Author's Note: Thanks RHatch89 for writing a review on the last chapter, and thanks Sam1954 for following this story. I have several chapters sitting around waiting for publication, so I figured I would go ahead and update again this weekend.
Please continue to review and follow. I appreciate your feedback!
Episode 1x06: Correspondence, Part Two
Dr. Clarkson, accompanied by Anna and Cora, arrived about one hour before the lunch hour. "My apologies again, Lady Crawley, for my intrusion into your lunch plans. I was preoccupied with another matter in the village," the doctor apologized upon arrival.
William helped the doctor remove his hat and coat. "It is no intrusion, Doctor Clarkson. In fact, you are more than welcome to join us for lunch."
"It would be my honor."
As Dr. Clarkson proceeded further into the house, Cora walked beside him. "Anna, one of our maids, and I will be in the room to supervise the examination. "
"How thorough of an examination do you want this to be?"
Cora looked around then lowered her voice. "Forgive my candor, but I have my reasons to desire a very thorough examination. I want to make sure my daughter is perfectly healthy. It is almost the end of the summer after all. She'll need to be healthy for the season."
They ascended the stairs side-by-side. Cora led the way into Mary's room. "Good afternoon, Lady Mary," Doctor Clarkson announced enthusiastically. "How do you today?"
"Good afternoon, Doctor Clarkson," Mary sighed. "I am as well as any bedridden woman can be I suppose. And how do you do?"
"I am in good spirits, as always. But our concern is not for my health, but for yours." Doctor Clarkson set his medical bag on the nightstand beside Mary's bed and stood over her with his hands folded together. Anna sat at Mary's bedside on the far side of the room, and Cora took a seat in an armchair at the foot of the bed. "How long have you felt ill?"
"Since breakfast this morning."
Dr. Clarkson removed his stethoscope and a mercury thermometer from the medical bag. He inserted the thermometer in Mary's mouth and studied her eyes. Then he listened to Mary's heart through her nightgown for a few silent moments. "Well, your temperature is only slightly elevated and your eyes have a normal appearance. I doubt it is an infection of any sort." He turned to Cora. "Lady Grantham, with your permission, may I physically examine Lady Mary?"
Cora nodded and pursed her lips. "What is the meaning of the physical examination?" Mary snapped.
"There is no evidence to support a theory of an infection as the cause of your ailment, Lady Mary, and in order to treat a problem, we must know what type of problem is being addressed."
"Very well; I don't suppose I could endure being bedridden for much longer."
Mary relaxed and pulled back the bedsheet covering her body. Dr. Clarkson began to press the stethoscope around Mary's chest. "Your breathing sounds normal as well. There isn't any chance of this being a respiratory affliction. Tell me, Lady Mary, did you eat anything unusual last night or this morning?"
"Last night, we had roasted lamb and potatoes. There is nothing at all unusual about lamb in the diet of an Englishwoman."
"What did you eat for breakfast?"
"I ate nothing."
"I will have to examine your stomach. Please tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort." Dr. Clarkson began to press on and around Mary's stomach. When he reached Mary's navel area, Mary winced.
"It doesn't hurt but it's far from being comfortable," Mary said quickly.
Dr. Clarkson stood up. "I see. I'm going to examine the area around where you mentioned you felt discomfort, if I may." Dr. Clarkson began to gingerly press on and around Mary's navel. Mary still winced from the touch of his fingers. "Lady Mary, have you experienced any other symptoms? Has there been any unusual bleeding or any significant cramping of your stomach?"
"No, not at all."
"Has there been any other discomfort at all of late?"
Mary's forehead knotted in thought. "Well, there have been more intimate occurrences. I haven't had any regularity of late."
"Oh that is quite enough of that talk!" Cora yelped, clasping her hands to her mouth. "
Dr. Clarkson's eyes bored into Mary's. The noblewoman's face blanched pale at the silent knowledge he betrayed. She shook her head ever so silently. Dr. Clarkson still turned to Cora and Anna. "This seems unlikely but…Usually, there is great deal more evidence and joy at this announcement, but...I believe Lady Mary is with child."
From the other side of the closed bedroom door, Edith covered her mouth so that her shocked gasp would not be audible to those inside the room. Her father had sent Edith to apologize for her behavior at breakfast, but the middle Crawley daughter had forgotten about Mary's examination that morning. Edith had no intention of remaining in the room, and had changed into a traveling dress to demonstrate her urgent need to leave. Then she had heard Dr. Clarkson's words uttered.
"That could not be possible, Dr. Clarkson. My daughter is still quite virtuous," Cora stated concretely. "I will not have her name slandered with such an accusation."
"Mama, perhaps I am not as virtuous as I would have you believe," Mary quietly whispered.
There was a long, heavy silence within the room. Finally, Cora spoke loudly. "How did this happen?"
"Quiet down, Mama, or the whole house shall hear!"
"Is that what you said to your lover? Did you tell him to keep quiet?"
Edith turned and started to leave. She normally enjoyed seeing Mary rebuked, and had since their days in the nursery. However, she did not want to hear the discussion of Mary's illicit pregnancy; she had better things to do. Edith stopped before she had taken five steps and returned to the door. Curiosity did not rule Edith as it ruled Mary. But it was motive for her to return to the door and listen for the identity of the man who had impregnated her sister.
"I would be mortified to think it was the gardener, or the chauffer, or the footman," Cora sniped on the other side of the door.
"Really, Mama, do you think I have no scruples?"
"How can you speak of scruples, when you lie in a bed, ready to bear a bastard child? How can you speak of morals or dignity when you handed over your virtue to some man like a common woman? Be careful in the words you speak to me."
Edith surprised a giggle of delight. "Yes, Mama," Mary apologized.
"Who is the father of this child? Or have they been so numerous that you have forgotten their names?"
Mary's pride flared in her response. "The father of my child is Kemal Pamuk. He loves me, Mama, and he desires to marry me."
Edith departed from the door with those words. She had an idea to write a letter.
The following morning…
Strolling through Grantham Village, Mary waved politely to each pedestrian she passed. It was a shocking divergence for the villagers—Old Mr. Granger, Mrs. Doyle, and Mrs. Hatcher—whom she encountered. The tall brunette noblewoman was renowned for her resistance to greet anyone of a lower class than she. In fact, the villagers all pondered whether the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter had lost her wits. They reciprocated her amicable greetings but offered quizzical stares as well. 'Why does everyone look at me in that manner? I haven't gone daft. Perhaps everyone else has,' Mary thought as she strode into the telegram office.
"Good morning, Mister Parish. Lovely day, we're having, isn't it?"
Mr. Parish, the manager of the telegram office, was a middle-aged, slightly portly man with thinning blond hair. He stared in surprise at Mary when she greeted him. "Hullo, Lady Grantham."
Mary removed her walking gloves. "Is something wrong, Mister Parish?"
The middle-aged man straightened his posture and righted himself immediately. "No, Lady Mary, not at all; how are you today?"
"I'm doing quite well," Mary replied with a grin. She reached into her traveling coat and pulled out a sealed envelope. "I have a telegram here that needs to be sent immediately with the greatest of urgency and the highest level of secrecy you can provide, Mister Parish."
He held out his hand, and Mary had to surrender the telegram. With rough, callused fingers stained from the ink his machines used, Mr. Parish ripped open the envelope and pulled out the telegram. After reading the letter, he glanced up at Lady Mary across the top of the page. "You may have encrypted this as much as you could, but I know well enough what it means. I assume that your father is not to know I have sent it?"
"No one—not my father, nor my mother—should know about the telegram. And when I receive a response, no one else needs to about it. Do we have an understanding?"
"Yes, milady. But it would an additional five pounds to send this telegram with that degree of secrecy."
Mary's mouth dropped open in shock. "Is this some sort of blackmail?"
The middle-aged telegrammer set his jowly jaw. "No, milady, I do not participate in blackmail. This is simply the price of doing business. Consider it an additional labor fee, if you will."
Rolling her eyes, Mary produced a five-pound note from her purse and offered it to Mr. Parish. He took the money then cleared his throat. "That's in addition to the normal rate for sending a telegram, which for this distance would be two pounds." Mary rolled her eyes again and reached into her purse for a handful of coins. "There we are. Now, what is the destination of your telegram?"
"Send it to Istanbul, care of Mister Kemal Pamuk."
When Mary returned to Downton, the doorman handed Mary a note from Sybil with one word neatly written on it: "Library." She removed her traveling hat and coat in the foyer then went to the library. Sybil sat on a chaise waiting for Mary's arrival. "Sybil, what are you doing here in the library?"
Sybil looked up with a girlish grin on her face and revealed a sheet of parchment in her hands. "I've just received another letter from Viscount Bradford. Here, read it!"
Intrigued, Mary took the letter and studied the elegant yet bold handwriting. She read most of the letter in silence but at the ending, she spoke aloud. "I also hope you will attend some of the London balls this fall season. If I shall not see you before then, I hope to revisit the simpler life and fresh country air at Downton in the summer thereafter. Give my best regards to Lord and Lady Grantham." Mary closed the letter and handed it back to Sybil. "My, my, he is not only bold; he's persistent as well."
"It may be that his previous letter was sent before this one and they simply arrived within a day of each other," Sybil suggested.
"Have you already checked the date on the other letter? I'm certain you still have it."
Sybil smiled shyly. "No, I haven't. I dare not take it out to even read it, for the fear that Papa would have some objection to it."
"Then why would you arrange this meeting in Papa's favorite room of the house?"
"Because I was so eager to talk with you about it." Sybil hastily folded the letter and stuffed it into the waist of her dress. "Do you truly think I have a suitor, Mary? I'm old enough to have a beau, I suppose, but I'm not old enough to be courted. Wouldn't you agree?"
Mary felt a sudden spell of exhaustion and sat down. "I think you're old enough to have a dance at a ball, but far for old enough for talk of suitors or beaux."
"And why is that? This is a changing world for women. We're close to achieving the right to vote, and we've a woman as a magistrate. Who's to say when a woman may and may not consider marriage?"
"Papa, that's who. You know well enough that no matter how advanced England may become in regard to the rights of women, Papa will continue to see us as his little girls until we are well married with his permission."
"You make him sound as though he's as antiquated in his thinking as Granny is."
"He very nearly is, Sybil. At any rate, is it time for lunch yet?"
"Not yet, but I believe Mrs. Patmore and the staff are working on it now. Mary, I don't suppose you could teach me to become as accomplished a rider as you are, could you?"
"I could teach you only as much as our riding instructor taught me, Sybil, which is to say I would be a failure at it as well." Sybil frowned in disappointment. Mary consolingly patted her sister's knee and added, "I know you have other attributes that will secure Viscount Bradford's heart, if that is what you wish. And that should be of some comfort, when you consider the dire straits of our poor Edith. She's as unfortunate as a ship at the Clashing Rocks."
"You really mustn't go on like that about her. Edith is a perfectly lovely person."
Mary sighed. "I supposed. But if I had the option to choose siblings, I would choose two brothers before I chose Edith."
"That reminds me, what is the status of the Entail? Wasn't Cousin Matthew looking to bestow the entire inheritance, or at least a portion of it, upon you?"
"Part of it: If Mama had her way, I would be able to inherit enough money to make me a very eligible lady."
"You already-" The library door opened, and Anna entered. She curtsied to the two ladies seated. "Yes, Anna?"
"Pardon me, but Lady Grantham sent me to request you speak with her and Dowager Lady Grantham in the drawing room, immediately, Lady Mary."
"Tell them I shall be there shortly." Anna curtsied again and exited the room. Mary stood up, but she still felt exhausted. She struggled to put on a brave face. "I didn't expect Grandmama to visit today. I wonder what she and Mama want of me?"
"Whatever it is, please grant their wish as quickly as possible and return to me. We must finish this conversation. I shall meet you in the garden."
"Very well, Sybil. I shall meet you as soon as I can." Mary patted her sister's shoulders and departed for the drawing room.
As Mary crossed the parlor to the drawing room, Edith descended the stairs. She had just changed into a travelling coat and a drab gray dress to venture out to the village. Edith spotted Mary enter the drawing room, as Anna passed her on the stairs. The middle Crawley sister stopped Anna on her ascent. "Anna, where is Mary going? She looks as though she's ben out."
Anna glanced downstairs. "It seems to me that Lady Mary is going to the drawing room. That's all I can tell you." Edith narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Anna. "If you'll forgive me, ma'am, I'll go and tidy up a bit." Anna proceeded up the stairs. Determined to uncover the truth, Edith waited until Anna had vanished then walked downstairs to the drawing room door.
"Mama, Grandmama." Mary curtseyed to the elder women of her family. "How do you do today."
"Very well, Mary. And I see you are also well, despite your present condition," Dowager Lady Grantham responded. "In my time, a woman hardly got out of bed in these circumstances except to make her social calls. Quite ironic, considering how one ended up in the condition."
"Granny! There is no need to be so vulgar," Cora rebuked.
"Vulgar?" Violet chuckled. "There are only us three women in the room, and we know enough of the predicament to know how one achieves it."
Cora took a sip of tea. To cut the tension, Mary sat down and responded, "I've felt a bit exhausted of late, but my overall health is quite good."
"At least there is a silver lining to this cloud," Violet sniffed.
"Mary," Cora set down her teacup, "your grandmamma and I wanted to meet with you today because we've booked your passage across the Atlantic to visit your other grandmamma in New York."
Mary swallowed hard and forced herself to accept the burden of what her mother was advising. "Very well; when do I depart?"
"Tomorrow." Mary's jaw dropped open in shock for the second time that day. "I wasn't able to give her full details on the reason for your visit, but she knows something is afoot. Anna is already upstairs packing your belongings for the trip, although I suspect you'll return from New York with even more clothes."
"Wouldn't it be wiser if I waited to go until you close the house for the summer?"
"For that matter, why sent you then? Surely we should wait until the start of the season!" Violet huffed. "In your condition, time is of the essence. The sooner you depart, the better it is for the family's reputation, and yours!"
"Your grandmamma has an astute point. If you remain too much longer, your scandal would be visible to all."
Mary clasped a hand to her mouth. "I think I am going to be ill." She ran from the room and upstairs as quickly as she could. Edith, who had heard everything from the drawing room door, barely avoided being struck by the door as Mary fled.