She met him where they had arranged earlier; at the corner of the Christ Church Meadow and the Isis.

"I'm glad you're keeping warm," she told him, touching the arm of his overcoat as he leant forwards to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hello, Mother."

"I wish you didn't have to go back so soon," she told him.

"So do I," Matthew replied as they started to amble slowly along the bank of the river, "I don't like to leave you, especially not now."

Isobel gave a quiet sniff, folding her arms over her own coat, and said nothing.

"Colonel Harris tells me you're going to stay at the Exam Schools another week?"

"Yes," she replied, "You were right, it's been good for me to be away from Downton. I don't feel ready to go back. Not just yet."

"Promise me you'll be alright when you do," he asked her.

"Promise me you'll be alright too, then?" she challenged him.

He seemed crestfallen at her resolution. She sighed under her breath. She wished she didn't have to upset him, but she was so thoroughly disillusioned with the army that it pained her. Richard had not died a peaceful death. She would have known that even if she hadn't come to find out, by accident, that the bastards had shot him. She had seen the injured, the extent of the damage. No one would die a peaceful death out there.

"Have you got a cigarette?" she asked him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." It took him a moment to catch on. "Why, do you want one?"

"If you can spare it," she replied.

He took out his case and lit one up for her, passing it to her between his fingers. She took it and took a long drag from it.

"I didn't know you smoked, Mother."

"I don't," she replied, "Richard did. I like the smell. One of the men on the ward offered me one and I couldn't help myself."

There were two swans swimming together on the river. Isobel walked past them without looking, just smoking her cigarette.

"I've learned something about love, Matthew," she told him at last, "You forgive anything. Anything. It sounds silly, really, stupidly obvious, but I'd never realise it before. It wraps you up so you don't even see what everyone else would call shame," she took another drag, "That's why I can't go back to Downton yet."

"You think they blame him for deserting?" he asked her in a low voice.

"I know they do," she replied fiercely, "And I think you do too, Matthew."

"Mother-..." he muttered in a low voice, "Mother, please."

"Why can't you say it out loud, then?" she asked him, suddenly angry, dropping her cigarette on the path and extinguishing it with a sharp stamp of her foot, "My fiancé was shot for desertion, and from what I've seen of the men who come back it was a damn sensible idea! I knew him better than anyone, and I know he was the bravest of men. And no telegram, do telephone can tell me otherwise."

There was a silence. They were standing still. Her raising her voice had frightened the swans off the river.

"Mother," Matthew told her softly, "I don't blame him. Not in the least. If anything, I blame him for going to the front and leaving you. Nothing else."

"I wish he'd stayed," she admitted quietly after a moment, "I wish I'd gone with him. I wish I'd been there at the end. I wish I could have helped him in any way."

She turned away from him, closing her eyes, letting the cool water-breeze wash gently over her face.

"I wish I was dead," she whispered.

She did not know if Matthew heard her, but his hand reached gently out for her wrist, pulling her softly back, making her walk again, leading her back towards the city. He lead her through the thin covering of the trees, pausing before they reached the fork in the river and the gate that led back to the High Street.

"Can you go on living for me?" he asked her, softly.

She would have answered, "Can you promise me you'll come back?" but for the quiver in his voice.

She looked at him properly for the first time since they had stood together by the river.

"Yes, my darling boy," she told him, "For you, I can."

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