St. Peter's Square, Manchester, England, August 1912
Mary waited patiently outside the store. Matthew was standing by the kerb, flagging down a taxi for them. She watched him from under the awning, admiring his broad shoulders and firm back, his blond hair almost as styled as hers, hidden beneath a distinguished hat. If they were a normal couple, they would have waited in the lobby of the Midland for a doorman to both fetch their taxi and call them over. But Matthew knew that Mary required secrecy, and so while he retuned the picnic basket to the concierge, she had left the hotel without him to wait in a more crowded area of the bustling public square. It was easier for Matthew to call a taxi from here, and for Mary to stay out of sight. The hotel staff was already becoming quite familiar with seeing Mr. Crawley and his dark haired female friend. It was wiser to lessen the number of times that they were seen coming and going from the place together. However, just because it was wise to be more discrete did not make things any easier.
Mary sighed as Matthew successfully caught a taxi's attention and waited for it to approach. How many men would be so understanding? How many men would barely question when a woman said that yes, she did want to be with him, but no, they could not be public about their relationship? How many men would be so steadfast, so loyal, so accommodating? Sometimes she looked at Matthew and wondered nervously if he felt it was all worth it or not, if she was worth all of the effort?
The taxi stopped at the kerb and Matthew looked back at her. He quirked his eyebrows playfully and nodded his head towards the door of the car. Mary smirked to herself as she walked briskly into the sunshine, crossed the sidewalk and disappeared into the taxi. Instructions were given to the driver and they were soon on their way, Matthew's hand moving carefully over and taking hold of hers, out of sight of the driver. They each turned away and looked out the window on their respective sides of the taxi, their gloved hands still linked. These little gestures of his were common now, and Mary smiled to herself at their secret touch, the understanding between them that went unspoken. Perhaps Matthew shouldn't go to so much trouble for her, she thought, but she knew for certain that he was entirely worth every effort she could make.
"That was a lovely picnic," Mary said nonchalantly, still keeping her gaze away from him.
"The weather was perfect," Matthew agreed. "I'm just sorry we had to leave the park so soon."
Mary squeezed his hand in understanding. Even though they were not looking at each other, she knew that disappointment was showing on Matthew's face. They were no longer in their suite at the hotel, or in their private grove at the park. They were back in public and under the strict rules of formal decorum. It was understandable that Matthew was reluctant to leave the park. When he had finally declared they needed to get back to the hotel and on home, she was sitting against his chest and playing idly with his hair.
Matthew remained quiet as the taxi travelled down the familiar path to the Crawley home. It was rather endearing how consistent he was. Anything that kept them apart annoyed him, and though his patience was remarkable in some ways, in others it was humorously short.
"I'm so relieved that the hot spell has abated," Mary continued. "The sunshine is nice, but I could do without as much heat."
"It's not so bad," Matthew said quietly.
"Oh?" Mary asked, surprised by his response.
"I've gotten used to it," he replied. "I've become used to feeling quite heated in your presence."
Mary dared to look at him then. She rolled her eyes playfully and grinned. He was far from poetic in his delivery of romantic lines, but that only made him more irresistible to her. Mary was used to the polished and immaculately mannered suitors of her youth. They all had something to hide and in the end were a disappointment to her. Since her arrival in Manchester, she was becoming more and more comfortable with the attractiveness of awkward and genuine.
"I still can't believe that your mother was able to convince your father to go to the country to see her cousins," Mary smiled. "He was probably short of breath the moment he left the Manchester city limits."
Matthew smirked and his hand moved from hers to gently caress her knee. Mary glared at him, then checked to make sure the driver was still oblivious to them. When she saw he was still focused on the road, she reached out and squeezed Matthew's thigh before drawing her hand back. The look on his face made her smile triumphantly.
"I'm sure he was a delight," Matthew chuckled. "Mother does like a bit of authority, and one thing about Crawley men, we do seem to capitulate to our women rather easily."
Mary smirked and shared a knowing glance with him. He turned to look at the driver. Mary's pulse jumped a bit. She could see the debate inside of him. Was he actually thinking of stealing a kiss while the driver was looking away from them?
Matthew was about to turn back to her when something caught his attention. He looked out the window on her side of the car and a beaming smile crept across his face.
"Darling," Mary whispered. "What is it?"
"My apologies, Mary," Matthew said as he looked back at her with a grin. "I just noticed our bench, and I was reliving a rather pleasant memory."
"But, it's not sunset," Mary teased, raising her eyebrow and biting her lower lip as she smirked at him.
"All of our kisses are at sunset in my mind," Matthew teased back.
Mary pushed her hair behind her ear and smiled as she remembered that moment. Had it really been over a year already since their first kiss?
"It's a wonder that I let you kiss me," she smiled. "Considering that everything about our date was far from romantic."
"Well, I was determined to salvage something of the evening," Matthew chuckled. "All of my previous efforts to impress you had gone awry."
"That's not true," Mary scolded him. "I was very impressed by you at the Café."
"That wasn't technically part of our date yet," Matthew noted. "Which is probably why, it was a much larger success as I wasn't trying so much during tea. I learned to my dismay that I'm not as suave as I once thought."
"That is putting it mildly," Mary smiled as she allowed him to take her hand again.
Fletcher Moss Botanical Garden, Manchester, England, April 1911
"The entrance to the garden is magnificent," Matthew said enthusiastically. "A striking example of Neo-Norman architecture from the 12th century, note its stone arched gate topped with an eagle effigy."
Mary's eyes were bright and playful as she listened to him. She was amused at his eager tone of voice and pride in his hometown surroundings. In London during her Season she had met men who loved the sound of their own voices, but that was not the case with Matthew. Everything that evening had been directed towards her, as though he were trying to keep her interested by his enthusiasm alone. And it was becoming contagious.
She had worried about whether to accept his invitation to luncheon or not. They had a lovely time at tea, talking and laughing so easily. He seemed so interested in her opinions, asking her about her role at the hospital and what she thought of different doctors and staff that he knew. She did not offer much explanation about her past, and he did not pry, content to go at her pace and allow the conversation to go where it would. There had been very few silent pauses between them all afternoon.
She reasoned that having luncheon with Matthew was not particularly significant. The food had been tasty and the conversation once again enjoyable, but when he nervously asked her what her plans were for the rest of the day, she realized he had put far more thought into their appointment than simply eating. She weighed the options of returning to Lady Philomena's house and sitting it the attic until dinner or continuing to enjoy Matthew's company. It was a startlingly easy choice to make.
After luncheon Matthew took her to the Manchester Art Gallery. The Gallery visit led to dinner, and dinner had now turned into this early evening walk. She was not afraid that she would run into Lord Merton or anyone who would find it curious to see her walking with a man unchaperoned. The entire day spent with Matthew had made her forget about the shackles of her former life that had been narrow and judgmental, polite manners and yet nasty assumptions; a world that had cast her out without hesitation. She found that she could banter with Matthew, even tease and challenge him, and he would not back down, or take anything personally. Although he barely knew how to hold his knife like a gentleman, he was so vivacious, and she couldn't help but play along.
"The ancient stone gate," Matthew continued gesturing to the moss covered structure, "was once a part of a hotel that was demolished when I was a boy. The garden's proprietor rescued it and it's been here ever since, ancient and modern times commingled together."
The ground was like wilderness in comparison to the manicured lawns of Downton Abbey. But the wildflowers were charming and the setting was appealing if not unusual. Such a strange place, this large park in the middle of the city.
"Here," Matthew said gallantly. "Take my hand."
Mary blushed and looked away, her gloved hand sliding into his lightly. There was something so honest about Matthew. She could think of any number of men who, if they ordered her to take their hand, she would have slapped them in reply. But Matthew seemed so unassuming.
"I know a shortcut," Matthew said confidently and he led her through a small clearing.
Mary held the hem of her dress as they passed by what she presumed was a blackberry bush without any fruit. The lower branches brushed against their legs. This was quite the adventure, she thought wryly to herself. Just two months ago she would be taking tea with her Mama and Granny or putting Diamond through his paces in the fields. Now she was traipsing through brush and not minding it at all.
She looked about the garden and saw many other people enjoying the public space. It didn't seem possible to be escaping the bustle of the Manchester streets with only a few steps into this green space. She was pleasantly surprised by this city with each new discovery, her initial prejudice and assumption that this was just some industrial backwater fading away. When they reached the rock garden, she saw flowers and plants that she did not recognize, and she found she was rather looking forward to Matthew explaining them to her. She had to shake her head and wonder at her response to this man. He was making her forget herself, which given her recent past, was a quite welcome occurrence.
"My father calls this location the new Hanging Gardens, and Manchester the new Babylon," Matthew said with a boyish grin. "He can be a bit of a dreamer, as you may have noticed."
"Yes," she said lightly. "Are you a dreamer, Matthew? Or are you more practical?"
"I'll say I'm more of a dreamer, if that's one of my father's qualities that you find endearing," Matthew chuckled. "Although I will admit that I am forced to be more of a pragmatist by trade. Since we're outside of the office and the hospital, it doesn't seem so wrong to get swept away a little bit, does it?"
"No. No, it doesn't," Mary replied. Even when Matthew said something ridiculous, it sounded fun and playful. God, what was happening to her?
Matthew let go of her hand as they reached a makeshift boardwalk covering a shallow stream. Mary frowned at the wood planks that were creating a makeshift boardwalk.
"You first," he said with a chivalrous bow. "I want to show you the gingko tree on the other side. I always have picnics with my parents there."
Mary looked with uncertainly at the wet, muddy, well worn boards. Lady Mary Crawley setting foot in mud. This was a different world she had landed in, clearly. She took comfort in the knowledge that this was a well-travelled path, somewhere Matthew's parents evidently frequently crossed. Narrowing her eyes, she took the few steps across quickly, holding her breath for fear she would have an embarrassing tumble. However, she crossed without incident and stepped on to the solid grass covered ground on the other side. Turning around triumphantly, Mary turned back to Matthew. His gaze was fixed upon her, a boyish grin across his lips. She tried to look away demurely. His eyes were unlike any she had ever seen before, and she was a Lady – she had seen plenty of men in her time.
Blushing slightly at how he seemed to be captivated and almost staring at her, Mary realized belatedly that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. She opened her mouth to warn him to be careful, but before she could voice her alert, Matthew lost his footing and tripped into the shallow creek with a surprised grunt.
"Matthew!" Mary called, stepping back across the path to make sure he was all right. As she came to him, she slipped on the muddy boards and fell on top of him, the breath flying from his lungs as his hands came up to break her fall.
"Mary," Matthew whispered, his eyes wide and his lips parted. She was sitting atop him now, her one hand on her hat and her other on his shoulder. She thought vaguely that she had been spared soaking her entire dress as only the hem had hit the stream thanks to Matthew being under her. She swallowed as she stared into his eyes, thoughts of sitting astride him in a running stream seeming quite unimportant suddenly.
"I'm sorry, Mary," Matthew said softly, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. "That was rather reckless of me."
"You're not the only one behaving badly, apparently," she whispered back, unsure as to what to do next.
Matthew cleared his throat. "Go ahead and stand up. I'll help you to the other side and we can dry off."
Mary rose as gracefully as she could manage, which only caused her to blush more fiercely as it involved standing above Matthew. He scrambled to his feet, his suit soaked through. He guided her to the shore with a hand at her back. She did not know whether she was shivering from the water or from his touch.
Matthew hung his wet jacket on a branch and motioned Mary to a bench in the sun for them to dry off.
"I must say that I have not been a very impressive date thus far," Matthew shook his head as he took a seat beside her. His eyes then went wide as he realized he was speaking out loud. He glanced at Mary nervously. She looked back at him, studying his expression.
"Oh, I don't know," she smiled. "It's certainly been one of my more memorable dates."
"I assume you speak in the form of mockery," Matthew said carefully.
"You should have more faith," Mary smirked. Her heart fluttered the same way it had when they flirted in the Café just days ago.
"Need I remind you that I just made an absolute spectacle of myself?" Matthew said, looking pointedly at her. "I expect that will live in your memory for months, as fresh as the day it happened."
"Oh, Matthew," Mary laughed genuinely. "You'll just have to replace that with a happier memory, won't you? Aren't you Mancs supposed to be resilient? Always up for a challenge?"
"Always, Mary," Matthew smirked. "But if I'm to replace the memory of my clumsiness, then we should see more of each other."
She looked away as a blush creeped across her face. Perhaps Matthew Crawley was more suave than he was letting on.
He eventually did show her the gingko tree and the small grove where his family took picnics. The view was majestic, with the entire park spread out before them, as though the entire panorama of nature was on show just for them. After some more delightful conversation, he offered to escort her out of the park with the intention of getting her a taxi to take her home. Their clothes had dried in the sun, although she suspected Matthew was much more uncomfortable than she was. He kept scratching his arms, probably because he could not fully dry himself without removing his shirt. Mary swallowed slightly at the visual image that came to her mind. She had a dull ache along her calves, but nothing overly troublesome.
Their fall in the stream aside, the day's outing had been quite fun. They had talked, laughed and shared stories, and Mary did not take these simple pleasures for granted anymore.
Before they reached the park entrance, Matthew stopped and turned to her. "Can I entice you to sit and watch the sunset?" he offered, his voice tentative. He pointed to a bench overlooking the park with the sun clearly lower on the horizon.
"Do you like watching the sunset? I used to watch it with my sisters just before dinner," Mary said pleasantly. She sat down and as Matthew took the spot next to her, she wondered what her Granny would say if she could see her now – sitting on a bench in Manchester with a handsome man with no title and who worked as a lawyer for a living.
"I do," Matthew said nostalgically. "It is my favourite time of day, when colours are their brightest, and yet there is something out there seemingly as the sun sets past the horizon. It's like a puzzle to be solved."
Mary was quiet as she discreetly rubbed her shoe against her leg, both enraptured by his words and at the satisfaction of scratching the itch.
"Did you know in English, points of the compass are derived from sunrise and sunset? Orient and Occident are from Latin meaning, sunrise and sunset," Matthew continued.
"I believe I was taught that at some point when I was younger," Mary replied. "Have you seen Claude Monet's paintings of a sunset?"
"Yes, I have," Matthew said fondly. "Although I prefer Turner, and not just because he is British."
Mary smiled at his strong opinion as she found herself staring into his eager expression, his blue eyes and that piece of blond hair perpetually falling on his forehead. She looked away to avoid gazing at him too much. She caught the sun on the horizon and smiled. Such a simple thing, taking the time to watch the sunset, and yet for Mary it was as though she was being granted a moment of peace – where she did not have to think of who she was, what had happened to her, and what her future held. She could just sit and watch the sunset and enjoy some lovely company.
"Today was quite splendid, after all," she said idly.
"Today is quite splendid, yes," Matthew replied.
She turned her head towards him.
"Have you forgotten your spill then?" she teased.
"No, I haven't forgotten," Matthew shook his head. "It's just that today has been so full of memories that I find I can leave that one alone."
"Truly?" Mary asked, her voice becoming quiet. "And what would you call the best one then?"
"I have several," Matthew answered. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously and Mary's eyes widened, unable to look away from his tongue darting across his lips.
"Have you found any pleasant memories, Mary?" he asked softly.
Mary nodded her head. "I must admit that this current moment is growing quite memorable."
Matthew leaned forward. Mary closed her eyes. He hesitated. She held her breath. His lips bushed against her softly and carefully, as though he were afraid of doing it wrong, or being rejected or both. He held the kiss for a moment, then pulled back. Mary opened her eyes.
"I hope I haven't ruined everything," Matthew whispered.
Mary blushed as she realized how inappropriate it was to be kissing a gentleman in a public park. She dropped her gaze and shook her head.
"No," she smiled, unable to look up at him. "The opposite, in fact."
Matthew looked away, smiling widely. He scratched his arm again, then frowned as he pulled the cuff of his shirt back from his wrist. He leaned back on the bench and sighed.
"I hope that that you deem that last moment a happy one, because I'm afraid I have something else to apologize for," Matthew said with a sheepish smile.
"Oh?" Mary inquired, her fingers nervously fiddling with her necklace.
"The shortcut that I took you through earlier, on our way to the crossing and the gingko tree. It seems to have led us through some poison ivy," he said apologetically.
Mary's eyes widened in shock. Poison ivy? She shuddered to think of the rash that must now be spreading across her delicate skin.
"I'm so sorry, Mary," Matthew said. "I should have just stayed on the path and gone the long way around. I'm not usually this absent minded, or clumsy, or awkward, or…"
"It's all right, Matthew," Mary smiled, touching his hand. "I think enough went right today to convince me that you're not a lost cause, for now."
He smiled in relief.
"And I believe I know a doctor who can deal with our condition," she smiled. "Shall we go and see him?"
"Yes," Matthew nodded in surprise. "I'll get us a taxi."
Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912
"Master Matthew, Lady Mary," Davis nodded as they entered the foyer.
"Davis," Matthew smiled and nodded at the family butler. "Lady Mary will be joining us for dinner. I expect that Mother already informed you?"
"She did, sir," Davis nodded. "Mrs. Crawley told me to send you through to the salon when you arrived. She's expecting both of you."
"Right, then," Matthew said pleasantly. "Thank you, Davis."
"Sir, Lady Mary," Davis nodded.
Mary frowned slightly as she followed Matthew across the foyer towards the salon. Unlike the stoic demeanour of her beloved Carson, Davis always seemed to be jovial and pleasant – for a butler anyway. His clipped tone made his seem edgy, but Matthew appeared not to have noticed it.
It was also odd that they were going to meet Isobel in the salon. The salon was used for entertaining guests or having drinks after dinner. Matthew's parents were rarely there unless they had guests over to the house. Even Mary did not set foot there, usually just going through to the library or dining room with Matthew whenever she was over.
When they reached the small but tastefully furnished room, Mary and Matthew stopped short. To their surprise, Isobel was not alone. Mary dropped her hand from Matthew's grasp and stood slightly behind him.
"Ah, Matthew," Isobel smiled politely. "Dr. Boyd was just leaving."
"Matthew, good to see you again," the doctor smiled, rising from his chair.
"Thank you for coming, Albert," Isobel nodded to him.
"No trouble at all, Isobel. I'll see myself out. I'll speak to you tomorrow," Dr. Boyd replied, then nodded to Matthew and left.
Mary was thankful that Isobel had not called attention her presence and that Dr. Boyd had apparently not paid her much heed as he passed them on his way out.
"Was Dr. Boyd here to see Father?" Matthew asked offhandedly as he crossed the room and sat down. He picked up a book off the side table and leafed through it idly.
Mary took a seat on the chair next to Matthew's. She looked over at Isobel. Matthew's mother was sitting up rigidly in her chair, her hands were clasped together in her lap.
"Yes," Isobel replied plainly, watching Matthew read his book. "Dr. Boyd was here to see your Father."
"He's upstairs I expect. Resting? Was it a long journey back from the country?" Matthew asked, still looking through the book.
"No, we left early and were able to get home this morning. We've been home for most of the day, actually," Isobel said evenly.
Mary eyed both of them warily. Matthew was flipping pages with a bored expression. Isobel was watching him intently.
"Matthew, put away the book," Mary said kindly. "Your mother asked us to come to the salon. She must have something important to tell us."
Isobel glanced over at Mary and thanked her with her eyes. Mary only nodded in acknowledgment.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Matthew said quickly, putting the book back on the table. "I must be getting hungry. I'm forgetting my manners. Did you have something you needed to tell us?"
"Yes," Isobel nodded. "I'm glad you came back for dinner. I'm sorry if it's interrupted your weekend."
"Not at all," Mary answered with a smile. "I was getting a bit tired of your son anyway."
Matthew chuckled and shook his head at her joke.
Isobel looked down at her hands, her face neutral.
Mary's pulse sped up slightly.
"There's something you must know, and I felt it imperative to tell you immediately once you arrived. I didn't want to wait for dinner," Isobel continued.
"That sounds serious," Matthew answered, looking over at Mary with a smirk, then frowning as he realized that Mary was not sharing his bemusement. She was looking at Isobel with concern.
"It's about Dr. Crawley, isn't it?" Mary asked quietly.
Isobel closed her eyes and exhaled. She could only nod slightly while at the same time her head shook back and forth.
"What about Father?" Matthew frowned, looking from Mary back to Isobel. "Mother? Have you received word from Murray regarding the entail? Has the Earl summoned him formally?"
"No," Isobel said calmly, opening her eyes and looking at her son once more. "It has nothing to do with that business at all."
Mary's throat felt dry.
"Your father is sick, Matthew," Isobel declared, looking at him seriously. "He has been ill for some time now, but he didn't want to burden you with it, either of you," she said, glancing over at Mary.
"Sick?" Matthew frowned. "Papa is never sick. What is it? How long before he recovers?"
"Matthew," Isobel closed her eyes again, her voice wavering. When she opened them again, they appeared tired and vacant. "It's cancer."
Mary gasped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
Matthew's eyes widened in shock. He stared blankly for a long moment.
"It's gotten into his lungs," Isobel said slowly. "At first it was mostly fatigue and lack of energy. Things that could be explained away and were not as noticeable. Recently it's gotten much worse, shortness of breath, disorientation, intense bouts of coughing. The trip to my cousin's wasn't a family visit. We were meeting with some of your father's old colleagues from school, discussing treatment options. We returned this morning and he could barely make it in the door without gasping for air. We put him to bed and he's been there all day. That's when I called Albert to come see him."
Mary blinked, remembering now where she had seen Dr. Boyd before. He was the head of oncology at the hospital.
"But those symptoms could mean anything, Mother!" Matthew snapped. "He may just need to slow down a bit. Perhaps he's just been working too hard, or it's something in the air, something he breathed in, something…"
"Something he smoked, Matthew," Isobel said sadly.
Matthew's mouth hung open. Mary closed her eyes.
"How long have you known?" Matthew asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Mary's eyes went to him. He looked at Isobel, and Mary cringed as he appeared so childlike to her now, his eyes pleading, his lips, that had given her such pleasure just hours ago now quivering in fear.
"He suspected something last Fall," Isobel said. "At first we thought it was just stress or not getting enough rest, perhaps even the flu with the change in the season. But he never really got better. It only got worse. By Christmas, he knew it was more serious, but he didn't want to tell you. We weren't completely sure, and he didn't want either of you to worry about him."
Matthew turned to Mary, a silent exchange passing between them through their eyes. Christmas of last year. Christmas 1911. She had always thought of her first Christmas with Matthew's family as a joyous occasion. But Matthew's parents were guarding his father's secret so that she and Matthew could enjoy themselves. She tasted bitterness in her mouth and her hands seemed to be shaking.
"He'll be angry with me for telling you now," Isobel sighed. "But I wanted both of you to know. Albert doesn't think he has much time left, Matthew. I'm certain your father knows that as well. If he had his way, he would continue this scheme and leave us silently in the night, but I know you wouldn't want that and I know it's not right; not anymore. So I'm telling you now, both of you."
Mary and Matthew looked at Isobel. They were at a loss to say anything.
"But," Matthew said, grasping for something, anything to change what his mother had revealed.
"Your father is dying, Matthew," Isobel said, her voice small and weak. "There's not much that can be done. He has a blockage in his lungs and fluid is building up behind it. Within a week or so, he'll have pneumonia. And shortly after that…"
Isobel's eyes were sad and dark as she looked from her son to Mary and back to Matthew. Mary never saw Isobel as old and frail, even though she was as old as her Granny. She was a force, showing more energy than nurses half her age. As Mary looked at her now, she saw her as a wife and mother, and the strength that Mary admired so much seemed to be draining out of her.
"Shortly after that, he'll be gone," Isobel finished and looked down at her lap.
Mary got up from her chair and crossed the gap to Matthew. She placed her hand on his shoulder. His hand flew up immediately and covered hers, his grip hard and firm. He stared at the ground, his brow creased and his breathing growing quicker.
"I have Mrs. Bird making a soup for him," Isobel said, rising to her feet. "I'm going to go up and see him and tell him what I've done. After a few minutes, I want you to go up and see him, Matthew. He'll have much to say to you, now that you know the truth. I'll send Mary up shortly after you've had time to talk to your father. He'll want to speak to you as well, Mary."
"Mother," Matthew choked out. He could not lift his eyes from the floor.
"We'll talk later, Matthew," Isobel said kindly. "I need to go see your father. And you need to prepare yourself to talk to him as well."
Isobel left the room. Matthew's eyes remained fixed on the floor. Mary felt his body begin to shake. She knelt down beside him, her arm going across his back and her hand lightly touching his cheek as she turned him to face her.
"Darling, I'm so sorry," Mary sighed, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
Matthew pulled her into his arms, clutching her desperately. She came to him immediately, sitting on his lap. She held his head against her shoulder and ran her hands through his hair and along his back soothingly.
"Mary, I…how can…" he gasped, unable to speak any further words.
"It's all right," Mary said, stroking her hand up and down his back. "You don't need to pretend with me, Matthew."
Matthew unleashed a painful sob into her shoulder. He pulled her tighter against him and she held him closer.
"Mary," he wailed, his tears running down his cheeks and falling on to her blouse.
His sobs became groans, and as he held her, he shut his eyes tight and cried and cried.
"I'm here, Matthew," Mary repeated softly as his body quaked against her. Her own tears fell as she lowered her lips and kissed the top of his head.
"I'm here."
Fletcher Moss Botanical Garden, Manchester, England August 1911
"There is no stigma or shame for anyone to ask us for help now, as physicians can now freely provide their services by the merciful strokes of great men such as Lloyd George," Dr. Crawley said to Mary as they walked towards the gardens. They had left the hospital together and were to be joined soon by Isobel and Matthew for a family picnic.
"I'm afraid I still don't understand the National Insurance Act. I was raised as a Conservative," Mary said evenly. She just couldn't comprehend this social mania that seemed to be everywhere in Manchester, and especially in the hospital. It seemed a very foreign concept to her, and she knew her family had vehemently objected to it.
"You understand it quite well, I'm sure, Mary," Dr. Crawley laughed. "But it's the idea of someone getting something without paying full price for it that gives you consternation."
"That's true," Mary smirked.
"Well, you're not only one to feel that way, and certainly not the only aristocrat to hold that view either," Dr. Crawley said easily.
"Life is filled with messy contradictions," Dr. Crawley continued as he played with his unlit cigar. "Politics most of all. I'm not a Royalist but I was impressed with the tact that King George has for his father's legacy, as King Edward approved of these measures. People should about think of that before they attack Lloyd George. It wasn't a radical idea dreamed up by the liberals."
Mary had never heard this before, but it did make sense. Such a controversial act would need the approval of the King, not just the Chancellor or Prime Minister.
"There is genuine good in helping all people and that is what his measure is trying to ensure," Dr. Crawley said. "It has been a rough start, both for the government and the Act itself, but people need access to medicine and health care. As a doctor, naturally I am of the inclination to support such laws from the government that help confirm what, to me, is a right that all people should have."
"I'm not surprised," Mary smiled. She had been taught that great families like her own were to provide for servants, tenants and labourers; certainly not the government. She was not at all shocked that Dr. Crawley fiercely supported the Act, or the concept of everyone in England having a right to health care.
"I know you want to help everyone," she said kindly.
Dr. Crawley chuckled, "Chalk it up to another of my faults. I have legions of them."
Mary shook her head at this dry humor.
"People are stubborn Mary. They don't like change," he said as they reached the chosen spot for the picnic under the famed ginkgo tree that Matthew had taken her to some months before. Mary was amused that Dr. Crawley had entered the garden through the west gate, therefore avoiding his son's so-called shortcut. Matthew had never taken her through that route since their first date, in fact.
"But in my experience," Dr. Crawley continued, "Nobody has more pride than the poor. I've seen them in my hospital, without a penny to their name and yet they still insist on being billed for their medical treatment. This new Act will allow them dignity from begging and salvation from debt. After all, a Duchess and a dockworker can both get pneumonia can they not?"
Mary felt a shiver at this conclusion. She had never had to think about how medicine and health care was paid for. Whenever they needed him, Dr. Clarkson came to the house to see them, or they went into the Village. The cost of the service was never in her thoughts. Now though, because of her exile, she was forced to confront the issue of where her money came from and how it would be spent. There was no one to rely upon anymore, except herself. The money that her Mama had given her when she was banished from Downton Abbey had lasted for most of her first year in Manchester, and her Granny was providing for her as well. Not having to pay for living with Lady Philomena was helpful, but Mary was still doing things like buying groceries and paying for her lunch in the hospital commissary, basic tasks that she never had to contemplate before. Even her clothing had become more utilitarian and practical, though that was partly due to the lack of high fashion selections in Manchester and Matthew's continued habit of buying her dresses and other gifts.
"Well," Dr. Crawley said as he cut his cigar promptly lit it. "It is a fine day today," he glanced about the gardens with relish at the surroundings. "On the seventh day, God created Manchester," he finished with admiration, "My Heaven on Earth."
Mary could only smile at his warmth for their surroundings. However, before she could speak, she saw Matthew and his mother approaching. He carried a large picnic basket on one arm and a large blanket under the other. Isobel was carrying a basket of her own, and Mary smiled, knowing the exact contents.
"Hello there," Dr. Crawley said warmly as his family gathered around. Mary felt her smile grow as she watched them interact. The three of them looked so right together, the picture of a proper family, a loving one. She blushed when Matthew's gaze turned from his parents and settled upon her.
Dr. Crawley took the basket and blanket from Matthew, despite his son's objections. He then offered his free arm to Isobel and they proceeded to set up for the picnic.
Matthew doffed his hat and greeted Mary with a shy smile.
"Hello," he said casually. "I'm so glad you're here."
"You can thank your parents once again," she said. "Isobel cajoled me into coming for this birthday celebration."
"Well, you do mean a lot to them," Matthew smiled. "They like to think of you as a success story for how much you've learned since you've arrived here." He paused briefly before he spoke again, in a quieter tone. "And you mean a great deal to me, also. A very great deal."
"I should have known that you would have the same birthday as your Father as you two are so very much alike," Mary said slightly changing the subject as she was still uncomfortable accepting so much praise she felt she didn't deserve.
Matthew laughed at this comment. "I believe I'm supposed to offer you such charming flattery, not the other way around."
"Mary, Matthew, come join us, won't you?" Dr. Crawley called, interrupting their banter.
"Matthew, my boy, we've got strawberries!"
Mary laughed as she saw his parents beckon them so eagerly. She took his arm when it was offered and they joined his family on the large blanket to enjoy the beautiful day's merriment. After they had nibbled on the food and all had glasses of lemonade, Isobel made an impromptu toast.
"Although another year has passed, it's safe to say my dearest husband and son; you appear to me no older than the last!"
"Hear, hear," Dr. Crawley said as he affectionately kissed his wife's hand.
"Matthew," he said after a moment, "You should open your presents first."
"No, Papa," he insisted. "You first. You were born before I was."
"Matthew," Dr. Crawley said with mock annoyance. "I insist. Don't argue with your Papa."
"Honestly," Isobel said in playful exasperation. "Mary," she said turning to their guest. "It is so lovely to have you here as they fight about this every year and I am often called to play judge and jury."
The two men chuckled together at this declaration.
"It would seem that Isobel has been given a reprieve this year," Dr. Crawley stated. "So, Mary, please choose which of us is to go first."
"Yes," Matthew said in agreement. "Who will it be?"
Mary didn't hesitate. "Dr. Crawley," she said as she reached over and found her small gift.
"I smell a plot," Dr. Crawley frowned at his son.
"Mary is her own woman, Papa," Matthew said, holding his hands up innocently. "I could no sooner give her orders than I could Mother."
"Thank you, Mary," Dr. Crawley said as he carefully unwrapped the tissue paper around the present. His attention to detail was the same as when he was wrapping a bandage, Mary noticed.
"A new journal…and a fountain pen!" Dr. Crawley laughed as he removed the items. "This is very generous, Mary. It's far more than you should have spent on an old man."
"Nonsense," Mary returned firmly. "It was my pleasure. And it goes along with Matthew's present."
"Does it now?" Dr. Crawley said fondly as he looked at his son. "I knew a scheme was afoot."
"Yes," Matthew said eagerly. He reached for and then offered his gift. It was a simple box with a single bow on top.
Dr. Crawley untied the ribbon and reached inside to find a brand new pair of binoculars.
"Oh, Good Lord!" He exclaimed as he held the new gift with reverence.
"It's for your bird watching," Matthew said proudly.
"Darling, you shouldn't always encourage your father's folly towards his weekend expeditions," Isobel said dryly, although her bright eyes betrayed her pride in such a thoughtful gesture. "Now he'll be boring Mary to tears with chapter and verse on how the Royal Society was formed."
"Too late. I've already educated her," Dr. Crawley smiled. "And for that bit of cheek, my dear wife, you shall accompany me for the next expedition. We will go to Didsbury and trek the banks of the Mersey."
"Didsbury?" Matthew said in mock alarm. "Why, Papa, that's almost outside the city!"
Isobel and Matthew laughed and Mary could not help but join in. She reached for her lemonade to settle herself. It was such a lovely afternoon to spend with Matthew and his family. While there were no footmen or maids attending to them, no silver trays of canapés and champagne flutes being passed around, she was enjoying herself immensely.
After the rest of the presents had all been unwrapped, Isobel and Mary took a stroll along the paths of the garden. Matthew leaned back on his outstretched arms as he watched them walk away, chatting so pleasantly together. Dr. Crawley lit a cigar and noticed his son's gaze.
"Mary appears very happy. A far cry from the young woman I first encountered in the hospital. I trust you have played some role in that?" he asked lightly.
Matthew turned his gaze towards his father. He swallowed awkwardly, feeling uneasy. Discussing his relationship with Mary was a delicate matter. He liked that it was something just between the two of them, only to be shared when they deemed it necessary. On the other hand, he was sometimes lost and aimless when it came to Mary. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and part of her allure was that he knew there was some mystery to her. There was something holding her back, and he knew he must be patient in order to earn her trust enough for her to share whatever it was.
"Papa," Matthew said cautiously, "I don't know how to discuss such subjects with you," he finally said.
"Tell me anything, nothing is forbidden or taboo. Always talk to me Matthew, that is my dearest wish," he said calmly. "I know you have honest intentions towards Mary, and in time I hope they come to fruition."
"Thank you," Matthew said warmly. "When I know more, before I act, I will seek your steady guidance. I can say that…well…I am quite certain I shall be acting with regard to Mary, and very soon I hope."
"My guidance you shall have, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said as he patted his son's shoulder. "I love it here," he said fondly as he puffed on his cigar. "The ginkgo tree leaves remind me of four leaf clovers. I've been so lucky," he said nostalgically. "To have your mother and then you," he paused. "And maybe a daughter someday soon…"
"Papa," Matthew rolled his eyes.
Dr. Crawley chuckled at his son's reaction. He put a hand through his gray hair. "My boy, you know I'm rubbish when it comes to personal matters. I'm a late bloomer in the garden of life and love. If it weren't for your mother, I'd still be simply a phantom slinking through the hospital. A man concerned with helping others and never knowing how to help himself. I'm transparent in that I am incapable of stopping to reflect on myself, I only want to help; your mother calls it my Achilles' heel."
Matthew nodded.
"I'm sorry I have to burden you with this, but as my only child you must carry the full weight of your father's hopes and dreams. It's a harsh thing – wanting the best for your child but not quite knowing how to lead him there. That's why I am so pleased for you and Mary. The two of you…well…the two of you make your mother and I quite happy."
Matthew was silent as he looked at his father. He smiled at him.
"Anyway, there's no need to delve too deeply into memories of the past," Dr. Crawley said as he extinguished his cigar. "Focus on Mary, my boy, and dreams for the future."