Carrie was up before Miles or his Aunt. But not long after the sun was up, she begun to hear the bed squeak from the attic above and the sound of feet.

"Something smells good." She turns to the sound of Miles's voice.

"It better be. Will your Aunt be joing us?"

"She sleeps in late."

She sets the table and dishes the food out for him as he patiently sits. He appears a little hesitant before he takes a bite.

"How is it?"

"Well, it's apparent you know how to cook. Even well enough to put cook to shame. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't exactly ask what other abilities and talents I have. My mother taught us that it was essential that we learn. I detested the lessons and thought them a waste of time and no way of use to me in the future. They kept me from what I really enjoyed."

"And what was that?" He was not only intrigued at the way her nightgown molded to her small frame and trim backside. The details unwillingly presented to him.

The nightgown was billowy, hiding her stomach but it wouldn't hide it for long. Soon it would get bigger but he didn't care. He'd still find her attractive.

"Ridding. A family friend of my parents owned stables and bread the finest steeds in all of London, with the exception of the Queen of course. Our mother had us all on bare back by the time we were four, except for my brother Andy. He was afraid of the horses...is." She shook her head. "I don't know what term to use. Missing in action isn't exactly an answer. What is that supposed to mean? I didn't imagine that it could happen to both of them. One of them has to come home, right?"

"Right. I know how it must feel. But don't give up hope. If it helps talking about them, I'll listen...or we don't have to?" She didn't answer and he took another bite. "It's not as far fetched to say you might be the best cook here."

"Does that mean you still want me, then?" She said, giving a nervous smile

"Of course. Didn't I tell you? I meant when I said I was all in. We're in this together. There's no going back..." There was a creak of floorboards. They stopped for a moment, seemingly holding each other's breath. Soon they wouldn't be alone. His Aunt was waking up. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't love you."

"Some men say one thing and mean something else entirely."

"I'm not one of those men. I'm staying."


The villagers were still talking about the youngest Crawley daughter's wedding and would for some time, even her parents.

"Did you think Caroline looked charming?"

"Very charming."

"She fussed you know, about the dress and the veil. But then, us Crawley women are all alike."

"Yes, but what do they say about the men?"

He was looking better this morning, Mary thought, watching him standing in front of the French doors in the library that lead out into the gardens.

He was thinking of her, on their own wedding day, how his heart had lurched as she entered the church and sat beside him on their daughter's special day. He couldn't help but think, even more beautiful than the bride. He had made good on his promise that he had made the day their son was born, that he loved her more with each day that passed, without even trying.

As if his thought summoned her, he turned round to see her. Each sight of her still overwhelmed him. She lightly kissed his cheek, taking his arm. "Shall we take a short walk? You're feeling well?"

"I am feeling very well. I think the doctor's advice helped. I just needed the fresh air."

The coughing, starting back in October, had returned about a week ago. It would often keep him awake. He'd sleep in his dressing room not to disturb Mary but she could hear him through the walls. She had urged him to see a doctor and when he complained about it, refusing, she had made a house call.

Bronchitis. It was more common with patients with his type of spinal injury, especially now that he was older. Mary had addressed her fear of it turning into pneumonia. The doctor told her it wouldn't come to that as long as he took the antibiotics and had urged him to stop smoking.

Mary thought there must be a mistake. "My husband doesn't smoke. He used to but that was a very long time ago. He stopped when our youngest was born."

The doctor and Matthew exchanged looks.

"I've taken it up again." Matthew confessed.

"When?" Mary's question was almost a demand.

"Rather recently." He was being vague. Her eyes probed him for an acceptable answer. "Just a few times. It helps with the cough."

He went back to his old cigars as if to prove a point, the coughing had gone down, his airways sounded more clear. Mary thought it just the unusually warm weather.


Josephine invited her friend, Nickolas Forsythe to dinner.

"So, is this the young man you've been keeping a secret?" Her father jokingly asked. He had known about him. Jo had told him about him. She had said that she really liked him , though at the time she hadn't sounded convinced.

Mary and the girls hadn't heard anything about him. He hoped over time her feelings for Nick would change. He didn't see any prospects for her after she had ended things with her Duke and all the younger men gone off to war, most of whom will never return. Whoever she ended up with he wanted to be someone she could love. If she didn't want to marry and found someone later in life, that was fine by him.

"I met Nick at the concert. He compared me to Ava Gardner and asked me to dance. No matter how many times I refused, he insisted." That's it. everything is normal. She does love Nick. "He's part of the SAG. The Screen Actors Guild."

The fellow was nice as she had said. He knew the right things to say and was charming and polite, but seemed a little out of place. It reminded Matthew of his first time to Downton, a lifetime ago, another life.

Sybie smiled at Nick's awkwardness, secretly cheering him on by nodding and engaging like he was already part of the fold.

What her mother would have done. It was like she was here in spirit. Matthew thought.

"You're an actor!" Mary said, surprised. "Anything I would know?"

"He's not been in any major, just in a few as an extra." Jo said modestly. "He prefers the stage." She was very interested in the subject. Mary was enthused and glad that she was showing interest in anything other than teaching. It seemed she hadn't been for ages. And who could blame her, with the war. It would help take her mind off her brothers. And if she was falling for Nick, she wouldn't have to worry about losing him.

"You put on shows for the soldiers rather than fighting for your own country?" Bertie asked.

The young man had an unpleasant look on his face, misunderstanding Bertie. "Acting might not seem very important but it boosts a soldiers moral, especially with all the ladies dressed up." he was a man that would stand up for his belief's and what was right.

"I'd imagine. " Mary smiled, trying to keep this dinner from getting anymore awkward. "We had a concert here for the soldiers during the first war. Edith would play the piano and I would sing."

"No wonder where she got her good singing voice."

Mary was grateful for the complement. "As I would like to take all the credit, she get's it from her dear papa." She glanced over to her darling husband who was having a conversation with their niece and oldest daughter. "I don't think she sang much since she's met you."

"She could have a career in it if she wants to."

"You know how I feel about that." Jo said it almost too softly, "with the drama with this family. And I wouldn't dream of giving up teaching."

"Acting is very important." Nick put more on his plate, thanking the footman. Sybie once again smiled, this time down on her plate. " I think of it as a form of art. And if art isn't an job then who designed your clothes, even your shoes. Your curtains and draperies. The layout and structure of your house. Art is in everything around us. All artists should be respected, no matter the craft."

"Here. Here." Matthew raised his glass.

"That was lovely put, Mr. Forsythe." Edith chimed.

"Call me Nick."


Mile's Aunt Beatrice introduced her to her twin daughter's Vanessa and Viola. They reminded her of her own sisters. Miles having left a few days ago she had been worried about the loneliness and feared they would turn nasty on her but they continued to welcome her with open arms. It was like she was home but not quite. She missed it terribly, especially Papa.

Vanessa was a nurse and Viola worked as a secretary for the woman's artillery force, having started out in a munitions factory. Vanessa apologized for her sister's shorthandedness and weepiness that seemed directed towards Caroline.

"She lost her fiancé after his plane went down over Germany."

"My sister lost her husband the same way. They weren't married for long but she still took it hard."

"That's the price of war time marriages. At least our Miles is safe."

Her brothers weren't.

Carrie tried very hard to keep her tears at bay, not wanting to hope that the same would happen with one of her brothers.

"What did I say say something...what's wrong?" Vanessa asked.

"It's just whenever I hear bad news, well it's always bad news, isn't it? And ever since my brother's went missing..."

Beatrice reached for some tissues, handing them to her. "Oh, you poor dear. Miles told me. No matter what you need, I'll be here for you. We all will." Her warm touch was vaguely that of Granny Isobel.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because Miles is so crazy in love with you." Vanessa said, answering for her as she pulled her chair closer. "And I can see why. " Both girls smiled and laughed. "You're one of us now." Vanessa then excused herself. "Now, I will have to excuse myself. I have a very early morning."

"I try not to hope." Carrie said to Aunt Bea as Vanessa retreated up the stairs to the attic they shared. It was a little cramped sharing the space but she was glad for it, that she didn't have to be alone in a cold, drafty room. It made her recall the night before her wedding, she and Josephine, curled up in bed against the cold.

Her oldest sister had come to her room, telling her she didn't want to fight anymore, apologizing how she had treated her in the past. She had been the youngest and smallest; it was a right of passage. "I know it's no excuse. Since you're getting married, I thought that we could put our differences aside, that we could be sisters again?"

"Why all of a sudden do you want to be nice?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's the war...maybe, it's made me realize, it's not worth losing more people. We might only have each other someday."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"What?"

"How I knew I was in love with him? It was like love at first sight."

"Oh, Caroline, really?"

"It's different this time, Jo. I really love him."

"He's a handsome one, that's for sure."

"It wasn't just that. It's the way he looks at me, like I'm the most important thing in the world. He doesn't look through me like most men do when I talk, he really listens to me, like I'm more than just a pretty face. Do you know what that's like?"

"I can't imagine."

"I wish I were more like you, Jo. You're so modern and brave."

"I'm not brave at all. Brash, maybe."

"Yes, you are brave. I'm not complicated like you are. I'm as simple as simple can be." She gave a sigh, "I wish we didn't have to grow up." She turned her head toward the doll house that used to be their mothers.. She had made some excuse that if she put it in storage it would hurt her feelings.

"Daddy used to say that to me, don't grow up, sweetheart. Stay the way you are. And he was right, like he always is. Being a grown up is the pits."

"Well, you're going to have to grow up sometime."

She was right. She was going to be a mother soon. Perhaps is was time to put aside the childish hope that her brothers would return home safe.

"Sometimes hope is all we have." Beatrice said. "Now go for a walk or go lay down. I don't want you to be listening to the radio or reading the newspaper. And I better not see you again until dinner."


Josephine gave Nick the tour of the house. He was astonished with how many doors lined the hallways, at each twist and turn there would be another. Some rooms were large, others small. The corridors lined with faded Parisian rugs and paintings, still bright Victoria wallpaper. He no doubt thought that behind the paintings that had hung for centuries, the fabric would be even brighter.

"It never ends, does it?"

"When we were children it seemed much bigger to us."

"I mean, everywhere you go. All old castles are a piece of art themselves. Though I'm a bit disappointed that there isn't a moat."

"No. No moats. But we do have secret passage ways."

"I knew it!" He didn't try to hide the excitement of his inner child.

"We always thought there were secrets to discover."

"And did you? Discover any of them?"

She went over to one of the rooms fireplaces. "I haven't used it in a long time since...I know it's here somewhere. And..." The fireplace swung open as she pressed something just beneath the mantel. "Voila!"

"You know French?"

"Of course. A little bit. We were all taught it. My sisters and I used to hide in here. This was my Aunt's room. I don't think she ever knew about it. We never asked much about her. She died before we were born, giving birth to my cousin."

"I know how that is. Sometimes people can feel a lot of resentment. My father couldn't bare to look at me and grandparents couldn't look after me, they were too old, so I was just dumped on the doorstep of an orphanage."

She didn't know how to respond to the disclosed information. He had only told her that he was an orphan. His father could still be out there but she wouldn't ask him to go looking for him. If it were her, she wouldn't have wanted to. She was fortunate to have the father she had, most young people a bit older than herself didn't have any fathers, having been killed in the first war. And Sybie, had the most fortunate life, being able to grown up and learn the same things beside them. And Uncle Tom had never resented her.

Count your blessings.

"Where does it lead to?" He asked.

"It spreads out all over the house. It's like a maze with many twist and turns. I think one of them leads to the library." The library on the first floor. "I used to drive the servants mad thinking it was haunted or that there were mice in the walls."

"I bet that gave them a right scare."

"My torch went out once when I was hiding. I couldn't find my way back. I was hysterical when papa found me."

"It still frightens you."

"Yes. I suppose it does." She closed the secret passage. Well, not so secret anymore. She would not have just showed that to anyone, nor to admit to one of her fears. She had been afraid to go down in the cellar the first time they had the drill. It had frightened her father more; it had seemed to scare her fear out of her in that moment, when his mind had taken him back to his memories of war.

"That's not the only thing you're scared of. You're scared to be lonely and you're scared to love." Because she knows how fragile life can be. "Thinking everyone will leave you in the end because how long can they stay without seeing the real you. I know."

"No. You don't." How can he know that too?

"I do. It scares me too. So let's be scared together. I know I don't have much to offer you. Any other man would be ashamed that is wife is richer than him, but not me...Will you marry me? Josephine Alexandria Crawley?"

"Yes! Yes, I will!"

"I have a few things lined up. But they could fall through. We'd have to go to America."

"Oh."

"If that is a deal breaker..."

"No. No, it's not." He sometimes infuriated her so with his such American foibles and mannerisms. But it did somehow felt right.


She joined her father in the library. He had left the dinning room early. She wanted to share with him the good news and not so good news. Marrying Nick would mean leaving him behind and yet it would be a chance for her to have a normal life, to start over, forget about Charlotte and finally lay her to rest. Did she want a normal life? Could she accept who she wasn't? Over time maybe, yes.

"What's on your mind, my dear?" He asked her.

"What gave it away?"

"You're pacing."

She stopped. "He asked me to marry him. Do you think I should?"

"You should..." Her brows furrowed at his quick answer.

"You think it will protect me? Is that why you're only agreeing?" She was a little angry, thinking he would marry her off to anyone if that meant hiding her true nature. No, he would never do that. Nick must have made the right impression.

"You should marry him." He added calmly, to get her to listen. She had inherited her temper from her mother as well. He knew how to counteract it without getting caught in the crossfire. It had worked. She was calm now. He saw her relax as she sat at the edge of the desk. "If that's what you want." He continued. "I want what's best for you. If it would make you happy."

"Of course." Of course he wanted her to be happy more than anything. Marrying Nick came with a sacrifice. Her happiness in exchange for leaving him, her family behind. But how could she tell him? With him being ill? How would he take it? She decided the best way was to blurt it out. "He wants to move to America..." She straightened up when she heard the library door open.

"I thought I heard my ears burning." Nick walked in, smiling.

"I was just telling Papa about our plans about America." She turned back to her father. "He's thinking about going into script writing, maybe even directing. And I say all the New York plays are probably overly happy."

"We're going to need that, after the war."

Matthew nodded at that.

"He's in the process of writing one."

"Half of which she doesn't agree with."

He tries to listen but their voices are far away. He isn't being pulled into a war memory. His daughter was leaving. And he did not know when, if, he would see her again. Two of his children, not involved in this war, had their own lives now. Katie would still come home on leave to visit but it wouldn't be the same without all three of the girls. He had gotten used to the dynamic. Maybe a little too used to it. The boys, at least one of them would come home.

"I don't get your American humor. It's not you." There's a pause in between. "I still think it's far too cheery." Her voice was always like her mothers, if you imagined just right. It made Matthew smile brightly.

"You know of course us Americans are known for always having the good guy ride off into the sunset or they lived happily ever after."

She turns to her father once more. By his deep in thought expression, she knows she'd upset him. It wasn't just the idea that she'd be on the other side of the ocean. Travel would prove harder for him as he aged. But now he looked healthy. He could at least be able to make one trip, surely. And she would try visiting as much as she could. That is if she could actually do it. Leave all this behind, for a world that wasn't hers. It would be a fresh start. And she would be taking a trip there, to see if she liked it. Civilian travel wasn't allowed right now but she would be joining the SAG, a clever loophole Nick had come up with.

"You'll be moving there once you're married?" He asked Nick.

"We haven't decided, that is if she says yes. I'll be leaving in the morning for a show. A U.S.O for the wounded soldiers back home."

"Will you be visiting your parents as well while you're there?" Matthew asked. The lad must be eager to get home. What a strange place this must be for him, the world of aristocrats would be even more foreign, as foreshadowed at dinner. Jo would have a better life in America though he'd hate to see her go.

"No. I don't have any of those." Nick's tone went a bit cold.

"Sorry." He felt embarrassed from bringing it up.

"Nothing to be sorry about when you never had them."

"Nick wanted me to go with him." Jo cut in. She didn't want him to go into his whole life story. It would take all day. And it was a hard subject for him. Though he would be compelled to tell it because he saw it as rude if he was approached with it.

"Isn't civilian travel forbidden?" Matthew asked. Last time he checked it was. He gave Nick a stoic look. It was making him nervous. Good.

"I won't be going as a civilian." She gave a quick glance at Nick, with a bright smile. "They'll let me travel if I say I was joining the actors guild but I'll be singing!" Papa gave her a curious and excited look. "I'll be taking one of the maids with me. And you don't need to worry. I'll be staying with Uncle Harold and Aunt Amy." Harold Levinson, her great-uncle was still alive and in his seventies and was married to a much younger woman over twice his junior. He had two sons from a previous marriage William, who was sixteen, Harry, fifteen. And with his new wife he had a son James, who was four. "If you'll let me."

"You should go."

"Really Papa?" Her face brightened.

"Have fun. And who knows, you could come to love it there. Think of it as an adventure." He wheeled his chair out of the room. He loved seeing his daughter happy. This might be the last time. The last time she saw him.

Nick frowned after him, "Is he alright?"

"He's been ill for a while but he's fine now."

"I mean he didn't sound too happy about letting you go."

"Haven't you heard, I'm a daddy's girl!"

"Don't you have like two sisters?"

"Like is pretty much accurate. Papa loves us all equally."

"You're lucky you have sisters and brothers. I have neither of those."

"You're lucky. You don't have brothers to go off and never return."

She didn't know that he knew on some level what that was like. At the orphanage, the boys he had come to known as brothers were always adopted out. He was always the one left behind.

"Was it the first war he was wounded?" He asked changing the subject.

"I think the term is partially paralyzed. My sister Kate is the nurse. She'd know more about that."

"It's a shame." Jo gave him an offended look. "I mean it's a shame what it did to men like him. What it will do to many others. It couldn't have always been easy on all of you."

"That's how I remember he's always been. He's papa. I used to be embarrassed but not anymore. War changed all that. I had to grow up. I had to set an example for the children." Off his confused look, she added, He used to come to the schoolhouse to visit me. A lot of the kids would ask him and their parents would get embarrassed. That wasn't the easiest at first."

For him or her? He dared not ask. Some things you didn't.

"Do you want me to pour you a drink?" He asked instead.

"Mhm...I'll just ring the bell."


That evening Mary joined her husband in his study. The coughing was back again and it was starting to deeply worry her. "I don't like the sound of that coughing. It comes and goes. It never seems to go away. We should go to another doctor."

"It's not going to go away." It was an angry whisper. "And I already have." Then he says the word, the word that has the power to take the air out of the room. "I have cancer. It's in my lungs."

Mary freezes, saying nothing. She could feel a tear forming in the corner of her eye but miraculously it stayed there.

"You know my father had cancer. He was sixty-one. I'll be a year younger than he was when he died."

"You're not going to die. We can go to another doctor..."

"Yes and perhaps a third, and a forth!" He said snidely. "There's not going to be a different outcome." His voice was low now.

She was going to ask what he meant by that. Surely he wasn't just going to give up.

"There's treatments now." He said. "I was thinking of going in the morning. I don't want to tell the girls just yet. Let them have their fun. I'll tell them when I'm ready."

Mary nodded in agreement. She comes over to take his hand, placing the other on top of it as she bent down beside him. "I'll go with you tomorrow. We'll see what we can do."

He made a movement that could have been a nod and turned his gaze towards the window.

Later that week, Mary was delivering extra food for the soldiers in the village, one cold day at the end of February. Josephine had always been the one to do it so she thought she'd chip in. Jo wasn't back from America yet and wouldn't be for a while. Maybe not until the war ended. She'd be staying in Nick's flat above the theatre while he was touring. She had eloped with Nick, which Matthew had been rather sore about. She had discussed all this over the phone.

"We can have a party later. " Josephine insisted, "when you're feeling better." But there wasn't to be a party.

As Mary walked through the village, she saw a bus, pulling to a stop. She turned to look at it, out of habit. It would often drop of service men home on leave.

As the young soldiers got off, she found herself observing everyone. Would she remember what her sons looked like? Of course she would. But their physical appearances could have changed. What if she didn't recognize them? She mustn't get her hopes up, like those first few months. For weeks she and Matthew would wait for the bus after checking the war office. Still she waited till every soldier got off and the door closed. No George or Andy. That was that then.

She turned to go on her way when, she heard the hiss of the doors open again.

A young man, he looked more like a boy really in a way, had gotten off. The bag he was carrying was almost half his size but with his muscle strength from his training, he was able to balance it without falling over. It shielded his face for a moment. Then he turned. There was something familiar about him, the way the sunlight caught his hair. He was thinner and slightly dirty but...

"Andy?" She said it with relief. Then she felt stupid, as the soldier looked around, to try to find where the voice was coming from. His expression was one of confusion. Of course, it wasn't him. Now he'd find some mad old woman calling him someone else.

Then his eyes found her.

"Mum!"

There was no mistaking his voice.

He went to her, dropping his bag on the ground, throwing his arms around her. When they pulled apart Mary wore a look that said, you better explain yourself, Mister. "I meant to write. They wouldn't let us. We couldn't risk revealing where we were in case the Germans were to intercept. We were when we got lost. It took a few months to find us."

"That doesn't matter. Now you're here!" She pulled him into a hug again.

"Where's dad?"

Mary used the hug to hide her face, in order to compose it. "He's feeling rather achy to come down. You know how it is on him in cold weather."

Andy nods, "I hope he's not as angry with me as you were." He teased.

"There's something else..."

"Still no word from George. I know. He might still be alive. He might be in a prison camp, and he doesn't know who he is or he's too injured to write."

"Let's not talk of that now. Your father is waiting to see you."

Andy thought he would collapse if he wasn't in his chair. The look on his father's face was disbelief.

"Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming." Matthew finally said.

"Where would you like me to do that? Best in the leg so you can't feel it?" Andy made the mock gesture.

If this had been another point in time, Mary would have scolded her son.

He bent down next to his father, letting him put his arms around him. He was letting his father hug him.

"I missed you, son."

"I know. I know. Can't just be sentimental over me. Georgie will be alright."

Kate walked into the room, "well isn't that a sight, if I ever saw one."

Andy released his grip on his father at the sound of his older sisters' voice.

"My turn now." She went in to embrace him, but he shied away, "now you're being shy?"

Andy gave an exasperated sigh and hugged his sister, and then his mother again. She went over to Matthew filled with euphoria, watching the two of their children talk, not like old times because you'd rarely see them talking together, before the war. She put a hand on her husband's shoulder, bending down to kiss him, taking him by surprise. Matthew took her hand. In that blissful moment they forgot.

The Crawley's were reunited, not all of them, but they were there in spirit.


Andy didn't notice his fathers failing health. When Matthew didn't come down to breakfast and Mary said he was having a lie-in, he didn't ask questions, he accepted it and when his father went to bed after dinner, he'd be out with friends or women or have friends in. He didn't notice his father's appetite, he'd always have an impeccable one, that'd he hardly touched his food and was losing weight. Everyone assumed it was the rationing. Andy, a robust young man, illness was far from his mind.

On Andy's last day home on leave, Matthew did not get up at all, not even for luncheon.

"Where's dad?"

"He's been in bed all day." It was the radiation. It knocked him flat. Once, quite literally. After the first treatment, about a half hour after they'd gotten home, when he'd gotten up from his wheelchair, he collapsed. She had thought it was his legs at first. He told her it was the radiation. The doctor had told them the side effects, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, fatigue. She didn't want to think of the worst ones. She had offered to help him into bed but he wanted to stay in his chair for a while. Today however, he had wanted to stay in bed.

"Is he ill?"

"It's the bronchitis. It's bad today. He breaths more easily when he's in bed." Mary said with a callousness, as not to alert Andy or the girls.

"I'll go see him after luncheon."

"No, you won't. He's sleeping."

"If it isn't that bad..."

"Leave your poor papa alone. He needs his sleep. You can see him when you're off in the morning."

Mary sent a telegram to Caroline. She needed to come home. It had nearly stopped her heart. She thought it was news on one of her brothers at first. But the news seemed more daunting, encompassing the news that at least one of them was out of harms way for the moment.

No word on George STOP Andy home safe. STOP Soon due back. STOP Papa is unwell. STOP He will understand and not judge you. STOP He loves you no matter what. STOP Please come home. STOP


Kate, unable to sleep, decided to walk the labyrinth of corridors as she often did as a child to make herself tired. Her mother had used to the same method to lull Andy to sleep when he'd been an infant. Or she could use her father's method, a hot drink. Maybe if she went down to the kitchen she could still reach Mac in time. She was about to turn in the direction of the stairs when she suddenly thought better of it, heading back down the hall. It was as if something was pulling her. She came to a stop at her father's dressing room. She could hear him coughing and retching. Without thinking, she went into the room, into the bathroom, without knocking.

He was bent over the toilet, throwing up. He tried reaching for the toilet paper with a shaky hand, trying to scoot himself closer to the holder.

"Here, let me help." She pulled several pieces off the roll, wiping the sick from the corner of his mouth.

He let out a chuckle as she did so, recalling when Mary had done the same.

"What it is Papa?"

"You're not going to nurse me."

"I want to. You're sick papa. Let me help you get back to bed, to your bedroom with Mama. I'll get a sick bucket for you."

"I don't want to wake up your mother."

"Does she know?"

He nodded but it seemed to make him dizzy. She put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Please, tell me what it is Papa. I can help."

He shrugged at his shirt, pulling at it, weakly. She wondered if it had been intentional.

She gasps. She cannot help it. There's no mistaking it. "Radiation burns."

"I've just started..." He leans over the toilet again. When he stops, he's exhausted, resting his one side of his face against the cold seat. Turned away from her, hiding his agony. "You can't help me."

"You can fight this Papa." He lifts his head. "You've been through so much. You'll make it through this. You're a fighter."

"I've done my fighting!" He shouts. Flashes of his own war flash through his mind, gunfire and explosions, flickering in the dark. It seems his whole life he's been fighting. Outliving all his siblings had been a battle he unknowingly had fought, making it through childhood to adulthood. The battle of reconciling and bonding with his mother, that had healed and strengthened ten years before her death. Him and Mary battling over their feelings till they had finally found each other. The battle of survival in war, in the trenches. The battle in his mind he had fought for twenty years. How was he supposed to fight this? He survived all of that to die like this? It wasn't fair to his children, the grandchildren he'll never meet. He had to see them safe, make sure that they were provided for. His boys, he had to see them both safe. Damn this war. They might never have a chance to say goodbye. He might never get to see them again...his first born son.

The memory of how he had felt, holding him for the first time and wondering how something so small could come with so much joy, flashed into his mind. A flash of light behind his eyes, as the memory of war started to creep back into his vision. He thought of the dream he had when George had gone missing, he had felt what his son had been feeling, lost and in pain. Thinking of them both in pain, seemed to intensify his own. Andy had been born knowing loss, which should have been a joyous birth. All of his children have given him so much joy.

He tried to bring back the imagine of that hospital room, the day Mary had given birth, picturing his young self holding George, a young Mary smiling up at the both of them, beaming with the pride at the promises that came with motherhood. An awaited blessing they hadn't thought possible to them. If he could only hold onto that moment. He could not, would not imagine that same precious boy being blown to smithereens, without a grave, either of them. His boys. Andy was still safe for now from the last he heard of.

He had to know what happened to George but if that was not to be, if it was God's will, his time...Please let my son come home to me, or we at least be reunited in heaven.

Red tinted at the edge of his vision, to almost dark as the memories of the battlefield and the trenches and exploding shells threatened to replace it.

Kate desperately tried to calm him. "Shh, it's alright." She briefly sees his gaze. He's on the verge of going back there, where he hasn't been for years, since Beth. She had seen it before in a few patients. Seeing it in him was different altogether. His body continues to shake. She hushes him, fearing it will wake Mama. She mustn't see him like this.

"I'll wait...I'll wait till the boys come ho...home."

She realizes what he is saying. He'd wait to die until he knows his boys are safe.

"No. You will fight this."

"I can't do this. I can't..." She never saw her father break down before. "do this. I'm in so much pa...pain. It's worse."

"The first few times will be the worst. Your body needs to get used to the radiation." That wasn't the whole truth. The hardest is when it comes back and you have to do it all over again. She knows the chance of him beating it a second time would be slim.

He is partially leaning against her, his head resting against her shoulder. The sweat almost soaks through.

"Now, let's figure a way to get you off the floor." He nods against her. "I'll go get someone. Here, rest against the toilet for now." She helped position him so that he wouldn't fall over. " I'll be right back."

As she got up he weakly grabbed for her. She took his hand and place one hand of his back to steady him.

"No! No." He moans the last no. From the pain or the confusion caused by the radiation? It could be the shell shock or a combination of all three. "Don't leave me."

"I'm coming right back. I promise Papa. I'll be right back."

The bright light suddenly came on. Kate turned to see her mother standing in the doorway.

She rushed over to her husband the soon as the sight of him. "What's happened?" Before Kate can answer, her mother is kneeling on the floor next to him, supporting him.

"He's having an episode I think or it's the radiation. It's hard to tell."

He could barley remain sitting up and was semi-conscious due to the pain. So Mary knew an episode wasn't the case. Though he could of had one moments before. She brushed his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. He seemed to be sweating buckets. Was this normal? She had to contact the doctor in the morning. Dear God, let this be normal. First they needed to get him to bed.

"Go wake Morrison." There was no way she and Kate could lift him by themselves. The butler would be a little cranky, he was when he had little sleep. A trait he shared in common with Carson. Rest his soul. The soul she was more concerned about now was right in front of her. She wished she could heal it. Instead she could only comfort him, the way she only knew how. Her middle daughter hesitated in the doorway. Mary gave her a nod, gesturing that she had things under control even though she really didn't. "I'll stay with him now."

It was only then she hurried from the room.

Mary stayed with him in the dressing room. She had cold compresses brought up to keep him cool and to reduce the sweating. Every now and then she would check on his breathing to make sure there wasn't any sudden changes. It remained consistent.

When he awoke the next morning his whole body was tense and stiff. She handed him some pain medication. He didn't refuse. Once it's effect brought him into a blissful rest she went downstairs to telephone the doctor.

The doctor said that it was normal. The side effects of the radiation would reduce once his body gets used to it. After he left, Matthew was still asleep. She let him rest through half the day.

The second time he woke, the medication was starting to wear off. He was staring up at the ceiling, a confused expression in his eyes, as if he was perplexed that he was still alive or had no memory of what had transpired last night.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmmm."

"I have some good news that'll cheer you up. Josephine's just arrived! Nick had one more tour in London and managed to bring her."

"That's wonderful! She can tell us all about her fanciful life in America." He teased the last bit. That had seemed to do the trick. He was happier. Elated that his first 'daddy's girl" was home.


"I think the girls should know." His voice was almost distant and still a bit weak. "After dinner." It would spoil their pudding but they can have pudding any other night. Not that there is much option anyway since the rationing. "Only... I want to be the one to tell them."

Mary asked if he was sure.

"It's time. Since Katie already knows."

She went to retrieve them, coming through to the drawing room. "It's time to go in now. Papa has something he wants to discuss with you."

She smoothed her pants skirt, smiling as her daughters walked in. Carrie, a ray of sunshine, almost disappearing behind her growing abdomen, gave her mother a quick side hug before she entered.

"My darling, Caroline, look at you!" Her father beamed when he saw her. She gave him a hug as well.

"I told mummy not to tell you. You would know as soon as I came. I wanted to surprise you!"

"And surprised me, you have. There's no more greater gift." A grandchild. He'd be fortune to be able to see it at least once when it was born, and prayed that he would.

"The baby's due in July."

Three months away. He probably had about six months to a year to live; four months without the radiation, they had said. He didn't question of the impossibility of the baby being born at seven months, instead of nine. It didn't matter to him. There was going to be a grandchild!

Mary watched her husband and daughter in an exchange, as she closed the door, Kate being the last to enter. Matthew was abundant with joy, forgetting for at least a while, that he was terminally ill.

He'd wait till the room settled down, as his older daughter's congratulated their younger sister.

Let them have the good news first. Then more good news after the bad.

He cleared his throat when it got too nosy, immediately thinking how stupid it was of him. It could have sent him into a fit of coughing. Miraculously it hadn't.

"You called us in here to discuss something, papa?" Caroline asked. "Mama said you had something to tell us."

He looked from each of his girls, wishing he didn't have to tell them, even though Katie knew, saying the actual word was different. Mary came over to his side, resting her hand on the back of his chair. She was always his rock, his strength.

"As you probably know I've been sick for a while now."

"Is it TB?" Josephine asked. She was looking a bit unwell herself. She had already missed her monthlies a few times, so she was sure, but didn't want to tell anyone. Not yet with this dire news. She knows it had to be for he had called them all together.

"No. I don't have TB." He blinked slowly.

"Didn't Mama say it was the bronchitis again?" Carrie had a look of worry that she or the baby might catch it, not a worry that it meant something serious and could be fatal even in partial paralytics, because it could lead to pneumonia, which often killed someone like her father.

"We thought it was..." Mary began but was cut off, Matthew squeezing her hand.

"It's cancer. I have cancer." Why was he laughing?

"What? No." Carrie almost made a wailing sound.

"I've been getting treatment." The room was silent for a few seconds. "If I don't win this..."

"No." Carrie said again, "I know you will, Papa..."

He put up his hand to silence her, "If I don't...I don't know how long I'll have my faculties." They had been told that with lung cancer it could easily spread to the brain or he'd be in too much pain and delirious. "and I want you all to get along. I don't want you to say anything that you'll regret. Be nice to each other."

"Yes, Papa." Caroline and Kate said in unison.

Then Josephine a bit softly, with her head down, "yes, Papa."

When they went up to bed Mary asked, "When are we going to inform Andy? I could write..."

"No. He's on the other side of the world, fighting for his life right now. He doesn't need to be bothered with this. He needs to focus on surviving."

So do you, was her silent prayer.


April 1945, Hitler was dead, a victory. It wasn't that way for Matthew. His son was still missing. The death of the evil dictator won't bring him back, bring any of them back. That should have been the end. But the war still seemed to rage on. It finally came to an end in May.

Two weeks before it's end, Kate had received a telegram that her friend Lord Wroughton had been serious injured, receiving shrapnel to both legs after his plane had been shot down. She volunteered to take care of him until he was better to be moved. He was her friend and it would help her take her mind off of George.

Two days before Matthew's birthday, 8th of May, 1945, Winston Churchill announced Germany's unconditional surrender in a radio broadcast. There was still no word about George. Mary urged him that once things settled, once everyone had their fun, they would hear from the war office. The whole village was celebrating, even the girls were smiling and laughing. It's as if they'd forgotten about their brother, Matthew thought.

Mary saw his gaze directed at the children. She could tell he was upset.

'Let them. We will try the war office again." But a few months went by, and still nothing. Caroline's baby would be due any day now and that was all everyone else seemed to talk about. The others seemed to be moving on with their lives, starting to accept that George was dead. But he never would. He would never believe that his son was dead. They would of felt it. Even if they'd given up, he'd never stop looking.

He interrupted their happy chatter; they were discussing what they would do if the baby was a girl. Katie would of course spoil it, give it loads of sugar and send it back, regardless if it was a boy or girl.

"If the price of rationing ever comes down." Their older sister replied.

"Jo of course would give her all the finest fashions in New York."

It seemed a good time to make the announcement.

"The war office will be releasing more lists of the prisoners of war soon. And the unclaimed soldiers still at the hospitals. I might see if I can put in a word, so I can take a look at the lists early."

"Papa, they've been putting out the same lists." Kate said, being the first to speak. "They haven't been updating them. Someone would know who George is by now."

"He still might be badly injured, lying in a hospital somewhere, you should know that. His name hasn't appeared on any list because no one put it down. He doesn't have his identification. An administrative error. That's all." Mary put a hand on his shoulder, her mouth in a grim line. "It's still worth checking the lists. I'm sure they'll have new information now."

Carrie felt she needed to speak. "But it's been months. If he was in hospital somewhere, we'd have heard by now." And then with hesitance, "He'd have written us."

"He might be too ill to send word." Kate said, "but the possibilities are often..."

Matthew interrupted, continuing, "There could be any number of reasons we haven't heard, as I've said. Perhaps he's unable to talk or lost his memory." They continue to look at him as if he had lost it or with sadness. They all think I'm grasping at straws. Why couldn't they just stop? It's like they wanted him to be dead. No. They just don't want to get their hopes up. If they thought there wasn't a possibility, it'd be easier. He tried to keep his cool but it felt like everyone else was against him.

"Darling..." Mary squeezed his shoulder, trying to calm him but it only seemed to make it worse.

How could you wish that? Your first son. Our first born. His own mother, that gave him life, and you, his own sisters. He was sure if Andy was here he'd help talk sense into them, even Jay. They'd side with him. But he was alone in this. "If he was dead I would have felt it! We would have." He looks at his wife's face, then at his daughter's who have their head down, "Have all of you just given up?!" His voice was on the verge of a shout. "I most certainty haven't!"

"We haven't given up, papa." Katie said to him. "We just have to start thinking...that he may never be found. Jack's.."

But he wouldn't listen to it.

"I think I'll be off to bed." He wheeled out of the room.

The outburst had been so unlike him that no one spoke for a moment.

"He's upset." Kate said.

"We all are." Jo responded with insight. She didn't know what to think, whether it was worse to hope or not hope. How bad must it be if he was alive and was unable to talk? And if he was dead, how had he died? Would she always ask herself these questions? She had always imagined their children growing up together, not being far apart in age, as they had been. George had essentially been a twin to her. Without him she felt a part of her was gone. But did that mean he was really dead? She would have been able to feel it too wouldn't she have?

"Should someone go after him?" Carrie asked.

"I should go." Kate made to lay aside her knitting; she was making booties for Carrie's baby. She felt that she was the one that had escalated the situation.

"No, no. Don't disturb yourself." Their mother said. "I'll go. It's about time I turn in as well. Goodnight, girls."

He went to up to his dressing room. They had no idea what this would mean. He couldn't see Andy taking up the mantel (although he had showed potential.) Of course all that didn't matter to him. It would still have an impact. He had to stay alive for as long as he could, to get the affairs in order, just in case. But first things first was make as many inquires as he could. He had written a letter to his niece as she would have the connections to many hospitals.

He sat at his desk and took out the post from one of the cubby holes. Morrison had brought it to him earlier in the day. He had tucked Sybie's response safely away.

He poured himself a glass of cognac before opening the envelope.

Sybie had responded, "I don't know if he could be alive. If it is likely. But I think to myself, what if it was me? If I was alive and everyone had given up on me." She had also written that she would help with the letters to hospitals and telephone calls. It gave him more confidence to hope.

Mary found him in his dressing room as she had expected. He wouldn't be coming to bed tonight, no doubt he'd be unable to sleep. He was at his desk with a glass poured.

"I'm sorry. I didn't meant to...upset anyone." He said, turning his chair to face her. "But I can't stand the way everyone is willing to write him off."

"It's not that we're willing..."

"Only it'll be easier." He tried to smile but it faltered. "You don't believe he's dead?" He stared at her urgently, as much as she loved him, she couldn't lie to him, so she said nothing. "I remember you see," his voice trembled a little, when he was a small lad, when he first came to me. How he'd sit on my knee and chatter...he looked at me and saw his dad." He hadn't seen the wheelchair, he had seen a loving father. "He trusted me. I can't let him down now."

"I know." She said, her voice soft, sounded far too loud in the big room. "but I can't help thinking, if he was alive, we'd have heard something."

He turned his head away, his eyes glistening, it felt as if someone was slowly squeezing his heart, as he teetered on the edge of almost believing it, almost accepting it himself, that his son was dead. But there was no proof. No body. No casket. No gravestone. Like so many others. There would be many families like theirs. Never knowing. He still had to hold on to that little shred of hope, that he could be alive. Just as Mary had to hold onto the possibility that he wasn't, to cope, to prepare. He couldn't fault her for it, either of them. In truth, nothing prepares you.

He didn't want her to see his agony, yet they should share their grief. They could possibly have lost another child. But this was different. This one had lived, one who had been so full of life, his whole life ahead of him. He had to believe.

"We'll make it through." She sounded confident as ever, not letting her real emotions get through. "Like we promised. Like we always have. There will be a lot of big changes..."

He hung his head down. She heard the low sobs. Rushing over, she tried to get him to look at her. He shook his head, trying to refuse her. She lifted up his head. Her hands becoming wet with his tears. "I can't make myself believe that he's gone. It can't be true."

"We have to accept that it might be." Her own voice shook, tears springing to her eyes. She was more worried for him. He would chase 'loose ends' that weren't there, chasing a ghost till he took his last breath. And that very well could be soon. But there was a chance for him to fight this. She wanted him to take it. "I don't want this to consume you, consume us. I don't want you to loose sight of what is also important." She squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes. "Taking care of you. You can still look for him. We can still look for him. But whatever we find...whatever happens, don't let this make you give up on yourself. Please, don't give up."

"You know me. I never do." He flashed her his winning Matthew Crawley smile. They both held each other and cried.

When they finally stopped, her head still resting on his shoulder, she said, "You need your strength to fight this" not knowing who she was saying it for. Maybe she was saying it for the both of them.