AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unexpected babysitters resulted in me having the opportunity to finish this chapter early and I never can resist posting one as soon as it's ready ;)
I used multiple scenes from S4E7 in this chapter and I will use some from S4E8 in the next one. Afterwards we are jumping deep into an AU, since we will get to a nearly year long gap between the events of S4E8 and S4 Christmas Special. I hope you will enjoy the ride!
Cora and Robert's bedroom, Downton Abbey, July 10th, 1922
Mary looked around her parents' bedroom, feeling quite surreal. It still contained all their furniture – the bed, the vanity, Mama's chez longue – and yet it seemed eerily empty.
She could not believe they were both gone.
Of course, Mama was only gone for an extended visit to Grandmama and Uncle Harold, not dead – but telling goodbye to her earlier that morning, with most of her clothes and personal belongings shipped already in multiple trunks, felt strangely final. Mary had a sneaking suspicion that even if Mama came back to England, it would not be to Downton Abbey. Well, not to share the Dower House with Granny either, that's for sure. But wherever she would eventually settle down, whatever she would do with her life, for Mary the period of living with her parents was definitely over and it made her feel quite unsettled.
A light knock on the open door startled her out of her musings. She turned around to find Matthew, looking at her with compassion.
"It's strange, doesn't it?"
Mary gave the room another look.
"I don't know why it is so. Papa has been gone for ten months already, but somehow it only now feels truly final."
"I don't think I truly believed that my father was gone until I came back to live with mother after finishing my studies at Oxford," said Matthew, hugging her comfortingly. "Somehow, during all my visits home, I could pretend that he was just out, working late at the hospital as was his habit. But then I was living at the Glendale House again and the permanence of his absence was so obvious that it struck me powerfully on multiple occasions."
Mary sighed, relaxing into his embrace.
"I've always wanted to be the Countess of Grantham," she said quietly. "Ever since I was a little girl. And yet... I've never somehow thought that for Downton to be mine they would have to go first. I would be dishonest if I said I do not enjoy being the mistress of it, but if I could bring Papa back, I would give it all up in a moment."
Her face crumpled.
"I miss him, Matthew."
He tightened his arms around her.
"I know, darling," he said soothingly. "Me too."
Downton Estate, July 10th, 1922
After waving Cora off, Tom offered Isobel a ride in his open truck, which she gladly accepted.
"It's nice of you to drive me home," she said thankfully.
"It's no trouble. I'm meeting the new pig man in the village anyway."
"I do worry about your life away from the estate. Is there any?" asked Isobel in her usual blunt manner.
Tom shrugged in response.
"Huh, I've got no time."
"What happened to your politics?"
"They vanished. Along with that silly chauffeur chap named Branson," he answered, clearly in an attempt to make it sound funnier than he felt it was.
If he hoped to put Isobel off, he was going to be disappointed.
"I don't believe that. I gather the MP, John Ward, is coming to speak in Ripon tomorrow at the Town Hall. I could get tickets," she said cheerfully.
"Nah, I don't think so. I'm not a fan of the Coalition as it is. And he's only here because Lloyd George thinks an election's coming."
"Well, I doubt he has long, poor dear. But I don't think you're being fair to Mr Ward. Let's both go. What do you say?"
"I say you better be nice to me, or I'll tell old Lady Grantham you called Lloyd George "poor dear," said Tom with a grin, making them both laugh heartily.
Library, Downton Abbey, July 10th, 1922
Mary was reviewing the accounts at her desk when Rose approached her purposefully. Mary sighed. Mama left only this morning and already she was feeling a headache caused by officially taking over full responsibility for her younger cousin.
"Rose. What is it?"
"I saw Edith on the stairs. She says she's going up to London tomorrow. So I wondered if I could go, too."
Mary frowned.
"Rose, in a few months you'll have been presented, you'll be out, and everything will be possible."
"But you said yourself that most girls my age would already be presented," implored Rose and Mary found herself relenting a bit.
"Why do you want to go?"
"Just to see some old friends you'd approve of madly. And Edith seems to be missing Mr Gregson so much. Maybe I could cheer her up."
"Oh, very well," Mary gave up. "Just remember that if you end up in any kind of trouble, you won't leave Downton until the day of your presentation."
Violet's bedroom, Dower House, July 11th, 1922
Mary hurried to the Dower House as soon as she got Isobel's message, and the sight of Granny, pale, feverish and coughing, did not calm her fears in the slightest. Isobel, in an apron and busy preparing the inhaler, was ready to shoo her away though.
"But are you certain? There must be something I can do," said Mary, looking around the room and feeling perfectly useless, to be honest. The only kind of nursing she had ever done was for Matthew after his injury and even in her ignorance of those matters it was rather obvious that Granny demanded quite different kind of care. But however much she didn't actually want to attend her on her sickbed, she could not imagine leaving her while she was so poorly.
"There isn't. I can manage very easily with help from the servants. We just have to stop it turning into pneumonia. That's the real danger."
"It seems rather unfair to saddle you with it all. Why should you do it and not me?"
"Because I'm a trained nurse and you're pregnant, my dear," answered Isobel matter-of-factly. "You have no business in a sickroom. The last thing we need is you getting ill as well and endangering the baby. Don't worry, I really can manage."
"Why is the food so disgusting, suddenly?" croaked Violet with clear distaste.
"She doesn't know what she's saying," said Isobel placidly.
"I wouldn't be too sure," said Mary doubtfully.
"Everything she puts into my mouth is absolutely disgusting," Granny complained again. It was really hard to tell whether she was delirious or just honest. Mary thought feelingly that her mother-in-law was truly a saint. Or a martyr, at the very least.
"Perhaps I'd better get out of your way."
"That's all I ask. I'll ring up if there's any change," said Isobel in her usual assuring, commanding tone and Mary did go, telling herself that she was leaving her Granny in the most competent hands available and not at all running away.
Library, Downton Abbey, July 11th, 1922
Mary was at her writing desk, when Tom and Matthew walked in.
"Well, the pigs have arrived."
"Oh, I'd have come, if I'd known."
"They said you'd gone to your grandmother's. It all went off smoothly. We can walk down and see them tomorrow."
"Tom, did you get the message from Isobel about the tickets for the talk in Ripon?" asked Mary, remembering she was asked to make her mother-in-law's excuses for her cancellation of plans with Tom.
"I did. Why can't she come?"
"Because Granny is ill and Isobel is nursing her."
Matthew looked at her with immediate concern.
"I hope it is not anything serious?" he asked worriedly.
Mary frowned unhappily.
"I hope not, although it might become so. Doctor Clarkson said that she has bronchitis which might turn into pneumonia if we don't manage to catch it in time."
Matthew grasped her hand comfortingly.
"I'm sure that she couldn't be in more competent and devoted care than Mother's," he said with confidence, making Mary smile at him in thanks.
"What's the thing in Ripon?" she asked Tom, eager to change the subject.
"A Liberal MP is speaking. I don't think I'll bother now."
"Why? Just because we're not political, you mustn't be put off," said Mary with a frown. Tom was doing so little outside of his work at the estate; he deserved some outing even if it had to be a political meeting.
"You won't come with me then?" asked Tom teasingly, making her roll her eyes.
"I'd rather go to the stake," Mary answered honestly.
Matthew chuckled. In spite of himself, Tom smiled.
"I will go with you," offered Matthew easily. Tom and Mary turned to him with identical looks of surprise.
"Since when are you political?" asked Mary.
"You know I've always been interested. Just because I don't voice my opinions as vocally as Mother or with such conviction as Tom, doesn't mean I am not willing to listen to a speech or two and see if they can manage to convince me to change my mind on some issue. And besides that," he added, looking at Tom with a mixture of playfulness and seriousness. "It's been ages since we two went anywhere for any other purpose than work. How about we make it a day and finish with dinner and a nightcap at your house?"
Tom grinned.
"I will be delighted to have you, if your wife does not object?"
"Darling? You won't mind, will you?"
Mary rolled her eyes again fondly.
"Of course not," she said firmly. "Go and have your fun, you two. With Rose and Edith in London, I will quite enjoy a quiet evening and an early night."
Bond Street, London, July 11th, 1922
Edith and Rosamund were slowly wrapping up their shopping expedition and wondering how to distract Rose, when she herself asked to be excused to run some errands.
"But what sort of errands?" asked Rosamund suspiciously. She hardly forgot the first time she hosted Rose MacClare under her roof and however eager she was to have an opportunity to focus on her niece, she found it hardly wise to let this girl run around London unsupervised.
"Oh, you know. This and that. Seeing friends, buying clothes. Errands," said Rose blithely, not quieting Rosamund's suspicions in the slightest.
"I hope Sir John Bullock isn't one of your "errands"," she fished, appeased a bit by Rose's instant indignation at the thought.
"He is not!"
"Oh, let her go, Aunt Rosamund," said Edith, also anxious to have her aunt and only ally to herself.
"All right, but you'll be back in time for dinner."
"I'm sure I will. You're a darling. Taxi!"
"I'm sure I will." What does that mean?" said Rosamund, observing Rose getting into a taxi with an uneasy conscience of a neglected duty.
"I don't know why Mary let her come," grumbled Edith. "Probably just to get her off her own hands for a bit."
"Never mind her, it's good that she is gone for a spell. Now we can plan in peace."
Regent's Park, London, July 11th, 1922
Jack Ross was rowing a delighted Rose until they reached a more private spot under a bridge. They looked at each other lovingly.
"I'm so pleased to see you. I keep thinking you'll forget about me."
Jack laughed softly.
"Rose! I won't forget you. Ever. But..."
"But what?" she asked with a challenge.
"Rose, I like you very much, I want you to know..."
"But?"
"What can we hope to come out of all this?"
"Can't we just be in the moment?" she asked with a sigh. "I don't know many men like you and you don't know many girls like me."
She took his hands.
"Ain't that the truth!" he said feelingly.
"Then let's enjoy it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "You know what the French say? Vive la différence!"
"Do you think Lord Grantham will enjoy the 'difference'? Or Lady Grantham?" asked Jack pointedly.
Rose much preferred not to consider the matter.
"You're not scared of them, are you?"
"No."
"Good. Then you'll take me to the club tonight. But first, kiss me. Or don't you want to?"
"Oh, I want to. Don't you worry about that."
They kissed passionately.
Ripon, July 11th, 1922
Matthew and Tom took Matthew's AC. The weather was perfect for driving with the top down and they enjoyed it immensely, but the finding a parking spot among the narrow streets of Ripon medieval city centre turned out to be more difficult than expected. Matthew thought with irritation that they should have taken a train instead.
"Go in," he told Tom, seeing that the meeting was about to get started. "I will park the car somewhere and join you."
"I will try to save you a seat," called Tom, walking towards the town hall, as Matthew drove off.
Ripon Town Hall, July 11th, 1922
The town hall was filled almost to the last chair. Tom looked around, searching for an empty seat and promptly gave up hope on finding one for Matthew as well, spotting the last free chair next to a young woman in the middle.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked.
"Er, I was keeping it for a friend," she answered apologetically, so Tom moved back to find a standing space by the wall. John Ward, MP, took the podium soon after among smattering of applause.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm John Ward, and in a while I will ask for questions, so please remember what made you indignant when you last read a newspaper."
As there was laughter all around the room, the young woman turned to wave to Tom, as the chair next to her remained still empty.
"Are you trying to attract my attention ahead of the rest, madam?" asked Ward, noticing her gesture.
"I just wanted him to take this chair."
"Do you know this gentleman?"
"No."
"You just wanted to sit next to him?" he asked, causing general amusement in the room.
"No, it was because he asked," answered the woman, seemingly completely unperturbed. Tom wished the floor could swallow him.
"He asked to sit next to you? Ladies and gentlemen, we've been made privy to a very romantic story."
"Why don't I sit down?" said Tom impatiently, fed up with being the butt of a joke.
He took the chair, and thanked the Lord when Mr Ward finally went back to his speech. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Matthew's blond head among the crowd in the back, but he was not going to get up to join him now after all the hullabaloo with getting the seat.
"Of course, the question uppermost in all of your minds is, why the split between Mr Asquith and Mr Lloyd George? Because a divided party spells electoral defeat. Well, can I say this: it doesn't have to."
"He's wrong there," said Tom in an undertone to his neighbour.
"But you support them?" she asked with interest.
"Not really. I'm a socialist. Or I was," he shrugged. "What happened to your friend?"
"I don't know. It just seemed silly to keep the chair empty."
"I'm glad."
A man in the row behind them nudged Tom and put a finger to his lips.
"Shhh!" he shushed them angrily.
They concentrated on the speech in companionable silence.
Ripon Town Hall, July 11th, 1922
Tom and his new acquaintance walked down the staircase towards the street door together. He looked around for Matthew but couldn't spot him in the crush.
"I'm sorry about that earlier," he said again.
The woman laughed.
"You can't blame him for having a bit of fun."
"There won't be much fun for them after the election," noted Tom drily, making her give him a sideways look.
"What do you care, if you're a socialist?"
"I'm not sure what I am, except a man in search of a better world."
"Why did you leave Ireland?" asked she with interest, obviously picking up on his accent.
"Sometimes I ask myself that."
"Will you go back?"
"No," answered Tom curtly.
"Why not?"
"It's a long story. I'd better go. Thanks for the seat though. Goodnight."
Just then though Matthew somehow appeared next to them.
"Found you finally," he said smilingly. "Awful crowd. Will you introduce me to your new friend?"
"This is Miss..." started Tom, only then realising that he didn't even know her name.
"Bunting. Sarah Bunting," said she, extending her hand towards Matthew who shook it with a small bow.
"I am Tom Branson," said Tom. "And this is Mr Matthew Crawley. He was the one who convinced me to come to this meeting."
"Ah, so that was the reason," said Miss Bunting pointedly.
"Why do you say that?" asked Matthew, a bit baffled by her suddenly hostile expression.
"He wasn't exactly enthralled to the cause of the Liberals. Though I'm not now convinced by his socialism."
"Why not?" asked Tom.
"I didn't know then that you were the land agent and brother-in-law of our local milord."
"I'm surprised I'm so famous."
"Won't you defend your principles?" she challenged him.
"No, not now," answered Tom, turning towards the place where he assumed Matthew had parked the car, but Matthew addressed Miss Bunting instead.
"Then I will. Mr Branson is a keen political thinker. He proves this by not being afraid to question his own beliefs."
"Very eloquent. I'd stay to argue, but I'm late," she turned away with a smile and Tom could not resist inquiring.
"Do you live around here?"
She must have, considering she knew not only Matthew's, but his own identity.
"I work at Downton. At the school. It was nice to meet you," she said in a friendlier way that her earlier attitude indicated and walked away in the other direction.
"She knows her own mind," noted Matthew, shaking his head with a smile. He seemed hardly offended by Miss Bunting's dismissal of himself.
"Yes, I think she does," said Tom, not wholly sure what he really thought about that encounter yet. "So, where have you parked the car in the end?"
Drawing room, Downton Abbey, July 11th, 1922
Mary hurried into the drawing room, an apology for her lateness dying on her lips when she found herself unexpectedly in a tete-a-tete with Mr Blake.
"Where's Evelyn?" she asked with dismay.
"Dining with friends of his parents," answered Blake indifferently.
Mary sighed.
"Tom and Matthew have gone off to a political meeting, so I'm afraid it's just us."
"Don't be afraid," said he somewhat defensively and Mary's irritation spilled over.
"But I am afraid! How can brainless dullard like me ever hope to entertain Mr Blake?"
He sighed as well but decided to ignore her insult.
"Did the pigs arrive?" he asked instead.
"Absolutely. Although unwitnessed by me. I'll go with Tom and Matthew tomorrow."
"Well, I'm curious to see them and I'll be out all day. Why don't we walk down after dinner, Lady Grantham? It's a nice evening."
Mary's first impulse was to refuse, but she did feel a bit guilty for her rudeness. However arrogant and impossible he was, he was still her guest.
"Well, it's quite a long walk, but I don't mind, if you really want to," she said reluctantly, walking with him to the dining room.
Agent's House, Downton Village, July 11th, 1922
"Sybbie asleep?" asked Matthew from a comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace. Tom poured himself a glass of whisky and fell into the matching one opposite him.
"Yes. Sorry it took so long. She was a bit overexcited and hard to settle."
Matthew waved a hand dismissively.
"Please don't. I needed a time to rest myself after playing chase with her like this. She quite worn me out," he grinned, imagining playing with his son like that. "I cannot wait for George to be this age."
"Wait till you have to chase him as he is running away from you as fast as a rabbit," laughed Tom easily. "You will be wishing yet at time that he were still a baby staying peacefully in his crib!"
Matthew acknowledged Tom's point with a raise of his glass, observing his brother-in-law with pleasure. He seemed so at ease here, in his own home, responsible for settling his daughter to sleep and enjoying a drink with a friend afterwards, with no servants to stand over him after his housekeeper left for the night.
"Living here suits you," he noted, making Tom grin at him again and delighting in seeing it.
"You don't know how good it feels to have my own place again," he said feelingly. "It's like I am finally being myself again instead of trying and failing at playing someone else. Being here with Sybbie and going to work every morning feels right. I have no idea why it took me so long to realise that I needed it."
"So you don't mind working for me and Mary now that you don't have to share the roof with us?" asked Matthew seriously. To his relief, Tom shook his head.
"The work itself was never the problem," he said with equal seriousness. "It was being forced into a role of a master in the very house I used to be a servant in and ending up torn between upstairs and downstairs yet fitting in nowhere. Here my place is clear. I have my own house, an honest job for the people I love, and the life I can imagine living. Thank you, Matthew. I shouldn't have needed your prompting to make this move, but I did, and I'm ever so grateful you pushed me towards it."
They smiled at each other in understanding.
"Another glass?" asked Tom. Matthew shook his head.
"Better not, I still need to drive myself home. But since I'm not in a hurry, how about a game of chess before I go? As much as I am happy to see you so much more content, I missed our evening games."
"Me too," admitted Tom and got up to set up the board. "And I do believe I owe you a trouncing after our last one."
Downton Abbey, July 11th, 1922
Matthew stepped into the entrance hall carefully, not really surprised that Carson went to bed. The house was dark and quiet and the look at the grandfather clock in the hallway showed him that it was well past midnight. He crept up the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, so as not to disturb the rest of the household.
He could not resist peeking into the nursery though. He walked quietly towards the crib and looked upon his sleeping son. George was so sweet curled under a light blanket, with one of his small hands in a loose fist by his mouth. Matthew's heart filled with deep love at the sight. He could barely comprehend than in half a year there was going to be another little baby to join George in the nursery. Such blessing still seemed sometimes unfathomable to him, after he had spent such long, miserable time convinced he was never going to experience it.
For all his jokes about praying for another boy he did not care in the slightest whether he was going to get a son or a daughter. To be completely truthful, he would have not cared if George had been born a girl, except it of course made things easier that he hadn't. He was certain that boy or girl he was going to love any baby of his and Mary's just as much as he loved George and her – with overwhelming, fierce protectiveness and awe. There was nothing he treasured more than his family.
He caressed George's head lightly and went into his dressing room. Bates of course must have gone home with Anna hours ago, but he did not mind; it's not like he was unable to undress himself. He took off his jacket and was just reaching for his waistcoat's buttons when he realised something was wrong.
It took him a moment to put a finger on it. The door leading from his dressing room to the bedroom were open, yet the room was completely dark.
Whenever Mary went to bed first, she always left his bedside light on for him.
He frowned and stepped into the bedroom, where he promptly froze. The bed was empty, sheets and pillows undisturbed; it was obvious that it had not been slept in.
Then where was his wife?
He frowned, perplexed, but not truly worried yet. There must have been a reasonable explanation. Perhaps she was needed by Cousin Violet's side. He nodded to himself, finding it the most likely answer. If Cousin Violet was worse, Mother might have needed help. Still, there should have been a message for him, if they were unable to reach him while he had been at the meeting. He looked around the room but did not find any.
He considered going to bed but was too uneasy to do so. Mary must be at the Dower House – where else would she be? – but he did not know for sure and to his irritation he found out he was unable to relax until he was. With heavy sigh he put his jacket back on and went towards the servants' staircase. He felt bad for waking up Carson, but he saw no way around it.
Thankfully, it turned out that Carson was not yet asleep, although ready for bed and extremely shocked to see his employer.
"Your lordship!" he cried out, aghast that Lord Grantham felt the need to climb up to the servants' attics in search of attendance.
"I am very sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Carson," said Matthew somehow sheepishly, but with unease crawling in his stomach prompting him forward. "But I needed to ask, where is Lady Mary? I assume she was summoned to the Dower House, but there was no message and I wanted to make sure that's where she is."
Carson shifted guiltily. When he decided to go up instead of waiting for her ladyship and Mr Blake to return, he did not think that Lord Grantham might be distressed over it.
"There was no summons from the Dower House, my lord," he admitted. "Her ladyship and Mr Blake went to see the pigs after dinner and had not returned yet."
Matthew's eyes widened. The panic which he had kept at bay but telling himself he was being perfectly irrational erupted now in full force.
"But it means they have been gone for hours, in the dark! Why hasn't somebody been sent in search of them?!"
"We did not see the need, my lord. The walk is far and the weather fair, we have just assumed they lost track of time talking and should come back shortly. But I will raise the servants at once and we will conduct a proper search," said Carson, getting seriously worried himself. What had he been thinking?! What if some accident had befallen Lady Mary, especially in her condition? He was never going to forgive himself if that was a case and he just went to bed without the slightest care in the world!
Matthew visibly took a grip of himself.
"There is no need yet for such drastic action, Carson. Go to bed for now. I am still dressed; I will walk to the pig pens and search for them. If I don't find them, I will come back and only then we will organise a search party, but I hope you are right and they just lost the sense of time. Although I admit to being curious what could occupy them for so long, given how little liking they seemed to take to each other so far."
Not waiting for Carson's answer, Matthew walked quickly towards the stairs. He was again trying to calm his nerves. Carson was most probably right, Mary and Blake must have just lost track of time somehow – although how it was possible given their animosity, he had no idea. But what realistically could befall them between the pig pens and the house? As Carson said, the weather was fair and warm and they walked there, they did not take the car. And yet flashbacks of a pleasant drive home only to find Robert dead just over a mile away from the house kept intruding in his brain. What if they were hit by a passing lorry, the driver absconding without summoning help? What if a tree branch fell on them? What if Blake sauntered somewhere on his own and her pregnancy made Mary faint? What if... he hardly knew what, he just knew he had to find his wife as quickly as possible or he would go mad with fear for her. He lived through too much of sudden and unexpected death in recent years to not panic now. Faces of Robert, Sybil, Lavinia, even his father flashed through his mind, followed by countless others from the war. He knew all too well how fast somebody could be taken permanently from him.
He just could not see how he were to survive if it was Mary.
He was practically running by the time he reached the pig pens – and promptly froze in complete bafflement when he saw Mary and Blake, sitting in front of the barn, flinging mud at each other and covered in it in a way he had not seen anywhere outside of the trenches.
Hastened explanations of the pigs' plight and the following dramatic and muddy rescue followed as soon as he was noticed by the rescuers.
"Are they going to be all right?" asked Matthew worriedly. They did invest quite a lot in those pigs.
"I think so. I'll watch them for another hour and then give them one more drink. But you two, you should go," answered Blake.
"I'm not going! They're my pigs," answered Mary firmly and promptly shivered. Matthew immediately took off his coat and put it over her naked arms.
"I see I don't have to ask why you didn't send her back before," he addressed Blake dryly. Blake just laughed in response, but Mary glared at him.
"I was not going to do nothing when the pigs were on the verge of death," she said irritably. "Not if I could do something to prevent it."
"And she did a lot," said Blake admiringly. "She filled and carried the bucket same as me, even after slipping in the mud."
"I couldn't leave all the glory owed to the pig rescuer to you," Mary shot back with a genuine smile and Matthew realised that they must have forged a bond strong enough to overcome whatever doubts or prejudices they had previously held over each other.
It didn't mean though that he didn't frown worriedly over what he was hearing.
"Are you sure you're alright, darling?" he asked quietly when Blake went to check on the pigs. He didn't ask whether it was wise for her to carry heavy buckets of water while falling down in the mud in her condition, but he definitely thought it. The pigs were a valuable investment, but worth nothing, absolutely nothing, in comparison to the wellbeing of his wife and child.
Mary waved her hand dismissively.
"Perfectly alright," she assured him. "Just tired and dirtier than I've ever been. How do I look?" she asked, swiping a loose lock of hair from her forehead with a dirty hand.
Matthew captured it and kissed it, mindless of the mud which he usually abhorred so much. He didn't think there existed a thing under the sun which could put him off Mary.
"Incredible," he said fervently. Seeing Mary safe and sound after his frantic terror for her, even though he still worried a bit about any potential consequences of that night to her health, made him practically giddy with relief and love for her. And he had to admit, she did look awfully fetching dishevelled like this.
"I agree!" confirmed Blake, returning from his inspection. "You belong in Country Life. Lady Grantham, seen here to advantage, relaxing at the family seat in Yorkshire."
They all laughed, Matthew and Mary holding hands in the dark and muddy yard.
Kitchen, Downton Abbey, July 12th, 1922
It was still dark outside, but the dawn was approaching when three somewhat cleaned up figures dragged themselves into the kitchen. Matthew and Charles sat at the long kitchen table with glasses of wine Matthew liberated from Carson's pantry, while Mary scrambled them some eggs, to both men's equal amazement. Charles voiced it for them both.
"Who'd have thought it?"
Mary sent them a sardonic look.
"I can scramble eggs, but that's about it," she said drily, accepting a glass of water from Matthew, in lieu of wine. She looked at it wistfully. Pregnancy was sometimes mighty inconvenient.
They raised their glasses to each other, then drunk.
"I suspect Carson had plans for this, but too bad," pointed out Mary, eating her eggs hungrily. She didn't think she had ever felt so tired.
"I'm sure he would hardly begrudge it to you," said Matthew dismissively. "Seeing how he would gladly open his veins for you."
"I don't deserve such attention," said Charles, also getting into his eggs with gusto.
"You certainly do. You've completely saved our bacon. Literally!"
They all laughed.
"So, you're a practical farmer, as well as a theoretician. Not sure I was expecting that," said Mary in a friendlier tone than she had ever used towards him before. Matthew was observing their exchange in fascination.
"I didn't expect to see you as a cook and a water carrier."
"A night of discovery."
"Good discoveries. For me, anyway."
"I love how they've all gone to bed without the slightest concern about us. What did they think we were doing?"
"We went for a walk and vanished. Who knows what they thought?"
Matthew winced.
"I can answer that," he said sheepishly. "They just assumed you somehow lost sense of time, but then I came to Carson all frantic at your disappearance and riled him up. I will be shocked if the poor man had a wink of sleep after I left him."
Mary rolled her eyes, but also grasped Matthew's hand comfortingly. She shuddered at the thought of how frightened she would have been to find him unexpectedly missing.
They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the passage outside which were soon followed by the appearance of a wide-eyed kitchen maid.
"I'm ever so sorry, m'lady, m'lord."
Mary immediately straightened.
"Please, don't apologise..." she stumbled. She prided herself on addressing all servants by their names, but she had so little to do with the kitchen maids...
"Ivy, m'lady."
"Ivy. Well, if you're getting up, it's time for us to go to bed. Would you please tell Anna I'll ring when I'm
awake? Good night," she said imperiously and walked out of the kitchen with impeccable posture.
Matthew followed her, barely stifling a laugh. Nobody but his marvellous wife could look so absolutely regal in a bedraggled evening dress, dishevelled hair and with traces of mud all over her. She was really a wonder.
Judging from Blake's expression, he was thinking exactly the same.
Library, Downton Abbey, July 12th, 1922
After the exertions of the previous night, they both slept until noon and decided to have luncheon in their private sitting room, followed by a long soak in a bath together. As it turned out, sharing the bath resulted in the opposite of saving time, so when they finally went down for tea, Tom, Evelyn and Charles were already having theirs.
"You've heard about our adventures?" asked Mary playfully. She was in an excellent mood.
"I'm very impressed," assured her Tom solemnly.
"I gather you were the heroine of the pig drama," said Evelyn dryly.
"So, I'm not aloof now?" asked Mary pointedly.
"Not a bit. Mucking in with the best of them."
"You're a lucky devil, Grantham," said Blake, his eyes on Mary. "Lady Grantham is incredible."
"I know," answered Matthew proudly. He still sometimes could not believe that he had managed to marry her in the end. "Took you long enough to notice."
Blake snorted.
"She did make a perfect impression of the common aloof and hopelessly out of touch toff I have had plenty of displeasure to meet on this job," he said dryly. "But I was clearly blinded by prejudice."
Matthew's eyes softened as he observed Mary laughing with Tom and Evelyn.
"She makes it easy to misjudge her," he said. "But she truly is the most amazing woman I've ever met."
