Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912
"Oscar Wilde most certainly did write fairy tales," Matthew said to Mary lightly as he served himself a portion of fish.
"I don't believe it. I've never seen these so-called fairy tales," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. "That sounds about as ridiculous as Henry James writing mythology."
"Isn't it true, Father?" Matthew said as he ladled sauce on his fish. "That Oscar Wilde's father was a doctor and he accepted fairy tales as payment when the person could offer nothing else?"
"First of all, you didn't say it was his father that dealt in fairy tales, you said it was Wilde himself. Second, it's not fair to bring him into our discussion," Mary said. "Your father knows everything. You should stand on your own in this debate, Matthew."
Dr. Crawley chuckled at this playful debate he was witnessing, but then he touched his chest briefly, and pushed his plate away, his fish untouched.
"Matthew's father does know a great deal, except when to lay off the sweets," Isobel said tenderly, smiling at her husband.
"You know me so well my dear," he said gratefully, his smile tight as he looked over at her.
The older couple stared at each other lovingly and everyone at the table grew silent. Mary smiled as she observed their special bond. She turned her head and caught Matthew's reaction. He was equally spellbound, but instead of smiling in admiration at his parents, he was smirking knowingly at her.
Mary couldn't help but blush. Matthew was so impertinent, and not at all as reserved and composed as a proper gentleman should be in the presence of a Lady. Despite her rebukes, he steadfastly insisted that they would, one way or another, be together until the end of their days, just like his parents. She had stopped arguing about the point months ago. Best to allow him his fantasy and continue her own belief of living in the moment. Mary had learned the harsh lesson that one could not assume that the future was granted. It was just last year that she was living almost month-by-month, unsure of what her future held or whether she had one at all. She was guarded and thoughtful by nature, but coming to Manchester had sharpened those qualities even more.
At times like these though, sitting comfortably in Matthew's family home, surrounded by love, she could not help but let her defenses down a little and admit that maybe there could be a happy ending for them someday.
"I'm afraid that I do enjoy the delicacies that patients bring to me at the hospital, as well as Mrs. Bird's and Isobel's baking of course," Dr. Crawley laughed as he turned from his wife to his son. "And Matthew's predilection for pudding is inherited from me."
"You've given me more than just my sweet tooth, I hope," Matthew joked. There was quiet laughter at the table as they continued to eat. Dr. Crawley sat sipping his wine, looking at Mary and Matthew thoughtfully.
"Mary," he said calmly after the lull had passed. "Believe it or not, Matthew is right this time. Wilde did write fairy tales, and I've got them in my library. If you ever want to read them, please take them for as long as you wish."
Matthew smiled at her triumphantly. Mary rolled her eyes but smiled at Dr. Crawley.
"Thank you," she said politely to his offer.
She sipped her wine and gave Matthew a teasing frown, raising her eyebrow at him in challenge. His family's generosity still shocked her, even though she had seen and experienced Dr. Crawley's many kindnesses for some time now. It was a strange contrast to compare him to her own Papa, and yet the only similar traits they shared were that they were both proud men who had vast libraries. However, Dr. Crawley didn't remove scandalous authors, or keep a tally on books he loaned to his own children.
"There are no myths written by Henry James sadly," Dr. Crawley said with a smile. "Although I did very much enjoy his essays about travelling through England. I think it's a proper way to travel – no tickets or luggage, just imagination."
"That is your father's courteous way of reminding me there is no need to leave Manchester, even for a holiday," Isobel teased.
"Well, as I always say," he raised his glass proudly, as Matthew and Isobel interjected.
"What Manchester does today, the rest of the world does tomorrow," they both said with a loud sigh.
The three of them laughed and Mary found herself joining in along with them. Their dinner table was warm and welcoming, a coming together of a true loving family, rather than the battlefield of fierce verbal sparring that she grew up with at Downton Abbey. She was not on trial simply because of her gender, she was not being fed a diet of intimidation and disappointment. Matthew's dinner table was warm and comfortable. It gave her goose bumps at how easily she was accepted without any hesitation. She was important to Matthew, and that alone was enough for her to be welcomed by his parents.
"My favourite Henry James," Matthew offered, continuing the discussion "Is his ghost story, Turn of the Screw. The ambiguity heightens the suspense."
"The scariest part of that story," Mary answered, "is obviously the governess. I've never met a governess that wasn't awful, and all four of mine were hardly angels."
"I've never cared much for James myself," Isobel said, adding her light voice to the discussion. "Do you have a favourite, Mary?"
Mary was reflective as she pondered this friendly question. She did indeed have a partiality to a certain novel.
"Please tell us, darling," Matthew pried. "Don't worry, you're not being scrutinized here. Mother is probably just looking for a recommendation so she can reconsider her opinion on Henry James".
"Well," Mary replied. "I never cared for 'What Maisie Knew,' when I was younger, but it has become my favourite of all his works."
Dr. Crawley nodded his head at this statement.
"The books we can take with us as we mature, always have the greatest value, since those characters can mirror who we are, or who we want to be," he said.
Matthew nodded in agreement. "And that is why I will always love Kipling," he said fondly.
"Yes," Isobel said with nostalgia, smiling at Matthew. "The world would truly be a sad place if that ever changed."
Mary was about to ask Matthew about his favourite work of Kipling's when they were interrupted by Davis, the family butler, entering the dinning room.
"Terribly sorry, Sir, but there is a visitor for you," Davis said quietly to Dr. Crawley.
"A visitor? We aren't expecting anyone tonight," Isobel frowned at her husband.
"Who is it, Davis?" Matthew asked.
"It's Lord Merton, Sir. He apologized for coming without warning, but he said it's urgent," Davis announced.
Mary gasped, then covered her mouth immediately.
"I'll only be a moment," Dr. Crawley said, rising swiftly from the table and following Davis out of the dining room.
Mary stared after him, frowning at what this could mean.
"He wouldn't know that you're here," Matthew said quietly, looking at Mary. "It must have to do with the hospital."
"Matthew's right," Isobel said, reaching out and squeezing Mary's hand. "Lord Merton is a patron of the Royal Infirmary after all, and Reginald is a board member. It's probably something boring and inconsequential."
"That requires him coming into the City during the dinner hour?" Mary asked in disbelief.
Matthew looked at her thoughtfully, then rose from his seat and took her hand. Mary looked at him in confusion.
"Come," he smiled with reassurance.
"Where?" Mary frowned.
"To find out what this boring hospital business is all about," Matthew said patiently.
"Matthew," Isobel said. "You aren't going to take Mary to your…"
"Mother," Matthew warned. "It's a secret," he said playfully.
Mary rose from the table and Isobel nodded to her encouragingly. As the two left the dining room, Isobel smiled to herself.
Keeping a firm hold on her hand, Matthew took Mary through the kitchen and up the servant's stairs at the back of the house. They crossed the hallway swiftly, moving back towards the front where Matthew's bedroom was located. Mary could hear voices coming from the front foyer. She became increasingly nervous.
Matthew squeezed her hand in support and took her through his bedroom. Mary bit her bottom lip as she saw the familiar bed and the blue bedspread covering it. Matthew put a finger to his lips, smiling at her playfully as he opened another door and took her out into a small landing that she had not previously noticed. She had assumed the other door was one of his closets.
The voices of Dr. Crawley and her Godfather were very clear now, as though they were in the same room with them. Matthew motioned for Mary to sit down with him on a small settee that had been placed next to the wall. Mary's eyes widened as they looked down past the railing and to the foyer below. The large mirror that hung across the room from the main door to the Crawley family home was facing them now, and Mary could clearly see the reflection of Dr. Crawley and Lord Merton talking to each other below them.
Mary's eyes widened and she looked at Matthew. He winked at her, motioned for her to be silent once more, and then nodded towards the foyer as they listened in.
"If this isn't for hospital business, then what is so urgent, your Lordship?" Dr. Crawley asked. "Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude, but I've worked evenings all week and Isobel will be quite cross with me if I don't return to dinner shortly."
"I won't take up much of your time, Reginald. I appreciate you seeing me at this hour. I could have waited I suppose, but it's rather important news and I felt you needed to know right away."
"Very well. It must be important to bring you into the City. What can I do for you? Would you like to come into the parlour?" Dr. Crawley asked politely.
"That won't be necessary. I won't be long. It's difficult to explain. Do you remember my Goddaughter, Mary? She's volunteering at the hospital. I believe she may be working in your department, or with Isobel or some other nurses."
Mary frowned in alarm. What did Lord Merton have to tell Dr. Crawley about her?
Matthew ran his hand along her back, calming her and keeping her still.
"Yes, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said respectfully, adding her title to her name. "I believe Isobel has supervised her a few times. She says she's quite good, and a very diligent worker from what I understand."
Mary smiled at the compliment.
"Mary isn't important," Lord Merton huffed. "But, my news concerns her father, the Earl of Grantham."
"Yes?" Dr. Crawley asked, perplexed.
"Well," Lord Merton continued, "I'm sure you remember the unfortunate business of the Titanic back in April? Two of the passengers were James Crawley and his son, Patrick, both from Yorkshire. They've both gone missing."
"How terrible," Dr. Crawley said genuinely.
"Quite. It gets worse, though. You see, James Crawley was the first cousin of Robert Crawley, the Earl. James was next in line to succeed Robert as Lord Grantham, and of course Patrick his son was to be next in line after him," Lord Merton explained.
"Good heaven," Dr. Crawley stated. "So the next two heirs to the Earl of Grantham are missing?"
Lord Merton nodded grimly. "Missing, and presumed dead. Although the Earl has not given up hope they will be found, it behoves him to take certain measures for the sake of his title and Estate."
Mary's hand went to her mouth. Matthew's brow creased.
"What a disaster," Dr. Crawley shook his head. "But, Your Lordship, I still don't understand. What does this have to do with me?"
"The Earl's family is rather small, and so finding a male descendant to the Grantham line is difficult. They weren't aware of anyone beyond James and Patrick previously. I've known Robert for years, but our families are not related by blood."
Mary could not help but roll her eyes. Funny, she thought, even though Lord Merton was not related to her Papa, he was just as ruthless it seemed as far as she was concerned.
"I'm sorry, Lord Merton," Dr. Crawley said, losing his patience. "I still don't see how any of this concerns…"
"It's you, Reginald," Lord Merton said, with a hint of sadness. "You and your line are the last known male descendants of the Crawley line. You and your son are the heirs to the Earl of Grantham."
Matthew's mouth dropped open in shock. Mary's eyes went wide.
"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Crawley asked in disbelief.
"Your great-grandfather was a younger son of the third Earl of Grantham," Lord Merton explained. "You are Robert Crawley's third cousin."
"No," Dr. Crawley said confidently, "We may share a family name, but that is all. I've never heard of having distant aristocratic relatives in my life."
Lord Merton shook his head. Dr. Crawley was the only man he knew who could find out he was descended from the peerage and his first reaction would be to deny it.
"I was sent a telegram by a Mr. Murray," he continued, "He is the solicitor for Lord Grantham. According to his genealogy research, you and the Earl are, in fact, very distantly related."
Mary stared at Matthew. Matthew's brow was creased, his eyes still trained on the mirror below.
"I don't know what to say," Dr. Crawley replied.
Mary swallowed. It was a rare moment when Dr. Crawley was at a loss for words, and rarer still that she and Matthew were scared into shock as well.
"The reason that I wanted to tell you so urgently," Lord Merton continued, "Is because Murray is on his way to Manchester. He wants to meet with you. I don't know what he expects of you or what more there is to it, but I thought you should know before a strange man appears at your door. At least, a strange man that you don't know, anyway," Lord Merton added wryly.
"Thank you, Your Lordship," Dr. Crawley nodded, his eyes blank. "I'll be sure to meet with Mr. Murray when he arrives."
The two men stared at each other for a moment.
"I wouldn't worry," Lord Merton finished. "It is simply a formality at this point, until James and Patrick can be found."
"Thank you for telling me. Good night, Your Lordship," Dr. Crawley said extending his hand and ending this strange confrontation decidedly.
"Good night, Reginald. Please give my excuses to Isobel for interrupting your dinner," Lord Merton recovered. He was certainly not used to being dismissed by anyone, but his business with Reginald was done.
Once the trusted servant Davis closed and locked the door, Dr. Crawley stepped back towards the dining room. He spoke out as he went.
"Matthew, please bring Mary back down to the dining room. We have much to discuss," he said.
Manchester Central Railway Station, February 1911
Mary stepped gingerly off the train, looking left and right along the busy platform. The sky overhead was somewhat dreary and overcast. Mary frowned slightly as she took in the large arched steel beams high overhead the train platforms. So industrial. So utilitarian. So unwelcoming.
"Mary," a voice called.
Mary turned and smiled as an older gentleman approached her.
"Godfather!" Mary beamed, reaching her hands out to him.
Lord Merton took her hands quickly, then dropped them. He nodded to his driver, who went to assist a porter with Mary's luggage. Lord Merton turned and walked briskly down the platform, motioning for Mary to follow.
"Thank you for coming to meet me," Mary said pleasantly as they walked. "I would have been quite lost otherwise, I think."
"Of course," Lord Merton replied plainly.
They reached his car and the porter loaded Mary's luggage. Lord Merton and Mary ducked into the backseat and they were soon on their way.
"How are your sons, Larry and Tim? I'm looking forward to renewing acquaintances. I haven't seen them since my Season," Mary asked.
"They're fine," Lord Merton said distractedly, looking out the window.
"It was a rather long train ride," Mary said, puzzled as to why her Godfather kept looking out the window. "I must say the scenery here is somewhat strange. All the buildings seem to look the same."
"Manchester is a working city. It may not have the palaces of London or the quaint shops of the villages, but it is a thriving metropolis. I know you don't understand these things, but England owes a lot of its wealth and prosperity to this city," Lord Merton declared.
He turned and caught his god-daughter's roll of her eyes as she looked out her window.
"Mary," Lord Merton sighed. "This isn't Yorkshire."
"No, of course, it isn't," Mary said quietly. "I know that."
She remained quiet as the car wound through the streets of the city, eventually coming to a stately looking brick house on a quiet street a few short blocks away from the city centre.
"Come, Mary," Lord Merton said as the driver opened the door for them.
Mary frowned as she stepped out of the car and took in her surroundings. Her hands tightened around her purse.
"I thought your manor was outside of the City, Godfather," Mary said suspiciously.
"It is," Lord Merton replied, walking quickly up the walk to the front door. "This is my city home. My sister, Lady Philomena, lives here."
Lord Merton opened the door with his own key, and stepped aside for Mary to walk through first.
Mary stepped into the foyer and looked around cautiously. The home reminded her of a smaller, scaled down version of Painswick House in London, her Aunt Rosamund's home.
"I don't understand," Mary shook her head as the driver brought her luggage inside. "I thought that I would be staying with…"
"Francis! Is that you?" a shrill voice called from down the hall.
Lord Merton rolled his eyes. "Philomena, we're here."
A short, thin woman stepped into the foyer, followed by a tall thin man who surely was her butler. She looked at Mary with a scowl. Mary held up her chin and looked back at her, guessing Lady Philomena must be older than her Mama.
"So, this is the one, is she?" Lady Philomena frowned, looking Mary up and down. "Strange, she's dressed quite well, but then again, it is daylight still."
Mary pursed her lips, holding back a sharp rebuke.
"Philomena, this is Lady Mary Crawley. Mary, this is my sister, Lady Philomena Grey," Lord Merton spat out the introductions quickly.
"Lady Philomena," Mary said icily.
"Lady Mary," Lady Philomena huffed, then turned to Lord Merton as though Mary was not even there. "She won't be eating with me, will she?"
"No," Lord Merton replied. "She'll keep to herself."
"She should," Lady Philomena said, looking over at Mary again. "I still don't understand why you can't find her a room somewhere else."
"She has a room," Lord Merton shot back. "It's here, in my house. She is here on my generosity, just as you are, Philomena. I believe in charity after all, though I also believe in taking it away, if necessary."
"If you say so, brother," Lady Philomena sighed. She looked back at Mary. "You can make use of the servants, so long as I'm not using them. The same goes for the house. I expect you won't be around when I'm entertaining guests, and don't feel the need to tell me when you're coming or going. That's none of my concern. The less I know about you, the better."
Mary maintained her calm exterior, and nodded slightly. Inside, she seethed. The nerve of this old biddy to talk to her in such an insolent manner!
"Lewis will bring your luggage upstairs," Lord Merton said, nodding to the butler.
"Put her on the top floor," Lady Philomena said. "I don't want to see or hear her if I can help it. Have Sara show Lady Mary her dressing room and bath. Make sure the maids understand that they aren't to help Lady Mary in the mornings or the evenings. I can't release them unless I'm not home."
"Yes, Your Ladyship. Your Lordship," Lewis bowed, then picked up Mary's suitcases and carried them up the stairs.
Lady Philomena turned and disappeared back down the hall, not even bothering to say goodbye to her own brother.
"Godfather," Mary said coldly, turning towards him, her rage threatening to explode. "When I wrote to you asking for your assistance, it was not so that I would be sequestered away with…your lovely sister. To put me in the attic of all places, and to have no lady's maid! It's unacceptable!"
"Unacceptable?" Lord Merton frowned. "Mary, I don't believe you truly understand your situation. You are here on my charity, and thanks in no small part to the intervention of your Grandmother. My family has lived in Manchester for five generations, Mary, and we have a name to uphold, both here and in London. Sheltering you here is a supremely generous act, I assure you! The rules of this house are set by my sister, and you shall obey them, or you shall find yourself other living accommodations on your own."
Mary's eyes widened in shock. "A Lady cannot live on her own, Godfather! You know that!"
"Yes, I do. And you would be wise to remember that as well, Mary. Now," Lord Merton composed himself. "I'll wait while you go upstairs and freshen up. We have another stop to make when you're ready to go."
Mary turned and went upstairs, her steps stiff and her hands shaking. Coming to Manchester and to her Godfather was supposed to be the better of the few options available to her. As she walked quickly along the first landing and up the narrow stairs to the attic, she wondered if she had chosen wrong.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1911
Mary stood stoic and rigid, her chin raised, the tears held firmly at bay. She wondered if she even had any tears left at this point. She had shed more of them in the past days than she could count. Her luggage was loaded into the back of the motor, and Taylor opened the door for her, his eyes downcast.
"Wait," the Dowager Countess called, stepping forward and stomping her cane on the ground. "This is a travesty! I will not permit this."
"Mama, please," Robert hissed, standing rigid in line with the rest of the family.
"Cousin Violet," James sneered. "Perhaps you would be willing to take Mary in? That would be a splendid display of generosity. Of course, to ensure there was no misunderstanding, we couldn't allow you and Mary to live at the Dowager House. It would send the wrong message, you understand?"
"You can't threaten Granny!" Sybil shouted. "The Dowager House isn't yours; it's our family's property! Grandpapa would never allow it!"
"Your Grandpapa, Lady Sybil," James said caustically. "Is the same man who invited me and my family to move into Downton Abbey years ago. He trusted me to protect the family name and our honour," James said. He turned to the Earl with a hard glare.
"Robert, I expect you will keep your other daughters in line. Anyone who wishes to champion Mary's cause can pack their bags and join her."
Robert grit his teeth. He stared back at James, his lips tight.
James kept his eyes locked with his older cousin, his face unreadable, appearing almost bored.
Patrick merely stood next to his father and smiled at the display.
Robert looked away and shook his head at Cora.
"Sybil, that's enough," Cora whispered.
Mary swallowed. Her parents' behaviour would have shocked her if she wasn't already so numb from all she had witnessed over the years of James and Patrick living at Downton Abbey. Now, she wasn't surprised at all. Once again, in a battle of wits and a fight for power over their family, James had won and her father had capitulated with barely a word.
"There," James smiled. "We can all get along once we realize where our priorities should truly lie. Things are ever so much smoother when we all work together, aren't they, Robert?"
James turned and went back into the house. Patrick smirked with glee.
"Best wishes, Mary," he grinned, before he turned and followed his father back inside.
"Mary!" Sybil cried, running forward and embracing her.
"Shh, it's all right, Sybil," Mary said softly as the young girl sobbed against her. "I'll be all right. You know me. I'm never down for long."
"Mary," Edith said shakily as she came to her side. "I…I can't believe this is happening."
Mary sighed as she looked at her sister. "It's happening," she said curtly. "Take care of Sybil...and take care of yourself."
Edith nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks. She slowly helped Mary separate Sybil from her before Mary broke down.
"Mary," Cora said quietly, stepping towards her.
Mary stiffened, looking at her Mama with narrow eyes.
"I wish you would reconsider," Cora said. "I can write to your Grandmamma. She can find you somewhere in New York to start over."
"I said no," Mary retorted. "I'd rather stay with Godfather. I'd rather stay with family."
Cora cringed as if she was slapped. She took Mary's gloved hand and placed an envelope in it.
"Take this," Cora said. "I don't know if Cousin James will permit us to write to you or to send anything more. Mary, please understand, if we could have done anything to…"
"Goodbye, Mama," Mary said, venom dripping from her voice. She looked away from her, refusing to meet her gaze.
Cora nodded and stepped back, shaking her head.
"I thought this decade would mean a better life for women," Violet sighed, taking Mary's hands in hers. "My dear girl. Words cannot describe how sorry I am."
Mary mustered a sad smile. "I'm sorry too, Granny," she whispered. "Please take care of Sybil and Edith. Someone has to."
"I will, my dear. Be strong, please. I know it seems hopeless now, but…" Violet Crawley said kindly.
"Goodbye, Granny," Mary smiled, stopping her from saying anything further. She could not hear anymore. She could not listen to promises of hope and redemption, of miracles and answered prayers and suggestions that somehow all that had happened to her could be reversed. She embraced her Granny instead, inhaled the familiar perfume that she wore, trying to commit it to memory.
Mary finally stepped back and Violet joined Edith and a sobbing Sybil. Mary glanced over at her Papa. He stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes pleading with her, as though he was begging for forgiveness.
Mary turned away without a word or a further glance at him. She stepped into the motor. Taylor closed the door behind her. She looked out the window, past her Granny's sad expression, past Sybil and Edith crying and holding each other, past her parents' sad expressions, past Carson's frowning face. She looked up at the high walls and spires of Downton Abbey, her home, the place that was to be her birthright and her kingdom for the rest of her life, until Cousin James and Cousin Patrick decided otherwise.
"The train station, Lady Mary?" Taylor asked quietly. "Bound for London?"
"Yes, Taylor," Mary answered without emotion. "Connecting in London for Manchester."
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, February 1911
"I am a patron of the hospital here," Lord Merton explained as they walked the hall. "It's the finest facility in North England."
"I don't understand why we're here," Mary said, looking around at the staff and patients scurrying about. She was afraid to touch anything, and she cringed as she heard strange noises coming from all around her.
"You're to work here, Mary," Lord Merton said simply. "I'm putting you under the charge of the nursing coordinator. You won't be a full-fledged nurse, of course, but they can always use assistants, and after some time, you can take on more responsibility and training and the like."
"A nurse?" Mary asked incredulously. "But why?"
"Mary, I don't…" Lord Merton stopped himself, conscious of the people around them. They easily stood out. Mary's travelling dress was probably more expensive than many of the patients' monthly salaries. He ushered Mary briskly into a small room and closed the door behind him.
"Mary, do you understand the reality that you are now facing?" he asked, his voice stern and brusque. "What did you expect when you decided to come here?"
"I didn't expect to be living with your sister and having to work!" Mary huffed. "Godfather, despite what…despite what you may have heard, I am still a Lady of noble birth. Women of my position do not work. We do not need to…"
"Your position, Mary," Lord Merton interrupted her. "Has changed drastically in the last few weeks. You aren't considered a Lady anymore, at least not by all of London Society. There are no more privileges for you, Mary. No more parties, favours, invitations or allowances beyond what your Grandmother has ordered me to provide to you. Your life is no longer buying clothes or paying calls or doing the Season. You must learn to fend for yourself, and working here is the first step towards doing that."
"But how long must I be here?" Mary asked, still in shock at his words.
"How long, Mary?" Lord Merton asked in disbelief. "This isn't a sojourn or one of your brief charity visits. This is your life, now, Mary," he said slowly, enunciating each word. "My generosity has given you a place to live and your Grandmother has funded your living expenses for now, to a certain standard, but the life you used to maintain is over."
Mary blinked, her mind reeling.
"This can't be," Mary whispered. "When they told me I had to leave Downton, they wouldn't have known I would be living like this. Papa and Mama would never have agreed to…"
"Mary," Lord Merton sighed. "The word has already spread through London that you were sent to America. The explanation given was that upon hearing about your…indiscretion…the family has effectively disowned you. No one knows that you're here. No one wants to know that you're here. What you do with your life now is no longer their concern."
Mary gasped, then covered her mouth quickly.
"Now," Lord Merton continued. "We're going to go see the nursing coordinator about what position you'll start at. They'll probably want you to change out of those clothes. Do you understand?"
Mary swallowed. She felt like crying, screaming, retching, all at once. She raised her chin and took a deep breath, giving her Godfather the same stare she had given her Papa just that morning when she was banished from Downton Abbey.
"I understand perfectly, Lord Merton," she said defiantly.
Lord Merton could not hold her fierce gaze. He opened the door for her to walk out of the room first, then led her down the hall in silence.
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912
Mary watched as Dr. Crawley smoked a cigar on the porch. After repeating his discussion with Lord Merton to everyone, he had refused questions for the moment and adjourned for a brief indulgence into what he called his worst vice. She watched as Matthew laughed and chatted jovially with his father. Although she was anxious to hear about this news, she wouldn't begrudge Dr. Crawley this moment. She turned to Isobel, who she caught staring intently at her husband.
"Why doesn't Matthew smoke?" She asked with curiosity to break the silence. "I've always wanted to ask that. I'm used to seeing men take cigars together either after dinner or in the smoking room."
Isobel turned her attention towards her and smiled.
"This is Reginald's house, but he must abide by my rules," she said fondly. "We agreed long ago that he could only smoke outside the house, and never at the hospital. Once Matthew was born, he was adamant that Matthew never smoke. It is another one of his rebellious medical notions," she teased lightly.
"But surely Matthew must have been tempted? He must have friends who smoke, even professors at school when he was at Oxford?" Mary asked.
"It's possible, I suppose," Isobel nodded. "But I've never seen it. And you would know better than I what he likes to do in his spare time."
Mary blushed and looked away. She glanced at Isobel's smiling face and the two of them shared a comfortable laugh.
"Enough cheer for one evening, there is serious Crawley family business to discuss!" Dr. Crawley said in mock sternness as he and Matthew rejoined them. He resumed his seat at the head of the table.
"Now, we know what Lord Merton said, but what exactly is this Mr. Murray going to ask of you?" Matthew asked.
"Mary?" Dr. Crawley nodded.
"Murray is the Grantham family solicitor," Mary explained. "When James and Patrick disappeared, Lord Grantham probably ordered Murray to begin searching for the next heir."
"Which is you, apparently," Isobel said, looking at her husband.
"I must confess I have not been particularly vigilant about maintaining our family tree," Dr. Crawley smiled at his wife. "But it's no matter. It's always welcome news to find out you have other relatives out there."
"And that you're heir to an Earldom," Matthew smiled.
Mary's face remained passive.
"Hopefully Lord Grantham lives a long and healthy life and I won't need to take up the title any day soon, if ever," Dr. Crawley smiled.
Mary looked at him incredulously. "Don't you want to be an Earl?" she asked.
"Be an Earl? Heavens, no!" Dr. Crawley laughed. "Isobel, could you see me sitting in a country house, looking over my vast lands?"
"About as much as I could see you horse riding or fox hunting," Isobel smiled.
Matthew laughed. Mary looked at them all curiously.
"Well, we'll see what Mr. Murray wants of us. I can't see it being too earth shattering. Lord Grantham is still alive and well, so there's no need for me to become involved in the Estate," Dr. Crawley said.
Mary swallowed nervously.
Dr. Crawley stretched his fingers on the table.
"Well, that was certainly enough excitement for us," Isobel said cheerfully. "It's time that we retired. Matthew, Mrs. Bird has made a lovely lemon meringue just for Mary. Take care of her and we'll see you tomorrow."
Matthew and Mary both rose as Isobel took Dr. Crawley's hand and they left the room, giving Mary and Matthew a pleasant good night.
Matthew fetched the mouth watering dessert from the kitchen and brought out a generous slice.
"Matthew," Mary said. "You only brought one fork."
"Indeed I did," Matthew smiled, stabbing a piece of pie and bringing it to her lips.
"Matthew!" Mary laughed, before opening her mouth and taking the dessert from his fork.
"Mmm," Mary smiled. "Delicious. Did you tell your mother this was my favourite dessert?"
"I may have," Matthew smiled, taking a bite himself.
"So, the visit from Lord Merton aside, how was your day?" Matthew asked.
Mary smiled. "Quite interesting actually, I was with your father when he gave a woman the wonderful news that she is expecting a baby."
"That is brilliant," Matthew smiled, feeding her another forkful of pie. "Father would enjoy that. Was the woman happy?"
"Very," Mary smiled. "I've never seen a woman more radiant actually. She has been married for almost two years and beginning to think that she couldn't have babies."
Matthew chuckled. "It doesn't always follow that one gets pregnant from conjugal relations."
"That's what your father said," Mary replied. "I told him that I agree."
"You said that?" Matthew asked in surprise.
"Of course," Mary said airily. "Look at all the romps we've had and I'm not with child yet."
Matthew dropped his fork on the plate.
"I'm just teasing, darling," Mary laughed. "I didn't say anything at all."
Matthew rolled his eyes, and then looked at her earnestly.
"You do know, Mary," he said quietly. "If you were to…become pregnant, well, you know that I would…"
"Yes, I know, Matthew, I know," Mary said quickly, nodding to him in understanding.
"Anyway, this patient was rather interesting. Her husband works at Brownsfield Mill manufacturing aeroplanes – those flying contraptions," Mary continued.
"Really?" Matthew replied. "I wouldn't mind having a go in one of those."
"Matthew!" Mary scolded him. "Out of the question! Those monstrosities are dangerous."
"Oh, come now, Mary, it would be an adventure! You and I, flying among the stars, passing around the moon, just the two of us," he said with a devilish smile.
"You're mad," Mary laughed.
"Not at all!" he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "I'm quite used to flying, especially around you. You're my Venus, darling, my constant star, pulling me towards you like a never ending orbit."
"Stop it," Mary laughed. "Now you're talking nonsense. Besides, you haven't got the money to take me on such an escapade. It costs a small fortune to go up in one of those things even once."
"I don't?" Matthew challenged. "What makes you so sure that I don't?"
Mary smiled, shaking her head as she took another bite of pie.
"So," Matthew said, reaching out and taking her hand in his, lifting her fingers to his lips. "It seems that we're now cousins," he said, kissing each of her fingers.
"We're fourth cousins," Mary corrected him. "That's barely even a relation."
"Oh, come now, we share a formal connection, darling," Matthew smiled. "It's rather exciting news wouldn't you say?"
"Oh, I don't know," Mary frowned, taking her hand back from him. "If we are related, perhaps we will need to rethink our entire relationship. I don't know if I would be comfortable making love to my cousin."
"Now let's not do anything rash," Matthew said with alarm, taking her hand back. "We are only fourth cousins, after all," he said quickly. "Why, we're practically strangers."
Mary laughed as he resumed kissing her hand. "Perhaps you can convince me of what exactly I would be missing out on?" she suggested flirtatiously.
"Let's get you home, then," Matthew said.
They rose from the table and headed for the door. Matthew helped her into her coat and she took his arm as they stepped out into the night.
"Please give Mrs. Bird my compliments on the pie. It was lovely," Mary said.
"I will," Matthew nodded. "It was the second best dessert of the evening."
"Second best?" Mary looked at him quizzically as they walked down the street. "We've only had one dessert tonight, Matthew."
"We've only had one dessert so far, darling," Matthew smiled at her. "I expect I will be enjoying a different sweet delicacy very shortly."
Mary slapped his arm and laughed as he guided her towards Lady Philomena's house.
Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, July 1912
"Lady Philomena does enjoy the Season, doesn't she?" Matthew asked as he closed the door to Mary's room.
"She likes to play her role," Mary said dismissively. "Going to London with all of her servants, occupying part of Lord Merton's house there, attending the parties and so on. It's a wonder I never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance before. We would have been in London at the same time."
"I'm sorry you had to hear your Godfather being so dismissive of you," Matthew said.
"Don't be," Mary shook her head. "I know where I stand with him. It's probably for the better. I know he is in contact with my family. Whether he is ordered to spy on me or not, I don't know, but the less time I spend with him, the better."
"Still, it is rather sad, how much has changed from what you told me your relationship used to be," Matthew said.
"Not all families are as solid as yours, darling," Mary said, looking down at the floor. "It's easy enough to play the role of doting Godfather or even protective father when the mood suits and circumstances are easy. Ultimately though, in my family, when problems arise, keeping up appearances with the right people is far more important than other things."
Matthew stepped to her and took her hands in his, squeezing them as he kissed her forehead.
"Do you miss it? London, I mean," Matthew asked quietly.
"No," Mary shook her head. "I thought that I would, at first, but I look back on the things that I used to do when I was there and what I used to enjoy and I don't find that I'm missing out on anything by not being there. It's strange, taking tea with certain people and going to various functions seemed so important before. I don't feel that way anymore."
"Did you spend months there for the Season as well?" Matthew asked.
"No," Mary shook her head. "Papa…Lord Grantham preferred to return back to Yorkshire once we had satisfied our commitments. Except for my Season, we'd usually only be there for a few weeks, not the month or two that Lady Philomenna seems to prefer."
"Well, I am grateful that she is so fastidious about convention," Matthew smirked.
"Why?" Mary asked in confusion.
Matthew's eyes narrowed and he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face away from him. Mary gasped as he kissed the side of her neck, his hands running down her arms and pulling her back against his chest.
"Because it means we have this entire house all to ourselves," he said playfully.
"Lady Philomena and the servants would not even notice if you were here," Mary said, drawing in a sharp breath as she felt his fingers move to the back of her dress. "They leave me alone. We don't even acknowledge each other if we pass in the hall."
"How terrible for you, to be denied such basic social contact," Matthew whispered in her ear as he slowly unbuttoned each of the clasps along her back.
"Do you think it important that I have such…contact, Matthew?" she asked as he slipped her dress off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.
"Definitely," Matthew said, smiling at her low moan as he pulled the strings of her corset. "No one can go without proper interactions, darling. "
Mary swallowed, her pulse quickening as she felt her corset loosen and fall away to join her dress on the floor. Matthew's hands came forward and cupped her breasts, and she leaned back against him.
"And what sorts of interactions would you recommend?" she breathed, reaching behind her and finding his trousers. She smiled as she touched him and heard him groan in response.
"I would say something more meaningful than one word exchanges with the servants…" Matthew said, his voice choked as her fingers probed along his body knowingly.
"Should I seek out more stimulating conversation then?" she asked lightly, turning in his arms and deftly undoing his belt.
"Yes," Matthew replied, his hands moving to her waist and holding her close as she began working on the buttons of his shirt.
"What about flirting?" Mary continued, dropping his trousers to the ground and opening his shirt, her hands running across his firm chest.
"With the right man, yes, that could certainly count as…stimulating," Matthew answered, fighting to keep his eyes open.
"Of course," Mary smiled, kissing the bare skin of his neck and shoulder as she pushed his shirt down his arms and yanked his cuffs away.
"Anything else that you think I need, Matthew?" she breathed huskily into his ear.
"All sorts of things," Matthew growled.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Mary kissed his neck and face as he lay her down and followed on top of her. Her knickers and stockings were soon removed and he pulled the blanket over them as she opened her arms to him. His lips found hers, his tongue sweeping across her mouth as his hands moved down her body, feeling the soft skin of her bottom before he spread her thighs apart and hooked her leg around his waist.
"Mary," he breathed between kisses, feeling her hips rise towards his. "Please."
"Yes, darling," she hissed, clutching his shoulders as he found her centre and pushed into her.
Matthew groaned into her neck as heat surrounded him. He moved slowly at first, taking his cue from her own movements, determined to prolong her pleasure as long as possible. She had been distracted by her Godfather's visit tonight, and he wanted to be gentle with her, to focus her attention on him, on them, and block out the rest of the world.
"Matthew," she gasped, sliding her hands down his back and urging him to move faster. Delicious friction spread between their bodies and she held on to him, feeling his weight and warmth covering her. She did not think about the impending visit of her father's lawyer, her exile, or the repercussions of Matthew being now part of the Grantham line. All that existed was her and him and the pleasure that exploded through her body and her cries that drove him to join her soon after.