Sitting room, Crawley House, January 1913
Mary was sitting in the Crawley House's cheerful blue sitting room, trying very hard to appear at ease.
The invitation for tea from her past and hopefully future mother-in-law caught her by surprise. In her previous timeline she and Cousin Isobel had kept polite distance from each other, with brief interlude in 1914 when an engagement between herself and Matthew had seemed imminent. Of course, it had soured very quickly when Mary had committed the cardinal sin of rejecting Isobel Crawley's beloved only son – hesitation in accepting him was tantamount to refusal in Isobel's eyes and she had not forgiven the slight easily. It had been only when she had witnessed Mary taking care of Matthew while he was injured that she had softened towards her. They had enjoyed cordial, if rather distant relationship during Matthew and Mary's brief marriage, but the grief after his sudden death torn them apart; each lost in her own too much to seek comfort in the other.
There certainly had been no tete-a-tetes for tea in January of 1913. Then again, Mary had been still barely polite to Matthew at that time, so she could not really blame Isobel for lack of cousinly hospitality.
She wondered what prompted the current invitation. Was Isobel just trying to be friendly, simply because Mary did everything in her power to be welcoming to her newly discovered cousins, or did she have some ulterior motive?
The subject of her musings came into the room, followed by Molesley with the tea tray.
"I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Cousin Mary. Mrs Bird had some pressing issue I had to settle quickly."
"Oh, please don't, I barely waited a minute," Mary hastened to show that she took no offense. "And it's just Mary. I hope if we don't know each other well enough to drop the formality, we will soon."
Isobel beamed at her.
"That's very nice of you and I will gladly accept, my dear. I would like to know you better as well."
For few minutes they were both busy with the tea and scones, Molesley hovering around anxiously. Mary knew that Isobel found it just as trying as Matthew at times, but she was clearly much better at hiding it and adapting to her suddenly elevated social status.
A few minutes of a bit stilted, but not truly awkward small talk about the village and recent Christmas and New Year festivities followed.
"I didn't have time to ask you before, how did you enjoy your visit at Manchester?" asked Mary politely. Isobel pounced at the chance.
"Oh, very much. It was lovely to see my brother and his family, and some of our other old friends as well. Has Matthew mentioned that we attended a charity ball there?"
Mary frowned so briefly that if Isobel was not paying her full attention to her, she would have missed it.
"No, he did not. What cause it was for?"
"For outfitting a radiology department in the new building of Manchester Royal Infirmary," said Isobel. "It was only opened by the King in 1909. A radiology department was not envisaged in the plans, but Dr Barclay, who runs it currently, established a department in the basement. He expects that it should have capacity to examine thousands of cancer patients starting this year and hopefully treat them with radiotherapy by the next one."
"That sounds impressive and unfortunately very necessary. Did you and Matthew have a good time?"
"Quite," said Isobel, watching Mary over the brim of her cup. "We met so many old friends – Matthew's father used to work at the Royal Infirmary, so we are acquainted with many of the staff and benefactors. I must say there were several young ladies very happy to see Matthew again."
Mary's fingers tightened around her teacup's handle. Nothing is going to come out of it, she reminded herself sternly, it's just Isobel's matchmaking. It did not help a sudden wave of jealousy at the thought of young women pursuing her husband.
"Any in particular?" she asked lightly.
"I always thought that he and Miss Dorothy Richardson got along very well. Her father was a colleague of Reginald, so they've known each other since they were children and she grew up to be an intelligent and charming woman. She is finishing a liberal arts degree at Victoria University of Manchester."
"She indeed sounds charming," agreed Mary with a bright smile. Any small feelings of inadequacy caused by awareness of her own haphazard education from multiple governesses were soon quashed by smug certainty that, in the end, Matthew had not cared twopence about Miss Richardson in comparison with Lady Mary Crawley and she had full confidence she would ensure the same outcome in the near future. Despite what people might think about her, Mary was often her own worst critic and was fully aware of multiple faults she had possessed, especially regarding her less than ideal temper – but she also had no doubts about her own allure and a power to attract male attention, Matthew Crawley's definitely included. She was afraid, very afraid, of messing up her relationship with him – they had rather atrocious track record after all – but she never doubted he was attracted to her beyond anything he had ever felt for any other woman. She just needed to be very careful not to ruin everything this time.
Isobel could have sworn that she saw Lady Mary's eyes flash when she was describing Matthew's friendship with Dot Richardson, but it was hard to be sure when confronted with such calm, reserved face and a determinedly polite smile.
She sighed internally. She didn't lie to Mary. There were several young ladies very happy to see Matthew again – he had always been rather popular, earnest, amiable and handsome as he was – and he did seem to have fun dancing with them and laughing with Dot over some childhood prank of theirs. She did not think anything was likely to come out of it though. As popular as Matthew was and as much as he enjoyed the attention he was getting, his heart was not easily engaged. He remained polite and friendly, a perfect gentleman, if a bit clueless at times. Until he met Lady Mary Crawley.
Things would have been so much simpler if he fell in love with Dot Richardson.
Just then, the object of the thoughts of them both walked cheerfully into the sitting room, startling in surprise at the sight of his mother's guest.
"Mary! I had no idea that you were coming!" he said with a brilliant smile and then kissed Isobel's cheek affectionately. "I'm sorry to interrupt your tea, Mother. A client rescheduled the meeting and I was allowed to leave early, to make up for all the overtime I accrued preparing for it."
"I'm always happy to see you, my dear," answered Isobel fondly and sent Molesley to fetch another cup as Matthew predictably helped himself to one of the pastries. Her boy had always had such a sweet tooth.
His attention promptly was turned from the sweets to Lady Mary though.
"I'm so glad to find you here, I wanted to ask you something. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?" asked Matthew eagerly. Mary looked up at him in surprise.
"Yes. Why?"
"Would you meet me outside at three o'clock then? I might have a surprise for you then," he grinned.
As if there was a chance that Mary would refuse!
"Very well then," she said calmly, but with a small smile on her face as she picked up her teacup again. "Let's see what you thought up."
Isobel observed her son's interactions with Lady Mary and she was fully convinced that what she witnessed was the beginning of a formal courtship, whether Matthew stated it officially or not. She was unsure what Lady Mary thought about it – she had been so guarded during their talk! But she did seem to relax and open up a bit as soon as Matthew came in. Maybe there was some hope that her boy would not have to suffer from unrequited affections or, even worse, unequal affections in marriage. That was what she was most afraid of, as soon as she first spotted his interest in his illustrious cousin – that Mary would accept him just to keep Downton and money in the family, without loving him in return. She didn't think she could stand to witness it.
Front entrance, Downton Abbey, January 1913
Leaving the house as agreed at three o'clock, Mary was greeted by the sight of Matthew parking a black Ford in front of her.
She grabbed for the wall, feeling dizzy with terror. Matthew, in a car. Not that car, but in a car. He was smiling at her, obviously proud of himself and reaching with his hand to lead her to it, to take her for a drive.
Even if she could force herself to compose herself and to accept a ride with him – and how she used to love their excursions! - how could she watch him drive away afterwards, disappearing from her view, maybe to never show up again?
She knew she was panicking, irrational, but she couldn't help it. If she had her way, he would have been categorically forbidden from ever driving a car again.
All those thoughts passed through her head in mere seconds. Matthew was still walking towards her, his smile fading a bit when he noticed some of her distress.
She didn't want him to lose this brilliant, proud smile.
There was no way she could explain her panic at the sight of him behind a wheel anyway.
With herculean effort Mary let go of the wall, pushed her stormy emotions aside and with steely determination focused on Matthew's blue eyes. She allowed herself to enjoy their lively brightness and vibrant colour. She allowed her heart to swell with her mind's familiar song of alive, alive, alive, alive.
"Your chariot awaits, my lady," Matthew grinned cheekily at her.
"Where on earth have you found it?" Mary asked, proud of her steady tone. She accepted Matthew's hand and let him help her into the front seat.
"I have borrowed it from the son of my boss," Matthew jumped into the driver seat. "He owes me for helping him with preparations for his exam. He hates studying with his father, not that Mr Harvell has so much time for him anyway."
The motor rumbled and they were off. The Ford was hardly as sleek or fast as Matthew's AC, which Mary really preferred at the moment. She noticed Matthew was also much more careful while driving it; probably either due to less experience or the fact it was a borrowed car. Still, they soon were out of Downton grounds and on the public road.
"Where are we going?" asked Mary curiously. Matthew grinned sheepishly.
"I don't really have any idea," he admitted. "I don't know the area well enough to know the best routes. But I hope to do some sightseeing today and hopefully you will know how to pilot us back home."
Mary laughed.
"You better hope I was paying some attention while being driven by our chauffeur or we might end up scandalously late for dinner and Papa will have your hide."
Matthew looked at her incredulously.
"Weren't you boasting the other day that you know every nook and cranny of this area?"
"Yes," said Mary archly. "On horseback. I don't exactly travel by roads most of the time."
"Oh," said Matthew, then grinned bravely again. "Then we just have to hope that I will be able to bring you back early enough to avoid your father's wrath."
Mary refrained from pointing out that as far as she was concerned, they could not come back at all. She mentally patted herself on the back for her improved self-control.
Morning Room, Downton Abbey, January 1913
January seemed to be the month for car drives, because Sir Anthony, possibly inspired by mention of Matthew taking Mary for one, came about a week later in his new Rolls-Royce and to general astonishment of the family invited Edith. Permission was granted, although with a touch of reluctance. Edith was only twenty years old and due to the family missing the summer season while in deep mourning for Patrick and James she had only one proper season in London so far – it was hardly necessary for her to settle for a widower her father's age. Matthew's excursions with Mary had been viewed much more favourably and definitely encouraged; the same held true for the horseback riding she was inviting him to, presumably to help him train for the next hunt planned for March.
"He really is not bad in the saddle," Mary was explaining to Papa at breakfast, "much better than I expected him to be, truly. But he does feel a bit unsure of himself at great speed or while jumping, so additional practice and some advice cannot hurt. I don't think he will embarrass us during the hunt though."
"Just don't get him killed while goading him into recklessness," sighed Robert. "The next man in line to inherit might be less nice."
His daughter sent him a furious look.
"Why would I ever do that?"
"Weren't it you who goaded Patrick into climbing the cedar tree which he promptly fell off and broke his arm?" asked Robert, raising his brow. Mary blushed.
"I was eight," she mumbled resentfully. "I would never try to talk Matthew into doing something truly dangerous. I do keep in mind he is not as good as I am on a horse."
Robert raised his eyes heavenward. If that was how she was speaking to Matthew on their excursions he would not be surprised if his heir attempted to jump over the highest hedge he could find just to prove her wrong.
He was still extremely pleased by their developing relationship. While he was determined not to challenge the entail, despite Cora and his mother's urging, he did feel for Mary. The marriage to Matthew would solve his dilemma. But what was more, he was starting to really like the young man. He was intelligent, well-spoken, courteous and kind. And, what seemed more and more apparent, obviously attracted to his daughter. Her feelings were less easy to read, as was usual for her, but the very fact that she was willing to spend so much time with his heir was very telling. He was resolved to give them every opportunity to get to know each other and nurture their friendship, hoping that the young man's feelings would eventually convince Mary to consider his suit. He did not push the point with her though; he knew only too well that to push Mary would be most likely to make her do the very opposite. Letting nature take its course in their case seemed a much safer bet.
Downton grounds, January 1913
They were galloping, chasing each other, their faces heated from exertion despite the chilly wind sweeping their faces.
They slowed down, both panting slightly.
"You're really getting better!" said Mary, grinning. Matthew had to shake himself from contemplation of her face, glowing from cold and exercise, to be able to answer.
"I have a great teacher," he smiled. A teacher who looked positively indecent while riding. Or after riding, dishevelled and mud-spattered. Or... Matthew closed his eyes briefly, coming to the shameful conclusion that what was truly indecent was his mind, apparently incapable of stopping conjuring most scandalous images of his distant cousin.
"I would be even better if I were still allowed to ride astride. Side saddle is annoyingly limiting sometimes."
Mattew swallowed. Was she trying to kill him, or did it come naturally to her?
He saw the side look she just sent him and was convinced her comment was not designed to be innocent.
"I admire your prowess in it," he said, striving for composure. "I don't think I would be half so sure of my seat if I had to use one."
Mary laughed, undoubtedly imagining him in a side saddle and a riding habit.
"Will there be many ladies at the hunt? I don't remember any on the one I saw in November, but I was quite far away so I could have missed some." In truth, he was so focused on her then that he doubted he would have seen any were there a dozen.
Mary shook her head.
"Most likely not. Lady Agatha Winters and Catherine Howard will be there for sure – they are both avid hunters – but they are more of an exception than the rule. Not many ladies in the area are interested or feel confident enough in the saddle for it."
"Neither of your sisters does?"
"Sybil is a great rider, which probably doesn't surprise you, but she is not yet out and it wouldn't be considered proper for her to join. Maybe next year. And Edith is, equally unsurprisingly, hopeless with horses. She is too timid and makes a horse nervous."
"She was good enough with driving a cart though, when we went to visit the churches," said Matthew unthinkingly and winced at Mary's glare.
"Maybe then you would prefer to go on another excursion with her instead of wasting time with me?" she asked acerbically. Matthew hastily raised his hands in pacifying gesture.
"I just made an observation, that's all. Clearly I need more horse riding lessons to not make a fool of myself at the hunt. I don't think it will leave me any time for excursions with Edith."
Mary's sideways glance let him know he was forgiven, but his lapse most definitely not forgotten. She kicked her heels and got Diamond to run like a dart.
"See if you can catch me!" she called against the wind.
Matthew rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and hastened to follow.
Morning Room, Valentine's Day, February 1913
There was a palpable atmosphere of expectation and excitement in the breakfast day on Valentine's Day. Ever since Mary's coming out in 1910, the arrival of post on that date was met with greatest interest by daughters of the house. Of course, there was also clear competition between Mary and Edith when it came to number of valentine cards received, historically usually won by the eldest, to Edith's chagrin.
This year though Mary barely paid any attention to her sister's valentines or lack of them. Her only concern was whether Matthew would send her one. She rather expected he should and she was going to be very cross if he wouldn't. She scolded herself for being immature and ridiculous even while she was sitting at the edge of her seat in tension. For heaven's sake, she was truly thirty one years old! She should be above such childish concerns.
Nearly jumping from her seat when Carson finally brought in the post, she gave up chiding herself as pointless. Everybody thought she was a girl of twenty one, she could just as well behave like one if she felt like it.
Carson handed her and Sybil each one card and Edith two. Edith's face lit up in disbelief and triumph, while she opened the envelopes eagerly.
Mary paid her no heed, impatiently tearing into her own. The elegant lacy card was anonymous of course, as was the custom, but she relaxed in satisfaction recognising Matthew's clear handwriting. He had beautiful hand. But then she read the poem written in the card and laughed softly. She would have had no doubt about the sender's identity even without knowledge of his hand.
Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon's food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued
By many blows and banes; but now hears roar
A wilder beast from West than all were, more
Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.
Her Perseus linger and leave her to her extremes?—
Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs
His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems,
All while her patience, morselled into pangs,
Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams,
With Gorgon's gear and barebill, thongs and fangs.
Edith recognised the handwriting of her pen pal Evelyn Napier as well, which left her to assume that the second could be from Sir Anthony. She had not exchanged any letters with him, so she didn't know his hand, but it stood to reason that he was the most likely culprit. Oh, she felt as if she could levitate! She had two suitors who sent her valentines! And Mary only got one!
Sybil was quite excited to get her very first valentine. It contained a typed text, so she could not even guess the identity of the sender, but to be truthful she cared little for it. What if it was someone she did not like? It was more exciting for it to remain the mystery.
Earl and Countess of Grantham' 23rd Anniversary Dinner, February 1913
Mary noted with amusement that the guest list for her parents' anniversary dinner was apparently prepared with their daughters' matrimonial prospects in mind.
In addition to actual friends and relatives like Aunt Rosamund, Granny, Isobel and Matthew, the Flintshires and the Mertons, the invitations were sent to Viscount Branksome and his son, Sir Anthony Strallan, the Russells with Billy and Lady Shackleton with her oldest nephew, Peter Talbot. Any other young ladies than the Crawley sisters were conspicuously absent.
The dining room looked extraordinary with a party of twenty two sitting down to dinner. The Holy Grail of matching number of ladies and gentlemen for a house party in the country was miraculously achieved. Sitting plan went strictly according to the rank of illustrious guests, which made Mary sit between Matthew and Peter Talbot; the arrangement which made her quite pleased. She was obviously never going to complain of being seated next to Matthew and while she did not really remember Peter Talbot – although they must have been introduced at some point or other in her past timeline considering his aunt's friendship with Granny – he looked like a pleasant enough young man, tall, slim and darkhaired. It was infinitely better than being seated next to Evelyn's father (a notorious bore) or Sir Thomas Russel, who was very likely to overindulge in his wine.
She noted with sympathy that poor Sybil was placed next to Larry Grey again (seriously, was Mama blind?) and with interest that while Sir Anthony was invited, he was seated on the opposite side of the table from Edith, who partnered Evelyn Napier instead. Clearly he was being kept in reserve in case nothing came from Evelyn's tentative courtship.
By rules of etiquette Mary was forced to converse first with Mr Talbot, while Matthew was talking with Aunt Rosamund. Thankfully Mr Talbot confirmed the initial good impression he had made.
"Are you visiting your aunt often?" asked Mary, long training in small talk at parties exactly like this one making choice of neutral topic easy and automatic. Sometimes the discussion went into unpredictable and interesting areas, but in her experience and cynical views most remained bland and perfectly boring.
"Quite often," answered Mr Talbot pleasantly. "Aunt Prudence is truly fond of her nephews and nieces. She always goes to great pains to ensure that I have a good time, although we all know that it's my younger brother Henry who is her favourite."
Mary raised her eyebrows.
"Pray, do you know what your brother did to earn such distinction?"
Mr Talbot laughed.
"He just remained his carefree, dashing, devil-may-care, charming self. The only difference is that as a child he was racing ponies and now he is racing cars. Pater does not approve and Mater is having vapours every time she sees one of his stunts, but Aunt Prudence finds him a marvel. Much more distinguished than a poor, boring me."
"What is it then, Mr Talbot, that you enjoy doing, since obviously it's not risking your neck at great speeds?" asked Mary archly, making him laugh. Mary somehow did notice, despite looking straight at Mr Talbot, that Matthew couldn't resist turning a bit in their direction despite being busy talking about some recent play with Aunt Rosamund. Mary supressed a satisfied smirk. It was good to know she was not the only one of them affected by the other receiving attention from opposite sex.
"Nothing interesting, unfortunately. I'm a simple country gentleman in fact as well as in heart. I shoot, I hunt, I fish and I ride, and I enjoy all those activities immensely. When the weather is bad, I do not mind a game of cards or a nice dinner party like this one for merry company."
Mary agreed silently with his self-assessment. Boring, indeed! She knew a dozen if not more young men exactly like him. Handsome, pleasant, well-bred, but without one original thought in their heads. Once upon a time she had been resigned to eventually marrying one of them.
Thankfully her mother had her feel of Viscount Branksome's company very quickly and, leaving him to poor Aunt Rosamund, turned to much more pleasant conversation with Shrimpie – which in turn freed Matthew and Mary to converse together.
"Mr Talbot seemed quite captivated by you," observed Matthew immediately. Mary smirked slightly, very satisfied with his reaction, but also eager to reassure him. The last thing she wanted was another eight months of barely any contact with him like it had happened in the aftermath of salty pudding dinner and her extremely ill-timed bet with Edith.
"We were mostly talking about how boring he is in comparison to his car-racing brother," she said dismissively. "Unfortunately, while I have never met younger Mr Talbot, I agree he must be the more interesting of the two."
Matthew's lips turned up.
"I take then that you were hardly as captivated by him as he was by you?" he asked boldly. Mary sent him a look from under her eyelashes.
"Now, how could I answer a question like that? Either I end up rude or inappropriate."
"We can't have that, true," answered Matthew with a smirk. "So maybe you would answer another – have you enjoyed the valentines you have received?"
"Well enough," Mary smiled teasingly. "Although one contained rather gloomy poem."
Matthew's face fell.
"Oh."
"Thankfully," continued Mary. "It happened to concern my favourite Greek myth, so I didn't mind the gloominess. I wonder who would know me well enough to realise that."
She had to stifle her giggling at Matthew's visible relief. Sometimes he was just too easy to tease.
"I would argue that the poem is not gloomy at all," argued Matthew. "Andromeda thinks that she is forsaken by everybody, but Perseus is coming. Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs his thoughts on her."
Mary's eyebrows shot up.
"And how do you know which poem it was, Matthew?"
There it was, the adorable "dead fish" look from their first meeting. She rather thought that if they weren't at a very public dinner he would have dropped his head in his hands with a groan.
"Well," he stammered. "I happen to know that your favourite Greek myth is the story of Perseus and Andromeda, so I assumed that the poem you've received must be "Andromeda" by Gerard Manley Hopkins."
"You assumed right," she said with amusement. "Nearly presciently so. It was indeed Manley Hopkins' poem. And I will argue that whether Perseus is coming or not, the description of Andromeda's peril is quite stark."
"That it is," agreed Matthew, clearly eager to move past his accidental admittance of being the sender of the card. "But there is hope of rescue in the poem and we know that the story has a happy ending."
"Rare as it is in Greek myths. Or most of stories of any kind. Which I guess is close enough to real life, but rather depressing to read."
"So you prefer happy endings?"
"Yes," said Mary firmly. "I definitely do."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you enjoyed another mostly fluffy chapter! In the next few the events will take a sharper turn from canon, starting with unexpected appearance of two gentlemen at Lady Rosamund's winter ball.