Guest bedroom, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, July 22nd, 1922
Mary was laying on the bed, deep in thought.
She still could scarcely believe that Edith was pregnant.
Who would have thought that Edith was capable of getting herself in trouble of that kind!
Now, what was Mary supposed to do with that knowledge?
Would she even do anything at all?
On one hand, her first vicious impulse was to rub it in Edith's face. But on the other... she realised she just didn't currently hate her enough to really want to do it, at least not at the moment. She made no promises for the next time Edith managed to annoy the hell out of her.
She had hated her like that in the past. Oh yes, she had. She was never going to forget this moment, here in this very house, when Evelyn had told her that it had been her own sister who had spread her scandal to the whole world. That initial moment of disbelief, of pain of betrayal – and then a flash of memory, the dinner with Duke of Crowborough and Edith doing her very best to destroy Mary's chance to become a duchess. She had long considered that failure the luckiest escape she ever had, but in this flash of insight she had understood the depth of Edith's malice and suddenly she could believe that Edith had done what Evelyn had accused her of. There had certainly been no love lost between them but until then Mary had always assumed that there had been family loyalty. She had been raised with conviction that family duty trumped it all; that whatever drama and conflicts existed between them (and there were plenty to choose from: Granny and Mama, Aunt Rosamund and Mama, Aunt Rosamund and Granny, Cousin Susan and well, everyone), they would present unified front against outsiders. That assurance had been utterly shattered that summer afternoon. Clearly Edith's hatred for her had run deeper than she had ever suspected.
She hated remembering the miserable weeks which had followed. Humiliation at finding herself the subject of gossip and speculation; of everybody knowing her biggest shame and laughing over it. She had no illusion how the story was being told; she herself had shared similarly juicy rumours about other people with enough glee and cruel wit to imagine how it would be spun. She had made enough enemies and not enough friends to limit the damage. She cringed again at the thought of it, even though the gossip was old news by now, overshadowed by more recent and relevant scandals long ago. Then there had been her growing dread that she was going to lose Matthew, that even if she hadn't told him the truth, he would learn it anyway and soon; and he had been already distancing himself from her over her dithering and the complication of Mama's pregnancy. Oh, she hated, hated remembering those weeks! And there had been Edith, all smug and unapologetic, calling her a slut for this one fatal error of judgment, and brimming with satisfaction at getting one up over Mary and at her incoming engagement to Sir Anthony.
Mary still felt grim satisfaction herself at the memory of wiping that smirk off from Edith's face when she had chased Sir Anthony off with just few well-chosen words. Even if her victory had felt hollow considering what had taken place between herself and Matthew some half an hour later.
Her hatred cooled off during the war. She did not hate Edith anymore; there hardly seemed to be the point. She did not like her – she couldn't imagine ever liking her – and she found her annoying more often than not, but she felt more contempt than hate. Edith had done a monstrous thing to her, had betrayed her and the family in the worst possible way, and Mary was certain hell would freeze over before she trusted her again, but she had gotten her revenge and considered the matter closed, despite continuing consequences of Edith's action in form of Richard and Vera Bates' blackmail of her and Bates. The resentment had flared up occasionally when she had considered how many people suffered due to this damn letter: herself, Anna, Bates, even Matthew to a degree although he had not been aware of the way the ricochet from Edith's actions had influenced the course of his own life. But usually Mary had managed to talk herself down and let the sleeping dogs lie. Edith had done what she had, Mary had paid her back, what good it would have done to rehash everything?
There had been only two contrasting events which had made her temporarily reconsider this status quo. The first one had been Edith's support for that fraud Gordon, just when Matthew had been at his lowest and most vulnerable. That had just cemented Mary's conviction that Edith felt no family loyalty whatsoever. The fact that she had hurt Matthew, and at such a time, could never, ever be forgotten or forgiven, even if Matthew himself inexplicably did not hold it against her. But then she had known practically from the beginning that Matthew was a better person than she ever could be. Which had only made Edith's crime against him worse in Mary's eyes.
However the other event... The unexpected encore to Mary's revenge in form of Sir Anthony jilting Edith at the altar had shaken her. She had been truly horrified watching her sister humiliated in such a cruel and public way. Whatever she had felt for Edith, however little she had liked her... In that moment she had been very aware that she was still her sister. She was family. And Mary could not stand a member of her family to be treated so horribly.
She sighed. She guessed she had a partial answer to her original question. Whatever she would do with her newly acquired knowledge, she would not do anything to risk making Edith's shame public. She was better than that, at least. Maybe stewing in the feeling of moral superiority would be satisfactory enough.
Or maybe it would all come out when she lashed out at her sister next, provoked by one thing or another. But Mary knew herself enough to be reasonably sure that she would only allow for it to happen in private.
Whatever else Edith was, she was family.
The door opened with a creak and Matthew joined her, his expression full of concern.
"Darling, are you all right? Anna said that you don't feel well."
"Just a headache," answered Mary evasively, avoiding his eyes. She ignored how his frown deepened at her behaviour and asked instead how his meeting with Mr Ross went.
Matthew sighed, sitting down on the chair by her side.
"As well as could be expected. He will not be marrying her, thank God. But... I really got the impression that he is a genuinely good man. And that he loves her very much."
"More than she loves him, I dare say," commented Mary caustically.
Matthew sighed again.
"I think you might be right, but I don't expect her to take the news at all well. Or forgive either of us for the intervention."
"Would you prefer to see her dealing with the consequences of her actions if we have done nothing and let her go through with this madness?"
Matthew shook his head emphatically.
"No," he said. "I just couldn't see it ending at all well for her. We did a necessary thing, a right thing. But it does not make me feel any better and it won't make Rose feel any less betrayed."
"Aren't we all betrayed at some point or other?" asked Mary tiredly. "She will get over it, eventually. Like we all do."
The frown was back on Matthew's face.
"Darling, has something happened?"
I have just learnt that my unmarried sister is pregnant by her very married lover and everybody in the family, including my husband, hid it from me, thought Mary viciously, but didn't feel like getting into all that with Matthew right now.
"Nothing happened. I guess I'm just tired. Please make my excuses to Aunt Rosamund. I think I will eat off the tray."
"Do you want me to keep you company? Maybe read something to you?" asked Matthew with genuine concern and if Mary was not so thoroughly angry with him, she would have loved to take him up on his offer. He truly had the most beautiful reading voice and excellent diction, and she liked nothing better than cuddling into him as he read aloud to her.
"No, thank you. I think some peace and quiet will be best for that headache. Better go downstairs."
Puzzlement mixed with slight hurt on Matthew's face nearly made Mary reconsider. Nearly.
"Alright," said Matthew finally, kissing her lightly on the forehead and walking towards the door. "Rest well, my darling. I hope you will feel better soon."
Mary scowled at the door closing behind him.
She knew, of course, that her anger at Matthew was pointless. It took her but a second to figure out the reason for his secrecy. Edith must have asked him to, must have taken him into her confidence, and of course he felt honour bound to keep her secret. If she should feel angry at anyone for excluding her, it would have been Granny who obviously didn't see any need to get Mary involved, even though a potential fallout from Edith's fall from grace could impact Rose's coming out and Mary's own life. But then she was long used to Granny's scheming and her ruthless policy of divide and conquer. Granny's modus operandi was to involve as few people as possible in any given matter. She would have told Mary when she deemed her useful to the cause or a warning necessary to issue and not a minute sooner. But she was not used to Matthew keeping secrets from her and it rankled, even knowing his reasons for it.
She huffed angrily again, feeling a real headache growing behind her eyes. She knew she would have to talk about it with Matthew. She had no wish to give him a cold shoulder for any significant length of time; she was already missing his presence by her side. But she was too keyed up, too tense, to start that conversation right now; it would have only ended badly. Better she really sleeps it off, let herself think.
She resolved to talk with Matthew in the morning.
Guest Bedroom, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, July 22nd, 1922
Matthew frowned worriedly, accepting his dinner jacket from Bates who was getting him ready for dinner in the guest bedroom next to the one he shared with Mary. At least Rosamund was relaxed enough to accept black tie for dinner, unless she was hosting a formal party. To be truthful, Matthew hardly needed Bates's help on a trip like this, but he took him again to keep Anna company and allow him to make his own errands in London.
He was barely paying attention to his valet right now though, his thoughts fully occupied with his wife and the way she sent him away. She did say she had a headache... But on the rare occasions she felt unwell, Mary usually liked having him nearby, as long as he didn't make too much fuss. Since Matthew very much preferred to keep Mary in his sight when she was ill, he did his best not to hover and instead provide unobtrusive companionship and a human pillow which Mary seemed to appreciate. Yet tonight she dismissed him so unceremoniously... It was as if she was angry with him, but for the life of him Matthew could not figure out any reason for her to be. They separated after lunch in perfect accord, him going to meet with Mr Ross and Mary planning some light shopping and gossip with Aunt Rosamund.
"Have you and Anna had some opportunity to spend time together?" he asked Bates to distract himself.
"Not much, my lord," answered Bates, handing him his black tie. Matthew felt his usual relief that Bates never attempted to tie it for him. "I took liberty to buy some new collars for you and checked on the house I'm renting out, and Anna went shopping for Lady Mary, since she felt unwell."
Matthew looked at him sharply.
"Lady Mary felt unwell the whole afternoon? Bad enough to forego shopping?"
"Anna told me her ladyship retired straight after tea but did not complain of anything other than some tiredness and a headache," answered Bates soothingly. Matthew took a deep breath and told himself firmly to calm down. There could not be any real reason to worry.
Dining room, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, July 22nd, 1922
"How is Mary?" asked Rosamund as they were seating down to dinner.
"She says it's just a headache, but she seemed tired too," answered Matthew, frowning slightly when he thought again about Mary's uncharacteristic behaviour. He feared that she felt much worse than she told him. "This pregnancy is harder for her than she had with George."
"At least Edith seems to have little enough symptoms to be able to hide hers," remarked Rosamund when Meade left the room to bring in the second course. "Although with so many people guessing it anyway, I wonder. How long has Mary known?"
"Known about what?" asked Matthew in confusion. Rosamund rolled her eyes.
"About Edith's pregnancy, of course. She told me she noticed as well but didn't tell me when."
Matthew barely avoided choking on his wine.
Well, that explained a lot.
"Not long," he managed to say. "Only recently."
Most likely very recently, he thought ruefully, wondering idly how Mary managed to drag it out of Rosamund without her even noticing.
He barely managed to handle conversation with Rosamund through the rest of the dinner, his attention only marginally on the subjects they discussed. He excused himself straight afterwards and walked upstairs, feeling the need to clear the air with Mary and not an insignificant amount of trepidation. They didn't have many fights – oh, they quarrelled all the time, but this was all in good sport, he meant real fights – but when they did, it was often awfully ugly. Mary could be truly vicious and placed her blows with unerring accuracy and Matthew didn't exactly take them lying down, especially when he felt himself to be in the right. And he did feel himself in the right here. Mostly, at least. He could hardly betray Edith's secret to Mary with Edith specifically forbidding him to. But his conscience was bothering him about keeping secrets from his wife, even if they weren't his secrets to tell, and he could see why Mary could take it badly.
He opened the door and walked in carefully, only to find Mary asleep, the tray with barely touched dinner on the side table. His earlier worry for her wellbeing returned and swiftly replaced the concern whether she was as cross with him as he suspected. Whether her bout of ill health was brought by her shocking discovery or by her pregnancy, it was obvious she was truly unwell, and Matthew hated seeing her so. His Mary was normally such a force of nature that any hint of physical vulnerability seemed deeply wrong and immediately brought spectres of Lavinia and Sybil to Matthew's mind. He knew he was overreacting – it most likely was just a headache, as Mary said, which would naturally explain lack of appetite and tiredness – but he just couldn't help worrying.
He went quietly to the next door bedroom, assigned as his dressing room, and changed into his pyjamas without bothering to ring for Bates. Then he returned to Mary's side, carefully settling in bed without waking her up. He had a book with him, thinking it was much too early for him to sleep yet, but repeatedly found his eyes and attention straying from its pages to his wife's sleeping face.
He just hoped she was truly going to be alright in the morning.
Guest bedroom, Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, July 23rd, 1922
Mary opened her eyes in altogether better mood than she went to sleep in, only improved further by the sight of Matthew's handsome face inches from her own, his blond hair tousled adorably.
So, Edith was pregnant – so what? Ultimately, like she had told Aunt Rosamund even though she had not understood the particulars yet, it was not Mary's problem. And since others were dealing with it, hopefully it never would have to be. They didn't want to involve Mary in searching for a solution? Very well, it's not like Mary wanted to be involved in helping Edith deal with the mess she had made of her life. She was going to leave it in Granny's competent hands and take it off her mind.
She looked at Matthew's face instead, his features so very dear to her and felt familiar thrill of happiness at being allowed to see him like that. They had been married for over two years now, she was pregnant with their second child and yet she still sometimes could not believe that it had really happened, that he was truly hers. She had spent so many miserable years believing it an impossibility, believing that she had ruined everything and had lost him forever and only taking comfort in the thought of seeing him safe and happy one day, even if it had to be with another woman. To see him in her bed now – to know he was her husband – it still seemed like such an incredible privilege, such an unbelievable luck. She was still miffed with him for getting involved in Edith's mess without telling her, but right now she preferred to dwell on the fact how terribly she loved him and that despite everything she had done she was now allowed to do so.
His eyelashes fluttered and revealed the stunning blue of his beautiful eyes, widening quickly at finding her awake and looking at him.
"How do you feel, my darling?" he asked immediately, his voice still raspy from sleep but filled with concern which made Mary feel as if pleasant warmth was spreading slowly through her chest.
"Better," she answered simply, reaching to caress his face. He leaned into her hand, then captured it and gently kissed the palm.
"I'm glad," he said, his blue eyes never leaving her own. "I don't like it when you're ill. I don't deal well with it at all."
Mary's mind flew to the room where Lavinia had died so suddenly, after such a seemingly mild illness, and the look on Matthew's face as he had watched her helplessly, and her heart clenched in sympathy for him. She kissed him, trying to convey through her lips that she was well, that she definitely was not going anywhere, that he had no cause to worry about her. She thought hazily that it must be working because Matthew was kissing her back, his kiss full of his own meaning, and then she could hardly think at all. She nearly moaned in disappointed protest when he took his lips away from hers.
"You truly feel well?" he asked breathlessly, and she nodded firmly and impatiently, hoping desperately that it would be enough to rid him of any qualms he could have had about going straight back to what they were doing.
Thankfully, it was.
Front lawn, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
Her improved mood lasted during the journey back home on the morning train, spent pleasantly enough with Matthew reading The Secret Adversary by the new authoress Agatha Christie. They both had enjoyed The Mysterious Affair at Styles previously, but there was something about Tommy and Tuppence, the vibrant main characters, that made them especially compelling. Mary thought that it might be how well they worked together, as true partners, Tuppence equal to Tommy in every way and often actually in charge, and leaned closer against Matthew as he kept on reading aloud.
She was tired from the hours long journey and eager to lay down for a bit, but they noticed Nanny Lewis and Rose on the front lawn with George and Sybbie and Mary found herself asking the chauffeur to stop the car and let her and Matthew out just there.
Her darling baby lit up like a little sun at the sight of them, a wide grin on his chubby little face and a happy shriek loud enough to make her want to cover her ears, except she felt her cheeks stretching from her own joyful smile at such a welcome. She grabbed George eagerly and hugged him, inhaling the smell of baby powder and strawberries he was apparently just eating, scarcely caring that he left sticky traces of them on her cheeks with his wet open-mouthed kisses.
"Have you missed mummy, darling?" she asked, kissing his head herself.
"Desperately, from the sound of it," answered Matthew with fond amusement, embracing them both. George welcomed his papa with a string of excited babbling and a wildly waving hand, making Matthew chuckle.
"Quite so, little chap," he said, tapping his son's little nose. "Quite so."
They were joined by Rose, breathless from chasing Sybbie around.
"What were you doing in London?" asked Rose suspiciously in lieu of greeting, and Mary realised she had not received the promised letter from Mr Ross yet. It would probably come with the afternoon post.
"Dealing with an urgent business," she said evasively, perfectly willing to defer the inevitable quarrel.
Rose opened her mouth, evidently intending to probe the matter further, but Mary's glare and a quick twist of her head reminding Rose of the presence of Nanny Lewis was thankfully enough to temporarily silence her. Mary sighed in relief and sat down on the picnic blanket, setting George down to crawl to his father and hugging Sybbie instead. Her heart melted a bit when the little girl eagerly returned the hug.
"Are they giving you much trouble, Nanny?" she asked, petting Sybbie's glistening curls, so much like Sybil's in colour and texture that it hurt.
Nanny Lewis laughed.
"Only a bit. Miss Sybbie is discovering her independence right now and the power of saying "no", so she does it as often as she can. But she can be reasoned with more often than not. And Master George is getting faster every day, but Miss Sybbie is very helpful in catching him when he tries to abscond. And," she finished, smiling mischievously. "I am still faster than any of them."
Matthew, Mary and even sulky Rose laughed, and for a moment everything was right in Mary's world.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
Mary's mood soured slightly when she encountered Edith at luncheon.
She found herself studying her sister discretely and searching for any signs matching her newly acquired knowledge.
With reluctant admiration, she had to admit she found none. Edith looked a bit pale and drawn, but that was not at all unusual for her – definitely not anything Mary would have ever paid attention to. Her clothing was loose, but that was the fashion and, anyway, it was most probably too early for Edith to show much. Mary herself had barely a hint of a bump, visible only when she was unclothed, and she had been told it's usual to show earlier in subsequent pregnancies than in the first one. If she didn't know the truth, she would have never suspected anything.
Which annoyed her more than she expected. She hated the feeling of being fooled.
Still, there were Rose and Tom at the table and Carson with Barrow serving the lunch, so it was neither time nor place to even hint at anything to Edith.
xxx
Matthew was observing Mary, even while seemingly deeply in discussion with Tom. He didn't miss her glances at Edith, who usually didn't warrant such scrutiny from her sister, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in sudden unease.
He had planned to discuss everything with Mary and do his very best to stop her from doing or saying anything she would come to regret later, but he had been... distracted... in the morning, and afterwards they had had such a lovely time on the way back that he simply had not wanted to spoil it by raising up the subject if Mary hadn't done it herself. Now he was wondering if he hadn't made a mistake.
He relaxed only slightly when the luncheon was processing without any increase in tension. He came to the conclusion that Mary would not start anything in the presence of servants and possibly Rose and Tom as well, but he had rather bad feeling about the moment she would get opportunity to speak with Edith without witnesses. Considering what he had learnt from Edith about her own actions, he could well understand Mary's simmering desire for payback, but he couldn't help feeling concerned that Edith was not in a condition to deal with it right now. Not when her whole future was hanging in such precarious balance.
Library, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
The calm lasted until they all went to the library – except for Tom who returned to the agent's office – and Barrow brought afternoon post. It took Rose but a moment to finish the letter she received and erupt.
"Mary, how could you?!"
Mary sighed.
"You got his letter, then?"
"You're so disappointing, Mary. I thought you understood, and all the time, you're just like my mother."
"No, I'm not. But I understand this, if you're going to complicate your life, do it for the right reasons."
Rose shook her head then glared at Matthew with a wounded expression.
"And you! I expected better of you, at least! Oh, why does nobody understand?!"
She ran out of the library, clearly on the verge of bursting into tears.
Mary watched Matthew walking out to follow Rose and wanted to drop her head in her hands.
"What was that about?" asked Edith in confusion and Mary decided she could just as well tell her.
"She has learned that a man she has foolishly engaged herself to broke it off."
Edith's eyes grew wide.
"And she blames you?"
Mary shrugged helplessly.
"Me and Matthew, although she likes him better than me, so she will probably forgive him sooner."
Edith pursed her lips, processing the information.
"You really cannot resist ruining other people' relationships, can you?" she said finally, and Mary stared at her incredulously.
"Would you want to see her married to a black band leader?" she demanded, feeling quite vindicated at Edith's faint "oh".
"Oh indeed. Seriously, I would have expected you to know better than to make assumptions after you dragged Rose out of the arms of a married man in a dingy little club. Then again," she added contemptuously. "you're not above cavorting with a married man yourself, so who knows what you find acceptable nowadays. Even if it gets you into quite a bit of trouble."
She finished her little tirade by moving her gaze deliberately to Edith's midsection.
Oh, did it feel good to see Edith get this shade of white. Absolutely, gloriously satisfying.
"Matthew told you?" asked Edith finally, after she found her voice. The disappointment plain in it made Mary see red. Here she was, having trouble getting over her anger towards her beloved husband for keeping secrets from her and Edith dared to offend his honour by doubting he would keep his word to her.
"Of course not," she scoffed scornfully. "It's Matthew. He would have taken your pathetic secret to the grave. But I am not so stupid and oblivious as you obviously think me to be."
A flash of defiance crossed Edith's face, but she clearly decided that it might not be in her best interest to strike back quite yet.
"What do you intend to do now that you know?" she asked, and Mary could not deny that the trepidation in her voice made her feel good. Very good indeed. She was tempted to feed it, to drag it out. Would serve Edith right if she did.
"Nothing," she said instead with a shrug.
Edith gaped at her in disbelief.
"Nothing?"
"What could I possibly do with that information? You, Granny and Aunt Rosamund are clearly working on some form of proper cover-up, although I would have preferred if you left Matthew out of it. I see no need to get involved as well. Not my circus and not my monkeys anyway."
Edith continued gaping at her and Mary felt her smile turning vicious.
"Oh, you meant whether I am going to practice my letter writing skills after all? Don't worry about that. I'm not going to."
"Why?" asked Edith, visibly stunned by Mary's proclamation.
"Because I am better than you," hissed Mary and got up. She rather felt it was a good place to finish that particular conversation. "And, however much I mourn the fact, you are family."
She left the library without giving Edith an opportunity to answer.
Rose's bedroom, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
Matthew reached Rose's bedroom door and hesitated, hearing the heart wrenching sobs behind it. As he told Mary before, he did not regret what they had done in confronting Mr Ross... But he knew the pain of a broken heart only too well and his own clenched in sympathy for Rose. Even if he suspected her feelings to be less deep and lasting than they should be to justify the extremely serious steps she was intending to take, it was still the strongest love she had ever felt in her life.
He knocked.
"Oh, go away!" came teary reply.
"Rose," said Matthew leaning against the door. "I fully understand if you don't want to see me right now. But I think we should talk, so at least you know why I felt the need to meet with Mr Ross – and what exactly he told me."
He suspected it was curiosity about the last thing which made Rose get up from the bed and open the door.
He walked into the bedroom and, as Rose flung herself back on her bed, took a chair in the corner. The room was a mess of records, fashion plates, magazines and strewn clothes. For a moment, he idly wondered how in heavens Rose managed to make it look like that despite daily visits of a housemaid. He came to a quick conclusion that no housemaid stood a chance against the hurricane which was Lady Rose MacClare and focused on the matter on hand.
"Rose," he said delicately, "whatever you may think, I haven't ordered Mr Ross to break his engagement with you."
Rose's tearful eyes widened.
"You haven't? But he wrote that he made the decision after speaking with you!"
"Yes, he did," admitted Matthew, looking at her seriously. "But not as a result of my order. I've met with him because I wanted to know his intentions towards you."
"They were honourable! We were going to get married!" exclaimed Rose, clearly offended on Mr Ross' behalf. Matthew raised a placating hand.
"I know," he stressed. "I am not questioning it. But you must admit that I could have some concerns regarding how it was supposed to happen. We discussed some of them before. How would you marry without your father consent? Where would you live? How would he support you?"
Rose frowned but grudgingly nodded.
"Have you discussed any of it with him?" asked Matthew curiously and nearly groaned when she shook her head. Of course they haven't. He felt even more assured in the rightness of the outcome of his intervention.
"Mr Ross thought about it though," he continued quietly, with Rose visibly hanging on his every word. "And he confessed to me that, in the circumstances, he could not in good conscience continue his engagement to you. He broke it off out of concern for your future and your well-being. I found him a very earnest, honourable man. If the circumstances were different..."
"You mean if he was white and rich?" asked Rose bitterly.
"Well, that would certainly make matters easier," answered Matthew drily, but then sobered. "Rose, you must acknowledge that your life in such a marriage would have been very difficult. There would have been family opposition, society's scorn, poverty – one of those things could have and often does destroy a marriage and all of them combined... They would have surmounted to an enormous challenge. Mr Ross saw it well before I came, he was just gathering his will to break things off because he loves you. He said he would not have done it if we lived in a less cruel world, and I believe him. And, if we did, I would have supported you two. But Rose, we don't. I care about you deeply and I want to see you thriving and happy. And I just couldn't see it happening if you eloped with him, not in the long run, so when he told me his intentions I admit, I have been hugely relieved. But I know you love him, and I know it's very painful right now, and that you're angry with Mary and me for looking at it as we do."
He watched more tears falling down Rose's delicate cheeks and his heart clenched again.
"I think you're wrong. I think I would have been very happy with him," she said in a broken voice. "But I believe that you, at least, sincerely believe that you were acting in my best interest. Even if I disagree."
Another sob shook her.
"I think it's best if you leave now," she rasped.
"Of course," said Matthew, getting up and touching her shaking shoulder slightly before leaving the room with a heavy heart.
Library, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
The sight of Edith, pale and shaken, with Mary nowhere to be found, did nothing to improve Matthew's mood when he returned to the library. He realised with trepidation that a confrontation he had been dreading and hoping to prevent must have already taken place.
"What is it?" he asked Edith, hoping against hope that something else distressed her so and Mary's absence was just a coincidence.
"Mary knows," answered Edith woodenly. "She told me she has guessed herself, so I know you kept your word – and I thank you for that. But it has been horrible."
Matthew sat by her heavily and took her hand.
"But has it been as bad as you feared?" he asked. He trusted that Mary would not go too far and he just desperately hoped it was not his love for her making him blind.
Edith lowered her eyes.
"No," she said quietly. "She said she would keep it all secret. Because I am family."
Matthew felt as if he regained his ability to breathe at the confirmation that he had been right. His trust in Mary was not misplaced.
He tightened his grip on Edith's hand.
"So you see, the matters are really not so bleak. Most of the family know by now and they are all on your side. You wrote to your mother, didn't you?"
Edith nodded.
"I did."
"Then you should receive her reply soon and I cannot believe she will be less understanding than Cousin Violet."
Edith laughed a little.
"No," she admitted, "she would not condemn me if Granny of all people hasn't. But I cannot stand the thought of disappointing her so."
"I'm sure she will be far more concerned for you than disappointed," said Matthew, fully believing his words. Whatever faults his mother-in-law had, she loved all her children very dearly.
"I hope you're right," said Edith fervently.
"I am," stressed Matthew reassuringly.
Edith looked up at him with a grateful smile and opened her mouth to speak but seemed to hesitate.
"What is it?" asked Matthew.
"You know, I've always thought that you're too good for Mary," she said reluctantly. "But today I wonder if I deserve your friendship any more than she deserves your love."
Matthew thought about all the things he managed to get so very wrong in his life and shook his head.
"It's not really the question of deserving, thank God. Because if we were all getting what we deserve I wouldn't have neither of you," he said feelingly. "And you don't know how happy having you all as my family makes me."
Nursery, Downton Abbey, July 23rd , 1922
Matthew walked slowly towards the nursery. After going through two fraught conversations one after another, he felt he needed to see his child before speaking with Mary. He knew it was George's naptime, but he hoped that even gazing at the sleeping baby for a few minutes would fortify him enough to be ready for a third one.
To his surprise, he found his wife there, sitting in the rocking chair with George asleep in her arms. She raised her eyes to him.
"I asked Nanny Lewis to let me to settle him," she said quietly, mindful of the little sleeper. "She took Sybbie out to tire her a bit more before her own nap."
Sybbie was still napping in the afternoons, but her naps were shorter than George's.
Matthew nodded, coming closer and sitting down on the window seat next to the rocking chair. He looked at his son, and at his wife holding his son, and his heart filled with so much warmth and love and happiness he felt ready to face a dozen of fraught conversations.
Although he also fervently hoped that the one he knew he needed to have with Mary would not be as bad as he feared.
"I heard that you spoke with Edith," he said, keeping his own voice quiet.
Mary threw him an incredulous look.
"Is it the best time and place to discuss it?"
Matthew grinned at her sheepishly.
"Probably not," he admitted. "But on the other hand, you might yell at me less with a sleeping baby in the room with us."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to yell at you, here or anywhere else," she said curtly. "I know why you kept her secret. She was deadly convinced I was going to tell the whole world about it, wasn't she? And made you swear to keep it from me at all cost?"
Matthew nodded.
"I knew you wouldn't do it," he said firmly. "But she didn't and she was frightened."
Mary scoffed.
"Of course she was. A guilty conscience can do it to you. Not that she feels much of actual guilt over the whole business."
Matthew caressed her arm soothingly.
"Why haven't you told me that she was the one who spread the rumours in the first place?" he asked. The question had been bothering him ever since Edith's confession.
Mary pursed her lip thoughtfully.
"I don't really have a good answer," she said after a long pause. "I only learnt about it from Evelyn just before I came back from London after Sybil's season. Back then, the only people who knew about it here were Mama and Anna – at least I thought so. Now I suspect both Aunt Rosamund and Granny knew as well, but none of them mentioned it to me directly. Mama was barely speaking to me still and my relationship with Anna was not yet what it grew to be later... I just did not feel like I should confide to her about that when she was serving Edith and me both."
She grew silent.
"And later?" asked Matthew gently.
Mary shrugged, careful not to jostle George.
"There hardly seemed to be a point. She did it, I paid her back. Sometimes I did fantasize about telling others, watching them all turn to her in horror – they would have, I think. Going against a member of the family, exposing us all to scandal in that way – it's so against the code it's hard to believe she actually did it. But then she would have probably brought up my interference in her relationship with Sir Anthony – I assume she told you about that as well – and it was not my most noble action, even if I felt deeply that she deserved it. Also," she paused for a moment, searching for right words. "At some point during the war... I just stopped hating her enough to want to bring it all into the light. None of us came out of the whole mess looking good and to rehash it... I thought it would just ignite the feelings which we were putting behind us. It seemed better to let sleeping dogs lie."
"But you've never forgiven her for it, have you?" whispered Matthew, still caressing her arm lightly.
Mary shook her head.
"She did everything she could to destroy my life," she said coldly. "She nearly succeeded. She dragged Anna and Bates into the crossfire, although she's probably still not aware of it. You know..."
Her voice faltered, but she swallowed and continued.
"You know how it bound me to Richard for so long. I've always considered it a consequence of my own foolishness, but the truth is that Vera Bates would have never learnt about it if it wasn't for Edith's charming little letter. So no, I cannot find it in me to either forgive her or ever trust her again," she raised her eyes to meet Matthew's. "Do you judge me horribly for it?"
"No," he answered with conviction. "I don't. I am sorry that she did it. I am sorry that this is the state of the relationship between you, and I would love it if some day you two would be able to get over it. But I cannot judge you for being unable to do so yet."
"I may never be able to, you know," cautioned Mary. "I am not the most forgiving person."
Matthew's lips twitched upright.
"I am well aware, my darling. But you have forgiven me and I think I might have hurt you even more than Edith ever did."
"That was different," protested Mary immediately. "First of all, I made my own share of mistakes with you and hurt you just as deeply. And secondly, I love you much more than Edith."
"Still, it shows me you have capability to forgive even grave actions against you. You are much better than you think you are."
Mary gave him a wry smile.
"I think you are deluded when it comes towards me," she announced. "I have not been at all nice to Edith today."
Matthew grinned.
"I told you before, I know how horrid you can be when you want to be. But I still love you madly anyway."
Mary looked at him in the way which made his heart melt and his collar too tight, then turned her gaze to their baby in her arms.
"Maybe we should put him down. Nanny Lewis will be here in a moment with Sybbie."
She did just that, kissing George head lightly before lowering him into his crib and covering him with a soft blanket. Matthew could not resist giving him a light kiss as well and then another to his wife.
They left the nursery hand in hand.