A/N: the versions of the chapter title song by Billy Bremner, John Leonard and Brent Dennen are recommended.
You Ain't Going Nowhere
Thursday, November 25, 1915
Matthew spent only two weeks in Cornwall, which he spent walking up and down the sea shore, before the medical staff thought he was sufficiently healed to go on his convalescent leave. As Dr. Ellingham, the head doctor, put it "You are wasting our time and the King's money". He had a bit more than two months of leave, he had to report to duty on February 1, 1916. He did not write or telegraph Downton to let them know of his imminent arrival. Let the surprise be an early Christmas present.
As it happened the only letter Matthew received in Cornwall before he left was from his 'friend' in London.
"Dear Captain Crawley:
You should know that hussy you are married to has invited her lover, Sir Richard Carlisle, to Downton Abbey to spend the weekend with her going at it right under the noses of her parents.
It is a crying shame the way she so brazenly betrays you.
A Friend"
Matthew shook his head. What was Mary's Aunt Rosamund up to? Trying to drive a wedge between him and Mary so this Sir Richard could step into the breach? And who had actually done the inviting?
-0-
On his way home to Downton Matthew stopped off in London to do some Christmas shopping.
For Mary Matthew had a special gift in mind. The nightgown had been such a success that, before he had shipped out, he had consulted his expert in all things having to do with ladies, Sgt. Harper, as to where he could get a good deal on a ring. The next day Marx had shown up with a letter addressed to D. Marx & Sons, Jewellers, with a address in Hatton Garden, London.
"Give to this to my father, he will give you a good deal" Marx told him.
Matthew thanked him and asked "Are you one of the sons in the business?"
Marx shrugged. "My father was an optimist when he had the sign painted. One son is a doctor, one a dentist and well me, I'm a soldier"
Matthew smiled to himself. It seemed that they all had been infected with the Gallic shrug. "But you weren't always..."
"No, I was a student but now ..." he shrugged again, "who knows what might happen?"
Matthew found the shop easily enough. He was reluctant to enter, it looked much too imposing to be in his price range. He shrugged to himself, there's no harm in looking, and he went in.
The surprisingly heavy door closed quietly behind him. The room was very elegant, muted royal blue and dark oak. It was very still. Matthew felt out of place. He turned to leave when a woman about the age of his mother came out of the back room. She was tall and slender, her dark hair streaked with grey. Matthew blinked. She could be Mary in twenty five years.
"May I help you?"
"Ah.. I have a letter for Mr. Marx" and he took the letter out of his breast pocket and gave it to her.
"One moment please" and she left the room.
Less than two minutes later a man looking like an older, balder and heavier version of Matthew's Marx entered the room. He gestured towards a small office just off the main showroom. "I am David Marx and I understand that you are my son's commanding officer"
"Yes Matthew Crawley" and they shook hands.
Mr. Marx introduced the lady as his wife and mother of his sons.
"Please come in and sit down"
Matthew did and Mrs. Marx brought in a tea service and poured them all tea.
"In this letter my son is very complimentary of you."
"I appreciate that"
"He says that you are a real mensch"
Matthew looked puzzled and Mr. Marx explained that it meant that Matthew was an honourable man.
All Matthew could do was shrug.
Mr. Marx smiled at him "On his last leave my son shrugged all the time, he says there are at least seventeen meanings that can be conveyed by shrugging. I am afraid if this war continues for any length of time you are all going to turn into Frenchmen."
Matthew smiled, it was all he could do to keep from shrugging in reply.
Then Mr. Marx got down to business. "My son tells me you are looking for a ring for your wife. Tell me about her." Matthew was taken aback and Mr. Marx explained "Different rings suit different people."
So Matthew described Mary as best he could and both Mr. Marx and Mrs. Marx asked questions about her personality. When he had finished they both looked at each other and shrugged. Matthew smiled at that. They both got up and went over to a display case and pulled out several trays. Mr. Marx took a ring from each and laid them on the counter. Mrs. Marx looked at them for a moment and then picked one. Mr. Marx picked it up and put the rest back. They came back and sat down. Mr. Marx laid the ring his wife had chosen, a large diamond flanked by two slightly smaller diamonds, all brilliant cut, mounted on a gold band, in front of Matthew. Without picking it up Matthew could see the colours dancing in its facets.
"When you were describing your wife you described my wife." Mr. Marx told him. Mrs. Marx smiled at him "Although my wife is perhaps a little more imperious" This earned him a nudge with an elbow. "So I had my wife pick out which ring she would like"
"It is a very beautiful ring" said Matthew. It was fabulous. It was beyond his means.
"Now my son told me I should give give you the family discount, the close family discount. But you understand that there are certain fixed costs involved?"
Matthew nodded and Mr. Marx took out a pen and piece of paper, wrote a figure on the paper and pushed it over to him.
Matthew opened it up. One hundred and fifty pounds. It would almost clean out his bank account. But that was not the problem. That amount wouldn't even pay for the small stone. He pushed the paper back to Mr. Marx.
"I think you made a mistake"
"Oh?"
"There's at least one zero missing, maybe two"
Now Mr. Marx shrugged. "I could point out the minute variations in colour, clarity and cut that make it less than perfect but instead I will just point out that you are family, close family, and that is the price. Let Mama model it for you" and he pushed the ring towards Matthew.
Mrs. Marx held out her left hand to Matthew and he slid the ring onto her ring finger up to her wedding band. She moved her hand around in the light and the lights flashed off the diamonds. Matthew sucked in his breath thinking that it would look like that on Mary's hand.
Mr. Marx smiled at Matthew, held out his hand and they shook.
Sunday, November 28, 1915
Mary sat in the Library trying to read, but mostly daydreaming of...
Carson gave a discrete cough.
Mary looked up at him. "Yes?"
"The Brown boy from the village is here with a message for you."
It was all Mary could do to stop herself from leaping up and running into the hall. Instead she got up sedately and followed Carson out of the Library.
Billy Brown bowed to Mary and handed her an envelope. She held up a finger to him meaning 'just wait a minute'. She slowly opened the envelope.
All the note inside said was:
"Mary:
He is here. He is on convalescent leave until February 1, 1916. Do not be alarmed - he appears to be in good shape. More or less.
Is it time to start Operation Honeymoon?
Isobel"
Yes it is, yes it is thought Mary. She looked at Carson "Have.."
".. Anna attend on you; Branson bring the auto around the front; Mrs. Patmore give the lad here some hot chocolate while he is waiting for his ride..."
She gave Carson a sweet smile. "Could you also ask Mrs. Patmore to get the special picnic basket ready and have Mrs. Hughes fix up Mrs. Crawley's room for her" Seeing his confusion she added "They'll know what I'm talking about, it has all been arranged. Oh and don't forget to give Mr. Brown his two shillings"
"As your ladyships wishes" Carson bowed and started heading downstairs with Billy.
"Oh, Carson.."
He turned to her. "Yes, my Lady?"
"On my authority give Mrs. Patmore the bottles she asks for"
He nodded to her. Bottles? What does she mean bottles?
A/N: I suppose this would be a bad time to announce that the storey is going on indefinite hiatus until I work out how it gets through the rest of the Great War :-)
Fear not Gentle Reader, if all goes well M/M get together this Sunday. However you should not get your hopes up. Remember there will be no smut and anyway sometimes newlyweds find the wedding night, shall we say, anti-climatic. But as always you will judge the result for yourself. Until then...