AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry for taking over a month to update this story! Real life is sometimes most inconvenient when it comes to writing fanfic. The next chapter needs some work, but the last two are already written, so hopefully I will be able to return to more regular updates. I cannot believe we are just 3 chapters away from completing the first part of this fic!
Drawing room, Eryholme, May 1914
"How are things at home? Has Papa calmed down?" asked Mary playfully, gesturing for Sybil to help herself to her favourite macaroons. She nearly laughed at the resentful expression with which her sister bit into the sweet.
"Mostly. I'm here, am I not? For a week or so I have been convinced I would be kept prisoner until the time came to meet the king."
"Well, darling, you did nearly give him and everyone else a heart attack with your disappearing act," pointed out Mary, reaching for a macaroon herself before Sybil could devour them all. "Papa was bound to need some time to get over it."
Sybil rolled her eyes.
"He was the one in the wrong, not me," she grumbled, but relented a bit under Mary's significant look. "Oh, very well, maybe my actions were a bit extreme. But I just could not think of anything else I could do to get through to him!"
"I know your intentions were noble, darling, but you did end up scaring us all. Even Branson was out of his mind with worry for you."
For the first time, Mary thought she could see a hint of contrition in Sybil's expression.
"I didn't even think that he would be," she said with a sigh. "Will you allow me to go to him and apologise for everything? Papa forbade me to speak to him, but I feel I really ought to. I have cost him his job and a lot of worry."
"Of course I will," answered Mary staunchly. "I don't think talking to Branson is dangerous to you at all. But let's better keep this chat from Papa. It might be better for his nerves."
Sybil smiled brightly in response.
"Oh, Mary, I knew you would! Thank you!"
Mary looked at her sternly.
"Just as long as you promise me not to keep any other mad ideas secret from me . The next time you feel the urge to run away, for any reason, you will talk to me first, are we clear? I am on your side, but only if you promise to be honest with me."
"I promise, Mary," said Sybil fervently. "No running away until we talk first."
"Good," said Mary with satisfaction. She didn't think Tom would agree to any mad scheme nowadays, and she didn't expect Sybil to run away with anyone else – God, she hoped ! - but considering it was Sybil she preferred to be safe than sorry.
"Where's Matthew?" asked Sybil, obviously eager to change the subject.
"Still at the office. He wants to finish as much as he can before we go to Italy."
Sybil sighed wistfully.
"Mary, do you think I will ever get a chance to experience such love as you found with him?"
Mary's heart clenched as she reached to gently put a loose strand of Sybil's hair behind her ear.
"I'm certain you will, my darling. In probably the least expected way. Nobody as lovely as you, inside and out, could go through life without experiencing true love."
Sybil gaped at her.
"I never took you for such a romantic!"
Mary laughed ruefully.
"I'm not normally one, no," she said drily. "But I just know I am right about you."
"I guess I should trust you. After all, you got to experience it twice," said Sybil teasingly and then looked horrified when she noticed Mary's suddenly frozen face. "I'm so sorry, Mary! I didn't think!"
"It's alright," said Mary, striving for calmness. "And you're right. I have been luckier than most having loved twice. But... sometimes you might pay a great price for a great love."
Sybil grasped her hand, looking at her with compassion.
"Do you regret than you didn't marry Patrick before he died?" she asked tentatively.
Mary shook her head, telling herself sternly to keep it all together.
"It all worked out for good in the end. Just imagine, I could have been left with a child if I married Patrick before he went to America. And who knows, I might have been a horrible mother when consumed by grief."
"I don't think so," said Sybil loyally. "I'm sure you would have been a wonderful mother if that happened."
"There's no way to be sure about things like that, Sybil!" snapped Mary and instantly felt guilty when she saw Sybil's stricken expression. "I'm sorry, darling, I didn't want to be short with you. It's just... I know that grief does strange and awful things to people and it's unpredictable. Makes some cling to their remaining loved ones and love them all the more, and the other distance themselves from everybody, closed off, trying and failing to protect themselves from getting hurt again..."
Her voice trailed off.
She realised that she hadn't dwelled on her grief for some time. Being married to Matthew, being loved by Matthew was healing her more and more every day. Every time they made love, every morning when she woke up to the sight of his beloved face and the soothing sound of his breathing, every evening which they spent blissfully alone, reading or debating books, just the two of them – every moment like that was building up happiness and sense of security she had never expected to feel again.
But Tom's return to her life, as absolutely wonderful as it was, brought it all back to the surface of her mind. Made her loss more real somehow, just by the fact that he remembered it as well – that he remembered her first Matthew, the one who had been his best friend. And one of the things Mary got reminded of was the painful contrast between the way Tom handled his grief and she hers. Tom had never cut himself off from anybody, least of all his child. He had been determined from the very first day to love Sybbie for both himself and her dead mother. Mary once again felt so ashamed of herself. The sound of George's cry, a cry she had never answered while it had echoed through the house as she had been laying on Matthew's side of the bed, unable to move from pain, despair and just missing him so terribly much with every fibre of her being, haunted her dreams for the last three nights.
She would give anything to be able to go back and soothe her baby now.
Anything except losing Matthew again. That she could not face, even for George. She did not think she would be able to survive it.
She recalled that Sybil was still waiting for her to finish her speech and forced herself to focus on the present.
"There isn't much point in dwelling on might have beens, darling. I still cannot believe I got to be married to Matthew after everything that happened, but I couldn't be happier. And I know that there is someone who will love you just as much as Matthew loves me, and whom you will love just as much as I love Matthew. You're only eighteen. There is a whole life waiting for you to live and be happy."
She looked at her sister's beautiful face and thought fiercely that there wasn't a thing she wouldn't do to ensure that this time around Sybil got the chance to live that life.
Eryholme, May 1914
Sybil looked uncertainly into the dark cavern of Eryholme's garage. Mary told her that Branson was here, but she couldn't find him anywhere.
"Hello?" she called out hesitantly.
Her greeting was met by a clang of some tool being dropped, followed immediately by a thud and a muffled curse. She couldn't stifle a laugh when she saw Branson emerging from under the vehicle, rubbing his head in the spot which clearly met with something hard in his surprise at her arrival.
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I shouldn't laugh when it's my fault."
"It's alright, milady," said Branson, looking uncharacteristically flustered. He reached for a rag and attempted to clean his oily hands. "My head is thick enough to withstand a blow or two."
"I am still sorry to be a cause of one," said Sybil, adding sheepishly. " Again . You already took a punch for me in Ripon."
"At least his lordship contended himself with yelling at me and sacking me," answered Branson drily. "I admit I was afraid for a moment he was going to kill me when he saw you with all that blood."
Sybil huffed angrily.
"He was completely unreasonable about the whole thing! But I haven't come here to complain about him."
"Why have you come?" asked Branson quietly. Sybil looked straight into his bright blue eyes.
"To apologise. I hid my real destination from you, I didn't listen when you begged me to leave, and as the result you have been beaten up, yelled at and sacked from your job. It was unfair of Papa to react like that when it wasn't your fault at all, but you wouldn't have to suffer any of it if it wasn't for me. I'm sorry, Branson, for all of it. Truly."
She waited in dread for his response, as he stayed silent, looking at her seriously.
"I accept your apology, milady. And thank you for fighting for me. Even though you really shouldn't have run away like that. I've never wanted for you to put yourself in danger. Especially not on my account."
Sybil rolled her eyes.
"I never was in any danger!" she exclaimed impatiently. "I just took a train to a nearby town and spent time at Gwen's boarding house. Hardly a dangerous adventure."
"Well, I didn't know where you were," pointed out Branson. "And I worried."
"Mary said you did," acknowledged Sybil guiltily. "And I'm sorry for that as well. I never thought you would, or I would have shared my plans with you."
"I wish you would have. Then I would have a chance to talk you out of them."
"But it worked in the end! At least Mary got you a job here," she looked up at Branson, suddenly apprehensive. "You do like it here, don't you? I know it's not working for an earl anymore, but Mary and Matthew are nice to work for, aren't they?"
To her relief, Branson laughed.
"I apparently have not had enough opportunity to talk with you if you think I give a fig about my employer's title, meaningless, outdated trappings of an antiquated and unjust power structure as they are," he answered with a grin. "And yes, Lady Mary and Mr Crawley are very nice to work for. Don't worry, milady. The only thing I regret about this change is that I won't get to talk with you so often. You're very interesting to talk with, you know."
"Uff, that is a huge weight of my mind!" said Sybil, smiling at him as well. "And we can talk when I come here, if you really want to. I missed talking with you too."
For the first time she noticed that Branson looked really handsome when he smiled like that.
Matthew's dressing room, Eryholme, May 1914
"Summer suits only, Molesley," said Matthew as he and his valet were completing his packing for the journey. "But make sure to pack an umbrella, just in case."
Molesley nodded.
"Do you plan to visit the Uffizi Gallery?" he asked wistfully. Matthew looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, we do. Personally, I am more interested in architecture, but I know that Lady Mary would love to see Botticelli's paintings."
"She might also be interested in seeing Della Francesca's paintings," suggested Molesley. "Since they have one at Downton."
Matthew blinked.
"Any other suggestions?" he asked, only to blink again when his valet jumped into enthusiastic listing of all kinds of art Florence had to offer.
"Well, sir, there are two versions of 'Adoration of the Magi' - one by Da Vinci and one by Durer – which make for interesting comparison of the same theme by such different artists. And, were I to go, I would definitely want to see works by Michelangelo, Raphael and Caravaggio. The Titan's paintings displayed there are rather daring, I've heard, but exceptionally beautiful, and I suspect their colours must be quite different than in most of reproductions I had occasion to see."
"Molesley," said Matthew slowly. "I have not realised you were such an art afficionado."
Molesley blushed vividly.
"Not at all, sir," he stammered. "Just a bit of a casual interest... I've left school at 12, you see, so I cannot say I had much of an education, but I've always enjoyed reading and history, and read what I could. I just picked a thing or two over the years."
Matthew remained silent for a moment, then made a decision.
"Molesley," he said firmly. "Pack your own bag. I think I may have a need of a valet on this trip after all."
Seeing incredulous delight on Molesley's face he tried not to feel guilty that it took him a year and a half to realise his valet shared some of his own interests.
Kitchen yard, Downton Abbey, May 1914
Anna walked purposefully into the kitchen yard at Downton Abbey. Lady Mary brought her with her on her last visit before the trip to Florence, ostensibly to give Anna a chance to catch up with her friends among the staff of the big house, but in fact with a very serious mission.
"Check if there are any rumours concerning Lady Sybil after the whole debacle," she said seriously. "Anything at all which may impact her reputation ahead of her debut."
"Don't worry, your ladyship. If there is anything at all, Thomas will know of it. He always does when there is something nasty being implied," Anna said darkly. "And he did promise to keep his ear on the ground for such things."
As she expected, she did find Thomas by the crates, with his inseparable cigarette in his mouth and his habitual sourly look getting worse as soon as he spotted her.
"There isn't anything worth saying about Lady Sybil," he scoffed, shaking off the ash. "Other than half of the staff consider her a hero for sticking her neck out for Branson and the other half a spoiled brat for causing all that trouble in the first place."
"Good to know," said Anna, utterly relieved that Ethel's absurd theories didn't seem to leave Eryholme's kitchen. "So what's the current issue grabbing everyone's attention? There always is something."
"Oh, there is, no doubt about it," answered Thomas with dark satisfaction Anna didn't like one bit. "We got some interesting insight into your dear Mr Bates's past."
Anna stiffened.
"What kind of insight?" she asked, striving for indifference but judging from Thomas's knowing look not succeeding very well.
"Your dear Mr Bates," said Thomas with relish, "is a thief."
"Has something of his lordship been displaced again?" challenged Anna.
"Oh, no, not this time. Nothing like that. It came to our attention that Mr Bates misbehaved much earlier. In fact, he spent years in prison for theft. He was lucky to cash on his relationship with his lordship because he wouldn't have found an honest job anywhere else with a past like that."
Anna stared at him incredulously. Thomas was much too gleeful to be lying about it, but she simply could not believe that this was true. She had to acknowledge that she did not know Mr Bates so well... not as well as she would like to, at least... but what she did know of him was that he was a good man and she could not believe she was mistaken about it. She knew enough of bad men to be able to spot the signs.
"Do you know what he was accused of stealing?" she asked.
Thomas grinned smugly and got into the details.
Ritz Restaurant, London, May 1914
"What has Dr Ryder said?" asked Matthew, pouring Mary some tea.
"He says all is well," answered Mary, accepting the cup with a brilliant smile. "He says I'm to get in touch with him in six months' time, but that I'll be pregnant before then."
"So, now we can start making babies."
They smiled warmly at one another, as he took her hand and kissed it.
"What do you think we'd have done if there had been a problem?"
"God knows. Track down the next heir after you and adopt him."
She started to laugh and, after a moment, so did he.
"We'd be okay. That's the main thing."
"Yes. I think it is," her eyes twinkled with mischief when she raised them to meet his. "Looking forward to celebrating our good news?"
"Are you joking?" asked Matthew incredulously. "It's been weeks! I hope you haven't made any plans for the rest of the day – and maybe tomorrow neither, just to be on safe side – because I'm quite sure we will be celebrating very thoroughly."
"Don't worry," purred Mary, watching him hungrily. "My only plans most definitely involve you."
Master bedroom, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, May 1914
" That ," said Matthew when he was finally able to form coherent sentences again, "was amazing ."
Mary looked at him with fond amusement.
"Worth the wait then?" she asked drily.
He gave her a sideways glance.
"As if you weren't impatient enough yourself. Should I remind you, my darling, who ripped my shirt open? I haven't the slightest idea how I am going to explain it to Molesley."
"You don't have to explain anything," answered Mary imperiously, neatly sidestepping the issue of responsibility for the shirt's sorry state. "Just tell him to deal with it, I bet he would prefer not to discuss the details anyway. Besides, you're hardly the one to complain about torn garments, considering how many of mine Anna had to repair."
Matthew blushed, silently acknowledging her point.
Mary smirked, glad to win that round. Laying here, still basking in the languid joy following the most glorious release, exchanging playful banter with Matthew, she caught herself thinking how impossibly happy she was to get the chance to experience it again.
Two years had passed since she had travelled in time and while she was not any closer to understanding how or why it had happened, she did not care. She had left the reality in which she had dealt with despair so bleak she could not see ever being happy again. Not without him. And yet, here she was, in this bed, with this man, so beloved, so darling to her. He truly was her miracle. She had no idea what she had ever done to deserve this impossible second chance but she was determined to be grateful for every minute like this.
Grand Hotel, Piazza Ognissanti, Florence, May 1914
"Well," said Mary with a smile, looking outside the huge, ornate window of their opulent suite of rooms. "It seems we were lucky enough to get a room with the view of the Arno River."
"Good. Then you won't need to rely on a handsome stranger to give up his room for you," said Matthew, coming towards her and embracing her loosely to admire the said view over her shoulder. Mary turned her head with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"You wouldn't want me beholden to him, Mr Crawley?"
"Absolutely not," whispered Matthew huskily, his lips travelling leisurely from Mary's ear to her creamy neck. He wondered idly if he would manage to kiss every cute little freckle on it. "Who knows, he might have swept you off your feet and then where would I be?"
"Utterly bereft, I would hope. I like to think I would be a hard act to follow."
"Oh, I would be. Nobody can compare to you, darling. So I just need to make sure that you're never bored enough with me to look at anybody else."
"And how do you plan to achieve that, Mr Crawley?"
"Let me show you," he whispered, his fingers reaching deftly for the fastenings of her dress.
They didn't manage to explore anything besides their suite of rooms that day.
Grand Hotel, Piazza Ognissanti, Florence, May 1914
"All ready for a day of exploration and playing a tourist?"
"Absolutely. Look how well prepared I am," said Mary, brandishing a red volume of Boedecker guide.
"Guard it with your life," said Matthew solemnly. "Who knows how lost we might be without it."
"So you're not a fan of discovering the local colour of a city by yourself, out of the well trodden paths?" Mary raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, but I come well prepared myself" announced Matthew triumphally, pulling out the Forrester book from his valise. "So we can compare the official and unofficial guides to the city."
Mary laughed.
"So, should we start with the churches or the gallery?"
Matthew looked at the clouds gathering over the mountains surrounding the city.
"The gallery, I would say. And let's take our umbrellas with us."
"At least it's a short walk from the hotel," said Mary pragmatically. "And I do look forward to seeing "Judith and Holofernes" by Artemisia Gentileschi."
Matthew looked at her in mock alarm.
"Should I feel very frightened by that sudden onset of bloodthirsty interest?"
Mary glanced at him from under her eyelashes.
"Who said anything about it being sudden? It has been Sybil's favourite picture for years, simply by the virtue of being painted by a female artist. She talked my ear off about it and I admit, I got to appreciate the viciousness of it myself over the time."
"I dearly hope not due to being inspired by me," said Matthew. "Otherwise I will have to ask Mrs Gruntler to lock all the sharp knives away, just in case."
"Fortunately for you, darling, you have never inspired murderous rage in me yet," purred Mary. "I would say you are usually a source of violent feelings of a different kind."
Santa Croce, Florence, Italy, May 1914
Watching Matthew in churches was a sight to behold and Florence had so many . The awe on his face, the boyish grin, the enthusiasm with which he was pointing out one detail after another to her as they explored Santa Maria del Fiore or Santa Croce, with his Boedecker, full of little notes and bookmarks, clutched in his hands. Mary thought back to letting Edith take him on a tour of local churches in Yorkshire, missing out on seeing how utterly adorable he was like this and would give a lot to time travel again just so she could slap some sense into her past self. She had been an idiot.
Matthew stopped gushing over Giotto for a moment, smiling sheepishly at her.
"Sorry for going on and on," he said, hand threading through his hair self-consciously. "I'm afraid my enthusiasm got the better of me."
"Don't you dare apologise for it," she said sternly. "I don't remember ever being so well entertained in a church."
"I don't believe you at all, but I am eternally grateful for your forbearance," answered Matthew, grasping her hand for a quick kiss. "Will it last for Santa Maria Novella or are you at the end of your rope for today?"
Mary looked into his hopeful blue eyes and ruefully thought that he had indeed made her soft.
"I think I can stand one more church," she said magnanimously, treasuring the delight spreading over his features.
It was well worth sore feet and learning much more about Renaissance architecture that she could ever possibly wish to.
Café, Florence, Italy, May 1914
"I'm so glad we came here," said Mary, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and watching the busy plaza over the balustrade of the café's terrace. "One more beautiful memory to treasure in darker days."
"Do you expect so many of them?"
Mary stared at the pigeons flying away from two children chasing them enthusiastically.
"It's because I am so very happy with you," she said finally. "I've never expected to know such happiness as I found in being married to you. I guess it makes me fear that it cannot last."
"It will last," said Matthew, taking her hand on the table.
"We are young, in love, rich ," he winked at her. "We can now hope to have a baby soon. We have our whole life ahead of us, darling."
Mary just squeezed his hand and drank her hot chocolate.
Eryholme, May 1914
"Mother," exclaimed Matthew enthusiastically, giving Isobel a kiss on the cheek. "How nice of you to visit."
Isobel smiled in response.
"It's nice of you to greet me like that even when I come uninvited and unexpected," she said teasingly, then looked around for her daughter-in-law. "Where's Mary?"
"You've just missed her," explained Matthew, leading Isobel to the bright drawing room, its French windows opened to the blooming garden. "She left to visit the Abbey and discuss the itinerary for the season."
Isobel raised her eyebrows.
"And left you here? Doesn't your schedule count when planning all the events?"
Matthew laughed easily.
"Turns out it is easier to reschedule a meeting with a member of parliament than a tea with a duchess, never mind a ball. Don't worry, Mother, Mary is aware of my more important meetings and will take them into account. I sent her alone so I could catch up on my correspondence after the trip."
"And here I come and disturb you instead," noted Isobel dryly.
"Not at all, I got through everything urgent already," Matthew assured her and asked Molesley to bring tea and scones.
"How was Italy?" asked Isobel, settling comfortably on one of the flowery sofas.
"Beautiful, relaxing and utterly enjoyable," answered Matthew with a smile. "But then again I shared it with the best travel companion possible, present company excluded."
"I am not so old as to delude myself into believing that you would be just as happy to travel to Florence with your mother as you were with your young and beautiful wife."
Matthew coughed slightly.
"Well, I'm sure it would be nice to travel there with you as well one day," he said gamely. "But I admit it has been lovely to experience it with Mary. I'm very glad she talked me into it."
"And I'm glad to hear that you had such a wonderful time there. Have you managed to see all the churches you wished?"
"Oh, yes! But while they were incredible to see in person, I must say I was mostly impressed by my wife's forbearance. I could see she was bored after the first one, but she pretended beautifully that it was not the case until we completed the list."
"She does seem to show more patience and consideration to you than she has for the world in general," admitted Isobel. "Not what my first impression of her promised, that's for sure. But then again, her first impression of you couldn't have been the best either."
Matthew laughed self-deprecatingly.
"When I remember how petulant I was about coming here, I really want to go back in time and slap some sense into myself," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "Even though I hardly could predict that it would lead me to the best thing in my life."
"And are you happy, my boy?"
"Mother," said Matthew feelingly, his blue eyes shining in a way which made Isobel's chest tight with utter joy at seeing him so. "I am so happy I can sometimes scarcely comprehend it."