Midday found Mary at the Dower House having luncheon with her grandmother.

Since telling her that she did not have long left to live, the Dowager had kept regular appointments with Mary, treating them as briefings on her affairs and what she would like her granddaughter to continue with after she had gone. They were sessions that Mary both treasured and loathed. She welcomed the time they afforded her alone with her cherished grandmother, but they also served to remind her that that time was drawing to an end.

Today, however, Mary's mind was still on her exchange of words with Tom that morning. Despite her lack of breakfast, she found she had little appetite, pushing her food around her plate and barely taking a bite.

'Is there something amiss with your luncheon, Mary? Do I need to upbraid Mrs Potter for serving sub-standard fare at my table?' Violet enquired as her usually spirited granddaughter stared morosely at her plate.

'No, Granny, it's all perfectly delicious. I'm simply not very hungry, that's all.'

Her grandmother eyed her critically. 'Are you feeling quite all right? You seem out of sorts today.'

Mary heaved a sigh. 'If you must know, I managed to upset Tom at breakfast this morning and both Papa and Henry took me to task over it.'

'Goodness, it seems you've had quite the morning, my dear,' the Dowager remarked, with a perfectly arched brow. 'What, pray, did you do to cause such discontent amongst our menfolk? While your papa may have his high-strung moments from time to time, I do not think Tom is prone to moments of high emotion, especially so early in the day. He is far too sensible for that. What did you do to upset him?'

Mary put her knife and fork down, ready to tell the tale. 'Tom has been receiving letters almost every day for the last few weeks that he refuses to talk about. I have my suspicions about the identity of the letter writer, and I voiced them this morning. Tom took umbrage at both my enquiries and my thoughts on the matter then walked out in a huff.'

'Tom has been receiving daily letters? From whom?' her grandmother asked, narrowing her eyes.

'Rather irritatingly, he won't say, but I believe I can make an educated guess,' Mary responded, taking a sip from her wine glass.

'Then do not leave me in suspense, my dear. I only hope your suspicions match my own.'

Mary frowned. 'You have suspicions over the identity of his correspondent? How? You didn't even know he was receiving letters until a minute ago.'

'My dear, you gave me a clue yourself when you said the letters began around the time the royal household departed from Downton Abbey.'

'Yes, but I don't see how that helps you deduce who is writing to Tom.'

'Let us say I had intelligence of an attachment that may prove beneficial to both Tom and our family.'

Mary stared at her grandmother, getting a bad feeling about this. 'What have you been up to, Granny?'

'I can't think what you mean, Mary. I have done nothing save hope and encourage. Now, I am on tenterhooks! Will you reveal to me the identity of the person you suspect has been corresponding so diligently with Tom?'

'Although he hasn't confirmed it, I believe it to be Miss Smith, Cousin Maud's lady's maid,' Mary said, reluctantly, the name leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

If Violet Crawley were not such a stickler for appearances, Mary could have sworn her grandmother would have clapped her hands in delight at the news.

'Excellent! That is most excellent news! Your suspicions do indeed match my own. Let us hope we are correct.'

Mary frowned at her, surprised and displeased by her grandmother's reaction. 'Hope they are correct? I most certainly will not!'

Violet looked taken aback at the vehemence in Mary's voice. 'Why ever not?'

'Why should I hope that Miss Smith is getting her claws into Tom?'

'Really, Mary, Miss Smith is not a feral cat. She is a young lady with excellent prospects. If she has formed an attachment to Tom, that is a fact to be celebrated not bemoaned. I fail to understand your attitude in this matter.'

'Mine? What about yours? Why on earth are you celebrating this turn of events?'

'Because, my dear, Miss Smith is set to inherit Cousin Maud's estate and fortune. If we can secure that for Tom, he will be set up for the rest of his life. And should they have a child together, that child will inherit the estate and will also be bonded by blood to the Crawleys through darling Sybbie. And if they do not produce offspring – which quite honestly would be the preferable outcome – then Sybbie is likely to inherit her stepmother's estate and wealth.'

Mary gaped at her grandmother. 'So, on the strength of a handful of letters, you already have Tom marrying Miss Smith and fathering a child on her. All so you can reclaim Cousin Maud's fortune for our own estate? Granny, you have surpassed yourself with your machinations, you really have.'

'I'm simply thinking of dear Tom and his future happiness,' her grandmother stated, firmly.

Mary snorted in a most unladylike fashion. 'Oh, please. That is not your motive at all. This is all about the money and the land that you believe should have come to Papa.'

'And so it should have in the normal way of things. But Maud has chosen another path, one that while I understand, I do not agree with.'

'Leaving it all lock, stock and barrel to Miss Smith, you mean. And why is she doing that? It seems you have knowledge of the whys and the wherefores of the matter.'

'I do, but it is not within my gift to share that information with you, Mary. Suffice it to say the bequest is not breakable. However, if Miss Smith were to become Tom's wife, he would eventually find himself in a most advantageous position as master of an estate bordering Grantham lands. And that, my dear, is beneficial to all of us.'

'But she's not right for him!' Mary cried, her frustration boiling over once more.

Her grandmother looked at her in polite bewilderment, failing to see anything but the positives in the match. 'In what way? Financially, she will want for nothing and neither will he as her husband. And she is a pretty enough thing from what I remember.'

'But are they compatible? Will she make him happy?' Mary asked through gritted teeth, annoyed that her grandmother was looking only at the facts as they appeared on paper. 'Your reasons for championing this match are positively medieval!'

'Really, Mary, I fail to see the relevance of your questions. It is true that Tom enjoyed a great if tragically brief love with darling Sybil, but given it's unlikely he will find that again, it's surely more about him finding someone suitable and tolerable with whom he can spend his life. Miss Smith fits those requirements perfectly as far as I can see. Luckily, she will also have wealth, property and status to recommend her. It is fortuitous indeed that Tom has managed to get ahead of the pack of suitors who are likely to pursue her when her situation becomes more widely known.'

'Tolerable? Tolerable? ' Mary said, incensed, ignoring the list of assets Miss Smith would bring to a marriage. 'I thought you liked Tom. Don't you want him to be happy?'

'Do you believe he will be unhappy with Miss Smith?' the Dowager countered.

'Yes, I do!'

'And why is that?'

'Because she's totally wrong for him! She doesn't know him or what's important to him or anything about him!'

'Maybe not now, but she can learn about him during their life together, just as he can learn about her. How many of us can say we knew our spouses well at the altar?'

'I knew Matthew!' Mary cried, passionately.

'That is because you were given the opportunity to get to know each other for some years before your marriage. That is a luxury few of our kind have,' the Dowager said, calmly. 'I barely spent more than a few days in the company of your grandpapa before we were married, and we were never unchaperoned for a single moment of that time. And the union between your papa and your mama began practically as an arranged marriage.'

'I know that,' Mary ground out, not in the mood to hear about successful marriages which had started as almost business-like arrangements.

'And I don't think you would deny that theirs is a marriage that has grown into a love match,' her grandmother continued. 'Indeed, I would go so far as to say they are proof that from little acorns, great things grow. I'm sure Tom and Miss Smith could grow fond of each other over time. Although, if she really is writing to him daily after such a brief acquaintance, I suspect she already has some measure of affection for him. And I would hazard a guess that if the correspondence is continuing, he must be cognizant of and reciprocating her affections to some extent.'

'Or he's just being kind and polite to a woman who won't leave him alone, which even you have to admit is a very Tom thing to do, Granny,' Mary said, forcefully, baulking at the thought of Tom having developed feelings for the tenacious Miss Smith.

'Mary, my dear, I simply do not understand why you are so against this match when it makes so much sense on so many levels.'

'Because I love Tom and I want him to be happy! I don't want him to settle for tolerable or sensible or convenient!' Mary cried, feeling like she was the only person truly thinking of her brother-in-law's happiness.

Violet studied her granddaughter thoughtfully. 'Perhaps you are a little too fond of Tom and it is clouding your judgement.'

'What does that mean?' Mary cried, perplexed.

'Simply that you and Tom have become close over the years, especially since you both suffered similar tragedies. With the exception of Sybbie, since we lost Sybil, you have become possibly the most important person in his life. Perhaps you are simply reacting badly to this potential new relationship of his because you do not wish to relinquish your position in his affections to another woman as you will surely have to if he marries again,' the Dowager observed astutely.

Mary glared at her grandmother, her stomach churning and her heart racing at her grandmother's words because if she was honest with herself, she knew it was all true.

'Could I be – ah!' The Dowager broke off, clutching at her stomach, her face turning ashen as she cried out in pain.

'Granny? Granny!' Mary leapt to her feet and grabbed the bell sitting on the table next to her grandmother ringing it forcefully before sinking to her knees beside her.

Spratt appeared in the doorway and then hastened over to the Dowager as he took in the situation.

'Spratt, please ring for Dr Clarkson,' Mary ordered, frantic to get help for her grandmother, but Violet shook her head, muttering a pained 'no'.

'No, milady, if you could just ring the bell again to summon Miss Denker, we will escort her ladyship to her bedroom for some rest,' Spratt said, calmly, taking control of the situation.

'But she needs to see a doctor!' Mary protested, ringing the bell again.

'No, milady, she needs to take her medication and rest for a while.'

'But…' Mary trailed off, watching in shock as her grandmother, she of the ramrod-straight spine, sagged against her butler like a child against its nanny.

'This is not the first incidence of this nature, milady,' Spratt continued, his tone kinder than usual. 'Her ladyship does not want to call the doctor out. Miss Denker and I know what we need to do.'

Miss Denker arrived in the dining room, quickly assessing the scene and coming to help Spratt lever the Dowager from her seat, soothing her as she moaned in pain. Mary watched helplessly, not knowing what to do as her grandmother's servants took over and practically carried her from the dining room.

Spratt returned some ten minutes later to see if Mary required anything.

'How often has this been happening, Spratt?'

The butler hesitated, reluctant to discuss his employer and her private business.

'You can tell me. I know about her illness,' Mary said, quietly.

'I know you do, milady. Her ladyship has instructed me and Miss Denker to contact you for aid should we require it.'

'Not Lord Grantham?' Mary said in surprise. While she had respected her grandmother's wishes not to discuss her diagnosis with anyone, she had assumed her father knew about Granny's illness.

'I believe her ladyship has decided not to inform Lord Grantham of her condition as yet,' Spratt murmured delicately.

'He doesn't know?' Mary asked, flabbergasted.

'I do not believe he does, milady.'

'Oh, God,' Mary said, closing her eyes for a few brief seconds. 'Then tell me, Spratt, how often does this happen?'

'Of late, almost three or four times a week. We have medication we can give her. If the pain becomes too much, she allows us to call Dr Clarkson to administer stronger pain relief.'

'Oh, Spratt,' Mary said, her heart breaking inside her.

Spratt looked briefly at the floor, biting his lip, displaying a flicker of emotion despite his training and years of practice of pulling on the servant's blank face. 'We do the best we can to keep her comfortable.'

'I'm sure you do, and for that, you have my heartfelt thanks.'

'Is there anything you require, milady?' Spratt asked, back to the efficient butler.

'No, no. I think I shall take my leave. Thank Mrs Potter for the delicious food. Please let her know it is not a reflection on her skills that so much is left uneaten.'

'Very good, milady. I shall fetch your hat and gloves for you.'

As Spratt left, Mary sank back into her chair, thinking helplessly of her grandmother in pain upstairs and her father at home, oblivious to it all.