Library, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Mary found Sybil curled up on one of the red sofas in the library, clutching the letter she had received at breakfast and sobbing her heart out.
"What is it, darling?" she asked, sitting by her sister and laying a hand on her shaking shoulder. When Sybil suddenly gasped and ran out of the dining room to avoid falling apart in front of Matthew after opening her letter, Mary felt forced to follow, even though she had no idea how to comfort her. They had been through this so many times already and really, what was one to say to make yet another death better? She steeled herself for more bad news.
"Tom Bellasis has been killed. The letter is from Imogen Bunting. She heard he was missing and called on Lady Bellasis, but he's dead. It's been confirmed," sobbed Sybil and Mary once again realised that no amount of steeling herself worked for this kind of news. Every time it happened, the name hit her like a bullet.
"What a terrible thing," said Mary faintly.
"I remember him at Imogen's ball, he made me laugh out loud, just as her uncle was giving a speech..."
"I remember."
And she did remember the handsome, vibrant young man, always with a ready smile or a joke on his lips. She could hardly imagine him dead; he seemed so full of life and joy de vivre.
"Sometimes it feels as if all the men I ever danced with are dead."
Mary could only hug Sybil. She lacked any words to comfort her.
Matthew's study, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Matthew looked up from the accounting books he had been perusing on his desk and looked with concern at Mary's pale face.
"How is Sybil?" he asked. "I gather she got some bad news?"
Mary sighed, hugging herself in a rare gesture of vulnerability.
"She is desperately sad," she said wearily. "She got news that one of her suitors and close friends was killed."
Matthew swallowed.
"The worst kind of news then," he acknowledged quietly.
"What makes it worse, is the fact that it is the fifth such letter she received just this summer," said Mary helplessly. "I do not know how to comfort her. I just cannot find the words."
"Can anybody?" asked Matthew musingly. "When so many are dying each day? I don't think there are words which can help, not really."
He looked up at Mary curiously.
"Aren't you getting this kind of news yourself? You only speak about comforting Sybil."
Mary shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
"I do, of course. But..." she hesitated, obviously searching for words. "I've been luckier than her so far. I've received plenty of notifications about one acquaintance or other dying and it did make me sad – I would be a monster if it didn't - but I haven't lost any close friends. Not like Sybil had."
The unspoken "yet" was hanging heavily between them.
Downton Cottage Hospital, September 1916
Matthew came into the hospital just as the truck with a new load of patients arrived and stepped into complete chaos.
He saw Clarkson and Mother directing the stretcher bearers and nurses, including Sybil, trying to get men into beds. Screens were wheeled round to protect their modesty, but it was still a muddle, and the beds put so close together that in truth any privacy was illusory anyway.
They were all officers wounded at the Somme while he was on leave. He shuddered, suddenly feeling quite lightheaded.
His mother voice brought him back to the present.
"No, bring them to the other side. Oh, Matthew, I'm afraid I'm very busy. As you can see."
"Yes, I just want to help. I can't be in the village and not help."
"Feel free. But don't get into anyone's way," she said curtly and walked quickly away to correct and order around somebody else. Matthew looked around helplessly for a moment, then noticed that Sybil seemed to need assistance with lifting a man from the stretcher and waved him over gratefully.
"Matthew, are you busy?"
"No, of course not," he answered, relieved to find a way to be of use.
The invalid tried to salute him, as absurd as it was in the circumstances.
"Never mind that, now. And remember, you are quite safe here," said Matthew gently, supporting his legs. Or at least what was left of them. He swallowed thickly, fighting down sudden nausea, and with a heavy heart followed Sybil to another wounded man.
He could not stop thinking that any of those men could have been him.
Sitting room, Crawley House, September 1916
"We have to ask Mary," answered Matthew and then hastened to add. "And Cousin Cora, of course."
"It is your house though," pointed Isobel, somewhat peevishly.
"But I am not the one living in it," parried Matthew firmly. "They would be the ones most affected by a decision like this, so I wouldn't feel right making it without their input."
"But the final word must be yours. They cannot truly object while they remain there as your guests, essentially."
"Mother, do you really wish for me to turn Robert's widow and daughters out of the house when I don't even live in it myself? How would that be right?"
"Of course I don't!" protested Isobel. "I admire and completely agree with your decision to let them stay as long as they want and need. I just want you to remember that it is, in fact, your house now, and if you are willing to use if for something good and necessary, they should respect it."
"They do respect it," said Matthew. "They do defer all decisions to me, even those I am more than happy to leave to them as I made it clear multiple times. But turning Downton into a convalescent home, however logical and necessary, would completely upend their lives while touching my own very little. I will not make this decision without talking it over with them first."
"Then talk it over with them by all means but do keep in mind that if the disturbance proves too great for them, they could move out."
Matthew immediately thought of the joy of sharing breakfast with Mary, of the milk they drank companionably in the dark kitchen, and barely restrained an exclamation of protest which was hovering on his lips at the very thought of her moving somewhere else, most probably never to return.
He glowered at Mother.
"I said I will talk it over, but I won't have them bullied or made feel unwelcome," he said firmly. "Even though the house is mine now, the way it happened was both unjust and very sudden. It's been just six months since they lost their husband and father and everything else but their personal possessions. There is a war going on and I am not even here to either need the house for myself or to make sure they have suitable alternative accommodation or are properly taken care of. They will have a home there for as long as I'm alive, if they want and need one. And let's not forget that the possession of the house might yet revert to them if I don't come back after all, which makes it even more unreasonable to upset the status quo."
Isobel reluctantly dropped the matter, seeing she was not going to win the issue tonight. She remained hopeful that it was just a temporary delay. Surely their cousins could not veto the project if Matthew supported it, however considerate he was of their opinions and comforts.
Truth be told, Matthew was not at all easy about the decision to turn Downton into a convalescent home. He saw of course the necessity for one near the hospital – how could he not after the sobering visit there he just made? - and the house was perfectly suitable for such purpose. And of course Mother was right, it was his house now to do with as he pleased, however little it felt like it. But he knew his cousins enough to realise that it would necessarily be a very hard pill for them to swallow and a huge adjustment to their way of life and he could not be cavalier about it. He loved and admired Mother, but she could be sometimes a bit too similar to a steamroller when she had a project for the greater good in mind. This action screamed for employing some delicate diplomacy.
He resolved to talk to Mary first. She hated things sprung upon her in front of an audience anyway and, if he convinced her, she could help him to navigate this minefield with the rest of the family.
Downton grounds, Downton Abbey, September 1916
The occasion to speak to Mary came on the very same afternoon, when she casually asked if he fancied a walk. He promptly agreed and they were walking briskly towards the downs and one of the follies.
"I've just come from the hospital. I can't tell you what it's like..." he trailed off, lost in it, then remembered himself, shaking his head. "Forgive me. That's not useful to anyone."
"Please tell me anyway. What was it like at the hospital today?"
"At the front," Matthew started hesitantly. "The men pray to be spared, of course. But if that's not to be, they pray for a bullet that kills them cleanly... For too many of them today, that prayer had not been answered."
They walked in silence for some time, pondering his words, before Mary spoke.
"I can understand this reasoning, of course... But I find I deeply disagree. Surely those men's families will be happy to have them back, even if their life will never be quite the same, rather than to lose them forever?"
Matthew shrugged uncomfortably and kicked a stone, avoiding her eyes.
"It might be so, at least at first. But won't some of them start to curse that their sons or husbands survived only to become a burden, requiring constant care and unable to give anything in return? Wouldn't even the deepest grief be better? As we both know, grief does not last forever, however hard it is when it's fresh. Life goes on. Isn't it better?"
Mary shook her head stubbornly.
"No, it isn't. Not when you truly love someone. I would give anything to have Papa back, even if he was an invalid confined to a bed or a chair. Don't you feel the same about your father?"
"I've never thought about it. He was gone instantly, like yours, so I never had to deal with a lingering illness. But thinking about your father – wouldn't he hate a restricted, dependant existence like that? He impressed me as someone who loved being active and independent."
Mary laughed sadly.
"Oh, he would hate every minute at first and chafe at every restriction. But it still would have been better than losing him. I believe he would have learnt to deal with it in time. But maybe I am just being selfish. I told you before that I often am."
"I don't think it is selfish to wish for a loved one's presence when they are gone, on any terms," answered Matthew quietly. "And yet, the idea of ending up as some of the men I've seen today – as hundreds more I've seen before – fills me with bigger horror than the idea of dying. As I told you before, I do want to come back – I want to come back so much – but... not unconditionally. Not on any terms. The terms are sometimes too horrifying."
Mary couldn't find anything to say to that.
They walked a bit longer, both too lost in their thoughts to admire the brilliant autumn landscape surrounding them, the leaves just starting to change colours. It was Matthew who broke the silence.
"I had a lunch with Mother afterwards and she raised the topic of the problems with the number of casualties overwhelming the capacity of the hospital."
Mary sighed.
"We are all aware of that. The hospital was never intended to treat so many patients, never mind so many of them in need of urgent and constant care. We are raising funds and doing what we can, but in the end money won't solve the problem of the lack of physical space – at least not as fast as it is necessary."
"Mother might have thought of a solution," ventured Matthew carefully. "As you heard Major Clarkson explain, right now the patients are sent off to Farley Hall as soon as possible, even if they are not really in a fit condition to travel. Major Clarkson is still responsible for their care and is travelling there several times per week, but it takes him away from the patients here and of course he is not close in case of any emergencies."
Mary looked at him intently, gesturing for him to go on. Matthew took a fortifying breath and plunged in.
"She suggested we could use Downton Abbey as a convalescent home assigned to the hospital. There is so much space, we could organise proper rehabilitation and recreation rooms as well as dormitories and dining rooms. We could accommodate so many more wounded and Major Clarkson would be just minutes away."
He looked up at Mary with trepidation, which seemed to be justified by shock plain on her face.
"You intend to turn Downton into a convalescent home?"
"Not without your and your family's consent!" Matthew hastened to assure her. He felt firm on this. He saw the full merit of Mother's idea and he wanted to see it done – but he fully intended to convince his cousins to support it, not have them faced with a done deed.
Mary raised her eyes heavenward.
"It is your house," she said curtly. "If you want it done, then it will be done."
"But I won't be here to deal with it. It would be your life, and your mother's and sisters' lives, which would be hugely disrupted."
"It's not like we have any right to complain," pointed out Mary plainly. "We're lucky enough that you agreed to let us stay here as your guests."
Matthew stopped and took Mary's hand.
"Mary, I told you many times before that you all will have a home at Downton for as long as I'm alive – and of course if I don't live long, then it will be yours anyway. Cousin Cora is running the house for me and you are managing the whole estate. I will not make any decision without taking you into consideration. But can you see the merit in the idea?"
Mary stared at him for a long time, her face impassive, but finally nodded.
"It will be an unimaginable inconvenience," she said with a wince, but then her expression settled into firm determination. "But I do see the need. Those officers deserve the best of care we can offer them and right now they are not receiving it. If there is something which can be done about it – and it clearly can – then it must be done."
Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, a smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Mary," he said feelingly. "I hoped you will see it like that, but I admit I wasn't sure. You are right, it is going to be an enormous disruption for you all."
Mary looked at him sardonically.
"You mean to say I was not the most likely person to sacrifice my comfort for the greater good? Whatever gave you that impression, I wonder?"
"I clearly underestimated you and I apologise," said Matthew sincerely, but Mary immediately dismissed it with a laugh.
"You didn't. I cannot imagine I would ever have considered it even some months ago. But now, with the news of so many dead and wounded..." her voice trailed off.
"Do you think the others will see it like that?" asked Matthew hopefully.
"Sybil will, of course," answered Mary immediately. "And I don't think Edith will be any trouble, strangely enough. She got very much into esprit de corps and helping the cause with the land girls. No, Mama and Granny are where you can face the opposition."
"But Cousin Violet doesn't live at the Abbey," said Matthew with surprise. "Her life would be affected very little."
Mary raised her eyebrows.
"Have you ever met Granny? Whatever gave you the impression that she has been any less involved in anything related to Downton since moving into the Dower House than when she still lived here?"
Matthew shook his head ruefully.
"You're perfectly right, of course. So how do we convince them?"
Mary bit her lip, considering her answer.
"In the end, we don't have to. I know that you are determined to give us a say – and I am so grateful for that – but with Mama and Granny your authority as the Earl is probably your best card. They may quarrel – Granny almost certainly will – but in the end they will bow to your wishes, as they always did to Papa's."
Matthew raked his hand through his hair.
"I am still uncomfortable with using this card," he admitted. Mary sent him a sideways glance.
"I know," she said indulgently. "But it will work."
Drawing room, Downton Abbey, September 1916
"I think it's a ridiculous idea!" said Violet immediately.
"Why?" countered Sybil.
"Because this is a house, not a hospital. It's not equipped!"
"But Granny, a convalescent home is where people rest and recuperate."
"But if there are relapses, what then? Amputation in the dining room? Resuscitation in the pantry?"
"It would certainly be the most tremendous disturbance. If you knew how chaotic things are as it is..." added Cora, clearly reluctant to join her mother-in-law's side in any argument but finding herself in complete agreement with her.
"But when there's so much good which can be done..." interjected Isobel.
"I forbid it! To have strange men prodding and prying around the house, to say nothing of pocketing the spoons! It's out of the questions!" exclaimed Violet and Cora saw red. After enduring her mother-in-law ordering her around for close to thirty years, with neither her husband's nor her son's deaths stopping her in the slightest, somehow it became the final straw for her.
She took a deep breath.
"I hesitate to remind you, but it is not your house now, and neither it's mine. It's Matthew's. And he will make the decision."
"Oh, I see. So now I'm an outsider who need not be consulted?"
"Since you put it like that, yes," said Cora bluntly and, after taking another deep breath, turned towards Matthew. "If that's what you want to do with the house, we will of course do anything in our power to help you. What does need to be done?"
Matthew's dressing room, September 1916
Bates was never what Matthew would call loquacious, but tonight he seemed clearly preoccupied with something while getting him ready for his last dinner at Downton. He wasn't surprised though when the valet approached him hesitantly.
"There's something I'd like your opinion on, m'lord... Would you ever consider allowing me to remain in my post if I were..."
"Yes?" asked Matthew curiously.
"Married. If I were married."
"Good heavens. What brought this on?"
"You see, I had a bit of a shock when I was in London, just before you came for leave."
"Go on."
"I always thought my mother rented her house. She never said any different... But it seems now she owned it. And she's left it to me."
"But that's good news, surely?"
"It's extraordinary news, among people like us. She had savings, too. And I've got all of it."
"And do you intend to marry Anna?" asked Matthew, recalling Mary mentioning her maid being sweet on his valet. "Well, we could give you one of the cottages. Move things around a bit, so you're near the house."
"Would you do that?"
"I don't see why not. When's the happy day?"
"Not yet. There's something else. And you should know it because it may colour your answer. I have a wife. A living wife. So there's the matter of a divorce to finalise."
Matthew felt his jaw dropping.
"Do you have grounds for it?" he asked in the end, focusing on practicalities. Bates nodded grimly.
"We have not had any contact since 1910," he said quietly. "But she visited my mother occasionally and my mother heard about her through common friends. It seems she had been unfaithful to me, not that I minded. But I do have grounds to divorce her, either on desertion or adultery, whatever sticks."
"I cannot approve of divorce, Bates, but we won't fall out over it. You have not made your decision lightly so I will say no more than that. Tell me when it is settled – or tell Lady Mary if I'm not here, which is likely – and we'll consider the options then."
Mary's Bedroom, September 1916
Once again, Mary could not sleep. She thought scornfully that she should be used to it by now, but it was hardly a consolation when she again was tossing and turning in her bed, fighting exhaustion, but unable to quiet her racing thoughts.
It was Matthew's last night at home. Tomorrow morning, he was going to board the train which ultimately would take him straight back into hell which sucked in more and more men only to spit them out dead or maimed. She wondered if he was able to sleep or if he was once again sharing her inability to do so. She hoped it was not the case. He so deserved one last night of rest before he faced it all.
She threw off the blankets and got up. She needed a book to get away from her gloomy thoughts. A happy book with a happy ending. Nothing even remotely resembling the reality she was living in.
She was halfway down the hallway when the silence of the sleeping house was shattered by desperate screams.
Matthew's screams.
Matthew's Bedroom, September 1916
The shells were exploding all around, their noise deafening, although he could still hear the staccato of the machine guys and the yelling – oh God, the yelling. Some men were yelling out of fear. Some out of sheer aggression and adrenaline. And of course, there were bloodcurdling screams of all those who fell, often with limbs missing, bones shattered, hurt in all kinds of imaginable and unimaginable ways. The cacophony of the battlefield.
Matthew looked frantically around, trying to orient himself, but somehow he could not tell friend from foe, the British trenches from the German. It was like he was in the eye of a storm, surrounded by complete chaos and utterly lost. And all the time, he had the strangest conviction of wrongness – as if he was not supposed to be here, even though it had been his reality for two years now.
But not today. He was supposed to be on leave for one more night, wasn't he? This should not be happening yet! He was supposed to be reprieved for one more day! He was supposed to still be home, with Mary!
His eyes widened in sudden fear. If he was here, even though he was still supposed to be at Downton – what if Mary was here as well? No, it could not be. He must have hit his head, get confused, forget his return to the front – that was surely reasonable explanation, not that he and Mary were somehow transported into this hell on earth together. She was safe, he repeated to himself, she was safe, even if he wasn't.
His search grew more and more frantic as against all reason he thought he heard her voice calling for him. She was here, however impossible it was, and she was frightened, she needed his help, he had to get her out of here before something happened. The shells were falling left and right, the bullets were flying, he could hear the yells of the Huns coming at them with their guns and bayonets – where was she?!
There! He thought he saw her silhouette through the smoke, he would have recognised her anywhere. He needed to get to her, needed to lead her out. She could not be here, she did not belong here, she must be safe. But somehow he could not get out of the foxhole he found himself in, his legs were not working, he could not get out.
He looked down in horror and realised that his legs didn't work because he didn't have any legs anymore. And then he started screaming.
"Matthew!"
He woke up, the scream still on his lips, his eyes wide open but rolling wildly to orient himself. He saw the dark walls of his bedroom, barely lit by the small reading lamp next to his bed, the fire gone out by this point, but somehow despite all the evidence to the contrary, he was still convinced he was in France already, trying to crawl through the shell hole with both of his legs just gone. He felt another scream building up in his throat.
"Matthew! You're safe, you're at Downton, everything is alright!"
It was only now that his scattered brain registered the voice and the words and the hand tentatively put on his shoulder. He stared at the person by his bed, a tall, slim figure in white, so wonderfully familiar, even though he had only seen her once like that, in her white nightgown and silk robe, with her beautiful hair down her back in a thick braid. His mind brought back the memories of a dark kitchen and warm milk, of safety, comfort and love, and he finally, finally, registered that he wasn't in France yet. Oh God, not yet.
The change from mindboggling terror to overwhelming relief was so abrupt that before he even realised what he was doing, he found himself clinging to Mary for dear life, sobbing uncontrollably. When he did realise, he was mortified, but the comfort of their embrace, of her hand gently caressing his back, and her quiet voice telling him he was alright, he was safe, everything was perfectly alright was just too wonderful, too necessary, to give it up quite yet.
He finally forced himself to sit up and release her, however little he wanted to do it.
"I'm sorry," he rasped, his throat parched from all the screaming and crying. God, what must she think of him, blubbing like a child all over her!
"Don't apologise," said Mary firmly, her own voice choked a bit. "I don't know what you were dreaming about, but it clearly must have been terrifying."
Matthew flinched, trying desperately not to think about his dream.
"It was," he said only. "But I still shouldn't have behaved like that."
He looked at her in confusion, finally registering that she was in his bedroom. In his bed. Well, sitting at the edge of it, but still!
Mary must have noticed his surprise at finding her so, because even in the dim light he could see that she went scarlet.
"I was on my way to the library, when I heard you screaming," she explained quickly, avoiding his eyes in visible embarrassment. "I came in to wake you up."
"You should go," said Matthew with utmost reluctance. "If all that yelling woke someone else up, they might think to check on me. It wouldn't do for you to be found here."
"Just don't you dare to tell Mama about this. She would march us to the altar before we even realised what was happening," joked Mary, standing up and walking towards the door.
"Would it be such a bad thing?" blurted out Matthew and then, realising what he did say, and what it actually implied, wished desperately for the floor underneath him to collapse and swallow him whole.
Mary stood silent, with her hand on the door handle, each of the passing seconds a torture to Matthew.
"I don't think either of us would be happy with a forced marriage," she said finally, and Matthew's heart dropped. He did not expect any other answer, but it still stung. Oh God, did it sting.
"No, of course not," he answered, making his best effort to smile. The result must have been pretty bad though, because Mary suddenly released the door handle and stepped towards him.
"I did not mean that it would be bad to be married to you," she said urgently. "Just... If it ever came to that, I think we both would like to be sure – very sure – that we both want it out of love and free will, not out of obligation of any kind."
Matthew swallowed heavily, his eyes not leaving hers, then nodded slowly. Mary seemed to relax minutely.
"Good night," she said softly. "I hope you will manage to get some more peaceful sleep now."
He nodded again but knew it would be a long time before he would be able to sleep after that conversation.
Downton Village Train Station, September 1916
This time, Matthew was not surprised – just overwhelmingly glad and grateful – to see Mary descending the stairs to accompany him to the train station despite the ghastly hour and how little sleep either of them got last night with his blasted nightmare.
Like the last time, the drive to the train station was silent. What was there to say? Too much and nothing. They had bare minutes left before they parted, all too likely to never see each other again.
But this time, their hands, laying between them on the seat, were touching. Grasping each other, really.
Too soon, they were walking up the platform, the train already waiting in the clouds of steam.
"I still have your lucky charm," said Matthew, pulling it briefly out of his pocket to show her. Mary smiled at the sight of it.
"Make sure you will bring it back without a scratch. You did promise to, remember?"
Matthew nodded stiffly, his heart so full he barely knew what to say or think.
"I don't think being married to you would be a bad thing," he blurted out, unable to stop himself, not when he thought he might never get the chance to tell her. "Not in the slightest."
He saw Mary's eyes widen.
"I don't think it a bad thing either," she whispered, her mouth trembling. "I never really did."
Matthew wasn't sure which of them started their kiss, but he did not care. He did not care that they were in public – even though, thankfully, not many people were at the train station at such an early hour – he did not care that he had to board the train within minutes. He was kissing Mary again and she was kissing him. His gloved hands were holding her face, hers got entangled in his hair, nearly throwing his cap off, not that he cared about it either. His lips were thirstily exploring hers and he had to force his eyes to stay open, to greedily collect every detail of her face, so intimately close to his, even though it took an enormous effort not to close them in sheer pleasure of that moment.
Which was promptly interrupted by the whistle of the train. He had to get onboard or he would miss his connection to London and then to Southampton. He had to go, however impossible that seemed.
They stopped their kiss and stared at each other for a while longer, both their breathing laboured, eyes not leaving each other. Matthew didn't know how in the world was he supposed to let go of her face and leave her, very probably forever. He didn't know how to find the will to ever part from her.
So of course it was Mary who did.
She took her hands out of his hair, rightened his cap and took a step back, making his hands fall off her face. Her eyes looked as wild as he felt, but her face was perfectly composed.
"You must go," she said, her voice calm, even though he could tell it was forced. He admired her iron self-control. He didn't think he had any, not now. "You must go, or you will miss your train."
She looked at him with what was practically a glare.
"But you will come back to me, Matthew Crawley, do you hear? This is not the last time we see each other. I don't care what you have to do to stay alive out there, but you will come back to me."
He could only nod mutely, still incapable of speech. He couldn't resist one more quick kiss to her lips, but he did board the train after that, staring at her through the window until her slim figure disappeared in the morning mist.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
xxx
Neither of them paid any attention to the person getting off the train and staring at the whole scene with blatant interest.