Previously:
Downton Abbey, England, March 1914
"Jane," Matthew said evenly. "I was looking for you. It seems that Lady Mary would like a mug of cocoa to help her sleep, and I can't seem to find Anna. Could you please see if Daisy is about and have her prepare two mugs and some shortbread biscuits if there are any? I can take the tray up once it's ready."
"Yes, Mr. Crawley," Jane said quickly. "Your Lordship." She curtsied to both Matthew and Robert and quickly left the room.
Matthew's eyes met Robert's. They stared at each other across the room for a long moment.
"Matthew," Robert stammered.
"Good night, Robert," Matthew said, keeping his eyes firmly upon him before he turned and made his way back towards the kitchens.
The Earl of Grantham looked into the fire and frowned.
Chapter 22:
Village Café, Downton Village, England, June 1913
"Well, there's even more dirt about this government coming to the surface now," Matthew shook his head.
"You act so surprised," Mary smiled, sipping her tea.
"Darling, I know you're a Conservative, but you don't need to act so smug," Matthew said, folding the newspaper and putting it down.
"What makes you think I'm a Conservative?" Mary asked pointedly.
Matthew frowned. "Your father sits in the House of Lords and Conservative governments are always friendly to landowners," he replied. "Don't tell me my fiancée is a supporter of the People's Budget?"
"Just because Papa believes something doesn't mean we all do," Mary raised her eyebrows at him. "The problem with Liberals is that they want to throw everything on its head the moment they get into power. They're always in a hurry to introduce reforms that they never stop and think about whether something should be kept or not."
"It's a simple strategy, Mary," Matthew smiled, stirring his tea. "They know the Conservatives in the House of Lords will vote down most of what they propose, so they throw as many Bills as they can out there and hope a few pass through."
"And you think that's an effective way to govern?" Mary smirked. "It doesn't do anyone any good if the government is always at odds with each other. Nothing will change."
"At least the Liberals are trying to change things," Matthew noted.
"Oh yes, Prime Minister Asquith and his Cabinet are as pure as snow aren't they?" Mary teased.
"This scandal is rather troublesome for them," Matthew admitted.
"Indeed. But I suppose one should expect such clumsiness when a man from Manchester gains any measure of power," Mary smiled.
Matthew chuckled. "Just because Minister Lloyd George was born in Manchester doesn't mean anything. He moved to Wales anyway. Besides, how do you explain the Prime Minister you so despise is from Yorkshire?"
"He's from West Yorkshire," Mary retorted.
Matthew reached out and took her hand, kissing her glove tenderly.
"I am always impressed by how political you are," he smiled.
"I'm the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham," Mary replied. "I have two younger sisters and I've decided to cast my lot with a strikingly handsome middle class lawyer from Manchester. Clearly I'm predisposed to being political and managing conflict."
They laughed and each reached for a pastry from the tea tray.
Downton Abbey, England, May 1914
Mary looked over at Matthew pleadingly. Matthew sighed quietly and nodded his head. They seemed to be drawing battle lines far more often as of late, and disturbingly it seemed they were on the opposite side from Robert more often than not.
"I don't know who is filling your head with these ideas, but I don't like it, Sybil," Robert said firmly. "I tolerate your committee meetings as a way for you to learn more about the way the world works, but canvassing and attending these horrid suffragist rallies is too far. A Lady of your age and position has no business there."
"I knew you wouldn't approve!" Sybil huffed petulantly.
"Papa," Mary began.
"No," Robert spat back. "I'm beginning to wonder if I give you girls far too much freedom. You seem to question everything, and whatever I say is always met with a demand for an explanation when none is required."
Mary, Sybil and Edith all rolled their eyes at the same time.
"Heaven forbid that decisions should need to be explained," Matthew said to Mary.
"I beg your pardon?" Robert demanded, glaring at Matthew.
Mary's eyes widened. "It's nothing, Papa. Matthew was just…"
"I was just saying to Mary that it was always my experience that debate and discussion was welcomed at this table," Matthew said calmly, meeting Robert's stare. "One of the first things I noted when I arrived here was how well spoken and thoughtful Mary and her sisters are. One would think that they would be encouraged to question everything, otherwise how are they to know what is right and what is wrong?"
"They don't need to question everything," Robert said slowly. "Some things that we do, Matthew, are beyond question or examination."
"How convenient," Matthew replied coldly. "That attitude allows all manner of things to go on around here without question or examination."
Matthew's eyes were piercing. Robert pursed his lips. Mary looked at the tableau before her with trepidation.
"Thank you, Cousin Matthew," Sybil spoke up. "It's nice to see that not all men are so obtuse."
"Oh, don't be so insufferable, Sybil," Violet sighed.
"I think that Sybil is…" Mary interjected.
"What? Are you going to canvass too? Or would you rather take in washing?" Violet asked, looking at Mary inquisitively.
"I was only going to say that Sybil is entitled to her opinion," Mary replied.
"No, she isn't until she is married. Then her husband will tell her what her opinions are," Violet concluded.
"Oh, Granny!" Mary rolled her eyes.
"Matthew, enlighten her. Tell Mary she should agree with me," Violet turned her attention to her granddaughter's husband.
Matthew turned away from Robert finally and looked upon the Dowager Countess. He softened his expression as he considered her statement.
"How is the plumbing at the Dower House, Cousin Violet?" he asked finally.
"The plumbing? What a peculiar question. It's working perfectly well," Violet said.
"Good. Because if you expect me to tell my wife what her opinion should be, I will need a place to live for the foreseeable future," Matthew smirked.
Mary looked down at her plate and smiled. Sybil and Edith put their hands to their mouths and laughed quietly. Even Cora had a chuckle over Matthew's witty remark.
The Earl of Grantham stared at the reactions Matthew received and frowned, his rage growing and moving to a new target.
City Hall, Ripon, England, May 1914
The crowd gathered around the announcer as the by-election results were being read out. Matthew turned the corner and rolled his eyes at the sight.
"Damn," he mumbled under his breath. "If I had remembered this was going on, I'd have left work early. Mary will have me in stocks."
Matthew shook his head as a particularly racy image flashed in his mind. He turned towards the train station and stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed as he focused on a motor parked on the street. The colour, make and model were all familiar to him. He glanced at the gathering crowd as more and more people streamed into the courtyard. Matthew's eyes widened and he moved towards the crowd, steeling himself for the jostling that would soon ensue.
The car clearly belonged to the Earl of Grantham.
Sybil's eyes were wide in wonder and she glanced about, taking in the crowd and the voice of the announcer and the frenetic energy coursing through the courtyard, rapidly filling with people.
Men shouted. Women shouted. The announcer spoke louder to be heard. There were waving fists and harsh laughs and screams for equality for women and an end to corruption in equal measure.
"Can we call it a day, milady?" Branson asked nervously.
"Don't be silly," Sybil scoffed, not looking at him. "This is the moment we've come for."
Sybil barely heard the announcer declare the Conservative Party candidate was the winner and new Member of Parliament for Ripon. The crowd grew more boisterous, the yelling became louder and more people seemed to arrive from all directions.
"Sybil!"
Sybil turned. "Matthew!" she gasped. "I mean, Cousin Matthew!"
"What on Earth are you doing here?" Matthew asked, looking around them at the gathering mass of people.
"I couldn't miss this!" Sybil said breathlessly. She grabbed his arm and smiled back at him gleefully.
Matthew frowned. "Couldn't you? I could. Come on, we're leaving. Branson, go get the car."
Branson turned and saw a scuffle unfold in front of him.
"I don't like the look of this, Mr. Matthew, sir," Branson said nervously.
Branson put his hands up and tried to reason with a large man in front of him. He was soon thrown aside and several angry looking men converged on Matthew.
"What's your problem, then, Mr. La-di-da?" the man said.
Matthew wrinkled his nose at the clear smell of beer on the man's breath. He slowly pushed Sybil behind him.
"Mr. what?" Matthew asked.
"Mr. La-di-da!" the man literally spat back. "Come to see your handiwork? Your lot put another Tory into power. Well we ain't gonna stand for it!"
"How do you know that I voted for him?" Matthew asked incredulously, keeping himself between the mob and Sybil.
"You're a fancy boy, ain't ya?" the man scoffed. "Fancy coat, fancy suit, fancy hat, fancy tie. A pure Tory if I ever seen one."
"The tie was actually a gift from my wife," Matthew replied easily, trying to manoeuvre them around the gathering crowd.
"Ah, is that it?" the man grinned. "Well, once we throw you and your lot out on your arses, maybe I'll go and take meself a visit with your wife!"
Matthew's lip curled into a snarl. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Matthew said icily. "You'll find that she isn't as polite as I am."
"Oh, aye?" the man nodded.
The punch came from nowhere, but Matthew saw it easily. With one arm behind his back and across Sybil's side, he leaned away as the punch sailed past his head. He stepped forward and jabbed with his right hand, connecting easily with the drunken man's face and snapping him backward.
"Oof!" the man grunted, stumbling into his companions.
"Let's go!" Matthew ordered, grabbing Sybil and moving towards the car.
"Get 'em! He had a go at Liam!"
Matthew felt a hand on his shoulder from behind. He pushed Sybil in front of him and whirled, ducking the punch aimed for his head and replying with two quick strikes to his attacker's exposed ribs. The man grunted and doubled over and Matthew avoided another punch.
The crowd was buzzing now, scuffles and fights breaking out all over. Policemen came into the courtyard, trying to control the mob. Matthew's assailants were swallowed up by other fights and Matthew spun and took off for the exit. He stopped suddenly and gasped.
Sybil was lying on the ground, blood trickling down her face.
"On, no! Oh, please God, no!" Branson gasped in shock as he came back into the courtyard.
"Get the motor ready Branson!" Matthew yelled. He reached down and scooped up Sybil in his arms and took off, pushing Branson ahead of him.
The Crystal Palace Park, London, England, March 1911
"Perhaps it would be easier to ask me how many times I've obeyed my parents. It may be a shorter conversation," Mary smirked.
"You're saying you're a rebel then?" Matthew smiled at her.
"Hardly," Mary scoffed. "My parents think I am, but I'm really not. I just like to have a reason as to why I should do anything. Blindly following orders is for soldiers and labourers."
"But not for proper Ladies, apparently," Matthew chuckled.
"Not proper Ladies who know what's good for them," Mary smiled back.
They wandered the familiar path, a safe distance between them. Yesterday they had received a bit of a shock when one of the other teachers had spotted them. They easily explained that they were out for a stroll during their lunch hour. They both knew they had been lucky that they were not spotted only moments beforehand. Neither of them had yet come up with a reasonable explanation for how kissing was related to a luncheon stroll through the park.
"So are your sisters as inquisitive as you are then, darling?" Matthew asked.
"Not in so many ways," Mary answered. "Edith is always up to something, but she's more secretive about it. Sybil is still quite young, but she's very bright and has a lot of questions. I sometimes think that Papa blames me for how her mind works."
"She idolizes you then?" Matthew smiled.
"We're friends," Mary replied easily. "I think that whatever passion she has should be encouraged, within reason of course. But then again, I like a good argument. Papa does not."
"If you really like a good argument," Matthew replied, then paused.
"Yes?" Mary asked.
"Is that why we are seeing so much of each other?" he smirked.
"Are you saying that you think you can keep up with me?" Mary teased.
"Most definitely," Matthew replied, his eyes smouldering.
Mary swallowed. She hated how she reacted to that look every time. "Well, darling," she smiled at him. "We have two more weeks together. Let battle commence."
Crawley House, Downton Village, May 1914
"My God. Oh, my darling!" Mary gasped as she ran to Sybil's side. She crouched down next to her youngest sister laying on the sofa and held her hand. Isobel continued to wipe Sybil's head with a cloth, the water bowl next to her tinged red from the blood cleaned from the wound.
"Did you know she was planning this?" Isobel asked, wiping around the wound with the cloth.
"Of course not," Matthew replied. "None of us did. She told Branson she was going to a committee meeting. That's probably what she told Robert as well."
"Well, what were you doing there? You don't even vote in Ripon," Isobel asked.
"I was working late," Matthew replied. "I'd forgotten about the by-election count being tonight, or I wouldn't have stayed."
"I knew there was something planned for tonight when you said you'd be home late, but I couldn't remember this morning," Mary shook her head.
"I'm so grateful you stayed," Sybil sighed, looking up at Matthew.
"I could ring Branson's neck, whether he has an excuse of not!" Mary declared.
"We can't protect him from Robert over this. I'm afraid it will cost him his job," Matthew said.
"No!" Sybil exclaimed. "When he realised what was really going on, he wanted to come straight back."
"You'll have to stick up for him, because Papa will skin him alive," Mary said.
"Well, that does it," Isobel declared. "This will sting for a while but the bleeding has stopped."
"Thank you, Mother," Matthew said, coming around to stand next to Mary. "Are you feeling strong enough to go home?" he asked Sybil.
"I think so, if you'll take me," she answered.
"Obviously we will," Matthew smiled back, taking her hand and helping her up from the couch.
Sybil smiled at him gratefully and leaned against him.
"Here, wear my coat to cover the blood. You'll look more normal," Mary said firmly, draping her coat over Sybil's shoulders.
Sybil held on to Matthew and he guided her out of the house.
"Thank you, Isobel," Mary nodded. "Matthew and I will get her back home. Papa will light up like a Roman candle when he hears about this. The less you say, the better. We'll bear the brunt of it."
"If you think that's best," Isobel smiled. "I have another matter I need to speak to you about, Mary. It concerns what we discussed about William the other day. His mother is still very ill. She's home now, but she's still very weak. Another attack should finish her."
Mary nodded. "Leave it with me. I'll make sure he goes to see her right away."
"I thought Cousin Cora forbid us getting involved?" Isobel asked.
"Since when have you known me to sit back and be timid, or follow what Mama tells me to not do?" Mary smirked.
Isobel nodded to her daughter-in-law and saw her out.
Downton Abbey, England, May 1914
"How is she?" Matthew asked as Mary came into the parlour.
"She'll be perfectly fine," Mary smiled at him. "She and Papa had a heated row and she's so far managed to save Branson's job. If she's got enough strength left in her to argue with Papa already, she can't be hurt too badly."
Mary came into his embrace and kissed him softly.
"Matthew," Robert said tightly as he came into the parlour and walked past them to the bar. Mary stepped back and shrugged her shoulders at her husband.
"Robert," Matthew nodded. "Mary says Sybil will be all right. I'm glad to hear it."
The Earl poured himself a drink and sipped it slowly.
"I'm not so sure," he replied. "She must have taken a rather firm knock to her head to speak up against me the way she just did."
"Papa," Mary shook her head.
"I don't want to talk about it," Robert cut her off. He looked over at Matthew. "I gather you're the shining knight in all this? You're getting rather comfortable riding to our rescue, aren't you?"
Matthew narrowed his eyes at the Earl's tone. "Not really…" he said carefully. His fingers flexed as he could feel tension coming from his father-in-law. "But I'm glad I was there."
"So am I, by heaven," Robert said coldly, then turned back to his drink. "You're preferable to that bloody fool, Branson."
Matthew and Mary looked at each other, each one wondering at the Earl's mood.
"You should see what he reads," Robert continued, not looking back at them. "It's all Marx and Ruskin and John Stuart Mill. I ask you," he shook his head.
Robert turned around and gazed at Matthew as he brought his glass to his lips.
"Although, you must be rather familiar with those revolutionaries as part of your studies, Matthew?" he said.
"I know who they are, yes," Matthew nodded. "Reading someone's work is a far cry from espousing their philosophies, however."
"Papa prefers the servants to read the Bible and letters from home," Mary said, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm not surprised," Matthew replied, his eyes locked on her father.
"Well, I'm sure you're hungry, having not had dinner," Robert said dismissively, turning around again. "Mary, have Mrs. Hughes prepare some sandwiches for Matthew. We wouldn't want him to starve."
"You really don't have to," Matthew answered. "I think we'll just go up instead."
Mary opened her mouth to speak and Matthew shook his head. She sighed in exasperation and nodded to him.
"Good night, Papa," Mary said.
"Good night, Mary. Matthew," Robert replied, taking another sip of his drink.
"Robert," Matthew answered to the Earl's back. He took Mary's hand and walked out to the Great Hall, headed for the stairs.
Office of Harvell, Carter & Lewis, Ripon, England, May 1914
"Mr. Crawley? The package from Mr. Lewis just arrived from London," the assistant announced, placing a bundle on Matthew's desk.
"Thank you, Michelle," Matthew nodded. "And go on home, please. Just because I'm working late tonight doesn't mean anyone else should have to."
"Yes, sir," his assistant smiled. She wished him a good night and left.
Matthew finished his notes on the last file and set it aside. He picked up the bundle and opened it, discarding the brown wrapping paper and leafing through the documents. He examined some in great detail, flipping back and forth and cross referencing the information numerous times to ensure he understood it all completely. Finally, he sighed and placed the documents in a file folder and put it away in a drawer of his desk.
Matthew sat back in his chair, staring blankly across the office. Robert was in trouble. That much was clear. But how exactly he found himself in this predicament, Matthew did not know, and he still did not know the extent of the damage. Whatever was going on was outside of public records and not easily discovered. This was not unusual in any event, as most of the peerage were hardly forthcoming about their assets and holdings, even to the government. With Robert continuing to stonewall him on his inquiries and clearly refusing to change the way the Estate was managed, Matthew was being painted into a corner, and the number of options available to him was dwindling.
Matthew picked up another document sent by Alex and he scanned the page. He picked up his fountain pen and wrote some rough calculations on his note pad. He stared at the numbers, thinking over different calculations in his mind. Glancing at the calendar on his desk, he turned the pages several times, counting days in the coming months before looking back at his notepad.
Breathing out loudly, Matthew cleared his desk and rose from his chair. He reached for his coat and hat and walked towards the door. His father had once told him that time was always of the essence. Reginald Crawley measured time in terms of frantic seconds in the hospital, where any inefficiency could cost a man his life. While Dr. Crawley was always at ease and relaxed around his family, he was serious with Matthew that each moment in life should be cherished, and often scolded his son whenever he saw him loitering around or being far too idle for his own good.
Time. Matthew treasured it meticulously. This particular skill had helped him fill his brief weeks with Mary during their initial liaisons with immeasurable memories. He foolishly thought that once they were married, he could slow down and go at an easier pace. They had the rest of their lives to create memories now. As Matthew stepped out into the street and locked the front door to the office, he silently hoped that the Earl of Grantham would not cause too many bad memories for them.
Downton Abbey, England, May 1914
"What was wrong with Papa? Surely he can't blame you for what happened to Sybil?" Mary sighed, coming to bed.
"I have no idea," Matthew rolled his eyes. "It's one thing to disagree with us on the Estate, but now his moods are affecting everything. He's petulant during dinner, afterwards, over breakfast. It's quite childish, really. He's behaving quite selfishly and it's neither acceptable nor appreciated."
"Since when did you become so fastidious about doing things properly?" Mary teased, pulling the blanket up over her hip and turning to face her husband.
"I married you, didn't I? I thought having steadfast manners was a prerequisite," Matthew answered, smiling at her.
"Being married to me should have taught you that I don't care about propriety as much as some may think," Mary raised her eyebrows at him.
"Thank you for coming to Sybil's rescue, darling, truly. You were very brave. She told me you knocked a man down," Mary smiled.
"I hope I did my duty," Matthew smirked.
"Are you a creature of duty, Matthew?" she teased.
"Not entirely," he answered, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at her.
"Hmm…so what is the length of your sense of obligation?" she asked. "When you laugh with me or flirt with me, is that a duty? Are you conforming to the fitness of things? Doing what's expected?"
"Absolutely," Matthew said, his voice low. He moved slightly towards her. "How else would I convince you to keep me? There must be numerous gentlemen just waiting to rescue you from your middle class husband."
Mary swallowed at his lustful stare. She bit her lower lip and looked down at her hand so close to his bare chest, her betrothal and wedding rings on her finger.
"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart," she said, trying to calm her breathing. "I think she has a crush on you."
"That's something no one could accuse you of," Matthew whispered, his lips ghosting across her ear and back past her cheek.
Mary's eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted. "Oh, I don't know," she breathed.
Matthew kissed her neck and she automatically leaned her head away, her pale throat lying bare before him.
"I assume you speak in the spirit of mockery," Matthew said. She could feel his smile against her skin and she gasped quietly as he first nibbled her with his teeth, then soothed her with his tongue.
"You should have more faith, husband," Mary said, her voice wavering. Her hands clutched at the sheet below them.
"Shall I remind you of some of the choicest remarks you made about me when I arrived here?" Matthew said, his voice a combination of mirth and pure desire. "Because they live in my memory as fresh as the day they were spoken."
He took hold of her hand and brought it to his side. Her fingers automatically splayed across his ribs and moved over the firm muscle of his stomach and around to his back.
"Oh, Matthew," she said, her breath ragged. "What did I always tell you? That was just for show."
"Was it? Didn't you only marry me because you wanted Downton?" he hissed, kissing her shoulder, his fingers deftly moving one strap of her nightgown down over her arm, revealing the swell of her chest.
"Yes," Mary played along, her mind spinning at his touch. Her eyes were shut tight now.
"You wanted to be a married woman in your ancestral home," Matthew continued, kissing her clavicle and moving lower, the husky tone of his voice causing her to shake. "And I was a convenient device for you to achieve your goal. Is our marriage not just about the transfer of property?"
"Yes," Mary answered. His fingers somehow managed to push her nightgown down her arms completely, to bunch around her waist. He kissed and licked her skin and she found herself on her back, the silk sheets below her a sharp contrast to his warm skin over her chest. She ran her hands through his hair and arched towards him.
"There is a flaw in your plan, though, isn't there darling?" Matthew continued mercilessly, his lips and fingers flying over her body and drawing gasps and moans from her. How could he expect her to think coherently enough to answer him?
"And what is that?" she gasped.
"To truly ensure your future as Countess of Grantham," Matthew said calmly as he moved on top of her. Mary's hands ran down his back and her eyes shot open as she felt his bottom and realized he had somehow come to bed naked.
"You need to produce an heir," Matthew said into her ear, licking the lobe after his pronouncement.
"Yes," Mary smiled, closing her eyes again.
"So you still need me for something," Matthew smirked, kissing her forehead.
Mary opened her eyes and looked up at the familiar blue pupils clouded over with lust. She always shivered when he looked at her like that, as if she were the only woman in the world, and how he could make her feel that way never ceased to stun her completely.
"No, Matthew," she shook her head, her hands moving between them and resting against his chest. She moved her leg and hooked it around his waist.
Matthew frowned slightly in confusion.
"I don't just need you, darling. I want you, desperately," she declared.
Matthew's eyes widened in surprise as Mary pushed against his chest and rolled him onto his back suddenly. Stretching herself over him, she pressed herself against him and smirked in triumph.
"Now, darling, no more talking," Mary smirked, kissing his neck and moving against his body with singular intent.