It had taken two years to combine the village hospital with the York Hospital. Isobel and Clarkson invited Rachel to Crawley House for the news as she was part of the board of the hospital in the village.

"I received a letter this morning from the Board of Governors." Clarkson stated. He and Isobel, well, he decided that he would tell Rachel, as Isobel said she'd feel awkward about it. He got the sense that she had him tell Rachel, so she would be the one to tell the Dowager. "I may be retired but they still want me on the board. I am to remain at my post here." He was sure that Isobel had swung that somehow. Perhaps using Matthew's shell shock to ensure their stay, that she needed to be close, and relocating would be a mute point as all the necessary updated equipment he could come to need would be near by. It wasn't beneath her. Though it was justifiable. At any given time he could relapse. It was evident that Matthew hadn't told his wife or mother.

Five years without one was a remarkable feat but it was also a matter of time.

"And Isobel is to stay on an almoner." He continued, his eyes going to her. She had a nervous expression, almost biting her lip. "But they want to offer the role of president to...you."

"Me? Why?" Rachel was almost absolutely horrified. Not only was worried how some of the villagers would take to a Jewish woman in that position, she was more worried how this would come across to Violet. When she was just starting to warm up to her being part of the family.

"Well, you made a good impression when you went in to York." Was all Isobel could say. She whole heartedly encouraged her but it felt almost a betrayal to an old friend.

"What about Violet?"

"Lady Grantham is..." Clarkson hesitated, and I quote the board while saying this, " He didn't want to be under fire from Violet as well. Her ladies maid, Danker, had thrown accusations at him and he had to take action, almost getting the maid fired. 'is allowed to step down after so many years of noble service."

"You can see their point. How can they have someone in the management of the new system who thinks the whole idea is horrible to begin with?" Isobel said rhetorically.

"And you support this notion?" Rachel turned to Clarkson.

"Of course he does." His wife answered for him. The old doctor wasn't quite used to that. His mouth still opened and closed like a fish out of water. "He put your name forward as your replacement."

"Lady Grantham is not as young as she once was." He agreed. "And as Isobel says, I'm afraid she would be willing the new regime to fail."

"No doubt. But is this the way to go about things?"

"It is in the best interests of your patients. Besides I want to involve linguistics of running things and she would never agree to take that on."

"So I am to step into her shoes and take on more responsibility than she's ever had?" That didn't seem fair, and it was far worse.

The two of them were pretty nervous and fidgety in a figurative sense. They were skating around something. It wasn't just that they were trying to find a way to be a couple around others.

"We both think you'd be marvelous." Isobel further encouraged.

"You want me to be the one to tell her." It was an observation. She wasn't angry at them, more like disappointed that they went about it this way.

"They'll write as soon as they hear back for me." But what Clarkson was saying felt more like a cop out.

"I need to talk to Lord Grantham about this."

"The thing is, we don't want to come up with another name." Isobel said from behind her as Rachel started to depart.

"Don't we? It might be easier all around if we did."

The post was later to arrive that afternoon. Well, Anna held off on delivering it, figuring that she and Matthew would want to sleep in. And 'sleep in' they did. She thanked Anna for that, silently to herself. Matthew went straight back to actual sleep after breakfast. At lunchtime it was just her, Edith and Papa. It seemed to have become routine. Matthew and Rachel would stay up in their respective rooms. Mary couldn't help but give her father the shifty, amusing eyes. but he didn't seem to notice.

Carson arrived with the post instead.

There were two letters. One from Rose and the other from Tony Gillingham. What could he possibly want? She hadn't heard from him for a year and a half. She concealed her eagerness to open it first, so she opened the one from Rose instead.

"There's a letter from Rose."

"What does she have to say for herself?" Robert didn't seem all that much happy.

"Everything's good in New York as usual. They can't come to Andy's birthday party but she wants to rent him a pony. And they send their regards. They'll be taking a house in the Hamptons for the summer." She scanned the rest over quickly, a habit she had picked up. "Golly, looks like Rose might be pregnant."

"Why do you say that?" Didn't she just have a child? Robert marveled. He could talk. George, Josephine and Katie, were nearly all born on the heals of each other, being at least a year and a half older than each other. George and Josephine were fifteen months apart and Katie was thirteen months apart from her older sister.

"She says, I might be back in August but it's a bit early to say."

"Only you would add two and two together and get fifty-three." Edith chimed disbelievingly.

"I'm the one who has four children." She retorted but kept her cool. And another one soon, but she decided not to divulge that information. She wanted to tell her husband first. She would tell the rest of them at dinner.

Mary went over the news of Rose's with Matthew before they were to go down that evening. "And Tony Gillingham's invited us to dinner with some friends next Friday."

"I think we should go." He said without hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

Why must she always ask that like he was fragile? "It would be nice to get out of the house."

"We were out..."

"Being in bed all day in a foreign country is nothing different than what we do here."

"That reminds me. I was planning on telling the family at dinner but I wanted to tell you first."

"You missed two cycles."

"How...how did you know?"

"I keep track of things." She had to smile at that. "I think it's safe to say that we both suspected for a while now."

She nodded. "This hopefully will be our last one."

"Are you sure about that?" He said, smiling, a smug expression on his face. "You know I can't keep my hands off you."

"You'll just have to. I'm not getting any younger. Just think, seven months! He or she will have the same birth month as Josephine."

"I bet she'll enjoy that!" Josephine was always demanding sole attention.

"Speaking of birthday's. After Andy's party, I was planning on something special for us. Maybe dinner or a show. Just no birthday sex for you." She gave him a mischievous look she hoped he would return. He wore no expression at all.

"I don't want to celebrate."

They both fell into a dreaded silence. Of course he wouldn't want to celebrate his own birthday. He hadn't the first time he had come home after being injured in March of 1917.

"We'll at least have to for Andy. Rose wants to rent him a pony." She carried on, something undistinguished, Matthew wasn't paying attention to... "I told her what would a one year old possibly do with a pony..."

"I hope it's a girl." He said. "I know it won't replace Beth but..."

"Is that what you named her?" They had never discussed it. Baby Crawley 1926 Precious daughter and sister, for ever an angel, had just gone on her stone marker. Perhaps it had been too painful for him then.

He duly nodded. "Abigail Elizabeth Crawley. I was just thinking Beth. Abby would be a bit too ironic. We haven't put her name officially on her gravestone." He played with the glass in his hand, the liquid swirling around but he does not look at it. He's not looking directly at her. She cannot read the expression in his eyes. "We can do that for her birthday. After the party, which would be a weekend." Sunday at the beginning of the week would be fitting.

"That's right." She didn't want to talk about it. It felt kind of morbid. Though Beth Crawley would be nice instead of just baby.

It would be easier to change than having a new one made. Matthew was thinking. He can feel something clawing and pulling at his mind. It can't come back. Not now. Not ever. Mentally trying to fight it was making him feel exhausted.

"I think I'm going to turn in." He started getting up from the chair.

"Are you..?" She was going to ask him if he was sure he didn't want her to do anything special for him for his birthday. She devised against it because she immediately knows his answer won't change.

He did not answer her, just made his way to the bed and pulled back the covers. It was like he was sleepwalking. He's trying to not let himself feel or most of all, think.

"You're not coming down for dinner then?"

He shook his head. "Maybe later. Tell them I'm tired." Which was true.

"I'll have a tray brought up for you. Get some rest." A good night's sleep will do him good. Her Matthew Crawley will awake from hibernation. She excited the room.

Mary was determined to take extra precautions with this baby. Though it couldn't be certain that would prevent anything. There was no explanation as to why they had lost the last one.

It had taken her six months to come out of her haze from losing Beth. For the first few, she had gotten this feeling that she needed to feed both babies. When she would hear him cry she swore she could hear two. Is that what Matthew had experienced, while going through his own demons, the first few years after the war, hearing the ghosts? Did he still? Questions she could not ask him. She did not want to resurface old wounds, she wasn't sure were fully healed. For the first time, she was able to express it, at least in writing.

Someday I will tell him, we will tell him about his twin, and answer the questions he might have.

Coming home on the drive from the hospital that day, my husband was silent as I stared at the hard blue sky. Nothing around us had changed, and yet nothing was the same. I felt dazed and helpless; my body was at war with itself, and I was holding the grenade.

Months after the funeral, I blindly followed the advice of well-meaning friends and family who told me to put aside my grief and focus on my son and other children. Think of all the women who come home from the hospital empty-handed, they said. Be grateful.

I stifled the jealousy that threatened to consume me when I encountered mothers pushing a pram in the park, with two babies that looked barely a year older than each other. I had not only lost a baby, I'd been deprived of the opportunity of raising my twins together.

The grief was always there, festering beneath thin layers of denial sealed with the glue of false acceptance. I couldn't let my pain show for fear that he might one day experience survivors guilt or worse, feel incomplete, as if he were part of a broken set. I functioned on automatic, struggling every day to ignore her death and the hollow sensation her absence left, like a phantom limb.

I knew that I couldn't let her death overshadow my son's life or my other children's. Instead, I boxed up my conflicting emotions of joy and sadness and shelved them in a dark corner of my heart. It was time to live again. I'd been clinging to my pain as a way of holding onto my daughter. I had felt that letting go of the grief meant letting go of her. But my children needed me, my husband needed me. It wasn't fair that I had thrown all this onto his shoulders, being the one to hold everything together. I hadn't been focused on how this effected him, how he could have fallen apart. But he hadn't. Miraculously he hadn't fallen back into that deep dark tunnel of depression. He'd been stronger and braver through it all.

In March of the new year, we took a vacation, just the two of us, to Paris. He had already booked the trip. We needed to take time for ourselves, reinvent ourselves as it were, reignite that passion, I had so long denied him. He had been there as I had for him, in those six months after George was born when he had fallen into that dark hole. But George hadn't died. Those who had suffered a different but familiar type of pain can find a way to connect. But we have suffered the same pain, separately and in different ways. He's lost his child too, I remind myself. He might be hiding it. It was OK for him not to ok, to not be strong. But he did not break.

It had taken a full year for that, for the weight of it all to come crashing down.

He came round to the feeling of cold tile against his skin, and the tears streaming down his face. It took him a moment to realize where he was. He was lying on the bathroom floor. He couldn't recall how he had gotten there nor what he was crying for. Then it had all come back to him. Her tiny little body, blue, and molted with decay, changed into their faces, the ghosts of his fellow soldiers and those of whom he had killed, staring back at him through the mirror, taunting him.

As he sat up, (the images threatening to assault him) a tingling sensation shot up his legs and through his body. When he tried to stand, he discovered that he couldn't move. It was as if his lower half was fully paralyzed again. But this time he couldn't move any part of his body. He started to breath heavily, then suddenly his heart began to beat faster. He couldn't catch his breath. Then his throat felt like it was tightening. It was as if he was suffocating.

He was dying. At least that's what he thought. He thought of Mary, the children. He didn't want this to be it. He didn't want her to find him this way. He had always imagined that he would die in her arms.

Sobs wracked his body as the air seemed to refuse to enter his body. The sensation was coming back. The tightness he felt around him, he realized, was from someone holding him.

It wasn't Mary's arms around him. How he wished they were hers. It was Clarkson.

"It's alright. Breathe. Just breathe."

How was he supposed to breathe? Couldn't he see he was suffocating? "I can't...I'm dying."

"You're not dying."

He's only able to shake his head back and forth. "N...no..."

He had his stepson's head resting in his lap now. His eyes are darting around with that glazed expression. He's about to go into an episode, or into another one. He needed to calm him to bring him out of it.

"Matthew. Matthew, it's alright. Just listen to my voice."

He tries to, through the darkness. The tingling sensation starts to recede. Suddenly he finds he can move again, finds that he can breathe. But then the arms become tighter. He had to get away. He doesn't want to feel that frightening experience again, of the air being crushed out of him. He could just imagine the cold hands of the dead, trying to drag him back, where he belonged, with them. "No. No." He belongs here. "I belong here." He was unaware that he had voiced it aloud.

"Yes. Yes, you do belong here."

He tries prying at them, struggling against him but it was in vain, the man's grip was strong for an old man.

"I know it might feel that you're dying, you're not. You're just having an episode. Calm. Just calm."

"Don't tell mother. Mary..." His voice was still slurred from the tears.

"I'm afraid I have to."

The rest goes by in a blur as Clarkson helps him up, leading him to his bed. "I'll give you something that will help."

"Isobel. I need to speak to you about Matthew." He looked anxiously between his wife and stepdaughter in-law.

"Is he alright?" Isobel asked. "It's not his health?

"He's not coming down with something is he?" Mary voiced her own concern. "I told him to wear extra layers when he went out." She was joking now, an attempt not to show more worry than she led on. Clarkson exchanged glances with Isobel. "Whatever it is you can say in front of me." Mary said. "I am his wife."

"He's had an episode."

"It's been years." Isobel was taken aback by the news and yet she felt that she should have expected it, at least had known. Given the number of episodes he had had a few years after the war ended. She had been in denial, thinking that they would just go away for ever, she had just said that to the board, that he needed her care in case of a relapse, so they would not have to transfer. The episodes had come back in those years whenever he was under a great deal of stress. It had appeared that he had been holding it together this past year, when in reality she should have known that he really hadn't been. He had just been distracting himself from his own grief and it had finally caught up with him. She's aware of her head moving up and down to her husband's words, though it's almost as if she has no control, what her very own son must feel, and she had failed to see it.

"It's like any other disease, that can go into remission for years. And it can relapse. It's a disease of the mind. He's otherwise healthy but this...it's like scar tissue."

The two women avoid looking at each other, not wanting to reveal to each other how they thought they had failed. Mary for a different reason, but for Isobel, as a mother.

"I gave him a sedative to calm him. He's resting now."

"I'll see to him now, unless..." His wife should see him first. She turned to Mary.

"No, Isobel, go. I'll see him later." She took a second. "In the meantime I'll go see what the children are up to. Some of them must be up past their bedtime. Nanny might need a hand to get them rounded up."

Isobel walked in slowly, her feet shuffling on the carpet.

"Are you...are you wake?" She made her way to the side of the bed and reached out for his hand. "Matthew?" He did not stir or respond. What ever Richard had given him had been strong. She should be angry that he'd given him a sedative without her permission. But it must have been bad. He had been given relief. Would it only last till it wore off? She reached out and took his hand, stroking it with her fingers. Somewhere in his drug induced sleep he had to know that she was there for him.

While he was asleep Mary explained it to the children. She rounded them up. Like she had expected, they had been unruly towards bedtime, running round the nursery. Their noise could wake their father and set off yet another episode. But he was heavily sedated, she reminded herself. She got them to quiet down, telling them, "I need to tell you all something, something very important. So I need you all to listen." and they all had gathered around her like she was going to tell them a story.

"Are you going to tell us a story? I like it better when Papa tells us stories." Katie said, oblivious to the seriousness.

Mary shook her head. "Papa is really ill right now."

"Is he going to die?" The little girl asked.

"What? Of course not. Your Papa, he's been in a war. Do anyone know what a war is?"

"A war is when people hurt each other. They fight over who gets more land." George said. "But why would Papa be in a war? Papa would never want to hurt anyone."

"Your Papa didn't want to. It was what he had to do. And what he saw hurt him so...Sometimes he still thinks of the war and he gets sad or he gets scared."

"Like when he has nightmares." Josephine said.

Mary was puzzled as to how she knew this. Quickly she recovered. "Yes. Just like when he has nightmares. But they can happen during the day. When he's awake. When that happens, if he gets scared I want you to come get me or an adult you can trust, like Granny Isobel."

"Or Grandpapa Clarkson? He's a doctor." Katie stated enthusiastically.

"Yes. Him too."

"I didn't know grown ups can get scared too." George slightly frowned at this new information.

"Grown ups can get scared too. But I want you all to know this, that doesn't mean your papa is any less brave. He is so very brave. And he's a hero."

"That's better than any fairy tale I read." Katie said.

"You can't even read." Josephine took a jab at her. "I already knew that papa was a hero. Besides fairy tales aren't real."

"Yes they are. Prince and princesses are real. Papa is a knight." They all start arguing.

"No. He's an Earl." George said.

"Not yet." Josephine corrected.

"He will be someday and so will I."

"Nuh uh, you can't both be Earl at the same time, not till papa dies." Josephine said.

Katie starts bawling now, fearful. "I don't want Papa to die."

"Now all of you," Mary raised her voice above theirs. "it's quite enough of that. It's time for bed." She picks up Katie. Andy, who had surprisingly slept through the whole thing, starts to cry himself. "Papa is not going to die." She calms her youngest daughter, not for a very long time yet."

"You have to wait a long time before 'you' become prince of the castle." Josephine had a smug grin.

"Please, will you all be quiet? I have to get Andy settled back down. That means I have to walk him around the estate for hours. Now get into bed. I won't tell you all again. You'll need your sleep for tomorrow. I want you all your best."

They went to bed like good little children that they were raised to be.

"Did I cause this?" Mary asked Clarkson, whom she now considered a father in-law. He had taken good care of Matthew over the years, even now, when he was retired. "Maybe I shouldn't have let him convince me to let us take that trip to Paris. I should have tried harder."

"I believe France had nothing to do with this. It's been almost a year since the loss of your child. In all that time he's been taking too much on, looking after your children, shouldering that responsibility, he didn't allow himself to grieve."

"So, this is my fault." Spending time away from her own family, dealing with her grief alone while they should have grieved together.

"I'm not saying that."

"I was talking about our son's birthday."

"It could have been any number of things."

"But you just said..."

"It's just a belief."

He went to check on Matthew, "How are you feeling?"

"My whole body aches and my head."

"It's from flexing your muscles too long. Adrenaline kicks in the fight or flight response."

"Can you stop being a doctor for five minutes?"

"Sorry. It's easier for me. It's become a habit of mine." While that was the truth he also didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Though he did feel responsible in a way for Matthew.

"Since when?"

"Since my wife died."

"Your first wife." He said with a curiosity. He only knew that she had died of an illness. Clarkson and his first wife had married young and she had died young. That was more than thirty years ago. If he had a child, he'd be around Matthew's age. Was the doctor projecting? Matthew had had some reservations of his marriage to his mother, that he hadn't been married long enough to be an affective husband to his mother. They seemed more like friends to him than an actual couple. He did appreciate the man's effort.

"She suffered with something similar. There were days she would stay in bed, wouldn't eat. She got sick because she wouldn't take care of herself. Pneumonia. I wished I had told her that she wasn't a failure, that she was needed."

"Is that why you took a fascination in me? By looking after me, I'm sort of an extension of her? I'm some sort of replacement? The son you would have had." It hurt Matthew more to voice the accusations. "Well, I'm nothing like her."

"No. You're not." Clarkson desperately wanted to reach him, fearing that he ended up overstepping anyway. "I care for your well being because I love your mother and you are her son. I think of you as a son."

Matthew seemed touched by his statement. They could build on that.

After she finally gets Andy to sleep, she sits down to write.

I should have known how bad things were. Clarkson had found him in the bathroom, suffering from an attack. He hadn't had a episode in years. How could I not have know? I should have known that it wouldn't just go away. That there was a possibility that it could come back at any time. As Clarkson had explained it to Isobel and I, I could hardly believe the words. I felt myself solely responsible. I had been caught up in my own grief. We should have grieved together. I had mentioned Andy's and his birthday. Perhaps I shouldn't have.

It could have been a number of things. Clarkson says. But I'm not so sure. He had given Matthew something to calm him. He would be sleeping now. I let Isobel see him first, while I tended to the children. I had to explain to them the best I could for I didn't know how long their papa will be away.

Mary had given him a journal to write in for one of his birthdays, to write down his nightmares and his feelings and experiences. She promised that she would never see it or ask him to see it if he didn't want her to. It had helped her. She figured it would help him. His last entry had been nearly five years ago. He picked up a pen to write.

This baby should make me happy. I am. But I feel the same as I had when I had learned of George's birth. My guilt had resurfaced. She, if it was a girl, would not replace her. I tell my mother this. She says that it's just the depression. Which is odd because I don't feel it. I don't really feel anything.

We had gotten a lot of sympathy and support from the family after we lost Beth. Precious Beth, my little brown haired girl, that looked just like Mary too, I still miss her. My heart is heavy and aches still, in the place where she should be. I had to be in the here and now, take control of things, and I did. The day we drove home from the hospital, I felt like she was slipping away from me. Was this how I was? It was like looking in a mirror.

She found her way back eventually. I knew she would on her own.

We were talking about the twin's birthday and what we should do for mine. The next thing I knew I could feel the coldness of the tile floor of the bathroom. My face was wet with tears that I don't recall shedding. I try to take in a breath but my lungs seem to refuse. My heart began to race, I could feel my chest tighten.

Oh God, I'm dying. I thought. Mary, the children...I couldn't die. Not now.

Then I felt arms around me, telling me to breathe. "Just breathe."

I shudder and sob, my body betraying me.

The same hands helped me off the floor and into bed. "I'll give you something that will help."

Doctor Clarkson. He and mother married a month ago. That didn't explain what he was doing here.

I feel drowsy when I wake. I tell Mary to tell the children that I'm ill. That's the best I can think off. It's partially the truth. What they can understand. I need a few days to feel myself again.

He stops writing, putting it away safely under lock and key, and sits down in front of the fire.

When she comes back I don't care what she has told them. I don't care about anything at the moment. It is living in a maze of memories, we don't live in the now, we live in what was, or what could be.

"Five years. It's been five years." I swallow and shake my head back and forth. No matter how much I half expected it, it still came as a surprise, a blow.

"I know." She knelt down beside me. "I know." She repeated.

"Doctor Clarkson told me." He had told me all those years ago. That I would always have this. Always lying inside me like a beast, some demon, waiting to awaken from slumber and take hold of my mind. I had desperately wanted to believe, had hoped that he had been wrong. He had been wrong about my initial diagnosis after all. But even now, I can feel my mind slip away. For a time I believe it does. When I awaken, I have no sense of time, how many hours had passed. She stays with me, holding my hand. That's all I need.

The next two days, everything was back to normal as she had hoped. His mind once again sound. He just needed a few days rest.

He said what was exactly on her mind. "Everything is falling back into equilibrium. I think we should go to the dinner with Tony and his friends next Friday. That is if the offer still stands."

Mary nodded. She still wondered what Tony could possibly want, inviting her and Matthew out of the blue. In his letter he sounded as if he wanted something from her. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"I'm up for anything at this point."

They were in for a busy week. The following afternoon they were to have guests. Edith invited a potential candidate for an editor for her newspaper and her husband to luncheon.

"A Mr. Harding and his wife will be joining us for luncheon tomorrow." She discussed while they were having their own lunch. "I've been looking for a replacement editor at the paper."

"Again? It's not going down under?" Robert sounded a little bit too eager. He still hoped she'd stop chasing this silly dream and find a man she could settle with and be happy.

"No. It's just I can't seem to find one that will stick. They're all from the older generation. Anyway, Aunt Rosamund suggested her."

"Her?" Robert's interest was peaked.

"I was thinking of hiring a female as editor this time."

"Brava!" Isobel cheered.

"That's good to hear!" Matthew replied.

Edith's guests arrived a half hour early. Of course they'd be as square as her. Mary thought. Another droll evening with boring guests. The same old routine. When she saw Mrs. Harding, she swore she'd seen her somewhere before.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" Mary asked.

"No. I don't think so."

"You do look familiar." Matthew had also noticed. He'd been furrowing his brows at her from across the room.

"I guess I just have one of those faces."

They went through to the dinning room when the luncheon was declared ready.

"Now, I remember where I've seen you before." Matthew suddenly blurted out as he was finally able to place her. "I hadn't been here that long when you left. You were a housemaid here."

"You worked here? At Downton?" Robert felt like a fool for not recognising her, and Matthew had.

"Why didn't you tell us? You had every opportunity." Mary said in her Mary Crawley fashion.

Mrs. Harding became rather uncomfortable. It suddenly hit him, that she hadn't wanted that to be known. For some reason.

"I'm sorry to have outed you." Matthew deeply apologised. Speaking without thinking, way to go and embarrass her.

"No. Not at all." Gwen put up her hand to the footman, offering her seconds. "I'm fine thanks."

"You worked in this house?" Mr. Harding sounded surprised, in a thrilled and ecstatic way.

"It was a life time ago really. Before the war. That is where I got my start. Sybil helped me put advertisements in the paper. And got me a job interview. She stalled the man installing the telephone here."

"Is that why I was locked out of the library?" Robert asked, musing about that particular day.

"Sybil helped you?" Mary questioned slowly. Her turn to be surprised. An example that her sister would always be the better, kind, one. "Dear Sybil." She muttered, her eyes looking up but finding nothing to say.

"Did you keep in contact?" Tom asked.

"Christmas cards and the like. And then I heard. I was wondering if I could see her." The family, especially Robert looked mortified, "her daughter. Just Matthew and I."

Gwen and Matthew went up the the nursery. He wondered why she asked for him and not Tom. Obviously it should have been Tom.

"What's her name?"

"Sybie."

"It's a fitting name."

"Yes."

"I heard a lot about you. She spoke often of you and Tom. How she helped you when you got your injury. How it changed you." He halted upright. What did she mean by that? Surely she wouldn't have told this girl, well young woman about his other injury, that was never spoken of. "Your kindness reminds me of her."

They turned their attention to Sybie, watching her play.

"I was with her. But not when it happened. When she...died."

"I heard about that too. She would have thanked you for trying to help her."

Mr. Chamberlain, the minister for health was invited to dinner that evening, to see over the benefits of the merger. His initial say in the matter would make it official. Granny was determined to win him over to her side.

Robert hadn't been himself as of late. It was far apparent at the dinner table. It first came across as him just being agitated and annoyed with the bantering between Isobel, his mother and Clarkson, because he was. The pain in his stomach was becoming unbearable, he was almost doubled over. He felt if he didn't stand he would faint. Standing up would conceal how much pain he was in.

"Can't we stop this beastly row?" As he stood, he had one hand on the side of his stomach. Rachel had grabbed his hand, trying to sooth him. He removed it, swaying a bit. "Because I...Because I..."

Then suddenly a torrent of blood spewed from his mouth.

Clarkson rushed over to him, even Matthew (as fast as what was possible for him, which wasn't very), who had taken the majority of the spray, from across the table. All over his white shirt, and not his face. Thank God.

"What...what is it?" Violet asked, horrified.

"His ulcer has burst." Clarkson said.

"What?" Edith asked, shocked, wondering why no one had told them that they had returned.

"I'll ring for the ambulance." Carson ran fast out of the room, faster than he's ever run.

Mary just stood frozen. The whole scene was as if a blood bath had taken place.

Matthew knelt by her father's side after Clarkson and Tom had lowered Robert to the floor. His mother handing him linens to soak up most of the blood.

Rachel was trying to push her way in through the small throng to get to her husband. Robert reached up, albeit weakly, for her and took her hand.

"Darling, if this is it..."

"I won't let this be it."

Mary was still fixed to the spot, unable take her eyes off her father, off the horror playing out before her.

"This is not going to be it, you hear me?" This was from Matthew this time.

"Here. Does he need some water?" Violet offered.

"No! No water." Clarkson waved. It would be the worst thing to do. He wasn't concerned about Matthew's health or mental state at the moment or worried how seeing all this blood would affect him. He didn't seem fazed by it at all, which was just as well. That meant he was making progress. Lord Grantham's health was the one in jeopardy. "Just keep him steady till the ambulance arrives."

By the time Carson got downstairs, it had already reached the servants.

"Is he very bad?" Miss Patmore asked.

"I've rung for the ambulance. It'll be here shortly. Miss Baxter, Anna, fetch their ladyship's coats. Don't forget Lady Edith."

"What can I do to help, sir?" Bates asked.

"Put together something that could be useful but hurry. There's no time to loose."

"I can't believe it!" Mrs. Hughes took her husband's arm.

"Life is short. Death is sure. That is all we know."

The ambulance arrived to take Robert. As they were preparing him for transfer, Chamberlin exited the dinning room to give them space.

"I'm not sure how much use I can be here, Lady Grantham." He addressed Rachel. "I will consider the plans."

"Don't. That is, let it stand. Given the circumstances."

Violet came over, after Mary had been reassuring her. Though she felt that her granddaughter was trying more to reassure herself. "Give my love to dear Ann." She said to Chamberlain.

Rachel was rushing to get ready, Baxter putting on her coat for her, while Daniel was putting Violet's on for her. She felt her mother-in-law hovering over her like a vulture as she stood next to her.

"Don't reprehend me, Violet. Now's not the time to be diplomatic."

"Don't you think I have enough things to worry about?"

"They're ready." Isobel announced as she came into the front room, "they're going to take him now." The ambulance drivers came out with Robert on the stretcher, carrying him out the door.

"Girls, Mary, Edith, we must go." Rachel called to them.

Mary was the last to follow. Matthew grabbed her hand.

"Telephone with any news. No matter how late..."

"I will." She put her arms around his shoulders, giving him a peck on his left cheek. On her way out, she stopped briefly to talk to Anna, waiting by the door.

"I'll need you to stay here. Keep an eye out on him for me." She nudged her head in his direction. He was faced away from her, one hand in his pocket, the other on his cane. And quite thankful she didn't have to see his eyes. Lord only knew what was in his eyes.

Matthew went up. He wanted to see the children. Someone had to tell them about their grandfather but first he needed to change. He got on his pajamas, tossing his dress shirt across the room. Just then a knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Anna. I've come to turn down the bed and get somethings ready for Lady Mary?" The last part was more of a question. She was discreetly asking if he was decent.

"Come in."

He didn't know if it was out of habit, but as she entered, she didn't make eye contact with him at first. He started to get up.

"That's alright, sir. You don't have to get up."

He watched her pace back and forth, getting the bed ready. His eyes then fall on the white shirt, standing out like some bloody omen. "Could you pick that shirt up for me please?" He didn't want to touch it again.

She finally looked up, then to the floor, scanning the area around her. When she couldn't find it, he nodded in the vicinity of the shirt.

"I don't think there's any saving it."

"I'll see what Mr. Bates can do." She balled it up in her hands. Intentionally hiding the blood?

"You can try."

"I know it must've been hard seeing Lord Grantham that way. As I understand, you handled it rather well."

"She sent you up here to check on me. Did she?" He asked humorously. "How is little Johnny coming along?"

"Oh, he's starting to cut teeth. Bates thinks that's why he's on a tyrant, not just his terrible twos, and he's not even."

"You always know when they're cutting teeth. They go through a phase of becoming little terrors. This too shall pass."

She smiled at him as she fluffed the pillows. "There you go. All set."

"Thank you, Anna."

She closed the door behind her on her way out. She had neglected to 'get somethings ready for Lady Mary.'

Mary and Edith walked down the long halls, that now seemed even longer and to never end, impossibly more so then when they were children.

"I called Bertie. I said I'd be staying for a few days." Neither sister said a word for a second. "It's frightening how things can change in an instant."

"Yes, it only takes a moment for everything to feel quite different." It had when Sybil had died, when her own baby had died, whom she had been sure was moving moments before her birth and when Matthew came back from the war. It was like she had blinked and he had become someone else. But deep down he would always be her Matthew. That's all that mattered. If she blinked again, Matthew would become Earl, a position she was afraid that he would be unable to handle at this given time...Papa will be alright.

"I'm going to check on the children."

"Of course you are." As she saw Edith off at the nursery door, Tom was coming out of his bedroom.

"How is he?"

"He's alright. But It's knocked the stuffing out of him."

"And Matthew?"

She chose not to answer, or let him know that she wasn't certain at all.

"We'll be sure to lighten the mood when he returns."

"To be more precise Tom." There was a slight hesitation, "if they were ever to become ill" Incapacitated or indisposed sounded too trite a wording. "at the same time, which I feel could become a common occurrence, which it might, you and I need to take full responsibility of the estate. We'll involve him in the big decisions, both of them. But I think Papa shouldn't have any more worry. That's why he got the ulcer in the first place."

"So, long live our Queen Mary!"

Matthew was sitting at the vanity when she entered their bedroom. She took off her coat and her purse, laying them by the door, along with her pumps. She went up behind him, putting her arms around him.

His body let out a sigh.

"You still got a little something.' She took out her handkerchief and whipped the dried smudge of blood off his face. The side mirrors and the small standing one on the desk part, worked miracles.

"I almost went back there again. I saw Patrick, in his place. But I was able to pull myself back!"

"That's wonderful, darling!" It truly was. He even sounded thankful at this miraculous progress. Then why did it feel like he was far away? He was distancing himself. But why?

"How is he?" Do I need to prepare for the news that I might be Earl by morning?

"He's fine now. Stable."

"I told the children. That he needed to be taken to hospital but we didn't know anything yet."

"Edith's with them. I'm sure she's told them by now."

He nods. "Let's go see them together."

On the way to the nursery they heard a scream. It sounded like Josephine. Mary raced ahead. Matthew would catch up, and Edith was with her.

When she got to the door, she saw that her oldest daughter was throwing a tantrum.

"Tene is bunny kicking my dress!" She pointed her finger to the middle of the room.

There in the middle of the rug, Tene was curled up, Josephine's dress balled up in her paws, kicking at it with her back claws. Matthew made it to the door, just in time to see, catching his breath.

"Well, if you didn't leave them on the floor." Mary said.

Both parents smiled. Mary smiled up at Matthew as he gave a slight chuckle.

Mary and Tom came up with an idea, to open the house for charity, to donate money to help fund the merger. Robert of course was not too keen. He'd been nearly a week in bed. Tomorrow she and Matthew would take dinner at the Criterion with Tony and his friends. And then in two days would be Andy's party. The charity tour wouldn't be scheduled till towards the seventeenth.

"What would they pay to see?" Robert asked, skeptical of the idea. "We have nothing to show. A decent Reynolds or two, a couple of Romney's and a Winterhalter. They'd do better taking a train up to London to see the Tate."

"That's not the point." Tom said.

"People want to see a different sort of home." Mary was perched at the end of his bed. "It's not the things in it."

"How the other half lives?"

"If you want to put it like that. There's a curiosity about these places, about this way of life."

"Clarkson, what do you think?"

Clarkson, who was putting his instruments back into his bag temporally looked startled. He still wanted to work, as their private practitioner, even though he was retired. "Keeping people healthy takes a lot of money in this day and age. And we could raise more than you think."

"Robert, we're opening the house for one day, for charity, and there's an end to it." His wife assured him. "Mary and Tom made a decision."

"And I know well enough that when Mary had spoken my opinion has little matter. Does Matthew know about this decision?"

"I already discussed it and he approves. He thinks it's a marvelous idea. You don't really mind though?"

"No, but I think it's crackers."

Tom walked into the foyer as Mary was speaking on the phone.

"Do you mind if I bring another guest? Oh, you'll think of something. Alright. Bye."

"So, this is the urgent business that takes My Lady to London town?"

"It's not the only thing. Matthew's been desperate to get out. Evelyn Napier will be joining us as well."

"So, it is getting serious?" It was their wise old joke between the two of them, poor Evelyn with his unrequited love.

Mary side rolled her eyes as they walked into the front room. "Dinner with Evelyn Napier at the Criterion?" She walked toward the stairs, neither of them noticing Edith on the sofa, reading a book, until she spoke.

"I used to go to the Criterion with Michael."

Mary turned her head, "Do you always have to put a damper on every restaurant in the capital?"

"As a matter of fact, I have happy memories of it." Edith announced smugly.

"Send him my wishes." Tom called to Mary as she continued up the stairs. "I hope to see him again soon."

"Oh, Evelyn?" Edith asked, "send him my love too."

Mary stopped again, this time directing to Tom, "Why don't you come with us? It'll be fun. I dare you. You haven't been anywhere in ages."

"Alright. But we can't be too long. I want to be ready for the opening."

"Oh, we'll have masses of time for that. Edith can manage a day without me."

"I can manage without you for as long as I want."

The two sisters were speaking like two old friends rather than enemies. Tom smiled to himself. He'd have to ask Matthew how he managed that while he was gone.

Violet came up to see Robert, who had spent nearly a week in bed. She entered the room after Rachel.

"It is kind of you Mama but as you can see, I'm miles better."

"It is a good sign that I hadn't been summoned in haste. Anyway I'm here and I'm glad of the chance to talk about the mad scheme of opening the house to the public."

"It's only to put money toward the new merger." Rachel stated, that it was only temporary, that it wasn't an inconvenience. It was going to go to a good cause. "It's already been fixed. Mary organized it and I think it's a marvelous idea."

"Yes, well, even so. Should I cut a ribbon? You know when the doors are flung open? After all, I am the president of the hospital."

"I don't believe we need a ceremony." Robert said, cutting across his mother. Rachel had already told him of Clarkson's decision of wanting to replace her. He wanted to distract his mother from the topic of the hospital, and from Rachel. The expression on her face would give her away. She wasn't nearly as good at concealing her emotions as Cora had been. "The doors will be open at nine. Who'd want to be here for that?" He thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't kill me."

"No, but it might kill us. Oh well, let me know what you decided. The patients are my priority. As president I am their representative on earth. I am confident that your collapse, will have changed a lot of people's minds, about the so-called reforms. I shall be unanimous in victory."

When she left Rachel let out a deep sigh, "I must give Clarkson an answer soon or your dear Mama will find out in another way." She stopped, realizing the lady's maid, Baxter, was still in the room. "Will you please leave us, Baxter? This is between Lord Grantham and I."

"Of course. Will that be all, My Lady?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"That was rather high risk." Robert said as Baxter closed the door behind her.

"Not really. She won't talk." She hadn't told him of Baxter's past and she was glad that he didn't press it. "Anyway, it'll be public soon."

"I suppose you want to accept."

"I do. But not at the expense of upsetting you or your mother."

"I only worry if it's too much for you. It sounds as if Clarkson almost wants you to work there."

"Why not? I've already had one career, raising my son. He doesn't need me now he's on the other side of the ocean, and has his own life." Matthew and his family had already sort of filled that gap but it wouldn't replace her son and the grandchild she had only heard about but hadn't met. And Rose was about to have another one about the same time as Mary. It made it all the difficult. The least she could do was be useful in some way. "So I'm ready for the next."

"He'll still need you. They always still need you. But anyway, isn't it time for a rest?" Rachel was three years older than him, having been born in sixty-three, though she didn't look her age. He'd like to settle into some form of retirement with her. She was starting to sound like Isobel with her modern ideas. "You're not Isobel."

"In what way do you mean that?" Her voice was almost scolding. She hoped he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was, that she was old.

"I only mean you don't need to work."

"I don't think she needs to work either." She loves to do it and it's an outlet for her to not worry about her son. A mother to a mother, they have an understanding and common interests. "I think she wants a job. She enjoys it. So would I."

She climbed into the bed.

"That's all I needed to hear. That's what you want to do."

"I'm surprised. Ten years ago, you would have been horrified at the very thought."

"Ten years ago, I didn't think we'd survive. It's the beginning of a new era. We must find a way to accommodate whatever waves are thrown at us. It's either sink or swim."

"Does that mean you're alright with the charity tour then?" She asked rhetorically.

"I shudder. But if it helps your new job."

She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.

As they entered the Criterion, Evelyn greeted them at the door, guiding them through the main dinning area. Their sitting area had steps going up to it. Mary and Evelyn looked back toward Matthew.

An older gentleman came up to talk to him, a few feet away. Matthew gestured to her that she go on ahead. He hadn't yet noticed the stairs. Mary was grateful for the distraction so she could ask discreetly if they could move. "It's rather cramped up here. Why don't go someplace where it's far less crowded."

Her attempt had backfired.

"Nonsense. Everywhere else in this place is crowded."

"I don't think he can do stairs today." Mary muttered to Tom. His legs were stiff by the looks of it, how they were pulled to the side. He had tried to straighten them when he thought she wasn't looking, on their way in. It could be the rainy weather. As she looked back, they showed no sign of loosening up, and he had neglected to adjust them again.

"Couldn't we left his chair up?" He suggested.

"No. I think it would be too much..." It would be too much for him, not to mention embarrassing. She wished he no longer would feel that way.

But it was Evelyn who replied, "I think we can work something out." He turned to the rest of the group, "I know of a seating arrangement that would be more private. They don't use the dinning room during these hours. It won't draw any attention to unsavory modern topics, as our older peers so refer to as. We'd be free to speak our minds. Least there be some loose tongues tonight!" Everyone cheered (as if making a promise to his last statement of getting drunk. Some probably already were) and almost made a beeline as Evelyn showed the way. Tony was the last one to follow, nodding to Mary as he got up from his chair.

As everyone else found their new seat, Evelyn went around to introduce them all. "Lady Ann Acland, Mrs. Duper and Mrs. McVeigh."

"Ann and I shared a governess and Julia and I came out together. And Tony and I grew up together."

"What a small world." Evelyn said as pulled out a chair for her, though he didn't sound impressed. "And this is Mr. Abernathy."

Mary gave him a nod. He was a bit younger than most of the other dinner guests and a little bit nervous.

"And Miss Mabel Lane Fox, you must already know."

"Well, it's Lady Gillingham now."

"Course, I forgot." The tone Evelyn was using didn't sound pleased either. What crawled up his trousers? Mary wondered.

Tony was the last one to sit, eyeing Mary, a smile in his eyes, giving her a wink, while no one else was watching. Did he seriously just wink at her?

"Congratulations." Mary said to Mabel. What was taking Matthew so long?

"And of course, if you know Tony, you know Mr. Blake."

"Heavens, what quite a party we make!"

"A couple of singletons at our age!" Mrs. Duper said bemused.

"The rest of us are all war widows." Julia said tiredly, as if she had explained it numerous times.

"Well, I'm not a war widow." Mary replied. "Obviously." She put her hands to her stomach where her baby grew. Ann gave her a scowl. Mary hadn't meant it out of spite, but of course it had come out that way.

"Isn't that your husband over there?" Mabel asked, nodding straight ahead of her. Mary followed her gaze. From the open doors he could be seen. He was still talking to the older gentleman.

Mary didn't know why but she had a strong urge to reach across the table and punch her, claw at her, something, if she was going to say something against her husband.

"The one in the wheelchair? He's quite handsome."

"I..." It hadn't been what she'd been expecting. "Yes. He is and I'm quite lucky."

"We haven't been formally introduced last time I saw him. He's not very talkative, is he?"

She doesn't want to say that he wasn't like that before the war. She'd feel that she'd have to explain. "He is when you bring up a subject he's interest in. You can't get him to stop."

Mabel was already out of her seat.

"Why didn't you say? " Tony asked, leaning over to Mary. "We could have moved."

"I tried to..."

"There's no need to feel embarrassed." He lowered his voice.

A few moments later Mabel came back, Matthew behind her. Evelyn moved his chair over to make room for him, so that he was sitting between him and Mary.

"There he is, the man of the hour." Tony seemed genuine. "Come to join us at last."

"Sorry. I got held up."

"Who was that man you were talking to?" Mary asked, whispering to him.

"I don't know who he was but he apparently knew me."

"Matthew works in property law..." Tony continued.

"Actually, I'm thinking of branching out, exploring new boundaries. I believe all non violent offenders deserve a second chance."

There was silence.

"Yes. I think they should." Replied Mrs. Duper. "Was it easy to settle back into?"

"It wasn't too hard to. It's like second nature to me, almost like breathing."

"Didn't he manage to get one of your maids out on bond after she was accused of murderer?" Charles Blake asked Mary. Their little party grows quiet again. By his immediate response, he hadn't meant for that to be the reaction.

"Only because she was innocent." Mary stated.

"He did? How extraordinary!" Abernathy exclaimed.

"It doesn't really take much. All it requires is this." Matthew pointed to his head. "as she keeps telling me. Which I'm grateful I still have." He placed a hand on Mary's knee, then suddenly squeezed it. His lips pulled into a frown, his brow knitted together, he features furrowed.

"Anything the matter?" She asked politely as to not draw attention, that anything was amiss. She knew what that expression meant.

"I'm so sorry." His hands flew to the wheels of his chair. "To leave you so suddenly when I've just joined you. I need to excuse myself to the men's room." He started to wheel backwards.

"Do you need any help?" He halted, flushed as she asked, perhaps too loudly.

"No. I got it. Thanks." And wheeled away.

Tony leaned over to her again, asking if they could go somewhere to talk. She didn't see any harm in it. She followed him to a private sitting area that functioned as a lounge. It was closed off, only reserved for special nights when they had entertainment.

"I love you Mary. I've always been in love with you, ever since we were children."

His words were preposterous to her. It struck her out of the blue like abnormally sized hail. He couldn't be serious. She couldn't decide on weather or not to laugh. Something told her not to. Her face remained neutral.

"You don't know me, Tony. That was a lifetime ago. There's been a lot of time between then and now. I love my husband."

"I don't doubt that you don't." He didn't believe what he was hearing. He thought she was just keeping up pretenses. How can you love someone like that? Be willing to give up your life. He supposed it was because Matthew was still the heir to Downton. Tony had enjoyed talking to him, at the Point-to-Point, a few years back, almost forgetting. A charming, intelligent mind, but one needed more than just that to love. You needed the psychical body. Maybe she had forgotten that, winning her over with that charm and his good looks. He had tried to be friends with the man for Mary's sake but he kept stonewalling him, kept him from getting to know him. Perhaps it had been for the best. They had only talked about business. Carrying on with their charm and intellectual ideas, you forgot. She couldn't really be satisficed being tied down to a half life. "But it can't be easy, having to take care of him, taking up most of your time. It must be exhausting."

"It's really not." She wished that he would just shut up. She wanted to punch him but it wouldn't be polite. He did not know what he was speaking of. He was not worthy of explaining things to.

"No one would fault you. I can help take care of you and the baby and the children."

"You want me to leave Matthew and you'll leave Mabel?" She snidely scoffed.

"I'm not talking about marriage. Mabel and I have an arrangement, I get to see whoever I want and she has her weekends here in London."

Mary felt herself reeling. It wasn't the morning sickness.

"I just have one question. Are the children his?"

"Of course they're his children! How can you even suggest such a thing!"

"I wouldn't fault you, you know, if you had to lie with some blond haired stranger. A woman such as yourself isn't willing to settle for a life without children."

Mary blanched. "Matthew is more cable just as any other man! And I dare say, more so than you. George looks just like him."

"I don't doubt that George isn't. Josephine looks just like you...…"

"And Katie looks a lot like Matthew's mother." Mary rolled her eyes. Isobel had even pointed it out, on numerous occasions, boasting like grandmothers do. What was more proof than that?

"Sure."

"What more do I have to prove, Tony?" She was starting to become horrified. If he could come to that conclusion, couldn't anyone else? She knows what Matthew would say, who gives a damn what they think. "Yes, I take care of him. That's what I signed up for. And quite frankly I enjoy it. He has far better days than worse ones. I'm always there, even for the worst."

"I hate what this has done to you."

"And what has it done to me?"

"You're a former shell of yourself. The Mary I know wouldn't let her life be dictated...rely on the demands of a..."

"Don't you dare say it! What I think you're going to say!" She put her purse underneath her arm, in a huff. "You don't know who I am, if you think I would go to bed with just anyone, to even suggest that I would be unfaithful to Matthew!"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You most certainly did! Now, I'm going to get my husband and we are leaving. Goodbye!" She walked off, hearing him try to call her back in desperation. Stopping, she said to him, over her shoulder, "And for your information, I'd rather choose him any day over a man who has full function of his legs and no personality at all." As she continued on her way, her face started to crumble, tears starting to sting her eyes. These hormones were going to kill her. But she wasn't entirely sure it was that. It's not his fault. He served and was injured doing his duty like so many others. Then why did it feel like he was the only one treated this way? They didn't know how hard it was for him and for her. She found the shell shock harder. Even though she knew what to do when he had the episodes, she still felt utterly helpless.

It wasn't just his body she had fallen in love with; or his strong muscular arms, it was his mind, even though scarred, it was his kindness that she fell in love with. The man he was now. She loved him more than ever, than the old him. At times she would forget that he was disabled, the children didn't even know he was or at least never acted like it. Because they saw their papa through their parent's eyes. There would still be questions as they got older. Just answer and be honest and they'd move on. Why couldn't adults?

She wanted to get out of here. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Pulling herself together she headed back to the table. Tom stood from his seat at the sight of her. No one else apparently noticed.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his Irish brogue more dominant. Something had happened to make her upset. He had seen her go off with Tony. He better not have done anything to hurt her.

She did not answer him, feeling like crying again. Was Tony right? Was her will weakening? No. He wasn't worth two cents listening to. She didn't even have the courage to give an excuse that it was just the morning sickness, focused on something else entirely. The empty space between Evelyn and her own empty chair, gave way to another unsettling feeling in her stomach. "Matthew hasn't come back yet?"

"No. Should I go?" Maybe he should go see if his other friend was alright, if he needed help.

"No. I will." Mary's back was already to him, picking up her pace as she headed toward the lavatories, as she heard the voices of the others.

"I do hope everything is alright." Mrs. Duper's authentic sympathetic tone carried after her. Mary shouldn't be mad at her but she was.

Followed by, "I think it's such a shame really...does seem like a nice man..."

That dreaded Ann. They had always hated each other since they were children, one of Mary's many hair pulling victims. She could imagine Tom coming to her defense.

When she came to the door she thought she heard sobbing. "Matthew?" Without a thought, she opened the door but it wouldn't open all the way.

"No. Don't!"

She saw why. He was on the floor, one hand wrapped around the bottom of the door.

"Matthew! What happened?" She was able to squeeze in.

"What do you think happened?" He asked, bitterly.

He had fallen.

"Can you get up?"

His face said no. I wouldn't still be on the floor if I was able to.

"Let's get away from the door." As she grabbed his stiff legs, (she felt just how stiff they were, almost like a board. It reminded her of the hideous ironing board Granny had) he used his arms to scoot himself backward. She then walked over to the left side of him, bending down, attempting to brush his hair away from his face.

"I didn't hit my head. I braced myself how they showed me." Just the way Clarkson and Sybil had taught him. "Just give it a moment."

A few moments went by but his legs were not unstiffening.

They were told that his legs could give out at any given time. That was why he couldn't ride his bike anymore or drive a car (while he still technically could, it would be reckless to do so) he would likely get into an accident. Maybe then he'd die instantly and be spared further humiliation this life brought. He swallowed the bitter thought.

This was why he needed a wheelchair when he was out, to prevent falls. He had stood up to pull up his trousers but his stiff legs could not support him, buckling underneath him and he ended up toppling over. This had never happened before. Well, his legs did give out once, the day Sybil had died. And while the stiffness wasn't new, it would never linger this long.

As the door started to open, she threw herself against it, baring all her weight. It might have looked overdramtic but she had felt the urge to protect him. She turned the lock.

"What the devil..." A man's startled voice.

"I'm afraid it's occupied at the moment." Mary responded as polity as she could. The door shook as the restaurateur tried to get it open.

"I said it's occupied! You're going to have to wait a moment." She was becoming more anxious, more annoyed.

"For goodness sakes! This is the men's lavatory!" There was clear anger behind it. "I'm going to get the manager."

Please do. But at first she had to get him decent, to spare him from further embarrassment.

"I heard 'im in there too." The man was back. "Probably up to some funny business."

"Madame, I suggest you leave the lavatory at once." A second male voice that had to belong to the manager.

Oh goodness, they think we're fooling around. That would have been hilarious to Mary if they weren't in the situation they were in now. Mary stood to open the door but stopped suddenly, feeling Matthew's fingers around her ankle.

"No." It'll be fine in a moment. You'll see.

"They'll be able to help." She unlocked and opened the door, just enough, so she was able to block his indecency. The manager before her, the rude customer, how ever warranted, was inclining his head around him in curiosity.

"I say, what's the meaning of all this?"

"It's my husband. He's paralyzed. He fell out of his chair."

"My goodness. I'm so sorry." The rude man apologized. "If I had known..."

"I'll see if I can find a doctor." The manager said.

"I don't need..." Matthew started to protest.

"Yes." Mary replied. "I'll need some time to make sure he's decent first."

"I could never be tied to such reasonability." Mrs. Acland continued. "It's such a waste."

"I think you're really taking this..." Evelyn managed to get a few words out.

"I'm glad my husband was fortunate not to live." Julia said.

Tom had had it. Standing up, this time saying a few choice words that would even make his fellow Irishmen blush. "I had just about enough of this. A man fights for his country and gets blamed for it when he comes back injured. It's an insult to those who lost their lives. And you, so called men, you should be ashamed of yourselves. I think we all know who the real cowards are here. Have a not so good day, gentlemen. Evelyn." He acknowledge politely. At least he had tried to come to Matthew's defense and had also been shooting Tony daggers the whole evening. Having had enough as well, Evelyn got up to leave.

"I'll see you off." Tom kindly offered, following him to the coat retrieval booth.

"I say, just you and Matthew and I should start up our own little club." Evelyn was saying. He payed the woman at the booth as she handed him his coat and hat.

"I think you might be on to something there."

"Do you like cars, Tom? I'm not asking because you were a chauffer. Can't say most chauffer's have a true love for cars."

"You got me there. My love is genuine. I was a mechanic in Boston."

"Ah, I had forgotten that's where you've gone off to."

"Why do you ask?"

"I have a friend, Henry Talbot, he races cars for a living."

"Now you've piqued my interest! What's he like?"

"Nothing like that lot." He nods back toward the dinning room. "He's the nephew of Lady Grantham's friend, Lady Shackleton. So Mary's probably heard of him. He's testing a new car on the fifth."

"We could make a day of it. Though I'm not sure how into cars Matthew is."

Evelyn is puzzled and confused. "Aren't you two close?"

"Thing's have been different." Matthew didn't want friends, or be too close to them. That's what Matthew had said to him upon his return from Boston. It wasn't anything personal against Tom. He had lost too many friends.

"Well, we'll give it a try. We'll leave this sorry lot in the dust." Evelyn gives him a pat on the back

"I would enjoy that. Do you think he'd let me try it out?"

A man wearing only a white shirt and a nametag, came rushing into the main seating area. "Is there anyone here who's a doctor?" The man, obviously the manager was looking frantic. Sweat stained the underarms of his shirt, his face, and what little remained of his hair, shone with it. He flicked the comb over with his hand, a nervous tick.

"I am." This surprisingly from Mr. Abernathy.

Tom went palled, instantly thinking of Matthew. And here he'd been, going off at the mouth. "I think I can be of assistance."

"Just the doctor. I don't think he'd appreciate an audience."

"I'm a close friend of theirs."

The manager waved him in the direction.

Mary expected to see Tom but was surprised to see the younger man with him. "What are you doing here?"

"He's the doctor." The manager replied. Mary's glance asked him if he couldn't find anyone better. The man's expression said, sorry.

"I thought you would need a second pair of hands." Tom said. Immediately he stepped into action. "We'll grab him under his arms, Mary grab his legs." Tom then addressed the manager, while you hold the chair steady."

Matthew kept quiet as they manhandled him. It was best to say nothing. The three ring circus would be over soon.

He grunted in pain as they lifted him. Mary lifted her head, her eyes widened with worry. Their eyes locked. The pain had vanished from his face but his eyes said otherwise.

Abernathy and Tom got him successfully back into his chair. Abernathy checked his legs over, "Nothing appears to be broken. Though you might want to get it checked." He directed the last bit at Mary.

Mary sensed the annoyance on Matthew's face. She wheeled him out and into the room she and Tony had been in. It gave her a nasty chill just thinking about it. But they wouldn't be staying much longer.

She inclined her head toward Abernathy and Evelyn, who was now hovering with concern in the entrance way. "Could you two give us a moment?"

The two men left. Tom remained behind.

"Are you going to head back to the house?" He asked.

"I don't think we'll be able to tonight. We'll be staying at Aunt Rosamund's."

"I'll get a ride back with Evelyn."

"You can expect us back in the afternoon." She saw that there was disapproval on Matthew's face. He was rubbing his palm where the old scar was. A white puckered thing where he must have cut it, trying to dig his way out from underneath debris. He had a habit of touching it whenever he was in slight discomfort. Weather it was involuntary or not, she did not know.

Tom nodded and followed in the direction that the other's had went.

Matthew finally spoke, as if he'd been waiting till they all left. "That was quite embarrassing. I ended up on the floor twice in two months."

"Under two very different circumstances."

"I think we can make it back if we leave now. It would be rather redundant for your Aunt to have to put us up."

"We're going to stay at Aunt Rosamund's." She repeated, "and tomorrow morning, I'm calling a doctor. There's got to be a specialist in Harley street. I don't know why I never thought to ask before..."

"There's really no need, darling. Things will have settled by then. We still have Andy's party." He didn't want it to be ruined because of him. It only came once.

"We'll make it back in plenty of time. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

It must have been fate. Doctor Jacobson happened to be in London visiting Harley Street. Mary asked if it would be any trouble if he could do a house call. He was glad to check in with his star patient. Matthew had made the most significant progress compared to most of his spinal cases, some of which hadn't lived

"Well, you seem to be in excellent health."

"Do you know what could have caused it. For them to go out. The stiffness?"

"Stress, perhaps, given that you have suffered a recent loss." Matthew nodded at his words. "Lack of exercise is another. You have been doing them?"

"Yes." No, actually he hadn't. "Massaging them seemed to work a bit." He picked at his trousers, thinking. But this stiffness had been more intense than missing a few days of exercise and the occasional pain had increased. He could only think of one possibility. "There is something that you should know. I've had an x-ray a few years ago, with the updated machines. They were able to detect that there's a piece of shrapnel close to my spine. Weather from the images being more clear or that it moved. Could that be what caused this?"

"Could be. It's most likely the source of your chronic pain, not just the damaged nerves. Also the scar tissue around where the shrapnel originally was, if it did move. It could have moved again and is pressing on a nerve that isn't damaged. I can order a series of x-rays."

Matthew shook his head, looking down at his palm, pressing the scar there.

"I could have it removed. It would at best relieve some of your pain but it would be risky. I highly wouldn't recommend it."

"What would be the risks?"

"Failure to successfully remove the shrapnel could leave you completely and permanently paralyzed below the waist."

"I wouldn't want to take that risk."

"I'm glad to hear it. As I've said, you're an otherwise healthy man."

He hesitated a moment, unsure how to bring it up, "There is...something else, I seem to be having a problem, with...relieving myself."

"Urinating?" That would need to be checked for. It could lead to a urinary infection. Just like any type of infection it could be deadly for him. One of the most common cause of death of paralytics, besides infection from bed sores and pneumonia. Since he was not fully paralyzed he stood a greater chance of avoiding the bed sores but that didn't mean he was any less prone to other types of infections. He was still high risk.

"No. That's definitely not a problem." He nearly flushed as he thought of the incident last night. "It's the other..." He scratched the back of his head. "I haven't had a bowel movement in almost a week."

"That could do it. If you got a blockage somewhere, that can make your legs stiff."

"I didn't know that."

"In a few days if nothing happens, I'd like you to schedule an enema."

It meant to be an internal groan but it escaped from his lips.

"I know you used to have them. They are unpleasant but necessary."

"If it isn't that and it continues, is there's anything that can be done?"

"No. Other than keep doing what you're doing, exercise and trying to keep stress to a minimum. Other than that I can do nothing." The doctor's mood had suddenly changed, unsympathetic, which was unlike Jacobson.

Matthew leaned back in the bed, his head against the pillows, he let out a breath.

"For the pain I can prescribe some medications."

He was quick to answer. "No thanks." He had heard stories about ex-soldiers becoming addicted to opioids. And after the Absinth he had Thomas smuggle for him, he vowed not to touch drugs again. Not even for pain unless it ever became too unbearable. They made the mind feel foggy. He wanted his mind to stay sharp, whatever was left of it. He had lost a lot of time already with Mary. He didn't want to miss out on his children's big moments. What good was a father if he had to be suppressed and subdued, always in a drug induced fog? He had let Clarkson give him the sedative only because he didn't have a say in it. He was still a bit angry at him for that.

"Is there anything else that you would like to discuss?"

"It's not necessarily about me. My wife doesn't want any more children after this one. She's been talking about this new procedure."

"If you're asking me if she discussed it with me, I can't disclose that. Doctor, patient confidentiality, even if she is your wife. Same goes for a solicitor and his client." He playfully tapped Matthew's arm with his file. "Am I right?"

"Yes." Matthew smiled at the doctor's good humor. Up until then he had been given the cold hard facts, like any other doctor. "But I'm not asking that. I'm asking about the surgery, how safe it is."

"Generally safe. But a hysterectomy isn't like the equivalent of the male procedure. It can't be reversed."

He was glad that he didn't have to go through the dreaded enema, which he had hoped would be a staple of his past that would be forgotten. Not what he would have looked forward to on his birthday. His son's birthday. The family would have a nice rich luncheon then in the afternoon, they would have light finger sandwiches and cake for the guests. The servants were out in the warm spring day, finishing up the last touches.

He went to lie down after the luncheon to take a nap. He would need it, with the days events. A half hour later before the party was to start, Mary came to wake him up.

"How are your legs?"

His legs weren't stiff anymore but they still felt a little uncomfortable. "Felt" being used loosely, he couldn't feel but could feel the sensation. It was still hard to move them. "Better."

"Did Jacobson say what it was?"

"Seems I was just a little blocked. All that rich food seemed to do the trick." An unpleasant experience that he was still unable to avoid. He had to be helped being changed this time, his legs still being hard to move, he had the nurse, who came twice a week. He had been fortunate that it was her working day. He would still not have Mary do it. She had witnessed a few such accidents before they were married, in the early days. She had told him that he shouldn't be embarrassed over something which he had no control.

He agreed, well, now.

No one should feel ashamed of having such issues because it cannot be helped.

"That's all it was?"

He nodded. "And you know with everything going on, the past year." Je quickly changed the subject."The exercises helped." He wasn't telling her everything, it would potentially start an argument (telling her about the shrapnel and about the chronic pain. "Looks like I'll need to use the chair for the rest of the day though."

"That won't be a problem." She bent over to kiss his cheek. She knew he wasn't telling her everything. It had something to do with the pain, that much she knew. Sometimes it had an effect on his legs. And with the past year, and the episodes returning...unable to do his excerises, had made them more stiff than usual. She wished she could give him something for the pain but he was too stubborn to take even aspirin at times.

There was enough he had to worry about. Today is also a reminder, that she's not here. He shouldn't be in such a sour mood. It was a nice sunny day, he wasn't in any pain, other than the discomfort. To be out in the warm sunshine, surrounded by the ones he loved as they celebrated their son's special day. A day that only came once. He had a lot to look forward to today.

They go out into the warm air. The weather would probably change to cooler in the next few weeks, as they were bound to have a bout of rain. Today there was no dark clouds in the sky. It was a perfect day.

Mary looked over to where Matthew is, sitting in his chair in the shade. He was enjoying himself, engaging more with the children than the adults. She smiled to herself as she helped herself to a piece of cake, watching him comfort their youngest. Well, soon to be big brother. Andy had started to cry when Katie tried to introduce him to the pony. Rose still had managed to rent it. Leave it to her to make a grand entrance without showing up.

Beside that brilliant mind of his, it was his fatherly side, his kindness that she loved about him so much. Now Andy was curled up on his on chest, tears staining his shirt, beginning to dry, sucking on his thumb. His eye lids fluttering open and closed as if they weighed a tone, struggling to keep them open, not wanting to miss all the excitement. Until finally he lost.

His white-blonde wispy locks were starting to stick to his small little head. Matthew's shoulder must be drenched with tears and sweat by now but he didn't mind. For a brief moment, he looks as if he is about to go away. Then he smiles down sweetly at his son.

"I don't think surgery is necessary unless it will save someone's life or improves one's quality of life." Matthew said at dinner, candidly referring Mary's idea of her hysterotomy, but also referring to the surgery to remove the shrapnel, that would be too much of a risk. He hadn't told Mary or anyone about it. He'd rather deal with the chronic pain the rest of his life than a lifetime of permanently being paralyzed, he had already lived through that once. This surgery she was requesting on could also be a risk for her, all surgery was, this procedure was relatively new. He wanted her to rethink her options.

His mother overheard the conversation. "I think surgery should be used to improve one's life. There's a lot of new advances in the area of plastic surgery, thanks to the war. It can useful for those who've been disfigured by accidents. And it gives soldiers more freedom than wearing those uncomfortable masks."

Edith discussed the artist that made them. That it was truly an art form within itself.

Robert hurriedly changed the morbid topic, asking Matthew how he's feeling. What he thought about how the party went.

"Well...You know, I quite enjoyed it, not every day a young lad turns one, as for the other part..."

"The big four-two!" Robert raised his glass, wishing him a happy birthday also.

Everything else seemed to go by in a muted rush. Even Mary's voice when she was the last to leave the dinning room. He said he'd be up shortly.

He didn't know what had triggered it this time. His mother's mention of the war or the reminder of how much time on this earth he might or may not have or maybe the clatter when he had dropped his fork or simply thinking too much.

Josephine had been hiding under the table, not just from her siblings but she often liked to listen to the adult conversations. It was his birthday too and she wanted to surprise him, to cheer him up. A fork had fallen onto the floor. She picked it up and tapped his shoe with it. It didn't get his attention.

He can't feel it. She remembers. She would have to try something else. Oh I know!

She climbed between the table and his legs. She looked straight into his eyes, smiling.

"Papa!" She made a jumping motion, shouting his name with much surprise as she could. It didn't startle him. He just sat there.

She was still smiling, until she noticed something. Her smile fell. There was something wrong with his eyes. There was no spark in his eyes that'd she always known to be there. It was like he were asleep but his eyes were open. Daydreaming, was what the tutor called it accused Katie of. Josephine had always been quick to defend her sister, not while in front of her sister of course.

Maybe if she said his name again he would wake up.

"Papa?"

He didn't.

"Papa." She put her hands to his face and said his name again. That simply seemed to do the trick. He slowly began to wake.

"Do you want me to get Mama?"

"No! Don't get your mother." He gently took hold of her hands. "It'll be our little secret."

"I like secrets!" No one ever told her a secret before. Her hiding under the table because she wasn't supposed to be, ok. She would probably get scolded by Mama. She liked her Papa more. He was more kind. And let her do her own things. She was his princess. And he was the King. And the princess only listened to what the King had to say. A King could be all strong and powerful but sometimes even a King can get scared. "It was just a nightmare, Papa. Nightmares can't hurt you."

Oh, my dear sweet, Josephine. Yes, they can.

Later that very same evening, though he'd forget it till years later. The servants were outside, cleaning up after the party. There was suddenly a loud bang. A balloon must have popped. He grabbed hold of George and told him to hide, grabbing his hand, telling him to get under the table. They wouldn't be seen.

"Who?"

"The Germans."

Five year old George liked this new game. He never played soldier with daddy before.

They've finally come for him. He felt his chest constricting, as if he couldn't breath. Then he feels a light squeeze to his hand. Not a fellow soldier. "Do you think they will see us down here, daddy?"

His son. What was George...

Even with his anxiety still slightly hightened, the fear still very real, he knows he's not thinking rationally. He takes a deep breath, breathing slowly. He comes back to his own mind, regaining control. Crawling out from under the table he makes his way over to the couch, pulling himself up on his knees. That's all he is able to do. But he was determined to try to do more.

"Daddy, do you need help?"

"No. I can do it." He uses his arms to pull himself up, getting his hip and his thigh onto the sofa. He then used his arms to heave himself further onto it, staring to breath heavily. The attempt causes him to fall sideways, thankfully not backwards, his head coming to rest against the back of it. He lays back, his head sinking into the array of pillows. That's all he remembers for a few minutes.

George comes over to check if he is ok. It must have been really hard to get up on the sofa. It looked hard. He wants to show his daddy that he is proud but doesn't seem to know he is there. His eyes are cloudy like a glass on a foggy day, that he and his siblings would blow breath on. Maybe if he blew on his face, he'd wake up.

He didn't move. "Daddy. Daddy, wake up. Wake up, daddy." He didn't.

Sensing that can't be right, George ran to get someone, remembering what Mummy had said. If he fell asleep with his eyes open, he should get someone. "Hold on, daddy, I'll find someone to help."

He could hear George's voice but it sounded very far away. He wanted to grasp for it, like his tiny hand that had almost led him out of the dark. But he only sunk deeper, losing to the abyss.

As George flees the library, his mother is coming round the corner at the end of the hall. He runs straight into her, putting his arms around her waist.

"What's wrong, moppet?" It had become her little nickname for him.

"Daddy. We were playing soldier. He made it up onto the sofa, but he got tired and he fell asleep with his eyes open. He won't wake up."

His mother ran straight for the library door. She fears he had had an episode, or he's died. No, don't think that. She didn't want to think the latter or the former. She was greeted by that familiar blank stare that she wished she could forget and never see again.

"Matthew. Darling?" He doesn't stir, nor when she sat next to him, grabbing his hand. "Please...please, don't do this. Not now. Please, come back to me, darling."

He finally stirred. Tears glistened down his face. "I...I failed you..." He felt beyond a disappointment to her. He was weak, too damaged. He had failed her. Failed them.

"No. The most important thing to understand is that you have an illness."

"It will always be part of me."

"We managed it before, we can manage it again." She held his hand tightly now.

But we didn't have children. He thinks. There's no cut and dry formula of dealing with it or "getting rid of it" I have come an enormously long way from where I started. However, there was always a part of me that knew I could backslide, maybe get worse. I had help back then, I would think it unfair to demand that of me again, so I must do this for myself, for my children, and no one else.

Is there a cure? I don't think so, because once "It "gets into you. 'It' will always be with you." You cannot physically cut it out and burn it like a cancer, make it not exist anymore. No.

But you can abide with it, learn to live with it, and manage it. You can be better because of it, or despite it. And hopefully, one day, rather than being a huge looming black hole in your existence, it will become a tiny black speck on the horizon.

"Is daddy ill?" George asked. He had come back in the room.

"Yes. And it's all because of you. How many times have I told you not to play soldier in front of your father. You know how many times I told you it can upset him."

"Don't be mad, mama. Daddy wanted me to play. I should have said no."

Mary pulled him into a hug. Her poor son. She realized what he was saying. He had witnessed him reenacting a full-blown episode.

"He said the German's were coming to get us."

Over his shoulder, she saw her father and Edith in the doorway. "Go to your room. We'll talk later."

Matthew squeezed her hand. "No. I want my son. I need my son."

"Let's get you up to bed first."

The rest of the children, jealous that George got to be in bed with their father, joined them, surrounding him. They ended up falling asleep, taking up most of the bed. George was the only one still awake. He made his way across the bed, giving his father a hug and lied close to him.

Mary smiled graciously, taking in the scene. They had been wrong to keep them away. He had needed his children to heal. He didn't have any more episodes after that. The next few days since then, none of the children asked about it, (they probably were too young to have noticed or hadn't seen) and George had seemed to have forgotten the whole ordeal.

The showing of the house went off without a hitch at first. It was rather pathetic, Mary thought, with how little they knew about their family history, stumbling over questions they didn't know the answers to. Papa was still resting up in bed so he was of no help. He would probably have a heart attack if he had to see a group of people gawking at his things.

Nor did they know anything about the paintings, if they were of their actual ancestors of subjects of the artists painting. Matthew would probably know but he was laid up in bed as well. He had told her that he was feeling rather tired today.

They had to get by, second guessing, grasping at straws, it felt like to Mary. They were saved by Rachel who showed them the Russian artifacts, temporarily from the humiliation. There were still a line of people waiting outside to see the great castle.

A woman asked why the crests above the fireplace in the front room were blank.

"That's very interesting." Mary clasped her hands together. "Actually, I have no idea why."

As she continued to speak to Mary, a little boy observed them. Bored, he saw the opportunity to sneak off, ducking underneath the velvet rope blocking the staires.

Matthew opened his eyes to see a young boy, standing beside him. At first he thought it was George but the hair was the wrong color and he was a little older.

He sat up quickly, startling the boy. Then he froze, studying him as if to determine if he was a threat or if he was going to get into trouble. The child's posture then relaxed, deciding that he had no reason to be afraid.

"What are you doing in bed? You're not old."

Matthew couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. "No. But sometimes I need to rest my legs. It's an old war injury."

"The war was a very long time ago. That's what my mum says."

"Well, she's not wrong. But somethings take a long time to heal." As he examined the boy, he read the expression in his eyes. It was one of understanding. An expression that shouldn't be there. Maybe his father or an uncle had been in the war.

The boy's head went down, playing with the carpet with his feet, before he brought it up again. "My brother was in the war. He was hurt in the head."

Matthew's heart swelled with sympathy, going out to the boy, weather he meant a psychical or an invisible one like his own.

"Sometimes he has nightmares and shouts and screams. It's very scary sometimes. "

"It gets better sometimes." The lad puts his head down again. Matthew tries to get his attention, to divert from the subject. "What's your name?"

"George."

"I have a son named George."

"Really?" His head shot up. His eyes sparked with interest. Though George was a very common name.

The door opened and Molesley entered. Startled to see a young boy standing before him. The boy, frightened, backed up almost knocking into something. The valet looked from Matthew and back to the boy. "What are you doing in here?"

Regaining his courage he said, "Wouldn't you like to know?" and took off, doing a runner.

"Cheeky rascal." Molesley made a move to go after him.

"No need for that, Molesley. Let him be."

"Shouldn't we turn out his pockets?"

"No. He was more of a philosopher than a thief."

Matthew eventually came down, coming to the rescue. Mary was surprised with how much he knew. Starting with the front room.

"This room is entirely medieval. It was the Monk's rectory of an Abbey that King Henry sold after the dissolution on monasteries. Most of the paintings are Reynolds. Some of them we had to sell during the war."

He was apparently nervous at first, so were some of the guests. Then, out of nowhere, Mary saw a boy came rushing over to him.

"You came down!"

Matthew apparently knew the boy somehow. "I did. Let's just say I had a little inspiration."

"Can you walk?" The boy finally took notice of the wheelchair.

The boy's mother, a few feet away look horrified, she set down her glass and made to step toward them. "I'm so sorry."

But Matthew put up his hand, determining it was ok. "Yes. I can. But not very far. I need this to get around this big old place sometimes."

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes. I'm always in paine." He was glad to feel it. Grateful that it was a reminder, for his actions in the war, that he was still human, and not just for the physical pain. He had made the mistake of trying to escape, repress, or otherwise banish the mental pain. But avoidance does not erase the pain; rather, avoidance just stores it for another day. And he had stored it to try and prevent the episodes from happening but in doing so it had nearly destroyed him. "But I don't let that stop me."

"Can you run?"

"No." He gave a faint smile. A fact that still saddened him a bit. Running gave a sense of freedom. He'd never run with his children, or get to them in time if they were in any danger, a fact he still feared in that back of his mind. He was reminded of Sybil. He didn't exactly blame himself anymore, but it was still there.

"Why don't you get a place that is smaller and cozy?"

He smiled again, this time at how inquisitive the boy was, not at all bothered by his questions while his mother obviously was and appeared to be pondering a way to put a stop to it but said nothing as she slightly fidgeted. He'd rather she say nothing. A parents reaction to a situation impacted the child's views, telling them not to ask questions or talk to people like him, encouraged that there was something wrong about associating with people who are 'different' He didn't really have an answer for the boy other than, "It'll be harder for me to get around. I can get around here faster with this." He gripped the wheels and spun them.

"Cool!" He watched them go round with fascination. George, Josephine and Katie gathered around, all chattering at once.

The parents and other members of the group seemed to become comfortable as they witnessed the children interacting. They followed him to the next room. He flashed Mary a smile as he wheeled by. She smiled too, loving to see him confident.

They moved on to the drawing room, where Edith had painfully tried to describe a painting, hanging above the fireplace. It depicted four children with a dog.

Someone asked about it again, "What about this portrait?"

"That's the second Earl of Grantham as a boy, on the top right there. And the youngest boy on the right below him is their youngest brother, my great-great grandfather, Paris Crawley. And on the top right and their older sister, Sarah. Below her, their brother Robert."

"Are their more paintings of the family?" A man asked.

"Most of the paintings were burned in a fire. I think only two were saved." They moved on to the library. "The one you just saw, and this one." He addressed the picture on the back wall. "The boy in the picture is the grandfather of the first Earl. This library was assembled by the fourth Earl. He loved to collect books and so did his father." He stopped, lost at what to say next, when Violet entered the room. "Ah, Cousin Violet, can you tell us what else the third Earl was a collector of?"

"He liked to collect fast horses and loose women." This prompted laughter from the group. It wasn't clear if she was actually joking. It was apparent that she was in a rush. "Have you seen Rachel anywhere? I really must have a word with her." Without an answer, she bustled from the room.

As the second group was coming through, starting with the front room again, Matthew was discussing the artwork. "the third Earl brought back with him a Della Francesca from France during the Bastilles. Well, his mother ordered him to come home because she was worried about the fighting. He had it sent ahead of him."

"Does the family still have it?"

"No. It was sold a few years ago. The third Earl was always taking heroic risks. He saved the two family portraits during the fire, along with the Della of course, after he went back in. Or originally the story goes, he wasn't going to go back but the children begged him to, to save the dog."

"Did the dog survive?" A little girl asked, eyes wide with worry.

"I'm not sure. But the Earl didn't. He died a few days later. Some of the house was added onto later. That's why there's no evident fire damage. Which brings us to, this fireplace. This was his original design but it was incomplete."

"Hence why the crests are blank." A man pointed out.

"Correct. The family just didn't have the heart to finish it."

"DID YOU KNOW WHEN I WAS LAST HERE?" A familiar voice boomed.

Matthew and the group turned their heads to see the Dowager Countess storm into the room after Rachel, almost hot on her heels. Rachel looked desperate to get away.

"Did you know when I was last here?" Violet repeated.

Rachel sighed, coming to a stop before the fireplace.

"And you let me babble on about my victory? I suppose you have already spoken to Robert about this?" Off Rachel's immediate expression, Violet appeared about to go into shock. She hadn't been expecting her guess to be correct.

"Cousin Violet, perhaps you ought to sit down." Matthew suggested to her.

"I'll sit when I'm dead. Which she probably hopes will be soon. Just quiet." She said to the on lookers. Rachel was almost out of the room by now. Great you distracted me, now she's getting away. "Excuse me." She pressed her way through the rest of the group.

Molesley, hardly able to contain himself, having observed the whole debacle from the other side of the room, nearly raced back downstairs, wanting to tell anyone he came across.

Baxter was ascending them as he came down. "I'm going up to see if her ladyship needs anything."

"She's going to need a glass of water and a fan if you heard what I just heard." He was laughing. She wasn't. Normally she would. "What is it?"

"I got a letter from Coyle." Peter Coyle, just hearing the name made his skin crawl, the man that had framed her for stealing. Getting her to steal her previous Ladyship's jewels by promising her a life with him, a life of riches. Then he had stood her up and let her take the fall. It turned out that she wasn't the first, but the first in a long line. He was doing it to other naïve, impressionable young women. The constable wanted her to testify against him. She agreed, with Mr. Matthew's help of course. Though he didn't to criminal law, he had helped Anna make bail when she was wrongfully accused of Greene's death. Baxter found it a relief when she didn't have to take the stand to testify against Coyle.

"Someone had showed him the list of witnesses. He saw my name and pleaded guilty." She had told him.

"Who was it?" Molelsey had not only been curious, but he wanted to personally thank this stranger.

"I can't say. I don't want to get them into trouble."

"It was Mr. Matthew, wasn't it?"

She hadn't needed to say anymore.

"What? You didn't open it. If he's harassing you, we can go to Mr. Matthew..."

"No. I don't want to bother him anymore with this." It would be jeopardizing. "It's not that. He wants me to visit him in prison."

"Well don't. Don't even answer it. Ignore it completely. Throw it in the fire if you must." He made a motion with his hand before grabbing hers, "Don't give him any more ammunition to harm you. He's not worth..."

They were interrupted by Mr. Carson. "Mr. Molesley? There's no one on duty in the library."

"Right away, Mr. Carson." He asked Daisy to cover for him and retreated back up the stairs not before snatching a biscuit. He was going to need it.

"My son's wife!" The Dowager Countess was fuming while her son lay comfortably in his bed. "That I have come to treat like a daughter. That she could connive at my humiliation, should revel as I am cast into the dust. I was starting to like her a great deal better than Cora but now..."

"Study the buffs. This has nothing to do with Cora and you know. You just don't like it. And Rachel has doesn't control this anymore than you do. You both have different opinions but neither of you made this happen."

"If only Mr. Chamberlin had spoken..."

"He was never going to say a word. The officialdom doesn't listen to us anymore. Our influence is finished."

"You can say that, whose very life has been saved."

"You know a great deal that the way of handling emergencies will be effected. Do be logical."

"I am sick and tired of logic. If I could choose between logic and principle, I'd choose principle every time! Just tell Rachel I do not wish to see her face. Until I can get used to having a traitor in the family."

"All from the sale tickets?" Robert was astounded at the revenue they had brought in for the hospital. They were all gathered in his dressing room. He was sitting on a chaise, wrapped up in a duvet.

Matthew was up on his feet after sitting in his chair for hours. He felt sympathy for Robert. He'd hate to have to be in his position right now, bundled up like that.

"It's a great deal of money." Tom said. He and Matthew were pouring themselves drinks.

"I don't suppose we could open the house on a regular basis." Matthew said.

"For charity, you mean?" Robert asked, hoping that's what he meant.

"No. I meant for us."

"I think that's a great idea." Tom agreed. "The house does cost a lot to run these days. At the moment it doesn't have a penny to wash it's face."

"Tell me you're not being serious." Robert glanced between the two of then, pondering if they had planned this ambush. No. They wouldn't have had time, with Matthew being laid up as well. "To charge people money so people can come and snoop around our home? What a revolving suggestion."

"You can't deny an opportunity to turn a prophet." It was just like his father in-law, Tom thought, to turn up his noise at an opportunity if he didn't believe it dignified.

"Alright," Matthew said at the silence, but there may come a day when we simply can't ignore it."

"Hopefully when I am dust." Robert was still scoffing at the idea.

"It is rather a frightful thought." Edith said. "And not to mention how little we know about our family history. Matthew knew a great deal more, but we couldn't continue to put it all on him."

"Now, Edith, I did take some pride in it. It wasn't too bad of a problem. But I think you're right. We could have someone educate a group of individuals, so we wouldn't have to show the house ourselves. People are curious about how we live here."

"Which is sad in a way. Because it means that our way of like is something strange, to gawk at, like some museum exhibit or a fat lady at a circus. Like some extinct animal. In a way it's saying our way of life is going extinct."

"I can see where the museum comparison to our advantage. The village can learn of our history, that way we can keep it alive."

"I suppose it will happen someday." Rachel said, but I hope we can stay as long as we can."

"Would you all stop with this doom and gloom?" Mary was nearly exasperated. "We had a successful day. George and I are made of stronger stuff than the lot of you. At least I won't give up as easily if it comes to that, while I'm still alive."

"That, I'm sure is quite true." Her father chuckled, agreeing.

"And we are not going anywhere."

"You did marvelous today, darling. Coming to our rescue. With little of our family history we know. At least I knew that girl in that portrait was actually a boy." Mary climbed into the bed next to her husband. His mind was elsewhere. Lightly she touched his face to get his attention. "How did you know all that?"

"What do you think I was doing that year and a half? I did a lot of reading." He scooted himself down so he was in a laying position. Leaning over, holding her hand in a way that their fingers intertwined, he gave her a kiss goodnight.