Chapter 6: Correspondence, Part One

Author's Note: My apologies for being two years' tardy with an update. I provide some explanation for my disappearance on my profile, but basically, I have been caring for my mom for the last two years, working full-time, and pursuing an advanced degree. In the intervening two years, I missed the ending of the Downton Abbey series (which was very poignant) and I've missed writing my fanfiction. I hope you all haven't abandoned this story and that I'll be able to draw in new readers as well. If you have any questions, PM me.

Thanks RHatch89 and CeCe for reviewing the last chapter of this story. Please continue to review and follow.

Chapter 6

Episode 1x06: Correspondence, Part One

July 1913

After a late start to her morning, Mary descended the stairs to join her father and sisters in the dining room for breakfast. Mary wore a light yellow summer dress with a large, delicately tied ribbon around her trim waist. When she arrived in the dining room, Mary greeted her family with a small smile. "Good morning, Papa, Sybil. Edith."

"Good morning, Mary," everyone returned in near unison.

Lord Grantham held up an unsealed envelope as Mary passed him. "Mary, you received another telegram from Mister Kemal Pamuk. I took a father's liberty and read it for you, in case it should contain any hint of unsavory Turkish language. Would you like to know what it says?"

Mary sat down and struggled not to reveal the way she was shaken by this information. Blood rushed to her face anyway. She sensed Edith, who sat across from her, smirk dastardly. Mary's stomach churned but stood up and reached for the letter. "Thank you, Father, but I would much rather read it myself."

"No matter: I'll advise you of its contents anyway. Mister Pamuk greatly anticipates seeing you again, Mary, and makes a mention of a proposal he hopes you did not play him false in accepting." Lord Grantham's voice rose and color rose into his face. "What proposal was this Mary?"

"Sybil, would you please pass the toast?" Mary asked weakly. Her youngest sister passed the plate of dried toast to Mary.

"Are you going to avoid my question?" Lord Grantham demanded.

Mary's fingers trembled on the lip of the envelope. "Papa, Mr. Pamuk merely proposed that we engage in another hunt together. I have not responded." Mary steeled herself as she met her father's gaze in a concerted effort to convey that she was telling the utter truth.

Lord Grantham breathed an obvious sigh of relief. "Very well. You must forgive me for being so intrusive into the affairs of my daughters." He produced a second enveloped from within his suit coat. "Sybil, it seems that there was a letter in the morning post for you as well."

All three sisters gazed up the table at their father. Sybil reached out eagerly for the unsealed envelope. "From whom, Papa?"

"It's from Viscount Bradford, Dudley Kent."

Sybil's eyes widened in shock. Mary studied her youngest sister while Sybil opened the letter. Beside Sybil, Edith's face dropped in disappointment. "Thank you, Papa."

"As it only addresses books and politics, I'll consider it appropriate enough correspondence for now. But if Viscount Bradford writes again to you, Sybil, please be kind enough to advise him that he would need to arrange an appropriate visit through your Mama," Robert warned with a scrutinizing glare.

Mary and Robert both attentively watched Sybil as she reached Dudley's letter with a rapt expression of elation. Edith cleared her throat and leaned forward. "Papa, was there a letter for me?"

"Not this morning; perhaps your letter will arrive with the evening post."

"The evening post of the next century, perhaps," Mary interjected, "unless we have another guest at dinner who is prepared to be disappointed by her lack of charm."

"Really, Mary, couldn't you spare a moment to be tender to Edith, just for once?" Robert rebuked his eldest daughter.

Mary winced at her father's chiding, but Edith rebutted, "Don't worry, Papa. Mary was born bitter that she wasn't born a boy. She just casts it upon me."

Edith peeled open her soft-boiled egg. The egg's odor assaulted Mary's olfactory senses, and her stomach lurched violently. She instantly felt hot and clammy. Bile rose in her throat. Mary clasped her hand over her mouth and bolted from her seat to the nearest lavatory. She ignored the calls of her father and sisters, barely reaching the washroom in time to regurgitate her entire breakfast.

Two hours later

Within the hour, Lord Grantham had sent word to Dr. Clarkson to come from the village to examine Mary. Despite her busy schedule for the day, which included riding and tea with Dowager Lady Grantham, Mary was instructed to remain in her bed for the remainder of the day. After Lord and Lady Grantham made sure Mary was comfortable in her bed, Sybil scampered down the hall to her eldest sister's bedroom and rapped lightly on the door. The letter from Viscount Bradford was still in her hands.

"Do come in. I'm proper," Mary called from within her room.

Sybil walked in, beaming broadly. Her face fell at Mary's appearance. With Anna's assistance, Mary had changed from her morning dress into her loose cotton nightgown, and her hair was down. Her face was unusually pallid and wan. "What happened to you? You look ghastly."

"Thank you, Sybil. I thought you were the caring one of the family," Mary groaned.

"I did come upstairs, didn't I?" Sybil walked further in the room and sat on Mary's bed. "Edith won't come visit you because she's convince you've caught a bout of flu. And Mama isn't coming up until Doctor Clarkson arrives."

"You only came upstairs under the pretense of seeing me. You came to read that letter from Viscount Bradford."

Sybil playfully swatted Mary. "Do you really think he means to court me?"

"I think Viscount Bradford is aware you're too young to be wooed at this point, and Papa would never allow such a courting." Sybil's smile diminished somewhat. "But I believe he is genuinely interested in pursuing you when you come of age."

Sybil beamed and pulled out the letter. "I've read over the letter as often I could to glean as much from it as possible. He is quite handsome, isn't he?"

"He is," Mary nodded half-heartedly. She had begun to feel sleepy.

"Listen to this: 'Mama asked after the health of the entire Crawley family. I suspect she knows something of our correspondence, so I told her that you had improved at your embroidery but are still afflicted in horseback riding.' He speaks to his Mama about me!"

"Go on, I'm listening."

"But this part is a little sadder. 'Mama was appalled beyond belief when I told her of your aspiration to become a teacher. I think she agrees with your Granny that it isn't a career fit for a young woman of a certain class. She may be progressive but Mama is no reformer.'"

"I'm not surprised at all," Mary drawled. Then she groaned as her stomach had lurched again. "Sybil, could you fetch Anna and tell her I should like to have a plate of toast."

Sybil reached for the bell cord beside Mary's bed and rang it. "Are you sure you are alright? Do you want me to send for Mama?"

"I want to hear the rest of the letter, then you can send for Anna. You know Mama will worry too much."

"I do believe it is a lady's privilege to worry herself about the health of her daughters," Cora spoke from the doorway. She removed her left hand from the doorknob and folded it with her right hand in front of her. "When I came downstairs to place the seating for tomorrow night's dinner with Lord and Lady Cunningham, your father told me that you had taken ill, Mary. And Anna saw you approaching her room, Sybil. So what is this about a letter from Viscount Bradford?"

Sybil was caught red-handed with the letter in her hand and her mouth gaped open in surprise. "Well, Mama…"
"If you mean to throw me off, Sybil, need I remind you that I once was a girl as well, and that I had my share of letters written before your father came along?" Cora sat down in an armchair at the foot of Mary's bed. "Now I should like to hear what he wrote."

"Very well, 'I hope to hear more of your thoughts on our politics. I shall be at the Duke of Gloucester's gala to open the season. Will you and your sisters be there? Please reply soon.'"

Sybil put the letter away. "He sounds very eager to see you again. I'm surprised that his mother isn't hosting a gala of her own. She's the Niobe of eligible sons." Cora looked up at Mary, who was half asleep. "Are you well enough to come downstairs, Mary?"

"Not quite; I still feel a spot of sickness. I'll lie down a bit longer."

"It does seem to be something going through the house. Anna was sick last week, and now another maid has taken ill today. I'll call Doctor Clarkson again to examine you. What could be delaying him?"

"And I have to run an errand into Rippon. I'll return shortly before dinner tonight." Sybil rose from the bed, and Cora rose from the armchair. They departed from the room, and Mary turned uneasily onto her side for a nap.

Downstairs, in the kitchen

Mrs. Hughes strolled into the kitchen, jingling as usual of the many household keys she kept on her person. Mrs. Patmore's kitchen was already busy with assembling the lunch menu. "Missus Patmore, I thought to stop by and make sure you had the menu Lady Grantham has ordered for the dinner tomorrow night with Lord and Lady Cunningham. We are to have several guests, including Sir Anthony Strallan." Mrs. Hughes held out the menu for Mrs. Patmore.

"Don't hand that to me; I'm busy handling a pheasant! Set it on the table over there or hand it to Daisy!"

Mrs. Hughes laid the menu down on the table then sighed. "Lady Grantham has also asked me to advise you that Doctor Clarkson will join us for lunch. He will be arriving to examine Lady Mary within the hour."

"There is some illness about in this house. First it was Anna, then Gwen, and now, of all horrors, Lady Mary has taken ill."

Mrs. Hughes sighed and shook her head. "It isn't the Plague, but it is a nuisance."

"So is Lady Mary alright? Has she been completely laid low?"

Mrs. Hughes glanced at Thomas and Daisy, both of whom were blatantly eavesdropping. She stared them down. "May I assist the two of you? Or do you have duties to fulfill?"

Daisy wilted under Mrs. Hughes' glared, but Thomas' impertinent gaze could have frozen a lake. "We're sorry, ma'am. We didn't mean-" Daisy fled the kitchen in mid-sentence. Thomas gave Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore another icy stare then haughtily strode down the corridor. He caught up to her quickly; Daisy had merely retreated to the hallway and nervously wrung her hands together.

"What's the matter with you?" Thomas asked.
"I just…I always wanted to be scullery maid. And I don't want to antagonize Missus Patmore. I don't want to be put out. She frightens me something terrible."

"You can't let them intimidate you. We already have the Granthams lording over us. Those two old bats aren't that much higher up than we are."

"You're so much braver than I am," Daisy replied in wonderment. "You don't let anyone push you about, do you?"

"Of course not. I know what I'm worth. You ought to know your worth too," Thomas advised.