By the time was Josephine was two, Mary had cut her hair short. It wasn't only in fashion; she had been told by strangers that she had the face for it. And she had it cut partially out of interest to see Matthew's reaction. Maybe it would spark some interest in him, get him to notice her. Not that he didn't. She wanted to surprise the whole family with it.
Matthew wasn't really fond of it. "I never understood the fascination with those boy haircuts."
"I think I'm going to reveal it, after church this morning."
"You're funeral. I'll go ahead of you. I don't want to get caught in the crossfire."
After church service, they were driving back to the estate, Granny asked where Matthew was. "I thought he was riding with us."
"He took the other car with Tom to drive around for a bit."
"What on earth is Branson driving the car for?"
" Papa still lets Tom drive. You know, papa. He doesn't trust anyone else with his other car."
"I really can't think of a reason why Matthew would want to go out for a drive, right before lunch. He knows I like to punctual."
"He doesn't mind if we don't wait up for him. His legs are bothering him a bit today. Driving around helps...settle things." Which wasn't entirely false. The back seat was big enough for his to stretch them.
They were in the drawing room now, when Mary took off her hat. Gasps filled the room.
"I think it looks, darling!" Rose said. "I wish I was that brave enough to do it."
Papa thought it looked too boyish. "But it's the bold kind of statement that I'd expect you'd make."
Edith sunk into her seat, understanding why Matthew had decided to keep his distance for a bit. He hated family drama. Edith couldn't blame him. And of course, she chose now to show off, when her love of her life was missing.
"What do you think, Granny?" Mary spun around. "Don't you like it? Bobbed hair is all the rage."
"Like it? Of course, I don't like it. I thought it was a man, wearing your clothes."
"It suits you." Tom said.
"It will take ages to grown back again. Have you thought of that?" Granny continued.
"I'm not going to grow it back. It's so much easier to take care of. Anna can spend less time on my hair and more time with Bates and I could spend more time with the children."
Matthew struggled into the room.
"Matthew, don't you have no control over your wife?"
"Control? I'd like to try. But you of all people should know that no one has any say over what Mary wants or decides." He said sarcastically, which was lost on Violet, as he carefully lowered himself onto the settee. "And men don't have control over their wives nowadays. She's a modern woman. There's no way possible way I'd mistake her for a boy." Mary went over to stand close to her husband.
"Uh, no..." Violet was lost for words. "I still don't understand what all this rage is.
"I still love her, shorn head and all."
"Thanks, darling." He pulled her close, putting a hand around her waist as she bent down.
"Of course, you chose now to show off, when my... when Michael is missing. You want all the attention. Like you always do."
Matthew looked over to her with caution, "Edith, that's not fair."
Just then, Tally appeared in the doorway. Robert gave a sigh of relief.
"Ah, miss Stevens. Lunch served? Good. We'll be right there."
Tally went back down into the kitchen. Daniel was coming in with the wood for the fire.
"Lady Mary had all her hair cut off. Didn't ye know?"
"All of it?" Anna asked, surprised. Lady Mary had told her about it but didn't think she'd actually do it.
"No, silly. Not all of it. But you should have seen her Ladyship's face. Had a look that could have right curled milk! Did you know about it, Daniel?"
"Yes. Mr. Matthew told me about it. I reckon that's why he wanted to go for a spin in the car before lunch, until the dust settled."
"Did he like it?"
Daniel shrugged. "Don't think he cares one way or another. She needn't ask for his permission."
"Funny way of going on." Anna said. "I can't imagine cutting my hair without asking Mr. Bates first."
"You're not thinking of cutting your hair off, are you Mrs. Bates?"
The young maids all stared at her in anticipation, waiting for her answer. She shook her head. "No, of course not. I'd be too expensive to start."
Carson came into the room to disburse them. Anna went back to the laundry. She stopped folding to look at herself in mirror, imagining her hair shorter, her hand hovering to touch it. Putting her hand down, she shook her head again and got back to work.
Mary didn't really care what other people thought. It made her strong and confident. She told Matthew around Christmas time. They were hanging ornament on the tree. He supposed her was starting to get used to it. But he missed running his fingers through her long hair.
"I don't think I'd ever get quite used to it."
"Tell you what, if you still don't like it in the next three months, I'll grow it back."
" You don't have to for me. A strong style for a very head strong woman."
When she got it cut again it was because living with short hair, not only because it was becoming fashionable, was easier. It freed up most of Anna's time so she could spend more time with Bates. And she was told it highlighted her high cheekbones. She loved the compliments. She also wanted to distract from the fact that she had just had two children, although she had lost the pregnancy weight fast after Josephine. Josephine was born thirteen months after George. Two children under the age of two, she was out running, pushing the children in their prams, along with the nanny. Even Matthew started to engage with his children, to Mary's relief. He would join them on carriage rides, enjoying the fresh air. Everywhere they went in the public eye, they family was absolutely adored.
At birth George has always stolen the limelight, and now Josephine because her astonishing beauty and feistiness. They were both beautiful children, contrast of each other. George with his blond curls and Josephine with her dark hair. They were the image of their father and mother. But Josephine was her Papa's little girl, she could do no wrong in his eyes. Neither could his George of course. He spoiled them both.
The older they got though, transitioning to moving around more, to walking, to running, it had to be difficult for Matthew, but he didn't let it show. He didn't want to waste any time with his children, moping in self-pity because of things he could not do with them.
"The more I spend time with them, they'll think it normal." She loved him too much to be sad when he said that.
For him it had become difficult when they started to walk and wanted to crawl up everything.
George asks how high he is allowed to go on the swing or how far he is able to go from his papa's sight.
"Even though I have physical limitations, we want him to explore his limits like every other child. My...issues should never limit him in any way," Matthew stresses. "Nevertheless, he knows that he is only allowed to visit the brook in the forest if he is accompanied by the nanny. He knows better not to run off when he is alone with me, but I still can't even imagine how it would feel if he played near the water, falls in, and I can't help him."
George would lay aside his toys, climb onto his father's lap, and kiss him on the cheek, Josephine would follow.
13 December 1923
My first child, little George is already two years old. Tomorrow will be Josephine's birthday; she'll be turning one. I'm not quite sure how time has passed so quickly. I am now preparing to give birth to my third child, in the new year.
Matthew and I would be celebrating our third anniversary in June of that year. It was hard to believe. Three children in under three years. He's definitely been busy! Clarkson had wanted me to wait a year or two after Josephine to have another child.
1924! It will yet be another year of promises. Matthew hopes it will be born on new year's eve; on the anniversary he had proposed. Tough luck wishing that. It will be born in January, no sooner.
3 January 1924
I'm sitting in hospital, in a boring old bed, writing this, even though I should be getting rest.
We decided on the name. Katherine. I wanted the middle name to be Eleanor. Matthew strongly detested that name and wanted to it to be Eugenia. No particular reason. I had wrinkled up my nose at it at first but the longer I held her, the name seemed to become her.
'Katie Girl' Matthew calls her. Two-year-old George held his little sister with care, placing a kiss on her forehead. One year old Jo wanted a turn.
"Me. Me. Me. Mine turn." She jumped up and down on the bed.
Matthew tells her she mustn't do that. "Mama is sore. You're too small yet to hold her. When you're as old as Georgie, alright?" He affectionately tapped her nose. "Or when you have more brothers and sisters."
She slid off the bed, her tiny lips pouting. She was no doubt feeling misplaced, about where she now stood in the family dynamic despite being only a year old. She will take after me, no question.
As our family is expanding, it seems to having an affect on Tom. You'd wouldn't expect it to be him feeling that way. I suppose he feels pushed out and misplaced like Josephine. Tom has begun to feel in this sort of limbo, not knowing were he belonged. He's thinking of moving to Boston. I had told Matthew to try and convince him not to go, but of course he said, that he couldn't make him do anything.
"The only one who can decide Tom's best interest is Tom."
"Taking Papa's only grandchild of his youngest daughter away, halfway across the world? There will never be another."
"He only plans to stay there for a year. Besides there's the other grandchildren. They'll keep their grandpa Donk busy." He kissed her neck, breathing in her sent. "We'll be busy."
"Not in that way." I playfully pushed him away.
"You know that perfume of yours drives me crazy."
"Oh, is that all?" She laughed as he had given her one last kiss and flopped back down on his side of the bed.
"Goodnight, darling."
Robert and the family were down in the library for tea. He was reading the newspaper as usual. "Look at this. A man in misery."
"Who's in misery?" Matthew asked as he sat next to Rose.
"The King, according to Robert." Lady Sinderby replied. As she and Robert were still friends, she would occasionally join them for tea.
"He has to deal with the labored government. Why do you think?" He knew Matthew was a progressive modern man, from his experience, having helped with the estate for years, even from the beginning when he had insisted he would still be a lawyer when he had com to Downton. It was what he lived and breathed, and would be one for the rest of his life. Robert had come to respect that. His skills and expertise were useful. He has been helping manage Downton for a few years now, but when he got an idea in his head, there was no changing it. Despite their disagreements, he was interested in hearing his son-in-law's opinion on this.
Matthew leaned over to catch a glimpse of the paper, "He doesn't look miserable to me. What is your main objection to Mr. MacDonald? That the Prime Minster is the son of a crofter?" Matthew still believed that the world got on fine without aristocrats before, they could do so again. They were a dying breed and some day would be obsolete. He was only holding onto Downton for Mary and George. After that, the house might go to the trust like so many great houses before. He had discussed this with Mary.
"But what kind of life would the children have?" She had asked.
"Times were different for our ancestors, it was different from the way we live now. It will be different in a hundred years time. All of that we don't need to be worried about, we will see some changes in our life time, it will be unrecognizable by the time all three of us are long dead, in which it would already be handed over to the trust." A dreary prospect to think about but times change and the world goes on weather you change with them or not. "But Downton will always remain in our families hearts. As long as we're here, now, it's ours to fight for."
"I could care less if he was the son of Fu Manchu." Robert said. "What worries me is that our government is committed to the destruction of people like us and everything we stand for."
"I think it would be a nice change to have someone in our government who understand the working class. And we shouldn't be putting our faith in the rich talking heads and a King, that think they know what is better for the people, and who know nothing about hard working life, they'd sooner lead us to war again." You could hear a pin drop as Matthew said this. One would except Tom to say something like that. Tom was smiling from across the room, approving. "Not that they actually would.
"I think we should wait and see what happens before we panic." Mary said, energetically, hoping to change the atmosphere of the room.
"Where's Edith?" Rachel asked. Her and Edith had a bond, border lining on a mother and daughter relationship that Mary was a bit jealous of.
"She's visiting one of the tenants in the village." Rose said.
"What about you, is everything settled at the school?" Rachel had also seemed to have taken Rose under her wing.
"What's this?" Robert asked, finally looking over his paper.
"They were swearing in Mr. Adams's replacement on the school board."
"I thought they might have asked me." Robert had gone back to reading. Rachel was smiling at him at this quirk, while Mary, sitting next to her was shifting her eyes, trying to pretend not to notice. It was obvious more than friendly.
"I feel guilty about the school." Tom said, "I ought to support it more."
"I'm giving away the prizes this year." Rose offered. "Come with me."
Robert asks Daniel to clear away the tea as Lady Edith had missed it. "The nannies ought to be down in a minute." He folded his paper and got up. "I better run."
"Oh, you're not going to stay and see them?" He appeared in a rush to Mary.
"Just as soon as they're able to answer back."
"Sybie can answer back." Matthew replied. She was becoming quite the talker, at three, starting to grow out of her shyness phase. He wondered why she was insistent on speaking to him more. Maybe he was the one she had the most fun with, being able to ride on his lap. "And George." Well, a few words and sentences here and there. Josephine, being barely a year old could only say one word at a time. Her favorite word was no at the moment. That had been Mary's first word as well apparently, and she would pull Edith's hair and run off. Thank goodness Josephine wasn't a hair puller.
"True. Why does she call me Donk? Can't I be called Grandpapa or something a little more dignified?"
"It was that game you played." Tom laughed. "Pin the tail on the donkey."
"That and it was your fault for letting her ride on your back like a donkey." Mary replied. "She wants to do that with her Uncle Matthew but I have to explain why she can't. She does adore riding on his lap and she forgets all about it. So I'm afraid it's Donk for the moment."
"Well, I don't want George catching it."
The two cousins walked in with their nannies. Mary noticed the other two children were not among them, as she looked up, blowing on her cup, asking Nanny Wallace where they were.
"Mistress Josephine and Mistress Katie are down for their naps."
"Just as well. She needs it. Jo, especially. She already insists on being called that. She needs her beauty sleep."
"Let's just hope she doesn't start calling me Donk. Goodbye, my darlings." Robert bent down to George and Sybie on his on his way out.
"Goodbye, Donk." George said, his finger in his nose. Nanny Wallace pulled it away. His grandfather threw up his arms as if giving up.
"George, come over here and sit." Mary called to him. He made his way over. His mother smiled at him in delight but he was looking in the direction of his father.
"I want to sit on daddy." As he was helped up, climbing onto his father's lap, George almost toppled over.
Matthew gave a small, "Oof." George had accidentally elbowed him in the stomach. He was getting so big already. It wasn't only that. He could feel the pressure due to the stiffness in his legs. It wasn't painful but rather discomforting.
"Are you alright, darling?" Mary sat up straight.
"Just my legs are a bit stiff. There you go, Georgie." He put his arms around his son as he settled on his lap.
Sybie, who had been showing her father her stuffed bunny rabbit, went over to her Uncle, noticing his legs pulled to the side in a awkward position. "Uncle Matthew, do they hurt?"
"I can't feel it but I can get hurt."
Mary confronted him about it in their bedroom, an hour before dinner.
"Have you been doing your exercises?" She knew he hadn't been but she wanted to see if she could catch him in a lie. He was straight forward with her.
"Not recently." He was getting rather tired of them. The constant maintaining of his damaged limbs drained his energy, so much so, that he didn't have any left to do much of anything, including spending time with his children. He knows if he stops them all together it will cause deterioration and atrophy. He wouldn't be able to walk or do anything at all and would be confined to a wheelchair or a bed for the rest of his life. It didn't seem like a bad concept at times but he reminded himself, it wouldn't be fair to Mary, having to take care of me, and raise the children. He wouldn't let it get that far. He'd start them up again soon. He just needed a break. She wouldn't see it that way.
"You need to. Some of the nerves in your spine are still damaged and they always will be. That's why they go stiff. They need the stimulation."
"I know, darling. I've been dealing with this for six years."
Saying nothing, she went over to the pull rope beside the bed to ring the bell. "I'll have Bates come up and get you started on them."
He didn't protest or complain when he got situated on the bed, getting into position, Bates grabbing hold of his leg. Mary and Bates do most of it for him, as he stared up at the ceiling. She had told him that they would do it for him so he could retain most of his energy. He couldn't feel what they were doing. He would never get used to people's hands on him that he couldn't feel but knew were there. He still needed assistance in and out of the tub at times. He still needed to wear a nappy, in case baring accidents. That, he could change himself and would let no one else, not even Molesley. He needed to retain a certain sort of dignity. Other than that he did have most control over his bodily functions. At least he didn't need a catheter anymore, those days were long passed. That was one less thing he could die from to worry about. In order to keep living he couldn't go out in the cold weather for long periods, he needed to self quarantine if any of the family became sick, which meant confined to a bed, which he'd have to make sure to change position every eight hours, and he shouldn't sit up in his chair (whenever he needed to use it) or remain sitting for more than ten hours to avoid developing pressure sores that could become infected and kill him, and not stay out in cold weather for long, in order to prevent chest infections, that could also kill him. Retaining his health was also a process. But considering how far he has come, those were small prices to bare. He had every reason to live.
Robert called them into the drawing room shortly afterwards. Bates had come back to the room after attending his duties to Robert. Mary demanded that Matthew rest. He was still a bit exhausted.
"He is requesting Mr. Matthew as well, my lady."
Matthew saw that he couldn't object. So here they were.
"We're to receive a village delegation tomorrow." Robert announced. I ran into the post mistress. And she asked Carson to be present."
"Why? What is it about?" Edith asked.
"They want to erect some kind of memorial to the war." Mary's eyes instinctively went to Matthew, who was in his chair. His legs were still quite uncomfortable, especially after his exercises but at least no longer stiff. She hadn't really needed Bates for she had long ago learned how to help Matthew with them. But she had thought if she insisted on Bates's help, Matthew wouldn't refuse. And it had worked, even offering that he didn't have to do much.
He sat up straighter as her father spoke about the memorial, listening intently. Every little mention of the war or a reminder of it didn't bother him as much anymore. They weren't as prone to cause an episode. They could come back at anytime. But he hadn't had any in four years. Still just the occasional nightmare. But there had even been long stretches between those too. He could go months without a single one.
"To the men, the local men who died in it. They're putting them up all over the country. I suppose they want me as chairman."
"I could do it." All eyes were on Matthew now. "I'm sure they would no doubt want someone younger. A bit younger anyway."
"Are you sure, darling?"
"Must you always insist to question as if I'm a child that can't make decisions?" He was making a joke of it but he was also frustrated at her constant nagging and worrying. "I know you mean well, dear. But yes, I am sure. I think that it's owed to them." He almost wanted to say that he owed it to them.
Robert expressed his honor but he too wanted to make sure if he was up for the task. But he bit back his worry. He was about to say something when the door to the drawing room opened. "Ah, that would be dinner. Come, everyone."
He spoke to Matthew afterwards "I wasn't wounded in my own war and I wasn't even allowed to fight in this one. They ought to have someone young and fit, who did their bit."
"You're being far too modest Robert." He poured some milk into his coffee. "They would want you to help. When I come to think about it, I'm not sure I'll be up to it after all, with looking after the estate and a growing family to look after. They'd only want me as a charity prize. If you want the chair on the committee, it's yours."
"Yes, but that is for them to decide. I'd still want you attend with me. A few other wounded will be attending as well."
That night he had a nightmare. It wasn't as frightening as they had been in the past, when it seemed real, like it was happening. This nightmare however, some of the details were clear, others were jumbled like a far off memory with parts not exactly how they happened. Because of this he knew it was a dream, a dream he couldn't wake up from until he saw it through.
They were being ambushed by both sides. When his men fell there was no telling in which direction the firing was coming from. They didn't know where to aim. One man stood, with one leg, in the midst of the heavy bullets but none seemed to hit him. He tried to call out to the man but no sound came out, his voice was covered by the stray gunfire, and the sound of machine guns.
Through the smoke, another soldier came stumbling out, holding a blue-white object in his hands, cradling it. As he got closer, Matthew realized it was the man's intestines. The soldier collapsed a few feet away.
He decided if he had called out, it would have given him away, and the position of the men, still lying there for cover. He remained lying down, hearing the thud and bullets make contact with their targets, bones splintering. It reminded him, of the thwack, thwack, thwack, sound he had heard, like an axe chopping wood but it had been men trampling over the dead and the dying, because there was scarcely a clear path.
The soldier lying a few feet away from him was Collison, calling out for his mother for quite some time.
The temperature was dropping. The wounded would be the first to die. The loss of blood would accelerate hypothermia. They would freeze to death. They would all freeze to death.
He wondered how the Germans had found them. Had they followed their footprints in the mud? He lamented his failed duty as a captain. Had he made the right decisions? Would they have been more safe in their fox holes and their trenches? If he hadn't made the decision to move out, they wouldn't have gotten lost at all.
When he woke, his body felt numb, his skin burning from the cold. The last of the German voices had seemed to die down. Collison was still calling for his mother. God have mercy on him. How was he still alive? It had to be the wee hours of the morning. He must check who is still alive and who he can help. He was about to get up when a single shot rang out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a figure, he could tell it was German. Bastards probably told him to stay behind to shoot at anything that moved. He thought.
Matthew closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing to slow it.
The air was so metallic, the strongest smell was the blood and decay barely masking the stench of human waste. You're never told what war and death smelled like.
He opened his eyes, only once, to see the man shooting the inert bodies, in the head by the looks of it. Oh God, he had just been joking. He WAS shooting anyone who showed signs of life or to make sure they were dead.
On the other side of him lied Major Hartford Forester. He had been shot through the neck, the contents of his throat laying on his chest. He had messed himself. That was what he had been smelling all this time. Your bladder empties as you die, so there really was no dignity in that, in their actions that warranted a 'heroic' death.
From the last shots, he could tell they sounded far away, far off in the woods. He realized the longer he lay there, his own bladder ached. He had to urinate. If he did, he'd surely be seen, giving away the position of his fellow soldiers that might still be alive. He didn't know how many snipers were still out there. That would be an embarrassing way to die, with your pants down, and your willie exposed. You're more liable to get it shot off. He had heard horror stories of soldiers getting theirs cut off, by stray bullets or shrapnel. That was likely how it happened. Some poor bloke decided to take a piss at the wrong time. He needed to keep as dry as he could or he'd freeze. He would have to stay where he was for now. He was the safest where he was. He couldn't be seen anyway, lying against the machine gun. It had been a smart move. It had kept most of his body off of the cold, wet ground. Maybe he would have been qualified as a doctor. But he did not know if he would have been prepared for such horrors, trying to put mangled men back together or mutilating them to save their lives. When he had seen the poor blokes who tried to gather the pieces, loading them onto ambulances, scrambling to find which part belonged to which, all he had thought was,
Thank God I don't have to put them back together.
He started to count to pass the time. After he counted, he thought of back home, his family.
Near him someone moaned now and then. Collison was still calling for his mother. Then a snipers bullet rang out and it stopped. Had it been malicious or had it been mercy? What would he get? A bullet to the head? Please let it be quick and clean, he had prayed it like so many others had. It was just a few feet away from him.
His position was no longer safe. He had to hide himself. Quietly as possibly, he rolled off the machine gun, onto the ground. He continued to roll, down an incline of sorts till he came to a stop at the foot of it. Listening closely, there was a scuttling of leaves, coming in the direction of the hill. His attempt had been futile.
The sniper was making his way over to him. He had to stay still, pretend that he was dead. He held his breath. He felt the man pat him down and remove his gun from his belt. Then heard a click. He's going to shoot me with my own gun. He felt him grab the chain around his neck. The locket that contained Mary's picture.
He had thought, this is how it ends, he's going to strangle me with it. Then he heard the chain snap. He's going to kill me now.
He'd try to first. Unable to hold his breath in any longer, he gasped. Sitting up, he went for the man's throat. But the German got the upper hand. Matthew had been exposed to the cold much longer. He was slower to react.
"Nein." The German shouted, pulling his arms away, one arm on his throat.
No. I cannot die here. This is a dream.
His lungs began to spasm in protest from lack of air.
She heard him gasp, breathing in and out heavily as if he'd been holding his breath. Immediately knowing he had had a dream. She turned over to comfort him but he wasn't crying or calling out. He just lay there, starting at the ceiling.
"You know how they say that you wake up from a dream when you think you're about to die?" He hadn't died. In real life that wasn't how it happened. Why had he dreamed that it had ended that way? There had been many times he had come close to death, many other ways he could have met his end.
"Yes?" She asked, curious, but at the same time her breath caught in her throat. She waited for his reply but he didn't answer her. He just shook his head, putting his arms around her, the dream already receding from his mind.
Though one part of the dream he still clung to, one question he would always ask, why, exactly, had the German spared him? He had been about to choke the life out of him. Or had he been trying to subdue him? Something had fallen out of the German's pocket. The locket, containing a photo of Mary. It was open, sprawled among the leaves. Her picture had diverted his attention. He had picked it up, mesmerized. Matthew had tried to take his chance and swing at him, his move sluggish, the other man was able to catch it.
"Nein" He had shouted again, pinning him. He had said something else in German, probably warning him not to do anything more foolish. Then there had been another German voice. The man put his hand over his mouth and shushed him. His officer had called him Eckstein and had ordered him to kill him. But the man agreed but he hadn't. Instead when the officer was out of sight he had fired at the ground next to Matthew. He had disobeyed orders, risking his own life. He had stayed with him, said something urgently in German and had left. Help had come for them shortly after. They had been found. If it hadn't been for him, they'd all be dead. If someday he could thank him.
"Nothing. Never mind. It's gone away from me now." He turned over, his back to her, falling back to sleep.
Mary brought Katie up to their bedroom that morning.
Matthew sat up, surprised. "Look who's awake!"
"I had to snatch her away from Nanny. She is like her mother too. She's concerned because her Papa won't listen to reason."
The baby waved her arms as Mary held her out to father. "Oh, look at that. Come over here." He took her from Mary, cradling the infant in his arms. "We'll know who she'll go to when she gets into trouble." He adjusts the swaddling so that he could better see her face. "Your mother just wants things done her way. What she needs to understand is..."
"That your dear Papa never listens to me when it comes to business." He had had a disagreement with a potential investor, losing his patients, he had just hung up on him. She knew he was stretched thin because of Jarvis, still stuck in his ways as Papa was. And he felt like they were 'gaining up' on him. And he was having disagreements with her father that he should get rid of Jarvis because it was going nothing good for Downton and Jarvis would only succeed in helping running it into the ground. And Matthew wasn't sure if he could save it then.
"Oh, I thought this was about..."
"That too. And he should because I'm right most of the time than I am wrong."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Your mama wants to keep everyone safe and I do too."
"Even though your Papa is not a very good listener, he's patient, and he doesn't judge, and he's incredibly loyal. Even when we disagree and I don't take his advice and it blows up in my face, he's still on my side. He'll stand by our side. Although I know you're going to be the perfect little angel and not set one toe out of line like your brother and sister, I know they will. But you are never going to break the rules, you are never going to be defiant, and you are never going to do anything wrong. But in case you do, your Papa will always love you, all of you equally."
"Just as your mother always will."
A table was set up in the library that morning, the committee arriving at eleven. It was very fitting, Matthew thought, as that had been the hour of the armistice.
They wanted Mr. Carson to be Chairman of the committee.
"But surely, his lordship or Mr. Crawley?"
"No, Carson, they want you." Robert said.
"I wouldn't put it like that, mi'lord." Mrs. Wendell said, but Mr. Carson knew far more of the young men that died."
"So did Matthew!"
"Robert..." Matthew began to caution him.
Mrs. Wendell continued, "But Mr. Carson had known them from very young boys. And he's a considerable figure in the village."
"What do you say, Carson?" Matthew asked, encouragingly.
"I am honored by the invitation but I shall have to think about it." Carson addressed the committee.
"I can help procure the land for you. I do property law..." Matthew was saying. The rest sounded drowned out to Robert. Mrs. Wendell replied something with graciousness.
On their way out Mrs. Wendell, on the behalf of her and his fellow soldiers, thanked Matthew for his brave service and sacrifice. He grimaced a bit. Probably thinking it a bit too modest, Robert thought, still stunned and disappointed. When in truth, Matthew was still wondering what it was he had sacrificed for.
Mary and Matthew joined Robert back in the library latter that evening. As they walked down through the Great Hall they talked about how the meeting went.
"They asked Carson to be the chairman. Don't bring it up in front of your father, he seemed quite sore about it, you'd think he was getting left out in a part in some play."
"I was once. When Edith, Sybil and I did a rendition of Pygmalion."
"Wasn't that in recent times?" He teased. He had taken his jacket off and had now slung it over his shoulder. The play hadn't premiered till the 16th October, 1913. They had to have performed it for the soldiers in late or early 1915.
"I think Saint Joan is still playing." They went in. Before doing so, Matthew checked out her posterior, (the first time he was properly introduced to her, his eyes had innocently fell there when she had pulled the fabric of her dress tightly around her form, defining her figure. He was able to do so now without any excuse.) feeling tempted to slap her with his coat, but managed to restrain himself.
Mary found that her father was still up and still in the library. She asked if he was really alright with the committee choosing Carson.
"They'd be lucky to get him."
"I think it's a relief. Matthew's got too much on his plate right now."
"What do you mean? Before you answer, I know it's not just the estate business or family matters."
"I suppose he's feeling a bit pressured." She thought it had to do with Jarvis and her father trying to crowd him out on how to run certain things. But bringing it would only cause a problem at the moment. "He had a nightmare last night."
"What? Jarvis did say that he looked tired, or did I miss something?"
"Jarvis knowns nothing and it was clearly an insult. It's nothing to worry about. I think he still struggles with where he fits in."
"I can relate. They don't want me at the school and they don't want me for the memorial."
"Well, I want you." Mary held her head high with confidence, "We make a pretty good team, you, Matthew, Tom, and I."
"Who would have thought." Her father chuckled.
"By the way, I've been looking into the crop rotations."
"Every man dreams of hearing his daughter saying that." He said lightheartedly and proud.
It was Mary's turn to laugh.
Matthew's mother had been spending a bit of time with Lord Merton. Matthew wasn't a bit concerned about it as they were colleagues, he had joined the board to support the hospital. Mary however was skeptical but she kept it to herself. She wasn't the only one who noticed either when Robert had gone to discuss his dilemma with his mother, she asked if he noticed Isobel's company with the Baron. He wasn't at least bit concerned either. "It's not for us to choose who Isobel decides to be with." "Yes, well."
Off his mother's expression, "You don't think she's keen."
"Far from it. She never tires of telling me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm expecting some company." She half rushes Robert out the door, who still has a biscuit in his mouth, hand covered in powder, practically slamming the door behind him.
Moments later her visitor arrived. Doctor Clarkson. Someone unbeknownst is watching from behind a bush.
The butler walks past Clarkson while he tries to reach for a piece of cake.
"Sprat, would you offer Doctor Clarkson some cake?"
Sprat turns back on his heal, lowering the plate. Clarkson takes some. She asks how he and Isobel had been getting on and if he knows Lord Merton.
"What Mrs. Crawley chooses to do with her private life is her own affair."
"Oh dear, I've annoyed you."
"No, no, no. I'm not annoyed. Although I am surprised to learn that she entertains notions of passing her time in drawing rooms and taking carriage rides in the park."
"Well, no one takes carriage rides in the park anymore. That's quite gone." Violet said a bit sadly. "Except occasionally, Matthew and Mary take the children. You must meet them, especially little George. Isobel just adores that little boy. She tries to spend so much time with the grandchildren. You'd swear she'd fight the nannies for them. Come to luncheon on Saturday. She'll be here, and Lord Grantham."
"That's quite an honor, Lady Grantham. Are you sure?"
"Oh it'll be fun." She puts the tea cup to her lips, "quite fun."
He wasn't the only one falling for someone. Molesley was head over heals for Edith's new ladies maid, Phyllis Baxter. He went to Matthew because he was good with women. Matthew had nearly spluttered on his drink and a bit embarrassed, "I'm not actually...tell you what...try doing something different."
"Like what, sir?"
"Well for instants I..." He scratched the back of his head. He didn't really know what to say. He was stuck thinking for a few moments, even looking up at the ceiling if he would find the answer etched there. "Can I tell you a secret Moseley?"
"Any secret is safe with me, sir."
"This isn't my actual hair color. Well, it was when I was younger. When I got older, it grew darker. I dye my hair, you see, thought the ladies would like it more."
"I never would have noticed." Molesley said in full honesty.
"Just do something nice for her and I'm sure she'll notice."
During the luncheon, Isobel wasn't blinded to what Violet was trying to do. She was trying to set her up with Richard. Isobel did like Doctor Clarkson but she would chose who to have in her life, at least in that way. And she wanted to be sure she had time with her son, making up for all the lost time. She knew he wouldn't want her to sacrifice a life of companionship just because of him. Then there was Dickie. Her responsibilities if she married him were far too great to handle. She wouldn't even know where to begin without having the family nudge in. Violet was already doing enough of that now as it was, though for an entirely different reason. She didn't have the confidence that Matthew had, which it would take to run a county. Her friendship with Lord Merton had to remain just that. Could she really settle into the life as a doctor's wife again? What would her Reggie think? She had thought he had been it. The end. The love of her life. She had long ago forgotten his voice but she remembered his face. She saw it every time she looked at Matthew and little George. She didn't have to think twice then. She knew he would have wanted the best for her.
That same afternoon, Tom and Mary went out to hunt rabbits for Miss Patmore. Matthew decided to tag along.
"Tom, what are your America plans?" He asked him.
"Oh, I don't know. Nothing's fixed yet. But never fear. You know that Mary is more than ready to manage without me." All three of them laughed but quietly enough not to scare off the rabbits.
He didn't even flinch when Tom's rifle discharged, the bullet cracking though the air as it broke the speed of sound. It hit it's target dead on.
"That's it. Got cha." He handed his rifle to Matthew and headed to retrieve the dead rabbit.
"What do you think, being left alone to control your dear papa?"
"I won't be on my own. I still have you. We had a talk and it's safe to say I understand him better now and I think he'd say the same of me."
"Good to see he's not fighting all changes then."
"I want to approve on how we sell our grain. If I can argue a case for it, he'll agree."
"Who's thinking with their lawyer brain now?"
She was looking down at the ground smiling. "He has decided to live in the present and not spend his life regretting the past or dreading the future."
"Live by example. That's my motto."
"Do you dread the future?" The war had taught them not to expect anything. Not knowing the future and what it could bring could be a dreadful and fearful thing itself.
"I only dread a future without you."
She brought her head up to look at him. They both smiled. She felt young again, as if they had just been married. She hopes to feel that way everyday with him.
Tom ran back up to them, two rabbits in his hand.
He looked at his watch as a bell chimed in the distance. "Clock's running fast." He said.
"We ought to get back." Mary agreed.
Molesley decided to dye his hair, and it payed off. Miss Patmore was basically hovering over him downstairs, throwing peculiar glances his way. "Have you done something to your hair?" She finally asked.
"I dyed it."
"What gave you a crack pot idea like that?"
"I think it looks nice, Mr. Molesley." Baxter said, looking up from her sewing with a smile. Molesley smiled back with confidence but not too confident.
He came up to dress Matthew for dinner. Before he left, he turned back, giving him a thumps up, when Mary's back was turned but she turned back around in time to see it. He dashed off.
"What was that about?" Mary asked as she finished putting in her earnings.
"Nothing, dear. Just helped him with a problem."
"Helping the help is not what we do, darling. They're not our friends. If that's how it was, they'd be out of work."
"Anna is yours."
"Yes. I'm a hypocrite. You can punish me later." She gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm only joking."
"On which part?"
She just smiled at him mischievously, meaning for him to guess. The corners of her mouth turned into a frown, "When we were out with Tom shooting earlier, it didn't bother you. Do you think..."
"Of course it still bother's me." The uncomfortableness of his heart racing, the anxiety, had been like pin pricks against his skin, as he had fought the urge to look around for Germans, that he knew weren't there. He had maintained control of his breathing, counting each shot. "I counted."
"What?"
"I counted how many times he fired. It helped. And you help even more." He returned her kiss.
Living with this has been painful but she made it all the more bearable. It was also exhausting, finding and staying with a routine that worked. You pull into yourself and develop a routine that doesn't necessitate the need to go out and interact with people often. You learn how to put on a mask to hide so that you seem normal when you do have to go out, but wearing it is incredibly exhausting. I never used to want to go out. My family tried to encourage me to go out, saying that "it will be good for me." I know they had meant well, but they were only pushing me away. I now only go out when I have to, when it is necessary, to avoid having to put on the Matthew Crawley mask, which was also exhausting. I don't have to in front of her, at least not anymore.
People don't understand, are surprised when they realize the incredible, fortress-esq boundaries you have. They would never have pegged you for someone with crippling anxiety and depression. It was more difficult to deal with than my initial injury. They would have never, in a million years, have thought you were as scared as you are.
Every day is a work in progress and I still have issues. The difference now is that I've learned, am still learning, to use coping skills and other techniques to prevent being triggered into an episode. And the heavy brain fog that had come with it, that I had the first three years since my return, losing a few minutes, or a full day, and sense of time. This too is very, very slowly starting to lift.
So… It's not all bad. After a while you get used to it. You live your life. Every year, you creep toward progress, and I have to assume that I will be okay someday. Maybe not how I used to be, the man I was, but okay.
But with a sad revelation, I realize I don't miss him that much anymore.
Lady Anstruther and her niece Princess Amelia were to attend dinner that night. James, O'Brien's nephew used to work for her. Three out of the seven of O'Brien's nephew's (and one niece) had passed through Downton's doors. Though O'Brien herself didn't work at Downtown anymore, when she had left in 1922, Daniel and Jimmy still remained. Alfred had left a few years before. Rose had invited Sarah Bunting, a teacher from the school and Tom's friend. Robert was displeased that she was there, due to a misunderstanding. But it would be proved that he had been right not to like her.
"Lady Anstruther do you know our footman, Kent?" Matthew asked. He didn't mind dinning in front of strangers, he didn't have to hide that much, as they hadn't known him before, they had nothing to compare to. He had taken notice of the exchange between her and Kent; it had peeked his interest and it seemed far too intimate a gesture, the way she had brushed his arm as he had bent down to serve her. Mary had been the first one to point it out, nudging him to look in their direction.
"He used to work for me. It's always nice to see a friendly face."
"Especially a pretty face." Mary said, leaning back over in Matthew's direction.
"I'm not convinced these memorials are a good idea but I suppose that's a different issue." Miss Bunting said.
"Why not? " Matthew asked. "Won't they give people a focus for their sorrow?
"And a reminder of the sacrifices that were made?" Mary added.
"Most of the men come back deeply scarred or a bundle of nerves. Just look at your husband." She directed the last statement to Mary. Everyone was completely silent now, except the clattering of cutlery. "Don't pretend like any of you don't know. Do you really want to honor that? That's reminder enough."
"I think it's an efficient and respectful way to remember those who lost their lives." Matthew said, a bit quietly, hiding his frustration. "and don't have a grave, a place where their families can go to." As for her statement about him, he was a bit pale but that was because he hadn't been getting any sun since the cold weather. That could give the appearance that he was unwell. But now that it was warmer, he'd be able to get out more.
"If it were a memorial service, then I might agree, but a stone edifice in the center of the green to remind us for ever of death and a pointless war? What's the good of that? To say nothing of the waste of money."
She was insulting him, that she thought his sacrifice hadn't been worth it. The war should be enough of a reminder, he was living proof. She had to be referring to his injury not the effect it had on him mentally. Only a handful people at the table knew, hence part of the tension, like it was some unsavory scandal if discovered. No, she couldn't possibly know.
The memorial would be a reminder. What difference would it make? He nearly scoffed about it. Memorial or not, I will always be a reminder. But those men should be honored. It wasn't their fault that they were dragged into another man's war. But It's not really about them, is it? Their families are the one's also effected. They are also survivors. Do you think it is owed to them?
He held back. He had to be the gentleman in this situation. Robert, however did not hold back.
"Forgive me but you are talking nonsense!" Robert said. Insulting his belief's was far enough but insulting Matthew and all those men who died?
"All I'm saying is, millions of men are dead and there is no more justice than there was before."
Another fork clattered onto a plate. Isobel's. "Unless you have seen war at first hand, you have no place in saying such things. My son has sacrificed as much as those men and they deserved to be remembered. And unless you have a son, your only child, sent off to war, and you see him come close to death..."
"Mother, you don't have to..."
"But do we really know what it was all for?" Tom asked. "Was it really worth it?" He hated that it had made his friend suffer and for what? "All it did was start the Russian revolution, which you hate." He directed the last bit toward Robert.
"You are wrong, both of you!" Robert began, waving his hand at Tom and Miss Bunting.
"What I was going to say is, that the war lied waste to a great number of men, a whole generation." Tom continued from where he had left off. "We should still honor them and the one's still effected by it."
"I didn't mean any offense." Miss Bunting apologized but it was little too late and in vain. No one was buying her sudden generosity. "I do honor them. I just think there are other way's to. And I think it's a pity they didn't want either of you on their committee. They should have least considered you, Mr. Crawley. You can put up a stout of defense of their intentions."
"Seeing as he is a lawyer, he ought to." Mary said, cleaver enough to hide some of her smartness.
"As it happens, I'm to look into a plot of land for the memorial. And since they chose Carson, I don't doubt their decision and I think Mr. Carson is more than capable for the task, right Carson?"
Carson nodded. "Yes, Mr. Matthew. And they do want his lordship on the committee, as their patron. I meant to tell you mi'lord."
"I should be glad to accept."
"Now if you can all put your swords away, perhaps we can finish out dinner in a civilized manner." Granny, always the voice of reason during situations like this.
Afterwards, the little party gathered in the drawing room.
Isobel was sitting next to Mary. Mary asked how her visit with her grandmother went earlier in the evening.
"I quite enjoyed myself." Isobel replied.
"You get on with Lord Merton, I know that."
"I do but Cousin Violet had other plans for him at the luncheon."
She didn't take notice of what her mother in-law meant as she hadn't had the energy. She had just come from taking care of Matthew, helping him change, and checking in on the children. "Where is Granny?" She asked, inclining her head to look around the room but couldn't find her.
"She wanted to slip away. The day of parties has taken it's toll."
"So it has on Matthew."
"I hope he's not taking it too harshly. People need to know that the damage really never goes away but they can go back to working in society and find a place in the world again."
"I quite agree. I want to thank you, for what you did for Matthew..."
"No need." She patted Mary's hand in a way that said, I'm his mother, that's my job.
As Matthew entered the room, Isobel got up and went over to him, leading him back over to the couch.
"Before I go, I want to meet the staff downstairs." Sarah told Tom; he was about to see her out.
"Don't you think you've made enough of a statement for one evening?" He might not know where he fit in, where his place was in this family, but he knew his place was to stand up for his best friend, his brother, who had stood up for him. He was his best man, still long after his and Mary's wedding. They didn't stop being friends just because of that, which Tom had thought, that he'd go back on his word, just like the rest of them, and he'd just go back to being the chauffeur that married the Earl's daughter. But no, Matthew wasn't like that. He had felt ashamed for ever to have thought that. They were the 'We won't let them change us, pals." He owed Matthew this for having had doubted, even though they hadn't been spending any personal time together lately, holding off any real conversation. He understood that Matthew needed more time. There were things he was still dealing with that he couldn't even tell him about.
"What about you?" Sarah had caught him there. He hadn't been exactly innocent himself.
He admitted to himself that he was guilty as sin for doing the exact same thing but he never exploit someone's pain like that. That was where he drew the line. "I know I got a bit carried away but I would never...Outing his deepest darkest pain like that, in front of everyone, just to get your point across? It took a lot for him to get where he is. And a fine time recovering to."
"If you call that recovering." His mind is scarred for ever. There was no coming back from that. She went to turn away.
Tom grabbed her arm, "Matthew Crawley is the best damn man and the bravest if I've ever saw one. If he hadn't had fought for me when I was almost fired, for the very intolerance that you're displaying now, I wouldn't have met the love of my life or have my daughter. He and this family made me a better man. And I would do anything for them. You're just a reminder of what I used to be." He was telling Robert the same thing an hour later.
"If Miss Bunting brought back those feelings of you being a rebel and a hater..."
"She's not the one for me. I know. And I could never be those things again. I could never hate anyone. Least of all you."
Matthew wanted to go away to London for their anniversary. It was decided that the memorial would be in the center of town, Tom would keep Robert in line, they had enough nannies and the children would have their Donk to spoil them, so they had nothing to worry about. Isobel was thrilled to be spending time with them. "George and Josephine are coming on so fast. It's wonderful how they seem to change, week by week at their age."
"Careful, mother. The way you go on about comparing them, you'd think they were twins."
"With what a handful they are, they might as well be." Mary replied. "George is rather sweet, isn't he? It's Jo you have to watch out for. She can be a little terror when she wants to. It's usually when they both start going..." When they teamed up it was like they WERE twins.
"Katie is still at the quiet, well behaved stage." Matthew beamed.
"She is only five months old." Mary reminded him that she wouldn't stay that way for long.
"Katie does look so cute when she falls asleep, pulling on her ear, all scrunched up with her feet tucked underneath her..." Rose started to say but Mary cut across her,
"George did the exact same thing."
"bottom." Rose finished, speaking at the same time.
"Interesting. Mary used to do that too." Edith said, attempting to embarrass her older sister. "You had the same amount of hair too."
Matthew was smiling, wiping his eye, which was watering. From finding it hilarious and amusing or cute? Mary scoured at him from cross the table but couldn't keep herself from smiling.
Isobel joined in the chatter, Matthew used to fall asleep in all sorts of awkward positions." Matthew nearly flushed at this. He was grateful when Robert steered the conversation in a different direction. He started to discuss the paintings, that he knows an art historian who is writing a book on Della Francesca. "He wasn't aware we had one of his paintings here at Downtown. It could inflate the value of it considerably. As much as I would hate to part with it, it would bring in further profit for the estate."
After he had finished, Isobel went on to talk about the changes at the hospital and with the successful first use of insulin, diabetes would no longer be death sentence.
Anna helped pack Mary's suitcase the night before her and Matthew's departure for London. She asked Anna to buy something for her, so their wouldn't be any consequences. It took several seconds for her to get at what she meant.
"I have three children already. I'm sure Matthew will want another boy down the line, but not soon enough if I can help it."
"But what will I know what to buy?" Mary went over to her dresser drawer and took out a book.
1924, saw many changes coming to the great house. The village hospital was doing well, as was Downton, with Robert might having a fair price offered for the Della Francesca (he had dreaded to part from it as it had been in the family since the 1700's when the third Earl had bought it as a young man in France) and the radio was the biggest technical marvel. It took some time to convince Robert to get one, well Rose tried to convince him. Matthew preferred the sound from the gramophone.
Rose said, "but the sound is so much clear on the radio and you can listen to anything you want. Not just music."
"Just imagine, information broadcast over the world." Edith had agreed. Matthew looked appalled and betrayed as Edith had enjoyed the gramophone just as much has he did. His expression had the girls laughing. It had embarrassed his so, that he had left in a huff.
"Men and their old fashioned ways." Mary sighed, playfully. "Always the same with each generation."
She had caught Matthew listening to it. He tried to bluff his way out of it, which Mary had thought hilarious, she had laughed at him.
The servants also gathered around it as it was being set up. Clarkson found it's presence disturbing. Isobel, being the modern woman she was, accepted it. Violet also enjoyed it but she thought hearing the royal family took away the mystery.
Miss Patmore received a letter, that her nephew would be denied his place on her home village's memorial, as he was shot for cowardice. She asked Miss Hughes to try to convince Carson to have the committee to put his name on theirs.
"Add the name of a coward to our memorial?"
"Mr. Carson, surely by now we know enough about shell shock to be more understanding." They had both been witnesses to it.
"Mr. Matthew didn't high tail and run. He stood by his post. Now, I don't mean to sound cruel. This other lad was probably troubled and off his head for all we know. I'm sorry for him. I'm sorry for his family. I'm sorry for Miss Patmore,"
"Well, then."
"But is it fair to the millions of men who stood by their posts, up to their waists in mud, terrified out of their wits, yet determined to do their duty for King and Country, as Mr. Matthew did." He reminded her again, "Is it fair to say to them, "Your sacrifice weighs just the same as the man who abandoned his duty and ran for it?"
"What Mr. Matthew will think of that would be quite the opposite of that."
"I'm leaving him out of this."
"Starting to have a soft spot for him now are you?"
"Just looking out for him for Lady Mary's sake. He doesn't need to be troubled with this. And I don't think it's right to make so little of the gist those young men gave us when they died and those who sacrificed part of themselves."
"I see." Miss Hughes promptly left. She was in the middle of telling Miss Patmore when they were interrupted by Carson.
"Oh, she's told you then. They'd never have allowed it. But I don't want you to think that I'm unsympathetic."
"Yes, well, sympathy butters no parsnips." Miss Patmore hurried out of the kitchen.
"What's the matter with her?" Daisy asked.
Rose hosts a tea for Russian refugees from York. Robert suggests they move into the next room to commune with the souvenirs the Dowager and the 6th Earl of Grantham brought back from the wedding of Grand Duchess Maria to Queen Victoria's son Prince Alfred.
As Violet lights up reminiscing about the long-ago party in the 'warm as the-tropics' Winter Palace, her blue velvet dress and her long lost fan, out from the shadows steps Prince Kuragin to remind her that it was he who had gifted her with the memento and she'd hid it in her handbag so her husband wouldn't see, the meaning of which goes sledding over Robert's head as Violet proudly introduces them.
"Granny has a past!" Mary said cheerful, beside Matthew. "Thank heavens Papa and Aunt Rosamund were already born."
"We could have spun all sorts of fairy tales." He mused. God knows, how much he and Mary deserved their own. They were lucky enough if it would stay that way for ever. But nothing ever truly lasts does it?