Grey Days of February

"Melting snow. Is there any sight more depressing than melting snow in February," Lady Mary Crawley thought to herself as she watched the fields and towns go by outside the train window. "Almost a year since we got married and not a sign of producing an heir." This was her lot in life, to produce an heir, while her youngest sister, well she seemed to be having no problems. Tom and Sybil had been down for Christmas. They were so wrapped up in baby's first Christmas they had not been paying attention when Sybil seemed to be off her food. She hadn't even wanted her favorite plum pudding. Now two months later she had written a note to say their second was expected sometime in May.

Mary sighed as she looked out the window. Matthew was with her and they were going to London for another meeting with Mr. Lewis. Matthew reached over and took her hand.

"What is the matter?" he said. His face was all kindness.

"Didn't he ever get frustrated with all this? With her and all the expectations?" Mary thought to herself. "Nothing much," she answered. "I was just thinking about Sybil."

"It will happen," said Matthew sensing the direction of her thoughts.

"Did we leave things too late? Am I too old?" she queried.

"You're not a wrinkled old lady yet," Matthew said. "My mother was older than you are now when she had me. Just relax."

Mary gave him a stern glare. She certainly hoped it had nothing to do with his wartime injuries. Dr. Clarkson had been wrong about his recovery. What if he had been wrong about Matthew's ability to father children?

A few hours later they were at Mr. Lewis' office. Lord Grantham had met them at the train as he was in town on business. Tom was waiting for them when they arrived.

"I've had some news from the private detective hired for the case," Mr. Lewis said. "It seems the reason Mr. Branson could not locate Vera Bates' lover Frank Wilson is that he is incarcerated and has been for the last year."

Lord Grantham was the first to recover from the surprise.

"This is a surprising turn of events."

"There is more. It appears that while Mr. Bates was incarcerated for the crime of theft, the first Mrs. Bates had established a household with Mr. Wilson until he was also imprisoned for theft only four months before Vera Bates blackmailed John Bates into returning with her to London."

"Good Lord," said Lord Grantham.

"I always wondered why she wanted him back," said Mary. "Her reasons never made sense to me."

"If we return to the time line you constructed," Mr. Lewis said, "You can clearly see that Mr. Wilson was with Vera Bates from the time of Mr. Bates original incarceration until his own three and a half years later. He was released two months before Vera Bates' death. He was promptly returned to prison on a separate charge only two weeks afterwards."

"What else have you turned up?" Tom asked. "I assume the detective interviewed him."

"Your assumption is correct. Mr. Wilson claims Vera Bates set him up to take the blame in the first theft. He had a previous criminal history for assault. It lead the courts to discount his statement. Mr. Wilson was found with some of the stolen jewels from a store where he was employed. The rest of the jewelry and antique coins were never recovered."

"Vera Bates strikes again," said Lord Grantham.

"So it would seem," said Mr. Lewis. "If Vera Bates in fact set him up, it provides Mr. Wilson with motive to seek revenge."

"Why is he back in prison?" Matthew asked.

"He was caught with a bundle of precious items that had been stolen from the Marquess of Flintcher while Mrs. Bates was in the Marquess' employ."

"I'm astonished," said Lord Grantham.

Mary, Matthew and Tom could only sit in stunned silence while they absorbed the information.

"In other matters with the case, I have still not received any confirmation on the request I have filed to exhume the deceased's body for forensic examination."

"I beg your pardon," Matthew said.

Mary had visibly paled.

"I am requesting an independent autopsy and forensic examination to determine the exact cause of death. As your sons-in-law and I have discussed previously, I am not happy with the report filed during the original trial."

"Do you really think all this unpleasantness is necessary?" asked Lord Grantham.

"I can see that you are quite shaken with the turn of events. I suggest you take some time to think this information through. I understand Mr. Branson lives here in London. I think it would be beneficial if I scheduled a meeting with him next week to discuss what we have learned."

"Why Branson?" Lord Grantham questioned.

"Because he is a journalist and his point of view is somewhat different than someone involved in the legal system. He has provided valuable insight into the case thus far and employed a somewhat unorthodox method to obtain the proof needed to file for mistrial."

"I see your point," Lord Grantham conceded.

"I can be available late next week," said Tom.

"Excellent, I will see you then."

A loud hiccupping sob, could be heard coming from the dining room, when Tom entered the house an hour or so after leaving Mr. Lewis' office. He quickly shed his topcoat and headed in to see what was wrong. Sybil was attempting to feed mashed peas to a nine month old who clearly had no intention of eating them. When the baby saw his father standing beside his high chair he smiled happily showing his two newly emerging bottom teeth and waved a small spoon in the air. Green goo was all over his face and covered both hands. Sybil let out another half sob and began trying to wipe the mashed peas from her hair.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything!" she sobbed.

"Come now, everything can't be wrong." Tom said. He had gone through almost the same scene numerous times during Sybil's last pregnancy but she seemed even weepier this time around. Tom picked up a damp cloth sitting on the side of the high chair and began cleaning the baby's face and hands.

"I'm a terrible mother. Its Katie's day off and I can't get him to eat his peas. I can't do anything right."

"He'll eat if he's hungry." Tom picked up his son and plopped him on the floor in the corner of the dining room where a pile of wooden blocks immediately caught the boy's attention. "What's really wrong?"

"I'm fat and ugly and I want to go to college," Sybil wailed. She hadn't gotten up from the chair and now had her forehead leaned against her husband's middle.

Tom stroked her hair and sighed. "You can go to college in September, we talked about this. You are not fat and you certainly aren't ugly. I think you're beautiful and I would bet your father thinks so too."

"No, he doesn't. He will think I'm ugly."

"Why don't you ask him?" Tom said handing her his hanky.

"I can't. Anyway he's not here," Sybil's sobs were starting to slow and she blew her nose loudly.

"Well, that's the thing. I invited him back after the meeting with the lawyer."

"You did what?" Sybil jumped to her feet to see her father standing in the door to the dining room with a slight grin on his face.

"Well, I certainly don't think you're ugly," stammered Lord Grantham. "I'd say really quite attractive for a woman with mashed peas in her hair."

"Oh Papa," was all Sybil got out before she launched herself against her father, threw her arms around his waist and began sobbing again.

Tom caught his father-in-law's gaze. He winced as he thought of yet another round of disapproval from Sybil's family. "The man had three children, surely he must have gone through this before," he thought.

Lord Grantham put his arms around his daughter and finally said, "I think its time your Mama came down for a visit. You're ever so like her before she had you."