So, it's been a little while since I updated this - sorry! We are getting closer to the start of the show now and I'm still not 100% sure whether I will continue past the events of the first episode or not.
If people are interested in having a few chapters from within the show - based around certain episodes or just random scenes - please let me know and I will see what I can do.
I hope everyone is keeping safe and well.
As always, enjoy :)
20.
She sits on a bench, overlooking the Downton grounds. Her tall, slender form trembles slightly in the breeze, she knew she should have brought her shawl with her. Weak sunlight pierces the grey clouds above and lights up small patches of the grounds right down to the woods. It's early still, and she knows that only the servants will be up and about in the house.
The last few months have been strained within the family, and Mary feels more than a little responsible for the tense atmosphere. Things had come to a head the night before and her father had instructed her, in no uncertain terms, that she was to give Patrick a definitive answer to his proposal today.
Mary had argued back with her father that she already had given him a final answer, it was just not the one her family had wanted her to give. She feels anger clawing at her insides, once again, at the unfairness of the whole situation.
Any affiliation she once had with Patrick, romantic or otherwise, has evaporated over the last few years; the more he has fawned over her and the more her family have pushed for their union, the more the very idea of a marriage with him has come to repulse her.
Conflicting arguments battle it out inside Mary's mind; on the one hand she wants to push harder for her family to let Edith marry Patrick instead (even though she knows Patrick would ultimately be miserable and that Edith would likely eventually join him in that misery). On the other hand, she knows that she is best suited to run Downton and, because of the stupid entail, she can only do that if she marries her nice, dull cousin.
The quandary she finds herself in is whether she should sacrifice her personal happiness to realise her lifelong ambition - and what should have been her birth right - of running the estate, or whether she should take her chances elsewhere (and just hope that Patrick proves himself a good person and provides a decent allowance for herself and her sisters to live on).
She sighs despondently, knowing that she really has no choice in the matter. She must do what so many other women before her have had to do; she must enter into a marriage not chosen by her, and she must treat it as little more than a business transaction. After all, she has known from a young age that a daughter is a commodity to be passed from father to husband.
She knows she may be being a little unkind to her parents – they had always done their best by Mary and her sisters – but she cannot help her mind running to such thoughts when she feels so trapped.
She eventually vacates the bench and heads back towards the house. As she reaches the front door she turns back to the grounds, surveying all that will one day belong to her so long as she takes the step her parents are so set on her taking. She wonders, briefly, how unbearable Edith will become once things are finalised, and she feels a small pang of guilt over the pain she will have to inflict on the sister who already holds so much resentment towards her. She knows she has not always been the innocent party in their disagreements and fights, but she would spare her this pain if she felt able to.
On entering the house, Mary heads straight to the library, hoping there is still some time before her family comes down for breakfast for her to have some more time alone. Her hopes are quashed as soon as she pushes open the heavy door and finds her father standing at the window, looking out. She tries to retrace her steps, quietly, but he turns and spots her before she can make a clean getaway.
"Ah, Mary," he starts, a little uncertainly. "Been for a walk, have we?" He has obviously already been told so by the servants, so Mary merely inclines her head and heads over an armchair. Her father turns back to the window, but she can tell, by the set of his shoulders, that he is gearing up for a difficult conversation. As she waits for him to finally speak, her eyes fall on a small table to her right. Atop the table is an almost empty glass with just a small amount of golden-brown liquid left in it. She knows it must be from this morning, as the servants would have surely cleared this up had it been left out from the night before. She feels it best not to mention it.
As Robert turns, she knows he catches her looking at the glass; he clears his throat to get her attention and she can see a slight blush to his cheeks at having been caught drinking so early in the morning.
"Mary," he starts, after an awkward pause, " I know things have been a little…strained between us lately, and I am so very sorry that I cannot let things be, but I must press you to make the right choice. I'm sure, in time, you will grow fond of Patrick, and may even thank me for this one day." He finishes with a somewhat self-conscious laugh.
Mary bites her tongue, hating him in that moment more than she has ever hated anyone. She had been all prepared to face the music and agree to the marriage, but just hearing him belittle her sacrifice – a sacrifice she would not have had to make if his father had not been such a hard bastard – makes her wants to push back harder.
In the end, though, she realises that she has no fight left in her.
"Of course, Father," she stands and ducks to kiss him on the cheek – less to show any real affection and more to block out the incredulous joy lighting up the man's face.
"Well then, well then," he blusters slightly, clearly at a loss now she has given in so easily. "Wonderful, simply wonderful. I promise you, Mary, you won't regret this."
Mary can feel all of the reasons that she will regret this bubbling up her throat. So as not to cause a scene, or dampen her father's spirits (again), she beats a hasty retreat back up to the sanctuary of her room.
Of course, because life enjoys kicking those who are already down, before she can reach her bedroom she almost walks straight into Edith in the corridor.
"Mary."
"Edith."
Mary longs for the days when Edith would do little more than ignore her – when they could brush past one another countless times in a day and show no acknowledgement. These days however, Edith always seems a little too willing to get things off her chest, no matter how many times Mary has already had to listen to her nonsense.
Mary tries to sidestep around her sister - her eyes focusing on the doorway that will lead to her safe haven – but Edith moves to block her path.
"So, Cousin Patrick will be arriving shortly."
"Indeed."
"Father says you are to give him a proper answer today."
"Correct," Mary hopes Edith is not going to narrate the whole itinerary for the day; she is really hoping to have a few moments alone before James and Patrick arrive.
"And?"
"And, what?" Mary knows exactly what Edith wants to know but she really does not want to continue this conversation right now. Telling Edith the truth about what is about to transpire will certainly anger the younger woman, even upset her and, despite the reputation she knows she has amongst her peers and the staff, Mary is not cold-hearted enough to wish her sister any pain.
She also knows that Edith will believe entirely that Mary enjoys inflicting heartache on her, and she will probably cry and maybe even start shouting as soon as she provides her answer. Mary can already feel a headache coming on.
"Don't act obtuse, Mary; it really doesn't suit you."
Mary sighs heavily, knowing she really cannot put off the inevitable any longer.
"By the end of today, Patrick and I will be officially engaged." She averts her gaze from her sister. She can already picture the woman's stricken face in her imagination – the puffy red cheeks, the tears filling up her brown eyes and the trembling lower lip – she does not need to see it in reality.
She waits for the explosion that is sure to come – wondering whether it will be hissed words of venom, maybe angry shouting, or even if she will regress to the shoving and pushing of their childhood feuds.
When a few moments have passed and Edith has still remained silent, Mary chances a glance at her younger sister. Silent tears stream down Edith's flushed face and, much to Mary's discomfort, the younger woman looks genuinely devastated.
"Edith," she reaches out a slightly trembling hand, hesitates a moment, before patting Edith awkwardly on her arm, "Edith, I am so sorry. Truly. If…If it could be another way…"
Edith nods at her sister before wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. The redhead turns from Mary and walks back in the direction of her own room. If anything, Edith's quiet acceptance leaves Mary feeling even more desolate and guilt-ridden than if she had ranted and raved at her.
Finally, Mary reaches the safety of her bedroom. She collapses on the bed wanting to bury herself under the bedclothes and just disappear for a while. A gentle tap at the door precedes someone's entrance into her room; Mary does not look around and hopes whoever it is might leave her in peace a little longer.
A soft hand wipes tears from her face; she had not even realised that she had been crying. She leans into the touch, enjoying the soft caresses as the hands move to her hair; the unknown visitor gently cards their fingers through her hair, careful not to get tangled in the simple up-do her brown hair was styled into.
The person shifts on the bed in front of her and Mary can tell, although her eyes are closed, that her visitor is now also lying down. It takes only a few moments for Mary to recognise who the caring figure is, and the woman's tenderness only serves to make her cry harder. Mary does not always feel deserving of such care and attention, and there are certainly not many who are willing to give it to her, but right now she feels like she could stay here forever, allowing her comforter to brush away all of her fears and anguish.
"Come here," the woman says, tugging gently on Mary's arm. Mary goes willingly, resting her head in the hollow space between the woman's neck and shoulder. Her tears are starting to dry but she still feels reluctant to move out of the embrace; she feels like she is a child again. In those first few months after being moved out of the nursery this became somewhat of a common occurrence but she is grown much too big now for such comforts, and it would certainly be considered inappropriate by her family, but she finds herself unable to care.
She snuggles further into the woman's embrace, feeling their hearts beating almost in rhythm with one another; the soft pressure of fingers moving against her scalp almost sending her off to sleep. She wonders if these secret, stolen moments will continue after she is married, or whether they will become more distant and estranged as time goes on.
After some time, as she dozes lightly, Mary becomes aware of the sound of a carriage pulling up outside. She hears her father's voice bellowing out an exuberant greeting and Cousin James' more sedate, monosyllabic reply. She knows Patrick will be there also, his soft, effeminate features pulled into a shy grin, his eyes scanning the windows and doorway wondering where she might be hiding.
She sighs, knowing she cannot put this off any longer whilst simultaneously wanting to delay for every second that she possibly can. The woman she has been using as a pillow shifts slightly, and Mary finally manoeuvres herself out of the embrace and off the bed. She gets as far as her dressing table before collapsing back into the chair; her limbs feel heavy as she tries to fix her hair, which has become mussed and untidy.
Steadier hands than her own take over and, in no time, her hair is once again perfectly neat and styled. She smiles, sadly, at the woman in the mirror and clasps desperately at the hand now resting on her shoulder. The woman leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Mary's head before returning her own, sympathetic smile.
Mary knows that all of the words in the world would never be sufficient to express her gratitude to this woman, nor her love for her, but she certainly hopes she can feel it.
"Thank you, Anna," she finally breathes out as she stands and straightens out her clothes.
"You'll be alright, M'Lady," Anna squeezes her hand one last time before slipping out of the room. Mary takes a few steadying breaths as she follows her, cursing, not for the first time, her wretched luck at not being born a boy.
