AUTHOR'S NOTE: Trigger warning - this chapter deals extensively with what happened to Anna with Green and to Mary with Pamuk. If this kind of content is for any reason too upsetting for you, please either skip this chapter entirely or stop reading after Mary and Tom's trip to York.
Road to York, Yorkshire, April 22nd, 1922
"You seem more cheerful than you were in London," observed Mary, happy to see Tom's smile appearing on his face again. Even his posture looked more relaxed than it had been for weeks, now that she thought about it.
"I am. I took your advice. I talked it over and I'm off the hook."
"So whatever it was, it's gone away?"
"I think so," answered Tom with a grin, then got serious and looked at her with some apprehension. "But in the middle of it all, I and Matthew got to talk about some matters..."
"And?" asked Mary, made instantly wary by his obvious wariness.
"I decided to move with Sybbie into the agent's house," said Tom quickly, adding immediately. "I would be bringing her to the nursery for the time I'm at work, if that's alright with you – I don't intend to keep her away from her family – but I really think it would be better for me to have my own house. I do not fit at Downton, not really, and I can never be comfortable here. I can never be myself or feel at home."
Mary gaped at him.
"Is that how you felt the whole time?" she asked. Tom nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. Mary huffed in exasperation.
"Then you should have said something," she said. "Why do you think we wanted you here in the first place, Tom? It's because we care for you and Sybbie. We want you to be happy. If it cannot be at the Abbey, we will take you living in the village and coming with her everyday. Although I have to say I will miss you in the evenings and I bet Matthew will even more."
Tom exhaled in clear relief at her reaction.
"I will come over some evenings, if you invite me," he smiled. "And of course you will all be welcome to visit me and Sybbie as well."
"We will be sure to visit," smiled Mary. "And let me know if you need any furniture. The attics are full of it."
York, April 22nd, 1922
After concluding their business for the day, Tom mentioned his wish to check out a new car parts store. Having no interest in that whatsoever, Mary decided to take a walk along the York medieval city walls and admire the daffodils while she still had a chance, with the season for them nearly over.
She was perfectly content with her own thoughts for company, enjoying the warm day and looking forward to telling Matthew all about it, when she nearly run into a familiar figure.
"Tony!" exclaimed Mary in shock. "Whatever brought you to York of all places?"
"You," answered Tony boldly, giving her a smouldering look. "You mentioned you are coming here today without Matthew and I just couldn't let this chance to talk with you alone pass."
Mary stared at him, incredulous.
"Whatever on Earth do you want to discuss with me that Matthew couldn't hear?" she asked, dreading that she knew the obvious answer and swearing that if she turned out to be right, she was going to slap Tony, public path or not.
"I wanted to tell you that I love you," said Tony plainly, his eyes wide and sincere.
"Tony," Mary said slowly, flabbergasted. "You don't even know me."
"How can you say that? We've known each other since we were children!" he immediately and vehemently disagreed. Mary nearly rolled her eyes.
"Yes, but with a very long gap in the middle. We only met properly a few days ago, and now you want to tell me that you love me?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I want. I love you, Mary, and there must be a way to convince you."
"To what purpose, exactly?" asked Mary suspiciously. "I am married, Tony, if you somehow managed to forget it."
Tony reddened.
"I would never do anything to dishonour you!" he swore vehemently. "I just needed to tell you what I feel. Haven't we spoken how a great love enriches any life? You fill my brain. I see you when I close my eyes. I, I can't stop thinking about you, where you are, what you're doing..."
"Tony," protested Mary, still completely incredulous what she was hearing. "I am married. I love Matthew. If you remember our conversation about love, then you must remember that he is the great love of my life. I see absolutely no purpose in that confession of yours and I think we would do best to forget it as soon as possible. What about Miss Lane Fox? Haven't you said that you two get along?"
"I like Mabel. A lot. I even think that I could come to love her. But I'm not in love with her as I am with you," said Tony passionately and Mary could not resist it anymore, she did roll her eyes.
"I really think we should finish that conversation right now," she said sternly. "And please, do not visit us at the Abbey anytime soon. I don't think my husband would appreciate seeing you now. I definitely wouldn't."
Tony's expression turned desperate.
"The last thing I wanted was to upset you, Mary," he exclaimed. "I won't bother you if you don't want me to, I promise. I just needed you to know. We both know I must marry. I don't need to explain to you how the system we're trapped in works. I won't make a fool of Mabel. It wouldn't be fair. Since I cannot have you... I think I'm honour-bound to go through with it. Can I ask one favour? And then I really will go and leave you in peace."
"What is it?" asked Mary warily.
"Will you kiss me? Please. I'll never love again as I love you in this moment. And I must have something to remember."
"Absolutely not," snapped Mary, fuming. "You may claim to love me, but I definitely do not love you! I love Matthew and even if I didn't, I would never betray my husband like that! Goodbye, Tony."
"Goodbye, Mary. My darling Mary. My prayers go with you for everything that you do," said Tony in a breaking voice which, considering circumstances, didn't cause Mary to feel any compassion whatsoever.
Then he finally turned and walked away.
Mary just huffed in irritation and utter disbelief.
Lord and Lady Grantham's bedroom, April 22nd, 1922
"You won't believe what happened today at York," said Lady Mary as soon as Anna entered the room to help her get ready for bed. Anna smiled at seeing her so animated.
"I'm sure to believe whatever you say, milady," she answered, starting the delicate job of entangling the tiara from her ladyship hair. People often thought that a tiara was simply placed on top of the head, but they were mistaken - to have it placed properly, one must have woven the hair through it. It took a skill to both arrange it and remove it and Anna was quite proud of hers. Her ladyship always had her tiara on exactly as it was intended to be worn.
Lady Mary looked at her through the mirror.
"I and Mr Branson were just done with our meeting about re-equipping the sawmill and separated for a moment - he wanted to check some car parts shop, so I went for a walk along the city walls - when I ran into Lord Gillingham," Anna tensed minutely at the name, but forced her fingers to continue. The tiara was nearly free. "And he wasn't there by accident! He told me that he remembered me mentioning the trip to York in London and especially the fact that Lord Grantham wasn't coming, so he followed me there, waiting in front of the sawmill's firm until I and Mr Branson were done."
Anna frowned, taking the tiara off her ladyship's head and placing it delicately on her vanity. She started removing the pins holding her hair in its elegant updo.
"To what purpose, milady?"
Her ladyship rolled her eyes.
"Apparently to tell me that he loved me."
Anna's eyes widened. She did expect something like that as soon as her ladyship said that Lord Gillingham followed her to York specifically after learning that Lord Grantham wasn't expected to accompany her, but it was still quite shocking. Not even that he confessed something like that to a married woman - she knew full well than someone's marital status didn't mean you couldn't love them anyway - but didn't this man have eyes? Because it must have been obvious for anyone with a pair of them that Lady Mary only cared for Lord Grantham and was deliriously happy with him.
"What did you say?" she asked, thinking wickedly that she would have liked to see that scene.
"What do you think? That he was mad to confess such feelings to me, considering I am happily married, madder still to possess them in the first place, considering he has only spent several days in my company since we were children and didn't know me at all, and that he was not welcome here or in our house in London until he came to his senses and I forgave him for importuning me so. Which most likely will be never, I am so mad at his audacity."
Anna dropped a pin to the floor and only then realised her fingers were trembling. Lady Mary was mad at Lord Gillingham and refused him entrance to any of her houses. She was not likely to forgive him any time soon, and even if she did, Lord Grantham most probably wouldn't - and her ladyship would tell her husband what he did say to her. And that meant... That meant...
"Anna, what is it?" exclaimed her ladyship with concern and Anna became aware of tears of relief coursing down her cheeks. She wiped at them hastily, but they kept coming.
"I'm ever so sorry, milady," she said, wiping her cheeks again. If only the tears stopped coming! "I have no idea what came upon me."
Lady Mary frowned.
"I think you have a very good idea. Anna, I saw you carry a corpse without so much as a hair out of place. You are the last person to be rattled by trifle. Something I said did upset you awfully and I doubt it was Lord Gillingham's delusions. Tell me, please."
"I can't talk about it."
"Even to me? Because I want to help. You've helped me, God knows, in the past, and now I want to help you."
"I can't talk about it, m'lady. Not even to you."
Anna shook her head, desperately searching her pocket with shaking fingers for a handkerchief. To her joint gratitude and mortification Lady Mary handed her her own. She was studying Anna, her brows furrowed in thought.
"You barely saw Lord Gillingham. I don't think you encountered him when he came to dinner in London, so the last time you could see him was when he was here for the concert..." she trailed off, her eyes widening in horror. Anna closed hers to avoid that look.
"Anna," her ladyship whispered. "You didn't faint and fall, did you?"
Anna shook her head. What was the point to deny it after her display here? And her ladyship wouldn't tell anyone. If anyone would keep her secret, it would be her.
"You cannot mean it was Lord Gillingham who..." Lady Mary trailed off again, horrified.
Anna shook her head frantically.
"No! Of course not! It was his valet, Mr Green," she swallowed the bile threatening to come up at the memory. "He attacked me when I went down to the kitchen for some of the headache powder. I escaped him, but only because Nanny Lewis came down to fetch some milk with honey for Miss Sybbie. If not for her..." to her utter mortification, she was overcome by sobbing.
Lady Mary looked aghast.
"Oh, my God. But the police ought to -"
"No!" exclaimed Anna though her tears, adamant on this point. No, no, no, nobody could know, or it would eventually trickle down to John!
Lady Mary got up from her vanity and took a few steps towards Anna.
"But oughtn't you to see Doctor Clarkson, just to make sure?"
"M'lady," said Anna shakily, fighting to regain her composure. "I... I don't mind your knowing. In fact, I'm glad in a way that there's honesty between us again but you must promise not to tell anyone."
"I promise not to tell anyone without your permission, but I think I must tell Lord Gillingham," said Lady Mary with a frown. "I don't want to see him, but he should be aware what kind of man he has in his employ."
"No, m'lady, you promised. Mr Bates doesn't know it was him. I was crying because I was so relieved that he won't be coming here again. I was so frightened every time Mr Green and Mr Bates were in the
same room."
"You think, if he guesses, he'll do something," said Lady Mary, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"And if he does, they'll hang him. Or lock him up and throw away the key," said Anna with a shudder, wiping her eyes for the last time. "So you see, he can never know."
Matthew and Mary's bedroom, April 22nd, 1922
As soon as Matthew walked into their bedroom, he noticed that something was very wrong.
Mary was already in bed, but instead of laying or reading, she was sitting up, hugging her knees tightly, her face pale and streaked with tears she was not even bothering to wipe off.
"My God, my darling, what happened?" he exclaimed, coming to the bed immediately and taking her into his arms. He felt her tremble as she settled gratefully against his chest.
"Anna was... attacked," Mary swallowed visibly. "She was nearly raped. By Green, Lord Gillingham's valet, while we were all listening to the concert. She only managed to run away from him because Nanny Lewis went down to heat up some milk with honey for Sybbie."
Matthew felt his mouth open in shock but could hardly find words to express it.
"What?" he managed with effort.
Mary got up from the bed and started pacing nervously.
"I didn't know until tonight. I did notice something was wrong, very wrong, but she didn't want to tell me and I didn't want to pry. I thought she and Bates were having some marital problems. To be honest, I suspected he has been unkind to her. I feel so awful for it now. And he still doesn't know!"
"What do you mean, Bates doesn't know?" asked Matthew incredulously. "She didn't tell him what happened?"
"No," said Mary, sitting down in front of her vanity and mindlessly moving things around. "Anna was adamant about it. She absolutely insisted that I cannot let Bates know."
"But he should know!" blurted out Matthew. "She's his wife!"
Mary shrugged helplessly.
"But she doesn't want him to know and I won't break my promise to her. I guess she has her reasons and I don't even want to think what they can be."
He couldn't wrap his head around it. Anna was Bates' wife. He loved her. How could he not be told? If it was him, Matthew would want to know!
He wanted to be sick just as soon as this thought entered his head. Because if it was him, it would mean that Mary... He couldn't even complete the sentence in his head. He told himself firmly that it could never happen to Mary, that they would never have to face such situation, that she was safe – but obviously their house was not safe if something like that could happen under their very roof.
"I've always considered our house to be safe," he said helplessly. "I cannot believe that something so terrible happened here and none of us was the wiser."
"This house has never been truly safe from terrible things happening," said Mary offhandedly, reaching for the jar of her cold cream. "I've known it for years, but I am still somehow shocked to have it confirmed."
For some reason Matthew felt himself freeze. Mary looked perfectly calm, but there was something in her voice that made the hairs on his arms stand.
"What do you mean?" he asked, striving for casual tone.
He felt even worse when his question made Mary jump in her seat, eyes wide. He saw her visibly steel herself, her face too casual, his own heart in his throat.
"You probably remember Mr Pamuk, even though you kept your word and left him out of our quarrels," said Mary slowly, keeping her eyes on her vanity and reaching deliberately for more cold cream. "I don't think I told you this detail, but I didn't exactly invite him to my room."
Matthew's blood run icy cold, making him shiver.
"Mary," he asked, hardly recognising his own voice. "Are you trying to tell me that he..."
"No!" Mary exclaimed, turning towards him rapidly. "It was nothing like Anna! He did not force me, not exactly."
"But you didn't invite him?" he prodded further, trying to control his voice. Mary shrugged, but he could tell she was far from ease.
"I have no idea how he even knew which bedroom was mine. In fact, he did ask me before to come to me and I told him in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome. But he came anyway. I guess a servant must have shown him the way."
Matthew swallowed. He both felt that learning more details about that night was the last thing on Earth he wanted to do and that he would die if he didn't.
"What happened when he came?" he asked, nearly in a whisper.
Mary glared at him.
"You know what happened! I told you years ago!"
"No," said Matthew gently. "You evidently did not tell me everything and I didn't want to ask."
"Then why are you asking now?" asked Mary with a frown. "It's not my favourite topic to think or talk about!"
The question did perplex Matthew for a bit. Why did he want, no, needed to know more? He had accepted years ago that Mary took a lover in her youth and he had hardly thought or cared about it after the initial shock. Why did he suddenly feel the burning need to know everything that truly transpired between them? Even if it was... not what he thought... how would it help Mary to rehash it nearly a decade later?
And yet he needed to know. Maybe just to spare himself all the nightmares his brain would come up with to fill in the details he now knew he was missing.
"Tell me," he pleaded quietly.
Mary sighed, looking heavenwards, and remained silent for so long he thought she was not going to answer at all.
"I didn't want or expected him to come," she started talking quietly. "I don't think I was ever so shocked or so frightened as when he barged in. I told him to go. He refused. Said he was mad for me. I threatened to scream or ring the bell. I wish to God I did. I should have. I have regretted it every day since."
"Why didn't you?" asked Matthew when it seemed Mary would not go on otherwise. She put the jar of cold cream down and hid her face in her hands. The words spilled out of her.
"Because I was young and stupid. He told me that I was ruined either way; that if a man was found in my room I was finished. He was not wrong about it, but what happened instead was worse, so much worse. But I agreed to it, you see. I was so afraid of the word of it getting out that I thought it might be easier to just agree and keep it secret forever between the two of us. He promised that I... but he lied, of course. He lied about a lot of things. But I was completely naïve and so very stupid. I made a wrong choice that night."
Matthew stared at her, horrified. How could he have not known? How could he have never noticed? How could Mary describe that as taking a lover? As a result of lust and need for excitement?
How could she think any of that was her fault?
His mouth tightened with resolve.
"It was not your fault, Mary. He took terrible advantage of you. He might have not used violence as Green did with Anna, but he took advantage of you all the same," he forced himself to say the words, even though they burnt his throat like acid. "It was rape, Mary. He raped you. No wonder you haven't considered this house as safe for years."
Matthew's voice broke on the last sentence.
Mary's head shot up and she stared at him with wide eyes.
"It wasn't!" she cried. "What happened to me was in no way comparable to what happened to Anna! That bastard beat her up, she had bruises all over. You've seen the ones on her face yourself!"
Matthew nodded, his throat still tight and painful.
"You're right that what you experienced was different," he said, his voice deliberately steady. "But it does not change the basic fact. Neither of you wanted it to happen. That utter bastard Pamuk was no better than Green, just smoother and more controlled. But both took what they wanted, without any consideration for the woman they wanted it from."
He swallowed again.
"He gave you no real choice. From what you're telling me, you told him to go, multiple times, and he refused. Do you think that if you refused him again, he would finally listen?"
He waited for Mary's answer, letting her consider it. She was avoiding his eyes when she did.
"No," she whispered reluctantly after some time. "I don't believe he would have. But I should have screamed."
"You were young and terrified," pointed Matthew, hoping desperately that she believed it. "He used that fear against you. He manipulated you."
"But I let him manipulate me," protested Mary bitterly. "I thought myself so smart, so sophisticated, and in the end I was just a foolish girl. An idiot."
"No!" protested Matthew vehemently. "He was a predator. Yes, you were young and naïve and thinking highly of yourself. Yes, you flirted with him outrageously – I still remember how jealous you made me – but you flirted with many men and neither of them would have dreamed of interpreting it as an invitation. He had no right, Mary. No right. And tell me that, do you blame Anna for what happened to her?"
"Of course not! But I told you, it was hardly the same thing. Not comparable at all, whatever you said."
"You chose against attempting to summon help because he manipulated you. It might have been a mistake, but it was understandable in the circumstances. And it wasn't wholly irrational one. If he didn't die then, you had a good chance of avoiding a scandal. But he forced you into an impossible situation and completely disregarded your refusal. It was not right. It was not your fault."
Mary's face crumpled and Matthew couldn't keep his distance any longer. He jumped out of bed and embraced her desperately, barely keeping his own tears from overflowing.
"It was not your fault, darling," he whispered hoarsely into Mary's hair. "It was not your fault."
Lord Grantham's dressing room,
Next morning, Matthew found he had trouble looking Bates into eyes.
After Mary finished crying, they did go back to the topic of Anna's attack – a more immediate problem to deal with than a decade old crime with a dead perpetrator, however terrible – and Matthew tried again to talk Mary into convincing Anna to confess to her husband – or better yet, report Green to the police as well. There were still visible injuries, there was a witness, the case she would have against Green was very strong. But Mary adamantly refused.
"Anna must have her reasons," she said stubbornly. "And whatever they are, I won't pester her. God knows she did more than I could have ever expected to protect my secrets, the least I can do to repay her is protect hers. I shouldn't have told you – I know she never betrayed mine to Bates – but I was just too distraught to keep silent. But I am calm now and I will never mention the matter again or to anyone else and neither will you. You heard it in confidence and I forbid you to betray it."
So Matthew swore to keep Anna's secret, however heavily it hung around his neck. But seeing Bates now he really found it challenging to keep silent. How was it right to keep Bates in the dark? How was it right to allow that bastard Green to get away with it and most probably attack some other girl?
And yet, he gave Mary his word and he couldn't break her trust.
However hard he found it, he remained silent.