Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and for all the story alerts etc. Much appreciated! Here, Mary is 8, Matthew 9 and their friendship is about to be discovered by Cora, who isn't best pleased... I used Carson's story here; I know he said Mary was 4 or 5, but you'll forgive a little artistic license! Please R&R :D
"BANG!"
Matthew laughed giddily as he hid behind a tree from Mary.
"No, Matthew! I shot you, so you have to fall down!" ordered Mary.
Matthew obediently fell to the floor, clutching at his chest, making very convincing dying noises.
"You look idiotic!" she giggled. Matthew promptly sat up, offended that his excellent death was being scorned.
"You shouldn't be doing the shooting anyway, that's my job! I'm in charge of the expedition, I'm Captain Crawley and you're my assistant."
"I'm Captain Crawley!" she yelled, pulling her imaginary pistol from her imaginary holster and pointing it at him. Matthew threw his hands in the air in mock surrender.
"Well, we can't both be Captain Crawley!"
"Let's play something different then." Mary pondered for a minute. "What about... the woods are a jungle and we have to hide from the natives?"
"We need camouflage then, to help us blend in," suggested the ever imaginative Matthew.
The two children set to work picking up leaves from the ground, Mary tucking in small handfuls of crisp autumn leaves into her blue satin sash and sticking them in her hair. Matthew painted two battle stripes with thick, dark, oozy mud onto his cheeks. Mary stared at him in horror.
"Ugh! What are you doing?"
"Making my face camouflaged so the natives can't see me!" Matthew returned, with a isn't it obvious? sort of expression. Mary's dark eyebrows knitted together as she considered carefully for a few moments.
"I want some too!"
Mary presented her cheek to Matthew with a serious expression and he obligingly smeared great dark lines of mud down her pale cheeks. He accidentally got a little in her hair, but decided to keep that particular information to himself. They began tiptoeing stealthily through the undergrowth together, brambles and thorns catching at their clothes as they hid from the jungle natives.
"We should split up. That way, we can escape better," whispered Matthew, so quietly she could barely hear him, so quietly he made it seem all too real and she felt a little scared.
Mary nodded in agreement and Matthew trudged off out of sight. The woods suddenly seemed big and eerie and dark now she was alone and she gave a shiver. A branch snapped somewhere behind her and Mary jumped.
"Matthew? Is that you? Matthew?"
No one answered and Mary began to panic, stumbling forward blindly through long grass and weeds, tangling round her feet and she fell hard to the ground. She tried desperately not to cry, a single tear escaping and running down her face.
"Matthew? Are you there?"
Matthew jumped out from behind a tree. "Of course I'm here! Where else would I be?"
He looked at her, his head tilted to one side, with a puzzled look. Mary wiped her face, plastered on a smile and vowed to herself, right then and there, that she would never let Matthew Crawley see her cry. Matthew noticed her teary eyes, but knowing Mary, if he said anything about it, he was going to get his head bitten off. He decided to take her mind off whatever had upset her. Had it been him? No, he reassured himself, he would never do anything to make Mary cry. He pulled her to her feet and with a cheeky grin, he yelled,
"I'll race you to that bench!"
The two children raced, Matthew touching the bench first in triumph, Mary coming flying up behind him only seconds later.
"Mary?"
Her mother's voice rang in Mary's ears. As her mother looked at her in horror, Mary realised that her Mama was definitely not going to sympathise with the need for camouflage on a jungle expedition.
XxX
Having been dragged across the lawn by the hand of her incredulous, furious Mama, who had sent Matthew packing with one icy look, Mary stomped through the high oak doors of the Abbey. The maids began to grumble, witnessing the creation of a doubtless unscrubbable trail of mud and leaves left behind and trodden into the priceless carpets by the young lady.
"O'Brien, could you please ask the nursemaid to prepare a bath for Lady Mary?"
O'Brien shot a venomous look down at the filthy young girl who defiantly held her gaze.
"Very well, milady," she grumbled and begrudgingly made her way down the servants stairs.
The Countess turned to her daughter, barely managing to suppress the anger in her voice as she noticed the mud caked into Mary's hair.
"When you are clean and dressed, I will come and talk to you. I am very disappointed in you, Mary. I will be writing to that boy's mother as well."
As Mary hung her head and pouted, the nursemaid appeared, a model of crisp, clean efficiency, to take the unruly daughter off her mother's hands.
"My, my, Lady Mary! You have been in the wars!" cried her nurse.
"I haven't been in the wars, I've been in the jungle," Mary muttered under her breath. Grownups didn't understand anything.
XxX
Cora made her way up to the girls' nursery to reprimand Mary, accompanied by O'Brien. She sighed as she paused for a moment outside the door, placing her hand on the frame to support herself for a brief second.
"Is everything alright, milady?"
"Yes, quite. But no one ever warns you about bringing up daughters..."
XxX
Mrs Isobel Crawley
Downton Village
Yorkshire
Dear Mrs Crawley,
I would be much obliged to you if you could see to it that your son no longer seeks the company of our eldest daughter, Lady Mary. I hardly need write that it is an inappropriate friendship for her to continue, particularly taking into account the position that she will take in society in due course. I send my sincere appreciation to yourself and your husband for your anticipated cooperation in this matter.
Lady Grantham
XxX
Sitting cosily curled up on his windowsill, lost in a world of knights and battles and dragons, Matthew was rudely torn away from his daydreaming by the raised voice of his mother from downstairs.
"Inappropriate? He's nine, for goodness sake!"
Matthew was intrigued and slowly, very slowly, turned the brass door knob of his bedroom door and tiptoed to the balcony, peeking through the bars. He saw his mother shaking with suppressed rage, clutching a crumpled letter in her hand. What had he done?
"The Grantham Crawley's are a proud family, Isobel. I doubt if Lady Grantham wants her precious eldest daughter to be gallivanting about the village with the son of a middle class doctor!"
"Upper middle class, Reginald!"
"In any case, the boy shouldn't be out playing with little girls. What's wrong with him?"
Matthew's heart sank and he softly made his way back to his room. He had always felt his father didn't like him and now he had heard his father's cruel words, it made it all the more real. Perhaps his father would be happier if he wasn't there? Matthew bravely gulped down the lump forming in his throat and wiped his eyes. If Mary could hold back her tears, then so could he. He packed a little bag with his favourite books and toy soldier, sneaking down the stairs (avoiding the creaky one second from the bottom, of course) and helping himself to some biscuits from the kitchen as he left, quietly lifting the latch and disappearing out into the crisp autumn afternoon.
XxX
Charles Carson was checking his perfectly organised wine register for the third time, making sure that they would have a sufficient quantity of the 1894 red for Friday's dinner party, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. A freshly scrubbed and dressed Mary entered, fuming and embarrassed from her Mama's lecture.
"Mr Carson, I've decided to run away and I wonder if I might take some of the silver to sell?" she asked, jutting out her chin.
He looked up from his wine list into the face of a very determined girl. "Well, that could be awkward for his Lordship. Suppose I give you sixpence to spend in the village instead?"
Mary stood with a stubborn look on her face, but Carson's kind look soon soothed her.
"Very well," she conceded. "But you must be sure to charge me interest."
Carson chuckled and searched in his coat pocket for his old leather wallet. He opened it up, handing her the promised sixpence; Mary gave a wry smile and clambered onto his office chair to bring herself up to his great height. She pressed her lips to his cheek and jumped quickly down, running off with the sixpence clutched tightly in her hand.
Mary didn't feel like going to the village after all and made her way down to their special hiding place, clambering up the ladder (which didn't seem quite so frightening anymore. Strange...) There she found Matthew curled up in the hay, his blonde hair all mussed up and his face a little tearstained. A light dusting of biscuit crumbs were scattered around him, as well as on his mouth, amidst a few books and a little tin soldier. A little snore escaped him. Not wanting to wake him, she quietly tiptoed over, sitting herself down next to him. He wouldn't mind if she played with his things while he was asleep, would he? She amused herself for a while, acting out battles with the solitary soldier. Just as he was about to charge the enemy, Mary gave a massive yawn, her eyelids drooping with tiredness. It wasn't as much fun playing by herself. Perhaps...she should just...close her eyes...just for a minute...just a minute. Without even realising, she lay down beside Matthew and fell soundly asleep, the two runaway children curled up comfortably together, contentedly slumbering in the warm, soft hay.
TBC
Little Patrick Crawley will be making an appearance in the next chapter. I wonder if little Matthew will be jealous...