Nursery, Downton Abbey, May 14th, 1922
Mary walked into the nursery and to her delight found Tom stretched out comfortably on the rug
with Sybbie and George and lots of toys scattered around. She had been afraid that his moving to the agent's house meant necessarily an end to such scenes, but since Sybbie was spending her days in the nursery under Nanny Lewis's watchful eye, Tom continued his habit of dropping by whenever he had a free moment. If it wasn't for his absence at dinner and in the evenings, it was as if he had never left and that suited Mary perfectly. As amusing and surprising she still found it whenever she reflected on Tom's origins as the family's chauffeur, he had become indispensable to her.
And the most important thing was that he finally looked happier.
"Thought I'd get an extra ten minutes in with George," she said, picking up her son who gave her a wide smile, displaying his four teeth and waved both arms in enthusiastic greeting. "It's nice to see you here."
"You can help me with this. Sybbie says there's going to be a hurricane any moment now," answered Tom, moving toys around, with Sybbie helping him clumsily. They used building blocks and a picture book to build a shelter for the wooden animals.
"A hurricane? Really? In Yorkshire?"
Mary settled into an armchair with George on her lap and deftly moved her necklace out of the reach of his grasping chubby hands. Before he could resort to disappointed wails, she offered him a rattle instead and he thankfully started munching on it contentedly.
"Uhm. So we're getting all the animals under shelter."
"I'm sure you are. Where's Nanny?"
"Collecting some clothes from laundry. I said I'd stay with them."
"She's so much more relaxed than our nanny ever was. My childhood wasn't anything like Sybbie's," noted Mary thoughtfully.
Tom snorted.
"Nor mine, God knows."
"Do you think she's having a good childhood? That we're doing well?"
"I think you're doing your best for her. If that's what you mean."
"It isn't quite."
Tom sighed.
"I hope we are doing well enough," he said quietly. "We will never be able to replace her mother for her... And I still feel sick when I think of that witch of a nanny she had to endure... But I do believe that she is a happy child now."
He looked down at his daughter with so much love that Mary's throat tightened as she was observing them.
"Ooh. I think it's time for the hurricane. Whoo!"
He made the shelter collapse.
"Uh-oh," commented Sybbie, with Tom echoing her.
"Uh-oh."
Library, Downton Abbey, May 14th, 1922
Mary was balancing the household accounts at the writing desk she appropriated as her own, since Matthew preferred his study, when Carson came in and cleared his throat.
"Mr Napier," he announced.
"What?" exclaimed Mary, rising from her seat in extreme surprise as Evelyn walked in. She hadn't really seen him since her wedding over two years ago.
"Hello, Mary. If I can still call you Mary?"
"Of course you can. How lovely," she answered immediately and kissing him on the cheek. She had always been inordinately fond of him. "What brings you here?"
"I'm working on a government thing and we've got some research to do in Yorkshire. I'm on a sort of reconnoitring expedition."
"Lucky me."
"I was in Thirsk, and I suddenly thought, why not take a chance?"
"Well, I'm so glad you did," said Mary sincerely, walking over to pull the bell. "Let me give you some tea. I'll get them to tell Mama that you're here. Matthew is unfortunately out on the estate, but maybe he will manage to catch you before you have to go."
"While I've got you alone... You've been in my thoughts a great deal since the whole... ghastly business. Your mother and Edith as well, of course," he added hastily.
"That's nice to know," answered Mary.
"Which is why it's lovely to see you looking so, um, lovely."
Mary smiled at his lack of eloquence, thinking what a nice contrast his awkward condolences and sincere compliments made with Tony's grand speeches. He really was such a decent man.
xxx
Matthew did in fact come back just in time for tea, so soon they were all settled on the settees, cups in hands.
"So, what is this thing you're working on?" asked Matthew with interest. Mary noted curiously that there seemed to be genuine liking between him and Evelyn, despite the fact that they barely knew each other.
"It's all to do with the rural economy. Very hush-hush."
"Well, don't tell us if it's meant to be a secret," said Mary with a smile.
"Oh no, it's not like that. A lot of landed estates are in difficulty. The department wants to assess the damage of the war years. Are they likely to survive, and so on."
"And are they?" asked Cora, sitting down next to him.
"Some of them," answered Evelyn seriously.
"It sounds rather interesting," said Matthew.
"It is. Interesting and incredibly depressing."
"Which places are you studying in Yorkshire?" asked Cora, visibly making a list of the neighbours and friends who might be facing difficulties.
"That I cannot say. It wouldn't be fair on the owners. But we have earmarked the ones in serious trouble. And you'll be glad to know Downton's not among them."
"Still, we'd love your opinion on whether or not we're doing the right things. Wouldn't we, darling?"
"Absolutely," answered Matthew firmly. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. We are doing what we can, but we are all quite green when it comes to managing an estate, never mind such a big one as Downton."
"Where are you staying while you're up here?" inquired Mary.
"We haven't decided. There's quite a good hotel in Ripon I know of."
"Nonsense. You must stay with us," said Mary immediately.
"I couldn't possibly," stammered Evelyn, clearly surprised by her spontaneous invitation.
"Why not?" asked Cora, making Mary look at her suspiciously. She invited Evelyn because, despite how rarely they had seen each other, he was one of the very few people she genuinely considered to be her friends. She never forgot his kindness and tact when he informed her about the rumours circulating about her and who stood behind them, all when he had a very good reason to be bitter towards her for stringing him along and abandoning for Pamuk of all people. She was glad they hadn't married – extremely glad – but she didn't think she would ever stop being fond of this sincere, good man.
But what was Mama's stake in this?
"Well, to start with, I'll have my boss with me."
"Who's that?" asked Matthew curiously.
"Charles Blake. Have you ever come across him?"
Matthew shook his head.
"I don't think so."
For some reason, Cora seemed to perk up even more at the prospect of inviting a stranger for several weeks in their home.
"Of course you must both stay here," she entreated.
If Mary really didn't want to get Evelyn to stay with them, she would have intervened out of sheer suspicion of her mother's motives for such hospitality. But as it happened, she did want Evelyn to stay. She felt quite isolated from society after nearly nine months of mourning.
"That way, we'll get the benefit of all your knowledge for the price of a couple of dinners. What could be better than that?"
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, May 14th, 1922
"So, should I be jealous?" asked Matthew playfully. Mary sent him a look from under her eyelashes.
"What do you think?"
"I think," said Matthew in a low voice, climbing into the bad and crawling towards her in a playfully predatory manner. "That Evelyn Napier never stopped carrying his torch for you and you, Lady Grantham, are much too happy about it to discourage the poor chap."
Mary raised her eyes heavenward, but he noticed a smirk hovering over her mouth.
"Evelyn is a darling and a perfect gentleman. He would never do or propose anything inappropriate to a married woman, even if he did, as you put it, carry a torch for her. Unlike some other men I could mention," she frowned with annoyance at the remembrance.
"Like who?" asked Matthew with interest.
"Tony Gillingham," Mary scoffed. "Can you imagine he followed me to York just to confess his undying love for me and beg me for a kiss? After knowing me for three days as an adult!"
Matthew's eyebrows shot up.
"I can well believe that a man could fall for your charms within mere days," he said incredulously. "But how on Earth did he dare to stalk and importune you like that?!"
Mary shrugged.
"I have no idea what he thought, if he thought at all," she said indifferently. "I let him know in no uncertain terms that he is a fool and that he is not welcome in any of our houses. So while we might very well encounter him at one social occasion or another, he will not be coming here as a guest."
"Good," growled Matthew. "Saves me the trouble of challenging him to pistols at dawn."
Mary looked at him teasingly.
"Considering your usual prowess at shooting, it's indeed good you won't be forced to do it."
"I'll have you know that shooting pistols is entirely different to shooting a double barrel shotgun," answered Matthew haughtily. "And I've spent four years shooting one. I bet Tony did not have so much experience with it, with him being in the navy."
Mary covered her shock at Matthew's casual mention of his war experience and hastened to carry on the joke before it hit him what he said.
"Be it as it may, don't challenge him, please. He may request swords and we don't have any decent ones in the attics. Besides, if he dares to pester me again, I may eviscerate him myself, so there will be no need for grand gestures like that."
"Maybe there is need for other kind of grand gestures though," said Matthew, his voice lowering again in a manner which made Mary shudder in anticipation.
"What kind?" she asked breathlessly.
"One likely to remind you why you have absolutely no reason to search for your pleasure outside of your marriage, Lady Grantham," he growled as his mouth and hands reached greedily for his wife.
Drawing room, Dower House, May 15th, 1922
"Evelyn Napier will be staying with us at Downton for weeks," said Cora excitedly, accepting her teacup from Spratt. "And he is bringing his boss from the Ministry with him as well."
"Viscount Branksome's boy?" asked Violet, recalling the polite young man with approval.
Cora nodded with a smile.
"And I presume he is still unattached?"
"He had a failed engagement or two, but nothing recently."
"And do we know anything about this boss of his? No wife in an asylum at least, I hope?"
"His name is Charles Blake and he is pretty high up in the Ministry of Agriculture. I don't know much more yet, but when I asked if his wife doesn't mind his frequent travelling, Evelyn confirmed he is not married or engaged," answered Cora, pleased with the results of her sleuthing.
"You evidently hope that something comes out of it, after the disappointment Lord Gillingham turned out to be," noted Violet, taking a sip from her cup.
Cora winced at the reminder.
"Can you believe he ended up harassing Mary? She won't have him in the house after that."
"And rightly so, if he was being a pest," said Violet curtly. "I assume there are plenty of married women who would have been grateful for his attention but choosing Mary as his target shows shocking lack of judgment."
Cora nodded unhappily. Viscount Gillingham indeed turned out to be a disappointment. Then she brightened up. There were two eligible young men coming to spend weeks at Downton and dining with them practically every day.
Any of them would do very nicely for Edith.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 20th, 1922
Mary was breakfasting in bed and reading a letter while Anna walked around, tidying up.
"Oh, this is nice. Mr Napier and Mr Blake are coming up in a few days. He asks if I'm serious about their staying here."
"And are you?" asked Anna curiously.
"Certainly. It could be useful. They're writing a report on why estates like this are going wrong."
"But you don't think Downton's going wrong, do you, m'lady?"
"No. But I wouldn't mind having it confirmed," she put the letter away and looked at Anna inquiringly. "You seem brighter lately. Have things sorted themselves out?"
"Not quite, but... It's better. Yes."
They smiled at each other in understanding.
Great Hall, Downton Abbey, May 24th, 1922
Mary looked curiously at Evelyn's boss as she and Cora greeted them in the Great Hall. He was a handsome man, a bit on the short side, but with a pleasant face, lively dark eyes and wavy brown hair.
"It's so kind of you all to have us. Isn't it, Charles?" said Evelyn with his usual perfect manners.
"It is."
"We're anxious to do our bit," said Mary with a smile.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr Blake with a frown.
"Well, you're here to advise the landowners on how to get through this crisis, aren't you? To save the estates that need saving."
"I'm afraid Evelyn may have given you the wrong impression."
"In what way?"
"The government is aware that up and down the country, great estates are being sold in large numbers."
"Precisely," agreed Mary, failing to see where she erred.
"North Yorkshire has a lot of these estates, big and small. And many are in difficulty. We will have every variety of problem to study."
"And you're here to help."
"Not quite. We're here to analyse the situation and ask whether our society is shifting fundamentally. Will it affect food production, and so on."
"So you don't care about the owners, just about food supply."
"If that's how you want to put it..."
"And doesn't that seem meanspirited?"
"Mr Lloyd George is more concerned with feeding the population than rescuing the aristocracy. That doesn't seem meanspirited to me."
"I'm afraid you may find us disappointing guests, if you want us to stay up till two in the morning being witty," interceded Evelyn, alarmed a bit at the turn of conversation.
"Don't worry. I don't expect Mr Blake to be witty," answered Mary, sending Mr Blake a decidedly frosty look. He responded with a challenging one of his own.
Thankfully, this was the moment when Matthew arrived and greeted their guests with a handshake and a warm smile.
"How long do you intend to stay?" he asked.
"Until the job is done and we can write a report. If you'll have us," answered Mr Blake, looking significantly at Mary.
"You must be sure to get rid of us when we become a nuisance," added Evelyn, wishing to smooth the waters.
"The gong is rung at seven, and we meet in the drawing room sat eight," said Cora, sharing Evelyn's wish and wondering where on Earth Edith was.
"So you must try to be witty tonight, Mr Blake. After that, we'll lower our expectations," said Mary, her tone superficially polite, but words pointed enough to make Matthew look at her in consternation and realise he must have missed a significant part of the conversation.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 24th, 1922
"I do not like him," announced Mary firmly, picking her jewellery as Anna left the room. "He is arrogant, rude and he is our enemy."
"Enemy is quite a strong word," said Matthew from his armchair and immediately raised his hands in surrender at his wife's glare. "I'm just saying we might want to get to know him and his views a bit better before we cast him in one category with Robespierre and Lenin."
"He thinks Lloyd George's policies are right," pointed Mary, clearly implying that the current prime minister might not be far from the dreaded revolutionaries in her books.
"From what you have given me to understand, he said that Lloyd George is more concerned with feeding the population than rescuing the aristocracy, which seems accurate to me, if not an understatement."
"He said it doesn't seem meanspirited to him that he does."
Matthew hesitated.
"Well, one might think that ensuring people won't starve takes precedence over a group of very rich people keeping their mansions and lavish lifestyle," he said cautiously, but clearly not cautiously enough. Mary saw red.
"How can you put yourself on his side?" she hissed. "I know that you don't think of yourself as an aristocrat, whatever your title, but how can you be so callous regarding families just like ours losing everything they care about?"
Matthew felt the alarm bells in his head, having very strong déjà vu with the eve of their wedding. He definitely did not want to repeat that particular fight with Mary.
"I haven't said I agree with him," he said, although he did, to a degree at least. "But I must insist that the view he expressed can be considered valid, and me acknowledging it does not mean I don't care about Downton or feel sorry for families losing their estates. It's just looking beyond our own circles to a wider scale of the problem."
He could see he did not manage to truly pacify Mary, but she at least resolved to postpone quarrelling with him further for the time being. It was nearly eight anyway.
"Let's go down," she said, barely looking at him. Matthew followed her with a sigh and a thought that maybe it was good he needed to go to London on a very early train next morning.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Unsurprisingly, dinner turned out to be quite a tense affair.
Mary was barely looking at Matthew, sitting opposite her. Matthew felt quite frustrated with the situation and the gloomy thought that if having Evelyn and Mr Blake over would both mean a formal dinner every night - which would in turn mean the blasted white tie and sitting away from his wife, as well as putting her in a bad mood and cross with him - he could expect very unpleasant few weeks. Edith, seated between Evelyn and Mr Blake, started feeling very suspicious of both the seating plan and Cora's satisfied expression. Add to that visible tension between Mary and Mr Blake and the mix was enough to make the rest at least slightly uncomfortable.
Mary, mindful of her duties as the hostess, and determined not to give horrid Mr Blake any reason for criticism, valiantly attempted a civil conversation with him and explained to him their latest scheme with introducing breeding pigs to Downton.
"But I can't help feeling sorry for the poor pigs," she finished, which made Mr Blake to look significantly at her plate.
"Do you eat bacon?"
"Yes."
"Sausages?"
"Yes."
"Then you are a sentimentalist who cannot face the truth."
"I'm not often called sentimental," answered Mary, who truthfully had never been accused of that fault of character.
"Your friend seems to be putting Mary through her paces," Cora observed to Evelyn at the other side of the table.
"I'm afraid Charles is challenged by anyone with a sense of entitlement," answered Evelyn apologetically.
"You mean, Mary feels entitled to take charge?" commented Cora with amusement.
Evelyn wisely took a bite of his meat.
Drawing room, Downton Abbey, May 24th, 1922
Mary's mood was not at all improved when she noticed Matthew and Tom entering the drawing room in apparently cordial relations with Mr Blake. Clearly, they were not put off neither by his manners nor atrocious political opinions.
"I'd love to know which estates you're going to examine," she said to Mr Blake as he found himself besides her, taking a glass of brandy from Barrow.
"I'm sure you would," was his only answer. Insufferable man!
"You mustn't be too discreet. After a while, it gets a little dull," she shot at him, happy to finish their interactions for the night. She approached Evelyn instead.
"You seem to have brought a traitor into our midst," she said accusingly.
"Not a traitor," protested Evelyn, clearly unhappy by her ire.
"An enemy, then. He's obviously not on our side," said Mary, sending a poisonous look towards the enemy in question and her traitorous husband, who seemed to be engaged in a lively debate with him.
She could not imagine how she was going to stand the next few weeks.
Pig farm, Downton estate, May 25th, 1922
Tom and Mary walked out of the barn onto the farm which they intended to convert into pig pen. Everything looked ready for the arrival of their first bunch of pigs.
"We have to get the sums right," pointed Tom, making a note in his notebook.
"We must speculate to accumulate," said Mary decidedly. She knew the pigs were a good idea. Even that insufferable Mr Blake agreed, loathe as he was to praise anything about Downton or the people running it.
"So speaks the American half of you," teased Tom playfully. Mary punched his arm lightly in mock indignation.
"At least Mr Blake won't be able to accuse us of throwing in the towel without even trying," she said sourly. Tom's response did not improve her mood.
"I can understand his position, after everything he has witnessed. Can you imagine spending months on end going from one bankrupt and failing estate to another?"
"Don't tell me you're on his side too!" exclaimed Mary in exasperation. "Isn't it enough that he managed to charm Matthew somehow?"
"He managed that because he is speaking sensibly, even if not diplomatically," argued Tom.
"But the estates are failing due to his beloved prime minister's policies!"
"Lloyd George and his ideas are definitely part of the problem," admitted Tom. "But not the only one, as you well know. And to be fair, his intention is to lower the inequalities between classes and redistribute the wealth in a more just manner. I cannot quarrel with that."
Mary sent him a venomous glare.
"So he is making us lose everything, only for nobody else truly benefitting. Judging from the lines to the soup kitchens and numbers of unemployed, the wealth is clearly not going to people who most need it," she pointed out contemptuously.
Tom nodded.
"You're right about that. I never said I approve execution of his ideas, just ideas themselves. Do I think that this country is ran as it should be? Oh hell, no. But however far I have come from being a proper socialist, I cannot approve of a narrow group of people having every luxury imaginable, while most of the others are toiling every day for a wage on the border of starvation."
Mary rolled her eyes impatiently.
"It sounds great when you are speaking at this level of generalisation," she argued. "But who is buying all those bankrupt estates? People like my unlamented former fiancé, who modernise the house, but leave the land fallow, or the developers who divide it all into small plots and build rows of houses. The one thing Lloyd George is right to be concerned about is feeding the population, because if the estates he ruined are not productive, then what is left is the necessity to import enough food. And at this rate, cheap import is going to finish the rest of our agriculture."
She noticed Tom looking at her strangely and stopped her rant.
"What?" she asked curtly. Tom shook his head.
"I just remembered Lady Mary Crawley who never mentioned one word about politics in my hearing and who thought farming was the dullest subject under the sun. This person is quite gone, isn't she?"
"Not quite," answered Mary petulantly. "She was just finally given an opportunity to talk."
Dining room, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Dinner was thankfully much less tense than the day before. Even Mary brightened up after receiving the promised invitation from Agnes.
"Agnes, Duchess of Crowborough, invited us to a ball she is throwing on June 9th in London," she said brightly to Evelyn. "She writes that she invited you as well. Please, Evelyn, say that you will go!"
Evelyn sent an unsure look at Mr Blake.
"I'm not exactly at my leisure right now," he said apologetically.
"Jobs tend to get in the way of social life for most people," drawled Mr Blake with amusement definitely directed at Mary, who glared at him.
"I'm well aware of it, Mr Blake. Lord Grantham used to have one until my father passed away," she turned back to Evelyn. "But the ball is on a Friday. If it was possible for you to finish your tasks by 3 o'clock, we could still make it to London on time, and I suppose your boss does not make you work on weekends?"
Evelyn, clearly caught between the woman he was very fond of at the very least, whatever her marital status, and his boss and friend, looked at the said boss with mute appeal for help.
Charles stifled a snicker at his friend's predicament and magnanimously left him off the hook.
"Oh, go, Evelyn. There is nothing so urgent on Friday which you cannot make up for at another day, and since our hostess insists on your company, it would be rude to refuse her."
Mary sat back, satisfied. Since they were not going to spend the Season in London this year due to mourning Papa and, frankly, to save money, she was eagerly looking forward to Agnes's ball. And to have Evelyn accompany them there was such a boon as well!
Library, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Mary excused herself from the drawing room as soon as they got there after dinner. She felt strangely tired, and since Matthew wasn't there, she intended to get George to sleep and go to bed early herself. She was definitely not in a mood for dealing with Mr Blake's rudeness and arrogant comments.
She was immediately followed by Edith, who stopped her in her tracks.
"Could we talk in the library for a moment?" she asked tensely, her face pinched.
Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise but agreed. She did not have the faintest idea what Edith could have to talk about with her.
"What is it, Edith? I really am quite tired," she said as soon as they closed the door behind them.
"What on Earth did you mean by pestering Evelyn so to go with us to Agnes's ball? I thought the fiasco with Tony Gillingham would have been enough to convince you all to stop trying to interfere with my relationship with Michael!"
Mary rolled her eyes. As if!
"Edith, I haven't thought that I must spell it out, but I am not interested in your love life in the least," she said with irritation.
Edith scoffed.
"Like when you told Mama and Granny about meeting me and Michael at the Criterion?"
"That was different," parried Mary immediately. "I don't care whether you are making a fool of yourself, but this kind of scandal would impact the whole family, so it was necessary they were informed."
"Oh, and you know everything about scandals, don't you?" shot Edith and recoiled a bit at her own words.
They didn't touch that particular topic since 1914.
Mary inhaled sharply but forced herself to remain calm and on the original subject of their conversation, if it could be called as such. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to rehash everything with Edith again. She still felt vulnerable after Anna's attack and her own subsequent conversation with Matthew, and she was aware that she was prone to fighting dirty when she felt vulnerable. Things could get really ugly real fast, and she was not in a mood for a proper fight with Edith tonight. She really was tired.
"I wouldn't touch it if I were you," she couldn't resist saying though, for all her good intentions. "Unless you want me to practice my own letter writing skills."
She couldn't deny that seeing Edith blanch did bring her certain satisfaction.
"Going back to the original topic," she said levelly. "Evelyn is my friend. I invited him to come with us because I wanted to enjoy his company both at the ball and on the way. I do not care in the slightest what kinds of plans Mama and Granny are hashing out, although I freely admit they most likely are plotting something. I just couldn't care less what exactly, even though you have my full support to ignore them."
Edith's eyes grew wide.
"Your support?" she asked in clear disbelief.
Mary shrugged.
"I did not enjoy being the target of their matchmaking attempts and I object to them on principle," she answered carelessly. "So this is another reason why I am not going to play part in any of their schemes, beyond issuing invitations to any proposed guests I do not object to myself. As it happens, I invited Evelyn to stay here as soon as I learnt he was planning to spend several weeks in the area, simply because, as I said, he is my friend. And frankly I do not think you're his type anyway."
With that parting shot, she left Edith to ponder her words and went up to the nursery.
She felt she needed to cuddle her baby for a bit.
Nursery, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Mary sat on the rocking chair, cuddling sleepy George and singing London Bridge to him softly. He seemed to like the repetitive melody of it, because his eyelids were visibly getting more and more heavy with every verse.
Mary petted his downy hair delicately, as to not disturb him from falling asleep. He was such a beautiful boy and it was increasingly obvious that he was going to resemble Matthew to a great degree, much to Mary's delight. She loved seeing the daily reminder that her son was Matthew's son as well, that they created their little miracle together, despite all odds. She loved both of them so fiercely that it seemed to physically hurt sometimes, when she allowed herself to dwell on it.
She suddenly wished that Matthew was home right now and could hug her as she was hugging George, but he went to London for some meetings and was not expected back until late at night. She felt tears stinging her eyes for some reason and blinked furiously to stop them from falling. She was being completely ridiculous. She had not been so silly and emotional since...
Mary's eyes widened.
Since the early weeks of her pregnancy with George.
Could it really have happened so fast now when it took them agonising months to conceive their prince, even after her operation? She only had her first monthly after giving birth to George in the beginning of April...
Mary grinned, remembering their passionate night in London. It was of course not a surety that this was when they conceived this child – it's not like they didn't make love at home too – but the timing would fit and she liked to think it happened that particular night when they had so much carefree fun.
If she was pregnant at all. She didn't have her monthly since that one time in April and it was now late May, but Isobel warned her that in the beginning things might be irregular for a while, especially since she was still nursing, although by now just two or three times a day with George eating more solid food every week. It was much too early to get excited or get Matthew's hopes up. Mary knew how much he yearned for a big family and she was not opposed to it either. And well, considering how much they enjoyed their marital activities, she supposed there was a very big chance that the nursery would fill up in due course. Although maybe a little bigger gap between the children would have been nice. If her suspicions turned out to be true, then this baby should be born in January, when George wouldn't even be a year and a half old.
Oh well, no point in getting herself all worked up. It could just be her body still getting back into shape after her first pregnancy. Her monthly could just be late.
But she was rocking her now soundly sleeping son with a dreamy smile on her face. It was nice to have a pleasant secret for a change.
Edith's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Edith threw herself on the bed in annoyance. She tried to calm herself down by rereading Michael's last letter and how pleased he was he decided to go to Berlin instead of Munich after all, but she was too angry to concentrate on it.
Blasted Mary and her insufferable superiority! Maybe she was telling the truth about dragging Evelyn to Agnes's ball – and maybe Edith shouldn't have alluded to her old scandal – but did she really have to treat Edith with so much cold contempt all the time?
Truth be told, Edith did regret sending that bloody letter. She had for some time. At first only for the immediate consequences it brought for her in form of Mary's cruel revenge. The thought that if it hadn't been for her impulsive actions which provoked her sister's wrath, she would have been married to Anthony since 1914 had been torturing her for years as her missed chance for happiness. She had felt it all anew after he had jilted her at the altar. It had only been caused by his feelings of inadequacy following his injury; he would not have done it if they had married when they should have. When she had been slowly trying to pick up the pieces of her life after that humiliating disaster, she had bitterly regretted that she had ever picked up the pen to write that letter and resented her sister with equal bitterness.
There were moments when she was ashamed she had done it. She didn't like to think what it implied about her that she gleefully had set up to ruin her own sister so utterly. She liked to think that she outgrew it, that she was a better person now than she had been as a jealous and insecure twenty-one-year-old girl.
She was still firmly convinced that Mary deserved it though.
What an awful hypocrite Mary was! It was perfectly all right for her to spend a night with a handsome foreigner she had just met, but she dared to criticise Edith for maintaining a perfectly innocent relationship with a man she loved and who loved her back.
Well, nearly perfectly innocent. There was this one amazing night they had spent together before his departure to Germany, a month ago now...
A month ago now and she hadn't had her monthly since.
Edith's eyes widened as she inhaled sharply.
No, it could not be, could it? After just one night?
She laughed a tad hysterically. Of course it could happen after just one night. One night, with good or bad enough luck, was all it took.
And her luck couldn't have been any worse if she was cursed.
She forced herself to calm her rapid breathing and consider the matter coldly. Her last monthly was in the second week of April. She had always been somehow irregular, but never for more than a week or two. So her next monthly should have come around mid-May, and it was just twenty fifth. She was only a week, maybe two late at the most. It was too early to panic, wasn't it? And she didn't have any symptoms she heard mentioned as associated with pregnancy – no nausea or getting sick at all. Although wasn't it only coming later? She didn't know, nobody ever explained such things to her since she wasn't married and didn't have to know. But anyway, she didn't have any symptoms, she wasn't so very late, there was absolutely no need to worry yet.
But her stomach and fists both clenched in fear.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 25th, 1922
Matthew entered the bedroom as quietly as he could, trying to avoid waking up Mary. He didn't have to stumble in the dark – as usual when she went to sleep before him, she left the lamp on his nightstand on, so he could find his way to bed. His throat tightened a bit at that small gesture of care for him, even though they hadn't settled their quarrel before he left for London.
He didn't switch it off immediately after he got under the covers, watching his sleeping wife instead. God, she looked so beautiful. He often thought he should be used to her beauty by now, being married to her for over two wonderful years and loving her for nearly ten, but it continued to strike him in unexpected moments and take his breath away, just as it had the very first time he had laid his eyes on her at Crawley House. He was starting to suspect that it was never going to change.
He wondered if she was still very angry with him for defending Blake and his liberal perspective. He hoped not – or, if she was, that he would find words in the morning to better explain his position to her. He appreciated a good argument, and he was not lacking in those in his marriage, God knew, but not this kind – not when he could see Mary was genuinely hurt by what she perceived as his betrayal. He was going to ensure that they had some uninterrupted time together tomorrow to settle it all. He hated any true discord between them.
He finally turned off the light and settled against the pillows, when Mary suddenly snuggled to him in her usual way.
"You're back," she murmured sleepily, without opening her eyes. Matthew caressed her silky hair, feeling contentment flooding him from head to toe.
"I'm sorry for waking you," he whispered, kissing her head lightly.
"I don't mind," she answered, her voice trailing off as she was falling back into sleep. "I like to know you're here, darling."
"Me too," answered Matthew, even though he didn't think she heard him anymore. "Me too."