Garden Party, Haxby Park, July 1913
It seemed Lady Russell had good connexions with weather gods, because the weather could not have been any more perfect on the day of her garden party. Which of course was making Lady Grantham slightly sour, since the event was in direct competition with her garden party in August.
"Agatha, my dear, what a lovely day for a gathering such as this!" gushed Cora with a perfectly friendly smile, honed by decades of practice.
"I am sure it will be just as lovely for your own party next month," answered Lady Russell with equally friendly smile. She was a pretty woman, with brown, wavy hair and brown eyes. Her only child, Billy, had clearly inherited her looks, which was rather lucky for him – Sir Thomas Russell was not exactly known for his. A portly man, whose reddened cheeks and nose spoke clearly of his fondness for spirits, had been at times quite a source of headache for his wife and of embarrassment for his son.
Meanwhile, Matthew was accosted by Billy Skelton.
"Crawley!" the redhead grinned at him in greeting, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "It is good to see that you survived the shark infested waters of London Season. I heard congratulations are in order."
"Thank you," answered Matthew, slightly taken aback by the enthusiasm and energy of the young landowner. "I have been very fortunate to secure Lady Mary's affections."
"I'd say!" exclaimed Mr Skelton. "Better you than me though. I've known Lady Mary since we were toddlers and I can safely say you must be a truly brave man."
"Ah?" asked Matthew, frowning questioningly. He wasn't sure he liked the implication.
"Oh, I mean no offense!" Mr Skelton hastened to explain, waving his hands expressively. "Just that I've always known Lady Mary is ambitious – and I would not wish to deal with any of that. All that preening and parading in London and the country gives me hives, and the hunts! They are barbaric, if you think about it. And dressing up at every dinner in your own home does rather seem like much more bother than I would ever want. And I know that all of it matters strongly to Lady Mary and she is not a kind of woman to quietly give up her wishes and opinions when she is married."
"And would you like to be married to a woman who would?" asked Matthew with interest.
"Not particularly, no," grinned Mr Skelton. "But I intend to find a wife whose opinions and values align with mine. So far no luck on this front though."
He looked at Matthew thoughtfully.
"Actually, I thought that with you being a professional man from such a progressive city like Manchester, you might be more liberal than is usual for our lot."
"I guess you were mostly right on this point," admitted Matthew freely. "In comparison to the Dowager Countess of Grantham I am positively radical, and even Lord Grantham considers me too open minded at times. I definitely am not blind to the absurdities of this lifestyle. But I am learning that there are also opportunities for good, especially since so much of welfare depends still on the goodwill and charity of the rich, despite the recent reforms. I do not intend to wear white tie every evening in my own home either, though!"
They exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
They were joined then by cheerful Billy Russell, who grasped their shoulders companionably.
"Are you enjoying the party, gentlemen?"
"Lady Russell has outdone herself," answered Billy Skelton eagerly. "And garden parties are much more pleasant than formal dinners. At least one is not sentenced to speak just with one's assigned dinner partners!"
"Is that why you never invite anyone to dinner?" grinned Billy Russell. Mr Skelton shrugged.
"Neither I nor Constance care enough to organise anything."
"You should make some effort or you will stop receiving invitations. People don't like moochers, you know."
"I seriously doubt I will stop getting invited until local mamas lose all hope of snatching me for one of their daughters," answered Mr Skelton caustically. "They might consider me mad because I don't care for most of the common values and views shared by our lot, but I am still one of the bigger landowners in the county, even if untitled one. You're lucky you got yourself safely engaged so fast, Crawley, and escaped their clutches before they had time to properly set the traps."
"Is it really so dire, Russell? Do you feel persecuted as well?" asked Matthew, amused by Skelton's dramatics. Billy Russell sniggered.
"Depends how pretty the daughter and how pushy the mama in question. I freely admit you've snatched the prettiest of available girls in the area. If I haven't known I have no chance with her since we were both fifteen, I would have been insanely jealous."
Matthew's eyes started to wander in search of the pretty girl in question and lighted up upon spotting her.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I shouldn't neglect my fiancée anymore."
He barely listened to their responses, making beeline for Mary.
She looked bewitching in her cream summer dress and a wide brimmed, lacy hat. Her clothes wonderfully emphasised her milky white skin and her lustrous dark eyes and hair. He was once again struck by disbelief that she was going to be his in less than three months.
When she looked up on him and smiled enchantingly, he swallowed heavily and thought that three months were awfully long time. He had to clench his fists, digging his nails into his palms, to stop himself from reaching for her and caressing her body as he did on one of the more secluded balconies of the Grantham House during their engagement party. Or in the car after leaving their future house in Eryholme. Or...
"Is it the heat that makes you blush so much?" asked Mary, raising an eyebrow. Matthew felt himself blush even brighter.
"I was just remembering the last time we were at the library at Downton," he answered huskily. He felt quite smug, when he noticed answering blush creeping up Mary's face.
"Oh," she said, a little breathless. "It was quite a hot day as well."
That it was, he thought with emphasis. That it was. Thank God that they heard Carson's approaching steps or they would probably have had some serious explaining to do to Lord Grantham. And probably end up heavily chaperoned for the next three months.
Although if it got the wedding date moved up, maybe it would have been worth the hell they would have gotten if they'd been caught.
By the dangerous glint in Mary's eyes he was sure her thoughts were travelling in similar direction.
"Haxby has quite beautiful 18th century wilderness," she said slowly. "Would you like me to show you?"
Matthew swallowed again.
"I would love you to," he gasped. Mary grinned like Cheshire cat and, grabbing his hand, dragged him happily away from the main crowd into much more secluded, shady grove.
xxx
Edith's eyes shone upon spotting Sir Anthony.
"Sir Anthony! How lovely to see you!"
The older man blushed.
"Not as much as it is lovely to see you, Lady Edith," he said bashfully. "Did you have a nice time in London?"
Edith managed not to wince, but it took some effort. Another London Season during which she didn't receive many invitations, attention or suitors – and in fact managed to lose one suitor she had had. Mary's triumphant engagement to the future Earl of Grantham was adding insult to injury.
"I am glad it is over," she answered honestly. "The events in the country are much more to my liking. In fact, we are just working on organising a flower show in the village. You will attend, won't you?"
"I will, if you want me to," stumbled Sir Anthony, surprised at her invitation and obvious interest in him. They did have some lovely time during the winter and spring, and he was rather flattered by Lady Edith's kindness to him, but he rather expected her to come back from the Season attached, if not engaged, to someone younger and more dashing than himself. But since she was not... Maybe it would not be so bad to marry again. Since his beloved Maud's death, he was quite lonely.
Edith gave him a blinding smile. Sir Anthony might not be a man of her dreams, but he was interested in her.
xxx
Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, looked sharply at the man accompanying her daughter.
"And who is this?" she asked her, as soon as she got Rosamund alone, with Sir Richard busy talking to some people he just got introduced to.
"Sir Richard Carlisle, Mama. He owns multiple newspapers. He is powerful and rich, and well on the way to a peerage. Of course, he may not be all that one would wish, but I believe his rough edges can be smoothed off."
"Another one of your rough diamonds?" asked Violet with exasperation clear in her voice. Rosamund, never one to cover in front of her mother, shrugged delicately.
"Who knows. I think he approached me in hopes of getting acquainted with Mary, but since she is off the market, maybe he will spare a moment or two for me."
"You always had the most peculiar taste in men," sighed Violet. "You definitely did not get that from me."
"What do you mean by that? Marmaduke was a gentleman," Rosamund objected sharply.
"Marmaduke was the grandson of a manufacturer."
"His mother was the daughter of a baronet."
Rosamund didn't point out that it was her mother's exact position in life before she married the 6th Earl of Grantham, but it was hanging heavily, unspoken, in the air.
"Maybe. But they were no great threat to the Plantagenets," answered Violet, entirely undaunted and unimpressed.
"The point is, I made up for any social deficiencies and he provided me with a position. It was a good exchange and it worked well," sniped Rosamund with irritation of a quarrel which had been ongoing for the last two decades.
Violet sighed heavily again.
"Very well. Now, introduce me to him properly. If he is going to hang around, I want to know him."
xxx
Of all the things Sir Richard had not missed about Downton Abbey, being interrogated by Dowager Countess of Grantham had to be on top of the list. Condescending, infuriating old bat.
"Rosamund tells me you're in newspapers?"
"Well, I own a few."
Violet looked shrewdly at him.
"Wasn't it your paper which first broke the Marconi scandal?"
Sir Richard puffed his chest proudly. He was still very proud of himself for this particular scoop.
"Yes, it did. We were the first to flush it out, although of course afterwards everyone else picked the topic up as well."
"Not that I am ever likely to criticise somebody for badmouthing Lloyd George, but wasn't the coverage rather vicious?"
"They were guilty of insider trading, you know."
The Dowager waved her hand dismissively.
"So they were doing what powerful people were always doing – profiting from their privileged position. I would prefer to see the liberals criticised for their atrocious ideas than for a trifle like that," she looked at him again. "Or do you agree with their ideas?"
"With some," answered Sir Richard unflinchingly. "But it is my job to report on government's misdeeds, whoever is currently in charge. The fact that abuse of power is traditional does not mean that people find it any less outrageous. And outrage sells more newspapers."
The Dowager pursued her lips.
"And yet you yourself do not make an impression of a man likely to sputter in moral indignation."
Sir Richard allowed himself a smile.
"Not really my hobby, no. But I find it a very reliable emotional state in my readers. People like to feel better than their superiors."
"A sad feature not restricted to your readers," the Dowager scoffed. "Or even the lower classes."
To Sir Richard's relief, any further conversation was prevented by arrival of Lady Rosamund.
"So, now you've met Mama. I warn you, she has very strong opinions."
"You need have no fear where that's concerned, my dear. We are more than evenly matched," commented the Dowager, eyeing him intently, and to his irritation Sir Richard felt a shadow of intimidation.
xxx
Isobel was looking around with lively interest. She had attended several glamourous summer events in London, including her son's engagement ball, but this was the first country garden party of such scale and elegance she was ever invited to. From what she understood, she would be attending another one at Downton Abbey in the next few weeks. At the manor her son was to inherit.
It'd been nearly a year and she still couldn't wrap her head around it sometimes. Her modest, brilliant, kind boy an Earl! Dining in splendour, lording over an army of servants, tenants and villagers – it was truly a mindboggling prospect. And yet, despite his initial misgivings and protests, he seemed to find his footing in this strange new reality. Becoming a partner at his new firm and getting engaged to Lady Mary both seemed to give him much needed boost in confidence and security.
She noticed him approaching her with his usual loving smile. She loved how openly affectionate he had always been to her, ever since he had been a little boy, never ashamed of his love for his mother.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Mother?"
"Quite," she answered with a smile. "It is a very nice party, isn't it? But where is your fiancée? Has she abandoned you already?"
Matthew laughed.
"Thankfully for me she has not come to her senses yet. She has been summoned by Lady Rosamund for some secret conference but promised faithfully to escape as soon as possible and return to my side."
"Then I will use this opportunity to enjoy your company exclusively while I can," said Isobel fondly, taking her son's arm. She was thrilled to see him so happy and in love.
xxx
To Mary's dismay, she and Aunt Rosamund were soon joined by Sir Richard. Seriously, was she never to be free of that man?!
"I simply could not resist coming here after your aunt described to me a delight which is a proper garden party," said he, sending her aunt a significant look. "I admit I did not yet have many occasions to participate in events like this."
"A state of affairs which is bound to change, Sir Richard," said Lady Rosamund with confidence. "It is clear to me that your star is rising."
Sir Richard raised his champagne glass in thanks. Mary stopped herself from scowling, but it took some effort.
They were reluctantly left alone by Lady Rosamund soon after, when she was summoned by some friend of hers. Before Mary managed to make her excuses as well and escape in search of her fiancé, Sir Richard spoke to her quietly.
"I would like to speak with you privately, Lady Mary. Could it be arranged?"
Mary felt her eyes widen in disbelief.
"Whatever on earth for, Sir Richard?"
"I came across information which might concern you... regarding the circumstances of Mr Pamuk's death."
In an instant Mary knew that if she reacted to the name in any way, she would just be confirming whatever suspicions he had. She was certain he could not know the truth. But by God, how did this damn story get out this time?! After every precaution they took!
"I don't understand how it could conceivably concern me. He was a guest at my family home and died in his sleep, there is not much of a story in it."
"Oh, but in the version I heard there is so much more," said Richard smugly, eyes leering at her. She suppressed a shudder threatening to overtake her at his gaze.
"Then it cannot be any truth to it, I'm afraid. I thought you knew better than to listen to gossip."
"It is much more than gossip. I spoke with an eyewitness, you see."
Who the hell could he have spoken to?!
"And pray, who is that supposed eyewitness you consider so trustworthy?" she asked coldly.
"That's for me to know," smiled Richard. "So, have I interested you enough in the topic to convince you to give me some of your precious time?"
She shook her head decisively.
"We can walk and talk here," she answered firmly. "I have no idea what kind of absurd story you could possibly have heard when the truth of the matter is so mundane, but I do not like the idea of some wild rumours about me floating around in London with me none the wiser. Please enlighten me, Sir Richard."
He took her arm in a manner much more familiar than she was comfortable with and walked with her through the crowd, keeping a careful distance from others and his voice low.
"The version of the story I heard, Lady Mary, doesn't portray Mr Pamuk in the best of light. My source says he attempted to force himself on you – and that you killed him to defend yourself."
"And how have I done it without arousing any suspicions as to the cause of his death?" Mary asked with steely composure. At least this version was still better than the one about her wantonly seducing Pamuk and sucking the life from him while pleasuring him.
Sir Richard raised an eyebrow in respect for her nerves.
"That, I admit, I don't yet know the precise details of. My source did suggest however that it was your lover who hid the body and covered up any involvement you had in Mr Pamuk's demise."
Mary felt her mouth drop open.
"My lover?" she asked faintly, fearing the answer.
"Your cousin Mr Crawley, who you apparently have been having quite a passionate affair with," answered Richard, his face triumphant at breaking her cold façade.
Mary gathered her wits with difficulty.
"You mean my fiancé," she corrected frostily.
"Indeed," answered Sir Richard, his face falling a bit at the reminder of her engagement. "Quite a tale of passion and intrigue, won't you say?"
"An entertaining tale indeed, Sir Richard," said Mary, her mask firmly back in place. She could fret over dragging Matthew into this sordid business later, after she dealt with Carlisle. "But not at all close to the truth. Your source has very fanciful imagination."
"But will it matter when the whole country will be reading it at breakfast?"
Mary stared at him.
"What do you want from me, Sir Richard?"
"Whatever do you mean, Lady Mary?"
"You wanted to speak with me in privacy regarding this story of yours. You must have had a purpose in it. I will ask again: what do you want from me?"
"I merely wished to get your comment on the story before I publish it."
"Then you have it – none of it is true, except the fact that unfortunate Mr Pamuk died while a guest in my father's house."
"And what will your fiancé say when he reads about his deeds on your behalf and his shameless behaviour with you?"
"If your story was true, it would imply that he covered up a murder I committed, however justified it would be. I hardly think a newspaper article would change his affections in such case."
"And what if only parts of the story are true? Like his affair with you? Would he like it exposed? His noble image besmirched?"
"I rather think he would sue you to defend himself, considering nothing improper ever happened between us," answered Mary coldly. "But even if it did, or if people thought it did, it wouldn't really matter – he is marrying me. People may talk and it would be unpleasant, but it would hardly matter in a long run."
"But will he marry you in the circumstances?"
"Why wouldn't he? According to the story the only thing I would be guilty of is defending myself and having an affair with him. He could hardly blame me for the first and be unaware of the second, considering he would be a participant in it. Your publication would mean nothing," Mary spat vehemently.
"But would he want to marry you if you were arrested on suspicion of murder and he as an accomplice?"
Mary felt herself paling.
"How could we be?! Those accusations are absurd! He died because of a burst vessel in his brain!"
"If there were questions raised, an investigation would have to follow. The public would insist on it, not to even mention the Turkish embassy. You might be both found innocent, but jail is so very unpleasant. I wonder if your attachment would survive it."
Mary shuddered, thinking of Anna's stories about Bates' time in jail.
"What do you want?" she repeated tiredly.
Richard smirked.
"I like you, Lady Mary. I admire you greatly. I would not like to drag your name through the mud and cause you all kinds of trouble. Maybe if we get to know each other better, become friends, you could convince me to stay my hand and forget all I have heard about that topic."
Mary looked at him incredulously.
"Don't you know better ways to befriend somebody than threatening them with absurd accusations and getting them arrested?!"
"It might be a bit drastic," admitted Richard. "But when I read your engagement announcement, I feared you will be too busy with planning your wedding to find any time for new friendships. I merely wanted to get your attention."
"You certainly got that," snorted Mary. "I am not so sure about gaining my friendship though. I do not feel particularly friendly when threatened."
"Then I am afraid we will part in anger, Lady Mary, and I will have no cause to not publish the story. It will sell a lot of newspapers, you know."
Mary raised her chin and took a purposeful step back from him.
"Then so be it, Sir Richard. I won't be blackmailed, especially with such baseless allegations. Please keep away from me."
She turned her back on him and walked away as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself. In her haste to escape she nearly ran into someone and barely stopped herself from sobbing in relief when she realised it was Matthew.
"Mary, there you are. I've been searching for you," he must have noticed her distress, because his face immediately reflected concern. "Darling, whatever is the matter? You look frightfully pale."
"Can you arrange to take me home? I will tell you everything, in fact we really must talk, but I cannot face everybody right now."
Matthew's worried frown deepened, but he nodded immediately. Sooner than she expected he made their excuses, saying Mary felt ill from the heat, her appearance confirming it to her family. To her overwhelming relief, they agreed to Matthew taking her home alone, although her mother did offer to go with them. She thankfully accepted Mary's protests against spoiling her fun.
They did not talk in the car, aware of Tom's presence, although Mary noticed that he was throwing them concerned looks anyway. He did not dare to ask what was wrong though. Back at the Abbey they settled in the shadowed library, grateful for its coolness after the heat of the garden party and accepted cold lemonade from Carson. It was only after dismissing him that Matthew sat by Mary on the sofa, took her hand in his and asked for the explanation.
"I had a very distressing conversation with Sir Richard Carlisle," answered Mary without preamble. "He somehow found some awfully exaggerated rumours about the night Mr Pamuk died and threatens to publish it."
"What kind of rumours?" asked Matthew calmly, but Mary could see in his eyes that his calmness was forced for her sake.
"They said I killed him in self-defence and you helped to cover it up because we were lovers," said Mary quickly, queasy with fear of his reaction and guilt for being the cause of that particular story. Somebody must have heard her careless words to Pamuk that night and she cursed herself again for letting him provoke her.
Matthew gaped at her in shock for a moment, but quickly gathered himself.
"That's preposterous! He cannot publish a story like that, he has no proof. We could sue him for all he has."
"But won't the damage be done? He hinted we both could be arrested on suspicion of murder until the matter is cleared."
Matthew shook his head, squeezing her hands comfortingly.
"He was bluffing," he said with conviction. "Nobody would be arrested on a basis of a newspaper article alone. They would check the coroner report which states that he died of natural causes. If the report was doubted due to accusations of a cover up, they would first dig out the body and performed a second autopsy, which would just confirm the original findings. There would be no basis for our arrest."
Mary felt herself wilt with relief. Visions of Matthew in prison, all because of her, had been torturing her the whole drive home.
"But why would he even say that to you, Mary? I don't believe he was unaware how it works; he deals with inquests and murder investigations on daily basis for his scandal sheets. He either must have trusted his source implicitly, which is not likely, or he had a different motive in scaring you so," Matthew looked at her inquiringly.
Mary sighed, avoiding his serious, searching eyes.
"He implied he would not publish the story if I agreed to be friends with him."
"Friends?" asked Matthew incredulously, with clearly rising anger. "Just friends?"
Mary squirmed.
"That's all he said, but I found it unlikely too," she said with a shrug. "Blackmail like that seemed a bit much for mere friendship."
She shuddered in revulsion. Matthew took her into his arms immediately.
"You will never have to talk with him again if I have anything to say about it," he said through gritted teeth. "He will not publish; he is not stupid. But just in case he is not thinking rationally, I am going to talk with him myself."
"No!" cried Mary, alarmed at the very idea, visions of flying fists and broken vases filling her head. "What would be the point? Wouldn't it just make him angry enough to be reckless?"
"It might, but I don't think so," said Matthew firmly. "But if you prefer, I will take Jack with me as my legal representative. He threatened us both and must get an adequate response or he will persist in bothering us. The story is baseless and he must be reminded of the consequences of publishing baseless stories."
"But what if he published just the bits which are true?" asked Mary quietly.
"How would he know or prove which ones are?" answered Matthew calmly. "What proof can he have with a wild story he gave you? If his source is so inaccurate, there is no chance he would be able to separate truth from fiction or prove anything of it well enough to defend his position in court. There is a law defending women from having their chastity and honour besmirched by the press and the burden of proof would be on him, not on us. How do you prove an affair which didn't take place or a murder which didn't happen?"
Mary sat up straighter, feeling calmed down by his assurance.
"I didn't give in to his threats," she told Matthew proudly. "I don't think I showed him how distressing I have found them either. I told him to never speak to me again."
Matthew kissed her forehead in admiration.
"My brave darling," he said feelingly, "You are a storm braver if I've ever seen one."
"I am so sorry to drag you into this though," said Mary with regret clear in her voice. "I've never should have involved you."
Matthew stared at her incredulously.
"Were you going to drag his body by yourself then?"
Mary shuddered, but then smirked at him.
"Your strong arms were definitely useful that night, but I am convinced that with one more person I and Anna would have managed somehow."
"Probably," drawled Matthew doubtfully, but then his expression turned serious. "But whether or not you would have, I am immensely grateful you trusted me that night, Mary. It means a lot to me that in such a dire situation you thought to seek my help and I was glad to be the one to help you. The rumours and threats are not your fault. You were attacked by that bastard. What's happening to you now is most unfair and I want to strangle Carlisle for bothering you so."
The dark look on his face confirmed clearly that he truly meant it, which Mary found both endearing and not at all reassuring. Matthew was usually so levelheaded, but Richard was way too good at provoking him. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall Richard reacting so viscerally to anyone else than Matthew either, so it was definitely mutual.
She leaned into Matthew's chest, his arms around her, and tried not to fret about their unavoidable confrontation.
Lady Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, July 1913
Anna could say at once that Lady Mary was dreadfully preoccupied with something. She did not pry – it was not her place – but she hoped her ladyship would decide to confess her troubles to her. They were not friends and she didn't think they could ever be, not truly – the gulf between them was too wide – but Anna liked Lady Mary and ever since that horrible night Mr Pamuk had died she felt strangely protective of her.
Anna did know how it felt to attract wrong kind of attention from a man. She guessed it did not matter whether one was a farmer's daughter or an earl's daughter when it came to such things. In the end, some men just felt entitled to take what they wanted and a woman had very few resources to protect herself – and even if she did, she would be judged and criticised and disbelieved. Just as she had been, when her stepfather decided to take advantage of her.
She still felt grim satisfaction at the memory of stabbing him, even though it did not help the nightmares.
She was brushing Lady Mary's hair when she finally decided to speak.
"Anna," she said hesitantly. "It seems that, for all our care, somebody witnessed us that night."
Anna did not ask which night. It was rather obvious what Lady Mary meant. Her eyebrows furrowed in thought.
"How do you know?" she asked, dreading the answer. The way Lady Mary said "someone" clearly indicated that the information got out in a dangerous way.
"Whoever saw us, sold it to Sir Richard Carlisle, a newspaper owner," said Lady Mary evenly, but Anna could see her white hands clenched into painful fists, her knuckles harsh against her skin. "He attempted to blackmail me today at the garden party at Haxby. The version he got was not wholly accurate but contained enough true details that it must have originated from someone who saw and heard at least some parts of the events."
Anna felt a wave of indignation flooding her. How dared they, whoever they were?!
"It must have been a servant," she said reluctantly, but with determination. She did feel bad at the thought of getting another servant it trouble, but that person deserved it. "Nobody from the family would have taken it to the papers."
Lady Mary went quiet for a long moment.
"I think Lady Edith could have done it," she said slowly. "Her bedroom is just two doors down from mine; she could have been listening at her door. And I think she might hate me enough to go to the papers. She had been introduced to Sir Richard at Lady Rosamund's ball."
"But her own sister?" asked Anna incredulously. She knew the acrimonious relationship between Lady Mary and Lady Edith; everybody did, but this would have been on totally different level than their usual squabbling and barbs.
Lady Mary looked unsure.
"I think she is capable of it," she said eventually. "But I've been thinking about how Mr Pamuk even knew where to find me. He came straight to my room and I definitely did not give him directions. He didn't bring his man with him, did he?"
Anna's indignation suddenly got a target. Oh, she was sure who it had been!
"No, milady. He said his valet did not speak English, so he left him in London. Thomas was looking after him that night."
Lady Mary and Anna looked at each other.
"And do you think he could have done it?" asked Lady Mary with forced calmness. "Why would he?"
Anna shrugged.
"I don't know why he would have led him to your room, milady. Maybe he was bribed – Thomas does like money. Maybe Mr Pamuk lied to him and said you invited him. But I think he could be convinced to do it one way or the other; and he certainly is unprincipled enough to sell the story."
Lady Mary pursued her lips, her eyes flashing. Anna had a feeling that Thomas's job was much less secure than he thought. Good, she thought viciously, but noticed Lady Mary taking a calming breath.
"We don't know for sure it was him," she said and looked at Anna questioningly.
Anna met her ladyship's look with a sure gaze of her own.
"Leave it to me, milady."
Back courtyard, Downton Abbey, July 1913
Anna spotted Thomas on his usual perch on the crates, with inseparable cigarette in his mouth. Thankfully Miss O'Brien was busy somewhere else at the moment. Anna needed to catch him alone.
She marched to him with decided steps and leaned on the crate next to him. He seemed surprised at her sudden desire for his company and even more at the glare she was sending him.
"I've always known you were an unscrupulous, vicious man, Thomas Barrow," she hissed. "But I didn't think you are a despicable one!"
He seemed taken aback.
"I don't have the faintest idea what you mean," he hissed back. Anna imagined she saw a shifty look in his eyes though.
"I know you led Mr Pamuk to her ladyship bedroom," she whispered, even though they were alone in the courtyard and unlikely to be overheard. "And I know you sold the story to Richard Carlisle."
Thomas flinched but rallied back in an instant.
"I still haven't the faintest idea what you mean," he said stubbornly. "And even if I did, you have no proof."
Anna felt smug satisfaction filling her at his indirect admission. She was right!
"Then better hope Lady Mary is feeling merciful," she shot at him, happy to see him blanch. "Because she has a very good idea what I am talking about."
"Well, she doesn't have any proof either!" protested Thomas hotly, dropping the pretence of ignorance. Anna laughed viciously.
"And do you think his lordship is going to take your word over the one of his eldest daughter's? They don't need proof to sack you without a reference, they just need to be convinced you deserve it."
Thomas deflated, clearly seeing her point.
"What do you want?" he spat out, defeated.
Anna raised her eyebrows.
"Whatever do you mean?"
Thomas glared at her, throwing his cigarette on the ground.
"You wouldn't come here just to taunt me. So I ask again, what do you want?"
Anna felt herself smirking.
"Well, Thomas," she said. "You can start out by being honest. If you want me to plead your case with Lady Mary – and she is not feeling very merciful at the moment, imagine that – then I need to know every detail."