AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know how to apologise for neglecting this story for so long... I can only say that I was busy with real life and distracted by other projects, but this fic does remain very close to my heart and will be continued.
One word of warning, this chapter may be described as intense.
Nursery, Downton Abbey, November 3rd, 1922
Mary huffed with frustration when George wailed and clutched desperately at her as she tried to put him down in his crib. Her back, strained already from carrying the weight of her seven months pregnant belly, twinged in protest.
George was impossible the whole day. He had a cold and it was obviously making him miserable enough to change the usually cheerful toddler into a whiny, clinging, snotty creature who refused to be separated from his mama. As much as he adored his papa and Nanny Lewis, today it was only his mama he wanted and Mary was at the very end of her rope as the result. She thought viciously that maybe Granny's approach of seeing her children for a single hour a day had some previously underappreciated merits. At least for her sanity.
Matthew, seeing and correctly interpreting how close she came to snapping, came over and took protesting George from her arms.
"Allow me, darling," he said, placing his very unhappy son against his shoulders and petting his back soothingly. "You should lie down, you've been up with him for way longer than you should."
Mary sent him a look of mixed gratitude and annoyance as she straightened and massaged her aching lower back with a groan.
"I would have done it long ago if he'd let me," she said, glaring slightly at George who wailed again and tried to reach for her.
"I can handle him, milady," said Nanny Lewis, coming into the nursery with an armful of clean nappies. "His lordship is right, you should lie down and rest."
If she was to be honest, Mary was more than willing to escape and leave George in his nanny's competent hands. She wasn't sure what had stopped her from doing it during the whole day or was making her hesitate now. Motherly love? Feeling of duty? Or was it fear of appearing callous to Matthew, who dropped all his other duties without a thought the moment George sniffled for the first time?
She chose not to ponder it right now and gave in to her exhaustion and discomfort.
"I think I will," she said tiredly and winced when the baby in her belly apparently woke up and kicked forcefully against her side. "This one probably will have a party in there as soon as I'm prone though."
Matthew's eyes were full of compassion as he valiantly tried to comfort the squirming toddler in his arms.
"Still," he said gently, "at least your back should feel better. I may not know much about carrying a baby, but I'm an expert on back pain."
Mary touched his arm briefly on her way out, knowing he was telling the truth. She was fully aware that Matthew usually downplayed the pain he was dealing with since his injury, but that it was still plaguing him quite often and prevented him from enjoying some of his previously favourite activities, like riding a bicycle or a horse. He maintained that complaining about it would be showing a lack of gratitude for how much he had recovered from his paralysis, but Mary very much disagreed. One could be grateful for the fact that he could walk and make love again while still resenting the pain and discomfort caused by the lingering bruise on his spine.
She reached their bedroom and rang for Anna before lowering herself wearily on the seat in front of her vanity. She could still hear George's cries for mama coming from the nursery despite two pairs of doors and a turn of the corridor between them. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with his papa and nanny for some annoying reason. She dropped her head into her hands.
Anna came promptly and wasted no time in preparing Mary for bed.
"The little lord is still under the weather?" she asked compassionately as she took out pins from Mary's hair.
Mary groaned.
"He's clingy like a koala," she complained resentfully. "And he only wants me to cling to!"
Anna hummed comfortingly and started brushing Mary's hair with practised, soothing strokes.
"They are often like that at this age," she said knowingly. "I had several younger siblings and they all went through a phase when they only wanted mummy and nobody else would do. Drove my mother insane at times."
"It's driving me insane," muttered Mary. "Why me? Matthew has so much more patience for those kinds of things and George is usually so fond of Nanny Lewis!"
Anna smiled at her in the mirror of the vanity.
"You're still his mother, milady. It's natural that he loves you and desires comfort from you when he's poorly."
Mary sighed and rubbed her aching temples. She was happy that George was so attached to her – she truly was – to be perfectly honest, she'd been quite afraid that she'd turn out to be unable to form such a bond with her baby, so it was a relief that George loved her so. But tonight she wouldn't have minded if he decided to prefer Matthew or Nanny Lewis to her, at least until he felt well again.
He was still crying and calling for her.
"I don't know how much rest I'm going to get if he persists in demanding me like that," she said, getting up to allow Anna to help her with taking off her clothes and putting on a nightgown. "Can't he stop finally?"
Anna winced a bit at a particularly loud wail.
"Little lord is definitely stubborn," she admitted. "But he must get tired soon, surely."
"Not if he's anything like his father," muttered Mary. "Whatever Mrs Crawley says about Lord Grantham being a perfect baby, there's no way he developed his own stubborn streak only as an adult."
Anna gave her an amused look which clearly implied something about glass houses, but Mary decided to ignore it. Instead, she finally stretched on the bed and nearly moaned at the relief it brought to her tense back.
Which was followed swiftly by several joyful kicks to her ribs and side.
Motherhood, Mary thought as Anna left the room with a quiet goodnight, is very overrated.
Mary and Matthew's bedroom, November 3rd, 1922
Mary was woken up by the sound of Matthew getting into bed.
"I'm sorry," he said, apology clear in his voice. "I hoped not to wake you."
Mary blinked at him sleepily then raised herself on her elbow and stared in shock at the little form in his arms.
"Why on earth have you brought him here?" she asked incredulously.
Matthew gave her a sheepish look.
"He kept waking up and crying every time I tried to put him down," he explained. "After I nearly fell asleep in the rocking chair, I decided to lie down here with him. Hopefully he'll sleep through the rest of the night."
"Can't he sleep with Nanny Lewis?" asked Mary desperately, knowing even before Matthew shook his head that she was going to lose that argument, much as she hated it.
"I sent her to sleep two hours ago," explained Matthew as if that was the most natural thing in the world. What did they even have a nanny for? "He kept crying for you, but I was a reluctantly accepted second best. I didn't have the heart to leave him like that."
"Of course not," muttered Mary and gave up. She was too tired to quarrel. George was snoring lightly against Matthew's chest and there was some hope that he would indeed remain so until morning.
At least their bed was big.
xxx
It was still pitch black outside when they were woken up by a sudden, horrible sound of wracking, choking cough and a wail of terrified toddler, followed by even more horrifying wheezing of someone desperately trying to draw air and failing.
Matthew turned on the bedside lamp immediately and for a moment all they could do was stare at George who was alternating between barking and struggling for air, his eyes huge and filled with fear and his lips getting slightly blue.
"Go get Nanny Lewis and call Doctor Clarkson!" Mary cried, desperately clutching crying and wheezing George as Matthew flew out of the room to get help. Her eyes fell on the clock, it was two in the morning. George was screaming his head off in between coughs but at the moment the last thing she wished for was his silence, not when he was visibly fighting for every breath and seemingly close to losing this fight.
Please God, don't let him go quiet.
Nanny Lewis ran into the room dressed just in her nightgown and a shawl, with Matthew following on her heels. Her eyes widened when she heard George.
"Open the window, my lord!" she cried out immediately as she grabbed a blanket from the bed and threw it over Mary and George. "The cold air helps. Come, milady, bring him to the window. I will wrap you two up. And you must try to get him calmer, crying makes it worse."
"Is Doctor Clarkson coming?" asked Mary anxiously, carrying George to the window which Matthew just threw open. The November air was freezing.
"Yes," answered Matthew, embracing them both and caressing George's head with a shaking hand. The boy was still crying in fear and pain between alternating barking cough and wheezing for air. It wasn't like anything Mary had ever heard before - an uncanny, terrifying bark, more animal like than anything a human should be able to produce. It brought to her mind a dying fox and she felt bile in her throat at that comparison. "It's alright, little chap. You're going to be alright. Just calm down a bit, it will help you breathe."
He looked fearfully at Nanny Lewis.
"Do you think it's diphtheria?"
She swallowed visibly.
"It might be. But it might be just a croup or what they call a false croup," she saw terror in Matthew and Mary's eyes and added authoritatively. "We will know more when the doctor arrives, but even if it is diphtheria, it still doesn't mean the worst. Not every child with it dies. Now we must focus on getting him calm, keeping him upright and breathing in cold air. It will help, whatever diagnosis it's going to be in the end."
Matthew noticed that Mary's arms were sagging under George's weight and the way she winced when she was trying to adjust him on her hip, her protruding belly in the way.
"Allow me," he offered, opening his arms. "I will hold him and you keep reassuring him."
She hesitated for a moment, loathe to part with him as he was, but realised Matthew was right. Her muscles ached in relief when the toddler was transferred to his father, who instantly cuddled him to his chest and rocked him slightly.
"Hush, little one," she said, striving for calmness in her voice, as she petted George's back in comforting strokes. "It's alright, it's alright, it's perfectly alright."
Whether it was the cold air easing the swelling in his throat or his parents' attentions, something worked and George did gradually stop crying. His breathing was still harsh and wheezing, but the bouts of barking coughs lost some of their severity and were coming less frequently.
"I will bring him some milk with honey," said Nanny Lewis, "It might ease his cough a bit more. But try to give him some water, it's important to keep him hydrated. Just carefully, his airway is partially blocked and it might be difficult or painful for him to swallow."
Mary took the blanket off herself and wrapped it around Matthew and George before hastily putting on a robe and pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. She offered the glass to George, but he turned his head and hid his face against Matthew's chest.
"Please drink, darling," she said, feeling her own throat constrict. "It'll help you."
George shook his head, keeping his face in Matthew's pyjama shirt until he had to raise it to gasp for air in-between renewed bouts of that awful, unnatural cough. Mary looked at Matthew with eyes widened in an attempt to stop herself from crying.
"Matthew," she whispered desperately, unable to give voice to her thoughts lest she made them a reality, but seeing them mirrored in Matthew's frightened eyes and shaking hands.
"He'll be alright," said Matthew, his grasp on George tightening. "There's no way he won't be. He must be alright."
Nanny Lewis came back with the heated milk, but was unable to get George to drink either. It was just several tortured minutes later when a hall boy led Dr Clarkson to the room. Mary had never before been so relieved to see him. She watched with bated breath as he examined George on the bed, his serious face not giving her any hope. She felt Matthew's fingers tensing against hers as the doctor straightened and looked at them gravely.
"He has a barking cough, stridor and difficulty with breathing, but the lymph nodes in his neck are not enlarged and I can see no traces of dead tissue forming membranes in his throat," said Doctor Clarkson with evident relief. "I think it looks more like a pseudo-croup than diphtheria. If I'm right, he should be better by morning and well in a day or two. But do call me immediately if his symptoms get worse."
For the very first time in her life, Mary felt herself close to fainting. If Matthew didn't support her, she wasn't sure if her own legs would have.
"But he sounds like he can't breathe," she pointed out with bloodless lips as Matthew helped her to the bed and picked up still wheezing George, clutching him tightly against his chest. They both looked questioningly at the doctor.
"It will ease soon with the cooler air," Clarkson assured them. "You did the right thing by opening the window. Just make sure he's wrapped warmly and try to keep him calm and hydrated. Pseudo-croup does sound frightening, but isn't usually serious."
He looked chidingly at Mary.
"Now, Lady Grantham, you should lie down and rest. All this panic and taking care of your son cannot be good for you or the baby. In fact, it was most unwise of you to be in such close contact with a sick child."
Mary glared at him.
"I will rest," she conceded. "But I am not letting him out of my sight!"
Dr Clarkson looked heavenwards, but knew better than to quarrel. He turned instead to Nanny Lewis to give her further instructions. Mary ignored him for now and leaned against Matthew, reaching out to stroke George's blond hair. His breathing was getting better, thank God, and his cough was starting to sound more normal.
She felt Matthew shudder against her.
"I've never been so frightened in my life," he whispered hoarsely. "Not even before going over the top."
"Me neither," whispered Mary. "The closest I came to was when you were missing and then when the telegram came with news of your injury. But in both cases there was hope alongside the fear and tonight... for some time... I was certain we were going to lose him."
Matthew's arms tightened around George who was finally, finally breathing nearly normally, if still a little harshly, and snuggling against Matthew, clearly tired. It seemed Mary's caress was slowly putting him back to sleep.
"Me too," Matthew admitted. "Me too, darling," he swallowed audibly. "I don't know how I'd manage to keep going if we did."
Now it was Mary's turn to shudder.
"But we won't," she said, her voice unsteady. "Doctor Clarkson said he's going to be alright."
She looked up at the doctor, who finished packing his bag and bowed in farewell.
"Call me if he gets at all worse," he repeated. "But I don't expect him to. I will come back in the morning to check on him. Miss Lewis has all the instructions for treating him in the meantime."
Mary thought she heard Matthew thank the doctor – she thought she might have expressed her own thanks – but truth be told, she was hardly aware of it. She only knew that she was lying in bed, with George between Matthew and her, both of them cuddling him and listening intently to his every breath as he fell asleep.
Their little prince was still with them and was not going to be taken away.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is no way to describe how frightening it is to be woken up in the middle of the night by a barking cough of a child with croup, even when you know what's happening and have modern medicines on hand. I can't even imagine how it was for parents before the vaccine for diphtheria was invented and routinely used and was still a very real threat to people, especially children.