Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"Matthew."

His name was on Mary's lips as her eyes flicked open. Matthew. She looked next to her and gasped. He was here. She wasn't dreaming. Slowly lowering her eyes to his chest, she almost cried when she saw it rise and fall. Her fingers quickly found his pulse on his neck, and a few sobs escaped her as she felt it strongly. Her head fell forward to rest on his chest, to relish his heartbeat- to relish that she could still hear his heartbeat, that life had not left him while she slept. She would have stayed like that. Tears rolling down her face onto his chest had Isobel, looking stricken, not gasped "Matthew!"

Isobel's fingers found Matthew's pulse much in the same way Mary's did, and she let out a sigh of relief. He made it. She couldn't believe it. She didn't think it possible, though she hadn't wanted to frighten Mary with what she believed to be Matthew's imminent death. She was filled with such gratitude to Mary – She privately believed that Mary's presence had been part of the cause of Matthew's survival She had given him the will to live. She noticed Mary's head laid on Matthew's slumbering figure, and thought that she was asleep. She didn't realize that her young cousin was listening to the sound of her son's heart. However, she did allow herself to run her fingers through Mary's now disheveled hair, and whisper, "Thank you."

Mary thought it best to pretend she was still asleep, and acted like she awakened when she felt Cousin Isobel's touch. She wiped the tears off her face, and slowly sat up.

"Oh my dear, I did not mean to awaken you," Isobel said. "Oh, it's really no trouble at all," Mary said. "Would you like some tea? I know I would." Mary knew that Isobel needed some time alone with her son, who she believed was going to die for the past few years in some way or another. Mary quickly moved out of the room, finding Anna. "Anna, would you help me change and then bring tea for Mrs. Crawley and I?" "Certainly, milady." Anna smiled reassuringly at Mary. They then rushed to Mary's room, where they began to make sense of Mary's hair and clothes.

Isobel sat next to her now peacefully sleeping son. She finally allowed a tear to run down her cheek. "Oh my dear, dear boy." She said, taking his hand in hers. "Oh my darling, darling son." Matthew's eyes fluttered open, in a moment of consciousness, A small smile spread across his face. "Mother," he said, a small smile darting across his face before he drifted off to sleep.

Isobel's tears flowed more freely now. "You know, you have always been strong, my boy. Far stronger than I or even your father, and far more honorable. You cannot fathom how much you are loved. Not only by I, but my the Earl, and the servants, and Sybil, Cora, and the lot. Especially, though, by Mary. Where other women would have fled, she stayed with you through what I believe were some of the darkest hours of your life. She bathed your forehead, and showed no repulsion, when you were sick, wiped your tears. You love her too, you know. It was not me you called for, nor your father, nor that lovely girl Lavinia who you are thinking of proposing to, but her. You are meant for each other, of that I am sure. With my dying breath, I shall ensure that you both find each other. Lavinia nor Richard Carlisle shall ever stand in the way of that."

She ran her fingers through her child's floppy blonde locks, which were matted with oil and dirt and blood, both his and other's. She couldn't even imagine what he had seen while he was at war, and felt distressed she couldn't be there to comfort him, or even offer any words of encouragement. She felt sadness come over her, but shook it off as she heard footsteps approach.

Mary looked fresh and clean, and was followed by Anna, carrying tea. Mosley, who had been working at Downton with all the male footmen and valets being gone, scurried behind, quickly moving a table and two chairs close to the foot of Matthew's bed. He placed some pastries on it with the tea, and he and Anna bowed and bobbed. Both then quickly left the room, leaving the two women to breakfast.

Mary and Isobel ate in comfortable silence, mentally preparing for the grueling day to come. They would have to, though they were both quite willing, tend to Matthew's injuries. It had been decided that Clarkson would diagnose, and then Isobel would act as nurse, with Mary's assistance. They would bathe, clean, and dress his wounds. "It won't be pleasant," Isobel warned as they finished breakfast, "There will be a lot of blood."

"How hot should the water be?" Mary was determined to help Matthew in any way she possibly could.

"Warm more than hot," Isobel smiled at Mary's disregard for her warning, so much like she used to do as a young nurse.

While Mary ran the water, Isobel began the process of waking Matthew. She tried speaking to him, tapping him, and even lightly shaking him. He was out cold. She was beginning to grow frustrated when Mary appeared, having filled the basin. She nodded at Isobel, and Isobel understood her cue to move. Mary began to run her fingers gently through his hair, grazing her fingers over his eyes and forehead before running her fingers over his scalp. He grunted slightly and shifted, and she continued doing so, to Isobel's amazement, until he was conscious.

Mary shifted down the bed so she could see him. "Hello, there. How are we feeling today?" Matthew groaned lightly in response. "Well," Mary said, "If you don't mind, do you think you could stay awake as Dr. Clarkson examines you?" Matthew blinked at her, still out of it. "I should go and fetch him," Mary said.

"No need for that," Clarkson said, appearing behind Mary.

For the next few minutes, Clarkson poked and prodded Matthew. He asked questions, and the groggy Matthew muttered responses as well as he could.

When Clarkson was done, he gently pulled Isobel aside to give her instruction.

"His arm is badly broken, but you should be able to manage that. Clean the infected wound and drain it, and rub some iodine in it. You should be able to handle the rest- that is, except…" He paused. "What is the problem?" Isobel asked. "You see, I'm afraid, judging by Mr. Crawley's behavior, the damage may have been far more psychological, the trauma of war too much."

"Shell Shock?" Mary asked, appearing beside Isobel.

"I'm afraid so. The fever has masked it, the deliria hiding it, but I fear he might have it quite badly – from some hugely traumatic event at war. We will know more later, after we have observed him some."

Mary stood, shocked. Her poor Matthew. He was strong, stronger than most, she knew, but even the strongest man could be cracked. What horrible events had befallen him at war. She shook off these thoughts as she returned to his side with Isobel.

Shell Shock, echoed in both their minds as they prepared to bathe him.