. I've told you that. I have a feeling." She caught his look of distain. She went on to assure him. "Shrimpie's got the best doctors at his disposal and they have one of the best hospitals, if it comes to that. Which I'm certain it won't."
"Darling, nothing can ever be certain. Haven't we learned that by now?"
"Dr. Clarkson recommended it'll be good for my health. I need the fresh air. Besides, I think it would do some good for you too."
On the morning of the fifth they left for Duneagle. When they arrived the Flintshires' were outside with their servants, waiting for them. Mary pushed him in his wheelchair as they walked up to the estate.
"Cousin Matthew! Defender of the Downtrodden." Rose greeted him. Bending down she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
The older man, who had to be Shrimpie came over to shake his hand, "We've met at the wedding." He said, as if Matthew had forgotten.
"We have a lot of fun things planned!" Rose linked arms with Mary and Edith. "There's the ghillies ball, which Mary is always the star of."
"We'll have tea in the drawing room when you're ready to come down." Susan was saying to no one in particular.
Matthew was used to eating his dinners in silence; he had finally started to get used it. The bagpipes grated on his ears. He felt that afterwards he would need to clean his ears out with cotton swabs. He wasn't the only one.
"It's nice that you're keeping up with tradition." Robert said about the noise. He was being polite.
"He'll be back before eight to wake us up." Shrimpie said. "And he keeps it up through breakfast. So the chances of getting back to sleep again are nil." Matthew didn't mind. He barley got any sleep these days anyway. "Tomorrow we'll kit you off with some rifles."
That might prove a problem. At least to Mary. It had been a while since any sudden loud noises triggered him. It would take some convincing her, that he'd be alright with it.
"And what is planned for the women?" Violet asked.
"There's a picnic near the loch tomorrow and the ghillies ball the day before you leave." Rose replied, hardly able to hold in her excitement. "The rest of that time you can fill up with plenty of things to do."
"I dread to think what the Scots do with their spare time." Violet chuckled.
"As a matter of fact a friend of mine is staying quite near here." Edith said. "I thought I might telephone him."
"Oh, you must ask him here!" Rose said, delighted.
"She doesn't have to." Robert said.
"I would like to meet him." Matthew said. He had wanted to meet her editor whom she had spoken to him so fondly of to him and no one else. If he wanted to make his way into the family Matthew had to see what he was like.
"Well, then. It's settled." Shrimpie liked the idea. The more the merrier and any chance to keep distance between himself and his wife. "Invite him over tomorrow. He can spend the day with us and join us for dinner."
Robert did apologize, when they were alone. Everyone else hadn't entered the tea room yet. "I was angry because of my grief. I know it's no excuse. It wasn't my finest hour."
"Punching a cripple you mean?"
He said it with such seriousness that Robert's face fell, dissolving into an expression of shock.
"Don't worry Robert. I'm only joking." He patted the older man's arm. "I was just as at fault as you were. I shouldn't have provoked you."
Robert agreed, giving a nod of understanding. "If you need anything...just say the word."
"Does that include listening to my advice?"
"I'll take them each into consideration." Robert said with a serious tone, though it was unclear if he was joking, until a smile spread on his face. Matthew returned it. Both men chuckled. The door opened and the others started filing in.
Mary was suspicious of Gregson, that he was coincidently in Scotland. It was a distraction from what really troubled her. The hunting tomorrow. She approached her father about it. He said that they'll be far enough away in the distance. Even as Matthew said that it would be fine, it didn't ease her.
She would have to be lied up the rest of the evening and probably the next morning. Anna was just getting her ready for bed. "I don't think it will a good idea to join the picnic tomorrow, with all this heat. He's still not thanking me for the train ride." She put a hand to her abdomen, smiling down at where her baby resided. "We were jumping up and down in that trap like a pair of dice. He was a little shaken up. Don't tell Mr. Crawley."
"You'll just have to stay in bed. And take it easy at the ball, mi' lady."
"Are you looking forward to it?"
"I am rather, mi'lady. I'm planning a surprise for Mr. Bates."
"What sort of surprise?"
"No. It's a surprise for you too."
The door opened and Matthew had entered. As Anna departed, he looked from her to Mary. "What was that?"
"Just that I promised Anna that I'd rest tomorrow."
"And she's right. I was thinking of going fishing tomorrow. I've asked Gregson to come after their hunting, so I won't see you all day. So he'll be company." He climbed into bed next to her.
"He was right to invest in a pair of tales wasn't he? You know Susan invited him to the ghillies ball? He probably had reeling classes before London."
"Don't dislike him before you've met him. That's the hallmark of our parent's generation and I forbid it." He put his hand on her stomach and began to massage it.
"You think me nice but nobody else does. What makes you so sure that I am?"
"Because I have seen you naked and held you in my arms. And I know the real you."
"Goodness, what a testimonial." You truly did feel vulnerable when you were undressed, remembering how eager and nervous she had been to see his body for the first time. She had never seen a man fully naked before then, it had been too dark the first time and hadn't really counted. The first thing she had noticed about her husband, seeing him with his clothes off, was how muscular his arms and upper torso were. Then between his legs through the dark thatch of hair, though he was fair, she'd never had thought it'd be so dark down there. It had taken a while to get him aroused, as they had been told it would be. Their second successful attempt had been two months after Sybil's death, clinging together in their shared grief and their love for one another, rejoicing the life that had been created inside her. Life among death, just as it had been in war for many others. She thoroughly enjoyed his body but seeing it ravaged from shrapnel still angered her.
He had equally enjoyed hers as well. Her breasts small but perfect to him, and her well rounded backside. In that instant of vulnerability, you could only be yourself. Him being the most vulnerable of all. So many failed attempts at making love. She knew how hard it would be, how rare it was for him to have children. She had gone into this marriage without any prospects of him promising her anything or getting anything out of it. Mary. She has such patience. He loved her all the more for it. He tilted her head up to him and gave her a kiss.
"Now, don't try to distract me." Her voice had a bit of huskiness to it before it settled. "How much do you know about him?"
"What do you mean?" He frowned.
"He is Edith's editor and you talk about the paper all the time, I just thought naturally you would know something."
"The way she talks about him sounds rather serious."
"You think he's going to propose?"
"I think so. Hence why I'm going to interrogate him." He felt like the big brother that he never had the chance to be. That was what brothers did, didn't they, interrogate their sister's potential suitors? It wouldn't be just for Edith's sake but for the family's.
"A man of mystery. Edith could sure use that." She said in a huff, laughter in her voice.
"You are horrid when you want to be." He didn't understand why she couldn't let her sister be happy. The letter she had written to the Turkish Embassy. She would probably never forgive Edith for that. She should. She's the only sister she's got left. One day she might need Edith, when I or no one else are no longer around. On the other hand when she's being rude to someone for no reason, he knows it's not a personal attack. It's more to do with being angry at herself or she is going through something. Because he knows her. At the same time, her 'horridness' gave him a thrill, when justified, because it showed her strength. Incredibly endowed.
"I know but you love me don't you?" She already knows his answer. He would always love her, even at times when she felt she wasn't worthy of it.
"Madly." He gave her another kiss, a more deeper and passionate one this time.
She had slept through the bagpipes, even though she wasn't a light sleeper, she hadn't thought she could with that awful sound. Her body must have needed the rest. She had excepted that his would as well but he seemed to have a renewed energy. He was already up, sitting in his chair, buttoning his jacket. She hadn't felt the bed move either as he'd been getting dressed.
"I wish I could come out with you to interrogate Mr. Gregson."
He came over to her. "But for now, I'm stuck inside with you. Until they're done with their shooting. Before then, I'll be in the library to get some peace and quiet."
"Must you?"
"Only while you get dressed." For the first time he had dressed himself in the wheelchair. While successful, it had been less easier, took way longer and was quite uncomfortable. He'd prefer changing in bed but he hadn't wanted to disturb the baby. All that shaking around on the train couldn't have been good for it, nor had it been good on his back, which was still twinging with a dull pain. But he wouldn't complain. Everything seemed to be alright. No need to call a doctor. Rest was all she needed. He hadn't been concerned about waking her, the bagpipes hadn't. A fire drill wouldn't wake her. She'd sleep through anything. Though she had always seemed to wake when ever he had the nightmares.
"No. That's alright. Take all the time you need." It was selfish of her, she thought, to keep him all to herself.
He was sure to get another kiss before he left. She fell back to sleep.
He had grown up fishing with his father. It was where he had felt, at least for a few moments in his life, at peace with himself and the world, even as a child. He would go alone when ever it felt like his parents were crowding him. And right now he didn't feel crowded out of his own mind, another place for the quiet, to get away from where it was too loud. It was funny that just a year ago he could barley stand silence.
Fishing was a wonderful way to spend time with friends and family. Even strangers that you just met and become good friends after a day spent fishing together. That's why it was the prefect way to get to know Gregson.
The man stood beside him as he sat in his chair, his stick resting against the arm. He cast the line as far as he could, which remarkably didn't get caught on the rocks or close to the shore. Another one of his favorite pastimes that he was still able to do and with his children someday. Though he would need supervision. It didn't really bother him that much. It still meant just a little bit more of freedom.
Gregson was definitely a man of mystery. He was hiding something. He had managed to get it out of him without trying.
"The truth of the matter is, I'm married. Loosing her brothers in the war greatly disturbed her." A whole family decimated. "I had to have her committed to an asylum. It was only a matter of time. She was always fragile to begin with."
"Have you told Edith this?" He kept his anger in check. This man clearly didn't understand the definition of for better or for worse.
"Yes. I have no reason to keep her in the dark. Being open and honest in a relationship..."
"But you won't leave your wife and want to stay with Edith. That's a lot to ask."
"Of course it's a lot to ask." Any other man would have lost his temper but Gregson kept it controlled or he didn't give into such petty things. Matthew could at least respect him for that. "But what can I do? England won't grant me a divorce."
That still didn't make it right to Matthew. Mary would never leave him or be unfaithful if he ever wounded up in one of those places. He was fortunate to never had that happen thus far. It never will. And mother would certainly not allow it to happen neither would Mary to begin with.
"I am prevented from divorcing a woman who...doesn't even know who I am. Does the law expect me not to have a life until she dies? Would Lord Grantham? Waiting for someone to die is cruel."
"I agree. But I'm sure my father in-law would be the first to understand that you have to make some sort of life for yourself."
"And you don't? About having another life?"
"It's not up to me to decided how you want to live your life. But you can't expect him not to involve his own daughter when all you have to offer her is a job as your mistress."
"I'm offering her my love."
It often takes more than love. "You've been mislead by our surroundings. This isn't a novel by Walter Scott or Charlotte Bronte."
After they were done, Matthew asked the servant that was assisting them, to take his chair back up to the house. "I'm going to take a short walk with my friend here."
"Don't you need it?" Gregson asked.
"I have my stick. And we won't be long. Though I'll have to lean against you for support." Gregson was a little uncertain but was happy to oblige when he added, just hold out your arm." The two men navigated around the uneven ground, Gregson's arm linked with his. "I don't normally need to, only since we're on unfamiliar terrain. Unlevel at that, one wrong step..."
"Reminds me of being back in the trenches." Gregson said, a bit jokingly.
Matthew waits for the words to trigger something but it doesn't. It hadn't when he had mentioned his wife's brothers. So why would it now?
"I gather you didn't bring me out here to talk about the good old days."
"I agree that your position is tragic. I'm very sorry. But you can't imagine I would let Edith slide into sandal without lifting a finger to stop it."
"Will you tell Lord Grantham?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Are you saying that I should leave now, not stay for the ball?"
"No. Use it to say a proper goodbye. You owe her that."
The weather and fresh air was doing him some good but when he came down for dinner, he was using his wheelchair. Mary and Robert were both concerned about it.
The shooting had bothered him and he isn't saying anything about it. He's hiding it from me again. Mary angrily thought. Her anger was more directed toward herself, that she didn't stay with him, all because she had thought it selfish to do so, wanting to reserve him for herself before he became a father. His free time would be filled up with managing Downton and raising their child. She had wanted a chance to know him more as a husband before then.
Robert asked him if he was alright, to which he replied, he had taken a walk with Gregson and it had tired him out. After he finished eating, he excused himself to bed.
Bates had come down, catching Mary after she excused herself from the table, leaving the dinning room. "Ah, Bates. How is he?"
"Mr. Crawley says he would like a bath before he turns in, my lady."
Detecting concern in his voice, Mary offered to do it. She ran the water for him. He managed to get into the tub by himself. She wanted to wash him, imagined taking a wet cloth and massaging it all over his body. Heat flushed through her. It still amazed her that she could feel this while she was heavily pregnant with child. Her need of desire and intimacy with her husband seemed to have increased. The desire shattered, when he said he would like to be alone.
It seemed to be the opposite with him, that he was turned off, unattracted to her pregnant body, apart from the kissing, and the gentle touches to her abdomen. He wouldn't touch her more intimately than that. He had been attracted in the early stages. Her mother had told her what women went through after childbirth, especially after their first. Your feet got wider, you put on a little bit more weight. He would still love her, she had no doubt, Matthew didn't care what she looked like, and vise versa, at least he never used to be a vein person, even toward himself. A lot of things had changed. The words 'used to" applied to many things when it came Matthew. He has a lot on his mind and he's just worried what it would do to the baby. She told herself.
He'd been in there an awful long time. The water would be cold by now.
She knocked on the door but got no response. She felt her heart start to beat faster. What am I doing? I'm his wife. She walked right in.
He had his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep but it looked as if he was dead. His face was pale white, gaunt like. It had become narrow. He missed the softness of his face, that round cherub face. The softness was nowhere to be found, even in his rest. She sat at the edge of the tub. His head tilted to one side, she noticed a few grey hairs at his temple.
"Matthew."
At his name he jumped slightly. His eyes were blank for a moment, filled with confusion. She wondered if he thought he was 'back there' again or had just forgotten where he was, like you did sometimes after waking up after a deep sleep.
"We're at Duneagle. " His eyes still stared, unfocused. "You fell asleep in the bath." She said, afraid for his sanity.
He finally blinked and then rubbed his eyes, getting in a position to stand. She moved to help him out but he gripped the rim and was able to pull himself up. She had to assist him stepping out of the tub.
He leaned on her while she helped dry him off. He dried his lower half while she dried his shoulders and back and head. Wrapping the towel around his waist, she helped him into his chair and wheeled him into the bedroom by the fire.
"I'll have Bates come in and help you get dressed."
"No. I can do it myself. Or better yet, I can just sleep naked."
She quirked an eyebrow at him and he smiled. A flicker of her Matthew. It was like after a long sleep he came back again, like a bear waking from hibernation.
"Sit by the fire for a while, you were lying in cold water for a bit too long. Besides you can't go to bed with wet hair. I don't want you to catch a cold."
"Spoiled sport."
She stayed up with him, reading. It would be all she would be doing in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Better start practicing now. She hadn't been one for reading books before she married Matthew. He was reading as well. She noticed ten minutes had passed and he hadn't turned the page. He wasn't reading at all, or really looking at the page. What was he thinking about? It was concerning to her.
"Did anything happen today?"
"I just tired myself out." He didn't look up from the page.
"Something happened." She knew something had happened in the bath too. Earlier something had set him off, for him to be using his chair. He had an episode and she wasn't there, was all she could think. Perhaps two. One in the bath but it had been a silent one.
He looked at her and licked his lips. He knew there was no point in hiding it. He set the book aside on the desk, turning his gaze back to Mary.
"When they were shooting. I know it wasn't really happening, that I wasn't really there. But I was there." She knew what he was talking about without saying. He thought he'd been back, in the war, though a part of his mind rationally knew he hadn't been. He at least had explained that to her. "Rose saw me. She...brought me out of it."
"I'll have to thank her for that. She's very brave." She saw his eyes wonder off, not really looking at her.
"I haven't...in a long time Mary, since Sybil." His voice was soft and low, a hint of shame. He shouldn't feel ashamed over something which he had no control. And disappointment. He had wanted to get better.
"I know." There was worry and exhaustion in her voice, wondering how many steps back they had taken, if she could find the strength to go through it all again. She must.
"I thought I'd be alright." He had thought he had it under control. He felt it slowly slipping from him. It took everything not to fall apart right now.
"I did too. I should have put my foot down with Papa."
"We can't predict these things." It was a profound statement, a harsh fact in his head, though he said it reassuringly for her own benefit. She wasn't to blame. They will happen and would continue to happen, no matter how long the gaps were. He was beginning to come to this realization, that there is no helping him. He looked away from her. He wanted to look at anywhere else but Mary for fear she'd see how much he was struggling, losing this mental battle. How easy the temptation would be to slip his mind away, back into nothingness. He couldn't do that to her. He just wanted it all to stop. What was there to stop? He'd probably be like this the rest of his life and there was nothing anyone could do for him.
"Should we inform Doctor Clarkson when we get back?"
"No. I doubt he can do any more for me than he has. I was grateful that Rose was there. I don't know what I would've done. Though I think I've frightened her terribly."
"She's resilient. I think she's undoubtedly smitten, so you better watch out. Apparently knights in distress is her thing."
Two episodes in one day. Though he wouldn't really count what happened in the bath as one. It was a feeling. A feeling of coldness, being suspended from his body. He had suddenly recalled lying in the mud, William lying on top of him. How could he have seen that unless he had died? Had he been feeling what his unconscious self had been feeling, lying in the mud, blasted back by a shell, somewhere between death and dying? No. Surely, the coldness had just been the cold water in the tub. But the other sensation he had felt, was he remembering how it was to die? Matthew the zombie. Back from the dead. What a terrifying thought. Was that why he was like this? That he felt like he didn't belong? He had been denied peace. But his soul had not left the earth. It had been dragged back to his broken body. For what purpose? He was questioning again. Why was he spared?
He had his eyes closed now, pinching the bridge of his nose. Regaining his composure, he exhaled, and straightened up in his chair. "How does the rest of the family think of the prestigious heir?"
"They all think rather highly of you. After all, who wouldn't?" Mary said pleased, as if it were some sort of accomplishment.
"I see the way they look at me, Mary. Their whole demeanor changes. Able-bodied people genuinely can't imagine what it's like to use a wheelchair."
"You are able-bodied. Some of the time. It'll get easier. Over time..."
"It's not going to get easier. I'm not going to get any better than this. " He motioned to his legs. It could get worse over time, for all they knew. He didn't want her to get her hopes up. He was somewhat accepting of his predicament now. He could never be the 'perfect image" she had of him, in her mind, the man he had been. He would never walk normally again at least without some form of assistance. Didn't she understand that? He couldn't be a proper husband and father. But he deserved to be happy, didn't he? It didn't mean he'd have to be his old 'cheerful' self again.
"You can't be all mopey like this all the time. How will you be like when the baby comes?"
"I don't know how good I'll be as a father." He had been having doubts. He had first chalked it up as a typical reaction of a first time father. But now? He'd never live up to the man he ought to be for his wife and children. A man who is expected to protect them.
"Well, it's far too late to worry about that now." She teased, her hands resting on her stomach. She was still months away. She was trying to get him to smile. He didn't.
"What kind of father can I be? If they were ever in danger...I can't run anymore. What if I can't get to them in time if they put something in their mouth, or if they were to fall?"
"You were able to get help for Sybil in time..."
"I killed your sister because my legs wouldn't work." His tone went dark, filled with anger. But he wasn't angry with her. It was towards himself. Hatred. Self loathing. Mary recognized it.
"I suppose you think you killed my mother, and William and Patrick as well?" She saw his face sour and she stopped herself. She had brought up one of the deepest painful memories and she instantly regretted it. "Darling, all of that was a very long time ago..." She said in a soft voice.
"Not for me." It will never be over for me.
So that was what he had been worried about, what had been troubling him. It had added to his stress. No wonder. He was afraid of what sort of father he could be, with his injury and the recurring shell shock of what his children would think of him.
The man she loved, he wasn't him. He felt like an impostor, only half living. "Our children...will always remember me this way, a partially paralyzed mess of a man who...who falls apart at the slightest noise. I can't even feel below my waist. I can never get that back. I won't feel my own child on my lap...feel you. I won't be able to play with them properly." Would they even be able to take him seriously? If his injury worsened over time with age he'd be confined to his wheelchair. They wanted to ask questions at dinner but ignored him instead. It was as if, when they saw him using his chair, he were a different person and they didn't know how to talk to him. Like when it was first believed he would not be able to walk at all. He didn't want to feel like this anymore. He didn't want to feel that way, with his children. He couldn't bare it if they ever were to look upon him like that.
"We'll manage." She simply said to him. She was dodging around things, like everyone else. "And we will teach our children to love..."
"To love people like me?" It was almost laughable, just hearing it. No one really respects you when you're in a chair, or even have a limp and have to walk with a stick.
She nodded. "Yes."
They would love him out of sympathy. Their love wouldn't be real. He never thought about that. "I don't feel...pain down there. And when you tell people that they look at you like you're less than human and you don't have feelings. They'll learn it from someone else."
"Then we'll tell them those people are wrong."
"Are they?" Sometimes he didn't have any feelings at all, not just no feeling in his legs. He wanted to be happy. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd do anything. Anything to feel. "Do you want to know how much I can feel? What it even feels like to be me? Pinch me."
"I'm not going to pinch you."
"Then kick me, then. Go on."
"I'm not going to do that either."
"Come here." He put out his hand to her.
She hesitated before she went over to him. He took her hands and placed them on his lap. He imagines the warmth of her fingers. "I can't feel it." He said it ashamedly and with desperation. "I can't feel you." He said softly.
She squeezed his hands, "You can feel this." Then she kissed him, deeply. He seemed to sink into it but it didn't last. It was over too soon.
"I'm sorry." He apologized. "I know I've been thinking irrationally and I'm being a bit harsh. I don't mean it. I'm just...I'm hurting."
"I know."
"The war changed me Mary. What I saw, what I did, I'm made different by it. I've been made colder." It was a deep loss, like losing one of his own friends, as if someone had scooped out a part of him. It made his whole body feel cold.
"No." She puts her hand to his face. "It's made you more kind." She couldn't explain it. He just looked up at her in awe. "And I think...I'd like to think that it changed me too."
He reached up. She thought he was going to take her hand and hold it, instead he took hold of her wrist. "I can never be your Matthew Crawley, not completely." He wasn't complete, even with his wife, and the upcoming birth of his child. His first child.
"I still see him. He's still here." She had seen flickers of him and they had been becoming increasingly frequent. That gave her a ray of hope. She doesn't believe him when he says,
"I only pretend. And it hurts. I don't know how to be him anymore."
"We'll find him. We'll bring him back." She holds his face in her hands. She feels him nodding.
They enjoyed the rest of their stay without further incident, partaking in the music and dancing.
A few months later, on the twenty-first of September, their son and heir came into the world.
"Say hello to your son and heir." She said as he wheeled into the room and over to the bed. He placed his hands underneath the little bundle as Mary helped lift him, Matthew leaning slightly against the arm of his chair.
"I have a son!" He looked down at him with such joy and awe and happiness. "Hello, my dearest little chap. I wonder if he knows how much joy he brings with him." He knows he's blubbing but he had never thought he'd live to see this day, that it would be possible. How long he had waited. "I've waited so long for you." He whispered, then he turned to his wife, his beautiful wife, who had just complicated the hard task of bringing him into the world. "My darling, how are you? Really?"
"Tired." The baby yawned in agreement in his arms. Mary smiled. In sync with her already but she hoped he took after his father, not just in looks. "And pretty relieved. We've done our duty. Downton is safe. Papa must be dancing a jig."
"I'm dancing a jig." He laughed, tearing up, looking down at his son once more. His heart swelled with such love. "How could one simply contain this much joy without bursting? I feel as if though I swallowed a box of fireworks!" He handed their son back to her. "You are going to be such a wonderful mother."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're such a wonderful woman."
"I hope I'm allowed to be your Mary Crawley for all eternity and not Edith's evil version or anybody else's."
"You'll be my Mary always. Because mine is the true Mary. Do you know how very happy you've made me?"
"You sound so foreign." Like he's never been happy before. Fatherhood was already changing him. She was looking forward to those changes, to get to see a different side of him. "Shouldn't you be saying things like you'll be up and about in no time?"
"That can wait till later. But right now, I want to tell you that I fall even more in love with you each day that passes."
"I'll hold you to that till we're old and grey. Where are the others?"
"Still back at the house. Panting to see you. I had mother hold them off. I wanted to be with my family."
"Well you better go and telephone them. But first I think I deserve a proper kiss."
"You most certainly, certainty have." He moved to sit on the bed next to her. Bending down he gave her a deep, passionate kiss. He can finally let go of all the horrors, all the nightmares, let them rest. This was their new start.
February of 1922 was a cold, dreary month, snow barley dusting the grounds of Downton. Matthew had been spending a fair amount of time in his office in the village, which he mostly used for storage. When she had asked why he couldn't keep them at the house, he said that they were 'sensitive' documents.
He shouldn't be going out in this. She'd confront him about it later but when he had come home, he looked so tired, she let it go just this once. She wondered what he was spending his time there doing. One night she had snuck out to his office. As she took out a book from the shelves and flipped through it, a piece of paper fell out.
If anything were to happen to me...was written on the envelope.
She stopped reading for a moment, closing her eyes tightly. Dear God. Those words sound like a suicide note. A lump formed in her throat but she forced it down, forcing herself to open it. She took out the paper and unfolded it slowly as if a sudden wrong move would make it burst into flames.
As she continued to read she saw that it wasn't after all. It was a will of some sort.
My dear Mary, we're off to Duneagle in the morning and I suddenly realized I haven't made a will or anything like one, which is pretty feeble for a lawyer, and with you being pregnant makes it even more irresponsible. I promise to get around to a proper one, then I can tear this up before you ever see it. It will put me at ease that I have put down on paper, that I wish you, my sole heiress. I cannot know if our baby is a boy or a girl but I do know that it will be a baby. If anything happens to me before I've drawn up a will and so you must take charge. And now I shall sign this and get on home to dinner now with you. What a lovely, lovely thought.
Matthew
Not a will then. Perhaps he could have written one since then. Why wouldn't he have by now? With what he had went through in the war. But WHY had he decided to have written it, besides the war and being a lawyer, thinking he should. Did he believe he had a short time remaining on this earth? She fought the urge to look for the actual will, if there was one. What difference would it make anyway? If they had found this after something had happened to Matthew...she couldn't bare to think about it. She put it back where she had found it.
Matthew wanted to join her, Aunt Rosamund, Tom and Rose, at a nightclub that Rose had suggested. Mary tried to convince Matthew that he shouldn't go out in this weather, he would be prone to a chest cold that could turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. He ended up persuading her that they would be in a warm building most of the night and it would be heated. Mary had relented.
They had found a table in the comer of the room, not too far from the dance floor but far enough away from the crowd so that Matthew could maneuver his wheelchair in and out.
"I'm afraid I won't be much fun tonight. Looks like I won't be dancing." He stated as he wheeled up to the table.
Mary saw that he was uncomfortable in his chair. His legs must be bothering him.
"Darling, why didn't you say?"
"I had to get out." He knew he shouldn't have said something. She started fiddling with them but they wouldn't stay in position. "Just leave it..."
They suddenly heard a loud voice coming from the middle of the room. Rose's date was heavily intoxicated and was being obnoxious to her. The leader of the Jazz band, Johnny Johnson, came to her rescue, asking her to dance.
Aunt Rosamund gestured for Matthew to break it up. It wasn't because he was black. He was outside her social class.
Matthew replied, "They're not bothering anyone. Let them have their fun." Aunt Rosamund wasn't too happy about that, letting out an exasperated huff.
March 1922
It was a cultural shock to the rest of the family when Rose had invited Johnny and his band to preform at Robert's party. But not to Robert, who was quick to enjoy it. No doubt that it has to due with Mama's American influences, Mary thought to herself. After the party she had seen Rose and Johnny kissing in the servants hall. She soon discovered, from Matthew, that Rose had been running off to London to secretly meet Johnny. She asked him if she could keep an eye out for her.
"She only listens to you."
Johnny eventually hit it off with Tom and naturally Matthew, especially Matthew. They had their own demons they were fighting. Johnny amerced himself in the world of music and it had helped him. She wished that Matthew could find something that would help him. Since their friendship he basically turned a blind eye to anything Rose and him got up to on their own time. And he was out with Johnny most nights. Come to think of it, perhaps it was to keep an eye out for Rose as she had asked. He had saved her from a scandal with a married man. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, helping people.
When he was not out with Johnny and Rose, or at the office, he'd be in their private library working on 'estate papers'. She wasn't entirely convinced that was all he was up to. Whatever it was he had been doing, afterwards he had been too tired. It was different somehow than one of his 'moods." She hoped this was just a thing he was going through and soon he would come back to her, back to them.
He came home from London, having ran some errands with his mother. He informed Mary he had seen Rose, in a café.
"She wasn't alone."
"Oh?"
"She was with him. It seemed rather intimate."
"We're going to have to put a stop to it. If they're seen together her mother and Aunt Rosamund won't be too thrilled about it...or anyone else."
"Who care what anyone else thinks."
"You know it can't go anywhere. You know why she's doing this."
"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
That had become his excuse of late. What was happening to them? He was pulling away again. Why?
He'd hold her in his arms but there was still no promise of sex. This night however, they attempted to make love. He buried his head in her neck, stubble brushing against her, burning and coarse against her throat just how she liked it, her own body on fire. Just when they were starting to get into it, he suddenly stopped. He made a weird noise that she had never heard come from him. Hot breath hit her as he breathed through his nostrils, it came in pants. Then one she has heard, a muffled, strangled sob.
She held him to her as he shook. "Shh, it's alright." What could possibly have caused this?
He broke free from her and rolled over onto his back. His body was ridged, gripped by an episode. All she could do was wait for it to end. When it didn't, she sang to him, taking his hand, with her other hand she smoothed his hair. Under her fingertips she felt him start to tremble again.
She heard the low rumblings of thunder. There had been the nasty culprit. Why hadn't she heard it? When the thunder moved away, far enough in the distance where it couldn't be heard, he put his hands over his face, rubbing it. His body relaxed. After he removed his hands, he blinked several times before staring up at the ceiling.
She scooched over, closer to him, as to where her skin was against his. To let him know that she was there. She started to massage his bare chest, kiss his neck and lied against him. He stopped her hand. "Not tonight, darling."
She lifted her head. What did she do wrong? "Are you alright?" Nothing. "Are we alright?"
"Of course, we are."
"Are we? It seems like you've been avoiding me."
"You're just imagining things." He kissed her temple, rolling over onto his side, his back to her. "Now get some sleep."
Violet invited Lord Merton to her luncheon with Isobel. Violet had suggested it herself. The old Dowager Countess was up to something. Isobel was just on the way over there when a car pulled up. It was Matthew. He was in the back seat. He couldn't drive anymore. He still couldn't do a lot of things but that didn't hinder him from finding new things that he could.
"Ah, I'm so glad to have caught you." He said.
"I won't be able to have our tea today. Cousin Violet's having me for a luncheon."
"That's alright. I came to tell you that I won't be able to stay. I'm going to a concert of a friend of mine. A cabaret in Liverpool. Rose and I will be going. Tom will be driving us."
"Oh, with that nice Jazz musician?"
Matthew nodded. "The very one. You don't have a problem with it?"
"No. Why would I?"
"I thought as much."
"I'm glad you are starting to make friends with the world again and getting out more." When he said nothing else, she added, "Well, do have fun." And gave him a wave as the car drove off, just as Dickie Merton approached her. His wife had recently died but he still had his sons.
"What do your sons do?" Isobel asked him, as they walked to the house.
"Larry's in banking and Tim is in the diplomatic. What about yours?"
"Matthew used to be a lawyer in Ripon."
"Has he given it up?"
She took a moment, deciding how she should answer, how much she should tell him. "He was injured in the war. He's starting to work more from home now. It's much more easier for him." She stopped, the truth suddenly came rushing out. Turning on her heels to face him she said, "No, actually, it's not. He's starting to adjust but I still feel that he's still struggling to settle into civilian life. He's been keeping busy... but everything else...It's been rather difficult." For him.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"It's quite alright. He's finding his way. These things take time to heal and as you and I both know it makes you stronger in the end." He would be strong but she was fooling herself. Her son would never fully heal. The scars ran too deep. He could have a long and fulfilling life with his loving wife and family by his side, to make the hurt more bearable. Someday he would not think about it at all. It would not always consume him. He was starting to finally get there but there were still moments.
"I wouldn't know. Larry and Tim both served desk jobs in the war, so did I in the Boers. It's hardly heroic."
"But you did help in some way, no matter how small."
"Many people wouldn't see it way, while young soldiers like Matthew put their lives on the line. I might not know what any of that is like but I do know of some that didn't come back quite as whole. How is Mary taking it?"
"She's been taking it the best as anyone could. She's stood by him since the beginning, that takes a different kind of strength all together. But I do worry about them. They sometimes feel quite distant from each other." She stopped yet again, wondering why she had lain all this upon someone who was virtually a stranger. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put my troubles on you."
"If anything, I would be glad to lend an ear." They arrived at Violet's front step.
When Mary had woken from her nap, she couldn't find him anywhere in the house. He could be at the office. Recently he'd been wanting to get out more. When he wasn't at the office, it seemed he spent more time with his mother, that he'd rather be anywhere else than with her or their son.
Then suddenly she remembered that it was Sunday. He wouldn't be at office. Then where would he be?
She asked Carson. "Carson, did you happen to see where Mr. Crawley went off too?"
"He went out, my lady."
"I can see that, but where?"
"It is a Sunday. He would be at his mother's." Carson was uncertain but he didn't give it away in his voice. Mr. Crawley didn't say where he would be going but that's what one would be safe to assume where he went.
"Of course that's where he'd be." She felt like a fool, not remembering that. "Thank you, Carson." If she left now, playing her cards right, he would likely still be at Crawley house.
By the time she had gotten there he was gone. He must have already left. She decided to stay and have a cup herself.
Mary asked how their afternoon went.
Isobel's face faltered. Didn't he tell her? How could she not know where her husband is? Oh dear. She hoped they weren't having a falling out. But it'll be nothing they can't fix. She recovered.
"I saw him just a few hours ago. I told him we had to cancel tea. Cousin Violet invited me to luncheon with Lord Merton. He went with Rose to see that nice young man, Mr. Johnson perform at a cabaret in Liverpool. Tom drove them. I think the world is changing just enough for people to not keep such prejudices."
Not enough for people to accept a romantic relationship between a black man and a white woman. For her family it would be the fact that he was a musician and she was part of the peerage. She knew that Rose was doing this for one reason alone, to anger her mother. She had to figure out how to put a stop to it before she did something stupid, in which she'd regret. No relationship should be established on that. They should be your lover, your best friend. If only is she could explain that to Rose.
"It's becoming much easier for young people to stand up and speak out for what they believe." Isobel continued. "I think that was what the war was for, yes?" Mary was silently nodding, not really listening. She was worried about her marriage. Was he purposely avoiding her, their son? It showed on her face but Isobel wasn't paying much attention to see it, as she lamented back to her walk with Lord Merton on the way to the Dower House.
Rose had invited Johnny back for dinner but she had been called away briefly to go back home. Matthew thought it rude to not have him come, as he was his friend. It did not go over well with some of the guests but they respectfully kept their thoughts to themselves. Granny seemed to be the only one of the older generation to break the uncomfortable silence, willing to strike up conversation with the young man.
"Is that your real name or your stage name?"
"Yes, unfortunately Johnny Johnson, is my real name."
Then Robert joined in the conversation, that their Butler Carson was part of a two man group in Vaudeville, The Dancing Charlies. "Have you heard of it?"
"Can't say that I have." He was a man of few words but more polite compared to guests they had in the past.
Larry Grey had tried to frame Johnny for stealing. Mary had been appalled that he was allowed back at the house after what he had tried to do with Tom, spiking his drink. Mary came to Johnny's defense. She believed Matthew that Johnny hadn't stolen anything. Larry claimed to know a thing or two about Johnny, his father was a thief and in prison. Johnny said it was true. His father was currently serving time.
Carson checked Larry's pockets, and revealed what was to be expected. After, he was finally exiled from Downton, but not before making a scene of course.
Larry, who had obviously holding back his thoughts, finally let loose his opinions, insulting Matthew for defending Johnny. "Of course, marrying outside of one's class brings nothing but disadvantages. No doubt the source of your bad influences."
"You know that Matthew is 'my' heir." Robert's voice gave warning, his patients wearing thin.
"What does that prove?"
"He's more than capable of running an estate."
"That remains to be seen. Everyone has distant cousins who are fairly odd."
Mary gave him a glare from across the table for his tackiness and insulting her husband. She only held her tongue because it was the polite thing to do. She was shocked when her father spoke up.
"How dare you!" Her father thundered. Some nerve, insulting a man who had served his country and had the scars to bear it, while Larry had cowered, safe behind a desk.
"Will you go, Larry?" His own father had had enough. His brother Tim, who had sat mostly silent, looked embarrassed by his older brother. He muttered his brother's name under his breath and shook his head. "I have made excuses for your rudeness the last time you sat at this table..."
"I'm just calling it as it is, father. As if consulting with Negros was enough. I know the choice of in-laws is eccentric in this family, already boast a chauffeur and soon you can claim a Jew." He glanced at Lady Sinderby and her son. "and added to the mix a washed up crippled middle class lawyer. It's really quite a shame what this family has sunk to." He then tells Mary that she could have done better.
Matthew had sat quietly with his jaw clenched. Mary watched what had to be agonizing silence for him. A part of her wished he would fight in her honor. But he was doing the right thing, not causing a scene.
Tom stood up abruptly, "Why don't you just get out, you bastard?"
Larry got up from his chair, "Well, if that is how you feel."
"I don't endorse Tom's language." Robert began. "but that is certainty how we all feel." Carson gave a discreet nod at Molseley, as if to say get ready for the toss out. Molesley was deeply insulted and upset for Matthew, whom he had helped care for during his injury. A man who had suffered greatly. Though he had felt like a coward for not being able to join up himself due to his lung problem, even though it could not have been helped. He still felt like a coward for having been grateful for it. "How dare you insult my guests and my family." Lord Grantham continued. "Your manners prove that being highborn does not necessarily mean high-class. Someone get him out of my sight."
Lord Merton apologized for his son's behavior as Tom and Atticus escorted Larry out. Matthew followed out after them, Mary not far behind. She could hear Granny's voice carrying after her, "You can always count on an Irishman for a perfectly timed and executed expletive!"
As she stopped at the entrance she could hear Larry still going off. "You're not fooling anyone. You married her to save your own hide. Don't pretend I don't know. I'd gladly take her off your hands. She's just the type of woman I'd like to get to know better."
She came out the front doors in time to see Matthew take a swing at Larry. He had been waiting to come to her defense, out of sight of the family. He was being the perfect gentlemen. But the commotion outside brought the attention of the dinner guests and the servants. Before anyone knew what was going on, Matthew had Larry on the ground after punching Larry in the nose. Insulting Mary had been one step too far. No one was breaking it up, enjoying the little scene. Larry got one good punch in, his fist connecting with Matthew's eye that would definitely leave a bruise. The force of the blow had turned Matthew's head away. Then something come over Matthew as if something in him had snapped. Mary watched his whole demeanor change. He was on top of Larry, straddling him, his hands going to his throat. No one seemed to notice how serious it was getting.
"Matthew, you can stop now." She almost pleaded.
Suddenly he lessened his grip. Something came over him again, Mary couldn't explain it, as if he was waking up, she supposed. The unfamiliar rage and desperation of a man at war that she had seen in his eyes returned to the warmth and gentleness of her husband.
Tom and Bates finally realizing, helped Matthew up. While he rested against Tom, Bates went to go get his chair, which only took a few seconds, as it was just inside the door.
"You saw what he did!" Larry stood up, straightening himself, pointing his finger like a tattling child. But it was clear, at least to Mary that he had genuinely feared for his life. "He tried to kill me! He's insane!"
Matthew lowered himself into it, Tom with one hand on him to keep him steady, while Bates took his place beside Lord Grantham.
"I didn't see anything." Stated Robert, turning to his Valet. "Did you, Bates?"
"No, my Lord."
"You just got what was handed to you." Tom was now leading Larry to the car. "and right so deserved it." He slammed the door shut once he had shoved him inside it.
Standing beside the car, Lord Merton once again apologized for his son, this time to Isobel. "It was about time someone put him in his place. Since his mother, it seems he's been filled with more resentment and hatred. I often wonder where my wife and I went wrong with them."
"Tim seems like he's a decent fellow."
"Tim's just a follower. He has no backbone, up until recently, I think he has tired of it as well. He always followed Larry around."
Robert called Johnny to see him in the library. He apologized for Larry's behavior and asked if he would like a job.
"To work at Downton? No offense, but I get payed more in a week performing at a club than I would here."
Johnny accompanied Matthew in the drawing room.
"You didn't have to stick up for me back there."
"I was defending everyone's honor at that table." Matthew said modestly.
"Still, you don't know what kind of man I am. What kind of life I had before."
"Who we were, was lost during the war."
"Who were any of us before the war?" Johnny's words sparked his interest.
"Did you serve?"
"That wasn't the only time I encountered death. I watched my mother die. I was four." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. It was an aneurysm they said. I was with her body for hours while my dad was ripping off a jewelry store. Blood doesn't determine who you are. It's the way you let who you've become affect you."
"You make it sound so easy."
"It's not. But the world goes on. My mother loved music. That's how I found a way to live. You have to let life happen again, and laugh, and then, you can breath again."
"What did Larry mean when he said, You're not fooling anyone?" Mary asked her husband that night before bed. "That you married me to save your own hide?" Could it be something to do with Pamuk? She knew Matthew loved her and not only married her to protect her from the scandal. It could still come out at anytime. But if Larry did know, Matthew had silenced him. Larry wouldn't be talking about anything, any time soon or at all in the foreseeable future. Had it been worth it? There was still an unsettling feeling deep within her.
"He was trying to get further under my skin and it worked. It meant nothing." He pulled the blanket around him, as she climbed into bed next to him. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, saying "Goodnight, dear," before he turned back over, presumably falling asleep.
She wondered what had been going through his mind as he had nearly throttled Larry. Had he been in the middle of an episode or lost in the moment? She had never known him to be violent. A glimpse of what he had been in war?
No. That wasn't him. He was a loving, caring man, husband, now father. Coming to her defense had further proven that he could still protect them. Was he still denying that? And this behavior, this recklessness, was just him acting it out. The recklessness. He had become increasingly so, that it worried Mary deeply. She would never forget that night he came home, beaten.
It was raining heavily, the front doors swung open with a bang. She had thought it was the storm that had blown them. Johnny and Tom had their arms under Matthew, his feet dragging. Matthew's face was heavily bruised.
"Oh my God, what happened?" Mary came over, trying to hold his face up. He was barely conscious.
"We were ambushed." Tom said.
"Was anything taken?"
"They were after me." Johnny said. "Mr. Matthew tried to intervene."
"Call me Matthew, Johnny. You at least deserve that."
"This was you?" Mary's eyes were hooded with anger, directed at Johnny.
"I told him not to."
"Whatever you have my husband and my cousin Rose involved in, it ends now. I want you to stay away..." She could only gesture with the wave of her hand.
Dr. Clarkson was called to the house. As he put slight pressure on Matthew's stomach, he grunted in pain. "The ribs aren't broken but they are bruised. He was lucky there was no further damage to his spine. He does however have a slight concussion."
"He feels a bit warm." Mary voices her concern. She hoped it wasn't going to turn into a fever, that could easily turn into pneumonia or an infection. "He's been having chills." She had had Bates make up two hot water bottles and a flannel. That had seemed to bring it down a bit. It had stopped the shivering considerably.
After he takes his temperature, he adds, 'Just a slight chill from being out in the cold air. I doubt it will turn into pneumonia or fever. I strongly recommend bed rest. No strenuous activity and keep the room temperature consistent to prevent it from developing. And see that he spends time away from baby just in case."
"What were you thinking?" Mary shouted at Matthew after Clarkson had left the room, and she had firmly shut the door.
"I was only helping."
"Going out this late at night, as cold as it is." He knew how more prone to colds and infections he was due to his spinal damage. That he would carry with him for the rest of his life. And if he further damaged his spine he would never walk again. It was as if he was deliberately putting himself at risk. "What were you thinking?" She repeated. "Edith was right you can't be everyone's knight in shining armor. Someday it'll bloody get you killed." She sobbed, heavily. It horrified her that he didn't seem to care. "Your son needs you."
"He needs you."
She watched him, waiting. For what, for some sign?
She thought back to their argument back at Duneagle. He had thought he wouldn't be a deserving father, believed that he couldn't be one, convinced that he wasn't her Matthew anymore, that he was long gone. But he wasn't. As she told him so, he had nodded. Had been willing to try and let her find him again, that he could be found. Had he really meant it? If he truly believed that he was too far gone, she wouldn't give up. She was willing to get him back no matter how long it took.
"I'll bring him up to you after his feeding." Maybe seeing George would cheer him up. Matthew had rarely been to see him. It was like George was a half orphan, and Matthew wasn't really living. He had been over joyed at the prospect, at the day of his birth as any new father did. She didn't understand this sudden turn back into that dark hole he had managed to dig himself out of, or maybe he'd never been out of it at all. The only way to get her Matthew back, was for him to want to.
"You heard Dr. Clarkson. Wait till the temperature goes down. Then I'll see him."
"We need to talk about it, you know. About Duneagle."
"No, we don't."
"They came back." She meant the episodes. "I think we should tell your mother."
"No." Please don't tell her.
She'd respect his wish, at least for now, but it had to be discussed. "If you don't want to tell her, we have to talk about it. We can't skate around things anymore." She helped him take a sip of water.
"I haven't had any since then."
She set the glass aside. He tried to adjust his sitting position but winced. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You should stay lying down." A moment of silence passed.
"You know I love you. I've always loved you from the first moment I saw you." He smiled at her but even that hurt.
"I know that. We were both so eager to deny it."
"I wasn't going around, intentionally looking to get hurt tonight." How could he explain to her? The rush of excitement he had felt, the potential danger, no regards to his well being, not having to think about himself. He'd try his best. "It's just...it's just like..." Words started to fail him. He couldn't find them.
"Yes?" She waited for him to give an explanation, so she could help him.
"I don't know what it's like. I just didn't care. I don't want to care." She took him into her arms, mindful of his ribs, and simply just held him.
"Everything will be fine. When you see your son." His Mary, his true Mary. He hoped more than anything that she would be right.
"I'll see him when I'm better." He said with confidence, genuinely looking forward to it.
It still didn't stop her from worrying. She turned to Isobel, to see if she could talk to him, telling her about the episodes at Duneagle; leaving out the one that happened a few nights ago in their bed.
Isobel went up to his dressing room. "Mary's told me about Duneagle."
He was over by the window, looking out it. "What about it?"
"She's worried, you know." He said nothing to this but she could tell that he was annoyed, one of his defenses to avoid something. "About everything else and what happened with Larry..."
"I was defending her honor."
"She's told me that she's concerned that it was more than that. Since then it seems you've been deliberately getting yourself into trouble. Remember when you had that fight when you were in school and your father and I had to convince them to let you stay?"
"This is nothing like that, mother."
"Then what is it like?" She watched him to try and determine his body language. She got nothing. He was no longer ridged, bent over running his finger's over the sill.
"It was just the stress of becoming a new father. I have all that under control now."
Did he really? Isobel couldn't tell. She wondered if the stress was too much on him, what being a father demanded, with his condition. "If you're feeling overwhelmed Mary and I can step in."
He then turned to her. "What else has Mary told you?" His voice was hard and accusing. She knew he was trying to hide his pain from her and something else. Was it just her or did he sound paranoid? Paranoia was one of the symptoms of shell shock. Isobel forced herself not to swallow and loose her composure. It was hard to tell where her son was at, mentally. She had to believe that he was fine. He's just annoyed of his wife's prying, though she means well and is trying to help.
So she HAS told her everything. He didn't like that they were confiding in each other about him behind his back.
They're only trying to help.
"She's also told me that you haven't been to see your son."
At this, he perked up but his tone also had a flatness to it. "I have." Son. My son. His heart swelled, hearing those words, saying those words but at the same time it felt heavy, like an impending dread hanging over him like a grey cloud. Still a stranger in a strange world, he sometimes felt, an impostor, pretending for everyone else. He didn't deserve this life. He had stolen it from so many. Yet, he believed he did deserve it, his happy ending. William and so many others that had lain down their lives, had given him this life. Their suffering should not be in vein. So I had chosen life.
"Just not as often as your wife would want you too. And you should."
"Mother..." He started to protest. What would she know? His own father spent little time with him but when he did have time, he let him know that he loved him, acknowledged him.
"A son needs his father. I could understand it if you explain it to me." She understood on some level, what it was like to feel despondent from your child. For her it had been because she had been afraid of losing him as she had lost the others. What was he afraid of? She tried to examine his face, watching his expression for subtle changes. Matthew went straight faced as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. She tried a different approach. "How are you, really?"
"I've been better. I don't think about the war as much, now that I have a son to think about."
"That you hardly see." She reminded him again, aiming to instill it in him.
"You know why. He'll...pick up on things."
"Perhaps you can talk about it now. The war." He shook his head. He looked afraid as if talking about it now would undo the progress of the less frequent nightmares. He didn't have any episodes while he was awake anymore. "It will help." It's been four years Matthew, you can't keep it inside of you for ever. It would fester like a wound. She had hoped he would have confided in Mary, but she should have known of his stubbornness and kind heart would prevent him. He would rather suffer alone than to let others see him suffer. "I have seen war." She had been at the forefront of it as a nurse. "I have seen what it does. That night when you told Mary about Patrick, when you said those things that happened..."
"I didn't see those things." He said, softly.
"Can you tell me?"
He swallowed, hesitating before he answered, "I saw...people I knew being shot down in front of me." One of the things he had mentioned. She nodded for him to go on, that it was okay. "what the shells..." He swallowed again. "I went cold to it."
"You had to look out for your men."
But he wouldn't listen or let her continue with her excuses. "I watched bodies being carried away... parts of bodies." His horrified expression changed to a bit relaxed.. "You know what I was thinking?" He smiled and and gave a short laugh. "I couldn't help thinking, thank God, I didn't become a doctor." It changed again to empty. "I don't have to pick up bodies and try to put them back together. That's not a normal thought." His brows furrowed. He was thinking or trying not to think.
"No. It isn't." Was all Isobel could say. What would the damage had been if she and her husband had had their way and he had become a doctor? How could one shuffle through so many emotions at once? Was it normal? She had to ask herself. The nurse in her answered, who relied on science, Of course! Humans are very complex and our minds are wired to process tons of information at once. Sometimes that means we feel a lot of things all at the same time. It can be overwhelming, but it's perfectly normal. It was this, she believed that made them different from other animals, they were able to think, too much, was what drove a person mad. But her son wasn't mad, just...fractured. There was a way to put him back together.
He gave a flicker of a smile. She knew it was masking something.
"I feel better now." He said, leaning back in his chair. Maybe he was saying that for her benefit but he did feel something being lifted. No one can truly understand. She had seen them but she hadn't experienced it. You don't truly know the horrors of war, until you have taken life, watched a human being die horribly, just a boy, his eyes pleading for a life that you can't return. You don't know.
He was being punished for it. First it was his friends. All of them died. The nightmares, the memories he couldn't forget, was his personal hell. First it had been his friend, Major Stewart. He tried to clear his mind but the visions still came.
"Matthew?" He had gone away for quite some time, away somewhere else. Saying his name brought him back from wherever he was. A sigh rushes out of him as he rubs his eyes, as if waking. He stares straight ahead.
"I can't tell Mary that." He couldn't tell her what he had just told his mother, or what he had thought just now, all of it. It would shatter their illusions of him, even though they already knew that he had taken lives.
"She's stronger than you think."
"Maybe too strong." He paused for a moment. "You understand why I can't see my son? Because I don't want him to see." How could he face his son, at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, knowing he'd taken a life of a boy about that age? All the killing and death that haunted him.
"He's still too small to understand and when he gets older, we'll manage it. We'll explain it to him." Matthew looked doubtful. "I'll arrange Dr. Clarkson for you to talk to." He opened his mouth to protest. "Talking will help."
Isobel didn't tell her what she had said but whatever was said or did, it had worked.
Mary walked into the nursery the next morning, Matthew holding George close to him. It warmed her heart. He was bonding with his son. That was one less thing to sort out. But they were still having problems. He still wouldn't let her touch him, wouldn't look at her with her breast exposed as she fed George. Though he was six months old, she was starting to wean him off. Six months without his father, without her husband. He had been there but not all there.
He was ashamed of his recent behavior. He had been a lousy husband and father. He didn't know how to be either. It was as if he was afraid to be alone with her. It didn't make any sense. He did want to try to be better, after talking with his mother. He would try, no, he would be there for his son. Emotionally, but psychically with his wife again? It was too much for him to handle right now. He wanted her and yet he felt disgusted with himself. He did not trust himself, with what had happened with Larry, and charging recklessly into that fight to help Johnny, not thinking of the consequences or his own safety. He had to start thinking and taking responsibility for his actions. He didn't want her to blame Johnny. It hadn't been his fault. He asked her to forgive him and apologize to him. He was allowed an explanation. Mary agreed, only for his sake of course, and she knew he was right. Holding in that sort of resentment wouldn't do any good.
Then she had come over to him, beginning to evoke the passion and desire in him. He could feel hers against his skin and all he had felt was revulsion. And for a moment, only for a moment, he wanted to sink into it, as she rubbed her thumb over his cheek, then traced his lips.
"Please, don't..."
"It's been so long since we've been like this." Her voice was longing, longing for something he could not give. Then her hand went down to his trousers.
He caught her hand and brushed, yanked it away. "For God's sake!" How could see want him like this? Right here? Now? When not many days ago he was a sobbing mess in her arms, afraid of a thunder storm and needed to be comforted like an infant. It would always be like that.
"I want my husband back." She pleaded. He couldn't say anything. It was like something had taken control over him. "Please give me back my husband." She searched his face as if she would find him hiding there.
She won't find him.
When he found he could speak, he had meant to say it softly, with all the compassion he could muster but it came out blunt and emotionless. "I can't."
She slowly backed away from him and left the room.
He went back over to the cot. "My dearest little chap. I'll find a way to make things up to your mother. I will find a way to make it up to the both of you. At least I'll try to be a good father to you."
"I believe you already are." He turned to the sound of Edith's voice in the doorway. "You're a wonderful father. You don't even need to try."
"The question is, do I make a great husband. Do you really believe that?"
"Of course I do. Just tell her that. That you want to work things out. I'm sure she'd listen."
"I don't know if I can."
"Then show her."
"She was always good at showing it, rather than admit to it, our Lady Mary."
"Hardly mine." She reminded him. They both exchanged smiles.
"Why are you being so kind to me? I don't deserve it. After all, I did send Gregson away."
"Maybe it was for the best. And because...when it comes down to it, you're still family."
While he lied in bed alone that night in his dressing room, he realized he could no longer go on like this without her, without her warmth, without her touch. He went to their bedroom, stopping outside the door. A force seemed to grip him, telling him it was wrong. He was reminded of the night before their wedding. He had snuck up for a much needed kiss. She had promised not to look. He needed more than that now. He opened the door slowly, hoping, praying that it wasn't too late.
"Mary." He whispered. It was filled with the ache and longing, he should have felt hours before. Looking over at her form, he saw that she hadn't stirred. Maybe he shouldn't wake her.
He went over to his side of the bed but he didn't climb in. Was it a boundary that should be crossed? Would she allow it? If she was even awake, he couldn't tell. The least he could do was let her know that he was here, that he was here for her, and always would be. Show her that he still wanted her. He wanted to be a husband, a lover. Just as she had hoped that she could be his Mary Crawley for all eternity, he hoped that, in time, that he could be her Matthew Crawley again. He wanted so much, what had been rightfully taken from him.
In reality he couldn't truly be him again, but he would try. No, he will, if not, be a better version of the man he once was.
He reached out to her, touching her hair, that fine silky hair he loved so much.
Oh, my darling, I want you so. If you'll have me. I've been away for far too long. He feared how long he had. How long he would stay. He wanted to make the best of it.
He got into the bed and lied down, close enough to feel her warmth. He heard her roll over, felt her arm wrap around him. He tensed, surprised by it at first. Her hand then found her way down into his pajama bottoms.
"I want to turn on the light so I can see you." She said. He did it for her, reaching for the lamp so she didn't have to stop, at least for too long.
He kissed her as she got on top of him, mindful of his still bruised ribs. "I want to be your Matthew Crawley. I want his life." He wanted his life back. "I want his children." He deserved it. He deserved to be loved.
She told him to take it and he did.
He didn't know if this Matthew Crawley would be with her in the morning.
When he awoke, he was. He watched her sleep in his arms till she came awake herself. She stayed there, smiling up at him. He had to share the joy with her, a smile spreading on his own face.
"Good morning, Mr. Crawley." Her voice was silky as a cat's purring. Which reminded him, he ought to try to talk Robert into getting one, on many occasions the Earl had said no.
"Good morning, Mrs. Crawley." He lowered his head to kiss her.
"Ready for another round?" She teased, giving his a chaste kiss, as they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
"I've brought your breakfast, mi'lady." Came Anna's voice on the other side of the door.
"Just a moment." Mary got up from the bed, completely naked. She strode over to the vanity to retrieve her robe on the back of the chair.
"I'll never tire of this." Matthew said.
"Me or breakfast in bed?" She went to open the door to let Anna in. "Ah, thank you, Anna." She took the tray from her, could you bring up some breakfast for our unexpected visitor?" She opened the door wider to reveal Matthew, who smiled and waved from the bed. "you wouldn't have had the extra work if someone hadn't invited himself. I'm sure Bates would want some time with you."
"I don't mind mi'lady. I'll bring up another tray."
"What was that all about Bates?" Matthew asked, after Anna came back with a plate piled with more food than he could eat, and left.
Mary gave a sigh. Though they had worked things out, and they were getting back to normal again, they hadn't been the only ones having martial struggles. "Anna has been avoiding Bates since Lady Melba's concert. It's been worrying me. I hope it's not anything serious."
"It isn't our place to meddle. It will sort itself out."
Mary had been their strongest advocate from the beginning, like she had eventually became for Sybil and Tom, that Matthew was now for Tally and Daniel. He wanted to take them as part of their staff if they ever got a place of their own. Anna and Bates too, they came as a package deal of course. Anna had been awfully quiet and when Bates came into the same room, she acted as if she couldn't be in the same room as him and vacated it immediately. Nothing to that extreme had gone on between her and Matthew. She wanted to help with what was troubling her friend but Matthew was right. She couldn't do anything about it if Anna didn't tell her.
If she couldn't help Anna, there was one thing she felt she had control over. She went to see Johnny to apologize as she had promised Matthew. Johnny told her that she had been right to react the way she had.
"When it comes to me, trying to protect Matthew, I avoid all reason in the moment. I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion without letting you explain."
"His words."
"I'm not good at apologizing." Mary openly admitted.
"No." He replied.
"Well, thanks."
"No, I mean, you were right. I was in the wrong." He said.
She quickly realized that he had meant it as a joke. No wonder Matthew liked him. He was an easy man to get along with.
"I wasn't involved in anything. That's not my sort of thing. But I knew we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead I stayed. I guess I wanted a fight, when those guys showed up. Matthew wasn't anywhere near it when it started. He was inside with Tom." He didn't know if she believed him or not; it was the truth but he didn't care. "But let me tell you something, there's something about it, the adrenaline, it just washes over you, it makes you feel alive."
Mary finally understood why Matthew had that phase, that "God Complex" as she called it, only to herself, Matthew's need to help people, his recklessness after the war. It was the need to feel in control of something. Saving people somehow made up or helped him come to terms with the people he couldn't save in the war. It gave him back control. He was giving something back. Now it was her chance to give something back. There was another matter they had to discus. Rose.
"I assume you know why else I'm here."
"I think I have an idea."
"You do know that she's only perusing this relationship to stir things up with her mother?"
"Yes."
"A relationship like that can never make for a happy one. And there would be prejudices. Do you think you're strong enough for that?" Mary spoke from experience. She had married Matthew to defy other peoples prejudices and doubt's, not out of scorn, like Rose was doing, but out of love. Mary had sacrificed her own mother's ideal life for her to be with the man she loved, forsaking all others, for their own happiness. She had been strong enough.
"I am but I don't think she is. This'll hurt her but she's still young enough. She'll find someone else."
Rose hated her for it, for the moment. But at least things were settled. Mary had other things on her mind to worry about, her own family, her responsibilities to Downton; and then there was the summer bazaar to organize, that would take place in a few months.
May 1922
Matthew and Mary helped save Downton's bacon, literally. They visited one of the pig farms late at night. Investing in them could provide a good business opportunity. It would bring in the bacon, so to speak. Matthew had said. He had gotten her up when she was settled in bed. He told her to get dressed, that he had an idea that would help bring in revenue for the estate. He wanted to show her.
"This late? When I'm already comfortable?"
"Trust me. Just get dressed." He even picked out her clothes for her, tossing them onto the bed.
She had to drive of course. He told her where to go but not exactly where to. The suspense was killing her. It was the pig farm they had been planning on investing in. She noticed when they pulled to a stop.
She gave Matthew a look that said she was not amused, like a mother scolding a child that was trying to convince his mother that he didn't do anything wrong, but the mother knew that he had. "You really brought me out here for this? Couldn't this have waited till morning?"
"No." He opened the car door. It squeaked, making him wince. He tried to open it slower.
"What are you doing?" She asked like he had lost his mind. He got out without his stick. They hadn't brought his wheelchair, not thinking they would be needing it this late. And it was wet and muddy. What if he fell and she couldn't help him up?
"Hand me my stick." He said, leaning against the door, hand out stretched.
"What makes you think I won't hit you over the head with it?" After a second, she handed it him.
"I told you to trust me." It was said in a confident manner.
She opened her door and got out herself, trying to keep from rolling her eyes.
While taking care of the pigs, he watched her do all the work, sitting comfortably on a bale of hay. He was clearly enjoying every bit of it. A part of her thought he'd still be doing the same thing, if he had normal use of his legs. She'd get him back somehow later. As the rain started to pour, the mud in the sty became denser, causing her boots to get stuck, the suction pulling them down. While struggling to free herself from it, she fell. Matthew went over to her. She put up her hand to stop him, she didn't want to risk him toppling over too. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
They both somehow ended up covered in mud. As they sat down on the hay bales, under the shelter of the barn. It smelled of damp, musty hay, and faintly of horse.
"Ah, this will do nicely. Clean straw. What more could you want?"
"A hot meal, a bath and a warm fire would be lovely. But anything is better than being out in the rain. I don't ever remember being so drenched." She gave a shiver.
He took off his coat, "Here."
"Is it dry?" She asked.
He just smirked at her.
"Oh, what must I look like?"
"Like you belong in country life. Lady Mary Crawley, seen here to advantage, relaxing at the family seat in Yorkshire."
"Ha. Ha."
She did not know if he had meant to but he had flicked mud at her.
"Andromeda." Oh, he had meant to. She wiped the mud, could feel the gritty bits in her mouth.
She playfully flicked some back at him, "Sea monster."
"Oh come on now. That was weak."
"You really want more of that?" She bent down and picked up a good handful, she smeared it across his face.
They looked at each other and started to laugh. A good hearty laugh. When was the last time they had laughed together like this?
It felt like they were young children, sneaking out. It reminded her of the time they couldn't stop laughing when Lord Anthony had gotten a mouth full of salt instead of sugar at dinner, almost six years ago. Had it really been that long ago?
They were both covered in mud from head to toe. She hadn't thought of it before. What it had been like for him. She imagined him being out there, in the trenches, trudging through feet of it. She had gotten a taste of it. How careless she had let him talk her into it. Unless this had been his plan, not just for her to get a sense of what it was like for the farmers, but for her to understand, what he had gone trough. The being muddy and the muddy landscape could have sent him into an episode. But it hadn't. Things would truly be alright.
She drove them back home, using his jacket to sit on so she would not mess up the seat. "Don't look at me like that. It can be washed."
"I don't think that smell will ever come out."
"I don't think it's just your jacket. It's us. You can buy a new one."
Once they arrived at the house, parking the car in the garage, Tom nearly had a heart attack, thinking that someone had stolen the car. Mary, surprised to see him asked what he was doing out here.
He often came out here when he couldn't sleep. "Looks like you had fun by the looks of it." He vouched to keep a look out for them as they went back into the house, using the servants entrance.
On the opposite side of the hall, away from servants quarters, they used the bath, grabbing a few robes and towels for themselves. Mary lied back against him, relaxing in the warm water, his arms around her. Her darling husband. She couldn't picture her life without him.
She helped him out of the bath and put on the robe, after drying him off, with one arm supporting him. She draped the robe over his back and he put his arm through one hole and then the other. Usually he would make a big fuss, that he could change in his chair or the bed, but she wasn't going to haul that heavy thing down here and he wasn't going to use one of the empty servants rooms, risking waking them up. To be honest, she loved any excuse to help him and didn't mind when he needed it. She would rather have him like this than not at all. She had fallen in love with the stranger he had become. She had come to love him more than the man that he used to be.
As he left, she still felt his arms around her.
When she made her way to the kitchen she saw that he was cooking something on the stove.
He showed her how to make scrambled eggs. He propped his stick against the counter top and put one arm around her waist, (more for balance but she loved the feel of his warmth there) as he directed her hand. She almost lost her concentration, closing her eyes, wanting to get lost in him. She could feel his breath on her neck, but all too quickly, it was gone. He grabbed his stick, withdrawing his arm.
"Sorry, dear. Can you finish up? I need to sit or I won't be able to make it up the stairs at this rate. Do you mind?"
"Not at all." She glanced back to see him watching her. He was enjoying it. A part of him was using his disability to his advantage. But this was an acceptable advantage which she enjoyed. It meant he wanted to pay attention to her; it gave her confidence that he still wanted her. He would never use it for anything else.
"I can scramble an egg and make an omelet but that's about it." He confessed, as Mary sat out the plates and portioned out the eggs.
"I can barley make coffee and burnt toast." They ate in silence. Suddenly, a wave of intense emotion, that she could not identify, washed over her. Whatever this feeling was, she was starting to enjoy it, hoped that this would be their new normal. "I don't think Carson or Miss Patmore will be at all thrilled."
"They'll be in for a rude awakening."
"I'm surprised the he went to bed without the slightest concern about us." Usually he'd be up waiting for her.
"For you, you mean." He felt that Carson still held a resentment toward him for once breaking his Lady Mary's heart.
"Carson adores you because he adores me."
"I'm not certain I deserve that attention."
"You saved our bacon. Twice. Once literally. He knows that makes me happy, so he'll be happy."
Ivy, the scullery maid, entered the servants hall. Upon seeing them, she froze, not meeting their gazes. "I'm ever so sorry mi'lady. Sir."
"Please don't apologize." Mary began to protest, searching for a name. It was hard to keep track because of how many they had coming and going.
"Ivy, mi'lady."
"Ivy. Well it's about time we got to bed. And tell Anna that I'll ring when I'm awake. Goodnight."
"Goodnight." Matthew repeated as they passed her on their way up. Ivy stares after them, a bit confused. She shrugs and clears away their plates.
Rita Bevan, a reporter attempted to blackmail Mary by exposing her tryst with the diplomat to the local papers. Mary refuses to pay the demanded a thousand pounds, in fear she would always come back for more, so Rita confronts Matthew, the information is already known to him so her plan backfires. He had had her investigated and it was revealed that she had been a former lover of Pamuk.
"Do you know who I am? I am not only the heir and future Earl of Grantham, but I am a lawyer." She shook her head. She obviously hadn't known that. "A husband and father first and foremost and I would do anything to protect them. You understand? And as a duty of a husband and wife, they confide everything to each other. Just so you know, I already know."
Her face fell, her mouth open. She closed it, clenching her jaw.
"So whatever your dirty intentions are, they're useless." He bents over his desk and takes out the checkbook, filling it out.
He gives her fifty pounds and the promise of legal action if she tried to blackmail the family again. He would drag her into the courts for years and sue for defamation not just for the blackmail. "I assure you that you'll find far more problems than what it's worth. Take your sorry sore ego and get out of this house. Even if you step foot on this property again, I'll have you arrested."
The woman had been visibly shaken when he had threatened her, when she had discovered she had no ammo to use against them. But it was more so the rage that had seemed to come out of nowhere.
When the door closed, he leaned over the desk, resting his elbows on the table, muffling his frustration. When he was done, he looked up, his face still red, he used his elbows to clear off the desk. Everything else he used his hands to throw. He was half tempted to throw the ink well. His hand rested around it. But then he closed his eyes, taking calm breathes. Inhale. Exhale.
He was shaken about the way he had shouted at her. He had never been that angry toward anyone before, he barely risen his voice, nothing compared to back when he had had his 'moods'. Mary didn't notice as she was worried that more incidences like this could arise. He almost hadn't heard her come in.
"What happened here?" She saw the scattered papers on the floor.
"My work just got away from me." He went over to her and ran his hands over her shoulders and arms, "Nothing will happen like that again, darling."
"How do you know?"
"Believe me. I know. It's taken care of."
He was still struggling with something, she could tell. She wished he trusted her enough to tell her it was. He acted like he was fine for awhile, the way he used to be.
June 1922
As Anna dressed Mary for dinner, she noticed that she was quiet. She told her about the night of the concert. Mary sank down onto the bed, horrified, her hand over her mouth.
"If Bates found out it was him, he'll kill him. He'll be hanged or imprisoned."
Mary confided that she would not tell anyone. She went to out to luncheon with Tony to get him not to invite his valet back. Soon they would no longer have to worry.
At the bazaar, Tony had come bearing news that his valet, Greene, had died, that he had had an accident. She hurried to tell Anna the good news. How could it be good news, that someone was dead? Even though the man was evil and vile. They would be lucky if the police believed that it was an accident. If Bates found out it was him, he'll kill him. Anna's word's replayed in her mind.
"You mean he fell onto the tracks and was hit?" Anna was horrified and relieved. Not only it was a horrible way to die but she had a suspicion, that she didn't want, that it was done deliberately.
"Apparently."
"And someone saw this?" If there were any witnesses...
"It was rather crowded. I don't think anyone saw."
Matthew made his way over and Anna departed.
"You should be using your chair when you're out here. Clarkson and doctor Jacobson said.."
"But they're both not here, are they?"
"Clarkson might stop by."
"In that case you'll be my look out. If he does show up. I want to enjoy a short walk with my wife."
She couldn't say no to that. They linked arms and he leaned against her and began walking, albeit slowly.
"Can I ask you something?" She asked. He smirked at her. It was a smirk that said, you already asked me one. Her face scrunched in annoyance but it quickly vanished, becoming serious. "Your lawyer expertise?"
"I never thought I'd live to see that day, you showing interest in my work." He enthused.
"It's for a friend." They steered away from the crowd, so they would be out of sight and earshot of others. "If you thought a man was involved in something, say a crime or an incident but you didn't blame him, in fact you saw right by his side, what would you do?"
"As a lawyer I would have to believe he is innocent until proven otherwise and everyone deserves a right to a fair trial."
"I mean from a friends perspective."
"Theoretically?"
"Yes."
"Theoretically, you don't think he was in the wrong?"
"No. Not exactly."
"Then I would advise that friend to say nothing. Theoretically."
"Of course." She turned her eyes to the bright blue sky, having to shield them as the sun came into view. They continued on, peacefully.
They were back by the tent when Matthew stated that he needed to sit, that he was getting a bit tired.
Carson, who was within earshot, said, "I've a seat made up for you, Mr. Crawley."
The 'seat' was a lawn chair, Mary discovered, much like one her mother had sat in, after she had lost the baby. In fact, it was probably the same one. He'd have a bit of trouble getting out of it because of how low it was. That didn't appear an issue with him, he was glad to sit and relax.
A maid had appeared with a blanket. Mary took it from her and said, "Thank you, I can take that." At the same time Carson was still talking.
"I figured it would be less confining."
"Thanks, Carson." Matthew replied.
Mary had unfolded the blanket and was now putting it around his legs, careful not to make it tight above his waist. He still didn't like that and she didn't want risking him going into an episode. As she was doing so, he was not fussing with her like he used to. The way he was smiling at her, she would rather the fussing.
The maid came back, this time with a glass of water.
"I hope I don't look too poorly." Matthew said as he took it from her.
"Not in the least, sir." Carson replied. As he departed, Mary and Matthew exchanged smiles.
Her unspoken words were, See, I told you so.
While his were, Looks like Carson's come round.
Matthew turned his attention to the guests milling about, squinting from the sun, enjoying the slight breeze. It was a nice change in him. He was, perhaps, getting used to it, his limitations, some of them at least. She was concerned about his overconfidence of not using his chair outside, she feared he'd fall. There had never been such an incident, thus far, only once, but that had been inside. But he seemed to have gotten the hang of it, knowing when to stop to rest.
Maybe, just maybe, he was finally accepting it.
That wasn't the only peace of mind that came to Downton. After several months of being imprisoned for Greene's murder, Anna's name was cleared after a woman confessed to murdering Greene. Matthew had managed to get Anna out on bail, then conveniently, the woman had come out of nowhere, it seemed, admitting that she had done it. Anna didn't assume that Mr. Matthew had any hand in it, other than perhaps convincing the woman to do the right thing. He could be very persuasive, even with his condition. He had probably used it to his advantage, perhaps making her see that he was vulnerable as well. She couldn't imagine him going out, tracking down Greene's other potential victims. He had probably called in some favors from his old law friends. Whatever he had done, Anna was compelled to be indebted to him and Lady Mary.
However the feeling of victory was short lived, as it paled in comparison when Anna lost the baby. But what if it had been Greene's, she dreadfully thought.
Mary had encouraged her to talk to Isobel, not disclosing the real reason of course, saying that Isobel might have some extra work for her. Anna thought it had been to take her mind off things.
The two women discussed losing their children. It had been difficult for herself to conceive a child herself, having many miscarriages and a still birth before she finally had Matthew.
Anna had felt guilty that she had tried with Bates and nothing happened but when Greene had attacked her she had fallen with child. Didn't that mean she had wanted it?
"No. No, dear. Just because someone is a father, doesn't mean that he is a father. You and Mr. Bates love each other. That's all that matters. He would have accepted the child regardless."
Anna felt a little bit better.
Miss Hughes came to retrieve her.
"How would you feel about having another child?" Mary asked him. They were sitting up in bed late at night. Neither of them could sleep.
"Why do you ask? You know I'd be perfectly content if George was to be our only child..."
"He won't be for much longer."
"You mean...? "
"Three months."
"Oh, darling. How much this means to me!" He pulled her to him. He had never thought such a thing possible, much less they'd even have one child, just little over a year and a half ago. "I hope it's a girl! One that looks just like you." He placed a kiss on her forehead.
"You say such nice things. You never used to."
"Don't remind me. That was the lowest point in my life I don't want to go back to."
"I meant when we first met. We were so horrible to each other."
"Still don't remind me. I did love you from the moment I saw you. I was glad you didn't see my mouth hanging open like some imbecile."
"I was quite very annoyed. I thought you were full of yourself."
"I was." Had had been immature for his age, at twenty-seven, when he had come to Downton. Maybe it was because of how his parents raised him, as he was the only child, that had lived anyway. He had been emotionally stunted, only caring about his benefits and what suited him. The war had changed all that. It had made him grow up. It had also changed him physically. The roundness of his face had turned into gaunt, sharper features, making him look older but not old. He had to get used to seeing a stranger staring back at him in the mirror. He had not just felt like a different person, he looked like a different person. Even his eyes had been different, sometimes darker with something, all too knowing eyes. Eyes that had seen horrors and atrocities. Even at twenty-nine was too young. Things no one should see. But life had to go on. After the war young people were still getting married and having babies left and right, as it would replenish the numbers of the missing and dead. Where there was death, there was also life.
The war had taken things from him that he'd never get back. Maybe if he had grown up sooner, it wouldn't have had much of an effect on him.
I feel like I missed out on everything and never had a proper childhood, or got to do things other children did. I wouldn't let my own children miss out. My children. It feels go good to say it. It'd never thought of having more than one since my diagnosis that it would be difficult for me but I had dreamed of having two or three. Sometimes I'd dream of Mary and I with our children, a boy and two girls, by a lake. I'd often chase after them.
It used to distress me greatly and fret over what it could possibly mean. Not anymore. I could still be a father, rich in other things. I could find things that I can do with them. Fishing, throwing a cricket ball, I could still do those things.
"I never would have imagined that we'd be here." He put a hand on her stomach. "A little sister for Georgie." It still felt so strange, he had taken life, now here he was, having helped create it. At the same time he was thinking, maybe the reason God gave us the ability to create life, was for us to know what it felt like being him, creating it.
"Shouldn't we rather hope it's another boy? An heir and a spare? I'm sure papa would." She asked. She was more fascinated trying to figure out what he found so fascinating by touching her stomach. He had often did it when she'd been carrying George. He's proud.
"That doesn't matter now. Things are different. The war seemed to strip away all that. Dynastic considerations don't seem as important. Whatever you think of the world, there is only one and if you don't try to fit in with it, you hurt yourself and everyone else. I'm starting to make amends with it. I want to make things up to you. We'll pick out something dazzling for you to wear so I can show you off when we make our announcement. Then we can have tea at the Savoy to celebrate, just you and me!"
"That sounds wonderful." Her excited tone had a hesitance behind it. He sensed a but coming on.
"But?"
"We should at least wait another month before announcing anything."
"Sorry. Right. I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself. I'm sure your dear Papa would be happy either way, just as I'd be happy either way." He scooted himself down further in the bed. "I'd still like a girl to spoil."
"And you'd spoil her rotten. And we both know she'd be papa's little girl."
"Rightfully so." He pulled her in again and gave her another kiss.
He had gotten his wish. On the 14th of December 1922, Josephine Alexandria Crawley was born. She had the features of her mother, brown hair and brown eyes. She was already the apple of her father's eye. Even after the trouble she had caused being born, it had been worth it.
It was a longer and harder birth than expected. After having her first child they had assumed it would be easier. She had been stubborn to come out, making all the fuss about it. They all knew immediately, with no question, who she would take after.