AUTHOR'S NOTE: Posting schedule? What posting schedule? It's perfectly normal to disappear for weeks and then post 2 chapters of the same story within 2 days, isn't it?
Anyway, here is another chapter of The Bet, a really dramatic one. The final plot arc is getting set in motion. I hope you will enjoy it!
Content warnings: a mild sexual assault (a very unwanted kiss), discussion of consent and rape recovery.
For those of you following the story of Anthony and Edith with more interest, they will start playing a more prominent part again in the next chapter.
Matthew's Study, Crawley House, February 15th, 1914
Isobel looked at her son as he was inspecting the books on his shelves to decide which of them should be shipped to his new house. For a hundredth time since his engagement she felt sudden tightness in her throat. She was happy for him – so very happy! – that he was marrying a woman he loved and doing so nicely in his career, but she couldn't also help feeling the pang of separation. Of course it wouldn't be the first time they lived apart, there were years which Matthew had spent at Radley and Oxford, but it was always understood that his home was with her. Now home would be with Mary and hopefully soon with their children. It was only proper and natural – "therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh" – but it was no less painful all the same. She was going to miss her darling boy.
In fact, she was already seeing so little of him, ever since he had given notice at Harvell and Carter and started working with dear Jack in London. He left home every Sunday evening and only came back on Friday and most of the little time he had at Downton he was spending with his fiancée. But at least they were still sharing their breakfasts every weekend, just the two of them, and within a month she would lose that too.
She told herself sternly to stop being maudlin when Matthew raised his head from the books and looked at her with concern. It was a good thing that Matthew was getting married. She would not wish for her boy to be alone and spend his whole life clinging to her skirts. She would learn to deal with her empty nest and take joy in his happiness and hopefully soon her grandchildren.
"Mother," said Matthew, still looking at her with a worried frown. "I've been wondering… Do you even want to stay here after I and Mary move to London?"
"Where else would I go?" asked Isobel, warmed by his obvious care for her and her happiness. He really was such a darling son, she couldn't imagine a dearer one.
"Back to Manchester, maybe, and all your friends there. Or to London, with me. We could sell Glendale House and buy you a house or a flat in London, so we could see each other more often," his frown deepened. "I don't like thinking of you being lonely."
"Oh, I won't be!" Isobel assured him with a smile. "I will miss you dearly, of course, but I quite put my roots in this village, despite the short time we've been living here. I have plenty to occupy myself with at the hospital and with the charities in York. And I think it will make it easier for you and Mary to visit if both of your families reside in one place."
Matthew nodded, but kept looking at her searchingly.
"But if you do grow lonely or bored of this place, please let me know," he urged. "It won't be the least of a bother to help you move somewhere else."
She came over to grasp his arm fondly.
"I promise I will tell you if I need your help for anything," she said warmly. "But don't you worry about me, I'll be perfectly alright. Focus on yourself and Mary and the new life you'll be building together. Any new marriage has enough of its own challenges in the beginning without unnecessary worrying about your old mother."
Matthew kissed her cheek.
"You're never going to be old," he said. "You're too much of a force of nature for that. Alright, I'll stop nagging you and will go back to quarrelling with Mary on what constitutes the necessary and reasonable number of servants."
Isobel raised her brows sardonically.
"Should I assume that she wants more than your house would fit?"
Matthew rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond, if a little exasperated.
"She's not used to thinking of a household on such a small scale," he said dryly. "She's never lived anywhere else than a mansion of some kind. But I'm making progress. She agreed that with Molesley as a butler and my valet we will survive without a footman. You may congratulate me, Mother, this fight was not an easy one to win."
"Congratulations, my boy," answered Isobel with equal dryness, her eyes twinkling. "So how many does it make now?"
"Well, there will be Molesley and Anna – she agreed to become Mary's lady's maid, thank God. There was a catastrophe narrowly averted, because Edith asked her first. I'm not sure what would have happened if Anna accepted Edith's offer, because Mary had murder in her eyes when she was telling me of it and I'm not exaggerating. But thankfully it's all resolved. Reggie advised me to hire a day cook, without requiring her to live with us, which is apparently common enough in London and easier since we don't have too many bedrooms for the servants and I don't like the thought of making them all share. His cook recommended her cousin, a Mrs West, so let's hope she'll do. We will have one live-in housemaid and a scullery maid, and in my opinion that's perfectly enough for a house and family of our size."
"But Mary disagrees?"
"Oh, yes, but as I said, we are making progress. Right now she's insisting on another housemaid and a chauffeur. I told her that we should try with the one housemaid we hired and only hire another one if it looks like she needs help, but I may give in on the chauffeur. One can get around London easily enough without a car, but Mary is not exactly used to public transport beyond the trains and I want her to feel comfortable. Of course it means we have to buy a car first."
"Five, possibly six servants then – why, Matthew, I am impressed with your negotiation skills! I expected Mary to insist on at least an equal number of servants as Edith will have at Loxley," said Isobel gravely.
"Ah, you do understand your future daughter-in-law very well on this," answered Matthew with a wry smile. "But thankfully she is reasonable enough to admit that Loxley is a bigger house."
Servants' Hall, Downton Abbey, February 16th, 1914
Anna sighed inwardly. After Lady Edith's offer she talked with Mr Bates and told him that she actually expected a similar one from Lady Mary – one she would be more willing to accept – except she hesitated to leave Downton… She didn't spell out what made her hesitate, she could never be as brazen as that, but he understood the look she gave him alright. Her heart fell when he just looked at her sadly.
"Oh, Anna," he said and at least he looked as if his own heart was breaking alongside hers. "Don't stay here if she asks you and you want to go – least of all on my behalf. There is no future, no happiness here, not with me," he paused, then said heavily. "I'm married, Anna. I may be estranged from my wife, but I'll never be able to offer you anything worth having."
She wanted to quarrel with him, fight, tell him it didn't matter, that she loved him too much to care – but in the end decided that he was right to tell her to go. She would become a lady's maid and set herself up very nicely. Lady Mary was a good mistress and a generous one, it would be nice working for her. The prospect of living in London was exciting; Anna could already make a long list of things she wanted to do and see there on her half-days. And it wasn't as if she never saw Mr Bates again; surely Lady Mary would come to visit her family often enough.
But for all these thoughts Anna couldn't deny her heart was breaking when she told Lady Mary some days later that she would gladly come to work for her.
Edith's bedroom, February 16th, 1914
Edith checked her look in the mirror of her vanity and decided to try another pair of earrings. She was determined to look her best tonight, with all the guests coming for Mama and Papa's anniversary dinner. There will be the Mertons with their sons, Shrimpie and Cousin Susan, the Chetwoods, the Shackletons, the Russells… Most of them would see her for the first time as Anthony's fiancée and would be among the guests at her own wedding in just a week, on the 25th.
Just a week…
It was hard to wrap her head around. Everything was in place – most of her clothes and possessions had been moved into the dressing room next to the master bedroom at Loxley, except for those she was going to need over the next week and those being packed for her honeymoon trip. Edith blushed fiercely at the idea that she was going to share her bedroom with Anthony. To be truthful, she assumed she was going to have her own, with him coming to her, but he mentioned offhandedly that he and Maud had never kept separate bedrooms and she was determined to have as good a marriage with him as he had had with Maud, so she immediately said that it was the arrangement she expected as well. It was not an unpleasant prospect, not at all, but so very strange! She had never shared her room with anyone since she had left the nursery and had never shared her bed. But she liked having Anthony nearby, so she supposed it could be rather pleasant after she got used to it. After all, Mama and Papa spent nearly every night together.
She blushed even more fiercely recalling Kitty's explanation of what marital duties actually involved. She could not avoid imagining herself and Anthony like that and yet it seemed so daring, so… inappropriate! It wouldn't be of course, not after they were married, but they only shared several chaste kisses so far and it was such a huge leap from that to the intimacy Kitty's sister described! Eloise said it was pleasant… And presumably Mama also thought so since she welcomed Papa in her bed practically every night… And Mary had wanted it enough to risk utter ruin of herself and the whole family to experience it… Well, hopefully they were all right about it and Edith would end up enjoying it too.
Edith's mouth soured when she thought about Mary. While they seemed to currently have a sort of detente between them, each preoccupied with her own wedding and setting up house, Edith couldn't help feeling as if a Damocles sword was hanging over her head. Kitty wrote her that the rumours were still circulating like wildfire in London, although Mary's engagement added a new dimension to them. Now people wondered whether it was damage control, either by Mary herself or by the whole Crawley family, or if the rumours were untrue after all. Although Kitty didn't mention hearing anything about Edith's part in all of that mess, Edith herself couldn't forget Beatrice Semphill's derisive voice calling her a spiteful harpy. If people decided that Mary was innocent after all, wouldn't they all turn on her as the one who started it? It would be just typical Mary's luck if that was how the scandal ended. And if Mary ever learnt what Edith had done… She shuddered. She didn't know what Mary would do, especially with Edith safely married to Anthony, but it was inconceivable that she would let it go. No, Mary was certain to do something. She always executed her revenge on Edith for any perceived crime against her, ever since they were small children in the nursery. If Mary learnt of it…
Oh, why had she written that stupid letter?! Her initial satisfaction at Mary's downfall, however well earned, was not worth all this worry and trouble!
Pushing any thoughts of Mary and the gossip out of her head for now, Edith got up from her vanity and walked downstairs to greet the guests who were soon going to start arriving to her parents' anniversary dinner.
Robert and Cora's anniversary dinner, February 16th, 1914
Mary sighed with relief after she left the crowded drawing room and walked slowly to take a momentary refuge in the library.
It was a trying evening. She couldn't help noticing the cool treatment she was receiving from some of the guests. Nobody was so crass as to shun her in her parents' house, of course, but she could read between the lines well enough. Cousin Susan, especially, didn't make much effort to be subtle in her newly found disdain for her. It was nearly funny to see her fawn over Edith instead while she had never cared twopence for her before, but somehow Mary didn't feel amused, just weary of it all.
The dinner was over now and the guests dispersed all over the ground floor. She could hear male voices both from the smoking and the billiards rooms, while the women were mostly sitting in the drawing room she escaped from. She wondered where Matthew was; trapped by Papa most likely in his usual fit of adoration for his heir.
She frowned with irritation when she heard voices coming from the library; apparently her preferred shelter was already occupied. Before she retreated, she recognised Sybil's voice and the tone of it, with a mix of fury and alarm, was enough to propel Mary straight into the room.
What she saw, iced her veins with horror.
Larry Grey, who had been drinking steadily the whole evening and was clearly well into his cups now, was pushing Sybil against the bookshelf next to the fireplace and kissing her clumsily and forcibly despite her angry protests, his hands holding her in definitely not appropriate places.
"Larry!" she yelled, trying to keep her voice from carrying, but too furious to manage. She ran towards him and pulled him away from her sister, making him sway on his feet. He was even drunker than she'd thought. "Are you out of your mind?! Let her go and get out of here before Papa will strangle you himself!"
Larry shook her hands off his arm, but before he could reach again for Sybil, she jumped away from him, her face red both from his assault and from indignation.
"You get out, Mary!" he slurred. "You're interrupting here. It was only a kiss anyway."
"She's interrupting nothing she shouldn't have!" yelled Sybil. "I didn't give you permission to kiss me!"
"But you liked it," leered Larry. "Don't tell me you didn't."
Sybil released a noise like a steam engine and would have jumped at Larry, probably to attempt to scratch his eyes out, if Mary didn't catch her arm in turn.
"Sybil," she said sternly, her eyes not leaving Larry, "go and get some help, just discreetly. Don't alert the whole house while doing it. But if Larry is not ready to leave by himself, bring somebody who will be better equipped than us to convince him to do so."
Sybil threw a last disdainful look at Larry, but thankfully obeyed and ran out of the room.
"Larry, you're drunk," stated Mary with disgust. "Go home before you'll make a bigger fool of yourself than you've managed so far."
He glared at her blearily.
"You're just a little slut," he slurred. "Didn't hesitate to invite a bloody Turk to your bed, but begrudge me an innocent kiss."
"I did not invite him, not that it's any of your business," snapped Mary. "And Sybil did not ask for that definitely not innocent kiss either. Go home, Larry, I am not going to repeat myself again."
"Slut," said Larry again. "Nasty, dirty, slut. That's what you are. Whole London is talking about you, you know, and yet you dare tell me what to do."
He looked over Mary's shoulder.
"Hey, Crawley! Did you know that your fiancée is a slut? Or are they not picky enough to care in Manchester, Leeds or wherever you're from?"
"You bastard," hissed Matthew, eerily calmly, only to cross the floor in three quick steps and punch Larry in the face.
Larry, having balance problems as it was, fell down like a tonne of bricks.
"I advise you to apologise to Lady Mary before you get up," said Matthew with icy rage as he stood over floundering Larry. "Or you will just end up on the floor again."
"As is only right," said Anthony, approaching them as well, with horrified looking Edith and furious Sybil behind him. "If Mr Crawley doesn't make sure of it, I will."
Larry glared at them both, but was not drunk enough to miss that his opponents outnumbered him.
"I apologise," he said in the direction of Mary's left foot. "Pardon my language."
"Apology not accepted," answered Mary icily. "Get out of my house."
Larry climbed slowly to his feet, holding his left cheek gingerly. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but a quick glance at the glowering Matthew and solemn looking Anthony behind him convinced him it was probably not his best idea. He slid out of the library without another word.
Matthew turned towards Mary as soon as the doors closed behind him.
"Are you alright?" he demanded anxiously.
Mary took a deep breath.
"Of course I am," she said with the best composure she could muster, which wasn't as good as usual, but nearly enough. "He's just a nasty drunk. I hope he will fall on his face and bruise his other cheek to match."
She looked at Sybil with concern.
"What about you, darling?"
Sybil's eyes were flashing.
"I am so angry I could punch him myself!" she declared passionately. "How dared he say all those horrible things to you? What did he even mean by them?"
Feeling suddenly a bit light-headed, Mary realised Sybil never heard about the rumours, or at least not about their content. For a moment, she was lost for words.
"There are some mean rumours about Mary," answered Edith in a shaky voice, making Mary look at her sharply. Surely she was not going to tell the whole sordid story to Sybil? "Larry must have heard this somewhere."
"What rumours?" demanded Sybil. "It's the second time you mentioned them, but nobody wants to explain it to me!"
"It doesn't matter," said Mary wearily. "Nothing you should hear. Are you sure you are alright after what he did?"
"Of course I am," answered Sybil impatiently. "You chased him off me before I even got scared. I was planning to hit him with a vase when you intervened, I regret now that I wasn't faster."
"Well, at least Matthew did it for you," answered Mary, looking at her fiance and finding him still staring intently at her, his expression inscrutable. She quickly averted her eyes to Anthony instead. "Thank you for coming to my and Matthew's aid, Sir Anthony."
Anthony bowed his head slightly.
"It was my honour to do so, Lady Mary," he said solemnly and then smiled lightly. "Although from what I've seen, Mr Crawley did not need my help to handle the situation."
"We better go and alert Dickie that we threw Larry out and why," said Mary wearily. "Before he can go crying to his mother and tell her his version of the story."
"I'll do that," said Sybil, her eyes flashing. "I won't let him get away with it."
She marched out of the room, with an uncanny resemblance to a bristling, hissing cat. Mary thought idly that Larry had no idea how badly he erred in choosing his victim.
Sybil was not one to be shamed into either acquiescence or silence.
"We should tell Papa too," said Edith, still in a rather shaking voice. "Although how we will make him behave discreetly, I have no idea."
"He's in the smoking room, playing cards," said Anthony thoughtfully. "I will go and ask him to step aside with me. Where is a good place we should talk?"
"His study," answered Mary immediately. "Nobody ever uses it, including him; he prefers to work in the library. It's also on the other side of the house, so with any luck not all of the guests will hear him if he reacts in his usual manner."
Sir Anthony bowed slightly and promptly left, with Edith on his heels. To be honest, Mary was surprised that Matthew didn't offer to handle Papa himself, he must know that he had a much better chance of calming him down than anybody else. Instead, he asked her if they could stay in the library and talk.
"Of course," said Mary, looking at him expectantly.
"Mary," Matthew started hesitantly and Mary was startled by painful apprehension in his eyes. "Why did you tell Grey that you didn't invite Pamuk?"
"Because I didn't," answered Mary indignantly. "He pushed into my room himself, after I made it clear to him earlier that I did not welcome such presumptive advances from him in the slightest. I have no idea how he found my room."
Matthew blanched, looking at her with horror.
"But you said..." He started and had to stop to swallow and start softly again. "You told me that it was lust... Or a need for excitement..."
Mary averted her eyes.
"I did find him exciting and alluring. You saw how I flirted with him. I still didn't invite him though," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "But I didn't throw him out either when he came."
"Why?"
Mary shrugged, her eyes firmly avoiding his searching gaze. She felt terribly exposed, practically raw. Nobody ever asked her for more details of that night.
"He was a terribly hard man to throw out," she said drily, as if telling an amusing anecdote. As if speaking of somebody else. "And when I threatened him with screaming or ringing a bell, he told me that I would be ruined if a man was found in my room. He had a point, unfortunately, so I let him stay. You see, this way nobody had to know," she laughed quietly, but it was a bitter laugh. "Of course, I didn't expect him to die and haunt me forever."
There was a resounding silence in the library which made her finally raise her eyes to Matthew, only to find him staring at her in pure horror. In fact, he looked as if he was going to be sick, and for a moment Mary feared that she made a terrible mistake by telling him more about that night. What if it put him off her now that he knew better how truly weak she had been? How susceptible? How pathetically stupid?
"Oh God..." said Matthew hoarsely. "So you didn't... You didn't want him?"
Mary bit her lip and, after a moment of hesitation, shook her head.
"Not really. Not in that way, not after he forced a kiss on me earlier. But he didn't force me in the end," she admitted painfully. There was no hiding from the truth of that. It was her fault and her shame to bear. "I let him."
"No!" denied Matthew furiously, but softened his tone when he saw her flinch. "Darling, what he did... He manipulated you, made you think you had no other choice... He took terrible advantage of you!"
Mary shrugged uncomfortably again, her fingers clenched so tightly on her arms that she was afraid she was going to give herself bruises.
"I let him," she repeated slowly. "In the end, he didn't have to force me. It was my fault, Matthew. Are you really sure you want to marry me? Because what Larry said, however crude, it's true."
For the second time that night she saw Matthew's face transformed by sheer rage.
"No," he said firmly through clenched teeth. "No, it isn't true – it isn't true at all – and it wasn't your fault. Mary, don't you see what he truly did to you? Don't you understand? He raped you!"
She took a step back, shocked.
"He didn't," she denied immediately. "I might not have wanted him in my room, but he didn't have to force me in the end. I let him, Matthew. I didn't call for help. I even kissed him back."
Matthew shuddered, his face still contorted in fury.
"Because he made you think you had no other choice," he repeated his point roughly, clenching his fists. "He coerced you and manipulated you until he didn't need to use physical force."
Mary shook her head.
"You only see it like that because you'd prefer to see me as innocent of any wrongdoing," she said tiredly.
Impossibly, Matthew's face got even angrier.
"Is that what you think of me?" he demanded and for the very first time this evening Mary felt that his anger was directed at her. "That I would prefer for you to go through an ordeal like that rather than believe you made a regrettable, but willing mistake? God, Mary... I would give anything to be wrong about what truly happened. How can you think otherwise?"
She blinked, feeling wrong-footed, raw and vulnerable in the worst possible way.
"Because that's what everybody else thinks!" she lashed out. "You heard Larry. And before you say he was a drunk bastard, which he was of course and I couldn't have been happier seeing you punch him, he simply said to my face what countless people are saying behind my back. So yes, I could understand if for all your forgiveness and understanding you were hoping that the story you heard was not true, that I was an innocent victim in all this and not what is told about me, like Tony did. But it is true and I don't want or need you to reinterpret the facts."
Matthew took a deep breath, visibly fighting for composure and then took a measured step to close the distance between them, gently prying her fingers off her arms and taking her hands in his.
"My darling," he said in a serious, but deliberately gentle voice. "I love you. I know you're not perfect, even though I think you are perfect for me. I don't need to make you into anything that you're not, because I know you and I love you madly anyway, even when you're horrid," he took another deep breath and looked straight into her eyes, locking them with his. "But it's because I love you so terribly much that I can't stand the thought of you suffering in any way. If I could keep believing, as I did until tonight, that you were with Pamuk because you wanted him, I would, because the alternative is unthinkable. It makes me want to scream and hit things, even though it would not help or change anything. But I can't go back to believing it because now I know that it's not true. What he did... what happened to you... Mary, tell me this: do you believe that if you didn't acquiesce to him in the end, if you told him once again to go, he would have listened?"
Mary stared at him, unable to pull her eyes away from his tortured ones.
"No," she whispered. "I know he wouldn't have. He didn't listen to any of my protests. But I should have screamed."
Matthew closed his eyes briefly.
"He convinced you that you couldn't," he said, his voice getting rough again as his hands tightened on Mary's. "It was not your fault, darling. And I truly wish it was."
Behind the pillar of the small library, Edith's hand flew to her mouth. When Anthony told her it might be better if he talks with Papa himself, man to man, she didn't waste time returning discreetly to the library. To be honest, she was rather convinced that this was the first time Matthew heard the accusations regarding Mary and Pamuk and as much as she hated her sister at times, she was rather horrified at what the consequences might be. Surely, he wouldn't break the engagement with Mary over it…?
What she overheard instead was worse. So much worse.
It couldn't be true, could it? Mary couldn't have been… She herself insisted she wasn't! But Matthew was clearly convinced and sounded so sure… But surely it was just Mary lying to make herself look better! It must have been, because otherwise… otherwise…
She felt she was going to be sick.
Sitting room, Crawley House, February 16th, 1914
Isobel looked at her son as they were entering the house and hesitated for a moment. He had been quiet on the ride home and looked tired and weary now. Maybe she should wait… But no, she could not. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep easy if she had this running through her head unchecked and coming up with the worst kinds of scenarios.
"Matthew," she said, determined to talk it over. "Could you come with me to the sitting room for a moment before you retire? I need to discuss something with you."
She felt a moment of doubt when he looked at her hooded eyes.
"Can it wait, Mother?" he asked quietly. "I am quite beat tonight."
"I'm sorry, but it cannot," she said firmly. "It is important."
He sighed, but nodded and followed her to the sitting room, where he stood by the window.
"What is it, Mother?"
Isobel sat down on the sofa and forged ahead.
"Lady Flintshire was kind enough to share with me some rumours regarding Mary," she said bluntly. "She expressed her astonishment at the liberal views I apparently hold to welcome her as my daughter-in-law. I did my best to keep her from getting any reaction out of me, but since it's not the first time I heard of the rumours themselves – just the first time I got finally familiar with the details – I feel they are important and wide-spread enough that I must ask – are you familiar with them, Matthew?"
"I am," he said heavily, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles like he did only when he was the most agitated. A horrible suspicion rose in Isobel. Did he also only learn of the whole ghastly matter tonight?
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"Since before our engagement," answered Matthew tonelessly. "Mary told me herself before she agreed to become my wife. She wouldn't give me an answer before she gathered the courage to confess it all to me."
A mix of relief and indignation fought over control of Isobel at his words.
"Confess… so it's true, then? She was with this…"
"Mother," Matthew interrupted her with a look she'd never seen on his face before. There was something horrible in his gaze, which made Isobel instantly silent. "Mary was raped."
Isobel was never so thankful that she was already sitting down. She wanted to ask how he knew that and whether he was sure – was this the story Mary had told him? But she couldn't have had on the day of their engagement, it was impossible; Matthew had been too happy for that. It was tonight that he looked like a corpse warmed over, his eyes big and shocked. But how…? Before she found words to form her question, he started speaking himself.
"I didn't know that," he said quietly, torturously. "I did see that she was deeply affected after his death, but I never suspected… And then, when she told me of it, she said she did it out of need for excitement or lust and I took her at her word, I never asked for details, I never questioned… I was a blind idiot, that's what I was!"
Isobel frowned.
"Then how did you learn a different version of events?" she asked gently, afraid to upset him further.
He looked at her wildly.
"Sybil was accosted at the library by a drunk guest – Larry Grey – he was forcing a kiss on her and probably would have done more, but thank God Mary happened upon them and intervened. She sent Sybil for help and she ran into me and Sir Anthony in the hall. When we came in…" he stopped and took a deep breath, his hands flexing. "When we came in, Grey was insulting her in the worst possible manner and accusing her of being a hypocrite by interrupting an innocent kiss when she invited a Turk into her bed. She shot back that she had never invited him."
He started pacing the room nervously.
"I had to ask her what she meant and oh God, Mother, with every word it became more and more apparent that I never was near the truth of what happened that night. The worst thing is that Mary doesn't even see it like that, she blames herself completely, but Mother, with every detail she shared it was increasingly obvious that she… that he… oh, God!" Matthew collapsed on his armchair and hid his face in his hands.
Isobel, speechless and frozen in horror, bestirred herself enough to stand up and put a comforting hand on his shaking shoulder.
"That poor girl," she whispered. "That poor, poor girl."
Matthew raised his eyes towards her. They were dry but filled with the worst pain she had seen in them since his father had died.
"And half of London is gossiping about her, saying the most vile things and shunning her completely," he said bitterly. "You said it yourself – her own cousin didn't hesitate to spread the story to you. And Mary thinks she deserves it because she was too scared of the consequences and the scandal to scream for help when he barged into her bedroom. He told her she would be ruined if he was found there."
He closed his eyes briefly and shuddered again.
"What am I supposed to do, Mother?" he asked pleadingly, opening his eyes. "How can I deal with that knowledge? I feel like I would be ready to murder him, but well, he's already dead, isn't he? I want to yell from the rooftops for everybody to leave her alone, but it's not going to be productive either. I tried to comfort her, Mother, tried to show her that it wasn't her fault – to make her understand what he truly did to her – but she won't, Mother, she won't. She says that he didn't force her because she let him. That she was too stupid and scared to fight him off, to scream for help, so she agreed and so everybody is right to treat her like they do. Oh, Mother," he finished in a whisper. "I don't know what to do."
Isobel bit her lip, but then addressed him sternly.
"You will keep doing what you're already doing," she said. "Support and love her. Show and tell her that she is priceless to you, whatever happened – that it doesn't change a thing for you to know it all. When in society, keep your composure, she doesn't need you to lose it, but show all those people that you stand by her proudly and without doubts. The rumours will cease eventually, they always do, and if you don't allow yourself to be provoked, you will hasten the process. But how are you to deal with it… There is no good answer to that, my boy, other than learn to accept it. It happened and there is nothing you can do to undo it, just support her to the best of your ability."
Matthew nodded, looking a bit calmer and more in control of himself, so she felt emboldened to give him one final piece for advice. She'd never had to deal with such horror herself, thank the Lord, but she'd seen more than her share as a nurse to know what she was speaking about.
"Matthew," she said, ensuring she had his attention. "There is one thing which you must treat with extreme care and caution, now that you know the truth: your wedding night."
Matthew immediately reddened and sputtered, but she didn't allow him to interrupt. It was too important, for both his and Mary's sake. She knew he would never forgive himself if he hurt her in any way, however unintentionally.
"No, listed," she insisted sternly. "You must be careful – very careful – and possibly very patient. Women who went through an ordeal like that react in many various ways when trying to be intimate with their husband and you can't predict how Mary will react. It might not be a problem for her, but it's equally possible that she will be frightened or repulsed and you must respect that."
"Mother!" protested Matthew, visibly offended. "Of course I will! How can you think of me that I would not?"
She raised her hand in a pacifying gesture.
"I know you would," she said calmly. "But it still needed to be said. You must be on the lookout for the smallest signs of fear or reluctance and it's imperative that you follow Mary's lead in such a case. It is possible for a woman with that kind of trauma to enjoy intimacy with her husband successfully, but if you act too rashly you will not only hurt her, but also cause all kinds of difficulties for you two in that area. Do you understand me?"
"Of course I do," he said, clearly disgruntled by her admonitions, but she saw that he took them to heart. She thought that he would likely instinctively act like that anyway, he was so kind and good – but still, it was all the better that he would be on the lookout for specific warning signs now. It was too delicate and important matter to leave it to chance.
"Thank you, Mother," said Matthew, getting up and kissing her on the cheek. "Both for your advice and for believing Mary and me. Especially after hearing such a different version from another source tonight."
Isobel looked him straight into the eyes.
"When we came home I had all kinds of fears for you," she admitted. "But even if what happened wasn't so terrible – even if the rumours were true in their entirety – it would mean a lot to me that she told you the truth herself. I'm not saying it wouldn't have influenced my opinion of her in any way, because I'm afraid it would – but it would mean a lot that she was honest with you and that you got engaged to her possessing the full knowledge of the facts."
"Not the full knowledge, as it turned out," said Matthew bitterly and she stroked his arm comfortingly.
"The full knowledge as she saw it," she said. "She didn't knowingly lie to you and I'm not going to forget that."
Cora and Robert's bedroom, February 16th, 1914
"How is Sybil?" demanded Robert as soon as weary-looking Cora entered the room.
Cora's mouth twitched.
"Furious," she said. "I would have chastised her for the names she was calling Larry, if I wasn't close to calling him even worse."
She fell more than sat on the bed, tears gathering in her eyes.
"Oh, Robert, how could something like that happen to her? She is so young and so sweet. To be accosted in such a manner in her own house, by a guest we invited, one we all trusted…"
Robert's hands clenched into fists.
"If Anthony didn't hold me back and forced me to drink a glass of whisky to calm down, I would have killed the little bastard," he said viciously. "By the time he let me go, Dickie had already taken him home."
"Dickie was aghast," said Cora. "He apologised to me and Sybil so many times I lost count on his way out. He promised to keep Larry away from her in the future."
"Surely he won't dare to set foot in any house of ours!" exploded Robert. "Because if he dares…"
"I don't think he will," said Cora heavily. "He won't be invited by me, that's for sure."
She shook her head sadly.
"And here I hoped for a romantic evening and the reveal of my gift to you."
Robert exhaled sharply and took her hands in his.
"Then let's not allow this little fiend to spoil our night further than he already did," he said with effort. "I'm not sure if I am in a romantic mood exactly, but I would love to see your surprise."
Cora raised her eyes to his, smiling.
"It's one you need to hear, not see," her smile widened. "I'm pregnant."
