Chapter 7

Mary was up bright and early the next morning. Reluctantly sliding her hand away from Matthew's, she stood and hurried out of the room, where Anna was waiting for her. "Oh, good, Anna, you're here." With that, the two rushed upstairs to Mary's room, quickly changing Mary and doing her hair as they had the day before. While Anna worked, Mary studied her hand. Anna caught sight of it, and gasped.

"Milady, whatever happened to your hand?"

Mary sighed. "I think yesterday, during Matthew's operation…"

Anna nodded in understanding. "You might want to have it looked at…"

Bright purple bruises covered Mary's left index and pinkie finger. Both were swollen horribly at the knuckle, and her pinkie was bent at a strange angle. Mary was grateful she was right-handed.

Anna secured the last few pins in Mary's hair, and Mary nodded at her, hurrying downstairs. She hoped she could get her hand looked at and maybe fixed before Matthew awoke. Outside of Matthew's room, she caught the Irish nurse who had diagnosed Matthew's fever. "How can I help you, Lady Mary?" the nurse smiled at Mary.

"Well, I seemed to have injured my hand…"

The nurse nodded, not asking any questions about how it had occurred. "This way, please, " she said authoritatively as she stepped into Matthew's room. Mary reluctantly followed, not wanting to be in the same room as Matthew when her hand was bandaged. He had enough on his plate, and she didn't want him fretting about her hand. She sat down on the cot farthest from the still slumbering Matthew, and the nurse pulled up a chair, carefully examining Mary's hand. She pushed on the knuckle gently, and Mary winced, but bit back any sound.

"Yes, I dare say your pinkie is broken at the knuckle. Your ring finger is a fracture." She met Mary's eyes. "You know, Lady Mary, you aren't the first young woman to have broken a finger caring for a young man. If you'd like, I could put it in a metal splint that would allow you to continue your work… It isn't the most comfortable thing, but it will heal faster and you won't be hindered by it."

Mary quickly nodded. "That would be wonderful."

"But first, we must set your fingers."

Mary let out a small gasp as the nurse twisted her fractured finger back into a normal position . The nurse was wrapping the knuckle when Isobel appeared by her side.

"Mary, dear, whatever happened to your fingers?" Isobel whispered, not wanting to wake Matthew.

Mary took a deep breath and smiled as warmly as she could manage. "I was ever so clumsy. I seemed to have slipped and injured them."

Isobel frowned at Mary, knowing she was not being told the whole story. "Oh, really?"

The nurse cut in. "Lady Mary, if you don't mind, I'm going to set your other finger. This one may hurt a bit." Isobel placed her hand on Mary's shoulder as the nurse took Mary's pinkie, straightened it, and twisted it into place. Air hissed through Mary's gritted teeth as she let out a sharp cry.

A voice rose from the other side of the room, groggy with sleep. "Mother? Mary? Is every think alright?"

Mary put on as cheery voice as she could manage while the nurse finished bandaging her thumb. "Everything's perfectly fine, Matthew. We'll be with you in a moment!" She grimaced as the nurse secured a tight but small metal splint around her two fingers. After the nurse finished, Mary turned to her and warmly said, "Thank you…." She blanched. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't seem to know your name."

"O'Malley." She smiled, "Mrs. Donna O'Malley."

"Well thank you, Nurse O'Malley." She wondered briefly who her husband was as she nodded to Nurse O'Malley and turned away, hastily making her way over to Matthew. She sat next to him. "How are you feeling today? A bit less groggy?" She smiled at Matthew.

"Yes, quite," He mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. She smiled affectionately at the still half-asleep Matthew. She reached down to brush some of the sleep out of her eyes. She didn't realize she had used her bad hand until it was too late. Her metal splint touched his skin, and his good arm shot up, his hand on hers. "What happened to your hand?" He was immediately distraught, the thought of her being hurt in any way upsetting him.

"Oh it's really nothing," she said as brightly and quickly as she could manage.

"Quite the contrary, Mary. If you aren't telling me, then it must've been quite bad," He chided her in his hoarse voice, trying his best to look stern while lying down. She couldn't help but giggle at his trying to be authoritative while so incapacitated.

She loved him, loved his efforts to be cross. She loved the twinkle that returned to his eyes when she laughed. His pale face seemed to lighten and relax at the sound, and the bruises and cuts around his eyes seemed to be less prominent. His lips curved upward into a small smile.

Matthew mentally shook himself. Get it together, Matthew, he thought. The effect she had on him…

"Really, Mary, do tell me." A deep look of worry crossed his face. "May I… See it?" With much effort lifted her hand to his dry lips, sweetly touching his lips to her hurt fingers.

Mary smiled at his gesture, her smile widened when she heard his stomach rumbling. "Why, Matthew, you must be famished. I don't think you've eaten since you got here…"

He grinned sheepishly –weak as he was, it was more of a grimace with crinkling at his eyes, "just a bit."

Mary quickly ordered a nearby maid to go and fetch him some soup. In a few moments, the maid returned with a broth. Matthew began to try to sit up. The pain across his face made it clear he was unable. Mary gently placed her hand on his chest, preventing him from trying anymore. "Just what do you think you're doing?" she said playfully.

"Well, I'm trying to sit up so I can feed myself…" Matthew trailed off as he realized what was about to happen. "I'm not feeding myself, am I?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"No," Mary said gently, "I'm afraid you're still a bit too weak for that." Matthew sighed.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Nothing, Mary. It's just that, all of this, it makes me feel like even more of an invalid than I already am."

"Matthew," Mary chided, "You are not an invalid. You will get better soon."

"How do you know?" he asked, almost snidely.

"Because," she said, "Perseus was never down for long."

Matthew smiled at this, and allowed Mary to place an extra pillow behind him, pushing him slightly more upright. She then scooped a spoonful of soup up and lifted it to his mouth. He grimaced slightly as she did so. "I still feel like you should be saying, 'here comes the motorcar!'…"

"Oh, do hush and eat your soup." Mary grinned as Matthew obliged, his hunger getting the better of him. She lifted the spoon to the edge of his lips, and he willingly drank.

She continued to feed him like that for a while. After he had finished, she had a maid take away the bowl.

She sat with him in a comfortable silence for a while. Eventually, Clarkson showed up to check on Matthew. He looked at the wound on his head. "Already this is beginning to heal, Captain Crawley. He looked at Mary. "It might be beneficial to wash his hair, to keep the area clean." He continued to check Matthew's wounds. "The infection is almost gone," he said of the infected cut on his arm. "Rub some more iodine in it." He chose to leave the broken arm, having faith in Isobel's skill. "I'll be back around the same time tomorrow, unless something arises." He nodded at Matthew, and then Mary. He then went over to Isobel, who had been reading while Mary tended to Matthew. He discussed Matthew with Isobel as Mary turned to Matthew.

"Shall we wash your hair?" She said, smiling slightly at the prospect of running her fingers through his hair.

A few moments later, Matthew's head was positioned slightly off the bed, supported by a towel on the edge of a bowl of warm water. Mary gently ran a louse comb through his hair. After she was certain she had gotten rid of all the nasty little – her lips twitched at her vulgar pun - buggers, she began to run her fingers through his hair, mindful of his stitches. She poured warm water over the top of his head, and carefully ran her fingernails along his scalp. She carefully worked away the oil, dirt, and blood that matted his hair.

Matthew relaxed, eyes closing as she massaged his head. It felt wonderful, not only to finally be clean after two years at war, but to have her fingers in his hair. She worked in a rhythmic pattern. A soft groan escaped from his throat. He relished her touch, her affection. He was slightly disappointed when she finished, though he enjoyed it when she gently towel dried his hair. She helped adjust him back onto the bed, positioning his head on the pillows and running her hand through his thick, freshly cleaned blonde hair once.

She then carried the bowl of dirty water and towel to the door of Matthew's room, where a maid was waiting to take it out to dump it. She returned to Matthew's side. She was disconcerted by the look on his face. He was extremely pale and his eyes shut. "Matthew, are you alright?"

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick…" He mumbled. Mary quickly grabbed his sick bowl and helped him move on his side, leaning him over it.

Her hand rubbed his back as she murmured, "It's alright, It's perfectly alright," while he retched. When he had finished, she gently laid him on the bed. She quickly grabbed a towel to cover the sick bowl. She heard a strange, strangled, laugh rise from the bed. "What is it?" she questioned Matthew.

"I was just thinking it seemed like such a short time since I turned you down," he says to Mary. "Now look at me—impotent, crippled, and stinking of sick. What a reversal. You have to admit it's quite funny."

Mary turned to him and said sharply, "All I'll admit is that you're here, and you've survived the war, and that's enough for now." With that, she turned and marched out of the room. She was worried now. A few moments ago, Matthew had been at peace. Now, he was in this state. She almost crashed into Isobel. "Cousin Isobel, I am so terribly sorry."

"Nonsense, dear." She looked down at the sick bowl. "You really have become quite the nurse…"

Mary blushed. "Oh, it's nothing." With that, she quickly continued down the hall.

As Isobel marched in to see her son she murmured, "On the contrary, it's the very opposite of nothing."

Mary quickly disposed of the sick bowl and hurried back to Matthew, concerned for him. Isobel stood a few yards away from him. "I don't know what's happened- he's in quite a state…" She nodded, and hurried to Matthew's side. She had barely sat down when he grabbed her injured hand.

"I did this, didn't I?" He choked out.

Mary's eyes widened, all she could do was nod.