CHAPTER 10 – MR PAMUK COMES TO DOWNTON
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I thought that this chapter requires a bit of a warning - we are dealing with the events of Kemal Pamuk's visit at Downton and, as my understanding of it is that what happened between him and Mary was not fully consensual, this is what this chapter deals with. I know that many people interpret canon events differently, including Julian Fellowes who stated clearly that he was writing a scene about seduction and submission to passion. However, watching and rewatching this episode repeatedly, this is not how it looks to me. I'm perfectly ok if some of my readers disagree with me, but I wanted to warn that since this is my view, this chapter will deal with themes of consent and coercion. There won't be anything more graphic than in canon, but Mary will be reflecting on what happened in her original timeline and what is happening here.
Morning Room, Downton Abbey, March 1913
Mary was pretty sure that she would avoid the whole Pamuk situation by simple means of not inviting Evelyn Napier to the hunt. After all, she was now expected to be engaged to Matthew soon and had no need to correspond with other potential suitors. It was pretty clear to everyone in the family Matthew was courting her and she was not at all opposed to it.
She forgot about Edith.
In their previous life Edith had not corresponded with anyone, one of the reasons she had felt the need to snoop into her older sister's letters, thought Mary viciously. Either searching for inspiration or living vicariously through her more popular sibling. Now though Mary was practically off the market and not only Edith was most probably jealous and yearning for an engagement of her own, but also their Mama and Granny's attention had shifted to the next daughter's prospects – so she probably faced both the pressure and the encouragement. However this came about, she triumphantly announced at the breakfast table that Evelyn Napier has accepted her invitation for the hunt, and he was bringing a friend.
Mary went up to her room. She suddenly lost her appetite.
Library, Downton Abbey, March 1913
This afternoon a proper plotting session was taking place in the library.
"It's not of my doing. It's all Edith's own work. But I think we should encourage it," said Cora proudly, sharing rather astonishing news that her middle daughter managed to secure an acceptance to her invitation from a potential suitor. And one who was not her father's age either.
"He is definitely better option than Sir Anthony," scoffed the Dowager, whose thoughts were apparently following similar lines.
"Branksome's a dull dog but I don't suppose that matters," noted Robert over his newspaper.
"Did you know his wife died?" asked Cora and he shook his head.
"He only ever talks about racing."
"Cora's right," Violet got back down to business. Viscount Branksome might be an old bore, but it was his son who was important here. "We all hope Mary will take Matthew Crawley, so we need to focus on getting Edith settled before the bloom is quite gone off the rose."
"Is the family an old one?" asked Cora. Violet snorted.
"Older than yours, I imagine." Cora rolled her eyes in response. Her mother-in-law's insults to her lineage stopped bothering her about twenty years ago, but she obviously never stopped them coming.
"Old enough," answered Robert, throwing a warning glance at his mother. Not that it had any effect.
"And there's plenty of money," noted Cora approvingly. It would be nice to have Edith so comfortably settled.
"Really?" Violet played innocent. Her son sighed and rolled his eyes himself.
"Mama, you've already looked him up in the stud books and made inquiries about his fortune before he even came here for the New Year shoot. Don't pretend otherwise."
Violet drew herself up and became very grand indeed in indignation, which didn't stop Robert from finishing.
"Are you afraid someone will think you American if you speak openly?"
"I doubt it would come to that."
"Shall I ring for tea?" hastened to ask Cora, fearing a full-blown fight to start any moment.
Robert checked the clock on the chimneypiece and stood up.
"Not for me. I'm meeting Cripps at five. Bramley wants to move one of the feeding pens and he needs a decision. I'll see you at dinner."
He walked out with a brisk nod to his wife and mother, who looked at each other warily.
"You don't seem very pleased," noted Cora carefully.
"I'm pleased. It isn't brilliant but I'm pleased, especially with all those drives Sir Anthony has been taking Edith for."
"So?"
"I don't want Robert to use Mary's possible marriage as an excuse to stop fighting for her inheritance."
"What's the point of fighting if Mary and Matthew are going to be wed?"
"But are they?" asked Violet with a sharp look, "They do seem to get along brilliantly, but there hasn't been any announcement."
"Mary did need time to get over Patrick and Matthew does not seem the type to say something until he is sure of the question being welcomed," said Cora, hiding her own doubts. "And Mary did say she is willing to give him a chance, but she wants to do it on her own terms to be really sure."
Violet scoffed.
"But so far none of it is sure and in case it won't come to be, we should take care that Mary's inheritance is secure. If then she marries Matthew, they will both have the fortune and the title anyway and all will be well, but if they don't, at least Mary will be settled as she should be and will face much grander prospects for marriage."
"I don't think Robert had the slightest intention of fighting as it is," sighed Cora, "The price of saving Downton is to accept Matthew Crawley as his heir. And, as far as he's concerned, that's that. And maybe it is resolved. How many times have you written to lawyers only to get the same answer? The entail's unbreakable. Mary cannot inherit. To be fair to Mr Murray he said it from the start."
"The truth is, no London lawyer wants to challenge him," said Violet bitterly. "They feel they need Murray's permission. What we need is a lawyer who is decent and honour bound to look into it, whatever Murray might say. And I... I think perhaps I know just the man."
"I'd hate to go behind Robert's back," said Cora cautiously, not really willing to be dragged into her mother-in-law's scheme.
"So you agree with him?" asked Violet sharply.
"I don't dislike Matthew. In fact, I rather admire him."
"And is that sufficient reason to give him your money?"
"Of course not, but - "
"Then there's no more to be said. Are we having tea? Or not?"
Cora sighed again and rung the bell for Carson. There was indeed no more to be said. She just hoped that Mary and Matthew settle the matter soon and make the whole issue moot.
Downton grounds, March 1913
It was the first time Matthew was a part of the official hunting party at Downton and even after living here for the last six months, he had to admit he was a bit awed by the splendour of the occasion. Milling horses and dogs, people dressed in their elegant hunting gear, footmen carrying drinks, pastries and delicate little canapes – it all made for an amazing, if a little chaotic, picture. He just hoped he was not going to make too much of a fool of himself. He had plenty of practice on a horse in recent months – Mary seemed pleased to take him for rides and give him some lessons – and although he felt a bit ridiculous in his shiny new red riding coat and top hat, he had to admit he fitted right in with the rest of the riders. It was still his first proper hunt of this scale though and in such illustrious company and he didn't exactly feel in his element.
Then he noticed Mary in her black riding habit, top hat and a veil, looking like an Amazon on top of Diamond, and he remembered the reason he was doing it despite his discomfort and misgivings. Frankly, he was convinced that by now he would have followed her to hell and back. Taking part in a hunt was a small price to pay for spending time with her.
She smiled widely at him in welcome.
"You look nice!"
"You have beaten me before I managed to say the same thing to you," he answered with a smile of his own.
"Seriously though, red becomes you," for a moment, Mary seemed wistful, but before he could inquire further into it, she shook her head ruefully and smiled again. "We should start in a moment; I think we are just waiting for the last few stragglers."
"Who is still missing?" asked Matthew, looking around, "I see Evelyn just arriving. Wasn't he supposed to bring a guest?"
"Yes," answered Mary stiffly, "a diplomat of some kind."
Evelyn rode to them, greeting them in his usual pleasant manner.
"We were fools not to accept your mother's invitation and send the horses down early. As it is, my groom only got here an hour or two ago, and my mount's as jumpy as a deb at her first ball."
Mary took a deep breath.
"What about Mr Pamuk? I gather if he takes tumble, you'll be endangering world peace."
"Not only that. His father is a bigwig at the Ottoman Court, so if I didn't get him home safe and sound, I know I'll be beheaded by proxy," joked Evelyn.
"Isn't it a risk to take him hunting?" asked Matthew with a smile. Mary pursued her lips, incapable of joining in the amusement.
"Don't worry about Kemal. He knows what he's doing on a horse."
"Where is he?" asked Mary impatiently.
"Fussing. He's rather a dandy. You should have heard him ask about the clothes for what he persists in calling a "noble house"."
"I can understand that," said Matthew. "The whole scene is intimidating enough for uninitiated without mortification of being dressed wrongly for the occasion."
"You are definitely dressed appropriately," answered Evelyn with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Whoever instructed you, did a good job."
"I must thank my valet then," sighed Matthew. "He hasn't relented until he got me outfitted to the nines."
"It's the matter of professional pride, you know," pointed Mary. "I would think you understand such things as a professional man yourself."
Matthew raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"I am well chided on the matter on Molesley's pride, you do not need to beat that horse anymore."
They were interrupted by the arrival of Mr Pamuk, who on approaching them stood in his stirrups and doffed his silk hat.
"Lady Mary Crawley, I presume?"
"You presume right," said Mary with unexpected coldness. "And you must be Evelyn's guest, Mr Pamuk. May I introduce my cousin and my father's heir, Mr Matthew Crawley?"
Pamuk greeted him politely and dismissively, his eyes remaining focused on Mary. Matthew bristled next to her. He might have no right to express his jealousy, but he would be damned if he had to tolerate another man, a complete stranger at that, ogling the woman he loved in such obvious manner. Even if he wasn't anything more than a cousin to her, he still was on the brink of intervening. As much as he was wary of Evelyn's intentions, at least he was perfectly polite and respectful in his behaviour towards Mary. Mr Pamuk definitely wasn't and it was obvious to Matthew that he was making Mary uncomfortable. She had her polite mask firmly on, her shoulders straight, and he knew in what situations she was reverting to it.
"Sorry to be so dishevelled. We've been on a train since dawn and we had to change in a shed."
"We will soon all be much more dishevelled from the ride," said Mary dismissively, avoiding his stare. "Lynch, please stay with me on the hunt. Diamond seems a bit excited by the commotion, it's been some time since he took part in such a big gathering."
Matthew looked at her in surprise. She seemed as much in control of Diamond as ever and he well knew that she usually found the presence of the groom on her rides irritating, treating it as living embodiment of her father's doubts in her riding skills.
Lynch nodded.
"His lordship asked me to already, milady."
Mary just rolled her eyes but didn't retract her order.
The horn sounded and the hunt started.
The rode fast and hard, with booming sound of the horses' hooves and deafening barking of the dogs. Matthew was pleased to see that he was able to keep pace with Mary, a bit to the side of the group, with Lynch right behind them. Evelyn and Mr Pamuk also tried to keep nearby, but Mary didn't pay them much attention, seemingly focused on her goal.
To his immense satisfaction, he managed to complete the hunt without falling off or embarrassing himself in some other manner. Mary led him to the house through the side entrance where those of the participants who were staying for dinner were busy taking off their muddy shoes and outer clothes, collected by the servants for scraping and cleaning. They walked into the Great Hall in their stockinged feet and, in Matthew's case, shirtsleeves.
"I've never thought I would walk through here in such informal attire," noted Matthew with amusement.
"Don't forget the mud on your face," teased Mary. She rather enjoyed the sight in front of her.
Matthew looked at her mischievously.
"I wouldn't point out my dirty face, Lady Mary," he answered, surprising her by his playful use of her title.
"Whyever not?" she raised her eyebrow in question.
"Because then I will be forced to mention your dishevelled and muddy hair."
Their easy laughter got interrupted by approach of Robert.
"Home is the hunter. Home from the hill. Heavens. You have been in the wars."
That just set them off again, with Robert looking on in bewildered indulgence. He did not mind not getting the joke though; he was much too pleased to see their camaraderie.
With greatest reluctance, Mary performed the introduction of Mr Pamuk and reintroduced Evelyn. She noted with unease that even Mama was not immune to the Turk's charm. She had been too busy making eyes at him last time to notice.
She also made a note that Thomas was announced as Pamuk's valet for his stay. Was he the one who had shown him her room?
"Now, what would you like? Something to eat?" asked Robert genially.
"Baths first," answered Mary with a playful glance at Matthew, who grinned in response. "Then eggs in our rooms."
"Mr Crawley, Mr Molesley is waiting for you in your bedroom in the Bachelor Wing with the change of clothes. Thomas will show you the way."
Matthew nodded, following Thomas, Evelyn and Mr Pamuk upstairs. This was the first time he was spending the night at the big house. He considered it rather unnecessary, taking into account how close his house was to the manor, but Mary insisted it would be more practical and save him valuable time to get ready for dinner after muddy hunt – and since he would be taking a bedroom, why not spend the night and share breakfast with the family and the rest of the guests? He was much more convinced by her apparent want for his company than her arguments but accepted them on face value. Sinking appreciatively into hot bath and feeling his tightened muscles relax, he found himself more grateful for her invitation than he expected.
Drawing Room, Downton Abbey, March 1913
Mary sighed, seeing Mr Pamuk's intense gaze on herself again. She intervened with the sitting plan, making sure she was between Matthew and Papa, far away from the diplomat. Neither that nor her coldness towards him seemed to discourage him much though, as he seemed to search for her immediately after the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. Deciding to get reinforcements, she deftly walked through the gathered crowd and touched Matthew's sleeve lightly to get his attention.
"Matthew, could you please make sure I am not left alone in the company of Mr Pamuk?" she said lowly, making sure they would not be overheard.
Matthew's eyes narrowed.
"Why? Has he tried anything?"
"No," answered Mary reluctantly. Not yet, she thought. "But I do not like how he looks at me. He did not do anything specific I could really accuse him of, but he gives me a bad feeling," she shuddered slightly. "I'm glad you're staying at the Abbey tonight. I expect to rest easier knowing that you are here. Please, do not retire until after I did, alright?"
Matthew's brow furrowed and he grasped her arm tightly.
"Mary, are you sure he hasn't done anything? I have never seen you so... rattled."
Mary shook her head.
"It really is just a feeling, probably totally irrational. But please, don't leave me with him."
Matthew frowned with air of fierce determination.
"Not in my life," he said firmly, glaring at the smiling foreigner busy charming Cora at the moment.
xxx
Matthew kept his word and stuck to her side like a glue. Observing the dark looks he was sending towards the Turk Mary regretted a little bit showing him so much of her fear of the man – she did not plan to, but her whole body was tense with knowledge of both what he had done and what price she had paid for it over the years. Still, people did notice Matthew's protective behaviour and there were bound to be some rumours regarding the cause for it, something she desperately wanted to avoid. She regretted now she did not simply go away to London for the weekend and avoided the hunt entirely.
She had to excuse herself briefly to use the powder room and of course it was when Pamuk found her alone in the hallway. He must have somehow escaped Matthew's scrutiny and it was clear that he was not daunted by it.
"How lucky I am to have a precious moment with you without your cousin hovering, Lady Mary" said he smoothly, approaching her with quick steps and blocking her way in the narrow corridor. His burning eyes never left her, totally focused on his prey and Mary couldn't help it, she just froze for a moment. Pamuk noticed and smirked. "I thought it was going to be impossible with him playing guard dog so diligently."
"I don't think we have anything to say to each other which we couldn't share in front of him or anyone else," answered Mary stiffly, hoping to put him off. Instead he leaned closer, cornering her, and before she could react, he kissed her forcibly, pushing her hard against the wall. She felt his body reacting to hers and she nearly retched with revulsion.
"Let me come to you tonight. Please."
"Mr Pamuk..."
"Please. I don't know when we will meet again, so let it be tonight."
Mary was not sure whether the feel and sound of her hand slapping him soundly was more shocking to him or her. She did not make a conscious decision to hit him; it seemed like her body decided to defend itself by pure instinct – or memory.
"I do not wish to hear such things from you ever again," she hissed at him. "Don't you dare speak to me at all. I did nothing to attract your attention and I do not wish for your advances. Leave me alone before I tell my father to cast you out into the darkness!"
She pushed forcibly by him and hastened in the direction of the drawing room and the safety of the crowded party. Before she reached it, she noticed Matthew, evidently looking for her.
She practically ran into Matthew's arms, clinging to him desperately. She knew she shouldn't; she knew she was probably shocking him, but she was so distressed it was a pure instinct for her to seek comfort in his arms.
"Mary, Mary, whatever has he done to you?" exclaimed Matthew hugging her tightly. She just shook her head and trembled. "Never mind, whatever it was he is leaving the house immediately. We are going straight to your father and throwing him out."
"No!" Mary cried, fighting for composure. For goodness' sake, she had been more level-headed carrying this man's corpse than successfully fending off his unwanted advances now. She had no idea what really upset her so much right now but seeing Matthew's furious face she knew she had to get herself under control and quickly. She was absolutely determined to avoid any kind of scandal this time around and Matthew going to her father and them both throwing Pamuk out in righteous indignation, however much deserved, was not a way to avoid scandal.
"Why not?" asked Matthew incredulously. "He clearly attempted something which has you completely distraught; after already scaring you so much from the moment he arrived. Whatever reason can you have to let him stay here any minute longer?"
Mary took a deep breath.
"The scandal. If you and Papa throw him out, however much I would love you to do that, people would talk and they would say it's my fault, that I encouraged him or welcomed his advances."
Matthew's expression grew murderous.
"It was hardly your fault; you have been avoiding him the whole time like a plague he is! And even if you didn't, even if you flirted with him outrageously, he had no right to force his advances on you!"
Oh, she loved this precious man so terribly much! She barely resisted caressing his cheek.
"Thank you for that. You don't, you can't realise how much it means to me that you see it like that," she said softly. "But I am afraid this is not how people usually see such matters. And I could not face the gossip and speculations throwing him out in disgrace would certainly start. He is leaving in the morning, please just stay with me until he does."
Matthew looked suddenly stricken.
"Oh God, Mary, I am so sorry. You have already asked this of me, and I have failed to protect you."
"I could hardly ask you to follow me everywhere," she teased him lightly, trying to show him she truly found him completely blameless in the matter. "There are just some places where a gentleman cannot follow."
"Obviously though a man who is no gentleman can," growled Matthew. "I am not letting you out of my sight again tonight; I will guard the bathroom door if I need to."
Mary blushed, not just at his direct reference to bathrooms, but also wishing so much she could just invite him to her bedroom to guard her door there. And maybe to enjoy other activities as well. Oh, the wedding couldn't come soon enough for her!
Lady Mary's Bedroom, Downton Abbey, March 1913
Mary sat in her bed, not even pretending to read her book. She was hugging her knees and eyeing the door with trepidation. Her locked door. When Pamuk finally retired and Matthew escorted her to her room, the first thing she did was turn the key twice. Only then did she remember that she still needed to open the door for Anna when she came to prepare her for the night. Still, she only opened it when she heard Anna's surprised voice and locked it again securely the second her maid left. Then she took her defensive position on the bed and was waiting, waiting.
Part of her hoped that her much more restrained behaviour during the hunt and the party and the definitely not weak slap she served him when he kissed her would this time send the message clearly across to him and he didn't decide to invade her privacy. The other part though, the part which lived longer and dealt with the war and Richard's bullying, that part noticed cynically that the kind of man Pamuk clearly was enjoyed breaking resistance the most, the chase and submission of their prey, and that it did not matter how cold and clear she was to him in her refusal, it would just make him more determined to break it. And she suddenly realised that this very insight into him made her so very upset earlier, after the kiss and the slap, because for the very first time she realised that it really hadn't been her fault before. She had been condemning herself for so many years for flirting with him, for encouraging him. She had been convinced that if only she had behaved in more circumspect manner he would not have come and nothing would have happened. And yet this time she did everything right, she couldn't have been more disinterested and clearer that she wished nothing to do with him and he still attacked her. It was not her and her reckless behaviour, it was all him, and that knowledge was both freeing and scary. Freeing from her guilt and shame, but scary, so scary, because it was taking away her agency, her choice. As much as her choice to submit to his advances had shamed and tortured her for years, at least it had been her choice or so she had thought. To see now that even making opposite choice could still result in the same outcome, that her wishes counted for nothing to him, and he was still determined to take from her what he wanted, whatever her feelings on the matter, it made her feel scared and powerless and she hated feeling like that with a passion.
But this time there was a sturdy lock and heavy wooden door between them and she hoped they would be enough to defend herself if he even come. This time she was prepared.
xxx
He came.
The doorknob rattled, there was a muffled curse and then a quick knock on the door. She did not respond, hoping he would think her asleep.
Of course Pamuk was not so easily ignored.
"Lady Mary," she heard his intense though quiet whisper, "open the door."
She bit her lip to stop herself from rude answer. Do not engage, do not engage, she repeated to herself mentally. Talking with him was dangerous.
"Lady Mary, I burn for you, I am in the grip of madness. Open the door, please. It will be a night none of us will be able to forget."
"Absolutely not," hissed Mary, unable to keep silent. The absolute nerve of this man! "Wasn't I clear enough before?! I do not wish to do anything with you and if you don't go back to your room immediately, I will scream or ring the bell and then we will see whether it will be my father or my cousin who will be the first to strangle you!"
"Oh, your cousin would love to" chuckled Pamuk, undaunted "He was glowering at me the whole evening, just for daring to look at his treasured possession. He could sense your want for me, your attraction to me, of a kind he knows he could never inspire in you."
Mary saw red.
"Matthew is better in bed that you could ever dream to be, you pathetic little worm! At least he knows how to satisfy a woman, not just himself!"
There was a moment of stunned silence behind the door and then more chuckling.
"My, my, aren't you much more adventurous than I expected, my lady. I am not sure if I am more shocked that prim and proper Lady Mary abandoned her principles to this degree or that priggish Mr. Crawley had the gumption to use it to his advantage."
Mary's hands flew to her betraying mouth. Oh God, how could she have put herself and Matthew into his power like this?! Every word she said was true, but not here, not in this life, but in one where she had been Matthew's wife for nearly two wonderful years. Her speech was that of an adult married woman, not an inexperienced, sheltered girl she was again supposed to be.
With greatest difficulty she forced herself to control her emotions and end this awful conversation.
"Whatever I did or did not do with my cousin, I do not intend to do anything with you, Mr. Pamuk and it's final. I advise you to go back to your room as soon and quietly as possible and forget this whole conversation before you attract attention to yourself. We are hardly alone in this corridor and the longer you remain here talking the bigger risk you are taking. Go away, Mr. Pamuk, and for God's sake do not speak to me ever again!"
The doorknob rattled again but held firm. She heard another muffled curse in a language she did not recognise and then, to her horror, a sudden moan and a thud, as if something heavy fell on the carpet. Abandoning caution, she opened the door and stared at a dead body lying at her bedroom's doorstep.
xxx
Thomas was dealing with unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of guilt.
When he agreed to follow terms of Mr Pamuk's blackmail he didn't feel guilty for it – he didn't see what other choice he had and anyway he assumed that Mr Pamuk's assignation with Lady Mary was by mutual agreement. But when he led him to her room and was sent away, he stayed hidden behind a pillar to see how the situation proceeded. What he saw made him deeply uncomfortable.
Lady Mary's door was locked and he could clearly hear that she was protesting Mr Pamuk's attempts to enter her bedroom – and that Mr Pamuk's ignored those protests. When he thought what he could have been responsible for if Lady Mary's door were not locked securely, he felt queasy. Mr Pamuk clearly was not the man to take 'no' for an answer.
Thomas wondered briefly if he should summon help or intervene somehow, but awareness of his own culpability and reasons for it stayed his hand. He prayed for the doors' sturdiness.
Suddenly his ears perked up. He couldn't hear exactly what Lady Mary was saying, other than she clearly sounded furious and was definitely not letting Mr Pamuk anywhere near her, but he could hear Mr Pamuk and he seemed to be saying that Lady Mary admitted to a liaison with Mr Crawley. Now, that was an unexpected scoop! He wouldn't have put anything beyond stuck up Lady Mary, who clearly thought herself above rules binding mere mortals, but he always thought Mr Crawley to be a prig and stickler for propriety. A very handsome prig, more the pity. Thomas was not blind, after all. But Mr Crawley was always making cow's eyes at Lady Mary, so maybe there was something afoot.
Thomas was distracted enough that he startled at a sudden thud. When he looked again into the dark corridor he noticed Lady Mary in her nightgown, hands over her mouth in shock, standing over collapsed figure of Mr Pamuk, laying seemingly lifeless at her feet.
God almighty, did she just kill him?!
xxx
For a long moment, she was frozen in shock and indecision. On one hand she managed to successfully defend herself – he did not breach her defences, he did not manage to touch her. And yet, in death, he had once again a chance to ruin her. Though he died in the hallway instead of her bed it was still very obviously in pursuit of her and she was rather cynical about her chances of that important distinction to make sufficient difference in the outcome. Once again, she had to get rid of his body and somehow her previous experience did not make it any easier.
She considered frantically who to ask for help with this nightmarish task. Although she could explain herself so much better now than in the past, she balked at the thought of involving her mother again. Cora's disapproval and disappointment in her had hurt her too much and for too long to forget it, even though the circumstances were on her side this time. She wanted somebody who would truly support her, who would not judge, who would do what was needed and comfort her afterwards. She wanted Matthew.
At first the thought shocked her – how in heavens she could involve Matthew in her shame?! But then she realised that this time around it did make some sense. He already knew that Pamuk wanted her, he had not blamed her in the slightest for the earlier incident and would not despise her or refuse his assistance now. He was also strong enough to carry Pamuk by himself or with just her, which would mean she did not have to involve Anna in her sordid troubles again. Yes, she would go to Matthew, he would make it all right.
As soon as she started to go towards the bachelors' wing it occurred to her that she did not actually know in which room Matthew had been put. She changed direction and went towards the servants' staircase; she still needed Anna after all – the last thing she needed was to find herself in Evelyn's bedroom by mistake!
God bless Anna! She reacted much the same as in her previous life, although with fierce look of anger and compassion at Mary's explanation that Mr Pamuk died attempting to gain entrance into her bedroom without the smallest invitation. Knowing how absolutely loyal Anna had been when confronted with much different and definitely less flattering version of the story Mary was convinced that she could not find a better protector for her secret. And thank Almighty she did know which bedroom belonged to Matthew and did not balk at Mary's suggestion to enlist his help.
They went together, hurrying in oncoming dawn. Mary was very aware of the fact that last time they were witnessed by Daisy and all the trouble which followed from this quarter, so she made hasty plan with Anna for her to go downstairs as soon as they fetched Matthew and stop Daisy by any means from coming upstairs too early, preferably without arousing any suspicion.
They reached Matthew's bedroom soon after and hesitated in front of the door. Which of them should breach it and wake him up? In mute agreement they entered together, adding dubious propriety by avoiding being alone with him. Matthew was deeply asleep and for a moment Mary's heart clenched in longing to be able to share his bed again, to sleep peacefully in his arms. She was so happy that they managed to get friendly so quickly in this life; so painlessly, and yet she longed for intimacy and connection welded through all the suffering and hardship they had to face and endure together.
Well, she told herself grimly, she was just about to ensure Matthew's and her courtship abandoned all convention. With determination she reached down and shook his shoulder, putting her second hand on his mouth to quiet any possible scream.
Matthew's eyes flew open in shock at seeing her in her nightgown over him and for a moment she regretted she did not think to put on at least a robe. Dismissing it as momentarily irrelevant, she quickly managed to say that she desperately needed his help.
"He's dead?" asked Matthew, looking completely gobsmacked. She didn't blame him, but still bristled with impatience. Dawn was approaching and they had no time.
"Yes! At my bedroom doorstep. He cannot stay there, we must move him, and quick, the servants will be awake soon!"
Matthew sat up straight.
"What was he doing at your doorstep?" he asked, with his voice low and dangerous. Even though Mary was reasonably sure he was not angry with her, she still couldn't help flinching from it.
"Trying to break in. I locked the door, so he didn't manage and then he died."
Matthew sprung from the bed and hugged her tightly.
"Oh, my darling, are you alright? Has this bloody bastard hurt you at all?"
The concern in his voice, the absolute assurance that she was not at fault for the events of this night, nearly undid Mary. It was only much later than she realised he called her "darling", it felt so right, so natural for him to call her so. For a moment she allowed herself to sink into his embrace, but with Anna pointing again the time she straightened and managed to speak with barely any trembling.
"You don't have to worry, he never touched me at all. But we must make haste if I'm not to be ruined as if he did."
Matthew recollected himself and together they practically ran to the family wing, with Anna hurrying downstairs to intercept Daisy. Even knowing what to expect, Matthew still startled at the sight of a corpse at this cousin's doorstep, both from the grim reality of it and from terrifying thought what could have happened if she hadn't thought to lock the door, with him sleeping unaware and useless just down the hall.
"Will you manage yourself or do we have to carry him together?" whispered Mary and in the moment he felt such admiration for her strength and clarity of thought he thought his chest would burst with love for this woman.
"I think I will manage. You carry the candle and lead the way." With a grunt he managed to lift the corpse over his shoulder and, although staggering a little bit, carried it back to the bachelors' corridor with reasonable speed. He dumped it on the bed and for a moment he and Mary were left staring at each other, he still panting from the effort of schlepping literally dead weight and she pale like a ghost, trembling slightly. The surreal situation they found themselves in seemed to sink in now, when their most onerous and urgent task was complete.
"Thank you," whispered Mary finally, all the stress and terror of the last day and night catching with her. "I would not have been able to do it without your help."
Matthew made a hasty step towards her and hugged her with bitter laugh.
"You managed fantastically without my help. You have defended yourself alone while I was sleeping peacefully like a baby."
Mary shook her head quickly.
"You mustn't blame yourself. What were you supposed to do, camp in my bedroom the whole night? Or outside his door? Nobody could predict he would be insane enough to go out and search for me, not to mention find my room at all."
"You predicted it, Mary" noticed Matthew shrewdly. "You locked your door for a reason."
Mary shivered at the memory of the doorknob rattling and an even darker one, of him entering.
"I did not predict it. I was just afraid," she whispered. Matthew's arms hugged her tighter, his face pained.
"If he wasn't already dead, I would have killed him for scaring you so," he said vehemently. Never in his life he felt such hatred and need for violence. He really thought that if the Turk somehow raised from the dead, he would put him right back without smallest hesitation or remorse. That bloody bastard was trying to...trying to... even in his own mind he couldn't force himself to finish that sentence and name what so nearly happened to the woman he loved so dearly.
Mary sighed and with utmost reluctance stepped out of his embrace.
"We have to go back to our bedrooms. Anna cannot hold Daisy back forever."
"Will you be alright back there?" enquired Matthew with concern. He knew she was right, but at the same time there was nothing he wanted less at the moment than parting from her now.
Mary nodded. Her bedroom had been full of ghosts for her for years now and she was used to it. What happened tonight, as nightmarish as it was, was the good scenario. He tried again and failed; this time she did not submit to him and his manipulation.
"When are we going to tell your father then? Do you want to wake him up now or tell him after breakfast?" asked Matthew, shocking her out of her reverie.
"Why on Earth would we tell Papa what happened?!" she felt her eyes growing wide at the very thought.
Matthew looked at her with clear astonishment.
"How could we not?!"
"Nothing happened. Mr Pamuk died in his bed and he will be duly discovered in the morning. There is no need to alarm Papa with anything else which might have happened during the night," she said firmly.
"But Mary, you were nearly... nearly..." again, he couldn't complete the sentence. Mary looked at him furiously and hissed.
"But I wasn't. There is absolutely no need to talk with Papa about any of it and I forbid you to raise this subject with him!"
They heard a clatter of coal bucket on the stairs and as choreographed started hurrying to their respective bedrooms.
"We will talk about it after breakfast" whispered Matthew in the direction of Mary's back and saw her shoulders stiffen in the harsh light of winter morning.
Servants' quarters, Downton Abbey, March 1913
Thomas was laying in his bed, his mind still reeling from the events of the night. His own grievous mistake, Pamuk's terrifying blackmail, his even more horrifying attempt to force himself on Lady Mary, his death – what the hell Lady Mary did to him to cause it? - and then seeing clearly in the light of rising sun Mr Crawley helping Lady Mary to carry his body. Pamuk's words about those two having an affair definitely sounded way more believable now – Thomas could not imagine helping to cover a murder, even one clearly in self-defence, for anybody less than a lover.
Now, what was he supposed to do with all that information?
Rose Garden, Downton Abbey, March 1913
Matthew managed to find Mary in the rose garden. He wanted to start immediately where they stopped at dawn, but her drawn, pale face stopped him.
"How are you, Mary?" he asked instead with concern. He realised with shame that as much as the events of the night had distressed him, they must have been tenfold more traumatic for Mary.
Mary gave him a caustic look.
"I've been better," she said wryly, "but I will survive. I am trying to comfort myself with the thought that it could have been so much worse."
Matthew gulped. To be honest, he was doing his utmost to avoid thinking about how much worse it could have been. If Mary hadn't locked her door... He shuddered.
They stood for a moment in silence, both lost in thought. Eventually, Mary spoke first.
"I haven't thanked you properly for your help."
Matthew looked at her in surprise.
"But you did, don't you remember? Immediately after we left Pamuk's room."
"I guess I was too caught up in everything to remember that," said Mary, hugging herself. "But I am glad I did thank you. And I also wanted to apologise for involving you in that sordid affair."
"You have nothing to apologise for," cried Matthew firmly. "As much as I dearly wish you were spared the whole ordeal, I am glad that I was able to help you. I am very glad that it was me you asked."
Mary gave him a long look.
"I couldn't imagine anyone else I could have asked for help," she said softly. "I knew that I could trust you and Anna to be sensible, to do what must be done, and to keep it all secret afterwards."
"And I thank you for your trust," said Matthew seriously. "But I do feel uncomfortable keeping it secret from your father. Why don't you want to tell him?"
"Because Papa would hit a roof," said Mary with clear exasperation. "He gets worked up over much less significant matters than attempted seduction of his daughter. I guess you haven't yet witnessed him in a proper rage, but believe me, half of the household would know every detail before you finished telling him what happened. Papa is not exactly quiet when stressed about something."
"But you have done nothing wrong!"
"When has it ever mattered?" Mary asked cynically. "A man died at my doorstep, in the middle of the night. Believe me, if that story got out, there would be no end of troubles, for years. I would have to live with a constant prospect of utter social ruin hanging over my head. Whether I did anything to invite it, to cause this situation or not, the consequences would still be the same. I've seen it happen, Matthew. I know how it works. And I beg you to do as I ask and tell no one, absolutely no one. Please."
The pain in her eyes was too much for Matthew's resilience. He took her in his arms and embraced her tightly.
"Of course, Mary. I promise," he said roughly. "I disagree about keeping it secret from your father, but I will do as you ask. Nobody ever has to know."
He felt Mary relax in his embrace in obvious relief.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I knew I was right to trust you."