CHAPTER 4 – DUNEAGLE AND MANCHESTER
Duneagle, Scotland, September 1912
Mary was looking at the approaching grey towers of Duneagle, trying to keep her calm façade from crumbling. The last time when she had been here, in her memory at least, she had spent the last days with Matthew. It had been her insistence on coming here, despite consistent advice of practically everybody, that most probably brought on her early labour. And it had been her insistence on going home alone which had made Matthew drive while tired from the hospital and not pay attention to the road. And... Oh, she could list so many other small and big things which might have contributed to the final outcome. She knew it well; she had spent months dwelling on them all.
She was never going to forgive herself.
She had been considering pleading off the trip, maybe faking an illness, but in the end decided it was better to face it now. With any luck, she might visit next year with Matthew and she would need to be prepared.
Matthew... It was impossible to not think about him during the trip and it was not the Matthew getting settled in Crawley House in the village. She missed her husband, a dear, sweet man so attuned to her that he could read her like a book. The only person ever who considered her nice. The man who made passionate love to her and drove her wild with desire she never suspected herself of being able to feel or experience.
She was so very aware that the Matthew in the Crawley House was not the same man. He was still Matthew, she still loved him dearly, but he was not her Matthew, not yet, maybe never. He had the potential to be the same man, but would he ever be? If he didn't live through some of the experiences her Matthew lived through before they finally found each other? And he wouldn't if her plan worked. If it did, they would experience more happiness and definitely less heartbreak, but would their love be the same if not honed by pain?
The car jumped, parking in front of Duneagle front steps and Mary was jolted out of her musings. She took a deep breath to brace herself and got out of the Rolls Royce to greet Shrimpie, Aunt Susan and their three children. Seeing Rose as a rosy cheeked, beribboned ten year old was another jolt, a forceful reminder that she was out of sync with her surroundings.
Drawing room, Duneagle, September 1912
"So, how is the new heir?" asked Susan, her tone clearly implying that she did not expect to hear anything positive about him. The topic of their new heir was raised as soon as they gathered in the green and gold drawing room.
"Is he at all handsome?" enquired Rose with enthusiasm not at all repressed by her mother's admonishing glare. She and Annabelle giggled. At ten and eleven, respectively, they were much more interested in the future Earl's looks than his middle class status.
"He is a very nice chap," answered Robert cheerfully. "Needs some time to get used to our ways and habits but shows plenty of promise. He is polite and clever and seems to be settling in very nicely, even if he insists on holding a job."
"A job? How peculiar of him," sneered Susan and Mary had to restrain herself from listing all things she found peculiar about her aunt.
"I think it is rather reasonable of him," said Shrimpie. "A man must have something to occupy himself with. I know I would find a life of leisure rather unsatisfying."
His wife glared at him.
"We are all aware of the fact that you prefer to put your career over your family and estate. However, Mr Crawley continuing to work as a solicitor is hardly comparable in importance to your position at the Foreign Office."
"He does seem rather clever though," interjected Mary, able to stay out of it no longer. "He may end up Lord Chancellor."
Her statement was met with several surprised stares.
"You seem to have rather high opinion of this young man," noted Susan with interest.
"I haven't got much time to get to know him properly, but he did make a good first impression," deflected Mary with studied disinterest. "And while I am not sure what kind of career he has in mind; I do not find it unreasonable that he prefers to make his own fortune when hopefully it will be many years before he is responsible for Downton."
"No, it isn't," admitted Robert reluctantly. As much as he was still perplexed that his heir found it necessary to hold a job, he was very pleasantly surprised at Mary's spirited defence of his choices. Maybe the whole matter of the entail would indeed solve itself neatly. "I gave him an allowance befitting his status, but it is clear he values his independence. It is not a bad trait in a future Earl."
"Although it could be reasonably perceived as rather middle class of him," noted Violet dryly. She was not yet charmed enough by Mr Crawley to accept the loss of both the title and Cora's money to this interloper. Not to mention to his horrid mother! She did consider marrying Mary to him if nothing could be done to break the entail, but it did not mean she had to like or accept him at this point.
"I can't see why he has the right to Robert's estate or to my money," Cora joined the discussion, spurred by her mother-in-law's contempt. She knew that they were allies on both scenarios concerning Mary, either her getting to inherit or marrying Matthew Crawley and making the issue of the entail moot. All the same, she was afraid that reminding Mary about the class difference between her and her father's heir, while the matter of challenging the entail was so tenuous, could well backfire. Cora knew her daughter. Mary was an English aristocrat through and through, just like her grandmother. Cora was elated that she didn't dismiss Matthew out of hand and actually seemed surprisingly fond of him. It looked very promising but was much too delicate for her mother-in-law's snobbish ways. "But I refuse to condemn him for wanting an honest job."
"Really, Cora, you are sometimes so American," drawled Susan, causing Violet to make sour expression at both being beaten to that comment and at the thought of agreeing with her bitter niece. She was fond of Susan, one had to be of one's nieces, but seriously, the woman could be grating on one's patience.
"Well, I am one," answered Cora placidly. After over twenty years of being insulted for her nationality, she was hardly bothered by it. "And I definitely find the American attitudes towards work and inheritance more logical and sensible."
Mary found her attention to the conversation waning. The memories and regrets haunting her on the drive threatened to overcome her again, but she firmly pushed them away. This was her miraculous second chance; Matthew was alive and well, and she intended to do everything in her power to keep him so. He might not be her Matthew – she knew he was not – but he was Matthew and she was going to do everything she could to ensure they found love and happiness again. She allowed herself to remember the good moments of their stay and imagine how much fun they could have next year if she succeeded somehow in securing his affections and get him invited as her fiancé – maybe even husband?
It was weird to see him so young. She realised she was in truth four years older than him now, instead of six years younger. She could hardly be accused of cradle robbing, but it was a shift in balance between them. She was not only older, if only by handful of years; it was all the maturity which years of war and heartbreak gave her. She loved this young, carefree, gentle version of Matthew, but she missed the equal footing and understanding that all they had lived through gave them. She assumed gloomily that the war would make sure they catch up eventually, even without the additional misery of separation, misunderstandings and engagements to other people, but she was aware it was not exactly her husband she was hoping to entice. He was both the same person and not. He was himself, but a different version of himself and she wondered if she will forever mourn the one she had lost on a beautiful September day, nearly to a day a year ago and nine years into the future.
She firmly did not allow herself to think about George and how she should celebrate his first birthday now. This was her chance to get it right and ensure that his father was present for his first birthday and many birthdays afterwards.
Her musings were soon interrupted by her two young cousins approaching her stealthily.
"Cousin Mary," spoke Rose, clearly the bolder of the two despite being younger. "Nobody answered our question."
"Which question?"
"Is Mr Crawley handsome?"
Mary stared at two faces looking at her expectantly and swallowed.
"He is indeed very handsome," she whispered back conspiratorially. "He has golden blond hair and the bluest, sparkling eyes, and his figure is very good indeed. In fact, he looks a bit like a Greek hero."
The girls sighed in unison.
"This is so romantic!', exclaimed Rose, with Annabelle nodding in perfect agreement. "Now he just has to marry you and it will all be like a story!"
Mary choked a bit with suppressed laughter.
"I'm working on it," she winked at them playfully. "But it has to be our secret."
Both girls nodded solemnly, proud of being in their oldest cousin confidence. Mary was not really concerned about them sharing what she told them; if they did she could deny it easily enough as children misunderstanding a joke. It did feel good to admit her feelings for Matthew to someone, even in so inconsequential manner. For some reason she felt nearly as giddy and silly as her audience.
Heaton Park, Manchester, September 1912
"So, how is your newfound family?" drawled Jack Weatherby, looking at his friend playfully. He was a handsome young man, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and energetic, trim figure. They were sitting on a park bench, enjoying the late summer sunshine.
Matthew shrugged.
"Awfully upper class. I am not sure some of them recovered from the shock of me actually earning a living."
Jack laughed loudly.
"And are they plotting to hook you up with one of the daughters as you feared?"
Matthew's ears got red. Jack gaped at him incredulously.
"You must be kidding me, they are?!"
"They're hopeful," mumbled Matthew reluctantly.
"Wow," responded Jack, grinning, "You really stepped straight into the world of Jane Austen, didn't you?"
"An entail is not exactly a new concept."
"But solving the issue by arranged marriage seems positively ancient. Is the girl in question at least pretty? Which one is it, you mentioned there are three of them?"
"The oldest, Lady Mary," answered Matthew slowly, "And she is extremely beautiful."
Jack whistled and immediately raised his hands in pacifying gesture at Matthew's glare.
"Come on, I am just appreciating your apparent good luck. When am I to wish you joy?"
"Most probably never," Matthew shrugged. "Lady Mary is not interested."
"Aww, does the lady show good taste then?" teased Jack but was taken aback by Matthew's serious expression.
"She was engaged to the previous heir and is still in mourning for him."
"And her family is already plotting how to get her married off to you?" asked Jack incredulously.
"They are a rather pragmatic lot. Since the entail cannot be broken or questioned and there doesn't seem to be any hope of another child, they want to find another way to keep the estate and money in the family."
"And what are your views on the matter?"
"I am still not comfortable with neither a role which I am suddenly expected to take nor getting the inheritance which by any reasonable consideration should go to the daughter of the family. I feel like I'm stealing it from her and for all their pragmatism most of the family feel the same. And that's not even getting into awkwardness of stepping into a dead man's shoes. Lady Mary has my deepest sympathy on the issue. At least they are trying to be subtle with me."
"So you won't be courting her?"
"Definitely not," answered Matthew gloomily. "I would have been a right lout to even try in the circumstances."
Jack gave him a sideways glance. Matthew's sullen face picked his interest.
"You would be a right lout," he agreed pleasantly, seeing Matthew's scowl deepen. "But it looks like you would want to."
Matthew sputtered. "What?!"
"If the circumstances were different, it seems to me you would not have objected in the slightest to the idea of courting Lady Mary," continued Jack, looking at his friend closely. "She must be extraordinary to make such impression on you. I've never seen you so riled up over a woman."
"I am not riled up over her!" denied Matthew angrily.
"Sure not," drawled Jack. "Still, considering how matters stand, I will probably have no luck in trying to lure you into joining me in London in the new year?"
Matthew gaped at him.
"You were the one who advised me to agree to the move to Downton."
"That's true," admitted Jack easily. "You are completely clueless about the life which will be yours one day and you need to learn how to navigate it. Nevertheless, I would love to have you by my side when I establish the partnership in London. Maybe we could talk about it more in the spring? You should know better how much you enjoy country life and I bet that the Ripon office will bore you sufficiently by then too."
Matthew kicked a stone absent-mindedly.
"You might be right about country life and the Ripon office. London might sound awfully tempting by comparison. Although I think Mother is rather happy with the move."
"Then let's table the topic until spring and go fetch something to eat now. I'm famished!" Jack rose energetically from the bench and walked briskly with Matthew in the direction of their favourite pub.
Guest bedroom, Duneagle, September 1912
Mary sighed with relief, hearing the door closing after O'Brien. She hated being readied for bed by her, but since she and her sisters were all unmarried, O'Brien was responsible for her and her mother, while her sisters were served by one of the upper housemaids of their hosts. O'Brien was very competent at her job, but obviously resentful of the extra duties given to her during family's travels and her sour personality on full display when facing one of the young ladies instead of her mistress. Mary had no idea what her mother saw in her lady's maid. She rather regretted that Aunt Susan didn't poach her during this visit already.
She settled herself in an armchair by the window with a cup of tea O'Brien fetched for her. Her heart clenched in memory of Matthew doing exactly that on so many evenings, waiting for her to be ready to go to bed. He had usually read a book while drinking his tea, but more often than not she had noticed his warm, loving gaze on her instead. Oh, how she missed him!
The first anniversary of his death was just a week away.
The pain did not lessen. Her mad, impossible travel to the past did distract her – and seeing him again, knowing that he was alive here, was so wonderful that she was lacking words to properly describe it – but when she thought of her husband's death, the pain was just as acute. And it was impossible not to think about it here, where they had spent the last days of his life together, with the date of his death looming over her.
Which was also their son's birthday. If she was still in her own time, she would have been busy planning a party. Although she had not the faintest idea how she would have managed to celebrate it properly while also mourning Matthew. She guessed she would have to ask Tom how he had managed that on Sybbie's birthday and suddenly she missed Tom fiercely. They had become friends even before Matthew's death, but afterwards... Afterwards they truly bonded in shared grief which nobody else could understand so viscerally as each other.
She wondered if George would have been walking by now, as Sybbie was on her first birthday.
She forced herself to focus on the present. There would be no first birthday party, because in current reality she did not have a son. The anniversary of Matthew's death would be her private, hidden pain, because here he was alive and well and, with any luck, would remain so for decades. She did not think she would ever stop missing her husband and regretting his death – she still felt like half of her was missing – but she dearly hoped that with time, Matthew's love and building a better future together it would hurt less.
She wondered what his younger self was doing now. He mentioned something about visiting friends in Manchester and checking on his house there. She realised with a start that she didn't know how his house looked, even though she had inherited it upon his death. She made a decision to ask him to take him there when matters settled between them. He had always been proud of his hometown, she knew, even though he had endured her teasing about Manchester with his usual good humour. She suddenly yearned to learn everything about that part of his life; something which she had sorely neglected before. She didn't want to miss any little fact which was there to know about him. She could not stand the thought of being once again left to wonder, with no opportunity to ask.
She finished her tea and went to the opulent four-poster bed. Settling down to sleep, she wondered how Matthew was enjoying his weekend.
Glendale House, Manchester, September 1912
Matthew looked around the rooms of his house. It was strange to see them so empty; with all his and Mother's personal belongings moved to Downton and most of remaining furniture covered with dust sheets. They were seriously considering renting the house – it would be better than to let it stand empty and cold, and additional income was always nice, even if not necessary in their current circumstances – but they decided to wait and see how they liked living in Yorkshire first.
Matthew went to the kitchen and, after fumbling a bit with the stove, succeeded in getting it going enough to put the kettle on. He smiled remembering the sceptical look on Mrs Byrd's face when she heard about his plan to go back to Manchester for the weekend and managing by himself while there. He was not sure if she believed his assurances that he had managed to avoid starvation and made his own tea in all his years at Oxford.
He wondered with amusement if any of his newly found cousins knew how to make tea. He rather didn't suspect they did. The army of servants welcoming him during his first visit at the big house and the valet Lord Grantham inflicted on him sure indicated otherwise. It still seemed to him fantastical and incomprehensible that he was expected to be the lord and master of all that one day.
The kettle whistled, temporarily bringing him out of his musings as he got to the business of preparing his tea and toasts. Deciding there was no point carrying it all the way to the dining room, he settled himself contentedly at the kitchen table and quickly finished his supper. Jack had invited him to attend a charity dinner with him on Saturday, so he guessed that would take care of the main meal, and on Sunday evening he was expected back at Downton. He snickered, imagining the portion Mrs Byrd would most probably try to push on him, in her firm conviction that Master Matthew must have been starving the whole weekend without her to feed him properly.
After washing his plate, he poured himself more tea and walked to his old bedroom, careful not to spill it, and settled in an armchair by the window overlooking the small garden at the back of the house. He noted with a bit of melancholy that he was going to miss it.
Still, so far Yorkshire wasn't so bad. Crawley House was a charming and comfortable house and his new office in Ripon perfectly pleasant, if a bit quaint after much bigger firm he used to work for in Manchester. Riding his bicycle through the leafy forest path or an open field to the train station was sure nicer than navigating the city streets. And his cousins, with the glaring exception of the Dowager Countess, were obviously trying to be as welcoming as possible, even though openly baffled by his views and way of life and rather condescending at times. He did appreciate their efforts though in the circumstances, especially Lady Mary's. He was not sure if he would be so gracious to a complete stranger set to inherit everything he held dear.
He sighed, thinking again about her.
Was Jack right in his annoying remarks?
Honestly, he probably was, at least a bit. Matthew had to admit, if only to himself, that he was very much in danger of developing a crush on his beautiful distant cousin. She was perfectly lovely, maddeningly alluring, truly exquisite. And it was not just her looks, by any means, that attracted him so. Her obvious intelligence, witty conversation and literary interest were all a big part of it too. He had only seen her a handful of times so far and yet he could honestly say that every meeting resulted in both engaging his mind and arousing his body to a degree he had never experienced before.
He scowled, remembering with irritation her family's unsubtle hopes of pushing them together. He hated being right about this. He hated that he had to defend himself and her from unwanted matchmaking attempts when, to be perfectly truthful, he would love nothing more than to get to know her better and maybe even court her. But she made it so perfectly clear that she was not interested in anything like that at the moment – and how could she, the man she loved died just scant five months ago! - and even if she wasn't still mourning him, which she clearly was, they barely knew each other. For all his attraction to her, he thought it completely ridiculous on what scant basis her family tried to match them. How could they know if he and Mary were going to be happy together after just few dinners?
With a sigh, he finished his tea and readied himself for bed, happy that he could do that in peace without chasing Molesley off first. Seriously, what did he even need a valet for? He had been perfectly capable of dressing and undressing himself since he was a child, shaving himself since he was a teenager, and a maid could clean or mend his clothes if necessary, with any bigger repairs or adjustments taken to a tailor. He resolved to take the matter of dismissing Molesley to Lord Grantham as soon as the family was back from Scotland. Frankly, it was ridiculous to expect a grown man to be dressed like a doll.
Settling down to sleep, he wondered how Mary was enjoying her Scottish vacation.