Library, Downton Abbey, August 16th, 1922
Mary looked at the three women seated opposite her on the plush red sofas and smiled her best polite smile.
The rebels picked their delegation carefully. Miss Bunting was there, of course, as the leader and instigator of the whole thing, with a challenge burning in her eyes. Miss Travis, Mr Travis's spinster niece, thin, easily intimidated and one of the most rank conscious villagers Mary had met, was clearly there as a potential peacemaker if Miss Bunting went too far and offended the Countess of Grantham beyond repair. Mary was not sure what Mrs Jennings's role was, but she knew her well enough and found her presence here interesting. Mrs Jennings, an energetic and ambitious woman of about forty, the owner of the village grocery store, was usually quick to ingratiate herself to whoever she perceived was in charge. The fact that she joined Miss Bunting's initiative against the Big House was definitely a sign of changing times.
Very well, thought Mary, offering them tea, let's see how far you are prepared to go then.
"From what Lord Grantham mentioned to me after meeting you, Miss Bunting, it sounds like you would like to take over running the annual flower show in the village?"
She saw alarm on Miss Travis's face and a disconcerted look on Mrs Jennings's at her directness and hid a smirk behind her own cup of tea.
Miss Bunting though just raised her chin, ready to face the challenge.
"We think that too many events in the village are run by the Grantham family," she said bluntly. "And that it would be good for the community to take over some of the responsibility. It would hopefully pull people together if they worked jointly on common projects, not just passively enjoying them when the landowning family organises something for them in the patronising manner more suited to the last century."
Thank goodness for tea and Mary's long years of practice in keeping a straight and impassive face. She took a long sip and pasted on another smile.
"Certainly," she said brightly. "Times are changing. Some of us are even allowed to vote now; it would hardly do to claim that women from the village are incapable of handling a flower show. Do you have a committee and the jury selected? If so, I can hand you over all the paperwork that has already been started directly."
She mentally congratulated Miss Bunting on her poker face – a talent clearly lacking in her companions who gaped at Mary in astonishment at the lack of opposition.
"We do not yet, at present," answered Miss Bunting calmly. "We didn't want to get ahead of ourselves, in case you wanted to continue the tradition as usual. Which, I have to say, some of us expected you to."
"Oh, on the contrary," Mary assured her. "I am overjoyed to see such public spirit rising in our village. Do let me know as soon as you decide who will be in charge. There is not much time left."
Miss Bunting's chin rose in challenge again.
"I can assure you that we will manage to do everything in time. You need not concern yourself."
Mary valiantly stopped herself from responding that she wasn't concerned at all.
"If you're looking for committee members, you might consider my mother-in-law. She is always eager to do her part for the community. Very civic minded," she suggested sweetly instead, greatly enjoying the looks of alarms on the faces of those members of the delegation who had the opportunity to encounter Isobel Crawley in action and knew what a double edged sword she was. On one hand, if one wanted to get things done, there was nobody better than her. On the other hand, she was not exactly... diplomatic.
"We will take it into consideration," said Mrs Jennings hastily. "Have you already mentioned it to her, your ladyship?"
Her relief when Mary answered negatively was palpable. Mary wondered what project she had been working on with Isobel before to feel so strongly about it.
"Do you want to participate in the flower show in any manner?" asked Miss Bunting, obviously starting to feel the loss of control over the conversation.
"Only as a spectator," answered Mary airily. "I will gladly leave it all to you. I wouldn't want to muddle the waters with any doubts about the chain of command. The Dowager Countess will probably enter her roses into the competition though, as she always does."
"And always wins," muttered Miss Travis.
"She did lose to Mr Molesley in 1913," protested Mary, although she did not forget that this loss was of Granny's own choosing. "And it will be up to the jury, of course. As every year."
Miss Bunting's eyes lit up again at the fresh possibility of a battle in her ongoing war on class privilege.
"We will have to make clear to the jurors that no prior history or the rank of the competitors should matter," she said eagerly. "And that the prizes should be handed out strictly on merit."
Mary took note of the doubt on Mrs Jennings's face and outright scepticism on Miss Travis's, and hid another smirk behind her cup.
"More tea?" she offered brightly.
xxx
As soon as they were gone, Matthew came out of the small library where he was sitting and listening to the meeting with eager interest.
"You truly impressed me, my darling," he said, flopping on the sofa next to Mary and helping himself to one of the pastries on the platter. "You were an awfully good sport about it."
"Are you joking?" she asked, looking at him incredulously. "I am ecstatic that they want it! Silly waste of time and nerves if you ask me. Of course, they will run it to the ground within 3 years when they realise that they have to find people for the committee, the jury and the volunteers to set up the village hall year after year. People here were used to obeying the countess when she asked, but I will bet you ten pounds they will find themselves more assertive when it's their neighbours doing the asking and requiring favours. I seriously don't care though, not my problem anymore. I would beg them to take over the church bazaar as well, but I'm afraid that if that collapsed too, the vicar would come to us for the money for roof repairs or new drain pipes."
"And you're seriously not going to be bothered if your predictions turn out to be right and the flower show is no more?" asked Matthew curiously.
Mary shrugged with honest indifference.
"I never cared for it. It was something the Countesses of Grantham used to do because they didn't have any proper things to keep them busy. Thanks to you, I have. They can have the flower show and do what they want with it."
Matthew thought it over for a few moments.
"Shouldn't we do something for the community though?" he asked. "Something to show that we are a part of it?"
"There is the church bazaar and the cricket match," pointed out Mary. "We do invite the whole village and the tenants for both of those occasions. Although with a decrease in staff we might have to rethink the cricket match since we won't be able to find enough men for the team."
"I have been thinking about cricket, actually. Do you think people would agree to changing the teams to the estate vs the village? Then we could pool the players from the tenants. It would also hopefully be a good bonding exercise between them and the family."
Mary pursed her lips in thought.
"I think it's a good idea. Talk it over with some of the farmers first, and have Tom do the talk as well – they might tell him more of what they think than they would to you. When you have enough supporters, call a meeting with the representatives of the village team and discuss it."
"You would make a good politician, darling."
She smiled, trying not to show how truly pleased she was by his compliment.
"I like to think I'm good with people," she said, adding honestly. "When I feel like it."
Garden, Dower House, August 20th, 1922
"Can you imagine," asked Violet, clearly seething. "That this upstart schoolteacher dared to suggest to Isobel that I should pull out of the flower show? Apparently my participation intimidates the jurors!"
"And what was Isobel's response to that?" asked Mary with interest. She remembered the original drama between Granny and Isobel regarding that very topic – who could forget! – but considering the honest friendship those two formidable ladies developed since then, she was truly curious if Isobel's stance softened.
Violet scoffed.
"She said that Miss Bunting may have a point! But at least she added that it could be solved by adding some braver soul to the jury."
"Did she mean herself or Miss Bunting?"
Violet chuckled.
"Miss Bunting is already on the committee, so he can hardly be on the jury as well. And what Isobel knows about flowers or gardening can be written on a post stamp."
"There are only five days left until the flower show," said Mary musingly. "I wonder if they will figure it all out in time."
Violet gave her a look.
"Why have you given it all up without a fight?"
Mary shrugged with a smile.
"Because I couldn't be happier handing the whole mess to them, if they wanted it."
"It's always been one of the Countess of Grantham's responsibilities," pointed out Violet disapprovingly.
"Yes," admitted Mary, unperturbed. "And you know I do care about preserving traditions where I can. But the times are changing and we need to change along with them. If the people in the village don't want our patronage anymore, we can hardly force them to accept it, especially on matters of so little consequence. Besides, nowadays I find myself more interested in a pig show than a flower show. At least if our pigs win, it can bring us more material advantage than mere satisfaction."
Violet looked heavenwards.
"As much as I admire and approve of your involvement in the estate matters, you do take it too far sometimes."
"But it might mean that Downton will still be there for George to inherit one day. I hear about all those estates falling, sold piece by piece to developers or to people like my unlamented former fiance, and I am determined Downton will not be one of them. It concerns me infinitely more than keeping some of the traditional responsibilities of the Countess."
"And you don't trust Matthew and Tom to take care of it?" asked Violet, raising her eyebrows in a challenge.
"Of course I trust them!" scoffed Mary. "But we are a team, Granny. We work on it together. And I know that my part is as important as theirs."
Violet shook her head.
"Nobody can fault your abilities or your dedication," she admitted. "But times are indeed changing."
They strolled in silence for several moments.
"Do you think Tom is getting serious about that revolutionary?" asked Violet and Mary could only shrug.
"It's too early to tell," she answered. "He does seem intrigued by her though."
Violet raised her eyes heavenward again.
"As if we weren't tried enough in recent years," she murmured resentfully.
Front lawn, Downton Abbey, August 25th, 1922
Matthew was playing ball with Sybbie and George when Tom found them on the late August afternoon.
"I hate to interrupt such fun, but we need to head home, princess," he said, picking up Sybbie when she ran into his arms with a squeal, which promptly turned into a frown at this pronouncement.
"But I wanna play ball!" she protested. "You play too!"
"I would gladly play," answered Tom seriously. "But Uncle Kieran, your godfather, is coming tonight and we need to get him from the train station and give him dinner. We can't let Uncle Kieran get too hungry, he turns into a beast then."
"Is your brother staying long?" asked Matthew, throwing the ball lightly to George who laughed and grinned proudly at catching it.
"For the weekend," answered Tom, still pouting Sybbie's head. "He wants to see my new house and talk a bit, now that I quote 'we're not going to be surrounded by all those honest people you are pretending to be above' anymore."
"Ah," said Matthew, catching the ball George threw more or less in his general direction. "I take it then that I shouldn't invite you both to the Abbey?"
Tom rolled his eyes.
"Better not. Much less stressful for everyone if we keep it to a more neutral ground. But you, Mary and Rose are all welcome for dinner on Saturday if you want," he paused, tossing Sybbie in the air and making faces at her to get her to stop pouting. He succeeded after making such an atrocious expression that she couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Just tell them that it's definitely not going to be a white tie affair, alright?"
"I tell them to wear their plainest clothes to not offend your brother's delicate sensibilities," promised Matthew solemnly, tossing the ball back to George who missed it this time and crawled after it. "I probably will have to stop Rose from borrowing a dress from one of the servants."
"Is she speaking to you and Mary again?"
Matthew nodded in honest relief.
"And I think I have you to thank for that."
Tom smiled wryly.
"I think she was getting there herself. I just gave her a bit of a push."
Agent's House, Downton Village, August 25th, 1922
Kieran got out of Tom's truck and whistled at the sight of the house.
"This all yours? You did well for yourself, Tommy," he looked at him mockingly. "Brought any servants from the big house to wait upon your mighty self?"
Tom took Sybbie out of the car and rolled his eyes at his brother.
"No," he answered calmly. "I have a woman coming from the village to cook and clean. Come, you can meet her and let her finally go home to her own family; she's been staying longer today to keep dinner warm for you."
Tom thanked his lucky stars that Mrs Hobb was both of no nonsense and good humoured kind, and got Kieran to behave in no time. The fact that they were eating in the kitchen, not any formal dining room, and that Sybbie was eating in her high chair with them, seemed to help a lot as well.
"That's more like it," commented Kieran approvingly after Mrs Hobb left. "I was afraid you've grown way too big for your shoes when you stayed at this castle for good. Nice to see you still live like a normal bloke," he looked around the spacious, well lit kitchen and the garden outside. "Well, a well-off one."
"I work for my money," said Tom, feeding Sybbie some of the meat. "Same as you."
Kieran snorted.
"I don't work to prop up a bunch of toffs in their fancy castle."
"Those toffs are my family now, same as you," parried Tom. "And Sybbie's. And ensuring that the tenants are treated fairly is a big part of my job."
"Ah, Tommy," said Kieran fondly. "You know I'm ribbing you. I know you couldn't have changed so much that you'd harm the common folk, for all your fancy clothes."
"Thank you," answered Tom with a smile, wiping Sybbie's face off as she yawned. "I'm going to take your goddaugher to bed and then we're going to have some beer and a proper talk."
Agent's House, Downton Village, August 26th, 1922
Matthew looked at Mary sitting down to dinner with Kieran Branson, in her day clothes and with minimal jewellery, and brimmed with admiration for her. Every provoking comment or crass statement was met with poker face and unrelenting politeness. He thought he saw hints of grudging but growing respect from Tom's brother in response.
Rose of course loved the lack of the usual formality – Tom's housekeeper's serving was restricted to setting up the table in Tom's small dining room and bringing the dishes to the middle of it; they were all serving themselves from that point – and even Kieran Branson turned out defenceless against charm of Lady Rose MacClare, for all the fact that she was a daughter of a marquess. Not five minutes into the evening, he was putty in her hands.
"And how do you find Yorkshire, Mr Branson?" she asked in her usual lively manner. "You live in Liverpool, don't you? It must be such a change of pace to come to such a small village as Downton!"
Kieran laughed.
"That it is! When I first learnt that Tommy is staying here for good, I didn't think he'd find anyone to open his mouth to. Not any girls, at least. He was always picky, even before he went and married Sybil. And she was a hard act to follow," he finished soberly. "A truly hard act to follow."
For a moment, none of them spoke, all remembering the brilliant young woman they all adored in different ways. Kieran, knowing her the least, shook himself out of the pensive mood first, and went on to make his point.
"But then this morning that schoolteacher showed up and I must say, she has a brain, this one, and a mouth to match! Seems right Tommy's alley."
"Kieran!" snapped Tom furiously. Matthew noted a blush on his cheeks and wondered if it was mere embarrassment at the topic or something more. Judging from the sudden light in Mary's eyes, her interest was piqued as well.
"Miss Bunting came over here?" she asked in a tone which sounded innocent, but which Matthew knew to be anything but. "I thought she was busy with preparations for tomorrow's flower show."
Apparently so did Tom, because he answered immediately.
"That's why she came here. She just wanted to ask for help with moving some tables at the village hall."
Mary raised her eyebrows.
"And there wasn't anybody nearer she could ask?"
Tom glared at her, his cheeks reddening further.
"Apparently not," he muttered, making Kieran guffaw.
"And how is the flower show coming out?" asked Matthew, earning himself a grateful look from Tom for throwing him a lifeline.
"Very well. I think it's going to be a success tomorrow."
"I sure hope so," said Matthew. "Mother is on the committee."
Mary grinned.
"I've been so happy to hear that they followed my advice and asked her. Miss Travis was afraid that Isobel couldn't possibly find the time with all her other commitments, but I assured her she needn't to fear and I was right."
Mary was entirely too satisfied with herself to volunteer his mother's services out of any pure motives, but Matthew allowed himself to be amused by it. Mother certainly knew how to handle herself on a volunteer committee, and from what little he saw of Miss Bunting, she should be able to deal with Isobel Crawley as well.
As grateful as Tom was for the distraction, Kieran was nowhere near ready to abandon such a promising opportunity to torture his little brother.
"Ah, so Miss Bunting is public-spirited as well? Told you, Tommy, perfect for you!"
"I really would love to meet Miss Bunting!" piped in Rose. "I heard so much about her that I am truly intrigued. And I would love to know any of your friends, Tom! Mary, could we invite her for tea?"
"I just had her for tea on Monday," said Mary, but then looked at Tom and added with a deliberately bright smile Matthew knew was anything but genuine. He did approve of her making an effort though. "But it would be lovely to get to know her better, of course. Perhaps we can invite her tomorrow during the flower show."
"You really don't have to," said Tom miserably. "She's not really my friend. We barely know each other."
"She sure seemed friendly to me when I saw her chatting with you today!" protested Kieran with a grin and drank more of his beer.
Matthew hid his smile behind a glass of wine. As much as he felt for poor Tom, he hadn't been so entertained at dinner for some time.
Flower Show, Village Hall, Downton Village, August 27th, 1922
Mary was walking through the village hall on Matthew's arm and to all appearances admiring the impressive flower displays.
In fact, she couldn't care less about the flower show or the oncoming announcement of the winners for the different prizes. Her whole mind was divided between reminiscing of the past and satisfaction with the present.
"Would you have taken me to see the cottages?" she asked Matthew suddenly. "Back in 1913? If I didn't make a fool of myself chasing after Sir Anthony for a bet and put you off me for months?"
"I was never put off you," said Matthew with a significant look of his blue eyes. "There hasn't been a time since you walked into Crawley House that first day that I didn't want you."
Mary waved her hand.
"As flattering as it sounds, you did avoid me for months after that evening. Not to mention the brush off you gave me at the flower show!"
Matthew's mouth quirked up.
"I never said I wanted to want you all the time. There were times when I was thoroughly annoyed with myself for my total inability to forget you and this was one of them."
Mary winced slightly.
"Because I was so horrid at times?"
"No," admitted Matthew candidly. "Because I thought it was hopeless to try and pursue you. I didn't think you cared a jot for me back then nor were likely to ever do, and called myself a fool for allowing myself to imagine otherwise for a moment."
Mary huffed and glared at him.
"I was already well on my way to fall in love with you! We could have had months together to figure everything out before the war if you didn't keep your distance foolishly!"
"May I remind you that you yourself called your behaviour that evening foolish and horrid?"
"Even so, it didn't have to take you nearly eight months to get over it! I even apologised!"
"That you did. But I cared for you too much to risk accepting it and making myself vulnerable to you then."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"So we were both fools and cowards and we wasted years as a result."
She felt Matthew's fingers caressing the hand she was holding on his arm.
"Yes, we were," he said quietly. "And now we are married with an amazing little boy and another baby on the way. However painful and convoluted our story has been, I would not have changed a thing if I risked altering this ending."
"The present is nice," admitted Mary, looking at him from under her white summer hat and feeling very happy indeed. "But you still should not have avoided me for eight months."
Matthew laughed.
"I shouldn't have, no," he said, his eyes sparkling. "And you shouldn't have made that bet with Edith. Because yes, I would have taken you to see the cottages. And maybe I would have even found the courage to ask to court you. Would you consider it though, back then? Or were you still hoping for a more illustrious suitor to come along?"
Mary looked into his eyes, thinking back to the times when they were gazing at her from a younger, more boyish face.
"I think I would have," she said softly. "You really have been growing on me by then."
The applause erupted all over them, startling them out of their reverie, and they realised that they didn't even know who the winner was.