Church Bazaar, Downton Abbey, September 30th, 1922
Mary looked around the crowded grounds and smiled with satisfaction. The event was very well attended, the stalls numerous and the whole space a hive of activity.
"You did a wonderful job, Rose," she said sincerely. "You were truly a huge help to me with it."
Rose beamed at her in response to the praise.
"I was happy to do it!" she said brightly. "I love organising things!"
"And you are truly good at it," said Mary, thinking fast. "We have to talk with Isobel. Maybe she could find more charity work for you, something which would keep you busy. It would be a pity to waste such talent and enthusiasm as yours."
Rose looked a bit unsure.
"But do you think anyone would give me something to do?" she asked. "So far I was just serving tea and cakes to the Russian refugees. Which is nice, of course, they are lovely people who have suffered through so much, but it's hardly a challenging task."
"I think the people in charge underestimated you," answered Mary firmly. "You are capable of more. Like I said, I will talk with Isobel. She will be able to speak for you."
"Thank you, Mary!" exclaimed Rose and hugged her. Mary stiffened for a moment, surprised, but hugged her back before Rose could get self-conscious about her spontaneous gesture. "Thank you for believing in me!"
"You proved to me that you are competent," said Mary.
"But you didn't know that when you first shared some of the tasks for the preparation of the Church Bazaar," pointed out Rose. "So thank you for giving me a chance to show you!"
Before Mary could answer her, she felt something small but solid barreling into her legs so hard she nearly lost her balance.
"George!" she exclaimed, looking down at her grinning son and realising with horror that his hands, hugging her knees, were covered with remnants of sticky caramel apples. She crouched down, delicately but firmly removing them from her light summer dress. "Where have you come from?"
"Da!" announced George happily, pointing at the puffing Matthew, only now catching up with them.
"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "This little chap is so much faster than I expected. I swear I only looked away for a moment when he noticed you and just shot towards you like a bullet."
"Mama!" confirmed George, staring at Mary adoringly. She smiled at him and petted his hair, but glared at Matthew over his head.
"This is Belgian lace over silk!" she hissed in a whisper. "You could have at least made sure his hands were clean!"
"I'm sorry," repeated Matthew, taking out his handkerchief and crouching next to Mary to clean George's hands. "You did quite enjoy this apple, didn't you, Georgie? You have it all over your face as well."
George withstood cleaning his hands, but protested vehemently against the indignity of removing the sticky goodness from his face. He had no chance against his mother's firm grip though. She did not relish the prospect of finding all of it on herself when he hugged her again.
"Much better," she declared with conviction when Matthew got George more or less presentable. The toddler looked at her with clear doubt regarding the matter, his mouth pouting. "Now, darling, do you want to look at kites?"
That thankfully proved to be a welcome distraction and George raised his arms to be picked up by his mama.
"Allow me," Matthew stepped in hastily, sending a concerned look at Mary's belly. He did not like her carrying George while five months pregnant, even if she insisted she was fine. "Mama will come with us, little chap, but Daddy will play the horse, alright?"
Mary looked mournfully at the slight stains on her dress, but bravely stood up with a smile at her boys. It never stopped affecting her how similar they were to each other. "Shall we go then?"
"Can I come with you as well?" asked Rose, who was observing the whole scene with a wistful expression. "I love kites!"
Mary smiled at her as well, with George waving and calling "Lo!" in an enthusiastic invitation.
"As you see, Lord Downton insists you accompany us."
Rose beamed at them in delight.
"Then how could I refuse?"
xxx
They were busy watching the village children flying kites on the expansive lawn behind the bazaar, when they were approached by Charles Blake.
"Charles! It is nice to see you," Mary welcomed him with a kiss on the cheek. "I thought you were still in Warsaw."
"I have a brief respite," answered Charles with a charming smile at her and a friendly nod at Matthew, George and Rose. "In fact, I stopped at Berlin first, where I ran into your sister and her husband. I didn't realise that congratulations were in order."
Mary hoped dearly that she put her bright smile on quickly enough.
"Oh, it was rather quiet," she said blithely. "They didn't want a big affair considering we were still in mourning for Papa."
Charles raised his eyebrows, his eyes shrewd as usual, but was much too polite to comment further.
"You will stay for dinner?" asked Mary, determined to change the topic.
"I couldn't presume. I only stopped to say hello since I was driving through the area."
"But you have no obligations somewhere else?" pushed Mary and smiled again when he shook his head. "Then stay here, it's not going to be any trouble. We have some guests coming over, but it's going to be a very informal affair; just Tom, Jack, Constance Skelton, the Harvells and Miss Bunting. She will probably be delighted to have another socialist at the table."
The last sentence was accompanied by a heavy sigh which seemed to amuse Charles to no end.
"I see you've remained besieged by enemies in my absence."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"You were not half as annoying as she is," she muttered darkly.
"She is not quite so bad, Mary," Matthew joined the discussion, adding drily to Charles. "You might have noticed that my wife takes her time to warm up to people. You don't want to know how long it took her to stop seeing me as an enemy."
Mary glared at him as Charles's mouth twitched in amusement.
"As long as you deserved!" she shot back immediately. "It would have been much less if you weren't so full of yourself when you first arrived here!"
"But I remember you said Matthew was quite handsome, Mary!" piped in Rose mischievously.
"When was that?" asked Matthew, vividly interested, especially seeing an uncharacteristic blush on his wife's cheeks.
"When they were all visiting us for the last time before the war, in September 1913," answered Rose eagerly. "I and Annabelle were asking her about you, we were very curious because all the adults were talking about Cousin Robert's new heir, and she said that you are very handsome and have dreamy blue eyes."
"I did not say dreamy!" protested Mary immediately, her blush deepening. "I might have said they are unusual. Or memorable. Something along those lines, at least. How do you even remember that conversation? You were eleven!"
"It is such a pity I had no idea my eyes made such an impression on you," noted Matthew, highly entertained by the unexpected turn of the discussion. He adjusted his hold on George and tapped him lightly on the nose. "You hear that, Georgie? Mama thinks our eyes are dreamy."
"I did not use this exact word," denied Mary with a toss of her head. "And you shouldn't be so smug about it anyway, darling. You might have learnt all kinds of things if you were not avoiding me like a plague in September 1913."
"Should I tell Rose and Charles the reason I was keeping my distance then?" asked Matthew teasingly, but Mary just shrugged, uncowed.
"If you wish. You will only make yourself look unreasonable and insecure."
Charles looked at them, his eyes moving from Matthew to Mary, and couldn't contain his laughter anymore.
xxx
Isobel was touring the booths at the bazaar with Miss Bunting. Ever since they worked together on the flower show committee, she took note of a kindred spirit and the same reforming zeal in her, one which she considered a very welcome addition to the rather placid society of the Downton Village.
"It is wonderful to see everyone coming together to help maintain our church and have some fun at the same time," she observed, inspecting the offering of painted vases and trying in vain to find one which didn't make her eyes burn with its ugliness. "But it would have been useful if that generosity of spirit extended to a broader number of causes."
"I quite agree," said Miss Bunting, clearly giving up on the vases and leading Isobel to a booth with knitted goods. Most of them did look nice and incredibly fluffy, so they both dived in with more honest enthusiasm. Isobel soon settled on a soft cream shawl, while Miss Bunting eyed a blue cardigan and checked her purse. "I did know before coming here that people in the countryside were more traditional than in the cities, but I did not expect that it went quite so far. I had to fight tooth and nail for the parents of my brightest girl student not to take her out of school at fourteen. They said her sister left at twelve and it was absurd that they were required to keep the younger in school longer due to the Education Act. And Elsie is smart enough to be a teacher one day, if only they will allow her!"
"Attitudes like that are enough to make oneself want to scream," agreed Isobel. "You can imagine what kind of prejudice I've encountered in my work with prostitutes in York!"
Miss Bunting rolled her eyes in perfect understanding.
"This is exactly the kind of close-mindedness I'm speaking about. But I think it mostly comes from lack of education. When there is nothing to broaden the minds, tradition and the narrowest interpretation of christian values are the only things which remain to guide people's behaviour."
"And what about young Elsie? Have you managed to convince her parents?" asked Isobel with interest.
Miss Bunting sighed.
"Provisionally. The best option for her would be Queen Anne Grammar School for Girls in York, but while Elsie has a good chance of winning a scholarship to cover the school fees, there is a problem of paying for board. Her father is a farm labourer, the family does not have money to afford something like that. I am looking into different charities which might be interested in helping her."
"Have you asked Matthew? I'm certain he would not have refused sponsoring a bright young girl to get an education."
Miss Bunting pursed her lips unhappily, but nodded with determination.
"I have not," she admitted. "I immensely dislike the tradition of relying on a local milord for any charity. But Elsie Jones deserves to get all the education she possibly can, so I will speak with Lord Grantham tonight. Lady Mary invited me to dinner."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear it," said Isobel as they packed their purchases and strolled further among the crowd. "I am coming as well and will be glad to have your company. Matthew always sends a car for me, would you like to share it?"
Miss Bunting opened her mouth to say that she was perfectly able to walk the short distance to the Abbey or, if she preferred, drive herself in her own car, but looked at Mrs Crawley's kind, hopeful face and reconsidered.
"It would be my pleasure."
xxx
Church bazaar did attract a wide array of visitors from all stations in life – it was its designed purpose after all – but Mary groaned quietly when she spotted Tony Gillingham strolling towards her and Matthew with Mabel Lane Fox on his arm shortly after they handed sleepy George over to Nanny Lewis so she could put him down for a well-earned nap.
"What on Earth is he doing here?" asked Matthew with a frown, clearly sharing her feelings. "Have you rescinded your ban on him visiting us and forgot to tell me?"
"Not at all," Mary denied immediately. "Why would I?"
Matthew shrugged, his eyes narrowing as he kept looking at Tony menacingly.
"You might have decided to be magnanimous," he suggested lightly. "After all, he didn't do anything too outrageous, did he?"
"No, he just made a complete nuisance of himself," answered Mary tartly then pasted on a polite smile on her face as she addressed Mabel.
"Miss Lane Fox! What an unexpected pleasure to see you at our bazaar."
She pointedly did not acknowledge Tony.
Mabel smiled with equal insincerity.
"We were in the neighbourhood and Tony insisted on coming."
"Yes," added Tony hastily. "We wanted to invite you both in person to our wedding next month."
"How nice of you," answered Mary blithely. "But we will have to check our diary. We are extremely busy in the coming weeks, aren't we, darling?"
"Extremely busy, yes," agreed Matthew, his hand squeezing Mary's hand on his arm. "Gillingham, could I have a word?"
Tony looked reluctant to say the least, but having no gracious way to refuse, stepped away with Matthew, leaving Mary and Mabel locked in an awkward tete-a-tete.
Mary sighed inwardly. According to both Caroline and Charles, Mabel Lane Fox was a sharp, witty woman who was great fun to be around. She imagined they might have been friends, under different circumstances. As it was, however…
Mabel looked down at Mary's dress.
"You have some stains there," she pointed out. Mary gritted her teeth behind her polite smile.
"Indeed I do," she said brightly and dismissively. "George had a mishap with a caramel apple, I'm afraid. I'm sure you will learn one day what kind of menace toddlers can be for one's wardrobe."
"Oh, I'm sure I will be able to get a competent nanny," answered Mabel condescendingly. "Although I suppose they are hard to come by in rural Yorkshire."
Mary took a deep breath.
"Miss Lane Fox," she said composedly. "I would like to make something clear. Before April, I hadn't seen Tony since he was seventeen, and my total acquaintance with him since then amounts to three days of a house party at Downton, one evening out in London, one rather short meeting in York and an even shorter one at the Duchess of Crowborough's ball. That's it and I have no desire to extend it."
Mabel looked at her suspiciously.
"All I know is Tony nearly broke off our engagement, which I had not deserved, because Mary Crawley crooked her little finger at him."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"If he did, it was his choice, not mine."
"So you say. From my perspective, it looks quite different. Everything was great between us and then, after a weekend at your house, he came back completely obsessed with you. For the next few weeks, he was entirely at your beck and call, but now you're bored. You want someone else to play with. So, to dry his tears and keep him occupied, you toss him back to me. You seem to suggest I should take the discarded leavings of Lady Mary Crawley, dust off the fluff and put them on my own plate."
Seriously, there was no way to get through to this woman! What in heaven could Tony have told Mabel to make her so deeply convinced that Mary shared anything with him at all, considering how non-existent their true relationship was?!
"Not at all," she answered smoothly, hiding her growing exasperation with years of practice with fraught social situations. "Since for him to be my leavings, as you've put it, he would have to be on my plate in the first place. Which he never was and never will be. Marry him or don't, whatever you want, but please cease those little digs at me. They're tiresome and frankly make you look insecure."
Mabel's eyes flashed and flittered briefly to Mary's belly.
"I simply do not appreciate any woman messing with the head and heart of the man I intend to marry," she said firmly and with more genuine protectiveness than Tony deserved, at least in Mary's opinion. "And for all that you've said about the supposed insignificance of your acquaintance with him, do you expect me to believe it's a coincidence that you got pregnant exactly around the time when you had him so wrapped around your little finger that he dropped everything to take you out to jazz clubs or follow you to York?"
For possibly the first time in her life Mary felt her jaw drop open. It wasn't even the outrageous nature of the accusation – as if she would ever betray Matthew like that! – but the contrast between the scenario Mabel was painting and the reality was simply too ridiculous for words.
Except, of course, it did demand words and plenty of it, if Mary didn't want that piece of insanity to spread and put the shadow of doubt upon her baby for the rest of his or her life. She looked surreptitiously around to see if anybody heard it – she and Mabel were hardly in a private space, with the crowds visiting the bazaar milling all around them – but to her relief it seemed nobody was close enough to hear their thankfully quiet conversation.
"Now you just sound paranoid," she said, her voice lowering in rapidly growing fury. She had suffered enough scandal and gossip to last her a lifetime and this accusation was so utterly undeserved that she could barely speak. "I don't intend to lower myself to refute that kind of fanciful fantasies, but I will tell you one thing. I am married to Matthew Crawley. The kindest, smartest and most wonderful man I know. Why on Earth would I ever jeopardise that to throw myself at Tony Foyle?"
Her honest incredulity and scathing disdain with which she said Tony's name seemed to be the thing to finally pierce through the fog of Mabel's jealousy. For a moment, she looked nearly sheepish, although she schooled her features in a blink.
"I'm sorry," she said conciliatorily and she sounded genuine enough. "That was stupid of me to say. But if you're telling the truth, you did not have to listen to Tony rhapsodising about every little thing concerning you through the whole spring like I did."
"No, I didn't have to," said Mary frostily. "Because as soon as he hinted at his interest in me, I sent him on his merry way and told him to never importune me again. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what you see in him. He's handsome enough, I give you that, but seriously."
Mabel's mouth twitched.
"He can be perfectly daft," she agreed easily, but with evident fondness. "But he's mine."
Mary stared at her in disbelief, but in the end just shrugged. To each their own.
"Be it as it may, I don't think we will attend your wedding."
"Probably for the best," answered Mabel drily, her mouth in a wry smirk. "But how about lunch, just the two of us, when you are in London? Now that I know you're not after him, I wouldn't mind getting to know you better and seeing what the whole fuss was about."
"Maybe when I get over the fact that you've just accused me of having an affair with him, which might take me a while," pointed out Mary with equal dryness, making Mabel laugh.
"Fair enough," she accepted it with good humour and twinkling eyes. Her complete about-turn was giving Mary whiplash. "It wasn't my proudest moment, no doubt about that. But do give me a call when you get over it, won't you? I promise I can be nice when I want to be."
They were approached by vaguely worried looking Charles Blake before Mary could find an answer to that.
"Ah, I see you two managed to have a conversation without drawing blood," he observed in a deliberately light tone, his eyes flickering between them. "That's quite a relief."
Mary and Mabel rolled their eyes in unison.
"As if there was anything to quarrel about," noted Mary sarcastically, with Mabel sending her an impish look.
"Which there wasn't, of course," she agreed brightly, making Charles choke slightly in evident surprise, then looked in the direction Matthew and Tony disappeared in. "Now, do you think we have to rescue my foolish fiancé from Lord Grantham or can we hope for an equally peaceful resolution?"
xxx
"Gillingham," Matthew said pleasantly, but with a hint of steel underneath. "I think anybody would admit that I was very patient and reasonable regarding your obvious admiration for my wife. Mary is an incredible woman; I've long been used to other men acknowledging that. But she made it clear back in April that your admiration has crossed the line and yet you persist in harassing her."
Tony sputtered in indignation.
"I am not harassing her!" he protested. "I haven't even seen or contacted her in any way since we met at Duchess of Crowborough's ball!"
"That's true," admitted Matthew, but his eyes narrowed dangerously. "However, it is also true that she forbade you to show up at any of our houses and yet here you are."
"With a peace offering!" said Tony earnestly. "Grantham, I do understand your ire, truly I do, but I assure you that I mean no disrespect towards Mary or your marriage. I will probably always be fond of her – extremely fond of her – as you said, she's an incredible woman – truly extraordinary – but she's made her position clear and I am marrying Mabel, so there is no reason we can't be friends. I will apologise for my behaviour as many times as it takes to achieve it."
"Respecting her wishes would probably work better," pointed out Matthew coldly. "If you truly mean what you've just told me, start with leaving her in peace and allow her to reach out to you if she ever feels like it. If you ever again show up in our house without a proper invitation from her, I will have you escorted off the premises."
Tony huffed with exasperation.
"There is no need for such dramatics. I haven't done anything to warrant that!"
Matthew looked at him incredulously.
"In which world following a married woman through half the country to catch her without her husband present and beg her for a kiss does not warrant being shown the door?"
Tony reddened and shifted his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other.
"She told you about that?" he muttered, avoiding Matthew's eyes.
"Of course she did," answered Matthew with equal and, at least in his opinion, much more justified exasperation. "She's my wife. Why would she keep something like that a secret from me?"
Tony looked like he wanted to volunteer a whole list of reasons, but wisely stopped himself from doing that.
"I apologise," he said stiffly instead. "I can assure you it won't happen again. As I said, I'm marrying Mabel next month and I owe her my loyalty."
Matthew considered asking him sarcastically if he didn't owe Mabel loyalty as her fiancé – or if he didn't think Mary owed hers to her husband – but decided he got his point across enough to end the whole conversation. He much preferred to enjoy the day with his wife than quarrel with Tony Foyle.
"Let's join the ladies," he said, gesturing for Gillingham to follow him back to the bazaar. "So you can make your goodbyes."
xxx
It was a relief to see Matthew and Tony making their way back to them without any evident sign of a scuffle. As gentle and non-violent as Matthew generally was, Mary didn't forget the way he punched Richard and, while Tony was obviously not in the same league as her unlamented former fiancé, she admitted to herself that she had been a bit wary when he led Tony away. She thought she could detect an equally relieved sigh from Mabel.
"I'm afraid Lord Gillingham remembered an urgent errand and needs to leave us," said Matthew with subtle but evident satisfaction. Mary barely restrained a snicker.
"Ah, yes," confirmed Mabel immediately. "You have a meeting with that policeman tomorrow morning, don't you, darling?"
"Is it tomorrow?" asked Tony with a frown, but caught on at a significant glance from his fiancée. "Yes, of course it's tomorrow. I completely forgot. Sadly, we must go now to reach London at a reasonable time."
"A policeman?" asked Mary, raising her eyebrows. "Whatever have you done, Tony? I didn't take you for a criminal."
"I'm afraid it's not anything so dashing," explained Tony with a sigh. "My valet, Green, died back in July – he was hit by a bus on Piccadilly – and now apparently a witness came forward claiming he was pushed, so the police took into their heads that he was murdered."
"Surely they don't suspect you?" asked Charles incredulously. "If you were tired of the fellow, you could have sacked him."
"No, thank God. Luckily I was at my club when it happened, with over a dozen witnesses vouching for me. But it seems that Green was a lonesome chap, without any known friends or family, so they keep making me wrack my brain for any little detail concerning him and his affairs, as if I knew anything of it."
"When did it happen, actually?" asked Matthew with a strange intensity, which made Mary look at him in surprise. She was shocked that Anna's attacker was dead, possibly murdered, but what did it matter when it happened exactly?
"July 22nd," answered Tony and Mary barely stifled a gasp as Matthew stiffened by her side. She suddenly understood where Matthew's curiosity was coming from.
July 22nd was the date when she and Matthew went to London to see Jack Ross.
Taking both Anna and Bates with them.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, September 30th, 1922
Mary didn't know how she had managed to stand waiting for the bazaar to wind down and for all the people to go home. She was antsy to talk with Anna, but she did not think the middle of the crowd was a good place for that conversation. Not with the terrible suspicions she and Matthew clearly shared, even if they didn't exchange a word yet on the topic.
She had never been so grateful to hear the dressing gong. She told Anna the news as soon as they were alone in her bedroom.
"You mean he fell into the road, and he was hit? On July 22nd?" asked Anna, her eyes wide. She became very pale.
"By a bus or lorry, apparently," answered Mary, observing her with concern.
"And someone saw this?"
"The pavement was crowded. Lots of people saw it," Mary took a deep breath and added quietly. "Somebody told the police that he was pushed. They are investigating a murder."
Somehow, Anna paled even more. They looked at each other in horror, neither of them voicing the thought on the forefront of their minds.
Mary took a deep breath.
"Nobody knows what he did to you," she said quietly, her eyes not leaving Anna's. "There is no reason to link you – or anyone else connected to you – to what happened, even if he was pushed."
Anna swallowed visibly, but nodded, her expression hardening in determination.
"I never told John," she said firmly. "So he had no reason to wish Mr Green ill."
Mary smiled uneasily.
"A monster like him must have made a lot of enemies," she said with bitter certainty. Anna flinched, but nodded in agreement. "At least he is dead. You don't ever have to worry about seeing him again."
"Does it really help?" asked Anna, then looked at Mary in alarm realising what her question implied.
Mary smiled wryly at her in reassurance that she didn't give her any offence.
"Not very much," she answered honestly. "But it is some relief."
xxx
"You told her?" asked Matthew, coming from his dressing room after Anna left.
Mary looked up at him from her vanity where she was applying perfume to her neck and wrists before putting on her gloves. He looked so impossibly handsome in black tie, she thought appreciatively, but it was still so strange to see him dressed like that on the evening they were expecting company. Then again, the guestlist for tonight consisted of people who were hardly likely to mind less formal attire, much to Matthew's delight. Mary knew that he hated white tie, for all that he looked dashing in it too.
She reluctantly dragged her mind back to a much less pleasant topic than the reflection on how dashing her husband was in any kind of attire or a complete lack of one.
"I did," she said, putting the perfume bottle down on her vanity and reaching for one of the black silk gloves lying next to it. She picked a loose, red dress for tonight, appreciating once again that the current fashions made it much easier to look fashionable even with her slight but growing belly. She felt the baby stir and petted the belly briefly before putting the glove on and reaching for another. "She says she's never told Bates. He didn't know, Matthew, so the date must be just a coincidence."
Matthew sat heavily on the bed, looking perturbed.
"I hope so," he said fervently. "I really hope so. I wouldn't wish it on them after everything else they've been through."
Mary turned towards him, looking at him curiously.
"You aren't troubled by the prospect of being dressed by a potential murderer?" she asked curiously.
Matthew looked at her strangely.
"Bates was a soldier," he reminded her gently. "And so was I. We both took a lot of lives."
She glared at him briefly before focusing on smoothing her glove.
"It's not the same and you know it," she said curtly. "Wouldn't it really make no difference to you if he did it?"
Matthew reached his hand to thread it through his hair, but stopped himself at the last moment remembering the pomade.
"As horrifying as it would be, I wouldn't be able to blame him," he said softly. "Not when I would have been very tempted to do the very same thing if I were in his position."
Mary got up and walked towards him, caressing his face with her gloved hand. He leaned into the caress and looked up at her with such depth of feeling in his eyes that she had to swallow against the sudden constriction of her throat.
"But you wouldn't have done it," she said with confidence, putting a finger on his lips to quell his protest. "You would have been tempted, yes, but you wouldn't have done it. Whatever you had to do during the war, it's simply not who you are."
Matthew got up and took her hand, kissing it gently.
"I would like to have as much faith in myself as you have in me," he said, his thumb caressing her knuckles.
Mary smiled and leaned towards him for a kiss, which he promptly provided.
"You should listen to me then, since my judgement is obviously superior on that matter," she said against his lips, glad to make him laugh softly and kiss her again. "Now come, the guests will be arriving."