Royal Military College, Sandhurst, February 1916
Matthew looked around the small room with two narrow beds.
"Not exactly what you're used to, eh?" asked a tall, thin man reclining on one of them.
"Not for some time, no," answered Matthew drily. "But I am forcibly reminded of my school years at Radley."
His roommate laughed.
"As I am, except at Rugby," he commented amicably and sat up, extending his hand. "Edward Summers."
"Matthew Crawley," Matthew put his bag down on the other bed and shook Summers' hand. "I'm with the Duke of Manchester's Own, and you?"
"Same," grinned Summers. "So it might be that we will see a lot of each other before it is all over."
He lied down again and Matthew started unpacking. His throat tightened when he put a photograph of Mary holding Irene on the small bedside table.
Summers whistled.
"That's your wife?" he asked. "She's really beautiful."
"That she is," answered Matthew thickly. "Inside and out."
"A true angel then?"
Matthew couldn't help himself, he snickered.
"Hardly. She's proud, opinionated, fierce and can be perfectly horrid at times," he said, but in a voice so fond that Summers had no doubt that he loved her all the more for it. "She's the most wonderful woman I've ever met."
His eyes flickered to a photograph on Summers' bedside, showing a young woman with dark hair, a long nose and a stern expression.
"Is that your wife?"
"Yes," answered Summers, his own voice fond. "My Cynthia. A tough nut if I've ever known one, but we get along brilliantly. I feared for my life when I told her I was going to volunteer at last."
Matthew sighed, flopping on his bed.
"Oh, I know the feeling. Mary threw me out of our bedroom when she learned."
Summers whistled again, this time in compassion.
"Women," he commented with a sigh of his own. "They're put on this Earth to both enchant and to torment us."
They lied for a long while in silence, each of them contemplating their own situation. For himself, Matthew could hardly believe that he had left Mary and Irene just this morning. He already missed them both so fiercely that he had no idea how he was going to last for the next four months, never mind however long it would take for him to get a leave from the front. His throat tightened again at the thought that he would not be there this evening to rock Irene to sleep and he wondered if she was going to look around for her daddy and be confused by his absence.
"Why have you volunteered now?" he asked, desperate for a distraction from such musings.
Summers shrugged.
"I wanted to for some time," he answered in a deliberately casual tone. "But my father was ill and my brother volunteered already, and there was no one to oversee the factory we own. Well, we could have appointed someone, but you should have seen my mother's expression when I suggested that it could function very well without bona fide Summers at the helm. So I caved in, put my pride in my pocket and showed up at the old place every day to make sure it keeps filling the family's coffers. Father died in September, but in October my brother came home, perfectly alright except for a small matter of a missing leg, so he's not going back. You don't need a leg to run a factory, so it's all settled and I could finally do my duty to King and Country as well. What about you?"
"I hoped it would be over before I was needed, at first," answered Matthew, trying very hard not to think about coming home with a missing leg. He supposed one wouldn't need a leg to be a lawyer either, but all the same he dearly hoped he was going to keep both of his. "Then Mary was pregnant and she was so afraid of me dying and leaving her alone with the baby that I just couldn't do it then. But the more news I got about my friends and acquaintances dying, the more impossible it became to stay home safe and enjoy my family. I couldn't stand it anymore in the end, however hard it was for everybody."
"Yes," nodded Summers grimly, but then grinned impishly. "But at least now the time of all this deliberation and overanalyzing one's choices and priorities and duties is over. Now we have the Army to think for us and tell us what to do and we just need to do our very best to not die if we can at all help it. I plan to have some fun, Crawley, and I hope you will too."
"Fun," repeated Matthew sceptically. From everything he had learnt about the conditions they were soon destined to face, fun was the last thing he was expecting to experience.
"If a public school taught me anything, it was that there's always some fun to be had," answered Summers confidently. "Even in the most desperate circumstances."
Master bedroom, Eryholme, February 1916
Mary looked blearily at the squirming infant in her arms.
"If you insisted on waking me up so early to be fed, the least you could do is lie still!" she grumbled at Irene, who was seemingly trying to master nursing while standing up. The problem was, at seven months old, she was not yet very stable when pulling herself up to stand and more often than not ended up falling on her bottom. Which, considering that she was attempting to nurse at the same time, drove Mary up the wall.
"I'm going to tell Nanny Lewis to just give you a bottle next time if you're going to be like that!" she whispered viciously and then hugged Irene, overwhelmed by a wave of an immediate guilt. At least Irene seemed entirely unaffected by her threat and continued to babble happily. "Oh, very well, I won't and you know it, you little imp. I'm afraid that between me and your daddy you've become spoiled rotten."
Irene's brown eyes sparkled at the mention of daddy.
"Da!" she squealed, looking around excitedly and Mary's heart contracted painfully.
"Daddy's not here, Irene," she said, striving to keep her voice even. "And he won't be for some time. You have to make do with me until he comes back, I'm afraid."
As if in response, Irene cuddled to her contentedly and it took all Mary had to stop herself from bursting into tears.
"I swear, my darling," she whispered, caressing Irene's blonde head. "I swear I will always take care of you, whatever happens. I won't fail you too."
Garage, Eryholme, February 1916
Tom's eyes widened in shock when a Renault sedan suddenly drove into the backyard of Eryholme and stopped in front of the garage, braking a bit more forcefully than it should.
"Hello, Branson!" exclaimed Sybil, jumping down from the driver seat. "See what good use I am putting your lessons to?"
"You drove here all the way from Downton, milady?" he asked, then shook his head, exasperated at himself. "Of course you did. You could hardly be hiding Peters in the back."
"Maybe I told him to hide behind the bushes at the front," answered Sybil with a cheeky smile he knew so well, making Tom's heart ache with love and longing.
"I wouldn't put it beyond you," he answered drily and basked in the sound of her laughter. "Especially since I can't believe his lordship would agree to you taking the motor by yourself."
She sent him a sour look.
"And you would be right," she sighed with visible exasperation. "That's why I didn't ask. I just ordered Peters to get the motor ready and he didn't question me."
Tom shook his head.
"He should have learnt from my troubles," he pointed out, making Sybil look at him in alarm.
"You're not holding it still against me, Branson, are you?"
"Of course not, milady," answered Tom with a smile. "But Peters should still know better."
"Oh, I won't let Papa dismiss him," said Sybil fiercely. "I am twenty now, he can't treat me like a little girl not yet out as back then."
Tom decided not to rile her up more by mentioning that in his judgement and experience she could be twenty four and her Papa would still think of her as a little girl in need of protection.
"I came here to check on Mary," she said, changing the topic. "I'm afraid she must be terribly cut up with Matthew gone, even if he's still safe. But I also wanted to talk with you."
"With me?" asked Tom, surprised. "What about?"
Sybil bit her lip in hesitation.
"I've been thinking about some things we discussed when you were teaching me to drive last summer," she said, making Tom's heart beat faster. She kept thinking about their conversations! "Nobody talks with me like you, Branson. Nobody treats me like a rational adult or takes me seriously. Well, Mary is the closest to it, but I can tell that I am still primarily a little sister to her, not an equal. So I wondered… Would you mind terribly if I wrote to you, sometimes? Just to discuss some things?"
"I would be delighted," answered Tom, reeling from shock and elation, but then coming down to Earth rapidly. "But milady, wouldn't it get you in trouble if you were to receive a letter from me?"
"I thought about it," said Sybil, gaining confidence when he didn't refuse her immediately. "That's why you should address the letter to Gwen and she will forward it to me."
Tom frowned.
"Have you asked her if she's willing to perform such subterfuge?" he asked suspiciously.
"Yes," answered Sybil, rolling her eyes. "She was surprised, but agreed to do it when I promised her solemnly that I plan nothing untoward or stupid. I just want to discuss things with somebody who also thinks about broader issues and treats me seriously, and it's silly that I can't do it openly, but that's my reality. So, what do you say, Branson? Will you be my pen pal?"
Tom swallowed, striving very hard to keep himself from grinning ear to ear.
"As I said, your ladyship, I'd be delighted to."
Library, Eryholme, February 1916
"Isn't it going to be suspicious that you summoned me here?" asked Tom, looking around the small but cosy library. Although, he thought wryly, it could only appear small to someone used to the one at Downton. It had bookshelves lining the walls, of course, which were painted cheerful, warm yellow, complemented by the forest green drapes and chesterfield sofas stained the same colour. Mary's oak desk stood in the corner, with windows on each side letting in bright February sunlight.
"Who's to mind?" asked Mary brusquely, looking at him intently. "Sit, Tom, I want to talk."
He raised an eyebrow, but sat cautiously on one of the sofas. The last four years made sure to cure him out of the barely acquired habit of being comfortable at sitting down in such rooms or in the presence of the Crawley family.
"My agent, Mr Rowling, has just resigned," said Mary, bringing his mind rapidly to the present. "His older brother has been killed, so he's going to take over his family's farm in Scotland. I want you to take his place."
Tom looked at her in surprise.
"Won't that raise quite a few eyebrows?"
Mary shrugged.
"And what if it does? You're competent for the job and you won't have any troubles convincing others about it. I will tell everybody that you finished all those correspondence courses and have prior farming experience. And it's just Eryholme, nobody is going to fight me about it, because nobody cares."
He took note of the glint in her eyes.
"But you don't intend to stop with Eryholme, don't you?"
She smiled.
"Of course not. I told you that Papa intends to leave Sir Richard Carlisle in charge. Well, you can hardly be surprised to hear that I am not going to accept it."
"Not eager to defer to your former fiance?" he asked dryly, but stopped smiling at Mary's closed off expression. "Mary, is there more to it? I know you threw him over for Matthew, when you two finally came to your senses, but has he done anything to you?"
His throat went dry when she hesitated in her answer.
"Not really," she said finally, to his great relief, but not assuaging his suspicions completely. She was too guarded, too careful in her choice of words, to put him at ease regarding the man he had never liked and had never considered good for her, even when he had hardly cared for her yet. "But he's not a good man, Tom. He's dangerous and vile and I don't trust him. Having him in the family is the worst and most unwelcome aspect of this life. I'm not going to let him take over Downton if I can help it."
"Can you help it though?" asked Tom shrewdly. He remembered the uphill battle with Robert to make him include Mary in managing Downton after Matthew's death and she had much better cards then than now.
Mary's eyes glinted with pure steel.
"I will do everything in my power to try. Besides, I got Granny on my side, which should help."
Tom nodded thoughtfully.
"So the plan is to get you in charge of Downton when Robert goes to the front?"
"Hopefully. Although I do realise it's not going to be easy to sell such an outrageous proposition to Papa. Matthew tried already."
"But if you succeed," continued Tom, leaning on his knees and looking at her intently. "And I believe you will, because you usually do when you want something strongly enough, do you intend to make me the agent for Downton as well?"
Mary's smile reminded him of a very satisfied cat.
"But of course," she said. "Who better for the position? You can't think I will want to be stuck with Jarvis."
"Mary," he asked, his mouth twitching, despite his suspicious tone. "Are you doing it because you hope to keep Sybil at Downton, even if I by some miracle manage to win her heart?"
"You can't be thinking of taking her to Dublin again," she said sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Not after the last time."
Tom fell against the back of the sofa with an exasperated sigh.
"I won't be burning down any castles," he said drily. "But it doesn't mean I don't want to go back to my country again, now that I can."
Mary got up abruptly and turned away from him, but not before he noticed a look of betrayal on her face.
"Have you considered whether Sybil will want the same?" she asked sharply. "Last time she didn't have a choice, but this time we can build a life and a place for you here."
"Mary," he said softly. "Sybil didn't follow me to Dublin because she didn't have a choice. It was her choice. She wanted to get away from Downton, she wanted to see new places, live a different life. She wanted an adventure."
He swallowed hard and added.
"We were happy there. We would have continued to be happy there if I didn't ruin everything with my stupidity."
She turned back to him sharply.
"Do you think she would have lived if she gave birth there?" she asked and he had to close his eyes against his own pain reflected in hers.
"I don't know," he whispered. "I've thought about it so many times. She would have a different doctor attending to her, she probably would have been in a hospital… But would they have spotted it in time to act and save her? I can't be sure, but it's a thing worth trying, even if I wouldn't want to live in Ireland and to work to help my country, just in a better, smarter way – and I do. Being exiled… You can't imagine how much it hurt me."
"More than losing Sybil?"
"What?" cried Tom, opening his eyes in shock at the question. "No, of course not! But I can hopefully make both of those things better, to save Sybil and to stay in Ireland."
"And you don't care that it means I would lose both of you?" asked Mary, hugging herself as tightly as if it was the only thing holding her together. "That I wouldn't even be there when Sybil's time comes, waiting helplessly here for any news instead?"
He got up and came to her, trying to pry one of her hands loose from its vicious grip on her arm to take in his instead. He released a sigh of relief when she let him.
"Mary," he said feelingly. "You won't lose either of us. If, and I repeat, if Sybil ever loves me enough to marry me again, it will be better for everybody if we live somewhere else. However far I can get here with your help – and don't think I don't appreciate what you're trying to do, because I do, so much – I am always going to be the former chauffeur for the people here. Believe me, I know. In Ireland we can be free of that. But it won't mean you lose us or that you won't be able to be by Sybil's side when the time comes. You can come and visit. We will visit. We will write. I know you're deadly afraid of losing people but you can't keep us all by your side for eternity."
She pulled her hand away and stepped away from him.
"As if I don't know it!" she snapped, blinking fast against tears. "I haven't even managed to keep Matthew by my side, if you haven't noticed."
Tom cursed silently, realising he picked the worst time possible to have this discussion with her. Considering that it was not going to be relevant for two or three years at least – if Sybil loved him again at all – he could have bloody waited with raising the topic.
"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "Let's forget it for now. It's hard to know what the future will bring; maybe one of us will feel differently by then."
She glared at him.
"If you hope that this person is going to be me, you're going to be disappointed."
Tom found himself smiling wryly.
"We both changed our minds several times when it came to each other," he pointed out, taking her hand again. "We're in it together, Mary. Whatever we will decide to do, I'm certain neither of us will be foolish enough to abandon the other."
She exhaled loudly and leaned against him in a loose hug.
"You'd better not," she mumbled into the jacket of his chauffeur's uniform. "Because you should remember that I am perfectly capable of chasing you down."
Drawing room, Carlisle House, Grosvenor Street, Mayfair, London, February 1916
Sir Richard was surrounded by people – very important people – and yet he found out he could hardly concentrate on the task on hand. He and Rosamund had invited them over to cultivate their influence and position, as well as learn any pertaining information for his newspaper empire, as a part of a well-oiled campaign they were running since their wedding two years previously. Their soirees, dinners and an occasional ball were immensely popular, much to their mutual satisfaction, and Richard usually enjoyed them sincerely. Tonight though, there was only one topic holding his attention.
Why had Crawley volunteered for the Army?
It made no damn sense. For somebody who had already spent four years of his life traipsing through French mud and German bullets, never mind sustaining such awful injuries by the end of it, joining again to repeat it all should be the very last thing to do. Crawley had behaved in an expected manner and stayed well out of it for a year and a half, in direct contradiction to his decision in the previous timeline of events, which only cemented Richard's long held suspicions about him. And yet now he up and joined the Army again, and not just the Army – he joined the infantry, a regiment intended to go to the front and just in time for the carnage which the Battle of Somme was destined to be.
Why?!
The most likely answer – that Richard had been mistaken and Crawley was not a time traveller like himself – did not make sense either, not with all the changes in the man's life. He married Lady Mary years ahead of the previous version of events. He was involved in helping her with Pamuk. He left his insignificant job in Ripon to join Swire to work on a deal which had already brought him a fortune and which was going to multiply it by the end of the war. He didn't enlist as soon as the war broke out. How could all of this happen if he didn't have a knowledge of the future to rival his own?
"My dear," said Rosamund suddenly, startling him. He didn't even notice her approach. "The Prime Minister is leaving soon. Haven't you wanted to talk with him before he does?"
"Of course," he said smoothly and finished his drink in one go. "Is General Haig here as well?"
Rosamund looked at him strangely.
"No," she answered with emphasis. "We agreed that you have a better chance of honest conversation with him if he and Lloyd George are not in one room. He's coming on Thursday instead."
"Ah, good of you to remind me," he said with what he hoped was a charming enough smile. "I better go and speak with Asquith now, you're perfectly right."
He grabbed another glass from a passing footman and approached Henry Asquith with a friendly quip ready on his lips.
The mystery of Matthew bloody Crawley joining the Army remained like a thorn in the back of his brain.