AUTHOR'S NOTE: Life is unfortunately interfering with my writing, but I am finally able to give you a new chapter of The Heiress. It's an eventful one and it contains one scene deserving of a trigger warning (not sexual in nature), but since I don't want to spoil it, I put the warning at the end of the chapter – check it if you feel nervous.

As always, thank you so much for reviewing and sharing your impressions with me. I treasure each and every one of them even if sometimes it takes me longer to respond. I noticed though that I don't get e-mail notifications for reviews and I am not sure if you're getting any regarding the updates or my responses to them.

Paddington Station, London, July 1917

For a hundredth time, Mary told herself sternly to be brave.

After all, this goodbye was so much better than she had expected and dreaded for months. Yes, Matthew was going back there, but he wasn't going to be in a direct line of fire. They would be necessarily separated for months, but she didn't have to worry anymore that he could die at any moment. He might not be perfectly safe – there were bombings of military headquarters or officers wounded and killed while travelling or visiting the trenches – but it was nowhere near the risk he would have faced as a captain of the infantry.

Yet she could not calm her nerves sufficiently, not while she was looking at Matthew's resigned face and his haunted eyes. He appeared to have accepted his new orders, but she knew – she just knew – that he wasn't at all reconciled to them or feeling any less guilty than yesterday when he had nearly broken down in her arms. It made her tense, twitchy and filled with foreboding and there was nothing at all she could do about it. She couldn't convince Matthew that his response was perfectly irrational; that he had nothing whatsoever to feel guilty about, she knew that much by now. She couldn't pull him from the front, it was a miracle that Granny had managed to wrangle a safer post for him there as it was. The only course of action left to her was to keep her composure when she was saying goodbye to him and pray that God would keep him safe when Matthew himself didn't have the will to do so.

It didn't help her nerves at all that as soon as they left the taxi in front of the station she caught herself sending anxious looks at the sky and listening intently for any hint of a plane engine's warble. Matthew noticed it, of course, and squeezed the hand she was holding on his arm.

"Do you want to go home, darling?" he asked gently. "We can say goodbye here; you don't have to walk with me to the platform."

Mary's lips thinned in a stubborn expression.

"I'm not going to let the Germans steal one more minute I can spend with you than they are already doing," she said firmly. "I'm going to accompany you as far as I can."

Matthew gave her a grateful smile.

"My stormbraver," he said softly. "Sometimes I wish I had half your courage."

Mary scoffed.

"You're the bravest man I know," she said with conviction. "And the Army evidently agrees since they gave you the medal to prove it."

Matthew shook his head.

"I told you what I did then was not really so brave," he reminded her. "To walk knowingly back into a place staring in your nightmares is a wholly different thing."

Mary raised her eyebrows.

"But isn't that what you're doing?"

Matthew's face went blank, with his mouth twisting in a bitter expression for a moment.

"No," he said curtly. "It's nowhere close."

Mary dropped the topic.

The train was already there, but they had several minutes yet until Matthew needed to board it. Mary's throat tightened painfully when they faced each other and she looked into his blue eyes. Oh God, how was she going to endure not seeing them for months on end? How was she going to sleep alone after spending 10 nights in his arms?

Matthew's eyes were taking her face in thirstily, as if he was trying to memorise every feature.

"I'll write whenever I have a spare moment," he promised, taking her hands in his. "And I'll be looking forward to your letters very much."

"I'll write so much that the Army postal service will hate me," said Mary with a wry twist of her lips. Matthew's lips twitched briefly in response, but his gaze soon grew intent and solemn.

"My darling," he said. "I can't express what it means to me to go back there as your husband – to have you as my wife. Those ten days were the happiest, most wonderful days of my life – every minute of them. Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart."

"You don't need to thank me when it was me getting everything I wanted for years," answered Mary fervently. She abhorred the crowd around them with a passion. If they were at Downton Station she would have kissed him now, as she had done the last time when they parted like this, but here they were surrounded on all sides by soldiers, their families and dozens of other travellers, and much as she yearned to kiss him one last time she found it impossible to throw caution and decorum to the wind with so many witnesses. She resented the presence of each and every one of them bitterly. "Darling, please be careful out there. I need you to come back to me. Anything else is simply unimaginable."

Matthew's gloved hands tightened on hers.

"I promise to do my very best," he said. "Don't worry, darling, I really am not going to be in much danger at all, not anymore."

It was said with minimal bitterness, but she could see that he was hiding it mostly for her sake.

"I know you find it no cause for celebration," she said gently, "but I've never been so grateful for anything as I am for this development. I know you don't want a special treatment and that's what you see those orders as, but you are special to me. I feel sorry for every soldier who dies – very sorry – but if I had power to ensure that you alone would be spared I'd never hesitate to use it."

Matthew gently rested his forehead against hers.

"I understand that, my darling," he said softly. "I promise to do everything in my power to come back to you, whatever happens."

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and tried with everything she had in her to believe him.

xxx

Matthew was gone.

Mary took one shuddering breath when the train taking him away from her disappeared behind the bend of the tracks and resolutely turned to leave the station. She didn't intend to spend one more moment here, now that he wasn't here with her.

She nearly ran into Sir Richard Carlisle in her haste.

"Lady Grantham," he greeted her politely and Mary nearly startled at his use of her new title. She knew that she was the Countess of Grantham now – had the title she had been craving all her life – but Carlisle was the first to use it since her wedding. Despite the painful, raw hole torn in her by Matthew's departure to the front, she did allow herself a second of basking in it.

"Sir Richard," she answered.

"I'm surprised to see you here. I'd have thought you would avoid London train stations like a plague after the events of the last month."

Mary suppressed a shudder at the instant visions and sounds in her head. She didn't need the reminder and looked at Sir Richard with significantly less friendliness than she greeted him with.

He was a smart man and caught on quickly.

"I apologise. It was insensitive of me," he said smoothly. His sharp grey eyes softened, as he asked gently. "You saw Lord Grantham off?"

"Yes," said Mary coolly. If she kept her mask firmly on, she didn't have to feel. Your heart couldn't break if you didn't have one. "He's on his way to Belgium."

"But at least not to be stuck in the mud there, for a change," observed Sir Richard in a clear effort at sounding comforting. Mary looked at him in surprise.

"You're very well informed," she commented dryly. "He only learnt of that yesterday."

Sir Richard's smile turned predatory.

"It's my job to be well informed."

Mary shrugged, conceding the point.

They walked slowly, reaching the exit from the station. Sir Richard seemed to mull something over, not that Mary cared.

With every second, the train was taking Matthew further away from her.

"Lady Grantham," said Sir Richard finally, "if you're not in a hurry, would you like to have lunch with me? I'm heading to the Ritz and would be delighted to have your company."

An automatic and immediate refusal was dancing on Mary's tongue, but she forced herself to reconsider. The fact was, she was not in a hurry, not at all. Instead, she expected to break into tears and rage against the war until she was blue in the face, and she was suddenly very sure she would accept any excuse to postpone this part. Tears would not help anything, after all. Breaking down and falling into hysterics would not bring Matthew back or keep him safe. If Sir Richard offered a distraction for an hour or two, she was willing to take him up on the offer.

"Gladly, Sir Richard," she said, seeing a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. So he wasn't confident enough to expect her acceptance of his invitation after all. "I'm going to take a 6 o'clock train to York, but it's early yet and I intended to have lunch anyway. I wouldn't mind some company either."

"Do you have a car waiting?"

Mary shook her head.

"No. My aunt's driver had been killed in the air raid in June and as she has been staying at Downton ever since, she hasn't got around to replacing him. We took a taxi here."

Sir Richard offered her his arm.

"Then let me lead you to mine."

After a moment of hesitation, Mary accepted it too.

The Ritz, London, July 1917

Having lunch with Sir Richard Carlisle, Mary decided, was much more pleasant now when she was safely married to Matthew and nobody was trying to matchmake them anymore. In fact, now that she was free from any such ridiculous expectation, she could afford to admit that he could be a pleasant company when he felt like it. He was intelligent – very much so – and his cynical view of the world paired with his extensive knowledge of everything going on in the country made for a biting and stimulating conversation. Especially since he didn't allow any concern for her delicate female sensibilities to prevent him from sharing more scandalous gossip.

Mary raised her eyebrows at the most recent tidbit he shared.

"Golly," she said in a calmly amused tone. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Duke of Crowborough volunteered for the Navy to escape the country after a police raid on a brothel? One would think he has enough resources to stay out of the limelight for a time in less precarious circumstances."

"Resources, yes," answered Sir Richard with a devilish smile. "But you see, it wasn't just any brothel. This one doesn't employ women for the services they provide."

Mary's eyebrows rose even higher.

"I see the potential legal repercussions of him being known to be there then, in addition to the social embarrassment. But how does enlisting help?"

Sir Richard grinned wolfishly.

"It does when the Crown Prosecutor in charge of the case is a patriot," he explained with relish. "He was willing to drop the charges – it would be an awful headache to charge such a high profile figure as a duke anyway – if he was willing to prove equal devotion to the King and Country."

"I assume the Duchess sent him flowers and a thank you note then," she said dryly. "I happen to know that she's not overly fond of her husband and should find his deployment most beneficial for her peace of mind."

"Her purse should be more secure thanks to his absence too," observed Sir Richard. "The Duke is a typical example of his class – spending money lavishly without the slightest care whether he has them to spend or not. At this rate he will be bankrupt within a decade, as will most of the great landowners. The way they are running their estates, they're going to be falling left and right."

Mary frowned.

"There are those among us who are aware of the risks and trying to mitigate them," she said. "I and Lord Grantham, for example."

"Which is admirable of you and shows great foresight," said Sir Richard smoothly. "I hope of course to see you succeed in that endeavour. But I know too many of your peers to foresee a positive outcome for the majority of them."

"Why?" asked Mary. "What are they doing wrong according to you? Surely they are not gambling as much as the Duke."

"He is a hard man to match," agreed Sir Richard. "But you're right, it's not just gambling. It's the failure to look at their estate as a business which is the most common and the greatest fault. Most of the aristocracy are clinging desperately to the way of life from centuries past, in a false assurance that they can afford to keep it indefinitely – but they can't. Relying on rents from their tenants, with the increased taxation and migration of rural labour force to the cities, is unattainable; especially when they get further and further in debt to maintain their grand houses and the facade of wealth while the cash is unavoidably dwindling. I plan to buy my own estate in the near future and I assure you, I will have my pick of them."

Mary's frown deepened. She hated to think that he might be right, but she couldn't help recalling the state of affairs at home after Papa had died. If he, so conscientious about his duties as the Earl of Grantham, so upstanding and honest in all his dealings, could allow the estate to get into such dire straits, there couldn't be much hope for men of lesser calibre than him.

"Well, it won't be Downton," she said lightly. "I will not allow it to fail."

Sir Richard raised his glass to her.

"As I said," he told her with a smile. "I very much hope to see you succeed."

Servants Hall, Downton Abbey, July 1917

Anna smiled at the sight of Mr Bates, sitting at the table in the servants hall, and her heart soared when he smiled back in this wry, dear way of his, his eyes shining with affection for her. It was nice to be missed.

"Hello," she said brightly. "How were you when I was gone?"

"Bored," he answered lightly. "I hardly had any work to do with Lord Grantham present and none of course with him gone. I took to helping with taking care of the convalescing officers again, just to justify my salary."

"Isn't it nice to be you, Mr Bates," drawled Thomas from his usual corner. "Always one to fall onto a cushy gig."

Anna glared at him, but Mr Bates just shrugged.

"What can I say, Sergeant Barrow," he said with an amused quirk of his mouth. "Some men have all the luck."

Thomas looked like he swallowed something sour and was on the verge of biting back, when the standoff was broken by the entrance of Mr Carson with the afternoon post.

"Here's one for you, Mr Bates," said the butler distractedly, following into the kitchen to hand a letter to Mrs Patmore.

Mr Bates frowned when he looked at the letter and gasped audibly when he opened and read it. Anna immediately sent him a sharp look.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, sending a wary eye at Thomas who looked much too curious in his corner.

For a long moment, Mr Bates looked conflicted, but in the end he handed her the letter.

"Read for yourself," he answered equally quietly. "I'm sorry for the language and the insults to you, but you probably should be warned."

Anna read the letter, written in a messy scrawl, and started to feel her blood boiling.

"You traitorous bastard,

I thought we understood each other. I was patient enough waiting for you to come to your senses and you pay me back by cavorting with that blonde hussy of yours at the seaside? You're going to regret it, John Bates, both of you. I won't take an insult like that lying down. It's not over, not by long means, not for you and not for her."

It was unsigned, but the sender was clear enough.

"I'm sorry, Anna," whispered Mr Bates, lowering his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'd never thought she would take us working for Lord and Lady Grantham as a move against her. She's completely deranged."

Anna frowned.

"But how does she know?" she asked. "Nevermind what she makes of it, she's mad, but how does she know that we both went with them and where? It's not like their honeymoon was announced in the newspapers. Do you think she was spying on us when we boarded the train with the luggage?"

Mr Bates looked at her grimly.

"She might have," he admitted reluctantly, but then added thoughtfully. "But she wouldn't have known the destination from this alone. We boarded the train to York and switched trains there. She must have talked with someone who knew."

Anna locked her eyes with him.

"But it would have to be someone from the house," she said. "And even among the staff, not many people were told about the seaside. The plan was for London, it was a last minute change by the younger dowager countess."

Bates nodded.

"I was told by her two days before the wedding, to make travel arrangements and to pack seaside appropriate clothes for Lord Grantham. I didn't talk with anybody but you."

"I was told at the same time, to repack Lady Mary's trunk," said Anna slowly. "And I talked only with Mrs Hughes, to say how happy I was to avoid London after the bombing. But we were alone when we discussed it and I don't think anybody could have overheard us."

"Mr Branson knew as well, at least to know that he wouldn't be needed to drive them to the station because Major Weatherby was going to lend them his car," said Mr Bates slowly. "But I can't think of any other staff member who needed to know. Mrs Hughes isn't one to gossip and Mr Branson keeps to himself. Who else might have been told?"

They looked at each other, both coming with the only possible answer.

"The dowager countess confides all kinds of things to Miss O'Brien," Anna voiced what they were both thinking. "She was excited about the surprise she arranged for them. She probably told Miss O'Brien of it too."

For a moment, they were silent, both of them digesting this theory and all its implications. At last, Mr Bates shrugged, his shoulders drooping.

"Whether she communicated with Vera or not, it doesn't really matter," he said heavily. "We have no proof that it was her and anyway, the important thing is that Vera is clearly planning something – and we have no way to tell what."

"You don't think she's going to go to the press with Lady Mary's story after all, do you?" asked Anna worriedly. Lady Mary didn't deserve this kind of trouble when she was so low about Lord Grantham departing for the front.

Mr Bates gave her a troubled look.

"I don't know, she's too unpredictable to guess," he whispered. "Oh Anna, I should've left when she first threatened you all."

Anna grasped his hand, beyond caring who in the servants hall might see. To hell with what anybody thought.

"No, you shouldn't have," she stated fiercely. "You belong here and you did nothing wrong. It's not your fault she's a lunatic. Whatever she's going to do, we'll deal with it, that's all."

Mr Bates squeezed her hand before he took away his own.

"I don't deserve you, Anna," he said, his eyes and voice so full of emotion that Anna's heart skipped a beat. "How an angel like you fell for someone like me I'll never know."

"There's no mystery in that," answered Anna with a smile. "You're a good, kind man, Mr Bates. I had no choice but to fall for you."

She raised her eyes off him and met Thomas' gaze boring into her from his corner, curiosity burning in his eyes.

xxx

Anna was not at all surprised when Thomas accosted her not long after in an upper floor corridor, looking furtively around to make sure they were alone.

"Anna," he hissed. "Was Bates' letter from that loony wife of his? It was, wasn't it?"

"What's that to you, whether it was or wasn't?" she shot back, looking at him incredulously. As if she was going to talk to him about any of Mr Bates' concerns!

Thomas had the gall to roll his eyes.

"Don't be an idiot," he said bluntly. "Lord Grantham asked me to keep an eye out for anything concerning her when she first accosted him back in May. He's a worrier, you know. Doesn't like her sniffing around while he's gone."

Anna looked at him sceptically, but reluctantly came to the conclusion he probably spoke the truth. Lord Grantham knew Vera Bates threatened Lady Mary. It must have been bothering him, same as it was bothering Mr Bates regarding her.

"She knew that I and Mr Bates accompanied Lord and Lady Grantham to the seaside," she said, looking Thomas straight into eyes. "And yet we can't come up with anybody who knew where they went for their honeymoon except us, Mrs Hughes and Mr Branson – unless the dowager countess told Miss O'Brien."

Thomas' look was frank in response.

"You think she was the one who tattled," he stated, no hint of question in his voice.

"Don't you?" challenged Anna.

Thomas shrugged.

"Her ladyship likes to prattle about all kinds of things to Miss O'Brien," he agreed. "And Miss O'Brien likes a bit of excitement from time to time."

Anna scoffed.

"You mean stirring up trouble?"

Thomas shrugged noncommittally.

"Weren't you two thick as thieves?" asked Anna suspiciously.

"It's our business," answered Thomas curtly, but immediately added in a more conciliatory voice. "But I owe Lord Grantham and I don't want any harm to come to him – or to Lady Mary, because that would upset him too. If Miss O'Brien is stupid enough to act against either of them, it's on her, I'm not getting involved in that."

"Then why are you interrogating me if you're staying out of it?"

"I didn't say I'm staying out of it," answered Thomas. "I said that I won't get involved in any scheme of hers. But Lord Grantham asked me to keep an eye out and I will. So if you know anything, tell me. Much as I hate doing any favours for your lame suitor, we're on the same side here."

Anna weighed his words for a while, but again decided that he was most likely sincere for a change. Even Mr Bates, who had no love for Thomas – justifiably so – noted that he seemed to consider himself indebted to Lord Grantham. It wasn't unreasonable that whatever loyalty he held for Miss O'Brien, his gratitude towards Lord Grantham trumped it.

And it wasn't bad to have another ally against Vera Bates. Especially such a cunning and unscrupulous one.

She always believed in fighting fire with fire after all.

Mary and Matthew's bedroom, Downton Abbey, July 1917

Mary kept sitting at her vanity long after she dismissed Anna after getting ready for bed.

A bed in which she was going to sleep alone, for the first time in ten days.

It was absurd to get so used to having Matthew's body next to hers in such a short time, but somehow she had. The thought of lying down alone in this bed, intended for both of them, was excruciating. She was missing him so much it seemed to physically hurt.

She dropped her face in her hands and ordered herself not to cry. There was no use in crying.

It wouldn't bring Matthew back.

She was on the verge of tears anyway when she heard a light knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Sybil, still dressed in her nurse uniform.

"Oh darling," she said compassionately, coming over quickly to pull Mary into a hug. "I've been afraid that it must be hard for you tonight."

Mary shouldn't take comfort from her little sister – she was the one who was supposed to be strong and offering comfort if necessary – but she allowed herself an indulgence of leaning into Sybil's embrace. Just that once.

"It's silly," she said thickly. "I know it's not like it was before; that he's going to be safe and likely comfortable. I shouldn't make such a production out of it."

Sybil looked down at her incredulously.

"He's still gone, likely for months," she pointed out the obvious. "And you're allowed to miss him."

Mary swallowed hard and blinked against her prickling eyes. She would not cry.

"I do miss him," she admitted softly. "I'm glad he's not going to be in the trenches, but it's not good enough. I want him here, with me. It's not fair."

"No, it's not," agreed Sybil, adding with uncharacteristic bitterness. "It's unfair to so many people who want nothing more than to be together and yet they are prevented from that by external circumstances out of their control. The world is truly awfully arranged sometimes."

For all her preoccupation, Mary's ears perked up. She wasn't at all sure that Sybil had just her and Matthew in mind. She sifted quickly through any men Sybil had come into contact with recently and while they were none she encountered socially, she nursed enough officers to have ample opportunity to develop feelings for one of them. Maybe one already recovered enough to be sent back to the front?

"Darling?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you have somebody you miss as well?"

Sybil jerked in surprise.

"What? No!" she exclaimed immediately, but blushed in a way which didn't quiet Mary's suspicions in the slightest. Sybil was usually too honest to lie well. "There's no one, Mary. But I've been talking with so many officers, many of them married or engaged – or they would like to be – and instead they are sent back to be killed or maimed worse than before. I can't stand this war and all this senseless loss, I truly can't. As if we didn't have enough problems to solve in our society before! The inequality of women, the poverty of the lower classes, the subjugation of the Irish; none of this can be dealt with while we're sending whole generations of men to slaughter."

This passionate speech was certainly in character for Sybil – and it was just like her to be so worked up over injustice in general rather than one concerning her specifically – and yet Mary couldn't help the feeling that Sybil had something very specific in mind.

But she was tired and on the verge of a crying fit, so she tabled this suspicion for later.

"I hate this war too," she said tiredly instead. "I just want it to be over. I envy Edith that Anthony has been wounded seriously enough to be sent home permanently and then I feel terrible for wishing a lasting injury on Matthew."

"You don't wish an injury upon him," corrected Sybil firmly. "You simply want him to be home."

Mary blinked furiously against tears threatening to fall.

"I do," she admitted thickly. "I want him home desperately."

Sybil just hugged her tighter as Mary gave up and finally cried.

Downton Village, July 1917

Tom Branson sat at a window table at Grantham's Arms, nursing a beer and trying to enjoy his day off.

He was mostly unsuccessful.

He thought gloomily that if the world was at all just, he could spend the day with Sybil. She could arrange her shifts in a way which would match his and they could sit here today, enjoying each other's company, a drink and people watching. They could go for a walk through the woods and fields afterwards. He could steal some kisses, maybe – or she could. They would laugh and discuss every issue under the sun.

Except they couldn't, because in the eyes of the world he was completely unworthy of her and she didn't feel ready to give up her family for him.

Maybe she never would feel ready for that.

Maybe she would never feel that his love was worth losing everything else.

He noticed Anna passing in front of the open window and waved at her, earning himself a wave and a friendly smile in response.

"You have a day off too?" he asked.

"Half-day," she corrected. "Beautiful day for it, isn't it? Couldn't stay cooped up at home."

"Neither could I," answered Tom, still smiling as she crossed the street. He liked Anna, even if they'd never been especially close.

His musings were interrupted by a rough looking man in a shabby suit coming over to his table.

"That bird Anna Smith by any chance?" he asked in an East London accent. "Maid at the big house?"

"No," answered Tom smoothly. This man was a stranger and he didn't like the look of him at all – and his interest in Anna even less. "She works at the big house alright, but it's Ethel Parks. Why do you ask?"

The man shrugged.

"Got a message for Miss Smith, is all."

He left and, prompted by a bad feeling, Tom finished his beer in one gulp and followed him outside. Just as he was afraid of, the stranger appeared to be following Anna. Tom's lie was apparently not good enough.

Tom's first impulse was to overtake the man, catch up to Anna and walk her home, but he hesitated. If he did it, it'd be likely that the man would just lie in wait for her somewhere else. Instead, he stayed behind and did his best to keep out of sight whenever the stranger looked behind his shoulder, but stayed close enough to intervene if he did anything.

He finally did when they left the village behind and entered the woods separating it from the estate.

xxx

Anna didn't notice that she was being followed. Ever since Downton Abbey had been transformed into a convalescent home, the path between the house and the village was well-trod by both residents and visitors, so a man walking the same route as her didn't ring any alarm bells for her. She was enjoying the sunshine and the warmth and engaging in silly little day dreams both inspired in her. It was her half-day, Lady Mary wouldn't need her until dinner, she anticipated a quiet, nice tea shared with Mr Bates upon her return and all was well in her world.

Until she was suddenly, roughly grabbed from behind and a knife pushed against the left side of her face. Anna froze as the man twisted her towards her by squeezing her arm.

"I'm sorry to cut such a pretty face, but business is business," he said, eyeing her without remorse. "Vera Bates sends her greetings."

Anna kneed him in the groin.

The man howled, raising his hand holding the knife as his other instinctively went for his hurt privates.

"You bitch!" he yelled, his knife coming fast at her, but before he could reach her he was tackled to the ground by a furious Irishman.

"Get off her!" Tom yelled, punching him in the face and grappling for the knife. Anna, not wasting time, jumped on the attacker's wrist, making him howl again. Good, she thought viciously, hoping that she managed to break it. She'd be damned if she let him stab Tom for coming to her aid.

Suddenly, another man came out running from the woods but before Anna could get scared, he hastened to help Tom with subduing the attacker, using his belt to tie his hands behind him. His military belt, Anna noted dazedly. The man was in an Army uniform.

"Are you alright, miss?" the soldier asked urgently as the attacker moaned under him and Tom, his knife safely thrown away.

"I'm alright," said Anna, only to see Tom looking at her in alarm.

"You're not," he said, getting white like a sheet. "You're bleeding."

Anna raised her hand gingerly to the side of her face and startled at the pain when she touched it. She hadn't felt anything until that moment.

"Are you able to hold him down until the police come?" asked the soldier urgently. Tom nodded, sitting on the back of the attacker and pushing his shoulders into the ground. "My cottage is just behind those trees, miss. If you come with me, my wife will tend to you. I'll send one of my boys for help and come right back here to guard that bastard – pardon my language, miss."

"No offence taken," Anna assured him, glaring at the man. "Thank you, Mr…?"

"Davis, miss," said the man, guiding her gently down the path. "I used to be Captain Crawley's batman until they discharged me on medical grounds. He gave me a cottage here, so I could get my lungs healed a bit away from the city."

"Captain Crawley has always been kind," said Anna, her nerves starting to unravel slightly now that the danger was over. She felt blood seeping into the collar of her blouse.

Davis seemed to realise it and hastened his steps, offering her his arm to lean on. They reached his cottage in no time, greeted by two alarmed looking women and three excited children.

"Out of the way, sprogs, the young miss needs help!" said the younger one sternly, taking Anna over from her husband and leading her to the table. "Come, sit, we must wash you off first. Mum, can you fetch me a towel, basin and iodine?"

"Does it look very bad?" asked Anna somewhat dazedly. She felt relieved when the woman shook her head with a smile as she delicately wiped off the blood.

"Just a shallow scratch at the side of your face," she assured her. "Should leave only a little scar, if any at all. Now, do you want to fetch anybody from the big house for you? My husband sent Johnny for the constable, but Betty is big enough to run to the Abbey with a message."

"Mr Bates," said Anna, leaning on the chair and releasing the tension now that others were taking care of everything. "Fetch Mr Bates."

Kitchen yard, Downton Abbey, July 1917

"Now you've done it," Thomas remarked casually to Miss O'Brien as he was lighting his cigarette by their usual spot on the crates.

Miss O'Brien, smoking nervously her own cigarette, glared at him through the smoke.

"How was I supposed to know that bitch is going to send a thug with a knife?" she asked angrily. "I wanted her to harass that saintly husband of hers a bit, wipe that insufferable smirk of his face, not for Anna to get hers sliced off!"

Thomas shrugged.

"That's what you get for riling up loonies," he said philosophically. "We're going to be lucky if she doesn't burn the roof over our heads to get back at Bates."

"Bates is leaving," said O'Brien, visibly calming down. "So whatever troubles she's planning, he's taking it with him somewhere else."

"He's leaving?" asked Thomas, surprised. "I thought Lady Mary was determined to keep him."

Now it was O'Brien's turn to shrug.

"He couldn't stand to look at Anna's cut face. I thought he was going to cry like a baby when he saw it. He's packing his bags as we speak," she took a deep drag of her cigarette. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, if you ask me. Maybe you will get your valet post after the whole thing is done. His lordship does like you, after all."

Thomas focused on his cigarette, deep in thought.

Police Station, Ripon, July 1917

Mary was shaking with fury when she approached the police station at Ripon.

To think that ghastly woman dared to send a thug to attack Anna – Anna! – and yet the police were not treating it seriously – were dismissing the whole case as a sordid misunderstanding – it boggled the mind. Thank God Anna wasn't seriously hurt, thanks to timely intervention by Branson and Private Davis, but she could have. And Vera Bates was still at large, free to wreck whatever havoc she wanted, with nobody willing to stop her.

No, that was simply unacceptable.

She only needed to introduce herself to be ushered reverently into the inspector's office and served tea, which gave her hope that the whole matter would be soon put to right.

As it turned out, she was wrong.

"I don't understand why you're getting involved in that sorry business, your ladyship," said Inspector Travis with a condescending smile which drove Mary up the wall.

"Because you and your men are not getting involved enough," answered Mary icily. "Miss Smith was attacked and threatened with a knife. She would have been seriously hurt and likely disfigured for life if Mr Branson and Private Davis didn't happen to be there or weren't both brave and quick enough to stop her attacker. And yet it is my understanding that you're planning to let that man go and refuse to investigate the issue of Mrs Bates' involvement."

Inspector Travis sighed with the air of a man putting up with a lot.

"Your ladyship," he said in the 'oh so reasonable' tone. "What we are dealing with here seems nothing more than a sordid dispute typical of lower classes. Garvin, the man who's accused of attacking Miss Smith, claims she's his sweetheart and that he never intended to harm her, just scare her a little for her affair with a married man. Miss Smith didn't come to any actual harm and none of the men who came to her aid heard anything being said regarding Mrs Bates. There's no reason to start any investigation, beyond Miss Smith's word, and forgive me for saying so, your ladyship, but she hardly seems a credible witness considering she's involved with that poor woman's husband."

Mary told herself to keep calm.

"What about the threatening letter Mr Bates received from his wife?"

"It was unsigned," came the unperturbed answer. "For all I know, he or Miss Smith could've written it themselves. If I may speak frankly, I can't see why you'd bother with servants' dalliances or even keep such a harlot as Miss Smith in your employ."

Mary straightened her already straight back.

"Miss Smith is not a harlot," she said firmly. "She has never seen the man who attacked her in her life nor does she have an affair with Lord Grantham's valet – this is all in his wife's head. Mrs Bates was observed spying on my house and accosted both me and Lord Grantham on separate occasions issuing threats against us, Miss Smith and Mr Bates. I believe her to be dangerous and delusional, and that attack on Miss Smith, preceded by the letter, only proves that she's capable and willing to cause real harm. If she's not treated seriously, she will end up harming somebody."

Inspector Travis didn't roll his eyes at her – he obviously didn't dare to do that in regard to the Countess of Grantham – but Mary had a distinct impression that he really wanted to.

"Your ladyship," he said with a heavy sigh, "I understand your loyalty to your maid and that the whole business makes you very emotional – especially with all the worry your husband being at war must cause – but I don't believe you are in any danger. It all seems blown way out of proportion into some gothic tale worthy of penny dreadful. If Mr Bates' wife causes you so much anxiety, the simplest matter would be to dismiss him and Miss Smith to booth. I assure you no harm will come to you from that poor woman."

"That poor woman," said Mary with narrowed eyes, "attempted to blackmail me."

"With what?" asked the inspector.

"With spreading lies about me to the papers," answered Mary smoothly. "She picked or invented some rumours regarding me and threatened to sell them unless I either fired Mr Bates or paid her a hefty sum of money."

Inspector Travis sighed heavily again, looking at her mournfully.

"Are you willing to make a formal charge of it?"

Mary bit her lip briefly, but nodded. She was reluctant to break her deal with Vera Bates who, after all, kept her side of the bargain, but she couldn't leave her actions against Anna without an answer. If bringing up charges of blackmail was the only way of getting that woman locked up and protecting her friend, then so be it. She was married to Matthew now. If Vera Bates sold her story after all in retaliation, she would survive the storm.

Besides, she brought the whole trouble on herself. She would pay for her own mistakes.

"I'm willing to bring charges," she said firmly.

"Do you have any witnesses?" asked the inspector, reaching reluctantly for his notebook and a pen.

"Mrs Hughes, my housekeeper, heard Mrs Bates threatening to sell the gossip about me to the papers if Mr Bates didn't leave our house and went back to her last October," said Mary calmly and factually. She would not let that insufferable man dismiss her as an emotional woman. "Mr Bates arranged my meeting with his wife at Grantham Arms the next day. Mr Throwbridge, the innkeeper, can confirm both that Vera Bates was staying there and that I met with her in a private parlour. Lord Grantham can confirm that Mrs Bates accosted him on the train in May and brought up the same threat to him."

"I see," said Inspector Travis heavily. "Do you know Mrs Bates' address so we can interrogate her on the matter?"

Mary's eyebrows rose.

"Isn't that your job to find her?" she asked incredulously.

"We will try, of course," said the inspector, his whole demeanour promising that they wouldn't try very hard. "But our resources are depleted and frankly, your ladyship, one woman issuing baseless threats is hardly a priority. If you haven't noticed, we are at war."

"Considering that I have dozens of injured officers recovering in my own house, not to mention a husband in constant peril from it, I assure you that I have noticed, inspector," hissed Mary, getting up from her chair. The whole meeting was clearly pointless. "I assure you that I will keep your helpfulness in mind. Goodbye."

She didn't slam the door on her way out. She was brought up better than that, even if the ranting in her head bore striking similarity to Granny's complaints about power getting to the heads of little people.

"Branson, take me home," she ordered tersely as soon as she got into the car.

He sent a look at her through the rearview mirror.

"It didn't go any better than when we tried, did it, milady?"

"No," she answered curtly, too enraged to mind his impertinence in asking. Besides, he earned a debt of gratitude from her for his daring rescue of Anna. "That man is impervious to reason. But you may be assured I won't leave matters like this."

As soon as they reached Downton, Mary marched to Matthew's study, barely stopping to take off her hat and gloves before she made a call and requested Carlisle's office.

"Sir Richard?" she asked when she finally was transferred from one of his numerous secretaries to the man himself. "This is Lady Mary Crawley. I need your help."

Trigger warning: attempted assault (non sexual).