Josephine would rather be at a party with her friends, than a boring party for her Granny, though she did love Granny. She was closer to her than to her Granny Isobel. Granny Violet had said that she reminded her of herself when she was her age. Mama was a lot like her too. Josephine hated being compared to her mother, though it was true. She was the daughter of 'the ice queen' with ice in her veins.

She had to find a way out of it. Dot Pearson was also throwing a party. Maybe she could talk Connie into crashing it. She almost had last time, wearing the short tennis skirt, that had gotten the attention of Dot's father, instead of the birthday girl. This time she'd try to guarantee a success. In getting back at Dot. Dot and a few friends had wanted to dress up like men to crash her own parents' party.

Dot complicated how pretty she looked, (in her dress before they changed), that if she was a boy, she would kiss her. And they had.

Her first kiss with Leslie Taylor at the age of eight had not counted, they had been playing house. Leslie had called her a freak, just like her father and never wanted to play with her again. And had never heard from her again since they moved away from London back to Yorkshire.

After the crashing of her parent's party, Jo went to find Dot and confront her about it, about what it had all meant. Dot saying that it was nothing, that it was only lark. So, Jo made a promise to herself, that it would be her mission to crash every one of Dot's parties, and she couldn't say boo about it because what had happened that night in Dot's dressing room.

She'd have time to come up with a plan as her father went over to Crawley House to inform Granny Isobel about Violet's 'surprise' birthday party. No one could get anything past on Granny Violet. She probably had every say about the details, who was invited, who was not, all the way down to the décor.

Her father knew her better than anyone, even better than George and even that was an extraordinary feat. Maybe George would help. He had always been her partner in crime. To her dismay he didn't want any part in it or know what she was planning to do.

"Just make sure you spend some time with Granny, mingle with folks. Then feign a headache or something." He was putting on his jacket, moments after their father had left.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see if I can catch up to dad." He had more important things to do than play games, ditching parties.


Matthew didn't wait to be invited into the house. It was his mother instead of the maid or the nurse. He let himself in.

"I didn't mean to intrude like this, but it's important that I speak with you."

"No. Of course. Did something happen? Is the family alright?"

"Everything's fine. They're all fine."

"That's good! Come and sit while you're here then."

He followed her to the sitting room. He could immediately sense that something was quite not right with his mother. She was anxious about something. Her attention kept directing elsewhere, towards the window. It was as if she was waiting for someone, as if she did not trust him and he was a stranger. Well, considering the conversation the other night, they were a bit like strangers.

"I'm sorry how I reacted the night before. I was angrier that you didn't tell me, that you chose to tell other people rather than your own son. I understand why you had to do it."

"Don't be dear. I'm sorry. For whatever I've done to you. It must've been a long time ago. I'm afraid I don't remember the details. I was quite the rebellious and shellfish thing. Until I met my husband. I hurt a lot of people in the past."

"You don't remember what we talked about?"

Her attention went back to the window, then back to him.

Mary talked Violet into having a party for her. Though knowing Cousin Violet, she did want one.

"Oh, I do love parties! So does my husband. I must tell him."

Father's dead mother. He'd been dead for the past two and a half decades. From his own experience he knows he should not say anything. He let her call for her husband who would not come.

"He must not be home yet. I'll tell my son...he'll know where he is."

It was a stab to his heart. It was more painful that she did not recognize him. She thought he was a stranger. She left the room, calling his name. A few seconds she came back.

"I can't seem to find him either. He must have gone back to school already. Please forgive me." She sat back down, eyeing him with a bit of suspicion now. "You're not from the school are you? He's not in any sort of trouble?"

"No. I'm not from the school." His eyes moistened.

"Oh, thank God! He's always starting trouble, getting into fights. Just last week...A friend of Reggie's then?"

The front door opened. George came into the room.

"Ah, Matthew, there you are."

George looked from his grandmother to his father, with shock and confusion. His father nodded to him, instructing him to go along.

"This is a friend of your father's. He's invited us to a party."

"That's great, gran...mother." George muttered, clearing his throat.

"Speak up dear. What did I tell you about muttering, Matthew?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is my son invited as well? How rude of me to jump to conclusions. I meant to ask."

"Yes. I'd like to get to know Reggie's family."

"Good. I'll have some tea made for us."

"What's going on with grandmother?" George asked as she left the room, demanding as if he already knew the answer, which he did.

"Your grandmother's old. You know she's getting confused."

A few minutes later the maid came in with the tea tray. There was no sign of his mother.

"Is mother not joining us?"

"She went up to rest, my lord." He took the maid to the side as to not draw attention from his son who was helping himself to the tea, though he knew George was pretending not to listen anyway. He was not a kid anymore.

"She was a bit distressed but the nurse calmed her down. Do you want me to call for the doctor, my lord?"

Matthew shook his head. He told her to call him if anything changes. "She'll feel bad about missing cousin Violet's party, but her rest is important."

Isobel was nowhere to be found, the next evening. Mary was looking for her, not spotting her familiar form amongst the small crowd. She was already running an hour and a half late.

"She must be feeling under the weather." Mary said. Most of Granny's friends had died years ago. The guests were all new faces to Granny as well as to her. Violet enjoyed all the young faces.

"Isobel wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"Or she forgot." Her husband said.

"How could she...oh."

"I'm afraid it's getting worse. She didn't even recognize me. She didn't even know who I was."

"Oh, darling." She went to put her arms around him but he thwarted her, smiling at the guests and lifting his flute of champagne as they passed.

"Don't...Let's enjoy ourselves tonight."


It was Granny Violet who caught Josephine trying to sneak out. Josephine asked how she could possibly know what she was up to.

Violet gave a mischievous smile. The second oldest of her generation of Crawley's. Though she acted tough and closed off to the rest of the world, she was sensitive like her father, even though she looked every picture of her mother with her dark hair and eyes, long angular pale face and high cheek bones, the determined Crawley jawline that says 'don't mess with me'; Violet thought she looked more like her dear late husband Patrick. He had been short too. Most people, men and women had been intimidated by her size as well as her personality but not Patrick. He had accepted her. She could only hope the same for her granddaughter.

"I wanted to get some fresh air. It's getting a bit stuffy in here." She glanced at the girls giggling in the corner. Some old enough to be housewives. Was that all she had to look forward to when she was somebody's wife one day?

"I had my fair share of it when I was your age. Being at a boring party, hoping your great grandfather would steal me away. I'll keep an eye out for as long as I can."

"You know, I felt like no one understood me, after grandfather passed. He always used to ask me about stuff, what I was interested in. Not many grown-ups do that. I guess that position has fallen to you and Papa. Though I don't think he'll be too happy I'm nipping out on your birthday, more so Mama." Having put all this 'hard work' together for this extravagant party. If she notices. George, was always seemingly her main priority. And whom she only cared about among her children, her cousin Jay, her 'third son' and her precious Caroline. She watches her mother speaking with her brother and a group of girls. Her father walking up to them. Papa's always makes excuses for her.

'It might seem like that, but she cares for all of you equally. It's what's expected of her. She can't help if she slips into the old ways." Sometimes she wondered how her father could love her mother, then every now and then, she'd see, from a brief moment of stolen glances her parents would make at each other that they both loved each other. Their love was real. She could only dream of something like that. True love in a love match was a rare thing.

"Hurry on, then. This old woman might still have the energy to dance but she'll wear out at some point."

Josephine gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Love you Granny. I won't be long." She only wanted to crash Dot's party again, something extravagant this time. She and Connie could work out the details. She had been friends with Connie since her primary school days. Together they had quite the mean streak but they had always been clever at not getting caught.

Not tonight however. Connie was not in the mood. She wanted to have a good time, dancing with the young men because she wanted to spend time with them before their boys went off to war, if there was likely to be one. She fully supported the idea, while Josephine was on the fence. Literally she was leaning up against a fence when things started to get too crowded for her liking.

First George. Now Connie.

She remembered the parties they had when they were children. They would invite the village children and would have games, such as pin-the-tail on the Donkey, it had become a tradition, in remembrance of their Grandpa Donk. They still had them even now that they were all too old for it now. They would be attending more adult parties in the future, which was quite boring to Josephine. She had more than enough of her fair taste and wondered how she would survive them. On the other hand she did love dressing up and showing off, being the center of attention. Maybe that's how she would get through it. Even if one day she did find a husband, the parties would never end. She would be hosting them one day, not just attending.

Her parents would still invite the village children and their parents to raise money for the village school.

She'd been watching the guests. One of the boys she immediately spotted was Dot's brother, Boy George. Their father was a Baron and wanted her as a match for her son, her father had always politely turned him down. She appeared not to be the only one to sense something off about him. But since Dot's birthday, the Baron hadn't brought it up again.

She tried to stir clear of Boy for but yet their paths always seemed to cross. As she exited the building, a feeling of being followed crept over her. When she turned around to see Boy.

"What do you want, Boy?"

"Same thing you want. I saw the way you were looking at me in there." Truth was that she was actually staring at his date, with her glamourous gown and gorgeous hair and full lips that looked like a permanent pout, which wasn't always attractive on every woman. She looked like she could be an actress on stage or a movie star.

"What are you staring at?" The girl had asked, demandingly.

"Sorry, I was just...going." She rushed past them toward the exit.

She had heard them talking as she left, ""That's the Earl's daughter, isn't it?" His date asked. "What a queer little thing. She was starting at me."

"She was only staring because she's jealous."

"I know you're interested. How about a kiss?"

"No." She tried to push him away but she was backed further into the fence with no escape.

"Come on, I know you want it."

"No. I have to go." With an unknown strength, she was suddenly able to push him backwards, sending him almost falling to the ground but he was able to right himself.

"You cold fridgid bitch." He shoved her up against the fence, her back digging into the chain-link.

There was a rustling near the shrubbery. "Hey! She said no."

It was Billy Morrison, the butler's son. He scared him away. Towering over Boy. But not before Josephine kneed him in the groin, scurrying off like the rat that he was.

She turned to thank Billy, trying to fight the tears in her eyes. But he had seen them. He had seen that she wasn't really an ice queen after all. He was tall, taller than George, his hair a darker blond than her brother's and longer. His fringe hung down over his forehead. His arms muscular and tan under his white shirt held up by suspenders. She had had a crush on him growing up. He only saw her as 'the little girl with a crush' no doubt.

"I imagine it's rather dull for you here." She said as they walked back to the estate. It was a rather long walk; he had put his jacket around her shoulders.

"Why do you say that?"

"You've always been that way ever since you first set foot here. And now that you're an Oxford man."

"Only for another year. And then I'm done."

"And then what?"

"I shall go to the bar, become a practicing lawyer."

"Oh, so you'll live in London, I suppose."

"Yes, that's my plan."

"Everyone seems to go to London eventually but I'm not so sure that I will." She didn't see the appeal of it rather than the shops and a good jaunt. "I rather prefer the country."

He half smiled at down as his feet. "Well, you're still quite young. You might change your mind."

So, he did still think of her as a kid. She'd remind him otherwise. "Oh, no. I'll be sixteen in December. In a few years I'll be coming out and then I'll have to be in London for the season."

He did that smiling thing again, this time his hands in his pockets, a posture that nanny would have deemed 'not proper'

"I amuse you?"

"You do somewhat. Not so much you."

"We are a strange lot. A race almost extinct. But that's not going to happen to us. Papa's clever."

Billy faintly nodded.

"I always found it an odd sort of ritual, coming out. It's about finding a husband, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. It's about parties and meeting people, being introduced into society and that society might include my future husband. It's not initially about that anymore. Times have changed."

"Have they changed?"

She scowled at him even though he couldn't see it. "You're enjoying this?"

"You're right, of course. Things are changing. Look at me, son of a humble servant attending University."

As they neared the edge of the gravel drive to Downton the gong was going off.

"I think I must go now. I need to dress for dinner."

"Of course." Did he sound disappointed? Did he think that she thought she was better than him? He turned to head the opposite way toward the rear of the house, leading to the servants' quarters.

"You don't need to go on my account. Stay here awhile."

He turned back to her as if to consider. "No. I should go...get back to my studies." Suddenly he stopped and turned back once more. "But I'll come back tomorrow?"

"Yes. That would be great!" They went their separate ways.


Isobel once again fell violently ill. Mary didn't want Matthew anywhere near if she was contagious, the same went for Granny, but they both resisted. And Isobel kept calling for her son. Mary finally relented. Not only because of that, he had been denied the opportunity to be by his father's bedside, calling for his son who wouldn't be coming. That and Abernathy confirmed that it was her heart.

Mary would often come to help with her too and Violet would come to see her.

"Doing an old friend an old favor." Had been Violet's response. Isobel had been there for her, when she had the flu in 1921. Violet had recovered but it was evident that her dear old friend would not prevail. The doctor later confirmed that the blueness under Isobel's fingernails and around her lips were the signs of heart failure. She could die with-in the next few days. They should be prepared.

When Violet announced she was going back to The Dower House to retire, she gently squeezed Matthew's arm, telling him, "my dear, boy, I will be here if you need anything." It was odd to call a fifty-two year old a boy, but that was what Violet would always see him as.

One evening, Isobel had gotten worse throughout the night. Matthew wanted to stay with her. On her death bed, Isobel declared to Matthew how sorry she was. That she was never the mother she should have been. She hadn't realized till he had been injured, and close to death. It shouldn't have taken that long to be a good mother to him.

"Shh, you must rest now, mother. And you are a good mother. You made the effort, and that's all that what matters. You're a good grandmother to the children." He pulled the blanket over her to keep her warm, though it wasn't the cold that she was shivering from. He got up to turn off the light.

"Matthew?"

He turned back to her, his hand hesitating on the light switch.

"There is something I need to tell you."

"No. You don't need to. Whatever it is, it can wait."

"It can't. I can't let this go to my grave. You shouldn't keep secrets, my dear. You of all should know."

"You don't need to. You need to rest." What else could she possibly tell him? She would never have been unfaithful to his father.

"The little girl in the photograph..."

"Mother, you don't have to tell me. I already guessed...I guess I knew for a long while now. She was my sister."

Isobel nodded. It made her cough. Matthew helped her sit up, so she could take a sip of water, bending the straw for her.

Once she cleared her throat, she continued. "Here name was Clara. She was born sick...her heart..." It was ironic that it was her own heart betraying her. She recalls the fresh pain as she held her little girl, calling for her mama as she held her, telling her that she was right there, the words of comfort gone unheard, until the cries grew faint. The little body limp and still in her arms. Finding her brother, Teddy the same way in his crib, shaking him and pleading to God but to no avail. She had feared the worst for Matthew, ever since his first breath of life, thinking that maybe if she sent him away, that she allowed herself to get too close, it would be less painful. Sending him away would save him.

She had never feared more for his life than when she had seen him in that hospital bed, injured in the war, that she realized how much loved him, she always had, and that it was time to make up for the time lost. She never regretted it. But she had wished realized it sooner, that she had told him all of this sooner, the lies, the deceit. She had believed it had been for his own good, that she'd hate her less. But her son could never hate her. No matter what, she knew her son would love her. Because he was his father's son.

"You don't have to tell me anymore." He didn't have to see that it was causing her emotional distress, he felt it permeate the room. She didn't need any more pain.

"No. I have to tell you. There's something else..."

"You don't need to. You had another sister, before Clara, her name was Laura. Your father called her Jewel. He'd take her to his surgery, taught her all the things he would a son, when Teddy was yet too young to learn those things. The church didn't approve, that she would never find a husband... When Teddy died, the vicar told him he could have another son to teach things to. That's she'd never obey a husband and he was condemning her to sin. That's why he left, the church. He was hurt by it for a long time. Then she got sick and died too. He did all the things he did with her, with you. You weren't a replacement to him...in a way you reminded him of her."

"I know."

"When we had you, I was glad that we finally had a healthy child and I felt guilty for feeling that way...and when she died... I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to blame yourself or think that I blamed you. For a while, I did. I went to stay with family in...in Paris. Your father suggested it. That I would be ready to be a mother to you when I returned. And I was. I was marveled and delighted how much you had changed in three months; how much you were thriving. But the healthier you were, Clara seemed to grow weaker. I know it wasn't rational to blame you. That's why I sent you away. I couldn't look at you because I thought you a reminder of my failures, and then when I could, I was afraid to get too close. I didn't want to lose you too. That why I never... never told you."

"It's alright, mother." He said without hesitation. "I forgive you."

"Why?"

"Because you're my mother." With all the pain and suffering he had gone through in his life, why prolong it? What would it accomplish? He didn't want his mother to die feeling guilty, nor with any regrets. He wouldn't deny her piece of mind.

"I've raised a good boy." She patted his hand. "My Matthew..." She touched a hand to his face. "How much like Reggie you are. Reggie... I love you." I'm coming, Reggie.

"I love you too, mother. Now get some rest." He kissed her on the forehead.

He was half-way out the door when something compelled him to come back. He went over to the bed, kissing her on the forehead. He decided to stay in the room with her, sleeping in the chair, it would be murder on his back later. But he wanted to stay with her.

The next morning, he woke, stretching his aching back. Mary would kill him if the pain didn't first. Smiling at his mother's sleeping form, he went over to wake her. She didn't wake because she wasn't sleeping.

"Molesly! Molesly!" He hears himself shouting. The old valet came rushing into the room, his eyes directly on Isobel's bed.

"Should I get the nurse, my Lord?"

Matthew feels himself nodding. As the nurse rushes around the bed, Matthew watches them, helplessly. Because he knows that it is no use. She is gone.

"My Lord?" Molesley finally looks back over at him, noting that his employers and friend's face had gone pale, appearing as if he might faint.

"I meant for me."

Molesley watched his eyes roll into the back of his head and his legs start to buckle. He had no time to catch him. Luckily the chair caught his fall, as he collapsed back into it.

Abernathy was called before they informed Mary. They didn't want her to panic while the doctor did his examination. Glenn Abernathy had replaced Dr. Clarkson as the main G.P. in the village after he had 'retired'

A few seconds after he had fainted, he had come round. He could feel the pressure cuff on his arm and the cold metal of a stethoscope against his chest.

"He's my husband. I can see him when I want to." Mary's voice drifted in from the hallway. Somehow she had heard anyway, trying to barge her way in, as always.

He smiled and turned his head but the slightest movement made him dizzy again; a touch of vertigo.

"What happened?" She felt her brush his hair and touch his face, while his eyes were closed, trying to focus on settling his heart rate.

"Blood pressure was slightly elevated. But it's returning to normal. He didn't have a heart attack." Abernathy was explaining to Mary. "It's not anything serious so no need to worry."

"Isobel?" She glanced at the bed.

"Gone, my lady." Molesley stated.

"It must have happened so sudden. Went in her sleep." The nurse said.

"It was a shock to us all, my Lady." Added Molesley "He's been on his feet for quite some time."

Everything was fine when they headed back to the Abbey. There were the children to tell. Mary volunteered that they should tell them together.

"After you've had your rest. I don't want your blood pressure to go up again."

"It won't. I was just feeling a touch of vertigo, darling. And legs just went out. I'd been on my feet for a long time the night before."

"You just found your mother dead."

He stayed silent and looked out the window.

They pulled up to Downton's gravel drive. The children were running toward them to greet them.

"We'll talk about this later." She whispered to him.

"No, we won't. End of discussion." He smiled and waved at the children. The butler already had his chair ready, helping him into it. Caroline ran up to him and gave him a hug, her blonde curled head on his chest. George and Josephine also made their way over, while Kate and Andy went over to their mother.

Matthew was whispering to them. The children's' smiles turned into frowns. George and Carrie were crying, their faces becoming red from the tears. Josephine said nothing, looking over at the trees, her eyes, Mary caught a glimpse of them, were filled with anger.

"Did grandmother die?" asked Kate.

"Yes. Yes, she died."

Kate blinked back the tears as they started to form. Andy took off running into the house. Matthew went up to have a talk with him. An hour later he came back to their room.

"How's he taking it?"

"As one would expect." He took a short pause. "He feels that everyone leaves him. A little boy shouldn't know what that feels like."

"He's not a little boy anymore. He'll be thirteen."

"Don't remind me. They'll all be teenagers soon." Even little Caroline who was almost ten. Time flew by so quickly.

"What did you say?"

"I told him that everyone losses someone, that death was natural." He sat down on the bed, staring at the wall. She saw that her husband was struggling not to cry. "He was so afraid, Mary. That I might leave him."

"And you assured him otherwise."

"I didn't know what to say, because we don't know how long..." He has left. Even though he could live to a ripe old age if he retained a healthy lifestyle. Even then, everything was left to chance. "How do you explain to a child, your own child, whom you've just told that death is a natural and sure thing, and then say it's also uncertain. I had to lie to him. I'm sorry."

"You know how I feel, that when something like this happens, we should tell them together."

"I agree." He took a moment. "I feel how you did, when your father died. I feel lost without her. I feel more lost without her than when my own father died." They put their arms around each other as they both cried.

"I know it sounds incredulous for a grown man to ask, if it was all worth it, mending things between us, if she was proud of me."

Mary wanted to state that she was, but he gave her no chance to reply.

"I asked mother the same thing about my father years ago. I wonder what he'd think of me now." His parents never really understood him, even into adulthood. It was probably the age gap. Almost thirty years between him and his mother, forty-one between him and his father. There was an even bigger one between him and his children than his mother's had been. Thirty-six years between him and George, thirty-seven with Josephine and Katie, forty years between Andy, and forty-one between Caroline.

Perhaps the children being closer in age had helped them. He was thankful that none of them were an only child, like he had been. He had called himself an 'alone" child because he had often felt lonely, especially when he was away at school. In his early school life, he would cry alone in bed at night because of the other boys teasing him and wondering why she had sent him away to such a horrid place. Didn't she love him? He had learned very fast to grow up, one of the headmasters had told him one night when he had pulled him from the bed (one of his bunkmates must have tattled on his crying) and had given a few good lashings. It prompted him to come up with a moto, always look out for me, myself and, I.

Then Mary came into his life. He was so trusting again. And then she broke his heart and then he'd fallen in love with her all over again. Writing to her from the trenches and in the bunker had been his only source of light, his hope, and had awakened the feelings that had never really fizzled out.

"From what you've told me about your father, he wouldn't have been more than proud." She touched his face. "As am I. I'm proud to be your wife. I can't imagine anyone who's met you that wouldn't be, to have known you."

He smiled, knowing what she meant. But they only saw only what he went through, the brave hero. Not his Mary. He was the kind, gentle husband and adoring father.

"When my mother was born at home and my grandfather went out front to get a breath of fresh air, someone asked him what the baby was he said, "I forgot to look."

She drew back, not asking what prompted him to share this, looking up at her husband lovingly. "If it had only been simple with our children."

He gave a sigh. "Nothing hardly is ever simple with us. Is it? I just...wonder if she was able to forgive me."

"Whatever for?"

"How I reacted when she told me the truth. Did she remember that I forgave her?"

"I'm sure whatever it was, that she did. She did forgive you."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"She was proud of you too."

If that could explain and be the answer to everything. For now, that would have to do because he knew it was true. His mother was free of earthy pain and suffering, not having to live with her mind slipping further away from her. He hoped that would never happen to him, to his family, that they would have to watch him linger as what made him, him be stripped away, that he would pass peacefully in the night someday, a long time from now, with the woman he loved in his arms. As he held her, he cried silently for his mother, for one last time, as it all suddenly hit him. With his own scarifies and what he would do to protect his own children, he and his mother were not so different after all. With all the sacrifices she had faced, losing all of her other children, and blaming herself, living with the feeling of guilt, feeling like a failure, that she was a bad mother for being unable to keep her children alive. While he had felt that he was a bad father in the beginning because he had taken away that right from so many, a fact he had been so terrified to tell Mary, it had nothing to do with his disabilities, not entirely.

He thought about all the people who had been there for him when he was injured, enduring his darkest days, Mary, Sybil, mother. His mother's care for him had been more than just making up for lost time with him.

Now he knew the truth. She had always loved him. Her intentions were good, wanting him to have a good education and build good strength of character and necessary skills to survive in the world, all stemming from her fear of losing him. Of course, she hadn't known about the bullying. How was she to know? He hadn't told her about it till later years and her face had gone pale with guilt, proving that she hadn't known and apologized for it. He had never felt so alone in those years, besides when he was in the war.

Those days were long behind him, surrounded by the large family he had always wanted. His children were fortunate to be growing up with their siblings and cousins around them. Though most of them were almost all teenagers now, they would always be 'the children'.

He knew he was forgiven by his mother, but the fact remained that he would never forgive himself for a number of things. He vowed to take it and all off his war secrets to the grave. At the funeral he would celebrate her life. That's what she would have wanted.


Jo didn't know what to feel, other than angry. She shouldn't be. Granny Isobel was in her eighties. But still another great life was taken. She had loved her Donk, even though she never understood his old-fashioned, slightly misogynist ways. He had made the effort to try to be proud with Aunt Edith and her newspaper, and her decision to want to become a teacher, neither were suitable jobs for members of the peerage. That was their last conversation. Then suddenly he was gone. Like Granny Isobel.

With most people on their deathbed, nothing really matters except love, so I'm relieved to know that I let my Granny know she was loved and that she mattered and would not be forgotten. I asked her which relatives she was excited to see on 'the other side' and she positively beamed when she told me about how she missed her dad and her brother. She looked forward to seeing her husband the most. I didn't ask which one.

Carrie hardly cried at all. She was happy when Granny passed. Happy. "She's with Jesus and not suffering anymore. She seemed to be the only one of them to share the deep faith that their father had.

They still had their grandmother Rachel. A step-grandmother (though Clarkson also a step-grandparent, they were much closer to Rachel) but each of them thought of her as the real deal. She was just as nice and as lovely as Granny Isobel but she wasn't Granny Isobel. Rachel spent more and more time with the children, helping them move on from their loss.

She had their own special outing planned for each and every one of them, according to their different interests. She was very attuned to their likes and dislikes. She never really had gotten to know her biological grandchildren, only writing to her son and daughter in-law, and seeing them on the occasional holidays.

Mary and Rachel had come to an agreement, that it was best for her to remain in her grandchildren's lives. Rachel loved and enjoyed every second she had with her grandchildren, especially the youngest ones. And George was getting more interesting to talk to, as he took more interest in adult conversations.

Josephine, just like her mother, was getting harder to get along with. She'd spend her time with her grandmother Violet. Violet thought of her more of a younger version of herself, than a younger Mary, with a dash of her father Matthew thrown in. Though Josephine didn't acknowledge that it was there.


Edith joined them on their holiday in Paris in the summer of 1937, touring the Eifel tower, the cathedrals, including the Norte Dome. Andy was curious about the relics, weather they were real or not. He stood beside his Aunt under the high ceiling, bathing in the warmth of the sun shining through the great glass windows.

Edith looked at the other four Crawley children sitting in the pews behind her and thought how well her sister had done for herself. George, at fifteen was nearly a man now. He was the spitting image of his father. Though she was closer to Andy, an intelligent but an imaginative boy. True his school work was a little erratic and he was prone to daydream.

"You shouldn't worry about him." Matthew said. "Twelve year-olds tend to daydream."

"It's the same with Jay." Even though he was only nine.

"And who knows. " Mary chimed in, "maybe Jay will do something in the arts or literature." She had high hopes for Edith's son as if he was her own; always wanted the best for her only nephew. Anyone else's sister would be thankful and thrilled that their child had an Aunt to look out for them but she was Edith's sister. They had gotten into several fights over it. Mary often overstepped boundaries. She had even tried to convince Bertie what school he should go to. She had to remind Mary that she was his mother and will decided what is best for her child. They had gotten to a rather heated argument before they had left for Paris.

"He's the only nephew I'll ever have." After Jay's birth, the doctors said that Edith couldn't have any more children. "Just as Sybie is..."

"Oh, that's just an excuse! You're always sucking up to him because he is the future Marquess of Hexham! And YOU can't stand that you're beneath us, even that your own nephew is above you. You never will. You want what you can't have. You've never wanted me to be happy, so you're trying to prove a point, that you can do it better than me. You have your own family and children, but it's not enough for you! You always wanted to be center stage, even when we were children. It's a shame Matthew can't see you for what you are. He would have been better off if he had escaped you.

It had been one step over the line, far over the line.

"How dare you! Suggests such things, that I don't love or care for my husband and my children. You don't know how hard it's been...what I've been through...what we've been through. To even suggests that it would have been better off if he had died...he almost did die."

He still could if they weren't careful. A simple cold could turn into pneumonia. He had a better chance of surviving it than any paraplegic with a complete fracture, being a particle paraplegic, but not by a long stretch; the chance was still slim as it took him longer to recover; giving bacteria enough time to incubate. It had been one of her worst fears, still was.

"That's not what I..." She had meant to say that he would have been better off with anyone else. Matthew was her best friend.

He knows I've changed. It's both changed us. And if you actually cared, you'd see that I'm not that person anymore!"

Edith apologized.

"Mary...I'm so sorry. I know how your and Matthew's relationship has grown because of it, and I see how you love each other, how both of you are with the children and I know that you genuinely love Jay." But both knew they were never going to be close as sisters.

"I suppose this means you're going to unpack your bags then."

"I'm still coming. The children want me to."

She looked back to the children again.

Jo was like her mother but also there was a softness about her that she always tried to hide. Katie was just as smart as her siblings, always reading a book. She was pretending to read the bible, she no doubt was concealing another book behind it. And then there was little Caroline, eleven years old, sweet and kind. And how could anyone not love those blue eyes and mass of golden curls?

Andy stayed behind with her as the other went back to the hotel. Matthew was getting tired. Edith told him about how she had showed his father the churches when he had first come to Downton.

That was to be their last trip to Paris as tensions were beginning to run high over Europe, they had been for years. Just to be on the safe side but surely it would not lead to another war. Germany was still facing crippling debt after the first.

"If it does lead to that, the children are not old enough." Mary stated, when they were alone at the table.

"They will be if it drags on for years." The lines on his face were deeper when his face pulled into a frown. "But it won't happen."

The younger children did not understand the danger and were upset that they could not go. Jo, when something was troubling her, would often spent time at the stables. For the past eight years he would occasionally join her. He didn't need help getting on but he needed help from the two stablemen to dismount. Jo had been slightly embarrassed when she first saw it, seeing the two men carrying her father and angry, seeing him struggle. But it was normal.

With the talk about theoretical war, he needed to clear his mind, deciding to join his daughter.

Mary went out to the stables, just in time to see them heading back. Jo looked so grown up. Her children were so grown up, especially Josephine, at fourteen,(soon to be fifteen) riding gracefully in sync with her father, their horses at a even trot. They would all be grown up soon. It was hard to believe. It seemed only yesterday that she was swaddling them, holding them in her arms.

She had been so fearful of having children after Sybil had died in childbirth, though she had never voiced it, she hadn't had to. The family was all fearing the same, she knew that Matthew was too but didn't express it.

George's birth had been the easiest.

"I woke to feel the baby's head between my legs. Sort of propped myself up to look, and my firstborn slithered out, and started crying. Not loud crying, but clearly not happy. The midwife came to answer the bell and said, thinking at first that I was still in labor. " Pant girl, pant! Oh! Bloody hell! You did that quietly. Why didn't you call, my lady? I was asleep and woke up when she happened." I had gone to bed in the delivery room, waiting for contractions to become painful, more powerful, more often. I fell asleep.

Whereas Josephine had taken her sweet time making her appearance into the world.

By Katie's birth I told the nurse to get ready to catch! Actually it wasn't THAT quick and after baby almost crowning twice I said "Just grab the ears and pull." She had a head of red-blond hair and over her shoulders and the middle of her back. I had joked she looked like an orangutan but it expressed more worry. The doctor assured that it would fall out. It had, and so did the hair on her head, that grew back the same shade. The access hair hadn't grown back as the doctor had promised.

When Mary had gone into labor with the twins, in 1926, she tried to absorb herself into her children's excitement, (George wanted it to be two boys but both parents would have been contempt with one of each)her panic and fear had set in again. Matthew had comforted her, had confidence in her that her body was strong enough. Her daughter's body wasn't strong enough. Beth, Andy's twin, had been stillborn.

The twins had taken some time to come also. Andy finally did, with the next contraction after the midwife popped the amniotic membrane. Maybe only fix-six contractions. I was counting them, thinking that each contraction was 1cm dilation. Five minutes later the other came. Both babies wailed. I had been sure I had heard them both.

"What's the other one?" I asked.

The doctor and nurse hesitated, looking at each other. I couldn't see my other baby as they seemed quick to whisk it away. They handed me the first one.

"A beautiful, healthy, baby boy, Lady Mary!" The nurse placed him in my arms. I asked them where they were taking her, (somehow I knew it was a girl) what was wrong but I had passed out from the effort and the pain. Nothing compared to the pain I was about to feel. A half hour later they returned with my sweet boy. I ask again. They say my little girl is dead. I don't believe it because I had sworn I had heard her cry. Nothing and no one could convince me, except for my husband. I begged to see her, told them they had made a mistake. I turned to my husband, sitting on the bed beside me, demanding him to tell them they were wrong. When I searched his eyes and he held my hand, I knew it to be true. Even then it had taken several months for my mind and body to be convinced of it.

It was still a bit numbing whenever I thought about her but not painful as it had been. It still was for both of us.

After such tragedy of losing Beth, we were blessed with another baby girl, a year and a half later. I had felt relief not guilt. Numerous doctor's had told us to have another to help us heal, and that is what we did. Well, unintentionally. She had been an unexpected surprise from our second honeymoon in Paris. A welcoming, joyous, surprise! We did not care what people thought and would not let it mare our joy. They very joy I could not contain, when I gave birth to a healthy six pound baby girl.

"She's alive, I thought as my body, which had just labored six hours, sank into relief. My husband was crying. I assumed it was because our daughter was here and healthy. I had began to shout. "Oh my God!" Matthew had burst into the room then. "She's here, she's healthy, she's okay! She's so beautiful, Matthew. I can't believe she's here."

I just continued to yell in pure euphoria, and the nurse and midwife were kind enough to allow me to continue my shouts of pure joy. Anna smiling, gleefully, grabbing an extra blanket to wrap her in.

It was hard to believe that George, Josephine and Katie were slightly unruly teenagers now, Andy is now twelve, and that warm precious bundle had healed our marriage and strengthened our love, helped repair the cracks caused by the deep agonizing pain, is ten years old. Very much her father's princess. All three of the girl's were, but Matthew and I had a very special bond with Caroline, that we don't share with the other children. George and Josephine had a closer relationship with their father. Andy was more independent, and would rather spend less time with his parents.

It was approaching Andy's thirteen birthday. He was feeling grown up already but of course everyone else saw him as a kid. He asked his father advice which had been a mistake.

"Keep your mind set on the future and what you can do to improve it while enjoying what you have now. It's never too early to start trying to accomplish something. One thing that I really wish I had when I was thirteen was someone around to guide me into manhood. I learned that when I went off to school."

"Like Jay. He's way smarter than me."

"Everyone has different talents. Find yours. Don't sweat the small stuff. You're going to make mistakes. Small one's...you only get to be a kid once, so be a kid, son."

"Are you just saying that, because George is going to be earl someday?"

"What?" Matthew was shocked. "At certain times it may seem that. He has responsibilities that..."

"You always care what Georgie and Josephine do but don't care what I do. You want them to do better than me because they're more important."

"Andy, you know that's not true..."

"You and mum blame me for what happened to Beth. I know it. You get this look sometimes. You both do."

"We don't...if it seems that way to you, I'm sorry. We would never..."

"I hate you. I wish I never been born." He ran off, knowing that his father wouldn't be able to run after him.


At seventeen, George already felt the pressures on him. His mother arranged an outing to the Opera, and suggested he invite his friends. She was going to invite a lady friend of hers, her assistant at the Bates' shop in London, which turned out to be Dot Pearson. He caught a glimpse of her waiting in the drawing room.

"You're matchmaking again, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am."

"Dot Pearson?" He raised an eyebrow at his mother. The most boring drawl of a girl, who liked to talk nothing about herself and the parties she attended and the latest trends.

"I know how you felt about her last year, but she's a lot more mature since then." George would need an independent, strong minded, and modern woman to help him manage things.

You mean the 'mature' ideas she shares with her brother about the Nazi's? He thought sarcastically but held back. He didn't want to answer his mother's questions and spark a fight.

"You're going to adore her; if you'd just give her a chance." She still saw distain on his face. "You're sixteen George, almost seventeen. It's time you have to start taking up your responsibilities. The previous Earl's started younger than you are now, at fifteen..."

"You want to talk about responsibilities? I had responsibilities since I was a kid. Jo and I...we helped take care of dad. I didn't get a chance to be a kid. I this is my last year to be a kid. And now you want me to 'grow up" Just give me that."

They civilly went through to the drawing room.


He was never a really good at hiding. Matthew heard his crying from the barn, hiding amongst the horses and hay of all places. They crying stopped when he was discovered.

"Your mother and I are going to the Opera with your brother and sisters."

"Caroline is going?"

"No. She's staying here."

"I think I'll stay with her."

Matthew lowered himself down on the the pile of hay on the ground to sit next to his son.

"How will you get up?" He was curious and worried but tried not to show it.

"I'll manage." His father fluffed up the hay and the straw to get comfortable.

"I'm still mad at you." Andy narrowed his eyes.

"Well, I still love you. Always. Your mother and I both do. We think of her sometimes."

"Whenever you look at me."

"Yes but not for the reasons you think. We will always feel that loss, everyday that you grow bigger, every birthday we're reminded of it, that she's not here, that she should be...but don't think for another second that it was your fault or that we blame you. What you're seeing is that we're sad, and also happy and grateful. And I'm sorry we never asked you how you felt, that we never talked about it. I should have listened to your feelings. I'm listening now." He waited for his son to reply but he did not. Andy had picked up a twig and started drawling in the dirt.

"I know you're frustrated and angry but I don't think hate is the right word. And never say that you wish you were never born. What your mother and I went through...nearly destroyed us. It would have destroyed us if it weren't for you and Caroline. We are so thankful that we have you and Caroline."

"She's your miracle baby." He had often heard it said but not in the context that he could understand or comprehend.

"You both are. All of you are. Look at me son. It was thought I would never walk or even have children. It was hard. Account of my injury."

He briefly glanced at his father's legs and back at the dirt. He never really looked at them or stared. They were told not to as if it was his father's fault somehow. Their mother said not to do it because it was rude.

He never understood. Now that he was older, he never thought of the effects of his father's condition. No one had told him. It must have been really hard, almost devastating to dad to hear he could not have children because of how much he loved them. He had also been active in his youth before his 'accident', he had heard from his mother and other people who knew him before the war (even Uncle Evelyn) which was impossible to imagine.

"I...never knew that."

"Patience, compassion and understanding is important, and so is listening. I think we may need some time...to think things over. I know you're hurting and you didn't meant to say that you hate me."

"No. But I'm still mad." He took a few seconds before he thought out what he was going to say. "I'll try to understand."

He smiled. "There's my lad."


"He's a teenager. He's going to rebel darling." Mary said as her ladies maid helped her put on her coat. He wasn't able to tell her the specifics, as the car arrived to take them to the Opera house.