To the three readers who messaged me since the last chapter's posting to tell me that they read this story in a day or two-I am amazed! To the readers who review nearly every chapter faithfully-you mean so much. To those just beginning this journey and to those who have been with me since March, many, many thanks! This story just keeps picking up new readers since S4 has aired in the UK and canon Blake has made himself known, so I thank Julian Fellowes for crafting both that character and Mary and Julian Ovenden and Michelle Dockery for making them so interesting to watch.
R. Grace-bless you as always! Cls2011 and Miscreantrose...I don't know what I would do without you two! And to ke-my friend and sister-this is dedicated to you.
And to all of you ready to dive into Ch 29, feel free. But remember, there are no life guards on duty. Swim at your own risk. :)
Trains and handkerchiefs STOP George and his bear STOP Tea at your grandmother's STOP Travels in the rain STOP Missing you terribly if you cannot tell STOP Kentucky would be lovelier with you STOP All my love, Charles
Missing you terribly if you cannot tell…
She had lost count of how many times she had read it, gently placing it back into the drawer from which it had been retrieved just minutes ago. She then stoked a photograph still cherished, chills coursing up her arm as the sensation of missing two men descended upon her like a weight.
Her body was no longer her own. Yet she felt terribly alone.
A wave of nausea gripped her, and she swallowed forcefully, trying to fight back what had been threatening her ever since she opened her eyes. Her stomach had been uneasy upon awakening for the past several days, but this morning was dealing her a rather harsh dosage of reality. Her courses were now three weeks late, her breasts tender and her bladder irregular.
She no longer harbored any doubts.
A visit to Dr. Clarkson had been put off, avoiding that moment as long as she was able, even though she trusted he would not give away her secret. It was imperative that no one besides Anna know the truth before he returned. She had treated him unfairly enough by sending him off with false assurances while he continued to send her messages of love from across the Atlantic.
A dull throb began to pulse in her temples.
She must inform Charles before anyone else found out. Not that it would make him despise her any less, she reasoned. How long would it take a man who had lost so much to forgive a woman who had deceived him about a child?
There were too many possible answers to even consider.
And why had she done such a thing in the first place? Because they had argued? Because she allowed her own feelings of betrayal to overrun her sense of reason?
She knew he would toss his heart and soul into their relationship for their baby's sake if nothing more. Charles Blake was simply that type of man. A protector, a defender, a man who would remain loyal to her as the mother of his child in spite of the hurt she had dealt him. But the look of betrayal she could envision in eyes that had caressed her so tenderly pierced her in places few could reach.
She held back the urge to be sick once again.
Three more weeks. Her body would not give her away before then, surely. She had been nearly four months along before any physical evidence became visible when she was carrying George, and even then it could be concealed by arranging her clothes in a certain manner.
Of course, there was Campbell to consider.
As if on cue, her lady's maid entered, stepping back slightly in surprise at seeing her out of bed already. She looked from her own reflection to that of Ruth, the other woman's appearance only highlighting the grayish pallor of her own complexion.
"Is everything alright, my lady?" Campbell questioned, the measured hesitance in her tone carrying across the room.
"Not really," Mary answered, rubbing her forehead as it began to throb. "But I have been worse."
The maid dared three steps in her direction, watching her in evident concern.
"What can I do for you?" she questioned, halting just behind Mary's shoulder.
She drew a breath, knowing that concealing such intimate details from this woman would be next to impossible. Few things escaped the notice of an observant lady's maid, and Campbell was quite intelligent.
Perhaps it would be better to deal with the matter head-on rather than skirting around it.
"Nothing, really," Mary answered, smoothing lotion into her arms. "Other than removing that breakfast tray from the room before I become ill."
Campbell stared down at the tray in her grasp, the quick darting of her eyes between its surface and her lady alerting Mary to the fact that suspicions were indeed stirring. She moved quickly, setting the offending cuisine outside the door before shutting it and returning to the vanity.
"Would you prefer something else to eat, my lady?"
Her discomfort in asking such a question pushed its way through her legs, the younger woman rocking back and forth on her heels ever so slightly.
"Not at the moment," Mary replied, turning her body in Campbell's direction. "But some tea and toast might be nice a bit later."
Campbell nodded, the conflict upon her face so easy to read.
"You know, don't you."
It was a statement, not a question, and one that made the maid's cheeks flame instantly.
"What do you mean, my lady?"
Her eyes were glued to the floor's surface, her hands fidgeting nervously under Mary's knowing gaze.
"I mean that you are my lady's maid, Campbell," she stated, her voice carrying an evenness she did not feel. "I would be surprised if you hadn't noticed certain irregularities as of late."
Campbell drew in her lips, returning her gaze to that of her employer.
"I have noticed certain…certain things, my lady," she managed, pausing to draw a calming breath. "But I didn't want to make any assumptions."
Mary gave her a small smile.
"And I appreciate you for it. But your assumptions are probably correct."
Campbell's face remained immobile. The she took another step towards her employer.
"Have you seen a doctor yet, my lady?"
Mary's face dropped slightly, her hands beginning to fidget.
"No. Not yet."
Her chest tightened slightly.
"But don't you think it would be wise to do so?" Campbell reasoned, pieces of a puzzle fitting together in her mind. "Just to make sure?"
Her legs pushed her up slowly, the movement unsettling her stomach somewhat. Campbell moved to her quickly, taking her arm steadily to keep her upright.
"Believe me, Campbell. I am sure."
She felt suddenly light-headed, grabbing the maid's arm as a swell of dizziness threatened to buckle her knees. Lights flashed behind her eyes, the sensation of falling stilling her heart.
"You should go back to bed, my lady. Get some rest," Campbell asserted, guiding her towards awaiting sheets with a gentle haste. Steady hands helped her settle, the soft surface of her bed more than alluring.
"I won't argue with you over that," Mary agreed, settling heavily back onto her mattress, her limbs melding into its comfort. "Perhaps a glass of water would be helpful."
Campbell nodded, pausing in her set course towards the bedroom door.
"Are you certain you won't allow me to contact the doctor, my lady? I should hate for anything to happen."
Mary looked at her directly, breathing steadily to settle both her stomach and her nerves.
"I'm afraid this is all simply a part of it, Campbell," she stated, her hand settling where his child now grew. "I shall simply have to ride it out, as all women have for centuries."
The two of them remained immobile, a new level of trust hinging upon the happenings of the next few moments.
"Does anyone else know?"
Mary smiled softly, her gaze floating to the window before returning to the woman before her.
"Only Anna."
Campbell nodded quietly. Mary detected no look of censure upon her face.
"I cannot allow anyone else to find out until I have the opportunity to inform Mr. Blake. It is only right that he be told before the news becomes widespread."
No show of surprise met her statement, the fact that the entire staff knew of the accusations hurled at Charles and her validated without a whisper.
"I won't say a word to anyone, my lady. You have my word."
The core of her chest filled with warmth, this gesture of kindness offering a measure of much needed peace.
"Thank you, Campbell. I appreciate that. More than you know."
The younger woman tilted her head slightly, pressing her lips together before speaking again.
"Is there a certain time you would like me to return, my lady? To help you dress, I mean."
"Give me an hour to rest," Mary returned, stroking her forehead in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in her head. "Then I must get dressed. I don't want to arouse any more suspicions. Besides, Lady Catherine has invited me to Rufforth Hall for luncheon this afternoon. I cannot disappoint her, now can I?"
"No," Campbell returned, a grin of approval breaking across her face. "One would never wish to disappoint Headmistress Blake."
Mary smiled back at her, her brow creasing as she began to move her body further into the pillows.
"You must make it a point to visit her sometime, Campbell. I know it would mean the world to her."
"I would like that very much indeed," the maid replied, the pleasure such a suggestion gave her unmistakable. "She is very dear to me."
"As you are to her," Mary stated, her body already appreciating the ease of lying down. "Thank you again, Campbell. For everything."
"I shall have that tea and toast for you when I return," she responded, a lingering concern still evident in her expression. "Just ring if you need anything sooner."
With that reassurance, she took her leave.
Mary's eyes closed mere seconds after the door clicked, her body pulling her towards the edge of an oblivion she both sought and welcomed. Muscles came undone, tendons and ligaments softening as the exhaustion of early pregnancy took its toll. So many images flitted across her thoughts, brushing broad strokes upon the canvas of a semi-conscious mind. Whisperings, murmurs, overlapping conversations she could not quite understand called to her, as lines blurred between lives present and past. She saw Matthew, George, Charles, Sybil…
There, in her arms, in a world just beyond her grasp, a hazy image of a child she did not yet know snuggled trustingly against her breast. She reached out for him, needing to touch this wonder a part of her yet still so new. But she could not quite reach the baby, no matter how hard she strained to do so.
And then she knew no more.
How odd it felt to be back at Rufforth Hall after all that had transpired, without his presence at her side, and with his child inside of her. She stared up at the estate, taking it in with eyes that knew so much more than they had but weeks ago. They had reluctantly left this peace of this estate and traveled into a night they never expected, one that had led directly to the situation in which they now found themselves.
A situation she prayed could be resolved with at least a certain level of amiability.
She could not help but wonder how much Charles's aunt knew of what had happened between them, having learned in rather short order not to underestimate the woman's power of deduction or attention to detail. If Charles had spoken of the fiasco the last night of the house party with anyone, it would have been with the woman who raised him. Yet Mary felt certain that he would volunteer as little information about that evening as possible, as protective of her as he had become. But servants spoke, word traveled, and her own grandmother was dear friends with Catherine Blake.
It was most decidedly the smarter course of action to assume she knew everything.
Ajit met her at the front entrance, his smile and welcome as natural as if she had been there but yesterday. She followed him inside, attempting to push aside stirrings of discomfort at being here without Charles by her side. Yet the rationale that she had come to visit with his aunt and to ensure her well-being fell flat as she took in surroundings he had been so eager to share with her.
She felt both at home and a stranger.
Mary swallowed back any second-thoughts remaining as she was escorted into the sitting room where Lady Catherine awaited her. There was but a moment of silence as the women were left alone, looking at each other under circumstances quite different from when they had last met.
"My dear, I am so very glad you came."
The older woman's smile of welcome was genuine, and it squeezed Mary's chest unexpectedly, putting to rest any doubts of the wisdom of her visit. She moved quickly towards her, accepting the offered embrace with a burst of warmth.
"Thank you for the invitation," Mary returned, smiling back at her in return. "I was both pleased and surprised to receive it."
"Oh, you shouldn't be surprised, my dear," Lady Catherine retorted. "You know how much I enjoy your company. I only wish I had been able to invite you to dine sooner."
Mary's heart stilled in her chest as a nagging fear took root.
"Have you been ill again?" she inquired quickly, taking in her companion's appearance. "You must tell me if you have."
"Oh, no. Just a bit more tired than usual," Lady Catherine explained with a squeeze of her hand. "But nothing you need worry yourself over."
"I'm not certain I believe you," Mary mused, her brow rising. "You are rather adept at downplaying your health concerns when it suits your purposes."
"Am I?" she inquired with a wink. "You would never accuse me of stretching the truth, now would you?"
"Perish the thought," Mary returned, "but I have no qualms in making the observation that your nephew most certainly learned his method of turning all matters towards his favor from you."
Lady Catherine's eyes beamed with mischief.
"An observation I shall accept, Lady Mary. Now, shall we go and enjoy our luncheon?"
She could not help but admire the woman's spirit and decided to allow the line of questioning to be dropped for the time being.
"That sounds lovely."
The moved to the dining room, Mary guiding the older woman to the table where lunch was awaiting them. The space was less grand than Downton's large room, yet it offered a level of intimacy Mary appreciated as much at this moment as she had during her first visit.
She could not help but wonder if she would call this place home very soon indeed. An odd stirring made its way through her limbs as she understood just how likely such an outcome now was.
"I have asked Ishana to prepare one of my favorite dishes for you," Lady Catherine began, cutting into her musings. "I do hope you will not object to a mild curry?"
Her eyes rounded in spite of herself, her stomach unsure of how to respond to such an unknown flavor.
"I hardly know as I have never tried it," she answered, attempting to pacify her body as it began to brace itself for the possibility of an unpleasant confrontation.
"If you object, it's quite alright. Ishana always manages to have dishes fit for the English palate whenever she prepares something from her homeland."
She swallowed a bit easier, praying her tender appetite would not give her away.
As they spoke, the Indian woman entered, bearing with her two bowls of a potato leek soup with which Mary could find no fault. The mild flavor actually settled her insides somewhat, and she began to eat it with relish, her body alerting her to the fact that she had taken in very little up until this moment.
"I do hope you approve so far," Lady Catherine inquired, watching Mary a bit too close for her own comfort.
"Very much. The soup was delicious."
A smile met her assertion, her nose alerting her that the dish in question was making its entrance.
The smell was not unpleasant, but neither was it soothing, and she was thankful for the serving of rice offered before the curry was placed before her.
At that moment, she feared she was doomed.
She took several bites of the rice, absorbing its gratifying blandness as she avoided the dish covered in a yellow sauce so foreign. She began to wonder if the discovery of her condition was more eminent than she had foreseen.
"Are you afraid to try it?" her hostess inquired, noting her reluctance.
"It would seem that I am," Mary conceded, hoping to sound unfazed. "I'm not quite certain I am up to the task today."
"I do hope you are not ill," Lady Catherine asserted with a note of concern.
"Not at all," Mary returned steadily. "I just felt a bit off this morning, but I am now quite recovered."
A flash of something pierced the older woman's eyes, gone in a mere breath as a beguiling grin overtook her features. But Mary had noted it.
And she now suspected the full extent of Catherine Blake's knowledge.
"Perhaps you would prefer another bowl of soup, my dear? That seemed to agree with you very well."
Gratitude and alarm gripped her in equal measure, her head nodding of its own accord.
"Yes. That would be very nice, indeed."
Another bowl was set before her, the plate of curry taken away. Mary forced her shoulders not to slump in relief, sipping her water in a calming gesture.
"May I speak frankly with you, Lady Mary?"
Her spoon stilled on its path to her mouth.
"Of course, Lady Catherine. What is it you wish to say?"
They studied each other across the table, nerves and admiration apparent in both. Lady Catherine then cleared her throat, her features soft, yet her gaze direct.
"I am aware that you and my nephew did not part on the best of terms."
Mary set her spoon down on the table.
"No. We did not, unfortunately."
The older woman drew a deep breath, her brows creasing slightly.
"I assume this is due to the rather horrid scene to which you were subjected several weeks ago."
Mary's pulse sped slightly, her palate suddenly parched.
"Yes. Mostly, that is."
She heard a fork touch down, her eyes continuing to stare into her soup.
"I am very sorry to hear it, my dear. I know that Charles loves you very much."
Her chin trembled slightly as her heart suddenly ached.
"He has become most dear to me. I miss him terribly."
Her voice was so low her companion had to lean forward to hear her declaration.
"Have you heard from him since he left?"
Mary's eyes sought hers at this inquiry, nodding softly to the older woman across from her.
"Yes. I have received two telegrams."
Lady Catherine's smile returned as she folded her hands and placed them in her lap.
"I am glad for that, at least. I was very displeased with him for leaving as he did."
Her brows drew together in confusion.
"You were unhappy with his decision to go to America?"
Lady Catherine's eyes widened resolutely.
"I most certainly was, and I told him so. He was being so irrational, and I begged him not to act in a manner he would most assuredly regret." She shook her head, chuckling to herself. "Men can become so fixated upon a certain course of action that they fail to see all of the other options before them. Yet we women can stare at those same options until they become blurry and still have a difficult time choosing the right course."
Mary smiled softly in acknowledgement, her soup now all but forgotten.
"I wasn't exactly acting in a reasonable manner, either, I'm afraid. He is not solely to blame for our current situation."
Lady Catherine nodded carefully.
"It usually takes two to create something so complex," the older woman contended. "One can rarely manage such a feat alone."
Mary's face began to warm.
"I suppose that's true," she conceded, her fingers toying with her napkin. "I hadn't really thought about it in such a way."
Her hand fought seeking its new resting place as she forced herself to hold Catherine Blake's gaze.
"And neither would he," Charles's aunt added. "I fear both of you have a rather nasty habit of attempting to shoulder more blame than you deserve to carry."
Mary eyed her directly.
"I daresay you've been speaking with Granny."
She received a smile in return.
"We speak with each other a great deal, my dear. She is also concerned about how things were left between you and Charles."
Mary sighed audibly, considering the conversations in which the two women could have engaged. She had not discussed her situation with her grandmother in any great detail, although she was certain Violet Crawley would have plenty to say about the matter if granted the opportunity.
"I received a telegram from him today, actually," Lady Catherine added, capturing Mary's undivided attention. "It seems he has taken care of the business he had in Kentucky and is rather anxious to get back to England."
Her heart raced at this information and all it implied, eyes blinking repeatedly in response.
"So he is returning earlier than he had originally planned?"
The woman smiled gently in her direction.
"Yes, my dear. He now hopes to be home in two weeks rather than three."
Her mind and pulse began to chase each other, this news so welcome yet terrifying coursing its way through her veins.
"I'm glad to hear it," she managed steadily. "But I wonder why he didn't say as much to me? Did he not want me to know for some reason?"
The very thought of such sickened her.
"Hardly," Lady Catherine returned, shaking her head as her eyes softened. "He fears he may be delayed, and he didn't wish to worry you if he arrived later than expected. He thought it better to surprise you than to cause you any unreasonable stress."
Everything froze around her.
He understood. Her irrational fears—her sense of panic, her dread that tragedy was looming just around the corner from happiness—Charles was attempting to shelter her from herself in this most endearing way.
He was cutting his trip short—for her.
The ache inside intensified.
"But you thought it better to tell me in advance," Mary ventured, wondering just why Charles's aunt would go against his wishes in this matter.
"Yes, I did."
Lady Catherine paused, taking on a mantle of authority as she gazed at the woman so loved by her nephew.
"Sometimes surprises, no matter how well-intentioned, can cause more damage than good," she began, her eyes never losing their directness. "And after what you have already been forced to endure, I assumed that you may have had enough surprises thrown at you for quite some time."
She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath greedily.
"You assumed correctly. Thank you for your consideration."
Mary heard her slow intake of breath.
"And thank you for bringing my nephew back to life. I had come to believe that I would not live to see him truly happy again."
She swallowed past the thickened confines of her throat.
"That's funny. I would attest that he was the one giving life back to me."
An appreciative sound came from her companion.
"I am glad to hear it. The best of relationships are like that, I think."
The remark cut smartly, the weight of her deception suddenly just too much to bear.
"I'm afraid I may wound him deeply before we can truly find our way back to each other."
Lady Catherine's face never faltered.
"You left things unspoken between you?"
Mary's expression wavered, her fingers chilling slightly.
"Yes. And some things were spoken that should have never been said."
Lady Catherine pursed her lips tightly, a mannerism that reminded Mary so much of the man they were discussing.
"There is a baby?"
There was only the slightest hint of question in the older woman's tone, the facts before her painting a rather vivid picture. Mary's heart stilled.
"Yes. There is a baby."
A momentary pause stood between them, and she allowed her hand to now acknowledge what she had held in secret just seconds before.
"I thought as much."
Expressions remained fixed, yet everything had just altered dramatically. Before this moment, they had been friendly acquaintances. Now they were bound by the tie of blood.
"Charles has no idea, I take it," Lady Catherine ventured, the answer obvious before it was given.
"No," Mary whispered, staring back into her soup. "I lied to him, you see. I told him that there was no baby and he needn't fear leaving me for several weeks."
She sighed, her hands dropping to the napkin lying across her lap.
"I became angry when I thought that perhaps my being pregnant was his only reason he would stay," she admitted, her limbs suddenly restless. "It was so childish of me. You don't know how often I have wished I could take those words back. I know how much…how much having a child means to him."
Her companion's steady gaze was almost too much, and Mary had the oddest sense of just how effective a headmistress Catherine Blake had been.
"Having a child does mean a great deal to Charles," she finally spoke, choosing her words carefully. "But I am certain you mean more."
The words nearly broke her.
"And once he finds out that I lied to him? Will that not alter his perception of me?"
"Does life not constantly alter our perceptions, Lady Mary?"
The question flew at her from out of nowhere, catching her off-guard as her hands stilled in her lap.
"Yes. I suppose it does."
"Speaking out of turn in the heat of an argument is a rather common occurrence, something we all do at one time or another," Lady Catherine continued. "I'm certain there are many things which Charles wishes he could take back from your conversation, as well."
Her thoughts began to stack haphazardly atop each other forming a structure too confusing to interpret. She wished again that he was here with her, the necessary confrontation a point in history rather than a specter looming over her like an ominous fog.
"I don't think he lied about anything," she threw back, her guilt still close to the surface.
"Maybe not," Lady Catherine conceded, "But he is the one who actually boarded that ocean liner and crossed the Atlantic without you."
Her heart thudded painfully.
"Perhaps."
She sat motionless, absorbing more than she could take in at the moment.
"Do you really think he'll be so quick to forgive me, Lady Catherine?"
The older woman leaned forward, pausing but a moment before releasing a breath.
"I believe that he would forgive you almost anything, my dear. Especially a simple delay in informing him that he is to be a father."
She felt her shoulders unwind, and she took another sip of water, relishing the coolness spreading down her throat.
"Although I won't pretend that the road ahead for the two of you may not be a bit bumpy at first," Lady Catherine added, her forehead rising in tandem. "At least until the dust has a chance to settle."
Mary shook her head, tossing her own brows upward.
"Even so, I do hope you are right."
Blue eyes sparkled in her direction, the older woman's nose crinkling as if she possessed the most delicious secret.
"Don't worry, my dear," she grinned in measured reassurance. "I am rarely wrong."
"No, George. Cat is not here."
She watched her son's face scrunch into a pout for what seemed like the hundredth time since Charles had gone, the book he had given the child tossed to the floor in a fit of temper.
"Here. Let Mummy read it to you."
But the toddler had other ideas, sliding from her lap and seeking his teddy bear. He cuddled up to the animal, burying chubby cheeks into its fur in an effort to escape his nap.
At the moment, she had neither the desire nor the will to fight him.
She walked to the window instead, allowing her back to rest against the wall near it as she gazed upon a sky that couldn't make up its mind. Tidbits of yesterday's conversation continually danced through her thoughts, and she was tremendously thankful for Lady Catherine's support and candor. The remainder of their afternoon had passed in ease, the freedom of honesty allowing Mary to drop her guard and simply enjoy the woman's company. Lady Catherine Blake—grandmother to her second child in every way that mattered.
For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder if she carried a son or daughter. Would the baby have curls like George? Would he bear his father's dimples? Have skin as fair as her own? Brown eyes would seem to be likely, although there were no certainties at this early stage.
Two weeks. How odd that the subtraction of a mere seven days made the stretch of time seem so much shorter. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She could tell him in two weeks.
It was then that she missed George.
The bear remained on the nursery floor, but her child was not there. She quickly scanned the room, looking quickly into any nook or corner in which he could have hidden.
Nothing.
"George," she voiced, attempting to keep the panic at bay as she stepped quickly from the nursery into the hall. He had just mastered the art of walking. How was it that he could get away from her with such ease?
The hall stretched empty before her, neither sight nor sound of her little boy greeting her anxious senses. Her footfalls echoed in her ears, a sense of urgency building with each step that led nowhere.
Where could he have gone?
"George!"
Her cry was more urgent this time, the pace of her stride quickening to match that of her pulse as her eyes darted back and forth in a furious search. Had he wondered into a bedroom, found an open closet that enticed him inside? She rounded a corner, pausing as time seemed to slow.
Her son stood teetering at the top of the steps, a look of fierce determination upon his brow.
"George," she whispered, not wanting to startle him as she moved with a stealth unknown to her until this moment. She was nearly there, arms reaching out to scoop him up as he turned and grinned up at her.
And dared another step.
So we have finally arrived at the point where "Baby Steps" fits into the sequence. If you have not yet discovered that one-shot, it was written back in July in response to a prompt from La Donna Ingenua. I highly recommend that you read it if you haven't as it will explain what exactly happens to George without making you wait another two weeks for the next chapter. It can be found on my author page. I shall alert you as to when the other Strangers's Universe one-shots fit in to either this story or the sequel, although many of you can figure that out for yourselves. :) ("The Queen of Tarts" and "A Kiss in the Shadows")
And as always, you don't know how much your reviews and thoughts mean. I adore hearing from my readers and cherish every review I receive. Thanks again for taking the time to make Mary and Charles a part of your life, and I'll see you in a week or two. Hugs to you all!