To all of you lovely readers and reviewers: Once again, I must thank you for all of your kind reviews. As a first-time fanfic writer, I cannot tell you just how amazed I am every time I read your thoughts concerning "Strangers". (I actually made my poor husband listen to me read some of them out loud this week when he questioned me on whether Mary would actually say a certain word I have penned for her in an upcoming chapter-so thank you for the ammunition! :-)
Hugs, hugs and more hugs to R. Grace and On Either Side the River Lie! You two are the best!
Some of you have commented on how each chapter of this story seems to have its own flavor, and that's exactly how I feel when I write them. I suppose they are like children in many ways: same parent, same training, very different personalities! If that is the case, let me just say that Chapter 10 would be my wild child. (This week's teaser songs on tumblr for those of you who do not venture there were "Big, Blonde, and Beautiful" from the musical "Hairspray"-the title is NOT the clue-and the Scooby Doo theme song-with visuals.)
So with all of that said, I do hope you enjoy! And have a lovely weekend wherever you are in the world. :-)
Ch 10
He had been gone but two hours when the madness began.
Cora had taken her leave just after Mr. Blake's departure to journey to the village with the intention of posting an advertisement concerning the position of a lady's maid. Mary took her copy of the Grimm Brothers fairy tales and made her way to the nursery where she had planned upon spending the remainder of the afternoon caring for, reading to and playing with her son. All reports concerning his ear had been encouraging, so she felt no sense of foreboding as she journeyed up the stairs and down the hallway to the nursery.
She should have known better.
George had just awakened from his nap, and he was sitting rather groggily in his crib, blinking and rubbing his eyes as if trying to remember just where he was supposed to be as he took in his surroundings. But it was Anna who commanded Mary's attention. She stood braced against the wall just a few paces from the crib, her eyes rounded in a swirl of apprehension and absolute surprise while her arms cradled her abdomen.
"Anna—what is it? Is it the baby?"
Of course it was the baby! She shook her head at her own idiotic question.
Mary moved towards the other woman in haste, taking Anna's arm with a firm gentleness and leading to the rocking chair, gingerly insisting that she sit down.
"I'm not sure exactly…"Anna began, interrupting herself mid-sentence as she bent slightly, her eyes squeezing shut, the rest of her face tightening in response.
"Wait here," Mary commanded, liberating George from the captivity of his bed as his protests over being held there too long had begun to escalate. She carried him from the nursery in the direction of the stairs, nearly colliding with Mrs. Hughes as she turned a blind corner.
"Mrs. Hughes—thank God!" Mary sighed in relief, the agitation in her face serving as an immediate signal to the older woman that something of significance was amiss.
"What is it, my lady?" Mrs. Hughes questioned, her concern easily evident.
"It's Anna," Mary returned, instinctively rubbing George's back as she continued. "I believe it is her time. Please alert Mr. Bates and send for Dr. Clarkson at once."
"Shall I also arrange for a car to take her home?" Mrs. Hughes inquired, thinking through the situation with a clarity of mind that Mary quietly admired.
"I had not thought of that," Mary admitted, looking towards the head housekeeper for advice. "We could set her up in one of the guest rooms here if that is more convenient."
Mrs. Hughes's face morphed into a gentle smile as she took a step towards Mary and offered, "I do believe Mrs. Bates would prefer to be in her own home at this time, Lady Mary. Most women do under such circumstances."
Mary's brows drew together in contemplation as she then gently nodded her head in apprehension. "Of course, you are right, Mrs. Hughes. Please take care of whatever arrangements are necessary while I go and see to her."
"Very well, my lady," Mrs. Hughes returned, turning to her appointed tasks as Mary rapidly retreated back to the nursery.
She burst into the room, an incredulous expression taking over her features as she saw Anna standing by George's crib folding his favorite blanket.
"Exactly what portion of 'wait here' was misunderstood?" Mary asked, the tone of her voice mirroring the confusion upon her countenance.
"I am here, mi'lady," Anna replied, her own face somewhat puzzled as to her lady's concern.
"Why are you not sitting down?" Mary returned, closing the distance between the two of them. "Do you really believe that I meant for you to continue working?"
"Folding a blanket is hardly what I would consider work," Anna smiled as she laid the offending stitched material down in the crib. "And I felt better being up and about rather than sitting still. The tightness I was feeling has subsided now."
"For the time being," Mary put in, rubbing George's back in a motion that was more to calm herself than her son at the moment. "It could return without any warning, and we want to take no chances."
"That's very kind, mi'lady," Anna replied, taking a breath Mary noted was much deeper than usual.
"Sit, Anna. I will not have anything go wrong for you or your baby if I can help it," Mary stated, her true agitation showing through as the thin façade of collectiveness she had knit around herself began to show signs of wear. She had been unable to prevent Sybil's horrific death, she had been granted no foresight to warn her of Matthew's impending doom as he left her and George in the safety of the hospital…
She would now draw upon every ounce of influence and power she possessed to care for this woman who had protected her so selflessly through the most shameful chapter of her past. She would protect Anna.
The truth of her unspoken worry was translated with an unfailing accuracy borne out of familiarity by Mrs. Bates. She nodded wordlessly, returning to the offered rocking chair as she sought to calm the panic rising in this woman standing beside her who despised any show of weakness in herself.
"Thank you, mi'lady. Perhaps I shall sit for a while."
Mary exhaled, pacing thoughtfully with George as she focused upon calming her own mind with controlled deliberation. "Mrs. Hughes is notifying Mr. Bates and sending for Dr. Clarkson," Mary informed her, traversing the entirety of the nursery with George contentedly bouncing on her hip as he chewed upon his rabbit. "The car will be ready shortly to transport both of you home."
"That is simply not necessary," Anna began, her protest instantly muted by a look from Mary informing her that any disagreement was futile.
"Yes, I believe it is," quite another voice stated, its possessor filling the doorway and gazing lovingly at his wife. Mary observed the couple staring at one another in adoration, an odd mixture of absolute joy and profound loss brimming within her. Matthew had looked at her in such a manner so many times, so delectably rich in meaning but now and forever too few in number.
And at that moment, she missed him utterly.
"Come now, Anna," Bates implored her softly. "Let's get you downstairs so we can go home and let you rest until Dr. Clarkson arrives."
"Alright, then," Anna acquiesced, taking her husband's hand as he carefully assisted her out of the chair and onto her feet. The glow of impending motherhood was settling upon her, the sunlight assailing the nursery windows casting a shine upon her golden hair that made Mary suddenly envision a Renaissance masterpiece. And how youthful Mr. Bates appeared, no lines of concern creasing his brow as he took in the miracle of his wife on the threshold of delivering their child.
She envied them their happiness, although she knew all too well that it had been forged upon a foundation of pain and great difficulty, similar to that of hers and Matthew's but vastly different just the same. It was not the blithe joviality of innocence and youth but an appreciation of love freely given and received by imperfect partners who bore marks from their perspective pasts. Anna and Bates deserved this happiness so very deeply.
And a craving for the same deeply-rooted joy rumbled within her, making her realize that this portion of her life had been left unfed for a year now. Marriage to Matthew had been a veritable feast of love and acceptance, of freely offering and receiving so much from the other, of always taking in more than her fill from the one person who had truly understood her and chosen her as his own in spite of it. She missed him with a raw hunger, knowing that there would never be another like him and longing for their time lost to be miraculously restored.
Yet he was gone, and here she stood. And her appetite to live was reawakening.
The look of remembrance broke unbidden across her face but not unnoticed by Anna who turned her understanding gaze to Mary before stating, "We are going down now, mi'lady."
Mary snapped back to the moment with rapid clarity, nodding in agreement. "Of course," she began, forging a path for the couple as she progressed with precision out of the nursery and into the halls of the great house. "You must get home as soon as possible."
The small party moved as quickly as they were able down the stairs and to the entrance, Mary praying fervently all the while that there would finally be a baby born at Downton who would not have to share his or her birthday with the death of one parent. Once Mr. and Mrs. Bates were settled efficiently into the car awaiting their arrival, Mary leaned in to see them off.
"Please let us know immediately if there is anything that you need," she began, extending her slender hand and grasping Anna's in support as she grasped George tightly against her with the other. "I shall come and check up on you later."
"That is very kind, my lady," Mr. Bates returned sincerely. "We shall keep you abreast of how things progress."
Mary nodded, moving away from the departing vehicle as George began to wave good-bye. There they went, Anna and John, on their path to opening a new chapter in their lives together through the binding of a child. And once again, Mary felt the sting of making her journey both to and from the hospital last year without Matthew beside her, holding her hand as he would have done had he been granted the opportunity to do so. Her decision to travel to Scotland had denied him of one of those journeys, and a force beyond her understanding had robbed him so ruthlessly of the other.
The utter unfairness of it all railed up her spine once more.
George suddenly became quite bouncy, attempting to push himself from his mother's arms as if in an attempt to fly back into the house. Mrs. Hughes smiled indulgently at the boy, willingly taking him in her arms when he unexpectedly leaned towards her.
"Babies must be God's way of reminding us of what is truly good and important in this world," she mused, giving George an exaggerated smile that made him giggle in response. "He's such a good boy, my lady."
"He has his father's good nature, I believe," Mary returned, touching his hair softly as she breathed, "And I pray he keeps it."
"I believe that he will," Mrs. Hughes began, hesitating with a measured determination as she stated, "As well as a healthy dose of his mother's resilience. If I may say so, my lady, you have done a fine job of raising him under such harsh circumstances as you've been forced to bear."
The unbidden praise of the older woman standing before her stunned Mary, her eyes widening in utter surprise as she breathed, "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I appreciate you saying that, more than you know."
Mrs. Hughes nodded kindly in acceptance, smiling again at George before offering him back to Mary. "I suppose I'd better give him back to his mother, now. I'm sure there's plenty that needs my attention before Friday arrives."
"Of course, and thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Mary voiced, pulling her squirming child closer to her chest until she could release him in safety within the confines of the nursery.
She entered the house slowly, unnaturally noticing each click of her heels as they traversed the great hall to the stairs, their collective echoes filling her with a profound sense of emptiness. It was her home—yes—a home she loved with a passion and had fought so desperately to keep. Yet its unmoving walls could not embrace her, the lifeless paint and unfeeling mortar unable to respond to her when she spoke, the cold timbers and bricks utterly incapable of returning even the slightest scrap of affection.
Nor was any part of Downton able to make her laugh.
An agonizing hunger cried out for satisfaction as she accepted a truth she should have recognized weeks ago: she was lonely.
Was it possible that indulging herself in time spent with Charles Blake could ease that ache a bit? His easy and compassionate nature was enticing, his companionship an alluring temptation to sample the unexpected sweetness found in this new world opening before her as a banquet. Not to mention that his conversation certainly did add some zest and spice to her plate. And then there was that blasted smile of his that subtly yet ever so tantalizingly beckoned to her senses now awakening from a necessary hibernation.
Yes—her appetite to live was indeed stirring again.
Winter had been a harsh task-master, forcing her to seek solitude and shelter from the even bleaker elements that so rudely crashed into her life. But Mary was ready to emerge from her cave, restless to take in her fill of the delectably enticing aromas outside of that limited existence.
At least she would throw open the tower windows, she mused to herself, even if she yet lacked the courage to move any further.
Just as she reached the stairs and began her renewed ascent, running feet ruthlessly grabbed her attention, the hateful panic attempting to take command yet again as she turned to face whatever crisis was to be put before her.
"My lady," Jimmy breathed, panting in a fury as his face clearly reflected alarm. "You must come quickly! It's Mr. Carson."
Dear, God! Nothing could happen to Carson!
She followed Jimmy as quickly as she could with George in her arms, the boy's eyes rounding as his mother abruptly shifted courses. They moved with haste downstairs, Mary praying silently with each step for this man who had truly served as her loyal knight the entirety of her life as she fought to keep threatening bile at bay.
All of the servants were crowding the hallway outside of Carson's quarters, not disturbing him, but clearly awaiting an answer for whatever had occurred. A wave of relief washed over her as she noticed quite clearly that nobody was crying, although the weight of concern hovering over the assembly was palpable.
She knocked with no hesitation, George attempting to mimic her action, her summons answered promptly by Mrs. Hughes looking decidedly more distraught than she had just moments ago.
"My lady, please come in," she offered, opening the door just widely enough for Mary and George to enter before shutting it to the others still gathered in vigil on the other side. Mary quickly took in her surroundings, finding Carson sitting in his bed propped up by two pillows looking fairly well except for the obvious grimace across his features.
He was in pain.
"What has happened?" Mary inquired quickly, moving towards the bed and sitting in the chair set up beside it. "Are you alright, Carson?"
"I am fine, my lady," Carson replied stoically, suddenly stifling a cry of pain as he shifted his body slightly to accommodate her presence.
"You are clearly not fine," Mary stated, turning her concern to Mrs. Hughes as her eyes pleaded for answers.
"Mr. Carson fell and his injured his wrist," Mrs. Hughes stated, moving towards the bed until she towered over Mr. Carson, daring him to challenge her as she continued. "He is in a great deal of pain, even though he will not admit to it."
"I am not in pain, Mrs. Hughes," Carson replied with as much indignation as he could muster. "I am simply a bit uncomfortable."
"That's like saying the Pope is a bit Catholic," Mrs. Hughes returned, shaking her head at the maddening stubbornness of the man before turning her attention to one of the few people to whom he would listen without protest.
"How did this happen?" Mary asked, clearly confused as she had never known Carson to lose his footing, her gaze resting upon the offending wrist that was at least twice its normal size and somewhat discolored.
"A dog," Carson muttered so quietly that Mary was forced to lean forward in order to understand what he had just said.
"Dog! What dog?" Mary questioned, the story becoming more muddled in her mind rather than progressing towards clarity. "You cannot mean Isis."
"No, of course not," Carson returned indignantly. "Lord Grantham has made sure that Isis knows how to behave properly." He shook his head, his heavy brows knitting tightly together as he muttered, "It was some mongrel of Jimmy's."
"Jimmy has a dog?" Mary cut in, turning to Mrs. Hughes for an accurate translation of what she had just heard but certainly could not have understood correctly.
"Jimmy found a stray puppy in the back yard this morning and was trying to take care of it," Mrs. Hughes explained, a sigh escaping its confines as she shook her head in exasperation.
"Without my knowledge or consent, my lady!" Carson put in firmly, ensuring that his position in the matter was unmistakable.
"Well, the pup evidently broke free of his compound and was accidentally let in the back door," Mrs. Hughes explained, turning her face from Mary in embarrassment that such chaos had ensued under her watch. "He was running about down here and got under Mr. Carson's feet…"
"Oh, dear heavens," Mary put in, hushing George as he had clearly picked up the word "dog" in conversation and was repeating it faithfully in his excitement. "Where is the puppy now?"
"Ivy has him," Mrs. Hughes responded. "She took him outside and managed to create a small pin for him until we can figure out just where he belongs."
"Leave him there until Papa returns," Mary directed. "He may know if he belongs to one of the tenants."
"Very good, my lady," Mrs. Hughes returned.
"Perhaps we should hold Jimmy in the pin with the little monster," Carson suggested, his ire absolute. "A tighter leash would do him some good."
Mrs. Hughes's resulting frown put an end to that thought.
"My lady, Dr. Clarkson is already on his way to the care for Mrs. Bates, but I have no doubt that Mr. Carson's wrist needs immediate medical attention."
"I agree," Mary acquiesced, watching Carson with concern as she reached out to touch his uninjured arm.
"I will not go to the hospital over something so trivial as a bruise on my wrist," Carson stated, looking at Mrs. Hughes as his eyebrows set in determination.
"You mean you will not go because you don't want to bruise you ego," Mrs. Hughes returned, dismissing him as she continued to speak with Mary. "What do you think we should do, my lady?"
Mary drew breath deeply, bouncing George upon her knee to keep him occupied even as tried to hand Carson his toy rabbit.
"Call Mrs. Crawley," Mary suggested, nodding as a plan formulated quickly in her mind. "She will know how to attend to an injured wrist, I'm sure, and Mr. Carson will not have to move in any manner that might cause him more discomfort."
Nor injure his pride, Mary thought to herself, communicating her unspoken comment to Mrs. Hughes with an easily noted expression that the older lady read with aplomb.
"Very good, my lady," Mrs. Hughes replied, moving towards the door to put all that needed doing into motion.
"This is not necessary, my lady," Carson attempted, his pain contradicting him as he winced against his will.
"Of course it is, Carson," Mary replied, leaning in closer. "I want you to stay in bed and do nothing until Mrs. Crawley arrives to examine your wrist."
"But, my lady, there is so much to be done before-"
"Yes there is. But you must trust the staff that you and Mrs. Hughes have so expertly trained to take care of it," she interrupted, using her strongest weapon before the man could protest again. "Please, Carson. Do this for me."
"Alright, my lady," Carson acquiesced, still unhappy under the circumstances but unwilling to contradict her. "I shall not refuse you."
"Good," Mary returned, squeezing his arm in thanks. "I was counting on it."
She left him in Mrs. Hughes's capable care after the head housekeeper returned from making the necessary calls. She moved deftly back into the above-ground realm, arriving on the main floor just in time to hear an ear-piercing shriek emerge from the upstairs hallway.
"Now what?" she breathed to herself, giving George a look of exasperation as he clapped his hands in glee over the unexpected excitement taking place around him.
They were very nearly run over by the newest housemaid as the girl came thrashing down the stairs, so obviously agitated that she paid no heed to where she was running.
"What is in, Lillian?" Mary gasped, grasping the girl's arm as she tried to steady them both.
"A bat, my lady!" the maid squeaked, her tiny frame nearly shaking from fright. "There's a bat in the guest room!"
This could not be happening! What idiot had been tampering with Pandora's Box this afternoon?
"Which one?" Mary inquired, her gaze crawling up the steps, seeking direction as to what path it should continue traversing.
"I don't know," Lillian replied in a pitiful sob. "I can't tell one bat from the other, my lady."
"No—what guest room?" Mary demanded, her patience reaching its breaking point as disbelief played across her features, scanning the ceiling self-consciously for any sign of the nocturnal creature.
"The one next to Mr. Branson's room," Lillian answered, her mousy frame literally quaking as she chewed her lip in alarm. "There's a hole in the window, and..." The distressed girl could not continue, her face looking as if she might just decide to get sick all over the staircase.
Of course—it would be the room being prepared for the Duke and Duchess of Hartsford that now needed repairs.
"Lillian, here is what I need you to do," Mary began, forcing a deliberate calm into her voice that she did not feel in order keep the maid from succumbing to absolute hysterics once again. "Go and fetch Mr. Barrow immediately. Inform him that we have a bat trapped in the guestroom and ask him to bring the appropriate materials to capture it."
Her orders were met by a wide-eyed silence that miffed her as she waited for the housemaid to answer. Lillian's chin began to quiver, her freckled cheeks pinching unnaturally as Mary realized in utter aggravation that the girl was going to cry.
"You must pull yourself together, Lillian," she demanded, leaning closer to emphasize that there was no question of disobedience in this matter. "Please go find Mr. Barrow—now!"
"Yes, my lady," she managed, hiding her gray eyes from the intimidating figure before her. "But…but…"
"But what?" Mary cried, her reserves now completely depleted.
Lillian continued to worry her bottom lip, finally mumbling under her breath, "It's not exactly trapped."
It took but a moment for her words to register, adding note of alarm to her voice as she inquired, "The bat, you mean? Am I to understand that the door to the guestroom has been left open?"
It was all Lillian could stand.
The girl burst into pitiful sobs loud enough to make Mary grit her teeth and to summon Mrs. Hughes.
"For heaven's sake, Lillian, what is the matter?" Mrs. Hughes asked, her voice incredulous as she stood over the pitiful form.
The little maid continued to sob, forcing Mary's eyes to roll in agitation as she explained, "Evidently the storm has damaged one of the windows in the guestroom beside Mr. Branson's room, thus allowing a bat to come inside. However, the larger problem is the fact that the door to the guestroom has evidently been left standing open, so we cannot be certain of where the bat is now located."
Mrs. Hughes quickly surmised the situation, nodding her head quickly as she stated, "I shall explain the situation to Mr. Barrow at once, my lady. I am sorry you have had to be bothered with this." She then turned her attention to Lillian, giving her a glare that brokered no disagreement as she stated firmly, "And you, Lillian Barnes, will march yourself right upstairs this very minute and shut that guestroom door you should have never left open in the first place!"
"Yes, ma'am," Lillian blubbered, disappearing with the speed of a trapped hare back up the stairs, her sobs leaving a trail behind her as she went.
Mary closed her eyes, letting out a sigh as George began to utter, "Bat! Bat!"
"You should take him on up to the nursery, my lady," Mrs. Hughes suggested. "I daresay that both of you could use a bit of a rest after all of this activity."
"As long as I'm sure that blasted bat hasn't already found its way into the nursery," Mary replied, Mrs. Hughes nodding her head in agreement.
"I'll send Jimmy up to check," she suggested, smiling when she received Mary's nod of approval. "I can have you some tea sent to you in the Sitting Room in the mean time, if you'd like."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Mary replied, her body sensing the pleasure of a cup of tea just at its mention. "We shall do just that."
Mary watched the older woman once again depart, suddenly awash in appreciation for everything she took care of so very expertly.
"Bat! Bat!" George kept repeating, clapping his hands together as him mother turned her gaze back to him.
"No, my boy," she began, kissing his cheek and lingering over his sweet scent. "I believe I would prefer some tea."
"Prefer it to what?" Tom asked, making his way in from the main entrance with Sybbie in his arms.
"Bats," Mary replied calmly, moving in his direction as George attempted to grab Sybbie's hair. "And dogs. And doctors."
"Sounds like you have had quite an afternoon," Tom returned, his genuine grin irritating her frazzled demeanor.
"You have no idea," Mary declared, both of them spinning about-face as yet another commotion sounded from behind them.
"What on earth?" Tom muttered, setting Sybbie down quietly beside Mary who took the little girl's hand within hers as he made his way towards the mêlée.
A blur of brown fur suddenly pounced into the main hall, delighted yips filling the walls as George began to squeal in pure delight.
"Dog! Dog!"
Mary was frozen, feeling a bit as if she had stepped through the looking glass as Tom shot her a look of confusion and then took up the chase, Jimmy following closely behind him. The pup made a mad dash up the steps, shooting down the hallway before either man had made it up the stairs. Tom and Jimmy went in opposite directions upon reaching the landing, clearly expecting the divide and conquer strategy to save the day. Mary and the children remained where they were, suddenly greeted by another one of Lillian's shrieks, a rather loud exclamation from Jimmy, and the unmistakable sounds of a crash and rather sickening thud.
"Daddy!" Sybbie cried, taking off like a shot as her tiny hand slid out of Mary's before the she could react. The child ran to the stair case, her chubby little legs thankfully no match for the long ones of her aunt as Mary reclaimed her grasp and led both children to the second floor, hesitantly panting to see just what calamity had taken place.
She did not have to wait long.
Tom and Jimmy rounded the corner, Jimmy clasping the guilty puppy to his chest as Tom held two halves of what had once been a priceless vase.
"Jimmy, get that dog out of the house immediately," Mary demanded with decidedly more calm than she felt.
"Yes, my lady," Jimmy stated, his head hung low as he attempted to quell a small nose-bleed undeniably procured during the frantic chase.
"Doggie!" Sybbie demanded as the footman walked by, trying her hardest to break free yet again but being overruled.
Mary just gazed at Tom, a flinching in her eyes communicating a sickening truth to her brother-in-law.
"Is it valuable?" he asked, his dread of her answer clearly readable on his expression.
"Oh, yes," Mary replied, her gaze wider than usual as she stared at the broken shards in his hands. "And one of Mama's favorites, I'm afraid."
"I see," Tom accepted, nodding to himself as he studied the carpet a moment. "So which do you think she likes better? Me or the vase?"
Both of their hearts nearly stopped beating as they were suddenly made aware of the fact that the car was now pulling up in front of the house. Cora had returned.
"If it weren't for Sybbie, I am afraid she might hang you out to dry over this one," Mary warned, no amount of teasing in her voice as she struggled to contain both children, her eyes flitting between Tom and the entrance.
"So what should I tell her?" Tom wondered, looking to his sister-in-law for her honest opinion, praying she would allow him to lie.
"That is your decision, of course," she answered, shaking her head as she began to make her way back downstairs. "But if I were you, I would blame the dog."
Mary stood in the nursery, silently rejoicing in her personal triumph. She had finally managed to get both children down for the night, and she felt no small amount of satisfaction over such a feat. Both dark heads now lay still in slumber, Sybbie clutching her favorite blanket closely to her heart while George's thumb rested contentedly in his mouth. Mary had thought him over the habit he had developed when was so very small it almost hurt to remember, but there were times that he still drew it into his mouth for comfort.
And the sight of him in such a position melted her in a way nothing else in her life ever could.
George and Sybbie had been beside themselves at the very sight of a puppy, and one that had managed to lead half of the household on a merry chase throughout Downton was simply all the more enticing. Sybbie had pouted until Tom took her and George out back to see the furry rascal, although Mary suspected his hasty retreat to the outdoors had more to do with his mother-in-law's displeasure than any affection for the miscreant canine.
Cora had not come to Downton alone, but rather with Isobel in tow. She had stopped by Crawley House after posting the advertisement for a lady's maid only to discover that a massive tree limb had actually fallen on Isobel's roof during the storm causing a decent amount of damage to her residence, not to mention some very pesky leaks in the upstairs ceilings. Cora had of course promptly insisted that Isobel stay with them at Downton for a few days until the damage could be repaired.
Then Mary had to inform her that one of the guest rooms was currently out of commission due to a broken window pane.
And that one of her most prized possessions had been demolished by a stray puppy.
And that a bat was currently loose somewhere in the Abbey.
Oh—had she yet mentioned that Carson was now bed-ridden with an injured wrist and that everyone would so very much appreciate it if Isobel would check on the poor man?
Mary could not remember the last time she had seen her mother truly speechless.
Mrs. Hughes brought the promised tea at just the right moment, ushering Lady Grantham into her Sitting Room with gentleness as Isobel made her way downstairs to take charge of Mr. Carson.
And Mary stood in the middle of the great hall alone, afraid to move less some other catastrophe be unleashed.
When she finally dared to step away from her newly appointed spot, Mary made her way back downstairs to check on Carson herself. She was just in time to hear some good news as Isobel pronounced that Carson's wrist was not broken but merely sprained. The utter relief at her diagnosis was heady, and Mary felt the elation course through her, staring at Carson in delight as he shifted on the bed to stand and return to his duties, a newly-crafted sling now supporting his arm. The butler was deflated, however, when Mrs. Crawley contended that he still needed several days of bed rest in order to allow it to heal properly.
"But I do not have a few days to spare, Mrs. Crawley," Carson had defied, attempting not to wince in pain at the slightest movement. "We have guests arriving in just over twenty-four hours."
"I am aware of that, Mr. Carson, but my advice to you still stands," Isobel returned, her voice commanding an equal amount of authority to the man's sitting in front of her. "That wrist will only get worse if you push yourself too hard too quickly, I'm afraid. Better to let it heal gradually. I am certain Dr. Clarkson would give you the same advice if you asked him."
Mary watched Carson struggle to conceive of the idea of the Crawley's hosting a house party without being able to properly supervise every detail. She could easily read how the very idea of turning over the reigns to Thomas was sitting like a stone in his stomach, his face looking as if he had just eaten something quite bitter.
"What if I asked Molesley to assist at Downton while I am staying here?" Isobel offered, beaming broadly at her suggestion as Carson's brows drew perilously high. Mary and Mrs. Hughes glanced at each other, both women fighting to contain the grins threatening break free at the contrast of expressions on the pair facing them.
"That is a lovely suggestion, Mrs. Crawley," Mrs. Hughes offered, stepping nearer to the impending outburst as Carson's chest grew more and more inflated. "What do you think, my lady?"
Mary forcibly composed herself, suddenly having difficulty looking Mrs. Hughes in the eye as she replied, "That is quite generous of you, Mrs. Crawley. I am certain that Mr. Molesley would be of great assistance while we are caring for so many guests."
"But will it not be an imposition on you, Mrs. Crawley?" Carson tried, falling back in pain as he attempted to sit taller.
"Of course not," Isobel returned, assisting the man back into bed as he looked to Mary in desperation.
"Then it is settled," Mary stated, feeling a prick in heart at the look of utter disappointment in Carson's face at her response. She walked up to the bed, laid a hand upon his shoulder and drew as near as she could.
"You must rest and get better, Carson, or I shall never forgive you." His face melted under her gaze, the adoration he held for her touching her so purely as she added, "George and I would be quite lost without you, you know."
"Very well, my lady," he replied, his voice holding a tenderness that was reserved especially for her. "I shall instruct Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley in their duties this evening."
"Thank you, Carson," Mary concluded, squeezing his shoulder gently as she took her leave.
She met her mother, now somewhat recovered, in the sitting room, Cora motioning for her daughter to join her for some tea.
"We have just received word from Dr. Clarkson that Anna has been experiencing false labor pains," Cora began, stirring her tea before raising the cup to her lips, closing her eyes as she allowed herself the pleasure of feeling it blaze a warm passage through her body. "He has advised her to remain in bed until the baby arrives, so naturally I insisted that she do so."
"Naturally," Mary agreed, pouring herself a cup as she waited patiently for her mother to unburden herself.
"I spoke with Lady Catherine just before she and Mr. Blake left your grandmother's house," Cora began, subtly watching Mary's face with interest.
"And?" Mary questioned, her expression deliberately neutral.
"And she knows of someone who might just do very well as your new lady's maid," Cora completed, a small smile finally flitting across her face.
"Really?" Mary stated, startled that Lady Catherine would have a suggestion so readily when she had just recently moved back to the area. "When can we meet her?"
"Tomorrow," Cora stated, relief crossing her features as she set down her cup and saucer on the table. "I am hopeful this young woman will at least be skilled enough to get us through this house party. Without Carson, Anna and Nanny Rodgers, we are dreadfully short-handed."
"It would be quite helpful," Mary admitted, looking to her mother in interest. "And the temporary nanny? Did you have any success on that front?"
"Actually, Mrs. Patmore asked to speak with me right before I even left this morning," Cora began, reclaiming her tea as her eyes became animated. "It seems that she has a niece nearby who is looking for work as a nanny, and she wondered if we might be willing to give her a start."
An image of just what Mrs. Patmore's niece might be like flashed across Mary's mind, making her shutter.
"And what did you say?" Mary inquired, already dreading the answer of which she was certain.
"I told her that we would be delighted to meet her niece to see if she would be suitable for the position," Cora answered, her smile daring her daughter to challenge her on this issue.
Mary decided that after the time everyone had experienced over the past few hours, an argument was decidedly the last thing she would willingly take on. So she simply sipped her tea, anticipating just what Tom's reaction would be to the idea of a younger Mrs. Patmore taking charge of the children.
Tom finally brought the pair in nearly an hour later, every crevice of each caked with mud to the point of it almost being comical.
Almost being the key word.
"I'm not sure who is the worse for wear," Mary sighed, taking in the three of them with a glance that left only George delightfully oblivious to her displeasure.
"Don't worry. I'll see to their baths, Mary," Tom offered, moving towards the steps with the children in his bare feet.
"You will see to your own bath, Tom Branson," Mary demanded, moving in front of the scraggly trio as she led them up the steps. "I shall see to the children. And just where did you leave your shoes, pray? Or did that dastardly dog eat them?"
Tom hung his head sheepishly as he grudgingly admitted, "Mrs. Hughes made me take them off before I was allowed to come into the house."
Yet another thing for which she had to thank the woman. Mrs. Hughes was quickly becoming Mary's hero of the hour.
Finally—finally everyone was bathed, cleaned, fed and properly put down for the night. And Mary could not bring herself to move from this spot in the nursery where at least for the moment no bat dwelled and no miniature canine wreaked havoc. It was a delicious shred of peace that she greedily tucked away in her heart, unwilling to chance walking out the magical door into the rest of Downton.
Tom snuck in behind her, taking in the precious scene before quietly padding to the trundle bed where his daughter lay sleeping. He effortlessly scooped her up in his arms, kissed her temple, and nodded to Mary in utmost thanks as he silently carried her back to her own bed.
She followed him out but moved towards her own bedroom to ready herself for sleep. Isobel had insisted that she would be delighted to stay in the nursery with George tonight, and it was evident that the woman's enthusiasm was genuine. The boy had been doing so much better, but Mary knew that fevers were most likely to return at night, and peroxide drops were still being administered to his ear in order to ensure that the infection was completely gone. But tonight he was soundly asleep, lying contentedly in his own crib where she prayed he would remain for at least the majority of the hours awaiting his grandmother. And Mary had assured her that she would come to her assistance if Isobel needed some relief, although she fervently hoped that this night would be an easier one on her son than the last.
She could not help but wonder just how much more difficult it would have been had Mr. Blake not bravely knocked on the door to her tower.
Mary entered her bedroom, quickly divesting herself of all garments and sliding into the absolute comfort of her favorite nightgown. She moved to her vanity to retrieve her hairbrush, preparing to indulge in her favorite nighttime ritual that relaxed her so utterly.
But she froze where she stood.
Her heart began to thud as she spotted something else unexpected perched on her vanity, lying in wait for her as she approached it with careful hesitation. Sitting on the smooth surface was Mr. Blake's handkerchief, neatly folded and covering the top corner of a hand-written note. And resting atop the note was a crimson rose, just beginning to open, its petals still tightly hewn together as if they hid their beauty in fear of opening to the world around them.
She gathered all three to her with trembling fingers, indulging herself in the rose's heady aroma, noting that all hazardous thorns had been carefully plucked from its stem. She then turned her gaze to the letter, half-afraid yet eager all the same to read the words written by the man who had just been occupying her thoughts.
The text scrolled by a decidedly masculine hand beckoned her, drawing her attention to words boldly penned in a gentle spirit.
And what had been written took her very breath.
"She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest."
~From "The Day-Dream—The Sleeping Beauty" by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Lady Mary,
I must tell you just how truly I look forward to some most lively discussion over the ill-fated Briar Rose and her legendary century-long nap. And please do not give me up to your gracious mother… I simply had to liberate this exquisite rose from her garden. There it was, a lone, late bloomer just opening up to the world even as the rest of the foliage was clearly preparing for a long winter's slumber, assuredly akin to the one taken by The Sleeping Beauty. I thought it would be much happier in the warm confines of your dwelling chamber, so I relocated it to its proper place.
And fear not. I have not forgotten my promise to quote you no sonnets. However, this is actually narrative poetry related to our prescribed reading material so I thought it might be safe, especially as I am copying it to paper rather than whispering it in your ear. If I have incurred your ire over this matter, however, I shall willingly accept the consequences of my misbehavior and brace myself for some long discussions of "Clever Hans".
Always at your disposal,
C.B.
Mary was stunned.
This was a clearly a subtle invitation to a courtship, an inquiry as to whether or not she would consent to a dance. She was extremely thankful that she stood in her bedroom alone as she reread the letter, the bewildering effects of this tender statement of his intentions towards her far too private to share with anyone. She languidly drew the rose petals softly across her cheek with trembling fingers, their silken texture leaving a breathless trail across her skin.
And at that very moment, the lights went off.
Mary stood in complete darkness save what little light crept through her window as she realized unflinchingly that the electricity had just given out. How very convenient that this latest disruption had waited until this moment, almost as if the fates had taken a small measure of pity on the residents of Downton after all of the oddities that had reigned down upon them this day. She dearly hoped that no one would be caught unawares without a candle or torch to guide their steps as she directed her own stealthily to the side of her bed.
She carefully laid down the rose and the note onto the nightstand, rubbing the handkerchief slowly across her palms another moment before resting it against her cheek. Mary closed her eyes, seeing its rightful owner in a fresh light even as she was enveloped in a darkness she found oddly comforting. A trace of his scent still lingered lightly upon the fabric, bringing his coat that he had wrapped around her despite her indignation fondly to mind. She gingerly returned it to its companions, laying down upon her mattress and cocooning herself amidst the warmth of her blankets. Mary then slid her arm into her pillowcase, pushing it forward until her fingers grasped the small token they sought, clutching the small treasure in devotion as she thought back to the day so many years ago when she had placed it in Matthew's gloved hand before he departed for the front.
You must promise to bring it back…
She had been unwilling to pass this on to George, for in her heart it was as valuable as her wedding ring. It had been carefully placed with utmost care into her pillowcase that first surreal night when she was forced to return from the hospital alone, and there it had remained every night since. It was a tactual piece of Matthew that remained with her, somehow making her feel a bit safer as in her mind it represented his watch-care.
For a few moments, Mary simply laid in silence, wondering at the irony of being hemmed in protectively on one side by the man she had so deeply loved and the other by this new gentlemen who seemed intent upon her re-awakening. She extended her reach back to the nightstand, grasping the soft material awaiting her and drawing it into the bed. And after a while, she finally fell asleep, feeling comforted as she clutched the sacred dog in one hand and clasped the soothing handkerchief in the other.