Chapter 5

Mary almost cried when she realized what Matthew was about to endure. "And… His ribs?" she asked Isobel.

"They will have to set those as well. However, Dr. Clarkson is tied up at least until noon with another… Soldier…" Something in the way Isobel responded made Mary's heart sink. "Who… Is the soldier?" she asked Isobel, not sure she wanted to know.

"It's… William."

"The footman? Is that all?" Mary asked, sounding a bit like her usual cold self.

Isobel turned to Mary sharply. "William's right lung was crushed, and he is dying. He injured it when he jumped in between Matthew and the shell," she snapped. With that, she sharply turned on her heel and strode out of the room, infuriated at Mary's insensitivity to the young man who had saved her son.

Mary was frozen. She stood, staring after Isobel, her mouth gaping open. She didn't know how long she stood there, until she heard a whisper from the bed. "It… It is true. William did save me," Matthew said almost imperceptibly. His eyes were far away, and Mary's heart caught in her throat. She slowly walked over to Matthew's bedside, and sat down in the chair next to him, clearly stunned from Isobel's harsh words. Her hands searched for Matthew's, and she took his in her hand. "You didn't know, Mary. There's no need to feel upset."

"Matthew, I'm not upset… I'm just…"

"Yes?" Matthew whispered.

"Grateful."

Tears pooled in her eyes, and though he winced at the jolt of pain it sent through him, Matthew lifted his hand to her face, thumb wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. Nothing more than cousinly love, he told himself. Nothing more than friendship.

Mary turned to him. "You can tell me what happened, if you like…" She smiled at Matthew gently, hoping for a positive response. He slowly let his hand slip down from her face, and she held his hand in hers as she helped him lower his arm. She then took it between her own two, holding it against his chest. Despite the pain the pressure from their hands brought him, a ghost of a smile flickered across his pale, battered face. "If you would like. I suppose I should start from the beginning of the battle…"

As Matthew spoke, he was transported back to the battlegrounds in France. He could see the brown, muddy, barren, war-torn French countryside. He could smell the foul, burning odor of the trenches, and taste the gunpowder in the air.

Matthew had stood in a room built in one of the trenches. William, who was helping him dress for the upcoming battle, accompanied him. William had been straightening the pins on Matthew's uniform, as Matthew prepared himself mentally for the upcoming fight. He knew that it would be a hard battle and that many would be injured, and that even more would die. He suddenly spoke. "Am I ready, William?"

"Only you can answer that, Sir."

"They're going to chuck everything they've got at us."

"Then we shall have to chuck it back, won't we, Sir."

If the situation weren't so serious, Matthew would have chuckled at his younger comrade's response. A hint of a smile ghosted across his lips as he responded, "Quite right."

Matthew would have believed he were back in France had the constant weight of Mary's hand been on his, running her fingers over his scarred skin, keeping him anchored. He continued on, sparing the most grisly details, not wanting to recap them in his mind. He skipped to the part where he was injured, a long way into the battle.

Matthew- then known as Captain Crawley - had run ahead of his legion, shouting orders and firing his pistol at the Germans, He had almost reached the first line of Germans when the shell landed. He had begun to move away, but couldn't fast enough. He had thought he was about to be blown sky-high when William jumped in front of him. "William, NO!" he had screamed as the shell exploded. It had thrown him back into a puddle – of someone else's blood, though he did not reveal that to Mary. William had landed on top of him, taking the worst of the impact.

He strained to remember what happened afterwards. All he could remember were voices and the agony that had been a constant for days.

"After that, it's just… foggy…" He concluded. Mary nodded. She did not want to push any further, already frightened by the vacant, haunted look in Matthew's eyes. She began to tease him, hoping to bring some of the light back to his eyes. "You know, Matthew, I did meet the nicest man the other day." He turned to her, some of the storm that was brewing in his eyes clearing away, clearly interested. "Oh?" He softly inquired. "Yes, I did," Mary continued, her signature smirk spreading across her face. "He introduced himself as Perseus." A smile spread across Matthew's lips at their old joke, and with that, they began their banter, much in the way they did before the war. Despite the pleasant conversation, both of their minds were in different places.

Mary was thinking of the look on Matthew's face as he told her his story. She could tell he was leaving parts out of it deliberately. She supposed he didn't want to tell her the most frightening parts, though she gladly would've listened. She, however, was even more concerned by the look on his face and in his eyes. His face had grown even more deathly pale, the rings of bruises around his eyes seemed to grow darker. His face had been slack, except for the twitching of his brow at certain parts, especially the ones she knew he had omitted information. His eyes had been glassy, and didn't seem to see. Something had gone on inside of his mind, and she had been afraid that Dr. Clarkson's prediction of shell shock had come true. He did not break, however, or go into a fit. She had managed to pull him out of it. There is still a good possibility he does not have shell shock, she reasoned. There was no proof of it yet, she decided, so she refused to accept it.

Matthew was far off. He was daydreaming about the woman sitting right in front of him, about what she had meant to him while he was at war. Every night, he would look at a photograph of Mary, remembering her beautiful face. If he were to be killed, at least he would be able to remember her in his last breaths. She had kept him going at war, though he was courting Lavinia. Mary was why he had been unable to propose to Lavinia the last time he saw her. As he continually conversed with Mary, less pleasant thoughts whirled through his mind.

"He will be awake." No chloroform, no morphine. He could hardly stand to think of how it would feel. Pondering his upcoming operation, he suddenly felt fatigue. Mary took notice as his eyelids grew heavier as he fought to keep them open. She smiled at Matthew, who was already beginning to slip away. She moved to the head of his bed and adjusted his covers. She wanted to kiss his forehead, but settled for smoothing her fingertips over it. She thought Matthew was asleep when he mumbled a question to her.

"Mary…"

"Yes, Matthew?"

"Will you stay with me, when they… When they… Operate?" Mary's breath caught in her throat. He had overheard her and Isobel.

"Of course; as long as you want me there."

Matthew's lips curved upward slightly before he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

Mary stayed by his side.