This chapter marks the beginning of what I consider Act II of the story (Chapter 10 being one of transition), and we begin with a rather more serious installment. The T rating begins to take effect as the next few chapters begin to delve into the deeper emotional waters of past issues left unresolved too long. I personally found this chapter probably the most challenging to write thus far, but I personally believe that there are facets of her life with which Mary must come to terms before she can truly move properly forward. You may disagree with me on some matters, and that is perfectly fine. I welcome good discussion! :-)
As always, your reviews and messages make my day! I so enjoy hearing from you, and your kind words make the writing process even more delightful. To R. Grace and On either side the river lie, the two incredible writers who offer me such encouragement and insightful opinions, catch my mistakes and make me think through the next steps of this story on a deeper level: again I offer you my heart-felt thanks! I cannot imagine doing this without you!
And there are musical teasers being posted on my tumblr blog on Tuesdays and Wednesdays if you care to stop by and visit. You can find me under lala-kate. I do hope you enjoy!
Ch. 11
Well, at least the interviews had gone well.
The day up to this point had already been a robust swirl of mish-mashed and secretly frenzied activities that truly had no bearing upon each other but somehow fit into the complex puzzle that made up the framework of Downton. The broken windows in the guest room were in the process of being repaired, the infamous runaway bat had still not been located, much less apprehended, and Lord Grantham had informed the already over-taxed household that the electricity would be unreliable over the next several days as repairs were being made as hastily as possible upon storm-damaged lines in the area. Anna was obediently observing Dr. Clarkson's prescribed bed rest, although Bates had unflinchingly arrived for work at his appointed hour. Carson was still quite grumpily enduring forcibly restricted activity with as much dignity as he could muster while the owner of the mischievous puppy that Sybbie had unfortunately christened Biscuit had yet to be located.
And a houseful of guests was expected to arrive at Downton tomorrow afternoon. The situation could hardly be more laughable.
Sitting down was nearly impossible, a restless energy pressing Mary forward to her utter annoyance, the natural outcome of too many changes converging upon her within mere days of each other. How drastically different her life now stood from its state even one week ago. Yet she could find little time to process this insistent onslaught as she and her mother had awaited the first arrival of the two young women being considered as additions to the household staff. She had so desperately wanted to be done with the entire process, being absolutely certain that absolutely no one—even one of Briar Rose's good fairies—could ever sufficiently replace Anna Bates as her lady's maid.
But failing to find a replacement was not an option, and it needed to be done with utmost haste, for Anna was no longer able to assist her in that capacity. So Mary had waited and paced as she attempted to at least try to hold her cynicism at bay, hoping that the woman so highly spoken of by Lady Catherine would at least be somewhat suitable.
And that the illusive bat would not suddenly decide to make an appearance.
The icing on the proverbial cake had been that they would have the chance to meet Mrs. Patmore's niece, as well. Mary liked Mrs. Patmore well enough, but had been unable to even remotely conceive of the woman or anyone related to her actually holding a post that required her to work with small children for an extended period of time. Of course, Mary had understood that her niece might be nothing like her rather fearsome aunt, but she had been completely unable to get the ridiculous image of a younger even bossier version of their accomplished cook out of her head, and apparently, neither could Tom. The expression on his face when she had told him of the nanny candidate's identity had been priceless.
Miss Glynis Campbell had arrived during the late morning hours, and Mary found herself fairly impressed with the young woman despite her innate misgivings concerning the entire situation. She was not much taller than Anna with a similar build and frame. But the comparisons stopped there as Ms. Campbell had much darker hair—a rich brown that rather unfortunately reminded Mary of the vast amount of caked mud she had scraped off of two irritable children the evening before—and wore round glasses that at least gave the impression of an intelligent mind. Her accent instantly identified her as a Scot, the joyful lilt rather pleasantly soothing to her ears, and Mary could not help but wonder at just how she had come to look for a position of lady's maid this far south.
Despite Mary's curiosity concerning her background, Miss Campbell had left a most favorable impression on both Crawley women, answering any question directly and with a clarity of mind that both she and her mother readily appreciated. The young woman seemed to possess both the skills and demeanor to at least be given an opportunity to fill the gaping hole left by Anna, and Mary had quietly determined that she seemed likable enough. At least there was nothing striking in girl's personality that made her skin bristle, and that could be the foundation for a decent start.
Thank God she was no O'Brian.
Glynis had also noted her sincere appreciation of Lady Catherine's recommendation at least three times during the interview, each time referring to her as Headmistress Blake. The girl clearly held the older woman in deepest reverence, readily informing both Cora and Mary of just how strong an influence their anticipated guest had issued over her life, going so far to even making a reference to the older woman saving it at one point. Mary had been forcibly struck again by the understanding that there were so very many facets of Lady Catherine that remained quite unknown. It prompted her to anticipate their next conversation with increasing eagerness, and she was quietly determined to learn more answers to the intriguing past of Charles Blake's aunt.
And perhaps even more about the man himself...whose company she already missed much more than she was ready to admit.
Ms. Campbell's sterling references and her eagerness to work coupled with the dire need for someone to fill the position prompted Cora and Mary to offer the young lady the job on the spot. The sheer delight that shown across her face could not help but make Mary smile in return, praying sincerely that the right decision had been made even as a part of her grieved the loss of Anna yet again.
She was so dreadfully weary of losing people close to her.
Mary had called to check upon Anna as they awaited the arrival of Ms. Ruth Thompson, Tom joining their merry little band as the interview for temporary nanny would commence upon her arrival. Her brother-in-law had taken delight in offering up idea after idea of the anticipated young woman's appearance, both Cora and Mary rolling their eyes at his idle chatter filled the room with rather unflattering adjectives more than once.
But all three of them had stared in tangible amazement when Ms. Thompson was shown into the room.
She was a full head taller than either Mary or Cora, with blazing red hair that had been neatly pinned up, highlighting a long, alabaster neck and graceful shoulders that lended her the appearance of a Greek statue come to life in bright color. Her eyes were an odd mix of green and golden that made Mary think of an Egyptian cat sitting regally silent among other artifacts of great value. And as all of these factors processed through her mind, Mary realized that Ruth Thompson looked almost exactly as she had always pictured the ill-fated Gwenivere, Queen of Camelot when she had read the great legends as a younger woman.
So this was Mrs. Patmore's niece. How utterly surprising.
As Mary dared a glance to her left, she nearly laughed out loud at Tom's expression, his gaping mouth frozen, the remainder of his body immobile as he stared at the woman before them in an absolute stupor. As Cora finally stepped forward to welcome the young lady, Mary subtly nudged the poor man, leaning over to whisper in his ear, "Please refrain from drooling on the rug, Tom. It is rather unseemly behavior."
She had rarely seen her brother-in-law blush, but the color that swept his face was actually comical, somehow putting Mary at ease in a manner she welcomed most heartily as she understood at last that she was not the only one in her situation noticing an attractive member of the opposite sex. Of course, she had progressed rather markedly from simply noticing Charles Blake over the past few days, and she had to concentrate rather firmly on forbidding her own cheeks to burn uncomfortably as she envisioned words he had written to her, scorched into her memory by privately repeated readings this morning as she had sat at her vanity.
His offering had affected her vastly more than it should have done.
She had actually caught herself longing for the man to break the very promises he had made to her just yesterday in good faith, wondering with a heated shiver just what it would feel like to have him whisper a sonnet in her ear, how his breath would feel just barely caressing her neck in delicious madness as his words stroked her mind. Her intoxicated thoughts then drifted helplessly to his lips, imagining the sensation of them ever so softly brushing her cheek...and the utter tenderness of how his fingertips might tease their way down her shoulders…the forbidden comfort of large hands encompassing her and drawing her hopelessly in, sheltering her as they hypnotically warmed her back...the heady possibility of his generous mouth moving on her…
Dear God! What was she doing?
A warm ache had began to pulse insistently deep in the private recesses of her being, a need she both recognized and feared as it began to tightly encircle her in a most tantalizing vice while she was so still so frighteningly unsure of just how to deal with such a beast. She wanted to both feed it and starve it into oblivion as its primal claws recklessly burned under her skin as wildfire, threatening to spread its encompassing heat insatiably into every pore of her skin until she would surely burn alive. She had berated herself for allowing indulgence in such thoughts about a man other than Matthew, half-despising herself for dwelling upon their temptation even as she utterly refused to step back from their heady influence. But the reality was there before her, whether she chose to embrace or shun it: she much preferred the warmth and uncertainty now pealing within her to the gaping black void of despair in which she had been dwelling.
She did not want to go back. Yet she was terrified of moving forward.
The insistent clearing of her mother's throat had yanked Mary from her unmentionable musings, making her forcibly shove such impossible thoughts aside as she pushed Charles Blake from her mind. She determinedly greeted Ruth Thompson, the quiet timbre of the girl's voice another pleasantly unexpected shock, and sat down to commence with the interview. But her wayward thoughts had continued their dance around his letter, her reckless senses wafting near the rose, taking up the forbidden waltz as she realized that the insufferable man had managed to successfully dismantle a portion of her wall. Perhaps she should don that battle armor that he had suggested she throw down from the tower as the iron in her skin seemed to be melting at a rather alarming rate.
The interview had proceeded without incident, Mary continually trying unsuccessfully to remain focused upon the task at hand while Tom seemed to be unnaturally tongue-tied and flustered with himself. Cora had taken it all in stride, and if she had noticed any anomalies in the behaviors and demeanors of her daughter and son-in-law, she very tactfully kept it to herself. Ms. Thompson had seemed to possess a gentle spirit, much more akin to Mrs. Hughes than Mrs. Patmore, Mary pondered to herself, and at the end of the interview she had no misgivings about allowing the girl to care for the children until Anna was able to assume her new post. When they had allowed her to meet the children, Sybbie was instantly in awe of this exceedingly tall woman who stood regally over them, her appearance so similar to a Celtic goddess of old that it was almost startling. But her soothing voice and gentle personality soon put the girl at ease as she led Ms. Thompson upstairs to show the young woman her favorite doll.
George had smiled at her, commencing to play a game of cheerful hide and seek against his mother's shoulder as he would smile at the new woman before him but not yet risk flying into her arms. Ruth Thompson took the boy's shyness in stride, stroking his hair good-naturedly before taking Sybbie's hand as she was led up the steps by the eager little girl.
Mary pondered the irony of just how similar her and George's respective situations actually were, both of them intrigued by this engaging new person in their midst yet not quite ready to take a flying leap into their embrace. Of course, George would probably give into Ms. Thompson's charms within a few minutes, her son still filled with the trusting innocence that only children could truly possess.
As for how long she would be able to resist the allure of Charles Blake...she truly had no idea. But the very image of him scaling her walls made her shiver in more ways than one as she continued to balance herself on the ledge spanning hesitant excitement and crippling guilt, afraid to move lest she lose her balance.
Both positions now filled to everyone's satisfaction, Mary had known it was time to flee the confines of the house and take a walk to clear her head. But the destination to which she needed to journey filled her with a sickening dread, the one place she had attempted to avoid at all cost since her stay there one year ago was the very location to which George had to sojourn to have his ears re-examined.
Mary had to take her son to the hospital.
Isobel had offered to accompany her as she was already preparing to make the trip herself, desiring both to check on the repairs to her roof and to offer assistance with today's patients. Mary was also certain that it gave her mother-in-law an excellent excuse to see Dr. Clarkson, no matter how busy the man might be today, but whatever her motives she was immensely glad of the company as they made their way into the village. Isobel understood fully the measure of difficulty Mary experienced at the thought of returning to the site which she held in an odd mixture of reverence and abhorrence. Here she had given birth to her son, had held him for the first time and stared at him in speechless wonder as a love she had never before known blossomed unbidden within her. Here she had spent her final sacred moments with Matthew—the only time that she and George had been a complete family with the man who had loved her in every manner possible and granted their boy life. And here she had been ripped asunder as her mother had grasped her hands and so quietly spoke the most horrid words she had ever heard uttered, plunging her into a darkness that had encompassed every fiber of her being for so very long.
And suddenly, they had arrived. Mary paused, struggling to keep panic at bay as she felt its invasive tendrils coil restrictively around her chest, reminding herself with as much reason as she could muster to breathe steadily and keep her mind focused upon her appointed task. She had to overcome this unwelcome reaction somehow.
"You do not have to do this, Mary," Isobel offered, looking to her daughter-in-law with concern. "I can take George inside for his check-up and meet you later when it is over."
"No, but thank you," Mary returned, facing Isobel squarely, her voice carrying more resolve than she felt. "I cannot avoid the hospital for the rest of my life, you know. I have to conquer this, so I might as well begin now."
"Very good," Isobel replied, reaching over to squeeze the younger woman's hand in solidarity as she donned her own emotional shield. "But if you'd rather, I can take him upstairs so you won't have to..."
Her sudden silence spoke volumes.
Mary knew that Isobel was so very gallantly offering to shelter her from the harsh reality of walking past her room...the room where her life had been forever altered in more ways than could ever be feasibly counted. And as unsure as she still remained of her own strength, Mary grasped on to the partial solution thoughtfully placed before her by this woman she held so very dear.
"Thank you, Isobel. That might be for the best."
"Think nothing of it, dear," Isobel replied, grasping her giggling grandson into her arms as the trio began to forge a path up the stairs. "One step at a time, Mary."
But she still stopped frozen the precise moment that they reached the front door.
"It's alright, my dear girl," Isobel reassured her, somehow bolstering her own steadfast bravery as she encouraged her daughter-in-law. "We have already come through the fire, you and I. This structure of bricks holds no power of us."
"You are right," Mary stated, amazed at the spark of resolve that suddenly took root within her. "This is just a building."
And with that thought, they all walked through the door.
She had grown tired of sitting in the corridor all too quickly.
Perhaps waiting for Isobel and George had not been as good an idea as both women had previously supposed as it allowed her mind to wander too freely down the halls. Mary was desperately forbidding herself to visualize images of Matthew making his final exit from this building, of her parents trudging through the entrance bearing a burden too terrible to even contemplate, of cradling her son in blissful ignorance just before the glass walls of her world shattered into gruesome shards around them.
No. Sitting idly was rapidly becoming her worst enemy, but she steadfastly refused to leave and let this place continue to hold sway over her in such a suffocating manner. So she stood in resolve and began to walk, hoping that no one would question her motives for encircling the first floor as many times as necessary.
Mary rounded a corner that led to a small number of small, private rooms. The first was clearly unoccupied, the door standing open to reveal a perfectly made bed as sunlight streamed through the window. Her steps then took her to another chamber, and she had to stop quickly in mid-stride as the door opened towards her, blocking her view for a moment until she saw a nurse step out.
"I shall see you this evening, Lady Catherine," the woman stated into the room before traversing to see other patients, somehow not even noticing Mary as she remained motionless behind the open door. "Would you like me to leave the door open again?"
"Yes, dear," a quiet, familiar voice returned from within the confines of the room, its speaker invisible but recognizable beyond a doubt. "And thank you so very much for your kindness."
The nurse then went on her way, Mary concentrating on not breathing too loudly as she pondered the situation before her. Lady Catherine was in the hospital? Why had no one informed her? Had her mother not told her but yesterday that she had seen Charles Blake and his aunt just before they departed for York? Something must have happened, but would Granny not have informed her of such an occurrence?
And just where was Mr. Blake—and why had he not contacted her about this?
Why she suddenly felt as if he owed her an explanation for both his and his aunt's whereabouts startled her momentarily, but she did feel a decent modicum of disappointment that he had not at least informed her of something as serious as his aunt being ill. Mary had thought...well, it did not matter what she thought. The reality of the situation was right before her, but she would never know the entirety of it if she did not knock on the door.
"Come in," Lady Catherine's pleasant voice beckoned at Mary's summons, laying a measure of worry upon her heart as she could plainly hear that the sound was weaker than it had been but two days ago at her grandmother's house.
Mary drew a breath and stepped into the doorframe, giving the older woman a smile as she greeted her.
"Hello, Lady Catherine," she began, taking the liberty of entering the room and shutting the door behind her.
"Lady Mary," the older woman stated with surprise. "How delightful it is to see you again."
"I am delighted to see you, as well," Mary returned, taking the chair by the bed that Lady Catherine motioned to without delay. "Although it does distress me to see you in such circumstances."
"Oh, I am alright," Lady Catherine assured her, Mary not buying a word of it as she noted the pronounced paleness of the woman's pallor. "But how ever did you ever discover that I was here? Has your grandmother found me out?"
"So Granny does not know," Mary stated, one question at least being answered to her satisfaction. "I am afraid I discovered you by sheer luck. I just happened to be standing in the corridor when I heard the nurse addressing you."
Lady Catherine smiled in response and shook her head. "I suppose one's secrets will always be found out," she stated with a grin, reaching for Mary's hand and gently squeezing it in affection.
"Why would you want no one to know?" Mary questioned, her brows drawing together in concern. "And what happened, Lady Catherine? My mother told me that she saw you looking in perfect health but yesterday."
"Oh, it's nothing, really," the older woman dismissed, her eyes still managing to sparkle even under the circumstances. "I had a little episode as Charles and I were driving back to York. We had barely left Downton village, so he turned the car around and brought me here."
"I see," Marty stated, pieces of a puzzle beginning to fit together in her mind. "And just what sort of episode did you suffer, may I ask?"
"My heart," Lady Catherine replied, a sigh escaping her as she smiled back. "It's just not as strong as it used to be, dear. One of the consequences of getting older, unfortunately."
"So you have experienced such occurrences before?" Mary inquired, her concern over the older woman's health rising with each statement she uttered.
"Oh, yes," Lady Catherine answered, "many times, unfortunately. That is one of the reasons that Charles sold the estate in India and came back to England. He feels it is his duty to take care of me, now, God bless him. I just hate to be a bother, especially when he has suffered so much difficulty in his life already."
He had sold everything and returned to tend to his aunt. Her heart swelled the tiniest bit in response, even though she was still irritated with the man for not informing her of Lady Catherine's hospitalization.
And irritated with herself for allowing his secrecy to matter so much.
"So where is he now?" Mary finally asked, although this question had been in the forefront of her mind from the moment she realized the identity of this room's occupant.
"He had to return to York to gather some things for us," Lady Catherine answered. "Dr. Clarkson thinks it would be a good idea for me to stay another night or two, just until I am strong enough leave."
"Of course," she responded, her mind quickly adding the facts presented to her. "Did he stay at your home in York last night?"
"No, that stubborn boy," Lady Catherine sighed, shaking her head as she smiled indulgently in spite of herself. "I told him to find a room for himself somewhere in town, but he slept right here—in the very seat you are now occupying, actually."
So Charles Blake had now spent two subsequent nights sleeping in a chair, one of them watching over his aunt and the other looking after George.
And taking care of her, as well.
"Well, he must stay at Downton tonight," Mary stated, her gaze and tone offering no room for disagreement. "You both are already expected tomorrow as it is, so it will be no hardship at all if he arrives one night early." She then cast a determined glance at Lady Catherine as she added, "And if he argues with you over the matter, just tell him that I shall be quite cross with him if he refuses and he will be forced to accept the consequences."
Lady Catherine's eyes lit up, fueled by intrigue as she replied, "I shall do just that, Lady Mary. I cannot wait to see the expression on his face when I have the opportunity to relay your message, for I am sure that you are quite adept at cooking up some most interesting consequences!"
Mary stared at the woman, suddenly feeling uncomfortably flush as she wondered if some odd sort of magic had relayed her intensely private thoughts from earlier in the day straight into Lady Catherine's imagination. Her eyes widened slightly, her discomfort heightened as the older woman continued, her eyes gleaming in great fun.
"Besides, if the invitation comes from you, I cannot imagine that he would refuse it."
Mortifying warmth crawled up within her, the implication of the words just spoken prickling her spine as they splintered off to wreak havoc throughout the remainder of her body. He would not refuse her—she was suddenly certain of it. And that fact raised the stakes between them immeasurably.
"I'm not sure just what you mean, Lady Catherine," Mary tried, pasting a forced, small smile upon her face as her eyes glittered unnaturally.
"Oh, hogwash," Lady Catherine corrected good-naturedly, Mary straightening her spine in an automatic defense. "Let's not pretend any more when there is simply no need, my dear. I know that the two of you met on the train from London, no matter how often and how loudly you both may protest."
What had she just said?
"And I am also most certain that my nephew is completely besotted with you," the older woman continued, pressing her advantage before Mary could offer a comment in return. "Although I doubt he would be very happy with me for telling you such things."
Mary's eyes flickered quickly back and forth, her mind attempting to match the speed of her pulse and failing miserably as she sat rather uncharacteristically dumbfounded.
Besotted with her?
"Please, don't blame Charles, my dear," Lady Catherine intervened, reading the question in Mary's expression expertly. "He has not given you away in any fashion, I assure you. I simply put things together quite easily for myself as soon as I saw the two of you standing together at your grandmother's house. I may be old, but I do still have my wits about me, thankfully."
"Lady Catherine, I truly appreciate your candor, however, I believe you may be mistaken when it comes to your nephew's feelings for me," Mary attempted, unsure of how she had just been able to sound so reasonable as her thoughts were casting about in complete turmoil.
"Am I dear?"
The words halted upon her intake of breath as Mary found she could not answer.
She cast her eyes to her lap, the burn in her cheeks showing no hit of subsiding as she finally looked back at Lady Catherine in stunned mortification.
"Don't worry. I haven't said a word to your grandmother," Lady Catherine continued sincerely, taking note of the younger woman's discomfort and striving to gradually put her at ease.
"Thank you for that," Mary stated, rewarded by a merry wink from the older woman whom she now realized observed the people around her with utmost clarity.
And at the moment, that knowledge rather alarmed her.
"Do not mention it," she replied, her green eyes dancing as she leaned towards Mary and whispered conspiratorially, "Your grandmother doesn't need to know everything, now does she."
Mary attempted to grant the older woman a smile, her mouth and throat feeling unnaturally dry. The distinctive pinpricks of teardrops fighting to free themselves assaulted her as she struggled to see her way through this thicket of utter confusion by which she was now thoroughly surrounded. Matthew—oh, Matthew—she sill loved and mourned him to the depths of her soul, yet here she sat allowing her body and emotions to be swayed by another man. How was this even possible? Dear God, she despised feeling so ridiculously helpless! She should not be granting this new man a foothold in her life, it was too much! She was not ready for him, for this, for anything, in fact. He was just so...so...so very...
Besotted? With her? It could not be.
Yet the possibility kept slipping about in her mind, making it impossible for her to grasp in order to contain and make some sense of it. She wanted to cry out in sheer frustration, but held the tumult tightly within.
What was she to do with the information Lady Catherine had just given her?
Nothing at the moment, she decided firmly. This would have to be dealt with later.
But for the present, Mary desperately needed to discuss something less personal, so she drew in a breath and pressed forward towards less threatening ground.
"I must thank you for your kind recommendation that you gave my mother. I had the privilege of meeting Glynis Campbell today," Mary began, noting a smile of surprised delight as Lady Catherine's response. "She came to Downton earlier for an interview."
"And did you like her, dear?" Lady Catherine inquired, leaning forward slightly in interest, taking up this new thread of conversation with aplomb.
"Yes," Mary responded, relishing the return appearance of at least a small measure of peace in her veins. "She made quite a favorable impression upon Mama and me, and I believe she may work out well. We offered her the position of lady's maid which she accepted immediately."
Lady Catherine sat up straighter, an expression of sheer delight astonishingly restoring a measure of youth to her features. "I am delighted to hear it. Glynis is such a dear girl, and I truly hope she will do well for you."
"She certainly reveres you, that is for certain," Mary replied, giving Lady Catherine an inquisitive glance. "She seems to credit you for saving her life in some fashion."
An uncomfortable hush instantly descended upon the room.
"That is because I did," Lady Catherine finally spoke, her expression clearly revealing that she was weighing just how much to share with Mary and what should remained concealed. She then sighed, her eyes taking on the air of authority that would have been routinely donned by a headmistress as she once again took Mary's hand.
"What I am about to tell you, dear, must remain in the strictest of confidence, you understand," Lady Catherine insisted, the gravity in her voice leaving no modicum of doubt as to the serious nature of the topic of discussion. "I have no desire to destroy a young life just as it sits on the threshold of blossoming."
"You have my word," Mary responded, a dull thudding of her heart the only sound she could hear save the muted noises coming from somewhere down the corridor.
"Good," Lady Catherine replied firmly, all frailty banned from her body as her past self took over. "You do not strike me as the type of person who would judge another unfairly."
"I hope not," Mary breathed, casting her eyes downward as she shook her head slightly. "Goodness knows I have no right to stand in judgment of anyone."
"None of us do, dear, but all too many relish the opportunity when it presents itself," the older woman stated flatly, the lines in her face settling with renewed weight. "I have known Glynis Campbell since she was a girl, you see. Her father runs a bakery that was quite near to the school at which I taught in Edinburgh."
"I believe you meant to say where you served as headmistress," Mary put in, daring the other woman to deny it and forcing a rueful grin upon Lady Catherine's face.
"I see that Glynis has given me away already," she laughed, shaking her head as the moment of levity vanished as if it never existed. "Yes, I had the honor of serving as headmistress for fifteen years, an accomplishment of which I am rather proud, I must admit."
"As you should be," Mary stated, still quite unsure of the direction in which their conversation was heading.
"I journeyed to their bakery at least once a week, and Mr. Campbell always took care of our staff and students very well. Glynis helped her father run the bakery, you see, after her mother died. She was such a sweet and smart little thing, and we would sometimes have the merriest conversations. I quickly came to realize that she possessed quite a keen mind, so I spoke with her father about allowing me to tutor her in her studies as she received very little proper schooling. He agreed, and so I began to meet with her weekly after the morning rush."
"That was very kind of you," Mary spoke, Lady Catherine's apparent zeal to help the less fortunate bringing her mother-in-law quickly to mind.
"One does what one can, Lady Mary, and what I could do was teach," the older woman replied, her cheeks lifting again in a small smile. "We studied history, philosophy, and mathematics, but her favorite subject was always literature. I was delivering a copy of Pride and Prejudice to her for our next project when it happened."
"When what happened?" Mary inquired, half-fearful of the answer even as she voiced the question.
"I knew something was amiss when I walked into the bakery and no one was there to greet me," Lady Catherine began, her gaze focusing squarely on a past revisiting her in the small hospital room. "I called out for Glynis, but no one answered, so I went in search of her. She was standing alone in the back panty with a knife poised over her wrist."
The statement had been uttered so factually that Mary wondered if she had heard it correctly.
"She meant to end her own life?" she questioned, unable to reconcile the collected young woman she had met but hours ago with the image of a distraught girl bent on self-destruction.
"Oh, yes," Lady Catherine breathed quietly, her green eyes clasping Mary's with vice-like precision. "She had been raped, you see."
Mary's heart stopped.
"An unknown delivery man had taken advantage of the fact that she was in the bakery alone that morning. He forced her into the back room and had his way with her."
The weight in Lady Catherine's voice matched the one pressing upon Mary's chest, and she had to struggle to draw a deep breath as Lady Catherine added the unthinkable.
"She was but sixteen years old."
"Dear God," Mary exhaled, feeling a sickening knot form in her gut. "How horrible for her."
"Yes, indeed," she returned, age settling firmly back upon her as she added, "and we both know what such an occurrence can do to a young girl's reputation and prospects, not to mention her emotional state, don't we?"
The pounding in Mary's head grew deafening.
"Yes, we do," she managed.
"I somehow spoke calmly to Glynis, letting her know that she could still have a future even if she couldn't see it at the moment. I finally convinced her to put down the knife and to come with me," Lady Catherine continued, "and I took her straight to my quarters at the school and got her cleaned up. Do you have any just idea how powerful the urge to bathe becomes, as if you can somehow wash off what has happened to you?"
"I can imagine," Mary whispered, licking her lips as their moisture suddenly evaporated, rubbing her arms with her hands unconsciously to quell the increasing discomfort welling up within her.
She remembered that need all too clearly.
"Her father was completely broken over what had happened to her as any good father would be." Here she paused, taking a small sip of water as if to wash away the flint of steel Mary was certain she had heard flash in her voice. "I convinced him to allow me to take Glynis on as a pupil, on scholarship, of course, as her family could not afford it."
"That was very good of you," Mary responded, longing for a sip of water herself to soothe her parched palate.
"Not really, my dear," Lady Catherine voiced, looking intently at Mary as she uttered her next statement. "I knew I could help her, you see, for something very similar had happened to me."
Dear God—there it was—the answer to why a gentleman's daughter would find herself teaching at a girl's school in Scotland rather than marrying suitably and raising a family of her own. Lady Catherine had been cast out, sent away, a blemish on the face of her family through no fault of her own.
Damaged goods.
"I am so sorry," Mary breathed, still attempting to absorb this overload of information that continued to creep uncomfortably close—too close, in fact. "Did no one rise to your defense?"
Lady Catherine shook her head sadly, setting aside her water glass as she continued softly, "I was not assaulted in the manner that Glynis had been, you see. I had no bruises, no scratches, no bloody lip as that poor girl had to validate my claims. I was lured to the stables by a man I had once hoped to marry. He was a friend of my brother's, and I had thought him so terribly handsome and dashing. We flirted and danced, and I naively thought I would be safe with him."
She coughed, the slight rattle in her chest alarming Mary as she retrieved the woman's water and assisted her in taking another sip.
"I was so very ignorant to the ways of men," she continued after easing back into the pillow propped to accommodate her. "I believed it to be all innocent fun until the liberties he took ceased to be comfortable. I asked him to stop several times, but he had no intention of doing so until he had gotten exactly what he wanted from me."
The air hushed in reverence, a moment of silence acknowledging the pain and injustice that forever altered a life.
"He knew I would never scream for help when I was already compromised. I was too afraid to fight him off, too young to realize that he had knowingly led me as a lamb to the slaughter." She sighed heavily, shaking her head at the innocent foolishness of her youth and how dearly it had cost her.
And Mary could not move.
Blood frantically rushed to her head as she longed for his handkerchief to steady her now trembling hands which in desperation cleaved to the fabric of her skirt.
"My brother Albert and another friend of his found us and unfortunately reported the incident to my father. He refused to believe me when I told him that it had not truly been my choice for I showed no visible signs of a struggle. And even if I had, little would have changed, unfortunately. It is always the woman who bears the consequences of a man's deviant nature, even if she has little or no choice in the matter. So I was sent away from my family to attend the very school at which I later taught and looked after, and he married a young woman from a very prominent family but one year later."
Time ceased to pass for Mary as she sat suspended between two lifetimes, one her present reality and the other so very distant yet ever-present, an ugly specter that always managed to find her no matter how desperately she tried to flee its presence.
This could not be happening.
"The most tragic thing is that I blamed myself for many years," Lady Catherine stated, leaning forward until she was sitting face to face with Mary, the older woman's direct yet compassionate gaze so like the manner in which her nephew had looked upon her on the train. "Did you do the same thing, my dear?"
She knew.
Mary's head flew up with a shot, her eyes widened in panic, feeling her back soundly against the wall even as she remained in her chair.
"Forgive me, Lady Mary," Lady Catherine soothed, her eyes losing not even an ounce of astuteness as she continued. "It was not my intention to offend you in any manner."
"Then why do you think that I..." Mary could not even finish, pushing the chair aside as her need to pace shoved her ruthlessly to her feet.
"I have become quite adept at reading people's reactions, my dear," she cut in quietly. "When you teach so many young women over the years, you develop the ability to see what they are afraid to tell you. Unfortunately, there are more of us out there than most people realize."
"Us?" Mary questioned as she walked towards the window, her past continuing to glare mockingly at her even through the radiant blue sky.
"Survivors," Lady Catherine returned. "I refuse to call us victims, even though we were initially." She shifted slightly in her bed as Mary returned her heavy gaze to the woman before her. "Have I read you incorrectly, dear?"
The realization that she suddenly had no desire to hide anymore startled Mary, as did the temptation of being able to speak with someone who might actually understand what she had always fought to keep secret. But here in this room she had no cause to fear judgment.
So she drew a defining breath.
"No," Mary admitted, her voice barely audible. "You were not incorrect in your conclusions. Not exactly."
"I thought not," Lady Catherine soothed, "and I am truly sorry for it."
And so was she.
"It was so very long ago," Mary began softly, speaking words she had never dared to utter and taking small, slow steps back towards the chair, hugging herself reassuringly. "He just showed up in my bedroom one night, you see. I'm still not even sure how he knew which room was mine."
"You asked him to leave?" the older woman questioned, tilting her head slightly as Mary rounded the corner of the bed.
"Three times," she whispered, returning to her seat so that their eyes met directly. "I threatened to scream, but we both knew..."
"That you were ruined already," Lady Catherine finished for her, Mary's eyes squeezing shut as the look of horror upon her mother's face replayed in her memory.
"I thought giving into him would be the easiest course of action, but I had no idea how much it would..." she continued, her words again failing her momentarily. "I had flirted with him so shamelessly that evening...I acted like such a fool."
Foolish indeed. How had she ever overlooked Matthew—Matthew—in favor of that man? And it had cost her so dearly.
"Flirting with a man and inviting him to your bed are two vastly different things, Lady Mary," Lady Catherine replied, taking the younger woman's unsteady hands within her own. "Men like that know exactly what they are doing. They prey upon young women such as you and I, girls who are not taught the ways of the world until it is unfortunately too late."
"I told Mama that he had not forced me when she asked," Mary breathed, still able to feel the pressing weight of him that left her utterly cold.
"Force is not always physical, you know," the older woman responded with conviction, clasping Mary's hand in a show of solidarity and choosing her next words carefully.
"You need not burden yourself with unnecessary guilt over this any longer, my dear. It is perfectly fine to let it go."
A dam forged ten years ago suddenly cracked.
And pent-up tears flowed unbidden.
The walk home still seemed surreal.
Mary had exited Lady Catherine's room in a fog, her mind still replaying so many details from their conversation that attempting to sort them out was simply too overwhelming. Isobel had found her in the front corridor and happily relayed a good report concerning George's ears before returning him to his mother's care. Mary had then informed Isobel of Lady Catherine's whereabouts, procuring a promise from her mother-in-law that she would look after the lady personally throughout the afternoon.
And then Mary and George had left.
She barely noticed the familiar details of the journey to Downton, her thoughts fixed upon a certain night that had left her forever altered. Matthew had never asked her for any further details concerning it other than the ones she had volunteered upon the eve of her confession, somehow knowing she feared such a discussion might taint their relationship. And she could not see the purpose in reliving the incident when he had simply accepted her past, not when they were finally so blissfully happy together. Why should she tempt the very fates that had kept them separated for far too long? So she had swept the incident into the cobwebs of her mind, refusing it admittance into the mainframe of her memory. But the cobwebs had been freshly swept away this afternoon, nothing now remaining under which to hide.
And Matthew was no longer there to shield her.
The question loomed before her: could she let it go, just as Lady Catherine suggested?
She longed to desperately, feeling lighter by the second as she envisioned her life without the weighty pangs of guilt to which she had become accustomed. But she had not informed Lady Catherine that Kemal Pamuk had died in the very act of taking her, that she had not only wanted to hastily scrub away the man's uninvited grasp but also the clammy touch of death he had pasted on her skin. Would her reaction to Mary's confession have been different had she known of the man's demise? Mary doubted it, somehow. But Lady Catherine already knew enough about that night.
Which meant at some point Mary would have to tell Charles Blake. Or would she?
Perhaps it would be better just to stop this mad carousel ride with him before she got any dizzier. If she let him know firmly that there could never be anything more than friendship between them, she would not have to explain her past yet again. She could simply concentrate on raising her son and managing Downton until he became of age to take over the reigns as earl. There would be no needless confusion, no guilt over moving on with a life without Matthew...
No fear of having her heart broken again.
Yes—putting an end to this heady infatuation was definitely the safest route to travel, Mary decided, as she and George arrived home. She would simply have to speak with Mr. Blake whenever he arrived this evening. Surely they could be civil concerning this matter. After all, they had only known each other for a matter of days. And what had they actually done? Conversed? Flirted? Enjoyed some lively debate? His aunt was most certainly exaggerating when she spoke of his feelings for her, for there was no possibility that he had already become...
Besotted with her.
Mary felt a moment's pause at her course of action, a disappointment she was not ready to acknowledge threatening her resolve to put this matter to rest. But Charles Blake was moving in too close, scaling her walls at such a rate that she could nearly sense his breath on her neck.
And Mary had to escape it all before it engulfed her.
So she awaited his arrival, calmly playing with George, dressing for dinner, rehearsing exactly what she would say to him in her mind as she stood before her vanity. She thought through scenario after scenario. Where should it be done? Before or after dinner? How exactly would she get him alone so they could converse with no one else in attendance?
And just how would he react?
Voices floating up from downstairs rushed into her consciousness, jolting her into action as she heard Mr. Barrow greet Mr. Blake at the door. This was it, she reiterated firmly, reminding herself that she had faced many a more difficult situation than this in her life. A clean break while this entire relationship was in its infancy would do them both good, she mused, for he deserved a whole woman, not one still in the process of piecing her life back together from the ruins. He might even grow to resent her in the long run, tiring of having to share her affections with the man who had held them absolutely her entire adult life. Yes, this was for the best, she convinced herself as she made her way quietly down the hallway, ignoring the frenetic pounding in her chest that magnified with every step she took. She halted a mere breath from the top of the steps, steeling her resolve as she began her descent to do what she knew needed to be done.
She saw him when her feet first grazed the landing, his voice unknowingly beckoning her to step closer as she noted with a small measure of alarm that he bore two gifts in his arms. He spotted her when she had made it but half-way down the staircase, his gaze rushing up the steps to warmly embrace her, his expression at her appearance sweeping away all reason as his smile tenderly stroked her face.
Her resolve crumbled at his feet.
And she was utterly helpless to do anything about it save smile back at him in return.
Author's note: The entire Pamuk incident was never resolved properly for Mary, in my opinion, but rather swept into the recesses of her mind as I stated in this chapter. Matthew's absolute acceptance of her despite what happened would assist her in pushing it from her daily life, and his love for her would make it a wound she could easily ignore. But his death leaves her much more vulnerable in so many ways-so exposed to the ghosts of her past, if you will-that I believe it would be most healthy for her to deal with it once and for all rather than allow it to continually haunt the recesses of her mind. Once again...just my opinion. And I do welcome hearing yours!
As for Chapter 12...all I can say is that I have had so much fun writing it! Hope to see you there next week. :-)