Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1918
Matthew closed the book he had long ago stopped reading with a frustrated clap. He rose from the sofa and walked over to the bookshelf, putting the book back in its place. His fingers walked across the spines of several others books nearby; each one he had read before, several of which he had greatly enjoyed. None of them held his interest now.
He turned away and walked over to the window, glancing out at the sunny skies and green fields in the distance. He and Robert had spoken about making some further changes around the Estate. Another farm had become available as the unfortunate family had lost a son in the War, a daughter to the Spanish flu, and the parents decided to go back to Swansea and live with relatives. Robert had been visiting the tenants recently and set up payment schedules for rent arrears. There was a guarded optimism about the future now, with the War swinging slightly in the Allies' favour in light of the success of the counter-offensive in France. However, with the recent flu outbreak and stresses on food and resources across the country, a bleak pall was still cast across the land.
But Matthew wasn't concerned with any of that now.
He left the window and went and sat back down on the sofa. He rubbed his hands together, glancing around the room for some distraction. He wasn't in the mood to try reading another book. It was too early for a drink, he thought, as he glanced at the bar cart in the corner. He had already finished the small amount of work he had brought with him from London. He got up from the sofa briskly and wandered around the room. All that was left was the waiting.
"Matthew," Robert called across the library as he walked in.
"Please do not ask me to sit down. I simply cannot," Matthew waved his hand, resuming his pacing.
Robert smiled at the sight of the expectant father, his son-in-law. The Earl went over and sat down in his chair. The clock struck the change of another hour, and Robert watched Matthew grit his teeth.
Looking back, Robert had to admit that he was rarely, if ever, angry with Matthew. Considering the stunt that he tried to pull with his Bill in Parliament – and the true motive for it – as well as the changes he'd made to the Estate while Robert was away, it was shocking he wasn't more churlish or disappointed with Matthew. It was obvious what Robert's own father would have thought of the solicitor from Manchester. But Robert always seemed to give Matthew the benefit of the doubt and trusted that he had good intentions, both for himself and for the family.
Robert wondered if the affection he felt for Matthew wasn't simply just the thrill of finally having a son of a sort. It had to be more than that. Matthew had a way about him that made others want to trust him, to be comfortable around him. Robert had noticed it right from his arrival. Edith, Sybil, even the servants all seemed to have a rapport with Matthew that was so natural and unguarded. The man was hardly charismatic. He still struggled in company when he was required to lead a conversation and didn't command attention the way many other gentlemen did. But there was a quiet confidence about him, a sense that he knew himself and wasn't too bothered by what others thought of him. In a world where everyone was concerned about their image and their reputation, Matthew's seeming disregard for both was refreshing.
Of course, Robert envied the way that Matthew knew instinctively how to deal with Mary, as well. There was a skill that the man seemed to have mastered. He knew how to let Mary have her way on issues that ultimately were not overly important, and he knew when to stand up for what he believed in without seeming to be overly objectionable or argumentative. Robert found himself still uneasy around his eldest daughter, and he knew she felt the same. It was simpler when they disliked each other and only spoke to each other when they had to. Now, with their delicate truce enduring through each day, they were cordial with one another, but it was a struggle to speak freely and not be suspicious or wonder at an ulterior motive. Matthew had no such obstacles, and maybe that was what Robert admired most about him. Matthew could speak to both him and Mary without reservation.
"That rug that you are wearing tracks into dates back to the 14th century, you know," Robert joked.
Matthew stopped pacing and looked over at him apologetically. He ran his hand through his hair and opened his mouth to speak when they were interrupted.
"Your Lordship. Mr. Crawley," Clarkson called as he came into the room.
"Dr. Clarkson!" Matthew exclaimed anxiously, moving towards the man. "Is it done then? Are Mary and the baby okay?"
"Yes. Yes, Mr. Crawley, they are. Both of them," Clarkson nodded sympathetically.
"Thank God," Matthew said with relief. Clarkson patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"However," Clarkson said, glancing over at Robert before turning back to Matthew. "There is something you should know about your baby."
Matthew frowned, but Robert smiled. He had this exact conversation with the Doctor three times previously.
"At ease, Major Clarkson," Robert smiled. "You will find I am not so against what you are about to say as my father was."
"Yes, my Lord," Clarkson nodded gratefully.
Matthew looked at both men with a puzzled expression.
"Don't worry Matthew," Robert said. "What he is trying to tell you is that you have a baby girl."
Matthew's mouth opened and he looked quickly at Clarkson for confirmation.
"That's correct," Clarkson said. "A beautiful baby girl with dark hair, who was rather stubborn about her arrival, but it's all fine now. I was very grateful for both your mother and Lady Sybil's assistance. They both helped put Mary at ease."
"Thank you," Matthew beamed, shaking Clarkson's hand.
"Of course, Mr. Crawley," Dr. Clarkson smiled.
"Congratulations, Matthew," Robert smiled, rising from the sofa and going over to shake his heir's hand. "Mama and Cora will be overjoyed."
"Thank you," Matthew nodded, returning the Earl's handshake. "And what about you?"
"You've already done your duty through George," Robert said. "Make no mistake, I shall spoil this princess to no end."
Matthew laughed and nodded.
"Now, before you go running upstairs and startle everyone, be so kind as to share her name, would you?" Robert asked kindly.
"Stella," Matthew said softly.
"Stella," Robert repeated, testing out the name for himself. "Well, if she's anything like her Mama, she is anxiously awaiting your arrival. Go, Matthew."
Matthew smiled again at Robert and Dr. Clarkson before leaving the library.
"You're right, my Lord," Clarkson said, watching Matthew run off. "Baby girls are received far more warmly in this House now."
Robert did not take offence to the Doctor's comment.
"They are," he said simply. "With good reason, Major. We men are already outnumbered, so we may as well try and get along with them."
Matthew knocked on the door, his stomach fluttering as he waited nervously for someone to answer. The door opened slightly and his mother's smiling face greeted him.
"Mother, can I please…" Matthew said, moving towards the door.
Isobel held her hand up.
"You shouldn't have come up, it's not proper," she said, before smiling wider. "Which is how I knew that you would."
Matthew shook his head ruefully. "May I see my wife and daughter, please?" he asked impatiently.
"Mary is resting," Isobel explained, "But, don't worry, she will be fine. Come in."
"What do you mean, she 'will be' fine?" Matthew frowned as he entered the room.
"I don't think you want to know the exact details," Isobel said gently. "Suffice it to say that she needs her rest. But, you can see Stella. Sybil is holding her, but I'm sure she can part with her, for you."
"Cousin Matthew," Sybil smiled, whispering his name as she carried a swaddled bundle over to him. "Be mindful. She's sleeping, and so is Mary."
Matthew glanced over at the bed where Mary was indeed sleeping soundly. His heart clenched slightly, knowing his wife was exhausted from giving him their second child, a daughter to go with his beautiful son and heir. He felt helpless that he could not do anything to help Mary recover from the birth, and at the same time he did not think he could love her any more than he did now.
"Matthew," Isobel said gently, pulling at his arm to draw his attention back to his daughter.
Matthew carefully pulled the swaddle blanket back from Stella's face. Just as Clarkson said, she had wisps of dark brown hair coming out from the small cap she wore. Her eyes were closed, and she dozed peacefully, her head turned slightly towards Sybil's breast.
"She is tiny," Matthew said in wonder, caressing her soft cheek.
"Actually, she's bigger than George was when he was born," Isobel noted, watching Stella the entire time.
"Here," Sybil smiled, passing the baby to Matthew. "I'm going to take the rest of the linens and towels downstairs. Anna will bring up some tea and food for Mary in a while."
Matthew beamed at his daughter as he rocked her gently back and forth.
"Thank you, Sybil," Matthew said, glancing over at his sister-in-law.
"Thank you, Cousin Matthew," Sybil grinned. "I think I'm going to enjoy being an aunt to this one."
Sybil left the room as Matthew continued to stare at his daughter.
"A girl, Mother," he whispered, beaming once more. "Can you believe it?"
"No, I can't," Isobel shook her head, smoothing the blanket over her granddaughter's stomach. "But your father always told me that you would do great things, and it appears this is another on your list of accomplishments."
"Well I didn't do it alone, obviously," Matthew muttered, looking over at his mother. "And I'm sure you're overjoyed at finally having a little girl to call you Grandmamma."
"Yes, indeed I am," Isobel grinned, still looking at Stella. "Speaking of which, I'm going to go look in on George. I'll be by later."
"Thank you, Mother," Matthew whispered.
Isobel smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Stella Crawley, you're going to break so many hearts," Matthew laughed, walking gingerly around the room holding his sleeping daughter. "You have hair like your Mama it seems, and I hope you have her eyes as well. She has the most incredible eyes, you know. You'll see. They have their own language that takes some time to decipher, but once you do, to feel those eyes upon you is the most wonderful feeling, my precious girl."
"Unless of course you make Mama angry, which is a skill that your Papa has long mastered," Mary said quietly, smirking at the pair as she sat up in bed.
Matthew laughed, carrying their daughter over to the bed.
"Darling, you should rest," he said, sitting down next to her.
"That will be rather difficult, I'm afraid," Mary rolled her eyes. She glanced at Stella's sleeping form and grinned. "She's rather beautiful, isn't she?"
"Just like her Mama," Matthew grinned, kissing Mary's cheek.
"Is that the best you can do?" Mary teased, arching her eyebrows at him.
"Certainly not," Matthew smiled, leaning in and kissing her properly.
Matthew sat back against the pillows, holding Stella in his arms. Mary rested her head on his shoulder and leaned into his side.
"I told you it would be a girl," Mary mumbled with satisfaction.
"That you did," Matthew nodded. "Any ideas on what the next one will be?"
"Don't push your luck, Matthew," Mary said, closing her eyes as she snuggled against him. "After what I just had to endure, I'm not even thinking of having another child."
"Very well," Matthew chuckled, leaning over and kissing the top of her head.
She dozed off again, and Matthew smiled pleasantly as he enjoyed the tranquil moment with his wife and daughter.
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 1918
"George," Mary said as she entered the nursery. "It's time for our walk."
It was a little tradition she had started with her son since they had returned to London. Every afternoon they would walk through Kensington Gardens, and when Matthew returned from work he would read from Peter Pan. But, today despite the fact that Nanny had her son dressed and ready, she could see he was not excited.
"Darling," she said offering her hand. "Come along."
George, however, did not move. His gaze was fixated across the nursery and Mary followed what held his attention. It was Nanny as she attended to his baby sister. Mary watched the routine actions and how they captivated her son. However, when Stella whimpered, George moved as fast as his little legs would carry him to the changing table.
"Master George," Nanny said, "Please stand back."
George frowned but did as he was told. Mary went over to her son and took his hand.
"She's quite alright darling," she said with reassurance. The look on her son's face was reminiscent of his grandfather, the way he had always cared for people. If George had not been destined to be the next Earl of Grantham, she could have sworn they had a little doctor on their hands.
Mary brushed George's carefully coiffed blond hair away his forehead.
"I promise," she said sincerely. "Now, come along."
George took one last look over at Stella. He turned his head and slowly followed his Mama to the door, clinging to her hand. Anna smiled as she watched the entire scene play out.
"It's amazing what Master George seems to be aware of at such a young age, isn't it, Milady?" the maid asked, smiling at the young boy.
"He's as curious as his Papa already," Mary smiled as Bates opened the door for them. "Let's hope Stella grows into a proper young lady otherwise they'll be quite a handful together."
Anna laughed. She shared a knowing look with her own husband and followed her Mistress out the door.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, October 1918
"What would you do, honestly?" Nigel asked, looking at Matthew inquisitively.
Matthew looked at him carefully, then back down at his desk as he contemplated the question. Reverend Montgomery stood nearby, leaning against a table as he watched them.
"I suppose it depends on what rank I would have," Matthew finally said. "If I was a mere soldier, then I would carry on as ordered and keep fighting. If I was an officer, I would debate my course of action more thoroughly. If the situation looked despondent and hopeless, then perhaps I would question whether continuing to fight was wise."
"Based on what?" Nigel asked, smiling slightly. "You can't predict the future. Perhaps the Germans have reinforcements on the way so all you need to do is hang on and the tide will turn, just as it did for us with the Americans arriving."
"If that information was available, then I would consider it," Matthew replied. "However, if anything the Germans are losing nations from their cause, rather than gaining them."
"It's as I told you before, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "The ultimate surrender of the German Empire will not be decided by those at the Front, but rather by politicians in Berlin."
Matthew turned and looked at his superior.
"And what is the status of those discussions?" he asked.
"Difficult to say," Reverend Montgomery shrugged. "There are always factions in any government who do not favour War. Even here at home, there are many opposed to it. The call for peace is always present, it's merely a question of whether those in power hear it or not."
"If the Germans were at our gates, would we call for peace?" Nigel asked. "Or would we fight to the last breath?"
"That's different," Matthew pointed out. "The Germans started the War. We didn't."
"Didn't we?" Nigel smiled. "Were we not the ones to declare War upon them?"
"You would have allowed them to traipse across Belgium unhindered?" Matthew asked.
"I'm not particularly bothered by what happens to Belgium," Nigel said lightly.
"He's just joking, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smiled.
"Speaking hypothetically, then," Nigel nodded. "Why should the Germans be any different when faced with their coming defeat? Shouldn't they want to go down with all guns firing?"
"Their command may want them to, but whether morale among the soldiers is high enough to continue a hopeless cause is another question," Matthew said.
"Precicsely," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "Which is why we must be even more vigilant in our work. If the Germans are as desperate as we think, they may try one last attack, one last attempt at glory rather than go peacefully."
Matthew nodded and turned back to the stack of papers on his desk.
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October 1918
"Now, where were we?" Matthew asked, kissing Mary's cheek, then opening the book that he had been reading to her for the past week.
"I can't recall," Mary sighed.
"You can't?" Matthew frowned, looking over at her. "I thought you were rather enjoying it."
"I was, and now I'm not," Mary said plainly, playing with the threads of the blanket draped across her chest.
Matthew looked at her for a moment, then closed the book and put it back on the nightstand.
"What is it?" he asked patiently, turning on his side to face her.
"Nothing, it's nothing," Mary shook her head, still staring at the blanket.
"It's something," Matthew said pointedly. He reached over and stilled her hands with his. "Tell me, darling, please."
Mary sighed, then looked over at him.
"You haven't tried to seduce me in months, since before Stella was born," she frowned.
Matthew blinked in surprise.
"What?" he exclaimed.
"Don't you want…" Mary blushed, then swallowed and continued. "Don't you want me anymore?"
"God, Mary!" Matthew hissed, his mouth gaping. "Of course I want you!"
"Then why haven't you…done anything?" she asked, blushing even more. "We've been back to London for almost two months now and the most we've done is a few polite kisses before bed!"
"But I thought we had to wait!" Matthew said, blushing himself a bit now.
"What gave you that idea?" Mary frowned in disbelief. "After George was born, you were…you were quite demanding within a month."
"But that was different," Matthew whinged. "You didn't need to…recover…from his birth as much as you do now."
"I'll be the judge of how much recovery I require, thank you," Mary scoffed, looking away from him.
"I…" Matthew stammered. He took a breath, then reached over and gently turned Mary's face back towards him.
"Darling, I apologize if I've neglected you," he said sincerely. "It was entirely unintentional, I assure you. God, if you knew how many times I…"
"How many times you what?" Mary asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.
Matthew looked down.
"Matthew?" Mary asked again.
"How many times I've had to…manage…on my own…while thinking that you weren't ready yet," he said quietly.
Mary blinked several times in confusion, then her eyes widened as she made sense of what he was saying.
"You were…you did? Without even telling me!" Mary said in astonishment.
"Well, I thought it would put undue pressure upon you if I said anything, and it isn't the type of thing easily discussed, you know!" Matthew said defensively.
"And how long were you intending to pursue this…strategy?" Mary demanded.
"I don't know! I hadn't thought it out. I just assumed that when you were ready you would let me know," Matthew replied.
"Well I'm bloody well telling you that I'm ready then!" Mary retorted. "And for your information, I've been ready for almost a month now!"
"Well good! I've been waiting desperately! I was ready long before that!" Matthew shot back.
They glared at each other for a moment before they both laughed ruefully.
"Wife," Matthew said teasingly, reaching over and cupping her cheek.
"Husband," Mary replied, covering his hand with hers and arching her eyebrow at him.
"It appears we have a great deal of catching up to do," Matthew smiled, leaning into her and kissing her softly.
"A very great deal," Mary agreed, kissing him back and shifting on to her back, pulling him with her.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, November 1918
"Reverend Montgomery," Matthew called, waving a piece of paper. Nigel and Reverend Montgomery both came over to his desk. Nigel took the paper from Matthew and scanned it carefully.
"I've checked it three times. It's very similar to the message I saw from the German port at Wilhelmshaven months ago. Apparently there was unrest there again last week and now it's spread to Kiel," Matthew explained.
Reverend Montgomery nodded.
"Meuterei," he said, reading the paper himself now. "Yes, there have been other reports of red flags being run up over bridges and protests in the streets."
"The call for peace has apparently become much louder in recent days," Nigel noted.
"And it may reach a deafening crescendo if this be the last moments of the War," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "The Kaiser's military situation grows ever dire and his sailors know as much. If the Navy refuses to fight, then perhaps the rest of the forces can be convinced."
"These next days could prove decisive," Nigel said.
"We're closer than we've ever been to the end of all this," Matthew added.
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 1918
"Sir," Bates nodded, taking Matthew's briefcase, coat and hat.
"Bates," Matthew smiled. "Where is Anna, Bates?"
"She's downstairs preparing for dinner, sir," Bates replied. "Lady Mary is in the sitting room."
"Excellent," Matthew nodded. "Bates, please gather the servants in the parlour in about half an hour."
"Very good, sir," Bates nodded.
Matthew left him and walked through to the sitting room. Mary was sitting on the sofa reading.
"Darling," she smiled, looking up as he came in. "You're home."
"I am," Matthew grinned. He kissed her on the cheek, then went over to the side table.
Mary went back to reading. She looked up and frowned as she heard music filling the air. She turned around and raised her eyebrow in curiosity at the sight of her husband fiddling with the gramophone.
"Matthew?" she asked.
Matthew came over to her, smiling all the while. He reached out his hands. She slowly placed her hands in his and he helped her up from the sofa.
"Matthew?" she asked again in surprise as he took her into hold. Her hands automatically assumed the proper position and her feet followed him as he led her through a slow waltz to the rhythm of the song.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked him, smiling as they danced.
"Nothing at all," Matthew said lightly. "Do I need a reason to dance with my wife?"
"It is peculiar, being that there is no function or event currently going on that would require us to dance," Mary said, continuing to move with him.
"I prefer it when it's just the two of us," Matthew replied, holding her close. "I don't like having an audience."
"You're up to something," she chuckled playfully as he swept her across the floor, his hand was placed rather inappropriately across her lower back, and she kept glancing at his lips, so tantalizingly close to hers.
"Are we celebrating anything in particular?" Mary asked as they swayed back and forth.
"We have much to be thankful for," Matthew nodded. "Being happily married for almost seven years now, for example."
"Three if you're counting from our ceremony at Downton," Mary smiled.
"I most certainly am not, Miss Levinson," Matthew said pointedly.
Mary laughed. "That's it?"
"No. We also have two beautiful children to be thankful for," Matthew continued.
"Which reminds me, your son threw a tantrum when I told him it was too cold to go outside to the park today, and your daughter spit up on Anna again," Mary replied.
"Regardless," Matthew said. "They are wonderful."
"They have their moments, yes," Mary agreed.
"We have our health, and our family, and Downton's future looks safe," Matthew said.
Mary nodded, not wanting to joke about any of that. Since returning to London, she had heard about the true impact of the Spanish Flu. Their family had been spared, but she knew of family friends who had lost loved ones and servants to the virus. It seemed under control now, but she was still wary of even the slightest cough or sniffle from anyone in the house.
Matthew was right, though. Mary was in regular contact with her Mama and Granny, speaking to each of them by telephone almost daily. They talked about the children, and Society gossip, and goings on at the hospital and other such news. Sybil called when she could, which was usually once or twice a week with her nursing schedule. Edith was likely to have her baby in December, and had been remaining at Loxley House, only going to Downton for dinner on weekends now. Mary was in touch with her as well, answering her numerous questions about what was to come, sometimes more than once.
It was a life that Mary thought she'd bid farewell to years ago on the train platform in Manchester. After she and Matthew were married, she knew she would have a happy life when they eventually were able to live together. She expected she would have children with him and live a quiet but fulfilling life in his house. To now be in London with him and their children, and with her family and Downton a part of her life, considering where she was years ago, it was difficult to believe.
"And we should be thankful that we've survived long enough to see the end of the War," Matthew whispered in her ear.
It took Mary several seconds to understand what he said, as she was still lost in her thoughts. When she did register his words, she pulled back slightly to look into his bright eyes.
"Please don't mention something so important unless you're sure, Matthew," she warned him.
"I am sure," he grinned. "The Armistice will begin on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of this month. It's over, darling."
He leaned forward and kissed her, and she kissed him back, hugging him close.
"It's over," she repeated as he smiled at her. "Oh, thank God."
"I spoke with Robert this morning," Matthew said as the song came to an end. "He left for Downton this afternoon. He'll inform the servants and remain there through to November 11. He said he felt it was more appropriate to be there when the hour arrived."
Mary nodded, still in shock over the prospect that the War, the event that had dominated their lives for the past four years, was soon to be over.
"Come," Matthew smiled, taking her hand and guiding her towards the door. "I told Bates to gather the servants so we can tell them the news together."
Mary smiled and followed him out of the sitting room, looking forward to sharing the wonderful announcement with the rest of the household.
"Nanny?" George asked as Matthew lifted the boy off the floor.
"Nanny is outside with the rest of the staff, George," Matthew said patiently. "We let them go out to The Strand and celebrate with everyone else."
George stared at Matthew for a moment, then looked down as though he were contemplating his words.
"Just be glad he was able to pronounce 'Nanny' properly," Mary smiled, carrying Stella with her. "Watch out, though. He might start asking on the whereabouts of everyone he knows and you'll be answering questions for hours."
"I've got the time," Matthew smiled at her. He opened the doors to the terrace and allowed Mary to walk out first.
They both took seats on the balcony overlooking The Mall and Charring Cross in the distance. There had been noise and commotion all morning with millions flooding the streets in anticipation of the Armistice becoming official. Rather than take the children out amongst the crowd, Mary suggested they remain at home, and take a view of the celebrations from the terrace.
"Were you able to reach your Aunt Rosamund?" Matthew asked.
"I did," Mary nodded, rocking Stella in her arms. "She's getting together with some friends, of course, to mark the occasion. I told her we would be heading to Downton before Edith had the baby, and she said she expects to be there in December as well."
Matthew nodded, then checked his father's pocket watch. "Any moment now," he announced.
"Papa!" George exclaimed as cheers and fireworks came up from the direction of The Strand.
Matthew lifted George and placed him on his shoulders so he could see better. Mary shook her head and sighed at the display. She looked down at Stella, who had fallen asleep in her arms.
"I'm glad that she won't remember any of this, that neither of them will," Mary said suddenly, looking over at Matthew.
Matthew simply nodded. "Growing up in a world without war, what a lovely thought."
Matthew leaned over and kissed her lightly, careful not to unbalance George or disturb Stella. He turned back as George clapped along with the cheers and marvelled at the fireworks.
Mary smiled as the roar of the crowds grew louder and all of Britain yelled out in relief and delight.