Author's Note:
Thank you to everyone who nominated this story for The Highclere Awards. This is the first story that I ever published and it is very dear to me. To receive any kind of recognition is unbelievable and I greatly appreciate all of your continued support. Thank you in advance for your votes and continuing to follow this story.
Previously:
Downton Abbey, England, February 1914
"Did I ever thank you for my Valentine's Day present?" Mary asked smoothly, running her fingers over the lace strap of the negligee her husband had bought her.
"I think I'm receiving ample thanks at the moment," Matthew whispered, struggling to control his breathing as his eyes roamed his wife's body.
Mary eased the blankets off of him and framed his face with her hand, pressing her silk covered body against his bare chest.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Matthew," she smiled, before they kissed ardently.
Chapter 20:
Castre Museum, Cannes, France, October 1913
"This gallery houses archaeological discoveries from the Greco-Roman period," Matthew said enthusiastically as he led Mary into a large hall and glanced all around him.
Mary rolled her eyes and smirked at her husband's enthusiasm. If she hadn't just witnessed him glowing over a Mayan water jug, she would not believe that a man could be so engrossed over ancient pieces of broken clay and stone.
"This is incredible!" Matthew exclaimed, stopping them in front of a glass display case that housed several broken pieces of marble.
"From the site of Pompeii," Matthew read the card. "Mary can you believe it? These pieces of marble are over a thousand years old!"
Mary nodded patiently, her gloved hand staying linked with Matthew's. She had to keep reminding herself that he had patiently escorted her through the shopping district for most of the past week. The least she could do was hold back her boredom and indulge him while he looked at…rocks.
"Well, what do you think?" Matthew asked, grinning at her, his eyes bright.
"It's very…old," Mary replied.
"Come now, darling," Matthew frowned. "Think of how these very pieces were in some nobleman's house in ancient times. They were far more primitive than we are today, and yet they knew how to cut marble and shape it and use it for their purposes. Isn't that amazing?"
"Yes, darling, of course it is," Mary nodded politely.
"For someone so opinionated, you have remarkably little to say," Matthew said plainly.
"Fine," Mary smiled. "I will say that it is quite impressive that over a thousand years later, in 1913, we are using the same material for our bathrooms as they did in Pompeii all those centuries ago."
"Bathroom?" Matthew cried incredulously. "No, Mary, these must have come from a grand hall, or perhaps columns in a forum. Bathroom?" Matthew laughed.
"Does the card say where they came from, darling?" Mary asked sweetly.
Matthew looked over and read the card once more, translating the French words in his mind. He frowned, then swallowed noticeably.
"It says…the marble was found in what likely was a nobleman's bathroom," Matthew sighed.
"Why, that's incredible, isn't it darling?" Mary said with a wide grin.
Matthew blushed and smiled at her. "Very well, let me take you somewhere that you'll be far more interested in."
He kissed her gloved hand, then walked briskly through the room to another part of the museum.
The National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, London, England, March 1914
"Matthew! Behave yourself!" Mary hissed, biting back a smile as Matthew leaned in and nuzzled her neck.
"The gallery is completely empty, Mary," Matthew said seductively, his hand firmly against her lower back. He kissed her neck quickly before pulling back and looking at her with a wicked expression.
"Sybil is here!" Mary scolded him. "You can't be all over me in public like this!"
"Darling, your sister has seen us do far more than exchange a few innocent kisses," Matthew drawled.
"First, all she saw that one time was me kissing your neck," Mary blushed. "Second, there is nothing innocent about your intentions!"
"Very well," Matthew pulled back. "But even though Sybil may not have seen where your hands were when she came into our sitting room, I expect she could guess your intentions, darling."
Mary slapped his arm and looked at the floor.
"If you two are quite finished, can we please move along?" Sybil called.
"Of course, darling," Mary answered, glaring at Matthew and walking away from him to link arms with her youngest sister. "I'm all finished with this room."
Matthew chuckled to himself as he followed his wife and sister-in-law through to another part of the National Gallery.
Sainte-Anne Chapel, Castre Museum, Cannes, France, October 1913
Matthew brought Mary through to the large room, formerly the chapel of the old Castre Castle. Mary smiled as she took in the artefacts around her. Matthew laughed as the contents of this particular room piqued her interest for the first time since they arrived at the Museum.
The Castre Museum had built up an impressive collection of musical instruments from around the world, and Mary was far more intrigued by the violins and guitars and other instruments than any of the Greco-Roman artefacts she had just seen. She wandered through the room, looking at different instruments and reading the various descriptions.
"I think this room suits you more than the others," Matthew noted.
"I agree," Mary smiled at him. "Doesn't seeing all of these instruments remind you of the College?"
"Certainly," Matthew smiled, taking her hand. "Although I am very thankful that we taught a vocal singing class. If you met me while I was trying to play the violin, I think I would have made a much worse impression."
Mary laughed, squeezing his hand as they walked around the room.
"Where to, next?" she asked when they exited the chapel. "Any more ancient pots and stones that you wish to show me?"
"No," Matthew smiled. "I think we've had our fill of them for quite a while. There is one last place in the Museum that I do want you to see, however."
"Lead on, darling," Mary smiled, holding on to his arm as he guided her back through the Castle.
The National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, London, England, March 1914
Sybil rolled her eyes as she looked around the gallery. Mary and Matthew were once again laughing like teenagers as they stood in front of a Monet. In many ways, Sybil often wondered who was in fact the oldest and more mature of the three Crawley sisters. Mary was always cold and stoic, but when she met Cousin Matthew, things seemed to change. She was far more expressive now, laughing and flirting with him constantly. Sybil was always taught that there was a proper way for a husband and wife to act around each other – the same lessons that Mary and Edith had received as well. Now that Mary was Matthew's wife however, those rules did not seem to apply. Mary was acting somewhat juvenile, albeit in a refined and elegant way, Sybil thought.
Sybil had to smirk in spite of her rising annoyance at their antics. She had to admit that she had never seen Mary happier, or Cousin Matthew more at ease around her, to be certain. They seemed far removed from that first horrible dinner at Downton Abbey, where Sybil thought that Mary was going to scratch the eyes out of Papa's new heir. Over those initial few months, their interactions had grown more polite and respectful, but never anything beyond that.
When Mary informed them that she and Matthew were engaged, Sybil thought that Mary was finally accepting her duty to wed the heir to Papa. While Sybil didn't necessarily agree with marrying purely out of duty, she did think that Mary owed it to the family to play her role. Sybil was comforted in the knowledge that it was obvious that Cousin Matthew loved Mary, and so she was pleased that at least her sister would be taken care of, and that her husband would not merely treat her as some trophy. When Mary admitted to everyone's shock that in fact she loved Matthew and was not even concerned about his prospects, Sybil was as floored as anyone.
Now though, having spent the afternoon with them in London, Sybil could attest to the fact that Mary and Matthew were very much in love. Almost disgustingly so. They really could not keep their hands off each other. And even when they did, Sybil thought the glances they cast at each other would be enough to send Papa into a fit, or Granny to seek her smelling salts and heart medication.
"Sybil," Matthew said, coming up beside her. "We've been quite rude today. I'm sorry. What do you want to do? Is there anything in particular that you wish to see?"
"No, nothing," Sybil said plainly. "I'm happy to just stroll around."
"I don't believe that," Mary said pointedly. "Idle strolling is hardly your style, darling. Whenever we come to the Gallery, you always have a list of paintings you wish to see."
"I don't feel very connected to the art at the moment," Sybil sighed.
"This doesn't have anything to do with the arrest of Mrs. Pankhurst yesterday, does it?" Matthew asked.
"How do you know about that?" Mary frowned.
"I saw Sybil reading about it in the paper this morning at breakfast," Matthew replied. "And it would follow that she would be affected by it."
"God help us if we're to have another suffragist debate," Mary rolled her eyes.
"How can you be so flippant about women's rights, Mary?" Sybil shook her head.
"If women are ever granted the right to vote, I will use it gladly," Mary replied. "But if you expect me to champion a movement that uses arson, violence and threats to get its point across, I'm sorry to say I will disappoint you."
"Not all suffragists support such measures," Sybil retorted.
"Of course not," Matthew interjected. "But Sybil, you must see that using such extreme tactics does very little to raise sympathy to the cause."
Sybil huffed.
"Now, rather than argue over a point that you two are clearly not going to agree upon, Sybil, why don't you decide which gallery we'll go see next?" Matthew suggested, squeezing Mary's hand.
"Fine," Sybil agreed. "This way."
Castre Museum, Cannes, France, October 1913
"Just a bit further, Mary," Matthew said encouragingly, squeezing her hand as they climbed another set of stairs.
"I don't see what artefacts could possibly be kept in the castle tower," Mary said. "And if these stairs continue much longer, you are going to have to carry me the rest of the way."
Matthew laughed as they finally came out on to the platform of the square tower. He stopped her and smiled.
"Close your eyes, darling," he said.
"What are you playing at, Matthew?" Mary frowned.
"Mary, please," Matthew smiled. "Close your eyes."
Mary rolled her eyes, then closed them. Matthew looked at her closely to make sure she was not looking.
"You can't cheat," he warned.
"If you don't explain yourself quickly, I'm going back downstairs!" she spat.
Matthew laughed and took her hands. He guided her forward and when she was in perfect position, he stepped behind her. His arms encircled her waist, and Mary smiled, leaning back against him.
"Open your eyes, darling," Matthew whispered into her ear.
Mary opened her eyes and gasped. The blue cloudless sky stretched out before her, and with the clear view, she saw all of Cannes spread out below. The water of the Mediterranean Sea glistened in the distance, and Mary could see the boutiques of La Croisette and the colourful flags of the hotels along the beach and the ships in the port waving in the distance.
"Is this worth the climb?" Matthew asked, kissing her neck.
"Mmm," Mary smiled, raising her hand and stroking his cheek. "It's gorgeous."
"And if you look over there," Matthew said, pointing off to the northeast, "you can see the Alps."
Mary smiled as she saw the mountains far away, and yet still visible with the sun shining overhead.
"It feels so wonderful here," Mary whispered, turning her head and kissing him softly. "So far away from Downton, as though we're in our own private world."
"Would that please you? To be stuck with me far away somewhere?" Matthew teased.
"I could get used to it," Mary said firmly. "Although I don't know how we would support ourselves."
Matthew laughed and kissed her shoulder. "If you wanted to run away with me, I'd find a way, darling."
"That sounds rather ambitious," Mary teased. "You know how particular I can be, Matthew. I won't be able to adjust to a different standard of living, you know."
"I am well aware," Matthew smiled, holding her close to him. "Don't worry, darling. As lovely a dream as this is, this isn't home."
Mary smiled and kissed him again. "No, I suppose it's not. But it's home for a while longer."
Matthew kissed her more soundly this time.
The National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, London, England, March 1914
"This is the painting you wanted to see?" Mary asked.
"Yes, it's quite beautiful, don't you think?" Sybil replied.
"Obviously," Mary said. "I just didn't think you'd be interested in it. We've seen it numerous times before."
The three of them stood before the Rokeby Venus. Sybil looked at it intently. Matthew watched politely. Mary was bored.
"What do you think, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked.
"It's a very famous work," Matthew said offhandedly. "Velazquez was renowned of course, and this is his only surviving nude painting. The provenance is quite interesting. Although some believe that Velazquez didn't in fact paint it, I've always liked to think that he did."
"Sybil knows all about it," Mary said. "We saw it when we were children at Rokeby Park. Sir Morritt told Papa about the sale, and that led to Papa considering selling some of the family art."
"What happened?" Matthew asked.
"Granny wouldn't let him," Sybil smiled.
"It's very beautiful," Matthew said. "It is Venus after all."
"I used to like it," Sybil said. "Now I'm not so sure."
"Why not?" Mary frowned. "It's a lovely piece."
"I don't think it's appreciated properly," Sybil explained. "All it is now is a painting of a naked woman that men like to gawk at all day long."
"That's hardly fair, Sybil," Matthew said patiently. "Anything put up for the general public to look at have its fair share of gawkers, but that doesn't change the value of the piece for those who truly appreciate art."
They turned away from the painting and walked across the room to another Spanish work.
"Your strange mood isn't related to your coming Season, is it?" Mary asked.
"No, why would you say that?" Sybil replied.
"You've been acting strangely as of late, and all this talk about change and how things you used to know are now different and you don't like it," Mary noted. "Darling, the Season is really simply some summer fun with a bit of excessive pageantry. You needn't worry that it will alter your life."
"How could it not?" Sybil asked. "With Mama constantly badgering me about what gowns to wear and how I should act around suitors, my life is changing quite dramatically."
"You've spent the Summer in London before," Mary said.
"Not like this. Not having to preen and accept invitations and watch what I say at every turn," Sybil sighed.
"Consider it an exercise in practising your charm and tolerance," Matthew smiled. "You know that your parents would never agree to a match without consulting you first."
"Matthew's right," Mary agreed. "Besides, there's nothing that says your future husband will come from your Season," she looked mischievously at Matthew.
"Will you two please promise that you'll stand by me if I should absolutely detest any of the men that Mama tries to foist me upon?" Sybil asked.
"We'll always support you, darling," Mary nodded. "But you can't be unreasonable about it. Mama is perfectly within her rights to arrange for you to walk out with someone, or talk to them. You can manage that, can't you?"
"Besides, I'm sure Mary will be more than willing to chaperone you," Matthew smiled.
"All right," Sybil agreed. "I don't have to like it, but I won't be unreasonable."
"That's the most normal thing you've said all day," Mary smiled.
Matthew glanced across the room. He frowned.
"Darling?" Mary noticed his expression. "What is it?"
"That lady over there," Matthew answered. "She seems familiar somehow."
Mary and Sybil followed his gaze.
"That's Mary Richardson," Sybil said.
"Mary Richardson? That woman we saw chased by the mob on Derby Day last summer" Mary asked.
"That's where I know her from," Matthew said. "She's one of the more extreme suffragists."
The three of them stared in shock as Mary Richardson removed a meat cleaver from her jacket and began stabbing the Rokeby Venus again and again. Whistles and shouts sounded as security guards came running forward. The meat cleaver fell to the floor with a loud clang as Mary Richardson was subdued by the guards. Other visitors yelled at her as she was escorted out of the room.
"What in the world?" Mary frowned.
"That was…bizarre," Matthew said, staring at the large gashes in the painting across the room.
"That's the kind of movement you wish to associate yourself with, is it?" Mary said pointedly at Sybil.
"Let's go," Matthew said, steering them towards the door. "There's bound to be a commotion outside."
Sybil frowned, looking at the damaged painting as they left.
Downton Abbey, England, March 1914
"As much as I enjoy London, I must say that it's refreshing to not have to be constantly on the move," Mary said as she came to bed.
"It can be rather frenetic when we're there," Matthew agreed. "Although that may be more a case of trying to fit in a large number of commitments into a visit of only a few days."
Mary pulled the blankets over her and turned on her side to face him. Matthew smiled at her and put his book away on the night table.
"You do realize that sleeping without your shirt so often could lead to gossip. Anna has seen you topless almost as many times as I have," Mary teased, running her fingers across his chest.
"Very well, I'll be sure to put my shirt back on…after we're done," he looked at her knowingly.
Mary laughed and bit her bottom lip. She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.
"Could you see yourself in London more often someday?" Matthew asked.
"How so? Beyond going there in the Winter and Summer you mean?"
"Yes," he nodded. "If I'm to sit in the House of Lords one day, then I'd probably want to be at Grantham House more often than Robert does now. Alex is always on me to visit more often. The London office is far busier than Ripon."
"Sometimes when I'm in London and we have parties to go to or charities to organize, I can't imagine myself ever leaving. Other times, all I want to do is escape as quickly as possible," Mary said.
"I think that's true of any place. Going away for a while gives one perspective. However, could you see yourself spending a month here and there in London while I attend to business?"
"Of course," Mary smiled. "You can't host clients and peers properly without me there."
"Truer words were never spoken," Matthew grinned.
Mary moved closer to him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. Her body fit against his, and he sighed approvingly into her mouth.
Private Villa, La Bocca Beach, Cannes, France, October 1913
"We shouldn't take our breakfast in bed," Matthew said, biting into a chocolate croissant, then passing the flaky pastry to Mary so she could take a bite.
"Why not?" Mary replied. "Now that I'm a married woman, I don't need to rise for breakfast anymore. I'll take a tray in our room, just like Mama does."
"First, it unfortunately leads to crumbs in bed, which could prove inconvenient," Matthew smirked. "Second, in this case, we have a perfectly lovely terrace with a view of the Sea, and I think we should take our breakfast there."
Mary laughed. She finished the rest of the chocolate croissant and moved over, resting her head on Matthew's bare chest. She kissed his warm skin, her breasts pressing against him.
"If we ate out on the terrace, we would need to get dressed," Mary smiled. "Which could prove inconvenient as well."
Matthew laughed, pulling her up and kissing her. She settled back against the pillow as he took the tea cup and saucer from the tray and handed it to her.
"I think I know where I've seen that sculpture before," Matthew nodded towards the figure of a girl that sat on the dresser across the bedroom.
"Little Dancer of Fourteen Years," Mary replied. "That's a copy, obviously, on a much smaller size. We have one at Downton."
"That's right," Matthew smiled. "I've seen it in your father's study."
"The third Earl was rather obsessive about bringing art back from his travels," Mary said, sipping her tea. "Remember when I showed you the parlour? All of the art in that room was purchased by him."
"Has your father ever had the entire collection appraised? Does he know the value of it?"
"I don't think Papa has had it appraised. Grandfather probably did. He was rather meticulous according to Mama. But there's no point in ascertaining the value of our collection. Granny would never allow Papa to sell it."
Matthew looked at the sculpture across the room thoughtfully. In his mind, he went over the numerous paintings and sculptures that he saw around Downton Abbey. He always knew that the family had an extensive collection, as many aristocratic families did. As Matthew went through his mental inventory, he loosely compared the collection to those of other homes he had visited in his short time in Yorkshire. No one else had the same extensive group of art that Mary's father did.
Mary placed her tea cup and saucer on the side table. She reached across and took Matthew's tea cup from his hands.
"Would you like to get dressed and go out to the terrace, darling? Or, would you rather stay here?" Mary asked him, moving into his lap.
Matthew smiled and closed his eyes as his wife kissed his shoulder.
"I think the terrace isn't going anywhere," he smirked, his arms circling around her waist.
Downton Abbey, England, February 1914
"Excuse me, Mr. Crawley, His Lordship wanted me to escort these men into the parlour," Carson called as he came into the room with two other men.
"That's fine, Carson. Do you need me to leave?" Matthew asked, looking over the guests.
"No, sir," Carson nodded. The butler showed the men through to the parlour, then came back out and stood by the doorway waiting for them.
"Who are those men, Carson?" Matthew asked, getting up from the sofa and coming up next to the butler. Matthew peered into the parlour and saw the men looking up at the paintings on the walls.
"His Lordship did not explain, Mr. Crawley," Carson answered. "His instructions were to escort them through to the parlour, then the library and the drawing room, then back to see His Lordship in his study."
Matthew looked into the parlour once more. One of the men took out a notebook and was writing as the other man pointed around the room and spoke in hushed tones. Matthew followed their gaze. They were examining each painting and sculpture, looking closely at the frames and signatures in the corners of each piece.
Matthew frowned.
"Mr. Crawley?" Carson asked.
"Where is Lady Mary, Carson?" Matthew asked, keeping his eyes on the two visitors.
"I believe she is in your sitting room, sir."
"When you're done escorting these gentlemen, please come up and see us, Carson," Matthew said quietly. "I want to know if they continue to examine the art in each room and whether the one gentlemen keeps writing things down or not."
"Yes, Mr. Crawley," Carson nodded. "Is something the matter?"
"No, Carson," Matthew said, glancing at the butler. "Not yet, anyway."
Matthew turned and walked out of the room, heading towards the stairs in the Great Hall so he could rejoin his wife.