Chapter Twenty-One

A/N: Finally, finally, here's chapter 21! Apologies for the long hiatus, and I'm delighted to say that that pesky writer's block has cleared up at last! We've reached the S6CS, but there are still a few more chapters to go. Enjoy :)

December 1925

Sparkling snow was swirling in the wintry Yorkshire air, shrouding Downton in its veil of white; bidding farewell to the simultaneous joy and tumult of that eventful year. The inhabitants of the Abbey were busily engaged in welcoming the season of goodwill by preparing for Lady Edith's imminent wedding to Bertie Pelham; and every day seemed to be flurried in activity. Despite all the flurries of the 'wedding business' as Mary termed it, nothing in the world could keep Matthew away from the nursery, which was where he spent the majority of the chilly afternoon and evenings, one – or both – of his two darlings cuddled lovingly against him (Mary, of course, rather more intimately, later in the safe haven of their bedroom).

One such afternoon, a week before the wedding, saw Matthew comfortably seated in one of the nursery armchairs, Catherine nestled in his arms. She had fallen off the dear old rocking horse that morning, injuring her knee quite badly, and had consequently resolved to make the most of being thoroughly spoiled – even more than usual – by her Papa.

"… and do you know, Kit – pretty soon you'll be able to ride a real horse, just like Mama does sometimes – so you'll be my brave girl, won't you, my darling? You'll fall off once in a while, but it doesn't matter, really, because you'll still be such a wonderful, wonderful little rider," he whispered softly, kissing her forehead, his hands tenderly caressing the tiny knee, bruised pink. His heart had broken when her large brown eyes had misted over, glistening with tears; all that afternoon he had taken her in his arms and tickled her and bounced her on his lap, her darling smiles and childish laughter tinkling in his ears like golden bells.

She nodded, snuggling even closer into the warm reassurance of her Papa's chest, his presence always a comfort, always a certainty that everything would be all right as long as he was with her.

"Papa?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Wi' you play with me – with the dolls'-house?" she lisped, gesturing to the magnificent three-story rosewood dollhouse standing proudly on the nursery floor – an extravagant purchase from Hamleys in London, which Matthew and Mary had gifted her for her second birthday. Mary had pretended to be horrified at the expense, but to him, it had been worth every penny when he'd seen the excited, delighted sparkle in his daughter's eyes, his heart melting with love upon the reception of several wet, sloppy kisses to his cheek and her tiny arms thrown around his neck.

"Of course," he grinned now, gently easing Kit down on to the floor beside the dollhouse, an adoring smile breaking across his face as he watched her little fingers bring out the pink-faced dolls, clad in little cotton dresses.

"My beautiful little darling," he whispered softly into her locks of chestnut hair, shot with shimmers of gold, "I do love you so terribly, terribly much."

The events leading up to Bertie and Edith's wedding had been turbulent, to put it mildly. Edith, taking Mary's proffered advice after a brief period of hesitation, had confessed the truth to Bertie, who had promptly retreated to London, saying he needed time to think things over. For a time, it had seemed to everyone as though all was lost for the long-suffering young woman to whom lovelornness was no stranger; but Mary had contrived, with Lady Rosamund's obliging assistance, to arrange a meeting between the lovers at the Ritz in London. It seemed to have done the trick. The engagement was quite promptly announced, the banns read, and a very happy future Marchioness of Hexham was now living her last, winter-lit days in her beloved childhood home.

December 30, 1925

Matthew was strolling along the busy streets flanked with ice, his cheeks red from the cold. Mary had told him she was going down to run a few errands in the village, and he'd decided he might as well pay his mother and Lord Merton a visit at Crawley House. Isobel had married Dickie some time earlier that year; and Matthew couldn't have been more pleased for her. He had felt terribly guilty when he realised just how much she had gone through without telling him a thing about it – but Isobel had assured him it had all worked out for the best.

Part of him could not quite believe that five years had passed already since his wedding to Mary. Five years of love, five years of difficulties faced, obstacles overcome, two precious darlings conceived and birthed, five years of endless kisses, of dances in shining ballrooms, of arguments and fights and slammed doors and making up; above all, how wonderfully, wonderfully happy they were with each other, enjoying one another's company just as much – or perhaps much more than they did a decade ago. It had all passed in a blur, seemingly; he wouldn't have changed a single moment of it.

It was just then that he saw her, as he passed the Downton Hospital, a shy smile adorning her lips, her eyes on the snowy road, exiting the hospital gates, dressed in that smart grey coat. Her dark hair was swept low at the sides of her forehead, loose tendrils having escaped to frame her face.

"Mary! Darling!"

She looked up, startled, her bright eyes shining as she realised his presence. He did look endearingly handsome, she thought fondly, the wind having ruffled his golden hair so it looked quite becomingly untidy. Oh, how thrilled he'd be to know …

"Matthew – dear, whatever are you doing out here?"

"I just came down to visit Mother – darling, why were you at the hospital? Something wrong?"

"Everything's perfectly marvellous," she breathed. "I've just been to see Clarkson, and – oh, Matthew – we're having another baby, my darling. Doctor Clarkson said we can expect him – or her – in June, and …" She trailed off, the love in her husband's eyes silencing her, their mirroring, beaming smiles telling of their mingled, tangled adoration; and it wasn't another moment before Matthew had covered her face with speechless kisses, entirely unmindful of the world that walked past them on the afternoon of that dying year.

"We'll announce it after the wedding – after they've left on honeymoon," Mary said, as they walked back to Downton hand in hand, with the promise of a warm fire and passionate kisses awaiting them. "We can tell the whole world if we'd like, then!"

"Of course – my darling?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know how very, very much I love you?"

Mary leaned into his shoulder, squeezing his arm.

"Yes," she smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Yes, I think perhaps I do."

New Year's Eve, 1925

It would later be said by all who attended that the wedding of Herbert Pelham to Lady Edith Crawley would be one of the very finest the county had witnessed in the last ten years. Carson had the honour of walking Edith down the aisle; and it was on the last day of 1925 that Bertie Pelham finally became brother-in-law to the Earl and Countess of Grantham. The wedding had gone off without a hitch; Mrs Patmore's devoted culinary efforts praised by every attending guest.

"It rather reminds us of our own wedding," Mary whispered softly to Matthew, as they strolled around the hall later after the reception. "It's been so long, really, five years – and yet it feels as though no time at all has passed."

"Quite so, darling – and what a wonderful five years it's been," Matthew said, kissing her cheek gently.

Mary could hardly have expected her dearest, most devoted friend to experience the blinding throes of the pain of labour in her room, while trying to take off an extraordinarily tight hat; but there it was. Anna Bates stood heaving in the centre of the Queen Caroline bedroom, her usual composure fast slipping. Mary quickly got into one of her nightgowns, despite the maid's increasingly feeble protests and remonstrances. Matthew, meanwhile, was sent downstairs immediately to alert Bates.

"I really … shouldn't, my lady," Anna muttered weakly, as she sank back down on to the bed that her able hands had smoothed and dusted more times than anyone would ever know.

"After all the times you've dressed me? Don't be ridiculous," Mary said, her characteristic wit, as always, tempered with kindness. "Right. Do you want me to stay with you?"

Anna nodded, caught in another breathless undercurrent of pain.

"Very well. Clarkson will be here in a minute. Until then, all we've got to do is wait." She held the young woman's hand, the simple act of friendship tying them together, the differences and distinctions in class that had for so long dictated their lives and was now in the earliest stages of crumbling, momentarily forgotten.

It was night-time when the baby was born at last; his shrill, piercing cry ringing through the wintry night as he was put into his mother's arms. Anna's face was pale, her chest heaving; her eyes crowned with tears of joy. She looked happier than Mary had ever seen her.

"Congratulations, Anna – and Mr Bates," Mary said softly. "I'm so very glad for you both."

"We both are," put in Matthew with a smile.

"I'd like to go on working, my lady, if we can sort out the baby," Anna said, cradling her son close to her breast, the gesture familiar and natural, somehow seeming effortless.

"We'll have him here in the nursery during the day," Mary said gently, placing her hand on top of Anna's weakened one. "To be joined by another young Crawley in due course," she added, sharing a smile with Matthew.

"I'm ever so sorry to be in here, my lady," Anna said again, her voice somewhat unsteady, long golden hair scattered over the spotless white pillow.

"We'll be gone as soon as she's able," Bates added.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Matthew said hastily. "Lady Grantham and I can sleep in my dressing room for tonight."

"Congratulations again to you both," Mary said, giving her friend's hand a last, encouraging squeeze. "We ought to go down. Happy New Year!"

The Earl and Countess of Grantham left the room, leaving the new family in blissful solitude. They knew how they felt.

"I'm afraid Cousin Violet would find it rather unorthodox," Matthew chuckled, as they walked down together through the lamplit corridors, traced with shadows.

"Perhaps. But do you know what I think, darling? I think the more adaptable we are, the more chance we have of getting through."

"Exactly. And we'll do it together, you and I," Matthew grinned, kissing her gently. "The estate's quite safe in our hands – my darling, I can't possibly tell you what a wonderful partner you've been to me. What more can I ask?"

"A long and happy life together, just we two," his wife said softly, "to watch the children grow. That's all I want." That was what they'd desired, really, deep beneath the layers of fast-vanishing propriety and decorum that had once ruled every facet of their lives a mere thirteen years ago – the desire simply to be a family. The promise of what they had once thought they'd never have – had now been granted to them three times over.

And they were content.

Glass after glass was filled with champagne, in excited anticipation for the welcoming of the new year with open arms. How fast the years passed, how quick, how fleeting … how very far all of them had come, from when they had first known each other. Pain had been borne, impediments overcome, happiness celebrated … and it was all to be done all over again, with the smiling snow of a fresh year a cheery, yet solemn promise to the future, a farewell to the past.

Crawleys, Mertons and Aldridges were dotted about the hall carpeted in red and gold, milling about like butterflies close to the magnificent, towering green Christmas tree, studded with balls of light. Violet and Isobel chatted quietly in a corner; Rosamund and Tom in another.

"We're nearly there!" the Irishman announced brightly to the room. It was nearly midnight.

Mary was staring rather wistfully into the fire.

"Darling – what is it?" Matthew asked, brushing her shoulder lightly. "Are you quite all right?"

"Of course I am, dear," she whispered, a soft smile playing about her lips. "I was just thinking … about – well – the day we got the news that the Titanic had sunk into the Atlantic. And how we were all so dreadfully consternated that day in April." She paused a moment before adding tenderly, "So much has happened since then."

They shared a sweet, soft kiss; and it was only the resounding chime of the clock striking midnight that forced them to break apart. Choruses of "Happy New Year!" echoed around the spacious hall; while champagne glasses were clinked together in festive merriment, their contents drowned; cheeks and lips kissed; while everyone embraced the wintry welcome of 1926, and travel into the future with open minds and open hearts, walking the path life took them; every passing year drawing them closer to change; sands shifting, bodies aging, love deepening.

The mellow strains of Auld Lang Syne floated tunefully, dreamily into the hall, faint but discernible, as the snow fell quietly in silent showers over the beloved building, that had stood the test of change and time for so long, and would again, helped through by the people who loved it most.

" … Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind;
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne …"

"Happy New Year, Mama," Matthew said, bending down to kiss his mother's cheek.

"Happy New Year, my darling boy," Isobel replied softly. "Mary's told me the great news, already – how absolutely lovely! Congratulations to you both, my dears!"

" … We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine
We've wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne …"

Afternoons spent with Matthew and George and Kit walking the green meadows of Downton, Matthew's head in her lap, while darling Kit picked the little white flowers that grew upon the barks of the ancient trees, and Mary tenderly threaded them into her daughter's hair …

" .. We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till night
But the seas between us broad have roared, from auld lang syne …"

Four years of terror, waiting for him, praying for him, while her feelings that had taken root so deeply in her heart consumed her with regret and pain; separated as she was from him by a stretch of sea; the English Channel a far smaller barricade than the barrier of their hearts … roaring seas and the roaring wars of France cutting them apart, indeed, and yet here they were. Just as they should be.

"… For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup of kindness yet
From auld lang syne."

And so they would. For the sake of their family, and their friends, and their love; whilst the night welcomed the birth of a new year in its robe of angel-white; another year that would smile upon Downton Abbey in the course of patient time.

A/N: Thank you ever so much for reading! Reviews always, always make me smile :)