A/N: I am remiss in not acknowledging the ownership of Lord Fellowes of the characters and concept of Downton Abbey. It is very much appreciated that he does not have Smithers release the hounds when we climb over his wall and play in his garden.
The version of the chapter title song I recommend is the one by Steve Earle and Lucia Micarelli.
One More Cup of Coffee
Sunday, April 6, 1913 to Thursday, April 10, 1913
It took Matthew five nights, four days, three bottles of whiskey, two cold buckets of water and one really bad cup of coffee to settle his future.
Every lawyer will tell you that you cannot settle a lawsuit while the respective sides are in the 'I'm going to take every shilling that S.O.B. has / I'm not going to pay that S.O.B. a shilling.' stage. Tempers must cool. It took Matthew three nights, one day and the three bottles of whiskey to navigate this stage. If it seems like there is a day missing that is because Matthew had no idea what happened to Tuesday. A reward is offered.
The first night, Sunday night that is, Matthew was badly in need of a drink or six. His need was so bad that he contemplated downing the decanter of the insipid sherry his mother favoured, but after rooting around in the drinks cabinet he found a bottle of 'Old Fighting Temeraire' that his father must have received from a grateful patient, for surely he would never have bought such rot gut for himself. The liquor had not aged well but it was fit for the purpose. His mother had fled to her room and the servants were no doubt cowering in their rooms; Matthew did not want to drink alone so he put on his coat and went outside to sit in the garden and drink with the stars.
It was a perfect night, clear and cold, the stars twinkled in their courses. During that long dark whiskey time of the soul Matthew confronted the demons of his rage.
Resentment had been the first demon to appear, popping up not seconds after Mathew had realized the Robert, Cora and Violet wanted him to marry her. He could not speak her name. No time to think about it, they had played the high trump straight off. It was a matter of honour. And he was trapped. They knew him well enough, that he could not ignore his priggish middle class belief in honour. If he had been one of them, an upper class twit schooled in their hypocritical ways, he would have just batted away the honour gambit, pulled up a chair, rubbed his hands together, and said 'let's talk cash'. And probably come away with a nice round !00,000 pounds. No, as they had fired Anna for her sins, they suborned him.
He felt as if he were a boiler with the safety valves tied closed and the stokers pouring in the coal. Steam was starting to leak from the seams and rivets. Only sips of the cool, burning whiskey kept him from boiling over.
The demon Bitterness muscled its way to the front. He had loved her. He had idolized her. He had worshipped her. And what was she? Clay from top to bottom overlaid with a very thin layer of gilt. Lustful, not loving. He had wasted the last six month, and thrown away the rest, of his life over her. And for what? Nothing. Not even a mess of pottage. No, not nothing, worse than nothing, a life sentence of lip service to a sham marriage, condemned to be a priest who had lost his faith but was too cowardly to proclaim his apostasy.
The fire within him was so close to the surface he thought if he pointed his hands at the sky fireballs would shoot up into the sky. He tried. The Milky Way mocked his efforts. The waxing crescent Moon suggested he have another drink He did.
A very tiny demon appeared. Matthew was puzzled, he didn't recognize it and so he asked which one it was. Hatred it replied in a tiny voice. But I don't hate... oh the baby. Yes, after the other demons have all retired I will be here, getting bigger with every birthday of his, you know it's a boy don't you?, until the rising gorge chokes you to death. The entail will be well and truly broken then, it won't be your son that inherits. It'll be Pamuk's. I am patient, let these other demons have their sport with you for now, in the end I will get you.
Matthew took another drink. He stared into the constellations. Was it colder in the grave or in his heart he wondered.
Jealousy swept the other demons aside. It's me you're waiting for, it sneered. These other demons are just a sideshow. I rule you. You thought you would be her 'one and only' but now you know you're just going to be 'one of many'. And not the first. Ha! Ha! Women always remember their first. And he was good, very good, bigger and better than you'll ever be. He made her moan with pleasure, all you'll do is make her yawn with boredom. While you're doing your husbandly duty she is going to be comparing you to him. Unfavourably. Ha! Ha! And there's lots more where Pamuk came from. All better than you. And she'll won't be shy about rubbing your nose in it. Ha. Ha.
At some point, it must have been Monday, Matthew made Molesley go buy two bottles of whiskey. He needed reinforcements.
Sometime late Monday a final demon appeared. Chagrin. What are you doing here? Matthew asked, I have done nothing to be ashamed of. Oh? The demon replied. Mr. Grewgious would not agree.
Mr. Grewgious had been an ancient solicitor, on his last innings when Matthew had started his articles of clerkship. Matthew had been exultant about completing his first foreclosure when Mr. Grewgious had checked his enthusiasm. Remember that a family is sleeping rough tonight because you had them cast out of their home But they didn't pay their mortgage Matthew protested. It had to be done, Mr. Grewgious agreed, but it should be quickly and dispassionately, without taunting. But they won't hear what I said. But I did. And what about next time? Who will hear then? Remember this. Words are a solicitor's sword. They all have an edge; once you cast them out no telling who will be cut.
The memory of what he had said to her and about her seared. Chagrin smiled. Told you so.
Matthew took another drink. He started to think about solutions ad fin.
The demons attacked en masse They took turns, 'After you my dear Alphonse', "No I insist you go first'. There was no respite for Matthew. There was always at least one demon poking at him, taunting him, reminding him.
Finally they got bored. They offered Matthew terms of settlement. Hatred was their spokesman. A curious choice Matthew thought, until he heard the terms.
Break something Hatred suggested. It'll make you feel better. No, no I'm not like that. Come on, break that bottle, you know you want to. No, no I'm not like ... Then hit someone. You know you wanted to punch Robert. You wanted to hit her didn't you? I would never hurt... Just with words eh interjected Chagrin. Burn the Abbey, kill them all cried Jealousy. The other demons all started at it disgust. Sorry it shrugged its shoulders, I got carried away.. But that faux pas was all that Matthew needed. I'm not like that. You can all go to hell.
Presumably Matthew's battle with Rage raged into and through Tuesday. We do not know, Matthew can't say and the demons won't. All that is known that at the hour of death, 3 a.m., on Wednesday Matthew stuffed the last of the demons, Hatred, into the last whiskey bottle and jammed home the cork. He knew the cork was not secure, that at some point the demons would work it loose and escape; but until then he could go back to the land of the living.
He was a burnt out shell but he lived. He could get on with his life. He took one last look at the stars and fell asleep.
-0-
Matthew woke gasping. He was soaking wet. Through blurry eyes he saw his mother handing a bucket to Molesley and taking another one from him.
"If you're going to wallow in self pity you might as well do it in the mud." she said and she dumped the second bucket of water over him. "Are you going to get up or should Molesley get two more buckets?"
Matthew sputtered. "I'm getting up." It was still dark. "What time is it?"
"Just after six a.m. Your employers are expecting you in today and we thought you would like an early start."
Matthew pushed himself up. His head was pounding and notwithstanding his wetness on the outside he had a raging thirst. "That was very kind of you Mother"
-0-
As Matthew was leaving for the train station his mother said "We are going to dinner at the Abbey tonight" when he scowled at her she continued "I accepted on your behalf seeing as you were indisposed at the time".
"You have been entirely too helpful Mother"
-0-
Havel and Clark were not surprised that Matthew was leaving the firm on such short notice. Relieved in fact. My reputation proceeds me Matthew thought. All that they asked that he write a leaving memo for each file so that whomever replaced him could follow what was going on.
Matthew quickly realized reviewing each file and writing a memo was going to take the better part of two days. Unless... unless he worked straight through. He smiled to himself and composed a telegram to his mother:
MUST FINALIZE FILES STOP NOT HOME TONIGHT STOP REGRETS FOR DINNER
He had regrets but that was not one.
-0-
He almost forgot to get the marriage licence, remembering just in time to pick it during the afternoon tea break. The clerk in the Registrar's office seemed to be expecting him. Everyone knows Crawley, or more accurately Grantham, business Matthew thought.
-0-
Matthew finished the last memo at 4:18 a.m. Thursday morning. He was very tired. The milk train for Downton left at 5:35 a.m. He was afraid that if he laid his head down for even a moment he would miss that train and the next two beside. Coffee. Coffee was supposed to be better at keeping you awake than tea. Mr. Clark was a coffee drinker. Matthew went to the tea room and found a canister of ground coffee. He looked at the grounds. How do you make coffee? Surely it must be the same as tea. So he boiled some water, put a teaspoon of the grounds, better make it a little stronger, put in another teaspoon, added the boiling water and stirred. The aroma of coffee flooded the room. It was certainly black as he took a sip, and bitter as he grimaced. But it was definitely giving him a buzz.
He had long ago emptied the biscuit tin, leaving a few shillings so it could be replenished. What to do. He went back to his desk, He had already taken down his diplomas and packed his personal stuff in his briefcase. He picked up a pencil, started to doodle on his yellow pad and became the nightmare of every solicitor, a client who started to second guess himself.
Maybe I should just tell them that on drunken second thought I'm not going to do it, the wedding is off. Not my problem. Good luck to you all. He printed '1. NO' on the pad. That would put the cat amongst the pigeons. But could he then stay in Downton? He added the word 'stay' so the pad now read '1. NO / STAY' then he drew a line through it. No way they would stand for that, they would make his and mother's lives hell.
He printed '2. NO / GO'. He could start over somewhere else. Maybe one of the Dominions, he didn't know how for he would have to go to escape the wrath of Grantham. But he might be able to acquire a loving and faithful wife and raise a brood of blue eyed blond children. Life could still be good.
Next he printed '3. YES / GO' which is what he had already told them he would do. Most of the time the first decision was the correct one, second guesses were not that great.
Lastly he printed the option he was most afraid of: '4. YES / STAY'. It was possible for her and him to be married and lead separate lives. From the stories Cousin Violet told it appeared to happen all the time in upper class circles. Separate bedrooms, separate interests. He imagined Robert could help him get elected as an M.P. and then he could spend time in London while she was in Downton and vice versa. With a little coordination they need not even have be together in the same house, let alone room, more than a few times a year. And between nannies, governesses and boarding schools he would not have to see the boy anymore often. With a heir already produced there would be no need for them to have relations. She could have her affairs, hopefully she had learned her lesson and would take care not to be fruitful, and he could keep a mistress. In London, Downton was too small to keep something like that a secret. He stared at the page. What a sad existence. He wanted a wife who was his best friend, his only lover (and he hers), his true partner.
He sighed. It would only work if... if she would love him. The events of the last few days had flushed away any delusions that his puppy love for her, for that was all that it had been, may have had for him. He had known her for about seven months, call it two hundred days, and during that time had she done anything which would indicate she had any regard, special or otherwise, for him? At first she had openly scorned him; sea monster indeed! She had gradually deigned to speak to him, once she knew he respected her opinions, of literature, politics or the headline du jour. But they had never discussed anything of a personal nature. He had never touched her beyond an initial handshake, let alone dared to kiss her. He regretted having gone back to Manchester for Christmas and thus missing the Servant's Ball. He could have danced her off her feet, he thought he was probably a better dancer than she would have anticipated.
Looking back she had always been entirely proper and correct in her dealings with him. Even the barbs she hurled at him were within the brittle ambit of upper class discourse. She had never once said, hinted or implied that he was anything more an acquaintance with whom she could have a pleasant conversation until someone more exciting came along. And that was the rub. Leaving aside the impropriety of it all, Pamuk had, in one day, managed to do infinitely more with her than he had managed to in two hundred days. While he might not necessarily bore her, he certainly did not excite her. There was no real hope of her loving him, at best she might develop a tolerant fondness for her. He could be her Labrador, but never her lover. He could not bear the thought. He drew a line through '4. YES / STAY'
He looked at '2. NO / GO' again. The best choice for him. Not for her. If her family was correct she would be ruined for life. Maybe her sisters as well. He could not do that to her or them. Unrequited though it may have been, he had loved her once. He drew a line through '2. NO / GO' .
He drew a circle around '3. YES / GO'. His first decision had been the right one. A good settlement gives each side something. She would get whatever cover a wedding band and his actions would provide; he would get a chance to find happiness elsewhere. Not perfect, but settlements never were.
He drained the cup of now cold coffee. Coldness did not improve the taste. He put on his coat, took a last look at the office and his legal career, picked up his diplomas and briefcase, and left.