The Dowager House was very comfortable, almost cozy by aristocratic standards—which was, of course, why visiting it had always seemed like a contradiction in terms. The juxtaposition in Isobel's mind of this house and its soul occupant was surreal.

This was not a mere social call, though. This was a matter of life or death, as far as Mrs. Crawley was concerned, and as she stared up at the brick façade—more modest than Downton by far, and yet more foreboding as well—she found herself actually looking forward to what would undoubtedly prove to be, at the very least, an engaging encounter.

"We have not always seen eye-to-eye, I know—but I'm not too proud to admit that I need your help."

"What an extraordinary way to begin a conversation."

Violet Crawley was (with the possible exception of Carson) the biggest snob in a household hardly bereft of them. Though her imperial and manner had always grated on Isobel's nerves, it was in a moment such as this that she could see the point of it.

"But I assume you're not so put off you don't want to hear me out."

The Dowager Countess of Grantham fixed Isobel with a look, one equally superior and perturbed.

"I flatter myself that I am made of stronger stuff than that."

"Then I will come straight to the point," she replied, briskly and businesslike. "Mary's wedding to Sir Richard Carlisle must not go on."

"Of course it must not," Violet said, as if this was the most commonplace of facts and the other woman was a simpleton for saying it. "The trick will be stopping it with as little damage possible. I wonder how you'd propose to pull it off?"

At this completely practical and matter-of-fact consideration, Isobel found herself momentarily baffled.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What else am I to say? I am in complete agreement with you." Taking a well-bred sip from a cup of tea, she continued, "I do wonder at it taking you so long to come to the same conclusion I had drawn the minute that odious man entered Downton."

"Then you knew—"

"—That your son and my granddaughter were still in love?" She smiled thinly. "My dear woman, as hard a front as she puts on, I always knew that when Mary fell in love it would be in it, as they say, for the long haul. She's been mooning after him for years. And as for Matthew—" Violet's lip curled. "He has about as much talent for subtlety as you do."

"I told you before the war I thought he was making a mistake," Isobel sighed, heavily. "I think he's finally realized it himself."

Violet quickly set down her cup and saucer, and Mrs. Crawley experienced the rare state of affairs that was Violet looking slightly ashamed.

"Well, not quite."

"…What did you do?"

"After we knew he would recover from his…injury." They exchanged a look. "I merely told him that Mary was still in love with him."

"While he was engaged to Lavinia?" Isobel wondered why she was so aghast—after all, this was Violet, and deep in her heart, she was not as offended by the idea as she knew she should be.

"I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear I had no apparent effect. Your son, bastion of honor that he is, insisted that to throw her over would be the height of gaucherie." She sniffed at the ridiculousness of the notion.

"But he never denied preferring Mary?"

"That was what told me he did."

Isobel sat for a moment, processing this new information. The Dowager Countess' meddling had been ill timed, of course, but knowing how much she cared about her son's future happiness, could she blame Violet for caring about Mary's?

In truth the two goals were and always had been one and the same.

"I don't think your interference had quite the effect you hoped it would."

"Why, what are—are you saying my interference had an effect?" She tried not to look smugly pleased. "Will wonders never cease?"

Tried and failed.

"I've just been to see Mary—I managed to get it out of her. Well, I say managed…she could hardly stop herself, once she'd started." She thought of that little dog, the one that Matthew had apparently promised to keep safe. It seemed like it was the only thing that had come through the War unscathed. "He did realize his mistake…three days before Lavinia died. She saw them kissing and from what Mary told me..."

"Oh, don't tell me—" She rolled her eyes, ever the long-suffering one. "He thinks she died for love of him?"

"He's been going around with a black cloud over his head—I just didn't realize what it was that was causing it. He blames himself for her death."

"And I always thought he was a sensible sort," She quirked one head, curiously. "Was his father prone to this sort of display of middle-class martyrdom as well?"

Even a mother's love couldn't blind her to the point.

"Reginald was very stubborn, too, if that's what you're asking," Isobel

Violet thought for a moment, before rapping her cane upon the floor with gusto.

"Well, that's it then—if they haven't got over each other after all this time, it's not likely they ever will. They must be forced to see reason."

An ally—she had it, now. It was the beginning of an army, a siege, but for now, Violet alone would be enough. Facing the problem would be the next step. She thought of how they dealt with ailments in the medical world. It was a matter of examining the symptoms and linking them to a root cause.

"There's still Sir Richard to consider," the other woman pointed out.

"Yes, of course…he'll have to be disposed of, obviously. That will be the biggest hurdle."

"There's something else—what Mary said, it made me wonder if she might not be in trouble."

"With Sir Richard?" Violet tutted at her simpleness in asking the question. "Of course it's with Sir Richard. Why else would she marry him? She certainly doesn't love him, that much is obvious."

"And we need feel no guilt for attempting to end the engagement."

"No indeed—not that I would have, at any rate. It's a question of finding the right opening."

"Oh, don't worry," answered Isobel, grimly, raising one of her delicate teacup in salute. "I'm good at that."

"As am I."

Day 2. Thanks for all the support, guys—and yes, of course it's Violet. Who else stans Mary and Matthew enough to take the whole family down with her ship? Possibly Carson. Next up…Matthew Crawley. Because really, how long could Isobel keep her mouth shut?