Adult themes (it's rated M for a reason).

Chapter 2

Anna Bates had found them, still fast asleep, in the morning. Something, her intuition she mused, had told her to stop Daisy from entering Lady Mary's room to light the fire early in the morning. Anna smirked and awarded herself a mental award for her ability to foresee something like this. Lady Mary was curled up next to Lord Grantham under the decorative blanket but above the quilt. His clothes were spread everywhere. The sight was downright funny. She allowed herself to snicker in the outrageous situation.

It was well known downstairs that the family had nearly been torn apart by the sudden death of the late Earl. Matthew Crawley's wedding with Miss Lavinia Swire had been a joyous moment to celebrate and to bring happiness into the house again.

Only that it didn't.

As a maid, Mrs Bates saw a lot, and it was quite clear that the newly married couple didn't share a bed. The bed sheets were never tousled nor spotless morning after morning. The footmen and Mr Carson knew that the number of whiskey bottles steadily decreased in an alarming rate, and they also knew exactly who was drinking them.

It was an open secret that the new Earl wasn't happy with his life. The tradition-bound Butler, Mr Carson, wouldn't allow any of the staff to gossip about the Earl when he was around, but that didn't stop them when he was out of sight. It was obvious that the Earl was pinning after the newly wed Lady Mary Carlisle, who herself wasn't looking her best. Bony shoulders and a hollow look in her eyes didn't exactly scream 'happily married'. When they had found out about her pregnancy, Mrs Carson, formerly known as Mrs Hughes, had let it slip that the pregnancy would allow her to gain some meat to her bones again. Mrs Patmore had muttered a 'hear-hear' under her breath. Mr Carson had looked at both the women with a disapproving look in his eyes.

Anna was worried about them, as well as torn. She wanted them both to be happy, and surely, they would be able to make each other happy. Too many years had been wasted and they truly deserved to find each other now. However, everything had a time and place. This wasn't it! Even if she knew it wasn't her place to judge, it was difficult to stomach that His Lordship had bedded Lady Mary the night after her husband had been buried. However, Anna knew better than to express her disapproval, especially now after Lady Mary's sorrow and the Earl's trying year. It wasn't her place to do so.

She lit the fire and sneaked out. It was better to return later, giving His Lordship an opportunity to slip back into his own room. Hopefully the warmth of the fire would wake them up in time. She had absolutely no intention of being the source of the wake-up in any way.

As Anna steered back down to the kitchen, she was met with hushed voices discussing fervently. Most of the staff were usually awake by now, but they were more active than normal. Curiosity got the better of her and she stepped into the melting pot of gossip.

"Anna!" Thomas Barrow leered in her direction. "Daisy, here, tells us that you conveniently decided to take up the task of lighting the fire in Lady Mary's room. How kind of you to relieve her and perform a task… below your position."

Daisy was red in her face and caught Mrs Patmore's disapproving face. She had once again put her foot in her mouth, and she knew it! She managed to whisper a 'sorry' in Anna's direction.

Anna found herself being stared down by the whole staff. Unusual to be in the spotlight, she squirmed.

Thomas sat back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head. His laid-back demeanour didn't match the energetic glint in his eyes. "One of our footmen tells us that His Lordship staggered up the stairs after his nightcap and went into the direction of Lady Mary's room."

"Nonsense, Barrow! He also sleeps in the family wing nowadays!"

"His Lordship did not sleep in his bed this night!" Thomas said with a smug smile. "This spares us to change the bed sheets today, but I suppose we need to send a maid into Lady Mary's room."

"Stop talking like so!" Baxter piped up. "I know you don't mean it!"

Thomas turned slowly towards the mousy woman, too kind for her own good. It stunned him. A range of emotions flashed over his face.

Ivy, heavily blushing, interrupted them. "Do you think the baby is his?"

"What on earth is going on here?" Carson's voice boomed and stopped the chatter. He had heard enough and understood quite well what was being gossiped about. Despite his deepest disapproval of the Earl's nightly endeavour of seducing the poor widow, his loyalty to the estate and Earldom prevented him from talking openly about such things. Professionalism was the very essence of his character. "I suggest you all return to your tasks. No one of you have time to dwell here! We have a busy schedule today, and the family is in mourning."

The staff scattered and scurried away into different directions.

o-o-o

Matthew had spent years having indecent dreams and fantasies about her. Tucked away in his cot in the trenches, he had closed his eyes and let the same fantasies play out again and again to comfort him. When he had returned to safety and the war was over, he kept up the same dreams. During daytime he would blush heavily if he came to think of them. They were improper and utterly indecent. In the darkness and safety of his room, tucked into his bed, he would instead indulge in them with a beating heart.

It was usually the same kind of scenarios with a few twists.

Mary, angelic and dressed in white, laying beneath him moaning in ecstasy while he thrusted into her with all his might.

Mary dressed in that red evening dress he ever so liked, on her knees pleasuring him in a dark corridor.

Mary holding the horsewhip, commanding him to please her and telling him exactly how to do it.

As he directed his footsteps towards her room that night, he knew he would probably do whatever she asked of him if he was so lucky, he got invited into her bed. If it would take him to crawl on his hands and knees and kiss her feet, he would do it. Matthew stopped outside her door and shook his head in order to at least try to sober up a bit. There was nothing to be done about the smell of alcohol in his breath, but at least he should be speaking properly.

He knocked on her door.

o-o-o

Yorkshire, Downton Abbey, 1922

They hadn't touched each other after that night. Whispers and rumours among the staff told him that they knew what had happened.

Mary had grown larger during the months. Cora and Isobel fretted over her, and Matthew watched the whole spectacle with a churning sense of hopelessness in his stomach. Mary went to London a few times to settle paperwork and Carlisle's will. She was a wealthy widow now. The Haxby estate, the newspaper shares, liquidity, jewellery, and art. Mary was independent for the first time in her life.

Independency suited her.

Matthew was usually hunched over the estate books and did everything in his might to save it all. But he lacked one parameter, money. Cash right now!

He subtly eyed her with envy as she was reading the newspaper in the sofa while caressing her belly. Unknowing of the estate troubles. He sighed and returned to his red figures. Mary kept on reading the newspaper, unaware of his stare and anguish.

o-o-o

Downton Abbey was entertaining for the first time since the untimely death of the former Earl. Nothing grand of course, since Lady Mary and the rest of the family still was in mourning. A small soiree was planned for just a few friends of the family, including a dinner and those pesky cocktails afterwards.

Violet Crawley, the former Dowager Countess, was a true traditionalist but the mere thought of her pregnant granddaughter dressed in the heaviest of black was ridiculous even to her. A new life was welcomed into the family and that poor child shouldn't be welcomed in times of mourning. She had convinced Lady Mary to shorten the mourning period and start dressing in dark purple, with the plan to switch to lavender for the upcoming childbirth, to lighten up. Surely, there wasn't anything more depressing than a heavily pregnant woman dressed in black from head to toe.

Cora was a different story. Violet respected her decision to follow the older tradition with a proper long mourning period. Even if she never would have admitted it out loud, that American had made her son a very happy man and it did pain her to see her so broken.

The men of the family wore black armbands, and the young Earl was back working in estate matters. The times were changing, and his diligent nature would be priceless, Violet was sure of it. Many good families had lost everything during the industrialization and the war. Many good families who had relaxed and wasted the management of their grand estates and land.

After that dreadful divorce with the new young Countess running away into the arms of that cad, they needed to get back into the societal life again. Violet gritted her teeth by the mere thought of the scandal that washed over the family. Either it was tragedy or scandal. How much more could this family take?

Sybil dying in childbirth.

Her son's sudden death.

The failed marriage between Matthew and Lavinia.

Edith left at the altar by Strallan.

Mary becoming a young widow, decades too early.

Either people were gossiping about them or looking at them with pity. This night of entertaining was going to prove that Downton Abbey was still standing and the Crawleys were still in it! Matthew Crawley was the wronged part in the divorce. Lady Mary Carlisle was a strong woman who would soon be out of mourning and back in society again. A new generation was at the helm, and it was time to signal that all the young people were available again.

Violet thumped her cane in the ground for emphasis in the empty room. She cocked her head and looked through the window. Even if she knew both were to think of her as cold and manipulative, she regarded herself a pragmatist. The estate needed an heir. It was important that Matthew would remarry and doing so in time to not awaken even more gossip. Lady Mary was on the path of becoming a very wealthy widow with a very young child and she needed a partner for support. She was still young, but it was of the most utter importance she was to be remarried while she still was in childbearing age.

That soiree started out as a success. It was tastefully planned to not be vulgar or over the top. It was fitting for the occasion and current family zeitgeist. A proper, sombre dinner, without being heavy nor depressing. Fish being served as the main course and for dessert a pudding with wild berries. No speeches. No over the top merry ambience. When the cocktails were served, Violet had asked for sherry, thank you very much, the conversations had grown more relaxed but remained respectfully toned down to honour the family members in mourning.

It was the first step back into societal relations. Violet leaned back in her armchair, watching over the party. There was just one thing that bothered her. Mary. Her granddaughter had been awfully quiet and rubbing her belly with a stony face repeatedly during the evening. It was almost as if she was in pain. Pain that came and went on a cycle.

It was now when the occasion turned into a disaster. It all started with the damned puppy going missing. The dog had escaped into the night and a search party was arranged. All adults had gone into the night each of them carrying a torch of light.

One and a half hour later, the dog was reigned in and returned to the Abbey with its tail between its legs knowing full well what mayhem it had caused.

Another 30 minutes later and it was clear that the search party missed one person.

Lady Mary hadn't returned.

Another search party was arranged in roughly the direction she had been asked to cover. The men swore and agreed that they shouldn't have let her go out on her own, even if she had been quite stubborn to do her part. 'I am with child, not an invalid!' had been her slogan as she collected her torch and flung her cape around her shoulders.

Violet, too old to be of service at this very moment, had stared at the tense shoulders of the newly minted Earl as he stepped outside into the night in search for her granddaughter.

o-o-o

Mary sunk down and grasped the tree in front of her. Moaning with pain she tried to breath this cramp away. In and out. In and out. In and out. The bark left marks on her cheek, she was sure of it, but at this moment she didn't care. The cramps died down for now. It hit her in waves, she had concluded, and when it was at the strongest pain, she couldn't even stand up straight. A couple of hours ago, it wasn't this bad, now it seemed like the next one was worse than the one before.

She wasn't due yet. Dr Clarkson had given her a due date and she was months from it.

This wasn't happening, she told herself and breathed through her mouth to regain her composure. Not yet! It must be something else. Mary stood up again and started to stagger in the direction of the Abbey.

A rain drop hit her nose.

Mary sniffled and took another deep breath. The cramps were way more regular now. She knew she had to get back to the Abbey. It was already too dark for her to be wandering about in the forest.

She gripped the tree and tried to steady herself. Now it was fine, she thought to herself and stood up on shaky legs. That damned dog had probably run back home already, and she also needed to get home. Mary clutched her swollen belly.

"It's not time for you yet," she cooed and caressed the belly. Mary didn't know where the caring voice came from, it was probably instinct. She had begun to feel an uncomfortable pressure in her pelvic region during the evening but now it hit her in full force. "You've got a few months to go, mama needs to go home and sleep now. The dog is probably at home sleeping by the fire," she informed deliriously.

Another cramp.

Mary fell to her knees and moaned in pain.

Her body had other ideas. Her body wanted her baby out.

Mary couldn't help it. She screamed into the darkness. Another rain drop hit her cheek. She sobbed and stood on all four, trying to find her footing to ease the pain.

Nothing worked.

Something rustled in the bushes.

A light.

Mary moaned again as the new wave of pain hit her and she slid down properly on the ground. The earthy smell filled her nostrils. It was too frequent now.

"Mary?!"

She recognized the voice. It was Matthew.

That terrible pressure was building up in her pelvis. Mary heard herself moan again. Or maybe she was screaming?

Matthew seemed terrified none the less and rushed over to her. It was quite clear what was going on, he realized immediately. Her sweaty face, her obvious pain and her clutching her belly. He dove under her skirts and tried to assess the situation while she tried to weakly swat him away. He explained, in an attempt to sound like Isobel, when she was nursing, what he wanted to do and why. Mary nodded weakly, giving him consent. The stockings were unhooked from the garter belt, the knickers were pulled down and the skirt pushed up. Matthew was certain he saw something. He prayed it would be a short labour. There was no way she would be walking back now, and his war injury would never allow him to carry her a sustained period of time.

The coldness of the ground seeped into his trousers and his skin as he stood on his knees and tried to hold her in the right position. Mary wailed. He hushed. She screamed louder. He stopped hushing and tried to direct her tears against his shoulder instead.

"Mary, I need to squat," Matthew called and pulled her upright and turned her around. "You can rest your head on my shoulder." He positioned himself behind her and tried to make her squat.

She cried out instead.

Matthew figured he had done something wrong and pulled on her arms.

Mary wailed once again.

He apologized and raked his brain. He had assisted a birth during his teenage years. A lonely pregnant woman had appeared on their doorstep one night and his father had immediately helped her. With Isobel away from their home, Reginald had called upon Matthew to assist.

With Mary's head on his shoulder, wailing into the night, he hoped for a miracle. He wasn't Reginald Crawley. He wasn't a doctor, just a solicitor with a tiny bit of experience of childbirth many years ago. Matthew Crawley cursed himself for not choosing the medical path when Mary screamed out her pain once again.

"Mary, stand on your feet and squat," he tried to desperately call. "Soles on the ground, darling!"

She muttered something. Sounded like she swore.

He held her by her armpits and tried to secure her position. She moaned again, much softer this time. The contraction was over for now. He laid her back on the grounds and dived under her skirts with his flashlight. This time she didn't try to hit him. A tiny head was showing, he was sure of it, this time.

"You are almost done. Oh, Mary, you are so far along. Have you been in pain the whole evening? With the next contraction, I want you to push with all your power."

Mary cried. "I can't do it," she confessed. "It's too-" her sentence was cut short by another contraction. She yelled into the night. Matthew stuck his handkerchief into her mouth. "Bite into it!"

"Mary, I am sorry for not being there for you. You shouldn't be walking around the forest in your state."

Mary didn't respond. She was busy crying into the night and squirming in his hold. He knew they were close now and tried to hold on to her properly. He held her in an unladylike position with her legs squatting and her head resting on his shoulder. She moaned again and slumped against his chest. The contraction died away. They had missed that one.

"Mary, with the next contraction, I would like you to push! That is the only way for this to end."

She said something muffled by the cloth. He was sure she swore at him.

He waited.

She was still in his arms, catching her breath and breathing in and out.

He had started to freeze, he noticed for the first time. He had laid out his coat beneath her and was starting to shudder from the freezing temperature. Mary said something against the cloth. He didn't catch it. It felt like a lot of the things she said, he didn't catch this evening.

One thing he noticed. Mary barely caught her breath. It was time for another one. She pushed with all her might this time and her whole body was rigid with the tension. Matthew held her. He did his best to steady her and hold her close at the same time. She moaned and he heard another kind of noise. Something wet. A tiny thump, or did he imagine it? Mary fell back on him and her whole body relaxed in a way it hadn't in hours. Matthew laid her down gently and checked the baby. Mary had started to softly mewl in an incoherent stammer. He caught a dizzy 'please' and a 'make sure he's breathing'.

He thought he was mistaken.

He directed the light of his flashlight for a proper look.

He wasn't.

He cast a worried look over his shoulder.

Mary laid on her back, blissfully unaware of what was going on, staring at the stars above them. With a gentle voice she asked, "Where is my child?"

He had another look, just to make sure. It confirmed it. This wasn't a boy that would survive. This baby was never meant to live. He pushed back his own sob. It was terrible the way the baby was physically deformed. This wasn't the way it should have looked like.

He knew he had to hide the face from her.

"Mary, your baby boy only had only a limited time with us."

It wasn't meant to be. Nature had decided to end it. Matthew had known when he found her in labour pain that it was too early for a proper childbirth. This was a painfully late miscarriage. A stillbirth.

Don't look, Mary!

Matthew cradled the baby and swaddled the dead baby in his jacket. Mary extended her arms. It must be some sort of mother's instinct; he decided and slowly gave her the boy. How on earth could he deny her the chance to say goodbye? Even if it would hurt her.

"Mary, he is not breathing," he warned.

"He is not screaming," she sniffled.

Matthew nodded. She knew. No baby scream had been heard when he popped out. Nothing could be done, should be done. Matthew had seen how the face and chest had been deformed, not allowing any life outside of the womb. He cast another eye at her.

Mary laid down on his coat with a peaceful expression.

"He is still breathing," she informed with a weak smile and held the baby cradled in his jacket.

Matthew nodded and decided to play along with her delusion. That baby wasn't breathing. He knew it won't be too long anyway. He knew that she knew. Together, they sat there and 'listened' to the baby dray his first and his last breaths. Rain drops started to fall properly.

After a few drops had landed on his brow, Matthew sat up again and initiated another move. "We have to leave now, or you will face pneumonia. Mary, you have to keep on walking now."

Mary cried out, nodded and clutched the unmoving baby. She nodded. "We have to bring him with us," she sniffled.

"Of course." He pulled her up into a kneeling position.

"Where's your afterbirth?" he asked suddenly and started ruffle though her shirts.

She harrumphed. "No such question should be asked to a lady!" Her voice was strangely almost back to normal, and it calmed him to see a glimpse of her snobbish behaviour. He did as he always did when she expressed her aristocratic arrogance, he ignored her. Nothing seemed to have happened yet, Matthew concluded and pulled out a pocketknife. It wasn't sterile, but at least he tried to cut at the same length as he had seen his father do all those years ago. Mary was supposed to be sent straight to Dr Clarkson when they returned, and he would make sure they knew everything that had happened to prevent infection. He truly wished he had pocketed the hipflask for a makeshift disinfection, before he left the Abbey.

Matthew pulled her up. She had the baby secured in her arms, wrapped in his jacket, with Matthew's coat around her shoulders. He was only dressed in his shirt and waistcoat and by now he was freezing once again. He picked up her soiled knickers and shoved them down his trouser pocket. With all his power he could muster, he pulled her up and dragged her towards the closest trail that he knew about. The afterbirth would come later, perhaps while they walked. His old war injury had seriously started to play up again by now and he grunted heavily as he dragged her along.

The afterbirth did arrive as they walked back. Mary felt something wet and warm between her legs and crutched down. By now, her evening gown and thighs were so soiled that she barely flinched as it washed out of her. Her stare was fixated somewhere far into the distance. It was easier to not be present. Easier to not be there in her body. If she could only close her eyes and nap for a while…

That irritating man in front of her wouldn't let her sleep! Matthew shook her and growled that she had to get up again. To walk. Take more steps towards the house. To move on. To avoid get pneumonia or an infection. To see Dr Clarkson. She found herself being raised to her feet by him and with his arms wrapped around her and the tiny boy, he directed her forward. Towards reality again.

o-o-o

Isobel Crawley had a terrible feeling in her chest as she saw the staggering couple across the grounds. Perhaps it was instinct or the experience as a nurse that told her to get into action. Breeching all protocols, she turned to Carson and said "Clean towels, warm water, strong alcohol! Find a place where we can let Lady Mary rest on the ground floor."

The butler nodded courtly and turned around to bark orders to the maids.

Briefly, she caught Violet's eye and almost expected a disapproving face. Violet only nodded in her direction. Cora was catatonic and stood still as a statue staring into the night.

Isobel caught the arm of the closest footman, it was Barrow. "Let's go out there and meet them. Carry her back!"

Barrow nodded and started to briskly walk across the grass to meet the hunched couple. Isobel followed, trying to keep up with the younger man's steps. As she got closer, she realized that her fears had been correct.

Thomas caught them first and was in a hushed conversation with her son when she reached them. Matthew explained through clenched teeth that his back injury prevented him from properly lifting Mary and that's why he had been half dragging her across the forest. Isobel eyed Mary in the darkness and noticed how dirty she was. Blood on her cheek, dirt in her hair, and a soiled skirt. She suspected it would be worse underneath Matthew's coat.

Mary handed over a bundle to Matthew and Isobel's breath got stuck in her throat. Barrow mumbled something reassuring into Lady Mary's direction and lifted her swiftly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder for support. As Barrow walked back with Mary in his arms, Isobel turned to her son. His face was white, and he had a glint in his eyes that she couldn't decipher.

"May I see?" She asked softly.

"He was a stillbirth." Matthew nodded and unravelled the fabric. She peeked down and saw the deformed little face. "Oh, my poor little chap," Isobel cooed at the still baby.

"There's more," Matthew informed her. "The chest is also… not well. He didn't stand a chance at living."

Isobel nodded. "Nature decided to end it. We can only pray for his soul."

Matthew nodded and covered the baby again. Neither of them was terribly religious, but both would be praying for this little fella tonight.

"Was Mary alone in all this?"

"I found her right before."

"Oh, my boy. That poor girl! I thought she looked uncomfortable tonight; she must have felt the contractions for hours. She must have thought she could walk it off."

"I held her and cut the cord, just like father did all those years ago. Do you remember?"

She nodded. Of course, she remembered. "Your father would be ever so proud," with that being said, Isobel, ushered him towards the Abbey.

Deep in thought, she recollected a conversation she had with Cora by the medicine cabinet. Mary had been given two spoons of castor oil early that morning to help with her most private washroom affairs. Isobel had told Cora off and warned about the other types of side effects such a method would pose. It had led to a somewhat heated discussion between the ladies being conducted in angry whispers. Isobel stalked back. Even if the castor oil played a part or not, it was probably for the best that Mary hadn't carried the baby to full term anyway, she thought with a heavy heart.

It seemed like this family was doomed.

Downton Abbey was in shock. Maids scurried up and down the stairs. Footmen rearranged furniture. Someone rang for Dr Clarkson. Lady Mary's deep purple dress was severely stained, and her hair had escaped her updo. Staff's eyes were fixed on his Lordship when he walked gingerly through the entrance door holding something small in his arms. Whispers and rumours started to spread quickly. Lady Mary had gone into labour in the forest and had been assisted by the Earl when he found her. The stillborn baby had no chance of living. One question was uttered under the breath by one of the kitchen maids; "Surely, he is the father?" The guilty kitchen maid received a swat from Mrs Patmore and a stern order to return downstairs to prepare some tea for the search party.

Mr Carson, the butler, scanned the hall and settled his eyes on the young Earl. He had disapproved of the middle class up and coming heir when he arrived nearly ten years ago. It was Carson's professionalism that kept him from showing it, but he was deeply troubled by young Mr Crawley. Now, Carson regretted his harsh thoughts about the solicitor from the medical family. The Earl had probably a few tricks up his sleeve that turned out to be useful for Lady Mary tonight. No gentleman of the peerage would probably have pulled it off. Carson was deeply thankful for him.

A/N: Angst just leveled up! This chapter is merely dramatization and not exactly a medical brochure. However, Mary is supposed to be more than 24 weeks pregnant and therefore it's not considered a miscarriage anymore but a stillbirth. Castor oil, as mentioned briefly, can be used as laxatives, and is an OLD FASHIONED way of inducing childbirth, please don't do this at home it's considered dangerous (it's also used in machinery!).