The Crawleys from Manchester
She has fallen in love, the moment he is put into her arms.
Reginald had helped her through it all, the harrowing pain; the agony she had witnessed so many other women bear, but which had never wracked her body in all its blinding brutality for herself until now.
But she knows it was worth it.
All of it, for the baby swaddled in soft white blankets, gurgling and cooing and looking into her eyes so trustingly, two pudgy feet trying to break free, one helpless palm hitting her breast.
Matthew Reginald Crawley.
Reggie kisses her over and over; kisses them both; and she cannot contain herself for joy despite her exhaustion. Her own flesh and blood, bound with Reggie's; that she had borne in the safety of her womb for so long. She had managed to bring him into the world when she had failed tragically with so many others. She has suffered the repeated pain and trauma of miscarriage; and now her suffering has ended at last. He is the most beautiful baby boy in all the world – his father's golden hair and blue eyes are only two of his darling features that she adores. Perhaps it is only a mother's blind adoration, but she knows – somehow – that her son will one day become a man in a million.
Baby Matthew saps the energy from her; the physical vigour and vibrancy that was her most defining characteristic (one of the many traits Reginald Crawley had fallen in love with) drains out of her with caring for the whims of a newborn. But not once does she complain. She has adored him and wanted him from the moment they met, long before he drew his first breath on her bosom, cradled in the arms of the two people in the world who loved him most.
She vows to herself – and to him – that she will protect him from every hurt and pain this cruel world might throw at her son's fragile innocence, in mind and body. True to her word, she shields him like a lioness. She devotes herself to her Matthew, body and soul.
She is close to collapsing from exhaustion, but still she haunts the nursery, never for a moment deserting the little bassinet. Her brown eyes gaze unfailingly upon its occupant, who sleeps undisturbed, guarded by his angel. She loves him more as he gurgled and giggles, his rosy cheeks adorably stretched in a toothless smile, his indistinguishable voice spouting meaningless babble that means the world to Isobel.
Reginald teaches him to ride a bicycle. Her little boy – only five years old – wobbles unsteadily on this unfamiliar, shiny contraption; fascinated with it in childlike excitement. Her darling Reggie – what a wonderful, wonderful father he was to their Matthew – holds the back of it as Matthew pedals. Inevitably, he falls over, and tears start in his eyes. A bright red blemish blossoms on his knee, a dazzling, scarlet poppy in the midst of his young, unmarked flesh. But at once Isobel is there, to kneel down and soothe the wound with a wet handkerchief.
"M – mama", he sobs. "I'm sorry."
"Shh", Isobel calms him, kissing his bruised knees and wiping his tears. It breaks her heart to see him in pain, but she knows it will heal. All wounds do – to some degree, at least, if never completely. "My darling boy, you have nothing to be sorry about."
"But the bike – it's scatched, Mama – "
Isobel looks at Reggie in astonishment. Here was a boy of five, bursting into tears not because he had hurt himself and undoubtedly was in pain, but because he had damaged his father's birthday gift to him. How did he have such a well-developed moral code, how could he understand for a child so young?
"It doesn't matter if it's scratched, my dearest boy", Reggie tells him gently, kissing his forehead. "Truly, it doesn't. One mistake does not mean you must be unkind to yourself over it."
He is a curious little chap, devouring picture books by the hour. He reads full length novels at an extraordinarily young age; it's the one thing he's never tired of. Their house in Manchester had several bookshelves, so many of which held Matthew's favourites. He reads voraciously, gobbling up poetry, Shakespeare, Dickens, Hardy, Bronte and Austen. His parents' attempts to interest him in medicine fail spectacularly, given his evident disinterest in the field his father and grandfather had pursued; but they could not be prouder of him if they tried.
Isobel notices more of his traits, and adores him more as she discovers each one. He is his father's son, she observes; though, naturally, with some part of herself mixed in. He is kind and sweet and gentle – uncommonly big-hearted – and it is obvious to anyone who knows him that he wouldn't hurt a fly. He can be stubborn (a trait evidently inherited from herself, Isobel notes ruefully) and maddeningly so; tactless and pigheaded at times. But he does not have an ounce of malice in him; and she loves him more for the flaws that make her son so delightfully human.
As he grows older, she and Reggie coach his heart as they have his mind. A firm believer in women's rights herself, Isobel teaches him to respect all women; to be unfailingly chivalrous and gentlemanly; to take consent and accept a woman's refusal if ever it came, to see them as his equals and never his inferiors. Reginald calmly enlightens him upon the concept of a woman's monthly blood; tells him about the pain they must endure so many times over in their lives; and both father and son know that the child is a child no longer. He is becoming a man, and his parents know he already is a wonderful one.
You must never, ever strike or hurt a woman; his father tells him solemnly. Nor must you force yourself upon her when she has given you a clear refusal. It is one of the most heinous crimes you can ever commit.
Matthew nods in equal solemnity.
And then it happens, only a few months before his thirteenth birthday, and he is due to commence boarding at Radley College.
His father passes away.
Isobel is numb with paralysing grief. Condolences pour in from every conceivable sphere; old friends, relatives, relations; who never approved of her decision to marry a middle-class doctor; who tell her how sorry they are; but all the sorry in the world can never bring the love of her life back. The man she loved so, so much – who had stood by her, loved her through thick and thin. One of the two people who comprised her universe. What breaks her heart to pieces is that her darling boy will now be fatherless for the rest of his life. Her sweet, wonderful, darling boy. He didn't deserve this, she knows.
They cling to one another, mother and son. They have no one else left in the world but each other, they are the only people in the world connecting each other to the loving family man who had once been theirs. Reginald had left them more than enough money, so their finances fortunately were not their most pressing worries. Patients still visit Isobel and the boy; tell her how deeply they admired Reggie; and it comforts them both to know how respected he was in their community.
She is now more protective, more devoted to him than ever.
She cannot bear for him to break down and let his life's path derail. Her darling Reggie would never have wanted that. The only way to distract Matthew is to send him to boarding school at once.
And she does, although it only shatters her heart further, to have the next man she loves leave her, and only see him intermittently. His letters and photographs are the joy of her life; they somewhat assuage the gaping hole left in her heart at the absence of the two people in the world she loves best. She misses them both night and day. She is determined to cherish him, for Reggie's sake.
Five years pass, as though in a vague dream; during which her Matthew transforms from a boy to a man. Handsome as his father, with a shy smile nearly always lighting up his features; she is more proud of him than she could ever say when he graduates.
A part of her has hoped he might still turn to medicine – as her Reginald had done – but it is not to be. He tells her – hesitantly – that he intends to pursue law. And she knows he has chosen the right path for himself. Reggie would have been supportive of Matthew no matter what he chose, and so is she.
She's watched him grow up.
Now she worries he might drift away. One day, she knows, he will have a wife, a family. Perhaps children. And she will no longer be the first woman in his life. That's the natural order of things, she knew. She never expects him to stay attached to her indefinitely – she balks at the notion of it. But her mother-heart still twinges. A tiny, selfish part of her wants to keep him close a little longer.
Three times the summers and winters brighten and darken her days. Pain fades to memory. Letters and photographs and dusty relics locked away in chests are all she has left of those long-gone golden years and days.
She has moved forward, of course, bucking up the way she knew how. She has dedicated herself hook, line and sinker to nursing and studying, and the updating and polishing of her medical knowledge. Reggie always told her she was the strongest, most fiery woman he'd ever known. One of the multitude of reasons he loved her so. She hopes he is proud of her, of how she has coped with life without him. She could have remarried and given Matthew a father, she knows. But she cannot bear to replace him, because it is impossible for her to do so.
The day dawns when Matthew graduates from Oxford, and he has become a lawyer. And now is the blossom time; when all the best of him brightens his youthful face. The young man returns to his hometown, and is offered a job in a law firm.
He has his ambitions, and hopes, and dreams. He is content in his childhood home, the scene of so many golden memories and happy times. They settle into a routine, mother and son. She cannot tell him how glad she is to have him back by her side; how much in awe she is, sometimes, of the man he has become. A part of her will never stop viewing him through the eyes of the woman who held a smeared, sodden, wailing baby in her arms for the very first time.
He is her baby no matter how old he is.
Life is idyllic for Isobel now. She is aging, she knows, in her late fifties at this point in her life. She knows Matthew will marry when he decides he's ready. Most young men his age were either already married or courting charming young ladies they'd met at dances and parties. He insists he will marry when he finds someone he truly connects with. For now, he tells her, his priority is his work. Day after day of sorting through case files, land leases, wills, conveyancing, covenants … he takes pride in his work, and enjoys it.
And it is on a particularly ordinary morning in April 1912 when a letter arrives for him, in an unfamiliar hand. She hands it to him over breakfast.
"Hm – thank you, Mother", he says, slitting open the envelope.
She watches him scan the letter as the light illuminates the bright gold of his hair.
"Oh, it's from Lord Grantham."
"Really?" she says, mildly astonished. She'd known of their distant relationship through Reginald to the family of aristocrats who lived up in Yorkshire, but had never troubled herself to discover more.
"What on earth does he want?"
Matthew looks up at her, an expression of utter shock and disbelief painting his face. He knows (and he does not know just how right he is) that their lives never will be the same again.
"He wants to change our lives."
A/N: Thanks a million for reading! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've posted. I promise I will update A Love that will Last as quickly as I can … I just hope you're all still interested! In the meantime, there's this. I've always been intrigued by Matthew's backstory, so here is my attempt to try and illustrate his pre-Downton life, largely from Isobel's point of view.
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