ANGER

Part 1

"I wonder what's keeping the family," said Mary. "Visiting hours started a while ago. I'm surprised they're not breaking down the doors by now."

"I'm sure they'll be along soon, m'lady," said Anna, leaning down for another look at the child. "They're probably still getting settled from their trip."

Mary snuggled her son and adjusted his blanket. "I'm actually surprised Papa didn't float here on a cloud of family pride and insist on being let in. He's been on pins and needles for months now waiting for this grandchild. I'd have thought wild horses couldn't keep him from his new heir."

"Enjoy your time alone now, m'lady," said Anna. "I'm afraid you'll be surrounded by nurses, nannies, family and well-wishers once you get home, and all the staff will want to meet him. You know his lordship will want to show him off."

"You're right, of course," laughed Mary. She gently rubbed a finger along her son's cheek. "You're just a young master now, but you're going to be Earl of Grantham someday, just like your papa and your grandpapa." The baby fussed a bit, and Mary soothed him. "Oh, don't worry, you'll have a long, long time to get used to the idea. Your papa will teach you the business end, and your grandfather will teach you about our history and how to handle the people who live and work at Downton."

"And don't forget the cricket, m'lady," said Anna. "His lordship and Mr. Crawley will have him swinging a bat for the house team before he can walk."

Mary laughed. "Well, he can't do worse than Mr. Moseley, even if we sent him out to play right now in swaddling clothes." She smiled dreamily at the boy, the long-awaited Crawley heir, proudly picturing him tagging along after his father and grandfather, learning the ropes of the great estate he would run himself one day. And his day would come; Matthew had made sure of it.

"Excuse me, m'lady," said a nurse as she entered. "I'll take him for a bit."

Mary looked disappointed. "Well, all right, but you must bring him back when the family arrives. They'll want to meet the new prince."

"Yes, m'lady," mumbled the nurse. Cradling the young heir, the nurse exited, but not before shooting Anna a troubled look and directing her attention to the door.

The lady's maid looked up and noticed her ladyship hovering out of sight in the doorway, shaken and with reddened eyes, silently beckoning. Something was wrong-very, very wrong.

"Uh, excuse me, m'lady." Anna smiled at Mary. "I need to see to something. I'll be right back."

In the hallway, Anna looked around and noticed that Cora was accompanied only by a downcast Tom, with the rest of the family nowhere in sight.

"Your ladyship, is everything all right?"

Cora shook her head, trying to stay composed. "No," she whispered. "Everything is not all right." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to do. "Tom will explain. I need to go to Mary." She started off into the room, but pulled back and gently took the maid's hand. "Mary will rely on you in the coming days. I know you will support her in any way possible."

Bewildered, Anna could only nod. "Of course."

Cora entered the room and Mary started to smile, "Well, it's about time. I thought you'd abandoned me—" but one look at her pale mother and the alarm was raised. When no one else followed her into the room, Mary immediately grew suspect. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Oh, my darling," said Cora. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Mary. "My dear sweet girl."

"Mama, tell me." Mary searched her mother's eyes for a clue. "Is it Granny?" Her eyes darted around the room. "Where's Papa?"

"They're fine; well, safe anyway. But, my darling, I'm afraid I do have the worst possible news." Tears began to streak Cora's face as she grasped her daughter's shaking hands. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident."

Mary's breath became ragged. "What sort—"

"It's Matthew. There's no easy way to say it. Matthew's had an accident."

"What? No. He was just here."

"His car went over an embankment on the way back to Downton. Something happened, we're not quite sure what, but…" she shook her head, momentarily unable to continue, "I'm afraid we've lost him."

"Lost him?" Mary's temper bubbled as she refused to read into her mother's words. She pulled her hands away. "What do you mean we've lost him? He's not an umbrella. Mama, what are you trying to say?"

"Oh, Mary. I think you know what I'm trying to say. Please don't make me say the words. My dear, I am so terribly sorry." Cora tried to pull her daughter into an embrace, but Mary squirmed away and held her mother at arm's distance.

"He's dead?" cried Mary. "Are you trying to tell me that my husband is dead? He saw his newborn son and then drove off a cliff? Is that what you are saying?"

"Mary, please." Cora tried to gather Mary into her arms once again, but the new widow resisted again. "I know it doesn't seem right that Matthew should survive the war and leave us this way—"

"Stop being so American!" thundered Mary. "We didn't lose him and he didn't leave us. You're saying he's dead, Mama? Dead. My husband is dead." She fought off a shocked sob.

Cora let her rage. "I'm afraid so." She rubbed small circles on her daughter's back while Mary caught her breath.

Anna quietly re-entered the room, and from her expression Mary knew that her maid had been informed of the recent events. Keeping her place, but wanting to be nearby, Anna tidied and hung Mary's dressing gown on the hook near the bed.

"M'lady?" said Anna. "I'm ever so sorry. Is there anything at all I can do to help?"

"No," she replied, and then as if struck by a wave of composure, Mary suddenly set her jaw. "Yes," she corrected calmly. "Have Mr. Crawley's things removed from our room. I'll go through them at some point, but not just now. We'll make plans after the funeral and the christening."

"Mary," said Cora, knowing her daughter needed to grieve, but that her own obstinate self-control would be her greatest obstacle to recovery. "There's no need to worry about that yet."

Mary ignored her and tried to focus on other things. "Where is Papa?"

Cora didn't want to tell Mary that her father didn't want her to see him with evidence of the accident scene and Matthew's blood on his clothes. "He's…with Matthew," said Cora, "and dealing with the authorities."

Mary nodded. "Good. I'm glad Matthew's…" a small gasp escaped her lips, "not alone." She looked away, again determined not to cry. "Though after Sybil this may be more than Papa can bear."

Knowing Mary was in denial of her own pain, Cora felt some relief at the acknowledgement of her father's. There had been so much family pain of late, and Cora had learned many lessons on the right and wrong way to face it. Cold stoicism was definitely the wrong way. "We will all bear it together." Cora brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's face; knowing Mary's stoic control was as much of a facade as Violet's was. "You don't have to be so strong with me. Let it out, my dear. You've every right to be angry. It isn't fair, just when you were both so happy."

"Happy? What right have I to be happy?" Mary was eerily placid now, discussing the death of her husband as if it were casual dinner conversation. She gathered her covers around her and sat up straight. "I've had my taste of it, but I should've known it couldn't last. Not for someone like me. It's poor Papa I feel badly for. He's had rather more than he deserves these last few years."

Anna exchanged a look with Cora, knowing where this was headed.

"If I may," said Anna. "You do not deserve this, m'lady."

"Don't I?"

"Of course not," added Cora.

Anna came closer to the bed. "And neither does that dear little baby."

"The good die young," said Mary with a shrug. "Isn't that what they say? I mean, it's quite true, isn't it? The saintly Lavinia Swire. Sybil. And now…" she couldn't bring herself to say his name, "this. Each one as good as they come. And sinners like me are left behind."

"You are not a sinner, m'lady," said Anna, though at Mary's withering look she corrected herself. "Well, not a real one anyway."

"But I am," insisted Mary. "We are cursed, you know, in all of this. It's my fault, of course, all the hardships and bad times that have befallen our home and family since that awful night." She paused, but just for a moment. She closed and then opened her eyes, trying to blink away the memory. "Kemal…died in my bed and we covered it up and look what followed; Mama, you miscarried your own son, the war took its toll on Matthew and William, then the business with Lavina and Bates, and we nearly lost the estate itself. Edith was left at the altar, and now Sybil and Matthew have died. I'm not a very religious person, but I've surely angered some god somewhere by living the great aristocratic lie. You were right to judge me, Mama."

"Mary," said Cora. "Don't talk like that. Those events are tragic, but unrelated. They're all part of life. We've had our share of heartbreak, like every family these last years, and this is a tragedy no one could have predicted, and no one deserved, certainly not so soon after Sybil." She smoothed her daughter's hair and wrapped her arm around Mary's shoulder. "But you have your son now, as Tom has little Sybbie, and we must all grieve for dear Matthew and move onto a life without him. We will be there for you—as we have been for Tom. I know you don't want to hear it right now, but you are young and beautiful and strong and you will come through this."

Mary shook her head. "I could've endured it on my own; really I could. I just didn't know that my being a fallen woman meant I'd take the rest of you down with me. I suppose I will pay for my indiscretion for the rest of my life."

ANGER

Part 2

"Of course, he never wanted any of this in the first place." Isobel's sharp voice echoed through the library. The shocked family gathered and grieved, Matthew's untimely death hanging heavy in the thoughts of all, but Isobel stood in the center of the library, as yet unable to face her son's death. Dr. Clarkson, determined not to lose another Crawley girl, had directed Mary would be kept at the hospital overnight, so he could monitor her in this time of emotional upheaval. Robert had eventually arrived at the Downton Cottage Hospital, having escorted Matthew's body, and both parents had wanted their daughter home where they could offer support, but neither would challenge Clarkson on that score. She'd been given a light sedative to help her to sleep and her parents were sent home, leaving Anna to stay beside her friend and lady.

Cora sat on the sofa nearest the fireplace. An exhausted Robert stood beside his wife, with his shoulders slumped in defeat. Edith and the Dowager sat across from Cora as Tom hovered quietly in the back of the room.

Isobel paced. "If you'd been able to produce the great Grantham heir yourselves, my son would still be alive."

After a quick glance at Cora, a wounded Robert turned away, grasping the mantle and staring into the fireplace.

"That is quite enough." Violet's voice cut through the tension. "This is a tragedy for us all. Matthew has died in an accident, something that may have been avoided had he left a moment sooner or later than he did. There is no point rewriting the past or wondering what might have been. What has happened, has happened, and as with all difficult family circumstances, we must deal with the present and face the future together."

"You're right. Let's do talk about them. Remember that there only is a present and a future because Matthew had done his duty," said Isobel curtly, aiming her words at Robert's back. "I know he bailed Downton out financially, and unlike you, cousin Robert, he produced a fine son to stand in line."

Robert stood unmoving, still staring into the fire as Isobel pressed on.

"And I suppose Mary has what she always wanted now," continued Isobel. "I guess you all have what you've really wanted all along. As Matthew's widow, Mary can inherit until her son succeeds to the title. A nice, neat little family package."

"Isobel, that's not fair," said Cora, trying not to be unkind to the grieving mother, but her strong protective instincts demanded she speak for her silent husband and widowed daughter. She stood, gently gave Robert's hand a supportive squeeze and crossed to Isobel. "Mary has lost her husband, and our grandson his father. I hope you'll recall we accepted Matthew as part of this family long before he married our daughter, and his loss grieves us all. You are being especially unfair to Robert. Surely you know he's come to see Matthew not only as his heir, or even his son-in-law, but as his own son. He loved him so, we all did, and you will not twist that love into malice just because I was unable to carry our unborn son to term."

Isobel quieted at Cora's firm words, embarrassed by her own outburst. She looked around the silent room, all eyes on her. "I'm sorry," she said, sincerely. "I was unjust. I know you are grieving. All of you. Do forgive me."

There was a brief awkward silence, filled finally by Cora, who knew something of lashing out in response to the devastation of losing a child. "Of course." She took Isobel's hands in hers. "We are family, and as family we must stick together through this. I can attest that anger and blame are the enemies of healing. We both know what it is to lose a child, and I won't pretend that it is a hurt that ever leaves you. But you can learn to live with it. Our grandson will help. We are Crawleys. You are part of our family, and we will always be there for you. Won't we, Robert?"

A long moment passed before Robert turned to them. He tried to turn the corners of his mouth up into the merest hint of a smile, but failed. "Of course," said Robert, his voice barely audible. "Please, excuse me." He quickly left the room, and exited out the front door.

"Robert." Cora started after him, only to be stopped by Tom's voice.

"No," he said, "you stay with Mrs. Crawley. I'll go."

Tom followed his father-in-law out onto the lawn, and came up behind him.

"She didn't mean it, you know," he said. "You didn't deserve that, but she's just lashing out."

Robert remained silent, concentrating on breathing slowly and deeply, a practiced exercise in self-control.

"This had nothing to do with you," continued Tom. "And even if it did, I know in my heart that Matthew wouldn't have undone any of it, nor would he have traded a single moment with Mary. I believe he was destined to come here because they were destined to be together, even for a short time. That their union produced a child is a blessed reminder of that destiny."

Both men heard the fate of another star-crossed couple in his passionate words as well.

Having the lord's attention, Tom continued, "He may not have understood all the trappings of the aristocracy because he wasn't raised to it, but Matthew was proud to be part of this family. He may not have always been tactful about it, but he was working to secure Downton's future because he believed in what you taught him, and I know he'd be very honored for his son to succeed you in his place."

The older man turned and looked Tom in the eye. This time the small smile was genuine. "Thank you for that."

The two stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, until Tom made a move to leave. "Well, I'll leave you in peace for a while. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help." He started back for the house.

"Tom?" Lord Grantham called.

Tom turned back, his head tilted, waiting. "Yes?"

Robert's voice was soft, but sincere. "I never did get to tell Matthew how much I appreciated his efforts to save Downton—to save me from myself. I'm not a revolutionary. I was raised to see tradition as master, and change as a threat. I do want you to know that I understand that the plan you and Matthew have for Downton is the right one. I suppose deep down I always knew it, but I'm not sure I fully understood until I faced cousin Shrimpy in Scotland. He's losing his estate because he resisted the very change we've adapted to."

Tom frowned. "I'm not surprised, but I am sorry to hear that. Truly. I know what Duneagle has meant to your family. Sybil spoke fondly of it often."

Robert's eyes glistened at the mention of his daughter recalling happy times. "Shrimpy sees us as the model of progression, and I owe that to Matthew. And to you. I owe you a debt of gratitude for your efforts, and I also owe you an apology. Not only am I guilty of resisting the inevitable regarding my estate, but my desire to protect my daughter caused me to misjudge your character and made you feel unwelcome in Sybil's home, and for that I am sorry. I should have trusted her judgment. But then, that seems to be a trend for me lately."

Tom couldn't help but admire his father-in-law. It's true the man was far from perfect, and he had made mistakes that would cripple a lesser man, but Robert Crawley never hid behind them or denied or excused them as many of his aristocratic brethren would. Once he came around, Robert never hesitated to step forward and offer a sincere apology when one was warranted, no matter to whom it was directed. It was, he felt, an honorable trait they both shared. "We've all had to adapt to change these last few years," said Tom. "It's not been easy on any of us. And you're not the only one guilty of preconceived notions that were later dispelled."

Robert nodded appreciatively. "My dear father went to great efforts to lock up the family money to preserve our way of life. I suppose I am guilty of trying to do the same with the family honor. I guess neither of us could see that the real enemy was within."