Chapter 2

Lord Grantham rushed into the room, tailed closely by Thomas. "What in God's name is goi-" Robert Crawley began, but stopped as soon as he saw the patient lying in the bed. He suddenly felt sick at seeing the soldier's horrific injuries as knowledge of who that wretched man was dawned on him. He swallowed his nausea back as he moved next to the bed beside Mary, who was mechanically bathing Matthew' forehead with a rag as Matthew sweated and moaned under the heat of fever.

"My dear Chap," Robert said as he steadied himself on Matthew's bed. "My poor, poor son," he said as Mary's hand found his. He gripped her hand for a moment, offering a silent prayer up for his heir. He then straightened himself, and turned to Carson, who was standing nearby, waiting for orders. "Carson, go and fetch Mrs. Crawley as fast as you possibly can." Without a word, Carson nodded and glided out the door before hurrying down to the garage to get the chauffer to start the car.

With the mention of his mother's name, Matthew's eyes opened and he looked wildly about and croaked, "Mother?"

Mary placed a hand on his. "She's coming as fast as she can. Rest, darling." Matthew seemed to calm at her touch and once again slipped under the fever. His body tensed, and then slumped as he lost consciousness. Robert then stood up, and turned to a nurse, speaking with as much authority as he could muster. "I want the other officers to be moved out of this room for tonight."

Clarkson raised his eyebrows only slightly before nodding his agreement to the nurse, who then busied herself helping the other two protesting officers out of the room. Robert looked curiously at Mary, who was speaking nonsense words to the unconscious Matthew, but dismissed it. He lightly brushed his fingers across Matthew's overheated forehead, which was not lost on Mary. Robert then turned on his heel, and purposefully strode out of the room, going to find the rest of the family to let them know what was going on.

Mary was left with Matthew, and she intertwined her fingers with his as she continued to bathe his forehead. It could have been seconds or weeks before Isobel arrived at Downton to Mary, though it took only an hour to retrieve her from the hospital.

Mary was still holding Matthews hand when Isobel entered the now-empty room. When she caught a glimpse of her son, she put her hand over her heart and felt light headed. Then she noticed Mary, who was wiping the sweat from her boy's face, speaking softly to her unconscious son. Despite the horrible circumstances, Mary did seem so right next to her son, incapacitated as he was. She crossed the room in a few steps and stood in front of Matthew's bed. "My darling, darling boy." Her heart leapt when she heard the faint "Mother?" from her son, who rose to consciousness for a few seconds before slipping back under.

Isobel then sat next to Mary. "May I help?" She gently tried to take the rag from Mary, who recoiled and curtly said, "I'm quite all right." She then softened her tone, adding "Thank you, though." Isobel tentatively smiled at Mary, proud of the woman who was so determined to take care of her son, even with what had happened between them.

The poor girl, Isobel thought. Isobel had time to prepare herself for what was coming in the car ride over. She had expected the worst, and found it. Mary, however, had not had that luxury. The girl was the one who identified him as Matthew, and had been with him nonstop, as she had learned from Dr. Clarkson as he filled her in on her only child's condition.

Just then, a cry of anguish ripped through the air and both women turned to the man they both loved. Isobel placed her hand on Matthew's forehead and sighed. "His fever is worsening." She grabbed a rag and began to wash over Matthew's battle-torn body, working despite his groans when the rag touched his wounds. The two women worked together, trying to offer him as much as themselves some relief.

Matthew eventually quieted as the fever grew stronger, and was still for a while. In the middle of the night, fresh tears began rolling down his cheeks. "M…. Mmmm….. Ma…. Mary." Mary wasn't sure she heard him, but his voice grew stronger as he kept whispering her name. "Matthew. I'm right here."

Matthew's semiconscious tears began flowing faster. "I...I...am so...sorry..."

Mary's emotional resilience collapsed there. She openly sobbed, and Isobel placed a hand on her back, comforting her. "Matthew, oh, Matthew, you're alright, you're alright…." Mary continued to sob, Isobel surprised but not shocked by her display of emotion. There was, after all, only so much one could take. This was true for even the strongest, like Mary. Mary's sobs eventually softened, and her hands returned to Matthew's forehead with the rag. She gasped.

"Isobel," Mary barely uttered her name before Isobel's hand was there too. "He is at the worst of it, my dear. This is where the fever either breaks or…" Isobel stopped, unable to voice what was both women's greatest fear. Matthew's breathing was extremely shallow and labored, coming in gasps with soft moans and cries. His face was flushed, soaked with sweat no matter how much the two women bathed it. Every muscle in his body quivered, trying to battle the fever, his head rocking side to side as inhuman grunts and rose from his chest

Mary began washing his forehead again, more desperately than before. Do not give up, Matthew, she willed. Do not give up on me yet.

She and Isobel continued working frenetically until both of them collapsed in exhaustion, just as the sun began to rise in the sky

As Mary drifted out of consciousness, a quiet, almost imperceptible request rose from the heir's lips - So quiet, Mary was sure she was dreaming, though she couldn't help placing her soft hand over his beaten one.

"Please... Save me."