1904
With the news of Isobel's pregnancy there arose the proposal that it might be best for all concerned for Matthew to stay at Downton until the baby was born. The truth was, both Isobel and Reggie were worried that should the pregnancy prove to fail, as they had been warned to be wary of by a specialist down in London, that the knowledge of this would be too heavy to burden to a six-year-old who most likely wouldn't understand it in its full capacity. They'd miss their son horribly, of course they would, but they both believed it would be in his better interest if he was spared of the ordeal that he might possibly be forced to undergo, should something go awry. Robert and Cora cherished the boy dearly, he'd proved to be too sweet and too altogether endearing to go unloved by either of them, and His Lordship welcomed him into his home, clearly gladdened to have a young boy he could teach to shoot and hunt and indulge in other practices he was prevented from educating his own granddaughters in by the restraints of the society they were bound to. He looked forward to the prospect of teaching Mary to ride but, as was tradition to keep these practices until she was seven years of age, he had a little while to go yet and was appeased by the presence of an elder boy to educate in the meantime. As it turned out, even he was not immune to Matthew's bashful charm, and he enjoyed his time with the boy greatly, introducing him to the dog and showing him round the various farms on his occasional rounds.
Matthew, when his time was not being stolen away by the necessity of school, loved these pass times immensely and thoroughly looked forward to his time spent with Lord Grantham or Robert or Cora for he loved them all quite dearly. On Saturdays, he'd be left quite to his own devices however, the adults would have jobs and duties they needed to attend to and sometimes Matthew would go downstairs and talk to the servants or visit Mr Carson, whom always shared a smile with him whenever he saw him about the halls, but mostly he wondered aimlessly, armed with nothing more than a general direction and an aptitude for adventure. He had visions of himself as Pirate Matthew, fighting off the bad pirates and protecting his crew- envisioned as his parents and the family at the big house- from the perils and woes of capture. He'd walk out into the vast sloping gardens with Pharaoh at his heels, barking happily while Matthew made whooshing and spitting sounds to accompany his little toy plane that he drove through the air with joyous gusto.
"What are you doing?" The inquisitive, and distinctly feminine, young voice came from behind him. The hand that clutched Matthew's precious toy plane dropped to his side and he turned around to see the girl patting Pharaoh's golden fur as he bounded between the pair of them, tail wagging merrily.
"Oh!" Matthew said in an embarrassed surprise. "Hello Mary," he grinned shyly at her and fidgeted nervously at the seam of his shorts. There was something so enrapturing about her that demanded his attention but simultaneously enfeebled him in her presence. "I thought you were in lessons with Mrs Aldridge and Edith?" He said, a sneaking suspicion he was too bashful to voice niggling at him that she wasn't really allowed to be here. Mary's eyes turned somewhat mischievous, a look Matthew had become accustomed to when playing with her since the stable incident, at the mention of the much-disliked governess and her face glinted with a smile that provoked Matthew's own grin to widen.
"I saw you from the nursery window and snuck out. You looked like you were having fun and Mrs Aldridge is frightfully boring." Mary admitted. Matthew had come across Mrs Aldridge once or twice, mostly meeting upon bad terms as he had demanded her tutees' attention elsewhere and had been caught giving Miss Mary an apple before her dinner time, and he had to admit that the impression she bestowed was ruthless, bad tempered and extremely un-exiting. He wanted to suggest she join him in his game of Pirates but was rather too nervous to bring up the topic, afraid that she might decline as it was not lady-like or simply silly to her to even entertain such a notion as pirates, and when he opened his mouth to say something he was unharmoniously interrupted by Pharaoh barking loudly in direction of the top of the hill where the shadow of a figure appeared; a woman, bony and slender, and distinctly haughty, that snatched the attention of both children for a second as they stared. Just then, she stepped over the brink of the grassy slope declining towards them that had previously cut the pair of them from her sight and immediately clamped eyes on the two young rascals and their dog, calling out for the runaway girl in a lofty shriek of rage that sent Mary's eyes into wide round circles. She grabbed Matthew's hand, "run," she hastily gasped and they both fled as quickly as their legs would take them, turning sharply through the secret garden and down over the open fields until they reached the golden stretch of tall barley that they were forced to wade slowly through. So thick and tall was the crop that the only thing Matthew could see of Mary in front of him was their joined hands that guided him to follow her.
They panted heavily and Mary pulled him behind her, ducking them both neatly into a well-hidden ditch. Pharaoh settled himself comfortably, adjacent to their crouching feet, and made a low purring sound, slapping his tail gently against Matthew's now scuffed red jacket from time to time. Matthew pushed his lips together to hold in his laughter and glanced at Mary who locked her glinting eyes with him and giggled. Footsteps came close to them and startled them in their wake. Matthew pressed his small hand over Mary's mouth to quell her laughter, placing a finger to his own lips as he smiled cheekily.
As a lady, and the Countess of Grantham no less, Violet would never be outwardly rude to her husband's nephew; James was, as much as she hated to admit it, family after all, and a Lady is never rude, excluding in the implicit, especially not to one's kin. But, alas, James was far too much alike to his mother and, in Violet's esteemed and forever righteous opinion, a nastier woman never drew breath.
"James, you cannot possibly be serious?" Lord Grantham asked, incredulous to his nephew's outlandish proposal. "I know it has been…" he sighed, "…difficult since Felicity died and bringing up your son alone must have been tremendously hard, but he is your son. I would encourage you most fervently to rethink your excursion to America as it would, under the circumstances, invariably mean your separation from him." Patrick sighed, he was growing weary of contesting against James after all these years. He liked the boy, very much, he was sweet and good natured like his mother as well as retrieving the better of his father's traits, such as his outgoing personality and confident movements. As it stood, although his son may still bear one of his own, the boy that had been named after him, Patrick Crawley the younger, would stand to be the eighth Earl of Grantham and Patrick was confident he would make a great one. Even so, although he would commend the boy to his care while his own father ventured elsewhere, he could not condone his approval to the scheme. Patrick looked across to the sofa where his wife sat, her eyebrows distinctively raised in her own poorly disguised reproach for the situation. Perhaps if Patrick's own brother and sister in law were still alive, James would have proposed this to his own parents and Patrick would be kept from having any credence of swaying the situation. But they weren't, so here they sat.
"I cannot say I would object to having Patrick live in my home, in fact I feel as though it would be a pleasure to Robert and Cora – although I would have to consult them- and it would be nice for the girls to have their cousin around more permanently, but I urge to please reconsider. You are his father and, like it or not, that prevails on you a duty and a certain life that cannot be avoided. You love your son, in your own slightly misguided way you love your son, and in order to make this change you have to believe this change is best for him." Patrick's eyes were hard and challenging as he glared at his cold-hearted nephew. He'd known James to be lacking in compassion, caddish and even callous or cruel at times, but a child abandoner he was not so this proposal had come as an unwelcome shock to him and Violet too by the looks of it.
"Do you?" Violet asked eloquently. Her gaze was as perfectly intimidating as ever. "Believe it is best for him?" She finished.
"That I do." James said, even toned and assured. "I leave for New York in three months' time. If you can take him, you'll be doing me a great service. If you cannot, I mean to ask either Felicity's sister Margaret or, as his god parents, I will prevail on Susan and Shrimpie."
Patrick closed his eyes momentarily in acute disappointment.
"Very well," Patrick relented, realising his warnings were of no avail. "But on your own head be it."
"You two deserve a good walloping!" Mrs Aldridge gripped Mary harshly by the wrist and dragged Matthew out of the ditch by the ear. Pharaoh made a valiant attempt to free his friends, leaping up on his hind legs and barking madly at the thunderous woman, but she shooed him away dismissively and instead he trailed behind them sulkily, head hanging sadly after having been caught out on their adventure. Grimacing in the pain of being held by his ear, Matthew vaguely imagined the image of Mrs Aldridge's crooked nose and beady eyes under the brim of a pirate hat, her hook digging into his ear. With a satisfied feeling in his stomach he smiled: he had fought Pirates after all and was being made to walk the plank- all in all, the day had not gone so far away from how he'd planned it. Only Pharaoh, as good a parrot as any pirate had, and Mary, his pirate mate, had to be saved and as he glanced across at Mary's pained expression as she tried to wrench her wrist from Mrs Aldridge's grip.
Matthew batted her away from his ear and tried to tear the evil pirate's hook from his friend. "You're hurting her!" he yelled. "Let her go! Let her go you old cow!"
Furious at this insult, Mrs Aldridge dropped Mary's wrist at once and turned at once on Matthew. "You horrible little boy!" She screamed, "I'm going to take you up to the house and make sure Mr Crawley gives you a good hiding!"
Robert Crawley guffawed with unbridled gales of hysterical laughter. He clutched hold of the mantel and doubled over, bracing an arm across his shuddering stomach as he turned red in the face with roars of mirth. Cora, who clearly had not found it quite so amusing as her husband had, was now finding it rather difficult to control her own expression of hilarity simply due to the look of completely irate disillusion of the governess's face. Matthew, who had been expecting a few lashes for his misbehaviour just as she'd threatened, looked on in confused trepidation. Mary stood, eyebrows raised, in astonishment at the proceedings.
Robert could not control himself, much to everyone's confounded dismay, and after a good ten minutes he managed, only just, to compose by pulling himself together and wiping the tears from under his eyes. He straightened his tie and made a significant effort to suppress his smirk as he regarded the, now indignant, governess who was no less that incandescent with rage.
"Not only did he call me a cow," she pressed on, ignoring her employer's lapse of regained self-command. "But I believe he is a bad influence on both of the girls, especially Miss Mary." She concluded. "He has led her astray, and I believe he should be most seriously punished."
Matthew looked, eyes wide with fright, at Robert.
"Don't worry Duck," Robert soothed, seeing the look of pure terror dawn on the boy's face, "you aren't in trouble."
Matthew nodded hastily and stole a quick sideways glance at Mary. Robert eyed the two children with a fond suspicion that the pair were in cahoots about some thing or another.
"Why don't the pair of you go back out and play while we talk things over?" Cora suggested to the children.
Mary and Matthew took this chance like a shot and skipped merrily through the door on their way back out into the vast gardens.
When Mrs Aldridge stormed defiantly out, her resignation note soundly resting upon the desk, Robert and Cora both burst out into renewed fits of laughter.
"Poor Mrs Aldridge," Cora giggled, "I'm afraid she's got it the wrong way around."
Robert nodded his agreement. "I think it's clear to see that Mary is the one who is the bad influence." He guffawed.
"Poor little Duck," Cora shook her head, "If Mary has taken him in, he'll be dragged unwittingly into a revolution."