Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, August 1912
Mary sighed as she glanced around the empty dressing room. The day shift was done and she had once again lingered a bit to ensure she was the last to change and leave. While none of the nurses asked her any questions or even attempted to make conversation, the less people knew about her, the better, and so an empty dressing room suited her purposes. She removed her apron and hung it in her locker, then changed her shirt and shoes. It had been another long day, and yet the work did oddly satisfy her. Mary was assigned to Dr. Edgar today, and while he wasn't Dr. Crawley, he was talented. He was young, curious and most importantly, humble. He saw each patient as an opportunity to learn and improve himself, and so Mary learned quite a bit as well, as he had an endearing habit of talking through each case, as though he were giving himself encouragement and solving the problem out loud at the same time. If she had a criticism of the young doctor, it was that he smiled too much, especially in her direction. Though her colleagues would have likely enjoyed the attention, Mary kept looking away and avoiding his gaze. She was well aware when a man fancied her, even if it was only a casual interest. Thankfully, Dr. Edgar was not reckless enough to engage her in conversation outside of giving her instructions, thereby sparing her what would surely be an awkward topic.
As she gathered her light jacket and matching hat, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Another benefit of changing back into her real clothes with no one else around was being able to avoid curious glances. Her attire was clearly more expensive than those worn by any of the other nurses and staff at the hospital, particularly today as she was dressing up for dinner. She remembered when Matthew had bought her this particular outfit, forcing her to identify the pieces that she liked in the boutique he took her to, then despite her quiet protests, waving over a store clerk and having the lot wrapped up. Though she constantly implored him that they needed to be discreet, when he was feeling amorous, he tended to get a bit out of control.
Checking her reflection one last time in the mirror, she turned to leave. They were meeting in a nearby park before heading on to Trafford Restaurant at the Midland Hotel for dinner. While typically she enjoyed dining with his parents, she was looking forward to a private meal for just the two of them tonight. With Lady Philomena still in London, and Dr. Crawley and Isobel visiting relatives in the country, it was a rare occasion where they were all alone together in Manchester with no commitments or duties to attend to.
As Mary walked outside the dressing room, the large doors to the hospital burst open and a calamity of noise rang out as a small crowd of people came running in. Mary took in the scene as though she were frozen, her gasp strangled and caught in her throat as her eyes widened. A man dressed as a footman was carrying a young woman in his arms, while an older woman was pushing her way past nurses and patients to get to the admitting desk. The young woman's eyes were closed and her head hung loosely against the footman's arm. Her summer frock was ripped, and Mary could see blood on her dress, her slip and her legs. The older woman was gesticulating frantically, her loud voice carrying across the room. Mary's stomach lurched. The young woman reminded Mary of Sybil in appearance; she had the same gentle face and darkish hair.
Two nurses and an orderly came forward to meet the group. They were ushered into an examination room next to where Mary was standing. The young woman was laid out on the table while the familiar entreaties were made for the older woman to calm down.
"No!" she yelled, her eyes wide and her arms flailing in hysteria. "I will not calm down!"
Dr. Edgar arrived first. He had difficulty maneuvering around the older woman, who was firing questions and reciting facts in frantic bursts. The young physician was clearly shocked. His background was in treating patients in the wards, not in dealing with emergencies. For a time he stood transfixed, unsure how to proceed, his polite 'excuse me' completely disregarded.
"Someone did this to my sister!" The older woman yelled violently. "You can tell, can't you? When you see, when you see what's happened to her, you'll know! I want the police here! I want them to find whoever did this!"
Two more orderlies and another nurse rushed past Mary and into the room. They ushered the older woman aside to allow Dr. Edgar to examine her sister. The older woman brought the volume of her voice down from a shout to a growl, repeating herself over and over as she stood back and surveyed the scene.
Before another nurse pulled the curtain around the examination area, Mary saw Dr. Edgar pull back the young woman's torn skirt.
Her thighs were covered in blood.
Mary's hand flew to her mouth and she scampered back into the dressing room. She walked briskly to the small lavatory as she felt the bile rise up from her stomach. She reached the sink just in time as she retched, blinking furiously. She ran the water and rinsed her mouth. Looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, Mary took deep breaths to calm herself. As an assistant, she did not deal with trauma cases. By the time she saw patients, they were usually stitched up, cleaned, and on their way to recovery. There was the odd glimpse of blood or a minor cut or scrape. Mary was not deterred by the sight of blood. She had seen plenty of it growing up. Watching a foal being born in the stables. Seeing birds cut up and foxes skinned after a hunt. It wasn't the blood on the young woman that made her queasy, or even the bruises on her face.
It was the thought of how they got there.
Downton Abbey, England, February 1911
The silent battle of wills between Mary and Patrick was continuing with this morning's breakfast. Their struggle had been going on for so long that Mary barely remembered them not being at odds with each other. It flared during her Season just that past summer in London, and had seemingly only escalated with each month since. Truthfully, Mary had to admit that they only ever got along before because they did not discuss their future marriage. Keeping that looming event in the distance allowed them both to hide behind safer subjects and the impersonal shield of propriety. Their ambivalence to each other changed the closer Mary's Season approached. Patrick tried to control where she went, how long she stayed out, and who she fraternized with. He was worse than a governess and nanny put together. Mary finally had snapped at him to leave her alone, which only infuriated him more and led to numerous clashes, including his rude cutting in on her and Evelyn Napier at her own ball.
Upon their return to Yorkshire, Patrick's boorish behaviour only escalated. He began to openly discuss their wedding after New Year's Eve, asking Mary about possible dates and particulars, volunteering his opinion on who they should invite and where they would spend their honeymoon, and even having the audacity to suggest florists and dressmakers. Mary was running out of vague answers and was finding it harder and harder to suppress an eye roll every time he broached the subject of their nuptials.
Mary knew Patrick would be her husband. That was decided long ago and there was no use fighting it. However, she was still clinging to her freedom and putting off moving forward into her new life. She still gladly received letters from men she had met during her Season. While she did not explicitly encourage anyone, she did nothing to deter them either. There was no harm in it in her mind. Her wedding was over a year away at least, hopefully longer if she could help it, and she was entitled to enjoy the fruits of her Season.
Patrick did not agree, and though it was not discussed openly, Cousin James likely did not either. No one was allowed to have any fun unless it was with their express permission apparently. The only rebellion Mary could muster was to flaunt her independence in their faces, taking advantage of the fact that the family wasn't ready to publish news of their engagement just yet. She would be trapped soon enough, and so she was determined to have some pleasant distraction until the day of reckoning arrived. Hence the ongoing war now with Patrick, of which she felt no remorse. She had already seen what she would be getting in him as her husband. Best to show him now that, even as his wife, she would not be controlled so easily.
"Eat your egg," Patrick commanded, waving at the hard boiled lump sitting in an ornate china cup next to her plate. His light tone of voice and warm smile were betrayed by his cold stare.
"Your nourishment is of utmost priority to me, you know," he continued. "Mary's wasting away before our very eyes, don't you think, Cousin Edith? Apparently no one told her that she did not need to fast any longer once her Season was over."
Edith smiled as she looked at her own plate. She did not dare look at Mary, though everyone already knew that Edith enjoyed Patrick's antics. Mary rolled her eyes, stopping herself from groaning out loud, or worse, firing a retort back at her presumptive fiancé. Mary's expression softened slightly as she met Sybil's concerned eyes. She smiled wanly at her youngest sister. Mary did not bother looking to the head of the table to see if her Papa would react and come to her defense. He never did.
James cast a disdainful eye down the table at Mary, who avoided his gaze. She nibbled her toast, deliberately pushing her egg cup to the side.
James' eyes narrowed. These acts of defiance from Mary were becoming tiresome. Patrick needed to get a hold of her, to rein her in properly. James put aside the problem of his son's future wife for the moment, and turned back to his older cousin.
"How are preparations for the Hunt coming?" James asked.
Robert lowered his newspaper enough for James to see and hear him, but he did not bother making eye contact as he continued to read.
"Very well, thank you," Robert said politely. "Everything is under control and will be ready in plenty of time."
"That remains to be seen," James said, trying in vain to draw Robert's gaze. The Earl couldn't keep his own daughter in line, so his assurances that an event as important as the Hunt was under control lacked all credibility with James.
"Are there any further alterations to the guest list? I gave Carson my last additions yesterday, but the final draft has not been provided to me," James said.
Mary picked at her food. Listening to Cousin James made her understand who Patrick got his patronizing voice from. The man simply could not ask a direct question. Every inquiry, regardless of how minor, was used to remind anyone and everyone of his authority.
Robert turned towards Carson and motioned for the butler to approach.
"Carson, give the guest list for the Hunt to Cousin James," Robert said before returning to his newspaper.
James huffed in indignation, raising his hand and motioning for Carson to hurry up and produce the document.
Mary smirked. While her Papa was disappointingly docile in Cousin James' presence, he still found ways to push back, if only superficially.
James' eyes narrowed as he perused the list, desperately searching for any name that he could object to.
"Lady Sarah Kensington?" James asked with forced agitation. "What on Earth is she doing here for…"
"Papa," Patrick interjected, trying to keep his voice low. "I invited her."
"Lady Sarah?" Sybil repeated in confusion. "But isn't she…"
Mary shot Sybil a look and she went silent. Patrick looked at Mary carefully. She kept her expression neutral, but her sisters knew very well that she was seething inside. Lady Sarah Kensington was one of Mary's fiercest rivals. They came out together last summer and competed in everything – who did the most charity work, who had the more exclusive access to the latest fashions, who had the grander debut ball and who had the higher number of suitors. For Patrick to invite her to the Hunt at Downton Abbey was a slap in the face. Even he did not have the audacity to flirt with her rival in her own home, did he?
Mary deliberately pushed her egg cup further away. If she could, she would have picked it up and thrown it at Patrick's face, but she preferred a soft boiled egg for that – it did more damage.
"Oh," James said, his previous indignation forgotten. "Of course, my boy, I remember now. She is stunning," he said with a smile. "And her uncle is Sir Michael Pembroke, who is a cabinet minister. That is the exact type of gentleman we want frequenting these halls on a regular basis."
Mary sighed audibly. She was reaching her limit and breakfast wasn't even over yet. Cousin James would invite the Devil himself and brag that the Lord of the Underworld was coming to Downton.
"The Honourable Evelyn Napier? Why would he be invited? And blast, I can't even read this heathen's name! Cousin," James said contemptuously, looking at Robert. "Your choice of guests leaves much to be desired – these two in particular."
"Evelyn Napier?" Patrick repeated incredulously. He glared across the table at Mary. She dared to meet his stare unflinchingly. She showed him a slow, satisfied smirk, quirking her eyebrow at him in challenge. He grit his teeth and looked away.
Robert sighed as he dropped his newspaper. He adopted the same indifferent and bored tone that he often used when speaking with James.
"Cousin, you are well aware that Viscount Branksome is a dear friend of the family. His son is always welcome here, and is a high ranking officer in the government for your information. As part of his duties, he is hosting a diplomat from Turkey. I don't like his name any more than you, but with the unrest in the Balkans, our government is discreetly trying to steer the various factions in particular direction. If we can have the Ottoman Empire on our side, so much the better, and we'll be able to say that the Grantham family played a part by hosting this foreigner in a proper English Country House. I would have thought you'd be pleased with the opportunity. You should be, anyway," Robert explained.
Mary thought she could see steam come from Cousin James' ears.
"A brilliant idea, Papa. Evelyn is always such pleasant company. Certainly it's our duty to show some English hospitality to his guest as well," Mary said sweetly.
James and Patrick both levelled their eyes upon her. She reached for her tea cup and took a long sip, seemingly without a care in the world.
"Well," James said, handing the guest list back to Carson. "I disagree. This House should be known for hosting the best and most upstanding peers of England. I have no use for a Turk, and neither does this family. As I expect the invitations have already been sent, and as revoking the Turk's invitation is to also reject Mr. Napier, there's nothing to be done. However, I object to both of them being here, the Turk in particular. I won't risk our family reputation on an international incident, and so I will be watching them closely, Cousin, and you will be held responsible for anything that should go wrong," James declared haughtily.
"You will hold me responsible?" Robert frowned in reply. He paused, then smiled tightly at James. "My dear chap. Assume not the worst of men before you know them. The Hunt should be a merry time as we honour such a fine English tradition. Remember the joy we had as teenagers on our first Hunt? Do not be so quick to scrutinize others lest you end up missing all the fun."
"This is not Parliament, Lord Grantham," James said icily. "You do not have to lobby for my vote, instead you need to ask for my approval; which you did not, and the consequence is that you shall answer for your guests, and I shall answer for mine. And spare me the nostalgia of days gone by, Cousin. I remember an obstinate bully deliberately spurring my horse and trying to make me the laughing stock in front of the then Earl, your father. Your petty schemes did not work then, and they shall not work now."
"Your father forgets himself, and the terms of his agreement with Papa," Patrick said pointedly, looking at Mary, then Edith. "Forgetting one's obligations seems to be a sickness running through part of this family."
Mary did roll her eyes this time. Patrick sneered. Edith swallowed nervously.
"Girls," Robert said tactfully. "Would you excuse us while we talk business?"
Mary quickly rose and Sybil followed her lead. Edith stayed rooted to her chair, glancing at Patrick. Mary hissed her name and glared at her, which compelled her sister to finally rise and follow them. Mary was in no mood to discuss what had taken place or to answer Sybil's questions. She left her sisters in the Great Hall and went up to her bedroom.
Thoughts of the Hunt reminded Mary of a pressing problem she had to address. Her riding boots had gone missing in the past week. She had sent them downstairs to be polished and they had never been returned. As of last night, Anna had still not been able to find them. Mary knew it was far from mere coincidence that her boots had disappeared with the Hunt approaching. Women were not encouraged to ride, and the fact that Mary continued to do so each year was an annoyance to Patrick in particular. Well, the fact that she continued to ride in the Hunt and was far superior to him at it were the source of his annoyance.
If her boots could not be located soon, there would be no time to replace them, and she would not be permitted to participate in the Hunt. Mary cursed her cousin's name, not for the first time. She was convinced he had planned this deliberately, which only sharpened her resolve to not let him win. She'd steal Edith's boots if she had to.
"Milady," Anna said with a warm smile as Mary entered the room.
"Did you find them?" Mary said with a hopeful expression of excitement.
"Yes," she said and she pulled them from a large carpet bag. "All is well again. Mr. Carson found them in Louis's room last night."
Mary's jaw dropped at the revelation. Louis was Patrick's valet. How like him! Just enough distance not to link the theft directly to Patrick himself, but with sufficient connection that Mary would get the message that Patrick did not want her to ride in the Hunt.
"What was his excuse for having them in his possession?"
"His stutter rather convinced Mr. Carson that he didn't know why he actually had them. He didn't remember being responsible for polishing them, and he was quite surprised they were found in his room. I feel bad for Louis; he is rather simple after all."
"You are far kinder than I am, Anna," Mary said as she looked over her boots, satisfied they were in proper condition.
"Mr. Carson did not feel it was appropriate to investigate further," Anna continued. "I think he's afraid to confront Mr. Patrick."
"Quite right," Mary said with contempt. "Besides, the man would just come up with a lie to weasel out of it. Some fable such as wanting to know my boot size to buy me a present. Please return these to Carson, and ask that he keep them in his locker until the Hunt. I don't even think my own room is safe anymore."
Anna took the boots back and smiled wanly at her Mistress.
"It's all right, Anna," Mary said, calming down a bit. "I'm sure once we're married, Patrick will be kinder. And, even if he's not, we won't see much of each other so life won't change overly much."
Anna nodded and curtsied before she left the room. Mary went to her window and looked out on to the vast manicured lawns of her home. Patrick's behaviour was becoming more and more unsettling. She knew they would not have a loving marriage, but he was now getting on her nerves, everything he did setting her teeth on edge. She sighed as watched the men at work, preparing for the Hunt. Her last Hunt as a single woman. She would make it one to be remembered.
Trafford Restaurant at the Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, August 1912
"Penny for your thoughts?" Matthew smiled warmly as he watched Mary stirring her soup. She had yet to taste it even though the chilled tomato and dill mousse was her favourite.
"They are not worthy of such an inflated price," Mary said sullenly. She desperately wished she could shake her melancholy that had set in since she left the hospital. Matthew was patient with her, not pushing for any explanation during their quiet walk over to the hotel and her lack of response. She couldn't help herself. Dark clouds lingered above her every thought.
"I can afford to pay whatever price gains me your conversation. I have all the time in the world," Matthew said, unfazed. He reached across the table and took her hand.
"If your mood doesn't improve soon, I will be forced to take you shopping," he said tenderly. "You will leave me no choice."
"You've already bought me this entire outfit," Mary said, raising her eyes at him.
"Not the entire outfit," Matthew smirked playfully.
She withdrew her hand and blushed, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her lips.
"Actually, yes you have. The entire outfit," she whispered, not looking at him.
Matthew grinned widely. "I may not be able to take your word for that. I may need to confirm it myself."
Mary bit her bottom lip. The nerve of this man!
"You really are overwhelmingly good to me," she said quietly. "And you shouldn't be. I don't deserve it."
"Stop," Matthew said firmly. He pushed his own soup bowl away.
"What are you doing?" she frowned.
"I'm protesting," he said easily. "You're clearly bothered by something and this meal is being affected by it. I refuse to eat another spoonful until you tell me what it is."
"Matthew! You're being impossible," she scolded him.
"Not at all, darling," he whispered back. "The soup is already cold, so waiting will not matter at all. Your mood however, must be addressed immediately."
Mary glanced around. They were in a secluded corner of the restaurant, Matthew's foresight once again much appreciated. There were no other patrons within five tables of them, and no concern they would be overheard. It was questionable if anyone would even spot them at all.
"You win," Mary smiled bravely. How could she deny him anything? She put down her spoon and looked into his waiting gaze.
"I received a letter from Sybil today," Mary began.
Matthew nodded for her to continue as he took a sip of his chilled ice wine. The hot weather made the drink quite soothing to the sweltering environment.
"She says that the family, like Lady Philomena, is still in London for the Season. Normally they only stay through early July, but apparently Lord Grantham wanted to spend August there as well, to show everyone that nothing is amiss despite James and Patrick still missing. Anyway, everyone fashionable is now there, naturally, and Evelyn Napier asked about me," Mary paused. "Despite my reputation, he was kind enough to ask her how I was getting on."
Matthew smiled at this news, however he was perplexed as to why this seemed to have upset Mary, rather than be a relief to her.
"Isn't that welcome news?" He inquired gently.
"Yes," Mary said softly. "Even if I will never speak to him again, it was nice of him to ask about me. Except, it made me think – why is it that I find kindness from everyone except my own parents?"
"I couldn't say," Matthew replied, genuinely sympathetic. "It's hard for me to fathom how any parent could not be concerned for you."
"They're concerned, but not for me," Mary sighed. "I shudder to think of what would happen if Lord Grantham were to meet your father."
"Don't fret about that situation; Papa will never go to Downton, even if he does become the heir," Matthew said.
"You don't know that," Mary replied. "I know that's what he says, but when he realizes how many people rely on the Earl of Grantham, he won't be so dismissive," Mary said nervously. She exhaled a shaky breath. "On top of my sister's letter, I saw something at the hospital earlier that was unsettling, and it won't leave my mind."
"What was it?" Matthew asked.
"A young woman was brought in as I was leaving. She's about Sybil's age. I can't say for sure, but it looked like she was…violated," Mary said quietly.
Matthew's eyes widened. "Oh, Mary. I'm so sorry."
Mary nodded in thanks. "I didn't expect such a thing to still affect me so. But I can't stop thinking about it, and now…I just don't have any appetite."
"It's no worry," Matthew said kindly. "Let's go somewhere more private and talk."
"Back to your house?" Mary asked shakily. "I don't want the servants to see me blubbering, not again."
"No. Somewhere closer," Matthew smiled, dangling a key from his hand.
"Goodness!" Mary said in surprise. "You're very well prepared, Mr. Crawley. You must have used the same strategy to bed any number of women. Get them talking and pounce during their moment of weakness?"
"No," Matthew disagreed. "I don't know very much about women at all. I just have an overwhelming concern for one Lady in particular."
"I've ruined our dinner," Mary shook her head.
"I'll have the food sent up…later," Matthew said kindly. He rose from his chair and offered her his arm.
Mary accepted gratefully. She welcomed the distraction of being alone with Matthew, even though she knew it would only be a temporary respite.
Downton Abbey, England, February 1911
Mary mounted her horse with excitement. It was going to be wicked fun to participate in the Hunt. She felt a definitive sense of contentment as she was completely in her element. Out on the field, with Diamond, the only limits on her the distant horizon. Patrick was a lousy rider and she knew he would not be able to match the speed she could maintain on horseback. He was still walking around inspecting the hunting dogs. His behaviour was laughable, for the animals had natural instincts that would always surpass his need for control. Patrick would never understand that about the beauty of nature in harmony during a hunt. He had neither patience, nor any coordination. Patrick was simply a trumped up ninny. Mary muffled her laughter as he was clumsy and tripped, almost falling into a small puddle on his path. He turned his gaze in her direction and scowled with impetuousness as he adjusted his scarlet hunting jacket. Mary thought he rather reminded her of Little Red Riding Hood. She lowered her eyes further to conceal her amusement. She looked up at the sound of approaching hoof beats and smiled as Evelyn Napier approached. She was glad for the distraction.
"What a charming morning it is," he said pleasantly. "I can already tell that you will own the day, Lady Mary," he praised her. "You seem perfectly calm and composed, and your horse appears as though he would deal cards if you told him to."
Mary smiled as she stroked her horse affectionately. "Diamond and I always work well together," she said with confidence.
"My mount's as jumpy as a Deb at her first ball. So, I shall be happy to follow your gracious lead, should that please you," Evelyn continued.
"What about Mr. Pamuk? If he tumbles, do we endanger peace in the Balkans?" Mary asked jovially.
"Hardly," Evelyn said with a chuckle. "Although he is a bit of dandy, he knows what he is doing on a horse."
"Mary, pay attention," Patrick said, interrupting as he approached on his own horse. As usual, he paid no attention to Evelyn. "You and everyone else shall follow my lead. Papa has given the authority to me to ride out first."
There was chilled silence between them, made all the more disconcerting even with the background noise of the hunting dogs barking eagerly.
"Mary has a zest for riding that can be inappropriate. She forgets herself easily when she is in the saddle. I do apologize for my cousin," Patrick said rigidly in Evelyn's direction.
"On the contrary," Evelyn spoke up, "I was praising Lady Mary for her riding ability."
"Lady Mary does not require praise, and certainly not from you," Patrick said with a biting snub.
Mary rolled her eyes at Patrick's crude behaviour. She turned her gaze to Evelyn and was about to speak when he looked away and smiled. The sound of an approaching horse made her turn in the same direction. The foreigner that Evelyn was hosting came into view, riding up on a black stallion. His dark eyes found hers and he smirked at her as he came closer.
Mary's mouth fell open in surprise. She quickly closed it and resumed her calm demeanour. She had never seen such an exotic looking man before, his dark complexion and olive toned skin was fascinating. He certainly did not look like a dandy. Mounted on horseback, he had the air of a centurion.
"Lady Mary, I presume?" His English surprised her, with only the hint of an accent. She found the sound charming.
She tightened her grip on the reins and she smiled politely, hoping she was not blushing.
"You presume right," Mary said with a graceful smile. She held his gaze unable to look away.
"Allow me to present myself, I am Kemal Pamuk," he said removing his hat and bowing his head. "What a thoroughly enriching spectacle I see before me," he said with relish.
"Indeed," Mary returned, "I hope it will live up to your expectations," she said, feeling a strange pleasure in maintaining this conversation beyond mere greetings.
"This may be my first English Hunt, but I know the process of pursuit very well," Kemal said easily. "I'm afraid, much like my horse, I can be rather relentless when the bit is between my teeth."
Mary swallowed. Was flirting in Turkey the same as flirting in England?
Patrick cleared his throat and removed a flask tucked into his boot. Mary quickly made an excuse to leave the gentlemen, saying she needed a word with Lynch before the Hunt began. She did, however, look back over her shoulder and was stunned to see that the foreigner winked at her. She turned quickly away, afraid another blush would betray the emotions swirling inside her chest.
As she approached, Lynch reassured her that they were moments away from departure.
"I won't need you to follow me, Lynch. I will have my two champions to left and right, Mr. Napier and his guest," Mary said with excitement.
"Two, milady?" Lynch asked, looking past her at the Evelyn and Kemal, who were talking casually to each other. Patrick was several paces away, nudging his horse towards the front of the pack. "Mr. Patrick will surely not approve of that."
"Oh, hang him," Mary replied with a smile. "My duty is to show our guests the full splendor of the Hunt, especially Mr. Pamuk as he is a novice at such things. Which way will the course be set?"
"I'm suggesting through the south field," Lynch replied with some hesitation. "You know that His Lordship expects me to be responsible for your well being," he added with a nervous tick.
"Never mind me," Mary said dramatically. "I can handle the terrain. And therefore I will be taking our guests through the briar patch," she smiled as she rode off without another word.
Lynch sighed at the exhibition before him. He had half a mind to stop his wilful Mistress until he saw Patrick whip his horse severely, without reason. No, Lady Mary was certainly not the problem. He could trust her, and he could also handle Mr. Patrick's wrath should he need to distract the caddish man. Lynch signalled to the Master of the Hunt. Once Patrick took up his position and raised his arm, the trumpet blared and the Hunt began.
Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912
"It sounds adventurous," Matthew said as he kissed her shoulder.
"It was. It was thrilling," Mary agreed, leaning her head to the side to invite him to kiss her neck. His arms wrapped around her waist and she sighed, sitting back against his chest and enjoying the feel of him encircling her, guarding her, keeping her safe.
The curtain danced back and forth from a breeze through the open window. Matthew always preferred staying on the higher floors of the hotel. 'For the view' he told her, but she expected it was for her own benefit, so that they would not be seen by any random eyes from the ground below. Once they had reached their suite, she had discovered a bath drawn for her. He urged her to relax and was even kind enough to give her privacy to be alone with her thoughts. She had emerged from the bathroom wearing only a robe, finding him sitting up in bed reading. He had put his book down and smiled at her, holding out his arms and welcoming her to sit with him.
"You already know what happened later, though," Mary said softly. She nuzzled her nose into his neck and inhaled his scent as though it was a lovely sleeping draught.
"Yes," he said soothingly. He kissed her again and she cuddled closer to him. "But, tell me again. Talk it out darling, talk until your heartache lessens and your ghosts are exorcised."
"I'll run out of breath for that," she said wistfully. "And despite your best efforts, it seems my ghosts shall haunt me for many years to come."
"My best efforts? Oh no, Mary, I've barely just begun. Although I would hope that our time together has shown you that I don't care what some witless fool with a title thinks of you, or what has happened in your past."
"Convince me again," she whispered into his ear, turning in his arms and sitting in his lap. "I love creating new memories with you, Matthew."
Mary kissed his cheek, then his neck, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. She tasted his skin, exposing more of him as she moved lower down his body. He eventually took hold of her and gently turned them over, his body warm against hers. She removed the rest of his clothing and lost herself in his loving touch, banishing her demons once again, if only for a short while.
Downton Abbey, England, February 1911
Mary emerged from her bedroom and jumped in shock. She frowned as Patrick stood in the doorway, blocking her path.
"Patrick," she said brusquely. "Have you gotten lost?"
"Not at all. I have urgent business to discuss with my fiancée," Patrick said. He grabbed her wrist and stepped towards her.
Mary's eyes widened in alarm. His grip was firm and strong, and his breath smelled of alcohol, making her want to gag.
"I'm warning you, Mary. No antics at dinner," he snarled.
Mary winced as she tried to free her hand from his strong grasp. She wished someone would come out to the hall and see them as she was pinned against her bedroom door, except everyone was still occupied dressing for dinner apparently.
"Let me go," Mary seethed.
"Your behaviour at the Hunt was pathetic," Patrick taunted. "Taking off with Napier and that heathen by yourself, doing God knows what out of my view. I've tried to be fair with you, but you always push me past the limits that any gentleman can endure." He batted at the elegant feather she had in her hair and Mary flinched.
"All will be forgiven, my sweetheart," he said as he pressed his weight more firmly against her, his legs stepping between her own. "If you give me a kiss and apologize."
"Patrick!" Mary cried with agitation. It wasn't the first time she had found herself in such a horrible confinement with him pressing his demands. "You know this is not proper."
Edith's door opened and she came out into the hallway. She stopped and gasped when she discovered the scene in front of Mary's bedroom. Mary took advantage of Patrick's temporary distraction and pulled her arm from his grasp. She stopped herself from slapping him and quickly departed down the hall, not even waiting for her sister.
Patrick glared at her retreating form, then left in the opposite direction, ignoring Edith completely.
"What was that all about?" Edith said as she caught up to Mary on the staircase leading to the Great Hall. "What kind of game are you two playing?"
"Never you mind," Mary said harshly. "It's between me and my fiancé. It's none of your concern." She adjusted her gloves to hide the mark Patrick's hold had left on her wrist.
Once at the dinner table, Mary could finally relax. She ignored the daggers that Patrick sent her with his eyes and continued to chat amiably with Evelyn. She knew Patrick would not dare try anything in front of all these guests, and she was eager to put him back in his place. How dare he put his hands on her? Mary sipped her wine as she listened to Evelyn tell her another tale from his daily duties with the government. While his conversation was rather boring, his interest served her purpose. Patrick was boiling at the attention she was receiving. Determined to twist the knife further into his side, Mary turned deliberately to Kemal Pamuk and smiled warmly to him.
"Mr. Pamuk, what is Istanbul like?" Sybil asked with curiosity.
"It is a strategic city of wondrous majesty, with bazaars of beauty, delicate and intransigent. And one thing we share with this country is the sis, or as you would say, fog. It amazes me to travel so far and find something so illusive having such dominance here as well as in my homeland," Kemal said smoothly.
"The fog was invasive this morning on the Hunt," Mary said as she sipped her wine. "I hardly knew which direction I was riding," she added with a chuckle.
"And yet you rode as though you could have steered your horse with your eyes closed," Kemal smiled at Mary. "You should come see my family stables in Turkey. Truly incredible beasts we have."
"The ferry ride and train to Istanbul are rather long and arduous, I'm afraid," Evelyn said.
"Yes, wouldn't the journey be painful?" Mary asked, caught off guard by the invitation of the Turk.
"One must endure a little pain to achieve satisfaction," Kemal replied, staring intently at Mary.
Robert looked about the dining room table. He noticed that Mary's conversation with Evelyn Napier and the Turk, Kemal Pamuk, was now drawing the attention of Patrick and James.
"I fear Cousin Mary would not be able to go to Turkey without a full entourage. She knows nothing of your ways," Patrick said, sipping his wine. "We would all be terrified for her safety."
"I would personally see to it that she is very well taken care of," Kemal replied with annoyance evident in his voice. "As I would extend the same courtesy to any of you who wish to visit."
"Thank you, Mr. Pam-ek," James replied. "But that won't be necessary. There's no need to travel when all one could ever desire is here in England."
"Lady Mary," Kemal said as turned his attention abruptly. "I'm very curious to see the first edition of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights that you mentioned."
She blushed at the attention. "Yes, it was an acquisition of the first Earl of Grantham and has been in our library here for more than two hundred years."
"I've always loved the story of Scheherazade," Kemal continued. "A woman who could entice a man with words for a thousand nights, a talent few women could achieve."
Mary couldn't help but stare into the foreigner's eyes and she nervously fidgeted with her necklace. She was rendered speechless by this man's gaze.
"I'd also like to see this book," Evelyn broke in. "If Lady Mary recommends it, I'm sure the experience will be well worth the time."
"Well," Robert said with unease. "Shall we let the ladies go through? As luck would have it, I do have some Turkish tobacco in my humidor."
"Yes," James said with agitation. "My Cousin fancies himself a bit of a Sultan," he said laughing in amusement as though he had just made a clever joke.
Mary smiled at the fun of having antagonized her relations. She smiled politely at Evelyn and bashfully at Kemal. Her Mama called for her as her sisters were already exiting from the dinning room. She strode from the room, excited to find the book that had so enticed her two champions.
Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912
"You are rather like Scheherazade," Matthew said fondly, stroking her bare back. "And I foresee that you shall captivate me for far more than a thousand nights. I fall in love with you more every day as I understand how nice you truly are."
"You think me nice, but no one else does," Mary said with hesitation, "What makes you so sure that I am?"
"Because I get to see you naked, and hold you in my arms. Because I know the real you. You're strong, unbroken, unchanged. You've suffered and still you stand."
"Goodness. What a testimonial," Mary said as she turned her head towards him and kissed him lightly.
"Do you feel better now?" Matthew asked, running his fingers along her back.
"Yes, but it doesn't change anything," Mary sighed against his chest. "Even you can't change what I've done."
"Mary…" Matthew said.
"No, Matthew," she sighed. "I was foolish, and I was paid out for my folly. But all of my behaviour, my misplaced rebellious ways, everything that went wrong, all of that led me to you, so in a way I'm grateful." She kissed him fiercely to demonstrate her point.
"I only wish I had not fallen so far to have to find my saviour in you," she said quietly, returning to his chest.
Downton Abbey, England, February 1911
"That is indeed a fine edition of a Persian classic," Kemal said as he touched the book Mary placed in his hands. It had gold tipped pages and a fine leather bound cover.
"The western fascination with this saga never fails to amuse me," he added. "So predictable."
Mary was confused by his last comment, but she didn't concentrate on it.
She was too busy avoiding Patrick's glaring. At least he was occupied by Lady Sarah Kensington, and could only shadow her from across the room, rather than be right next to her.
"What's in that room?" Kemal asked suddenly. "More paintings that you can educate me on?"
"Yes, but perhaps we should wait for Evelyn," Mary said carefully, looking over at the darkened parlour. Carson had turned out the lights to dissuade guests from wandering.
"Oh, he's been here before, hasn't he? I'm sure he won't care to see the paintings again. I, on the other hand, will likely never visit again, so it's only right that you show me everything that you have to offer while I am here, isn't it?" Kemal smiled.
"If you wish," Mary said. Perhaps it was a good idea. She could use the escape from Patrick's unwavering oversight.
They walked into the parlour and Kemal wandered over to a large painting in the middle of the wall.
"Is this a Della Francesca?" he asked, glancing back at Mary.
She came over to get a better look.
"I think so. The…"
She was cut off as Kemal reached for her and kissed her fiercely. His boldness was surprising and the attention she had been enjoying all night now felt strange and unwelcome. She tried to resist, but he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding across her closed lips, a clammy sensation she had never felt before. His hands framed her face, holding her in place, stopping her from moving. Finally, the kiss ended and she gasped for breath, pulling back from him but still trapped in his embrace as his hands went to her hips and fondled her bottom through her dress. Kissing him was like sucking on a spice bag. Mary had coughed before she spoke.
"Mr. Pamuk!" she said in shock and agitation. She pushed against his chest as he seemed determined to resume the kiss.
"What on Earth is this?" Patrick yelled as he entered the room. The anger of his voice was fermented in all of his actions. His hands clenched at his side. Mary had never been so glad to see the wretched Patrick, if only for allowing her the chance to disengage from Kemal.
"Get your heathen paws off of her!" Patrick continued as he stomped towards them.
Kemal remained silent, but surprisingly unaffected by being caught out. He offered no apology and simply bowed slightly before leaving the room abruptly. Before she could say anything though, Patrick was upon her, standing a mere breath away.
"You'll pay for this, Mary," he said furiously. "Denying me for so long and yet allowing that infidel to claim your lips so easily?"
He stomped away from her, leaving her alone.
Laughter filtered in from the room where their family and guests were assembled. Mary was silent, her voice taken by shock and indignation. Did Patrick honestly believe she had invited Pamuk's assault? A part of her hoped that Patrick's drunken threats would be forgotten in the morning. She held her head up high and quickly darted back to the safety of her Mama and sisters. However, she felt a knot in her stomach when she saw Cousin James watching her as she crossed the room. He smiled at her and shook his head subtly in a small gesture of scolding.
"Mary," Sybil said fondly. "Mama wants to play bridge, would you join us?"
"Of course," she said taking a deep breath to level her nerves.
Mary's hands shook as she held the book in front of her. With all of the day's excitement, she could not sleep. And in all fairness, she couldn't concentrate on reading either. She couldn't help but feel a sense of dread regarding her fiancé. Would Patrick still hold his irrational view that she would willingly kiss another man under his very nose? And further, Cousin James also seemed to have formed an especially rotten view of her recent conduct; therefore, even if Patrick forgot about what he saw between her and Kemal, Cousin James would be sure to remind him. Her cousins were both like heartless children, fickle and incapable of maintaining dignity due to their status. A leech had more purpose than they did. Mary couldn't understand why her father contended with such nonsense from their ill-bred relations.
Later as she sat in bed, Mary sighed as she once again tried to concentrate on her book. It wasn't as though Mary's dislike for Patrick, and even for James, was a secret. It was obvious that they didn't get along. But it was equally clear that Mary would do her duty and her wedding would proceed as planned. Up until tonight, her flirting was just harmless fun, a way for her to be the centre of attention for a while longer before her engagement became official. She knew she could handle whatever Patrick threw at her, but there was something about his expression when he last spoke to her, when he fired his last threat. He looked far more sinister in that moment than she'd ever seen him before.
She had finally been able to turn the page of her book when the door to her bedroom unexpectedly opened. Mary gasped as Patrick entered. His eyes were bloodshot and he staggered drunkenly through after closing the door behind him with great effort. In his gaze was a primal lust that scared her.
"Are you mad?" She said as she dropped the book and pulled up the covers to hide her nightgown. "Leave this instant or I will scream!"
Patrick only laughed. He stopped at the foot of her bed and with unexpected dexterity he pointed his left index finger at her and with his right he rubbed against it.
"Tsk, Tsk," he muttered with a little clucking sound. "Shame on you, dear Mary."
"What do you want?" Mary hissed, her pulse racing in alarm. She had never been so exposed before Patrick before. She felt as though he could stare through the blanket covering her, that the mere glimpse of her nightgown was already too revealing to him.
"Oh, I think you are very well aware of what I want," Patrick snarled, his gaze roaming across her body despite the blanket between them. "I've come to allow you to perform your duty to me," he smiled wickedly.
"Get out!" Mary snarled. "You're drunk and clearly delusional!"
"And you are forgetting, once again, who you are beholden to!" he shot back. "Do you actually think you are bestowing a privilege upon me by marrying me? May I remind you who is the heir to the Grantham Estate? You need me far more than I need you, Mary."
Mary swallowed. The truth of his words were a crushing blow that tightened her chest.
"You can't touch me. Not like that, not yet, and you know why not," Mary said, forcing her voice to not quiver and reveal the terror that was coursing through her body.
"I can't?" Patrick repeated incredulously. He smiled, a wicked grin that chilled Mary's spine. "Oh, but I can, Mary. I can do whatever I want with you. Whether it's now or on our wedding night, you will not refuse me if you value your future," he said rashly. "I will have you over a barrel one way or another," he laughed at his own horrible joke.
"Go on and scream, Mary," Patrick continued, taunting her. "Who shall ride to your rescue? Napier? The Turk? No, they're in the Bachelors' Wing. They couldn't hear you even if I were to summon them. The servants? Do you really think that the word of that wretch of a lady's maid of yours would be believed over mine? No, that just leaves your sisters and your parents. And who do you think would champion his child's cause more fiercely? My Papa…or yours?"
"Patrick," Mary said with a shiver, her nerves shaken by his unprecedented vulgarity. "We'll be married, just as we agreed, and I will…I will do…I will do my duty to you then, not now."
"Mary, Mary quite contrary," he hummed with a small sinister laugh. He thumped his fist on the end of her bed and leaned onto the bedpost. "I've always wanted you Mary, to possess you completely as my own. Through the years, I've tethered my patience to your happiness and suffered rebuke after rebuke. And for what did I enjoy in this condescension? Nothing!" His voice rose loudly and echoed throughout the room.
Mary bit her lip at the hopelessness of her situation. She had thought someone could rescue her if she screamed loud enough. Carson, Anna, she would even hug Edith and shower her with kisses if she were to come into her room now. But Patrick was right. No one could hear them. And even if they did, and someone came, who would believe her or defend her against Patrick's conspiracy and treachery? Downton Abbey was a tomb at night. How many times had she taken advantage of how sound never travelled through the walls to sneak down to the library or the kitchens at night?
"It seems I lost the bet," he slurred, glancing around the room in an exaggerated fashion. "The Turk is not here as we assumed, warming the cockle shells of your heart. I must have just missed him as the last of the lovers you invited into your bed tonight."
Patrick laughed, "I owe Papa a guinea."
Mary's anger flared. Her precarious position was terrifying, but Patrick's words incensed her.
"Why are you even here?" she shot back. "Was Lady Kensington's room too far away for you?"
"Not at all," Patrick shook his head lazily. "I've just come from there, in fact."
Mary's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in horror. "You bastard!" she snarled.
Patrick's laugh was cold and made her shiver.
"Is that the best you can do, Mary?" he chuckled. "Lady Kensington used that same barb when I refused to propose to her during your Season. Oh yes, I've already had her, among others. And yet, she readily accepted my invitation and came running here, desperate to see me. She was once proud and dismissive towards me as you are, Mary. Yes, you have much in common with your bitter rival."
Mary swallowed, her mind spinning at each scandal Patrick was now revealing.
"But she spread her legs for me eventually, Mary. More than once in fact. Oh, but don't worry. After we're married, I'll keep my visits with her discreet. With you doing your duty to me, I'll only need to fuck her once or twice a week at most," Patrick said casually as though he were reading the newspaper rather than spewing such filth.
Mary's hands tightened on the blanket. "You're a monster!" she sputtered.
"I'm many things, dearest Mary," Patrick said thickly, walking around the bed with startling speed. He sat down next to her, his weight against her thigh, his lips dangerously close. "Most importantly, I'm your fiancé. And I've decided we need to practice for our wedding night, now."
He was over her and Mary fell backward from his heavy weight. She had no time to think; she kicked with her legs and flailed, throwing her fists at him. Patrick dodged the majority of her defensive actions; however, his motor skills were dulled by his inebriation. She made contact with his side and pushed with all her might and Patrick rolled from the bed. He landed on the floor with a loud thump.
"You bitch!" he said as he howled in pain.
Mary stared at her bedroom door wondering if she should try and escape. She could exit her room and lock herself in the bathroom perhaps.
"You're going to regret that, I'll make you regret everything!" Patrick grunted as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. His breath was coming in sharp gasps and Mary could see his face was flushing red with rage.
Mary shuddered, even though all of her instincts told her bolt; she was frozen in place. She could not will her limbs to move, and Patrick's cold words reverberated in her mind. She needed her parents and all she could imagine was their disapproving glance and their telling her to shut up and be quiet so as to not anger Cousin James.
"Do you have any idea how miserable I could make your life, Mary?" Patrick yelled, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. "Who do you think shall wield all the power when your spineless father passes on? Your Mama, your sisters, they could all be cast out at one word from me! The means of their continued privileged life are in your hands, and by God you will obey me!"
Patrick hurled himself to his feet and advanced upon her.
"No more, Mary," Patrick glared at her cruelly. "No more fighting, no more resistance. From now on, you will spread your legs at my command and receive me gratefully, and neither of us will tell a soul. That way, your virtue will be intact until our wedding day, and no one need be the wiser. You'll moan like a whore by the time I'm finished with you, and then I'll have you, again and again, and as many times as I want, now, tomorrow, next week, next month, and all the years of our marriage."
Patrick's face curled into a wicked grin. Mary swallowed and tensed, the tears flowing freely from her eyes as he pulled the blankets from her weak grasp. He lay himself on top of her, licking her sobbing face and pressing his hips against hers.
"I own you, Mary," he hissed.
Mary closed her eyes tight.
Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912
"I had no choice. He forced me to do it," Mary said as tears pooled in her eyes. "Little did I know that Cousin James and Patrick had planned everything in advance. It didn't matter what I did that night. They were going to teach me a lesson, and they did. I got my comeuppance. I got what I deserved."
"No," Matthew said fiercely. "Don't say that, don't think that and don't ever let yourself believe that."
Mary turned towards him and caressed his cheek with her hand. "You're a darling and I love you. But you didn't know me then, Matthew. I was a vain and foolish young woman, arrogant, entitled, spoiled. I would have ridiculed your middle class background if we had met back then. You would have hated me."
"Never," Matthew said. "I would have seen in you what I see in you now – that there is far more to you than just being a pretty face and the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter."
She leaned over and kissed him softly. "I wonder if I had just been nicer to Patrick, more docile, more compliant, if any of this would have happened."
"You would end up suffering for it, Mary. Dare I say you would suffer more than you are today if you had ended up marrying that cad," Matthew said.
"You shouldn't always take my side," Mary shook her head. "I'm am a disagreeable woman."
"I know that," Matthew laughed. "Are you forgetting that we've had more than our share of arguments."
"And yet, our arguments always seem to end with us doing what we've just done tonight," Mary raised her eyebrow at him.
"Entirely a coincidence, darling," Matthew smirked. "The fact remains that if young Mr. Patrick didn't perish on the Titanic, I would like to kill the imbecile with my own two hands," he said seriously.
"No, you wouldn't," Mary said her voice strained and yet resilient. "That is not in your character. But, thank you for saying as much, my honour though is no longer at stake. It vanished that night and can never return."
"This is one argument Mary," Matthew said as he kissed her softly on the crown of her head. "That I do not enjoy having with you." He squeezed her in his loving embrace. "Let's fight about something else now, shall we?"
"Who can finish dinner first, perhaps?" Mary said gently. She wiped away her tears. "You can call for room service to bring up what we ordered downstairs?"
"Oh no," Matthew said with a wicked smile. "I was anticipating something more fun."
"More fun than food?" Mary said with mock confusion. She turned and slid up his body, her face coming level with his. "What else could we fight about that is better than that?"
"Let's fight about who's louder. I say it's you," Matthew said before he flipped them over and kissed her neck. His hand travelled down her side and pushed her thigh to his side.
Mary laughed. She hooked her leg across his hip. Her hand moved between them and took hold of him, bringing a groan from him as he kissed her shoulder.
"Have a go, Matthew. Your voice will be hoarse by the time I'm done with you," she hissed.
Matthew fleetingly thought he had perhaps taken on too big of a challenge as Mary's hand moved faster on him. He captured her mouth and he focused on the feel of her body beneath him, her enthusiastic response thrilling him. It wasn't important who won this particular argument between them, but they were both determined to make it a rather long debate.