When Mary comes for her final visit with Matthew before she travels to London, he has a leather folder ready for her.
"Those are the documents I told you about," Matthew explains, opening it to show her. "First is a letter of warning, telling Carlisle – and his lawyers, who may take it more seriously even if he won't – that we do intend to sue him and his newspaper if any word of this slanderous story will see print. It states basically what you will have to tell him during your meeting: that the story is a piece of fanciful fiction produced by bored servants and that no proof exists anything like that ever took place, that in fact you are able to procure multiple witnesses stating that Mr Pamuk died in his own room, on the opposite end of the house from your own bedroom, and that there is no way a slight girl like you could have dragged him there as the story implies. As for him ever being in your room in the first place, there are no witnesses to attest to that."
"Except for whoever led him there," points out Mary, but Matthew only smiles at her with a sharp look in his eyes.
"And who would have to admit his own part in the whole debacle to be able to attest to that. As much as I would love to know who it was so I could kill him myself – and I think I would have to fight your Papa for the privilege – I seriously doubt this person would ever willingly risk such exposure and its consequences."
Mary nods shakily.
"Papa is the last person I ever want to learn of it all, so I really hope you are right."
"I am," Matthew assures her earnestly. "But even if he did, I am sure he would not blame you for what happened."
Mary bites her lip. She is not sure of that at all. She understands what Matthew and Sybil are both trying so hard to make her realise – that Pamuk took advantage of her, that what he did to her was not right at all, even if she shies away from the term they used – but she can't wholly believe that. She sees too many mistakes she made that day and night; too many things she could have done differently to avoid the whole nightmare. She doesn't think she will ever stop blaming herself for it and it's hard to believe many other people would be as charitable as her husband and beloved sister in their judgement of her.
"Who else does know, actually?" asks Matthew with a frown. "I've never asked you that and I wouldn't want to blurt it out to the wrong person."
"Anna, Mama and Edith, of course," says Mary slowly. "And Sybil, although I've only told her of it last week. Daisy knows some, and probably O'Brien, although I am not sure how much she got out of Daisy before she kindly dropped her into Edith's lap. Bates, from his wife. And half of London society who laughed over the story over the years."
"But the society doesn't know which parts are true, if any," observes Matthew. "There are probably many people who heard it at some point, but dismissed it."
"I can't think of any except Evelyn Napier," says Mary bitterly, but visibly softening over Evelyn's name. "He had more reason than anybody else to suspect the rumours are true, but he staunchly defended me to everybody in the vicinity and worked as hard as he could to discover the source of it. And the way he told me it was Edith… He was so kind, you know, so compassionate, despite the fact that I strung him along only to ignore him for the sake of flirting with Mr Pamuk. I did nothing to deserve his kindness, but I will never forget it."
"Then I will never forget it either," says Matthew quietly, grasping her hand. "But you did and do deserve his kindness, darling, especially over that matter. I'm so very glad you were met with some, even while your own family acted so wrongly towards you."
Mary scoffs lightly.
"It was Edith. I shouldn't have been surprised at all. Anyway, if our positions were reversed, I probably would have been tempted to do the same."
"No, you wouldn't have," said Matthew firmly. "I know you, Lady Mary Crawley. You would have made disparaging remarks to her whenever you two were alone, at least if you didn't know the full truth of it and made wrong assumptions, as she did, but you would never have exposed the family to a scandal, even Edith. It's simply not who you are."
Mary looks at him for a long moment, too full of feelings to be able to speak.
"You're right," she finally says. "I wouldn't have. And I can't truly understand how she could have. To call me names was one thing and the least we have done to each other over the years, but this… This was something else altogether."
"I'm not sure how I will be able to talk to her civilly," says Matthew, his eyes getting cold and furious again as they were when she first told him. "It's good she hasn't come by in the last week because I am nowhere near calm about it all."
Mary huffs impatiently.
"You must find a way," she insists sternly. "The last thing I need is you acting as my champion and raising all kinds of questions. Besides, I've told you that I paid her back for it. We settled the score years ago."
"What have you done?" asks Matthew curiously, putting his anger with Edith aside for the moment.
Mary smirks.
"Are you sure you want to know? It wasn't pretty at all."
She says it flippantly, but he can see a hint of apprehension in her eyes and realises with surprise that she is truly afraid to tell him. He squeezes her hand he's still holding.
"Tell me," he says encouragingly. "I promise not to judge you too harshly. I'm still ready to strangle her with my own hands, you know."
Mary takes a deep breath and does.
"She did her very best to ruin my life," she says quietly, her tone getting cold with remembered fury. "So I did my best to ruin hers in return. I knew that she expected Sir Anthony Strallan to propose to her during the garden party when the war was declared. I met him before she could and hinted heavily that she was trying to avoid a ghastly old bore she'd been laughing about with me all evening. It was all it took to make him run away without a word to her. She hasn't seen him since."
She raises her eyes to look into Matthew's shocked ones.
"Are you sure you don't despise me now? I told you the whole thing wasn't pretty."
"And I told you I could never despise you, darling," answers Matthew firmly. "Although you have managed to shock me, I admit."
"But you don't disapprove?" she asks disbelievingly.
Matthew smiles wryly in response.
"I'm thinking that as ugly as your revenge was, it could have been worse."
His smile grows when he sees he's managed to shock his wife for a change.
"How?" she blurts out.
"You could have told your Mama who was responsible for all her efforts at burying the scandal being for naught," points out Matthew and laughs when he gets a startled laughter out of Mary.
"Oh goodness," says Mary through peels of laughter. "Mama would have eviscerated her, she truly would have. You're more devious than me, Mr Crawley. I have no idea why people think you're the nice one."
"That's because I am better than you at hiding it," answers Matthew smugly and delights in making her laugh again. He's missed her laughter so fiercely in the last weeks, even distracted as he's been by everything else.
He's sorry to get back to the unpleasant business, but he looks at the clock and reluctantly sees that he must.
"Speaking of me being devious, here is the other document I've prepared for you," he says, pointing Mary's attention to it. "It's the contract to buy exclusive rights to the story back from Carlisle. In all probability, he made Mrs Bates sign a very similar one."
Mary's eyebrows rise in surprise.
"Why would we want to do it?" she asks. "If we're claiming the story is false and threaten to sue him?"
"For additional insurance," explains Matthew. "If he believes we're serious about our threats, it would be imprudent of him to publish anyway. But if he sells you the rights, he can't legally publish it. He would be liable for being sued for the breach of contract."
"But why would he agree to sell them to me in such a case?" frowns Mary. "When he can keep the leverage over me instead, even if I stay his hand this time?"
"You would know better than me what his motivation could be," admits Matthew, looking at her closely. "Do you think he wants to punish you for disappointing his hopes of marrying you or just acts out to get your attention?"
Mary scoffs.
"If it's the second, it must be the strangest attempt at courtship I've ever seen and I've seen a lot."
Matthew smiles at her wryly again.
"You underestimate the power you have over men, my darling. If anyone can drive a man to madness and desperation, it is you. I wouldn't be surprised if he still harboured some hopes. After all, your fiancé is not such a catch now as he used to be when you scorned Carlisle."
Mary glares at him.
"He is just as big of a catch as he's always been," she says fiercely. "I can't wait until everyone knows we're married and people will get off my back about it."
Matthew throws her a shrewd look.
"And how many people pointed it kindly out to you that you should drop me for your own best interest?" he asks mildly as Mary is inwardly cursing her slip of tongue.
"Nobody who's worth listening to, even if we weren't already married," she answers firmly, ending this line of discussion. "So, the letter of warning and the contract to buy back the rights to the story. I'm not supposed to even allude to the fact that any part of the story might be true. Stand firm and not let him intimidate me, because I do have an upper hand. Anything else I should remember or take with me?"
"Yes," says Matthew, reaching awkwardly under his pillow and taking out a little toy dog. "Your lucky charm. I think I can manage to lie safely in bed for three days without his assistance. But better bring him back to me, I've been told I will be facing the wilds of Downton soon."
Mary's fingers tremble slightly as she accepts the toy and puts it safely in her purse.
"Thank you," she says, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I promise to do my best to deal with this mess for good."
Matthew squeezes her hand one last time.
"I would give a world to be able to go with you," he says fervently. "But I know you will succeed on your own. Such good luck, my stormbraver."
She hopes that not many people are watching them as she bends to kiss him lightly before she goes, but frankly, she doesn't give a damn.
xxx
Mary's hands shake so much when she tries to button her uniform that she has to let Anna take over.
The last time she was wearing it, she drove straight into the battlefield in a desperate attempt to save Matthew.
Even as she looks into the mirror in the guest bedroom in Painswick House, she somehow still sees the barren ground strewn with bodies and the shells exploding all around her.
"Milady? Milady, are you alright?"
Mary blinks, realising that Anna must have repeated that question several times before she's heard it.
"I'm perfectly alright, Anna," she lies. "Just lost in thought."
Anna looks doubtfully at Mary's hands, still shaking visibly, but says nothing more. Instead, she takes a step back and checks Mary over.
"I think you're ready, milady. Unless you still need the sling?"
"No, thankfully not," answers Mary with a smile. "Dr Clarkson said I don't need it anymore when he removed my stitches yesterday."
She usually kept her eyes averted when she had her dressing exchanged and the wound cleaned, but after Dr Clarkson removed the stitches, she could not resist looking at her arm in horrified fascination. The scars, one on the front and one on the back of her left arm, are vivid red, the flesh sunken in. They are not very big, thankfully, but draw attention without a fail. Mary finds herself grateful for her uniform's long sleeves.
The scar on her head is longer and equally vivid, but Anna mastered the art of hiding it and the surrounding shorn patch while styling Mary's hair, so Mary has to see it only during her morning and evening toilette. It's mostly healed, although she is still suffering from frequent headaches and bouts of nausea, which she's been assured is perfectly normal with this type of wound and should pass eventually.
"Yes, Anna," she answers finally. "I am ready."
xxx
They are gathered in Buckingham Palace's quadrangle, in front of the dais constructed on the step of the main entrance. The recipients of decoration sit on the chairs at the front, with their family and commanding officers in the back or gathered on the sides, depending on their status. As Lord Lieutenant, Papa is seated in the row behind Mary, close enough for her to easily see his proud, beaming smile if she tilts her head just a little, and it is more reassuring than she has expected it to be.
She can't help wondering how he would look at her if he read about the whole Pamuk debacle over his breakfast.
The thought is still stuck in her head when her name is called and she climbs the dais to receive her medal and congratulations from King George V and Queen Mary. It seems surreal that she is so feted now, with people openly admiring her bravery and sacrifice and photographers capturing the moment the king pins the medal to the front of her driver's uniform, when she can realistically face ruin and derision within days if Matthew's plan fails. She thinks cynically that all her bravery and sacrifice would buy her in such a case is more notoriety and better sales for Sir Richard's rags. Who cares about war heroes if there is a scandal to gossip over?
When she sits back down, nodding to Papa, her hand sneaks into the pocket of her uniform and grasps a toy dog tightly, her back straightening proudly again.
They will not fail tomorrow. Matthew has spent hours poring over his law books and drafting those papers; she is not going to let him down by letting Sir Richard, Vera Bates and Edith win and let all this hard work in her defence go to waste. She will not bring shame to the family, however deserved. They both faced so much worse stakes and survived; they will not fail now.
There's simply no chance of that.
xxx
They have a celebratory dinner at Painswick House later that night, although it is a small affair with only her parents, Granny and Aunt Rosamund present. She both regrets that Sybil couldn't come, insisting she is needed at the hospital, and feels relieved that Matthew will have her there to look after him and cheer him up when he inevitably frets about tomorrow's confrontation.
She misses him so terribly though. She remembers how he found her after his own ceremony, how he kept her close to himself, and wonders if he was also so painfully reminded of the circumstances leading to his award and needed her within sight to make sure she is alright and to banish the images of digging desperately for her from his mind. Because this is all she can think about in between dreading the possible outcomes of tomorrow – this awful drive through the battlefield and the image of Matthew lying in that crater, pale and unmoving, seemingly lifeless. The sight she relives so often in her nightmares it seems etched in her brain by now.
"Are you taking a morning train back?" asks Aunt Rosamund and Mary, pulled out of her musings, shakes her head.
"I am meeting with Sir Richard Carlisle first," she says, expecting the raised eyebrows and significant looks from her family, but no less annoyed by them for it. "He invited me for tea when he heard I'm going to be in town."
"I hoped you gave up his acquaintance when you refused his offer," complains Papa and Mary smiles at him. His honest dislike of Sir Richard is much more funny now when she knows she won't have to marry him.
Aunt Rosamund speaks before Mary has a chance though.
"It might be wise for Mary to keep her options open," she says, earning herself an immediate glare from her niece.
"My options are not open," Mary counters through clenched teeth. "I simply didn't want to refuse his invitation and make it appear as if there are bad feelings between us when there is no reason for them to be."
"As much as I agree that keeping one's options open is prudent, Mary can do better than this plutocrat," comments Granny with disdain as if Mary has not spoken.
"Can she though?" asks Aunt Rosamund with a significant look at Mary, which in turn makes Cora immediately bristle in defence of her daughter – even though, as Mary is very well aware, she shares Rosamund's assessment and fears.
"I don't see why not," she says staunchly, subtly indicating to Rosamund to be silent in presence of her brother.
"Because I'm already engaged," says Mary firmly. "That's why not."
She is met with stares ranging from exasperated to condescending, with only Papa on her side, although even he looks troubled.
"Engagements can be broken," suggests Aunt Rosamund and she doesn't know how lucky she is that Meade comes into the dining room and informs them that Mrs Crawley is on the telephone, wanting to talk to Lady Mary. Mary's hands started to shake again, just before he did, and she was this close to throwing her wine straight into her aunt's face.
As it is, she stands up and leaves the room hurriedly, throwing only one parting shot.
"Of course they can. But don't expect this one to be."
xxx
Mary picks the receiver with dread. On the short walk from the dining room all her anger at her family has been swiftly replaced by concern why Isobel would call her at this hour and her mind is full of half-formed, but terrible scenarios.
"Isobel? What happened? Is Matthew alright?" she asks worriedly and is instantly reassured by Isobel's familiar, confident voice.
"He is perfectly alright, my dear, I am sorry for alarming you. But you see, we got news that the spine specialist Dr Clarkson has asked to consult on Matthew's case is finally able to come to Downton and he will see Matthew around noon. I wanted to ask, will you be able to be back by then? I'm sure Matthew would like you to be present if you can."
Everything in Mary twists painfully at this. There is nothing she wants more than to be at Matthew's side during this consultation, both to hear any news, good or bad, as quickly as possible and to comfort him if the prognosis is as bad as Dr Clarkson has made it to be. But she can't! She can't risk cancelling the meeting with Sir Richard and possibly provoking him into publishing her scandal without giving her a say first. She knows Matthew will understand, that he himself would tell her to focus on saving her own neck first, but the words taste bitter in her mouth when she informs Isobel she won't be back before evening.
"Oh," says Isobel in evident surprise, making Mary feel even worse. "Does it have anything to do with the law books Matthew has been poring over for the last week?"
For a moment, Mary is speechless at the directness of the question and swears inwardly when she realises that momentary silence must be very telling to someone as perceptive as Isobel.
Isobel's next question, hesitant as it is, confirms it.
"Mary, are you facing some kind of legal trouble? Is that why you must stay longer in London?"
"Not legal trouble as such," answers Mary evasively, deciding that outright lying is pointless. "But I have some truly important business to attend to. I wouldn't miss Matthew's appointment if it wasn't important, Isobel, I assure you I wouldn't."
"I know you wouldn't," answers Isobel with the amount of confidence in Mary which really surprises her. She hasn't thought Matthew's mother's improvement of opinion regarding her went so far. "But that's exactly why I am worried about you."
Mary winces. Isobel's concern, as heartwarming as it is, makes her both feeling guilty and terrified that Isobel is going to bring the whole matter up to other members of the family, which is the last thing Mary wants to happen.
"Oh please, don't be! There is truly no need," she says hastily. "I just need to see to some matters, that's all. I'm sure if you ask Matthew, he will tell you the same."
She feels guilty for throwing Matthew into his mother's clutches like that, but on the other hand who better than Matthew when it comes to dealing with her curiosity?
"And would your parents agree? Or your grandmother?" pushes Isobel, now evidently fishing, and Mary nearly groans in exasperation.
"They would, if they knew all the details," answers Mary firmly. "But they don't. It's rather more of a private business than a family one, you see."
"I do see," answers Isobel significantly. "Well, I hope you two know what you're doing."
"We do," stresses Mary again, then adds worriedly. "Isobel, you will be there with Matthew tomorrow, won't you?"
"Of course I will be," answers Isobel reassuringly. "You don't have to worry about him facing it alone."
"Good," says Mary in true relief. "Good. May I call you before I board the train tomorrow?"
"Of course. And Mary? Good luck, with whatever you're facing."
"Thank you," answers Mary in a choked voice. She hasn't expected this level of support and understanding, not when she is clearly keeping secrets.
xxx
"Lord Grantham's eldest daughter, volunteering as an ambulance driver in France, earns the Military Medal for Bravery for risking her life and suffering injuries to save multiple wounded British soldiers under heavy artillery fire, including her fiancé, Captain Matthew Crawley, MC." Sir Richard reads in dramatic tones. "My, what a romantic, heroic tale. It would be such a pity to spoil it by publishing the other one, wouldn't it, Lady Mary?"
Mary glares at him icily, keeping her face composed.
"Especially since you have no proof of it and would face my lawyer in court."
"No proof?" laughs Sir Richard. "I have every detail of your sordid affair."
"Alleged affair," parries Mary coldly. "Vera Bates was never a member of the Downton Abbey household. Her only connection to us is her estranged husband, who emphatically does not confirm anything like that ever happened there. What she has is a piece of fanciful servants' gossip from years ago. I rather doubt it would be considered a reliable proof. And according to the Slander of Women Act of 1891, if you publish a story impugning the chastity of a lady, the burden of proof would be on you."
Sir Richard stares at her thoughtfully, stapling his fingers.
"You came well prepared, Lady Mary. Your poor wounded fiancé primed you for this?"
Mary bristles but manages to keep her composure.
"I did consult my lawyer before coming here," she shrugs elegantly, extremely glad she can do it now with minimal pain in her arm. "And he actually gave me this, to convey to your lawyers."
She reaches into the leather folder she has brought with her and hands the letter of warning to Sir Richard. She internally whoops when she sees the scowl on his face as he reads it.
"I see," he only says after he is done, but it's clear that he's fuming. "Anything else he's given you?"
"Why, yes," answers Mary, reaching for another document. "This is the contract to buy the exclusive rights to the story back from you. At least you shouldn't be very out of pocket for the money you gave to Mrs Bates. It's very generous of me in the circumstances, don't you think?"
He stands up and leans on his hands over his enormous desk, his posture intended to intimidate – but if he thinks she is going to shrink away from him, he's going to be disappointed. Mary hasn't survived the war and people shooting at her to be intimidated by the empty posturing of the likes of him.
"And why would you pay me at all if the story is not true?"
Mary looks at him with studied indifference.
"Because I want to have the matter closed and done with," she announces coldly. "The rumours have been following me for years and it is annoying enough. I don't want the hassle of living with the threat of publication hanging over my head. I am serious about suing you if you publish – I think the letter I've just given you states that clearly enough – but wouldn't it be better if you sold me the rights and we could part amicably? I see no reason to wage war with you, Sir Richard, if you act reasonably."
Sir Richard leans back and crosses his arms, as his smirk turns into a more genuine smile.
"Ah, Lady Mary," he says. "You really are something else. So calm and collected in the face of ruin."
"I don't see any reason to fear ruin," lies Mary smoothly. "Not unless you are a much stupider man than I took you for."
He laughs and looks at her fondly.
"We could have been brilliant together, you know. We could have ruled over London together. But I am not a petty man."
He takes the contract and sings it with a flourish, giving one copy to Mary.
"Thank you," she says and puts it into her purse, hoping she is successful at keeping an impassive face despite dancing a jig inside. It worked! "I appreciate it and I agree, we could have been a good team. But in the end, as I've already told you once, it isn't what I want."
It has been apparently a wrong thing to say, which Mary realises immediately when Sir Richard's face twists into a grimace, his eyes icy.
"I heard he won't walk again, not to mention will have to use a nappy and never give you children," taunts Sir Richard. "Are you sure you aren't regretting refusing my offer now? We could still consider it, you know. I rather doubt the good Captain is willing to marry you now, he has always seemed like an honourable chap, his horrible treatment of his previous fiancée notwithstanding."
Mary stands up, furious. She has the contract safely locked in her purse. He got the warning letter to boot. She is not going to let him get away with offending and mocking Matthew.
"I would marry him today, if I could. I will marry him as soon as he is recovered enough to withstand the wedding. There hasn't been and there isn't going to be one second in which I regret choosing him over you, whether he ever gets up from his chair or not. Do not bother me ever again, Sir Richard. You wasted your money buying this drivel from Vera Bates. Be very sure that if I see a word of it in print, I will sue and I will win. Goodbye."
She slams the door of Sir Richard's office behind her with immense satisfaction.
He does not follow her.
xxx
Dr Coates is a tall, thin man in his forties, with delicate hands, kind smile and observant eyes. Despite all his nerves, Matthew finds it easy to relax and answer all of his questions calmly during a thorough examination preceded by being wheeled for the x-rays.
When it is concluded, he is put into a wheelchair for the very first time. It's harder to sit in it than he anticipated – his balance is all wrong when he can't feel that he is actually sitting and he has to grab the armrests to stop himself from listing to the side – and he suffers through several bouts of vertigo from being properly upright for the first time in weeks. But it is a huge relief to be able to have this important conversation about his situation and future not in the crowded ward while lying flat on his bed, but sitting upright in Dr Clarkson's office, with just him, Dr Coates and Mother present. He feels almost human, even though he is of course still wearing pyjamas.
Dr Coates takes a seat opposite Matthew and starts talking, his eyes trained on him.
"First thing I must explain is that there are two kinds of spinal cord injuries: a complete and incomplete lesion. With a complete one, the spinal cord is truly transected; there is no communication between the brain and the areas below the level of injury and there can be no hope of recovery."
"And this is the one I have," observes Matthew bitterly, with Dr Clarkson nodding in the background. To his surprise, Dr Coates shakes his head.
"We don't know that yet, Captain Crawley."
Both Matthew and Isobel start.
"How can that be?" asks Isobel, earning herself Matthew's gratitude because he finds himself incapable of forming sentences. Could it be… Could Dr Coates possibly mean…
"Before I explain that, let me tell you what an incomplete lesion actually means and then you will find it easier to understand our present difficulty with diagnosis," says Dr Coates with a smile. Matthew thinks that he probably makes a very good and popular lecturer. "An incomplete lesion occurs when the spinal cord is damaged, but not completely severed. Some pathways of communication are preserved, sometimes even new ones, alternative ones, are formed. Nervous system is a wondrous thing, still very poorly understood. Anyway, in such cases, a patient experiences loss of some function and feeling, but not whole; there are still sensations, or movement, or control, varying from patient to patient – no two cases are identical in the symptoms they experience."
"But I have no feeling, control or movement," points Matthew with defeat. He feels Isobel's hand tightening its grasp on his shoulder.
"Exactly!" agrees Dr Clarkson. "Which is why I think your injury is a complete lesion."
Dr Coates clears his throat.
"I would have agreed," he says, with an apologetic look at Dr Clarkson, "if it wasn't for the swelling and bruising over the site of injury on your spine, Captain Crawley, which is unfortunately a complicating factor when it comes to diagnosis. The swelling itself can press on the cord in such a way as to inhibit function or feeling, masking the extent of the injury and making it appear more severe than it actually is. I have examined two sets of X-rays, one taken a day after you've been brought here, so within three days from your injury, and the one from today, three weeks after. Both show a vertebra moved out of alignment and pressed inside by the swelling over your spine, see? You can tell that the swelling is receding a little, albeit very slowly. But what we don't see in either of those X-rays is any proof that your spinal cord has been completely transected."
"But it still could have been," interjects Dr Clarkson unhappily. Dr Coates nods.
"It could have. We see that the vertebrae are not splintered or completely crushed, so there is no proof that they sliced through the cord instead of just pressing on it as it is now – but Dr Clarkson is right; there is a chance it could have been pushed further during the moment of impact, crushing the cord and then rebounding a bit back, leaving the cord destroyed. The problem is, at this point, with all the swelling still so severe, there is no way to tell if your injury is a complete or incomplete lesion."
"So I could potentially get better?" asks Matthew, doing his utmost to not sound as desperate as he feels. "But we can't say yet? Either if or how much?"
"That's sadly correct, Captain Crawley," answers Dr Coates. "If your injury is an incomplete lesion, you should experience some recovery while the swelling lessens. It is impossible to predict what shape or form it would take though. Some patients regain some sensations, some movement, some partial control of either bowel movements, urinary tract or even sexual function."
"Or the lesion might be complete and there won't be any recovery whatsoever," reminds Dr Clarkson grimly. "Which is entirely likely."
"When can we know something definite?" asks Isobel and Matthew hates the desperate hope in her eyes. He can't stand the thought of watching it slowly fade into disappointment if, as Dr Clarkson insists, nothing will change.
"Normally we should know by now, shouldn't we, Dr Coates?" challenges Dr Clarkson as Dr Coates opens his mouth.
"Yes," agrees Dr Clarkson reluctantly. "In most cases the first signs of recovery show quickly, within days or even within hours… But there have been cases when it took months. And the way your swelling and bruising looks reminds me more of the cases I've seen of spinal shock than anything else, although in each case of this the paralysis started to retreat within days at the most, so it's unlikely to be your final diagnosis. But even with the spinal cord injury, whether a complete or incomplete lesion, a more likely one in your case, I am far from giving up hope for some recovery at least, Captain Crawley, and I would advise you not to give it up either. It's too early for that."
Dr Clarkson purses his mouth, his expression clearly stating his complete disagreement.
"Anyway, if you start noticing signs of returning control or feeling, even slight ones, it will mean that your injury is an incomplete lesion and there should be hope of further improvement with time and physical therapy. However, even if you don't experience any, physical therapy is still a necessity for you, both to improve your strength and increase your independence as well as to prevent muscle atrophy as much as possible. You will still experience some of it in your lower body – there is no way to prevent it completely in paralysed limbs – but the more of your muscle strength and mass you retain, the less problems you're going to experience."
"What kind of problems?" asks Matthew with a frown.
Dr Coates looks at him seriously as he answers.
"Multiple ones, Captain Crawley. Dr Clarkson mentioned that he did warn you about possible issues with blood clots, bed sores and the risk of stroke?" Matthew nods, feeling again Mother's fingers tightening on his shoulder. "They are very real, as are potential problems with spasticity, and the risk of all is lessened with regular and proper exercise of the paralysed limbs. You must exercise, Captain Crawley, if you want to retain any hope of as healthy and independent life as you can lead, whatever the final diagnosis will be for you."
"When you say independent," asks Matthew, trying his hardest to keep his face and voice impassive. He rather thinks Mary would make a much better job of it. "What exactly do you mean?"
Dr Coates smiles.
"Why, quite a lot! Even with the assumption that Dr Clarkson is correct and there won't be any further recovery, there is still much you can learn to do to make your life easier for yourself. First objective, of course, is to get you into a wheelchair and then, when you're stable and strong enough to be able to spend most of the day in it, to make you able to manoeuvre it yourself. That, I am confident, you should be able to do within weeks, and when you do we will be able to start working on getting you in and out of the chair by yourself."
"I would be able to do this?" asks Matthew, getting more eager than he anticipated. It's still so pathetically little, but in comparison to the last few weeks…
"I think so," confirms Dr Coates. "In time and with a lot of practice. It will be easier if you can be equipped with sturdy frames in places when you would most often like to proceed with such a transfer, like your bedroom, for example – but if your arms, back and core are strong enough, you should be able to do it. And when you do, Captain Crawley, we will be able to work on all kinds of things to improve the quality of your daily life. Just remember – all of it will require a tremendous effort on your part if you are to succeed."
"I'm not afraid of effort," declares Matthew with determination which makes Dr Coates smile again, this time in approval.
"Then I foresee you will succeed indeed. I will mail a detailed set of instructions for your physical regime both to you and to Dr Clarkson, and I would gladly consult on your case again in six months. I'm certain that I will see you much improved, whatever your final diagnosis, Captain Crawley."
As Matthew shakes Dr Coates's hand, his mind is so full he can scarcely express his gratitude and goodbyes. He sees the doctor exchange further words with Mother and Clarkson, but he doesn't really pay attention, still trying to process everything he's just learnt. On one hand, he knows that there is a very real chance the diagnosis Clarkson gave him on that horrible first day will turn out to be correct; after all, three weeks have already passed without any sign of improvement or return of any feeling or control and there should be some if he were to recover any of it. But on the other hand… even if there won't be any recovery… the confidence Dr Coates expressed in his ability to take control of himself and his broken body, whatever his limitations, is somehow inspiring. Matthew is no stranger to gruelling exercise and physical effort, not after four years in the Army. He knows he can be determined and diligent if the situation requires it and he can't imagine a bigger necessity than regaining at least partial independence for himself. He can do it, he's getting increasingly certain of it.
For the first time in three weeks, Matthew feels something resembling a cautious hope.
xxx
Mary rushes to Painswick House as quickly as she can and grabs the telephone without even taking off her gloves and hat as she breathlessly orders a call to Crawley House.
"What has the spine specialist said?" she asks, still trying to catch her breath when Molesley gets Isobel on the phone.
"He gave us some hope of possible improvement," answers Isobel guardedly and Mary can hear how hard she is fighting against raising her hopes too much; understands how very uncertain this hope has to be. "His injury may not be a complete lesion, which means that he may, in time, regain some feeling or function – but he very well may not. It's too early to say."
"So it's all we know?" asks Mary, bitterly disappointed. "That there may be some improvement, of unknown kind, but it's impossible to say if it will happen at all or how it will look like if it does?"
"Pretty much," admits Isobel, but then rallies up. "But it's more of a hope than we had before. Besides, Dr Coates gave Matthew a whole long list of exercises and physical therapy instructions to keep him in the best possible shape and health and, in time, to improve his daily life and give him as much independence as possible, even if his injury is complete. It was far from a fruitless visit."
"Right," says Mary bravely, swallowing against the tears pricking at her eyes. She will not cry in the middle of the hallway, in full view of Aunt Rosamund's butler. She will not. "Please tell him that I am getting a four o'clock train and will see him tonight. If you don't think it's going to be too late for a visit?"
She waits anxiously for an answer, but fortunately Isobel swiftly relieves her of her fears on this subject.
"He is most anxious to see you and talk to you about all your adventures in London," she says and it seems to Mary that she means more than the decoration ceremony. She wonders nervously what Isobel actually suspects. "He will wait for you."
"I will be there as quickly as I can," promises Mary.
xxx
The heels of Mary's shoes clatter loudly in the empty corridor of the Downton Cottage Hospital until she stops suddenly, hardly believing what she's seeing there, by the window – because it can't be Matthew, who has not left his bed since he was brought here three weeks ago, sitting in a wheelchair and waiting for her.
And yet it is!
"Surprise, darling," says Matthew with a smile, lifting his arms gingerly from the armrests to open them for her in welcome. "I'm afraid you have to come to me though. I haven't gotten to the wheeling myself part quite yet."
Mary's feet suddenly remember how to move and she runs the last few yards separating them to hug him tightly in joy and celebration and delighting greedily in feeling his arms around her again.
"I missed it!" she says through tears which somehow appear in her eyes. "Why haven't you told me that you're going to be able to do it so soon?"
"Because I haven't known myself!" laughs Matthew. "Dr Clarkson wasn't sure if I was ready and Dr Coates gave me permission to try only today during his visit. I can't sit like that long, I get terribly tired, to be honest, and my back aches in all the new places from it, but I asked Sybil to get me ready to welcome you and she timed it perfectly. We should have at least twenty minutes to talk without two dozen other people hovering about."
"That's marvellous," says Mary with a beaming smile. "Because there is one other thing I have missed."
She kisses him and nearly startles when he kisses her back. It's the first proper kiss they have shared since they parted at Amiens after their honeymoon.
When they part now, Matthew's eyes are wild and his breathing fast.
"I missed kissing you," he confesses, as if stunned by his own words. "God, I missed it so much."
"Then we can do it again," says Mary matter-or-factly and they do. It feels absolutely heavenly, there are no other words to describe it.
It takes a moment for Matthew to remember the main reason she was gone and it says something about the power of kissing Mary to take over his brain, because he hardly has thought about anything else for the last three days.
"How was it, Mary?" he asks, reluctantly taking his lips off hers. "Have you managed to make him see sense?"
"Yes!" answers Mary triumphantly. "He didn't like your letter of warning at all – I wish you could have seen his scowl! – and he signed the contract! He's not going to publish it, and since Vera Bates signed a contract of her own with him, she can't sell the story to anybody else. We won!"
Matthew kisses her again, he can't help it.
"Told you he wasn't going to publish when confronted with proper defence," he says with satisfaction.
"That you did," admits Mary, her eyes shining as she looks down upon his beloved face. "But if it wasn't for your brilliant strategy, I am certain he would have. He is really mad at me. I probably should have been more restrained when I left him, but I'm afraid he provoked me into telling him some hard truths and slamming the door like a kitchen maid."
Matthew laughs at that, his eyes full of fondness and admiration.
"Isn't it better that you married me then?" he whispers huskily. "I have never managed to provoke you into slamming a door."
"Of course it is better," answers Mary, hugging him again and delighting so much in the fact that she can. "You're incomparable."
She frowns when she feels him sigh, the exhilaration on his face slowly replaced by familiar resignation which she has learnt to hate with a passion.
"Your life is going to be so difficult with me though," says Matthew sadly. "Look at us, Mary. We're celebrating the fact that I sit in a chair."
"Yes, we do," answers Mary fiercely. "Because when I left you, you were unable to leave your bed and now you just did. And we will keep celebrating every little victory like that, every improvement, no matter how minuscule. Because when I think of the alternative, of losing you forever, I truly do feel like celebrating the fact that you sit in a chair and I can hug and kiss you in an empty corridor."
She sees that she's not getting to him, not really, but takes comfort in the way he raises his hand and caresses her cheek.
"I love you so terribly much, my darling," he says, his fingers touching her face as delicately as if she was made from the finest porcelain. "It is you who is the incomparable one."
As she leans into his caress and closes her eyes, she tells herself to focus on this touch and on his words, not on the way his eyes are so full of love and sadness that her heart simultaneously soars and shatters into a million pieces.
She will convince him yet that they can be happy. Even if he never gets up from this chair.