CHAPTER 5 – BEING EARL OF GRANTHAM
Dining room, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Matthew wondered if he would ever get used to the intimacy of sharing breakfast with Mary. He thanked God for Edith and Sybil's presence, which made it significantly easier to remember that it wasn't one of his daydreams – in those he and Mary were always wonderfully alone.
"You ordered The Manchester Guardian for me?" he exclaimed in happy surprise, eagerly reaching for his favourite newspaper.
"Mary started subscribing to it herself," answered Sybil before her sister had a chance to open her mouth. "And I am so glad she did! It's great to read something more progressive than The Times, but I never managed to talk Papa into it."
Behind Matthew Carson didn't exactly harrumph, but still managed to convey his displeasure somehow.
Matthew thought with amusement that it really was an art.
"Mr Scott is definitely running a different newspaper than Lord Nortcliffe and Mr Stead, that's true."
"They wrote about deplorable living conditions in Ireland and supported women's suffrage," agreed Sybil enthusiastically. Mary rolled her eyes, but Matthew could detect a fond smile hovering over her mouth.
"Mr Scott did criticise the militant suffragettes though," she pointed out. "He thought their actions were detrimental to the cause of women' vote."
Sybil shrugged, undaunted.
"It was still the most sympathetic voice I have ever read in a mainstream newspaper."
"It definitely was," agreed Matthew. "Mr Scott is a firm believer in women' suffrage, just prefers peaceful means of lobbying for it. My parents came to truly respect him after the Manchester Guardian held the British accountable for their conduct in the second Boer War."
He noticed Carson shift uncomfortably behind him and belatedly remembered that Cousin Robert had served in that war.
"Papa fought in South Africa," said Edith, but she looked more interested than offended. "Weren't your parents there as well? I think I remember Cousin Isobel mentioning that she was first trained as a nurse during it."
Matthew smiled at her gratefully.
"You remember it correctly; both of my parents were in South Africa. My father was assigned to one of the units as a medic and my mother served as a nurse."
"What about you?" asked Mary with a frown. "Weren't you still too young to be left alone in England?"
"I was at Radley through most of the war and spent my vacations with my grandparents or aunt and uncle," said Matthew dismissively. "And I wasn't a small child, I was fourteen when the war started. I only regretted that letters took so very long to be delivered."
"I do remember waiting for a letter from Papa," said Mary quietly. "Mama tried to convince us that there was no need to worry, but I did not believe her. I was eight when the war started, too old to accept comforting lies easily."
Edith looked at her with astonishment.
"I remember you acting like it didn't faze you at all! You told me off for crying once, said it was silly."
Mary sent her a withering glare.
"Of course I did. I was trying to make you worry less. If I fell apart in front of you and Sybil, how could I convince you that Papa would be alright?"
Matthew had to stifle a fondly amused laugh which threatened to erupt at that explanation; it was so very Mary – at least how he got to know in her letters. It somehow didn't surprise him in the slightest that her personality and behaviour were so very consistent since early childhood.
"You said that your parents came to respect Mr Scott and his newspaper for calling the British government out for the less savoury actions in the South African war," asked Sybil, ignoring her squabbling sisters with the ease of long practice. "But if they were critical as well, wasn't it hard for them to serve in it?"
Matthew pursued his lips thoughtfully. He understood his parents on a whole different level now.
"It is possible," he started carefully, "to separate support for the war itself, or its cause, or even particular conduct of the troops or military decisions, from one's sense of duty to one's country and fellow soldiers. My parents saw their duty in helping to save the lives of British soldiers and anyone else who happen to search for help in the military hospital. It did not lessen their horror at the conditions at the concentration camps for Boer civilians."
Sybil opened her mouth and Matthew found he was dreading her next question – but before she could ask it, he noticed Mary glaring at her and making a slashing gesture with her hand. Impressively, she managed to silence her usually irrepressible sibling.
"I think if you have any more questions about the Boer War, you can ask Cousin Isobel later," said Mary pointedly, and turned towards Matthew.
"What are your plans for the rest of your leave? I would have taken you riding, if only to disprove your boast of ever having a chance to win a race against me, but..." she shrugged, her face pained at the recollection of her beloved Diamond's fate. Matthew swore to himself that if he somehow survived through that damn war, he would buy her a horse. Well, if he didn't, he guessed that he would have left her enough money to buy herself as many as she wanted anyway. But he would have loved to see her racing on one again, as much it put his heart in his throat with fear of her falling. Not that he had ever seen her less than in complete control of Diamond. She had been magnificent on top of him, his brave, strong Amazon, happy and exhilarated while jumping easily over all kinds of obstacles.
Not yours, he was forced to remind himself again. She was never yours.
"I don't know," he said, recalling that she asked him a question. "I haven't really thought about that. But I suppose I have a car now?"
"You have four," answered Mary drily. "Although one is a truck, used mostly by Jarvis when he visits the farms."
"Ah," Matthew coughed slightly. Whatever Mary said, it was hard to wrap his head around the concept of going from owning just his trusty bicycle as his only private means of transportation to being an owner of four cars. And he was certain there were carriages as well. "Isn't any of them part of your mother or grandmother's personal property?"
Mary shook her head.
"No, they were all bought as part of the estate. Short-sighted, of course – Papa could have easily gifted one to Mama or Granny – but barely anything was treated differently. We own our clothes, toiletries, books – well, some of them – but that's it. When we finally leave, you will be barely missing anything. "
Matthew looked at her and thought that he would miss a very great deal when it came to that.
"Well, since I apparently am not lacking in cars, how about a drive? You could show me the area from a completely new perspective and maybe point out some of the changes you have been discussing with Sir Anthony."
A prickle of jealousy stung him at the thought of Mary and the older baronet, even though he knew it was silly. Mary appeared grateful for his help, but still dismissive of him in any other role. Other than that one evening, so long ago, when she flirted outrageously with the man, he had never seen her pay the slightest attention to him ever again. She had indicated at the time that it was some kind of game she had played with Edith – he had been much too hurt and angry to listen to her explanation, but he suspected it must have been the truth. Besides that, Sir Anthony had seemed to court Edith before the war, although nothing came of it. Probably another thing the war destroyed.
Any thoughts of jealousy were immediately chased away by Mary's beaming smile at his proposal.
"It sounds lovely! I will ask Branson at once to get the car ready. Or would you prefer to go to the garage and pick one yourself first?"
"You know, I actually would. I've never paid so much attention to your cars," said Matthew thoughtlessly and nearly groaned when he caught up with himself. Speak about lack of tact!
Thankfully, his cousins decided to gracefully ignore his blunder.
"I can go with you!" said Sybil brightly instead. "I was thinking of learning to drive myself – Edith does it, after all."
"Don't you have a shift coming?" asked Mary with pointed disinterest. Sybil sat back with a groan.
"I do," she said resentfully. "I completely forgot! I wonder if the matron would agree to move it around. I would like to spend some time with Matthew while he is here!"
Matthew smiled at her gratefully. He wouldn't have minded her company's either, but he kind of hoped...
"I could go," said Edith. "I don't have any tasks planned on the farms this week."
Matthew smiled bravely, trying not to show his disappointment.
"That would be lovely," he started to say just when Mary looked at her with a rather fixed smile on her face.
"Weren't you going with Mama to Lady Shackleton?"
"I'm sure she would understand..."
"I heard Sir Anthony has been invited."
Edith looked at Mary suspiciously.
"Was he really?"
"He mentioned it during my call to invite him here to meet with Matthew. But I'm sure you will see him here, after he and Matthew are done talking about the estate, at least," said Mary casually, making Edith glare at her. Matthew felt like he was missing half of the conversation somehow.
"You really are awful, you know?" hissed Edith and left the room abruptly.
"I guess you are stuck with me," said Mary coyly and Matthew couldn't stop his smile.
"I guess I am," he agreed, elated at the prospect of having her to himself for several hours. Yorkshire had so many roads to get lost on. "But I find I don't mind very much at all."
Garages, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Mary walked Matthew to the garages, expanded just before the war had started to accommodate the growing fleet of the Earl of Grantham's cars.
All Matthew's now, of course. As was everything else.
She hadn't even showed them to him in those hectic, awful days back in March. There had been so much else to do and explain! And there had been the funeral and meetings with Jarvis and Murray and the tenants' representatives. No wonder neither she nor Matthew had thought about the cars.
Branson came out to welcome them, smiling genuinely at the sight of Matthew.
"Good morning, my lord."
"Good morning, Branson," Matthew smiled easily in response. Mary thought that they both seemed truly friendly with each other. Probably naturally so, considering they must have been of similar age, and with Matthew as approachable as Branson was unlikely to be awed by rank.
"I was thinking of taking a car for a drive and Mary reminded me that I actually own a few. Could you show me what my options are, Branson?"
"Certainly, my lord," answered Branson, leading Matthew and Mary inside the garage. "This is 1911 Renault 12/16hp Landaulette – the car which is most often used, as you know. Here you have 1912 Renault 20/30, which Mr Pratt usually uses for the Dowager Countess. We have another, which is kept in reserve if any of the first two is broken or if we have a big party to pick up from the train station. And here you have Ford Model T Pickup Truck, mostly used for driving around the farms. Mr Jarvis borrows it regularly."
"None of them a sports car, then?" asked Matthew with a hint of disappointment, as Branson shook his head.
"The late Lord Grantham didn't drive, so he never needed one," he explained, a tad wistfully, Mary thought. She recalled that Branson at some point complained about his previous employer preferring him to drive very slowly. He probably wouldn't mind if Matthew bought a fast car.
"I guess if I come through it all in one piece, I might buy it one day," said Matthew musingly, making Branson's eyes lit up in enthusiasm.
"Which one, my lord?" he asked eagerly. Matthew shrugged with a smile.
"I haven't gotten time to think about it yet. Maybe a Vauxhall roadster or an AC. Something small and fast, anyway."
"An AC would be neat, my lord," said Branson approvingly.
"So you were serious about the sports car then?" asked Mary a bit incredulously.
Matthew gave her a bright, boyish smile.
"Deadly serious. But I did say that you're allowed to laugh at me for it."
As if she could laugh at anything which made him look carefree and happy like that! It was as if, for a moment at least, all the weariness which the war had put on him, making him so different from the cheerful young man she first fell in love with, disappeared. In Mary's opinion, it was worth a sports car.
Driving in Yorkshire, September 1916
In the end, Matthew picked the Renault Landaulette and, after some quick instructions from Branson regarding the differences between this car and the ones Matthew learnt how to drive in the officer training, they were off. Mary felt rather strange getting into the front seat, but considering that it meant sitting next to Matthew, in complete privacy, the last thing she wanted to do was to complain about it.
"You didn't mention any garden parties in your letters. Were they all cancelled due to the war or did you decide not to attend due to your mourning?" asked Matthew.
"We were thinking of attending the one at Haxby," said Mary sadly. "But it was cancelled when news arrived that Billy was killed."
"Billy Russell?" asked Matthew in shock and Mary remembered that he and Billy seemed friendly at several gatherings they had attended together before the war.
"Yes," she confirmed. "In France."
They were quiet. Mary suspected they were both thinking about the fact that Matthew had fought in the very same battle and was going back to it in just four days. She thought quickly how to change the topic.
"Would you like to see some farms or do you prefer to wait for our meeting with Sir Anthony?"
Matthew seemed to shake off his pensive mood with some effort.
"I think it wouldn't hurt. I would like to see some of the reality behind the numbers in your reports. Do you have a particular farm in mind?"
Mary considered the possibilities for a moment.
"The Longfield Farm, the Yew Tree Farm and the Three Oaks Farm," she said firmly. "The Longfield Farm belongs to the Drakes and is one of the best kept and profitable ones. The Yew Tree Farm is run by old Mr Drewe and is a bit run down, mostly due to his age and unwillingness to face it, I would say. And the Three Oaks Farm is rented to Mr Coulter, who as far as I can tell hasn't farmed it properly in over a decade. It should give you a nice overview of both the challenges you face as well as possibilities ahead of your meetings tomorrow."
Matthew smiled at her and, making Mary's heart race, took one hand briefly off the steering wheel to grasp hers.
"The challenges and possibilities we face, Mary. I could not have managed any of it without your help."
Mary swallowed and nodded, smiling shakily back at him.
Longfield Farm, Downton Estate, September 1916
Mary was observing Matthew talking with Drake and letting Drake's wife fill his cup with more tea. He appeared completely at ease sitting at the table in their modest kitchen and munching on scones Mrs Drake served as well. She noticed he was making a conscious effort to put his hosts as much at ease as possible as well.
He really made an awesome earl, just like she had long predicted. Well, at least after she had stopped resenting him, at least.
She tried to stay out of the conversation for the most part, letting him form as much of a relationship with his tenants as he could manage during one brief visit. Which unfortunately left her to the dubious mercy of her own wistful thoughts.
Matthew made it crystal clear that he considered Mary's effort on behalf of Downton essential and invaluable to him. He trusted her like Papa had never done. He valued and trusted her judgement. He truly meant it when he said that they were partners in it, a team.
If only it wasn't temporary!
As usual, Mary firmly didn't accept the thought that he could not come back. She never allowed herself to dwell on it; it was bad enough that she had to face it in her frequent nightmares, she was not going to give that ghastly scenario more power over her when awake. But when that beastly war finally ended – it had to at some point, no war lasted forever after all – and Matthew would be back permanently, he would need to marry. And when he finally did, there would be no place for Mary at Downton, whatever Matthew said. She was reconciled to the fact that she had ruined her chance with him years ago and that he would marry someone else one day – some nice, pure girl who was nothing like her – but she had no intention to remain at Downton to witness it. No, she would have to go to London, find somebody for herself, however little enthusiasm she could feel for the prospect of it with her heart so wholly and completely belonging to Matthew. She would continue to do everything in her power to assist him now, while he needed her – and didn't it feel wonderful to feel needed and capable! - but she would leave as soon as it ended.
If only the thought wasn't breaking her heart so utterly.
Grantham Arms, Downton Village, September 1916
"We can just go home for luncheon," pointed out Mary.
"Yes, we can, but I don't remember the last time I had a pint and I want one," answered Matthew playfully. Mary's horror at his proposal amused him to no end. He found himself making a list of thoroughly middle class things he could introduce her to just to see her reaction.
"A pint?" asked Mary faintly, clearly waring with herself whether to indulge him or recoil in indignation. To Matthew's delight, impulse to indulge him won. "Oh, very well. But don't expect me to drink any."
"I would never dare," he promised solemnly, leading her into the pub with his hand on the small of her back. "But since you spend so much time and effort on schooling me on everything aristocratic, I thought I should return the favour a bit and show you how the middle class lives."
Mary gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, but since she sat down on the chair he held for her, he still counted is a victory.
"What other indignities do you have in mind?" she asked acerbically when he got seated himself, but he thought he could detect some curiosity in her. He grinned.
"So many possibilities," he said cheerfully. "I will have to really think about that, but just off the top of my head – I don't think you've ever been to a football game?"
There it was, the horrified look which made him want to burst out laughing.
"Don't worry," he said, "You're reprieved for now. All football has been suspended for the duration of the war. But if I come back, I fully intend to take you to the Old Trafford to see a Manchester United game."
Mary gave him a fierce look he was starting to become familiar with whenever he mentioned his survival as being conditional.
"Then you may be prepared to fight with me about being dragged there, because you will come back. And I cannot imagine what kinds of arguments you could find that would make me even consider it."
"We'll see. But I warn you, I can be very devious if I get motivated enough," he smirked playfully, letting himself for a moment to forget the probabilities and make plans with the captivating girl he was teasing.
Mary snorted elegantly. Matthew had no idea how she did it, but he was deeply convinced that she was just incapable of doing anything in any other manner than elegant and dignified.
"You may well be devious, but I can be very determined."
"You mean stubborn?"
Mary folded her arms and smirked.
"I would never admit to something as low brow as being stubborn. But you won't convince me to go to anything like that."
Matthew leaned on his elbows towards her.
"Then the bet is on. Let's see which one of us prevails. Will you shake with me on that?" he offered her his hand, which she readily grasped.
"The bet is on," she agreed, her eyes twinkling in that maddening way which forced Matthew to swallow heavily.
The interruption of the waitress was both a relief and an extreme irritation.
"What can we offer you, my lord?"
After making enquiries as to the dishes available, Matthew ordered food for himself and Mary, and then added, winking at her.
"And I will have a pint. What about you, Mary?"
She rolled her eyes at his antics – how was it possible that he loved even her eyerolls? - and ordered a cup of tea.
The Study, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Matthew looked around the room, assessing it with approval. The study was spacious – was there a room at Downton which wasn't? – and well-lit thanks to it corner placement allowing windows on two of the walls. The furniture was a bit heavy and dark for his taste, but that was easy to replace.
The best thing of all was that since Robert had preferred to work in the library, Matthew had no connection between the late Earl and this room. It would be entirely his own, from the beginning.
He nodded and turned to Carson, waiting patiently next to him.
"It will do, Carson," he said decisively. "Please see to replacing the desk and the bookshelves with my study furniture set from Crawley House. I want the armchair brought here as well, and all of my books. My mother will be able to assist with separating hers and mine."
"It will be done, my lord," answered Carson in his grave voice, but Matthew thought he detected a hint of disapproval in the quirk of the butler's impressive eyebrows. Probably because he didn't see how any furniture Matthew had acquired as Mr Crawley could be in any way superior to the set in the study of the Earl of Grantham. Well, he could disapprove all that he wanted, Matthew was determined to have at least one room in this house filled with his things and where he could feel completely comfortable.
"I would also like to have a telephone installed here. It is rather inconvenient to be forced to make all phone calls in a place offering as little privacy as the entrance hall," he added, still observing the room. His own furniture, his books, a more private telephone…
"And maybe exchange the curtains for something less… gilded," he said finally, eyeing heavy brocade drapes with some distaste. "I guess Lady Mary could decide on what would suit best."
Library, Downton Abbey, September 1916
"I freely admit I am torn what to do with tenants like Coulter," said Mary helplessly, looking with a frown at the huge map of Downton Estate splayed on the library's oak table. "As I showed you yesterday, it is clear that he hasn't farmed his farm properly in years and he struggles to pay rent, which is too low, anyway. There's been no investment. And yet I know, even without Jarvis reminding me incessantly, that Papa would say you can't abandon people just because they grow old."
"I agree," said Matthew, his brain searching for a compromise between what was clearly necessary and what was right. "But wouldn't it be cheaper to give him a free cottage and work his land as it should be worked? What do you think, Sir Anthony, would it be a workable solution?"
Sir Anthony smiled at him in a way which reminded Matthew of a teacher proud of his pupil for figuring out a math problem.
"Indeed it would, Lord Grantham. You might have to consider giving Coulter some kind of small pension – it is extremely doubtful that he has any kind of savings for his old age and his only son is dead, so he cannot support him – but it would still be more profitable to you than the current state of affairs, while taking care of his needs."
"We have of course additional problem of finding either new tenants or labourers to work the land directly for us," pointed out Mary. "With so many men already gone and more expected to be drafted, we may have to postpone realisation of some of plans like this just not to let the land lay fallow until we find somebody to farm it."
"This is unfortunately a very valid point, Lady Mary," agreed Sir Anthony. "But what you may do now, is to plan the course of action and act on those part which can be addressed before the war ends and the men return."
Matthew thought grimly that if the war continued for much longer, there wouldn't be many men who would return, but he stopped himself from voicing it.
"I have to thank you once again for your guidance in this, Sir Anthony," he said instead with sincerity. "Since neither Lady Mary nor I have been prepared for such a sudden transition of responsibility for the estate, your help and advice are truly invaluable for us."
Sir Anthony smiled bashfully.
"It is a very great pleasure to be of use for you two, Lord Grantham," he said. "And seeing Downton thrive in the oncoming years will be my best reward for it. I don't have any doubts that with you and Lady Mary at the helm I will see it happen."
Matthew smiled in thanks for the compliment, but his heart squeezed painfully. If only he could stay here, with Mary by his side, and deal with the very practical problems of dragging Downton into the 20th century. He did not like to dwell on the fact that he had only three days remaining to focus on that.
He liked dwelling on the painful truth that Mary wouldn't remain his partner forever even less.
Library, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Jarvis was an elderly, balding man with the most stubborn expression Matthew had ever seen.
"This means the overhaul of every part of the estate we hold in hand, and some large new parcels in addition. All in an instant."
"It won't be all in an instant," Mary scoffed, clearly at the end of her rope. Matthew had no idea how she managed to deal with that man for the last six months without strangling him. Clearly he underestimated her patience and forbearance. "We won't manage to do everything at once as long as the war is going on and we face such drastic labour shortage. But we can begin, and we can plan, and some of the new machinery Sir Anthony is recommending would significantly reduce the number of labourers we would need in the field."
Jarvis shot Mary such contemptuous look that Matthew's blood reached the boiling point immediately. He jumped to her defence.
"Lady Mary is right, Mr Jarvis. Don't you see? If we invest in new machinery, new methods and new techniques, the whole estate must benefit by it. And as for taking new lands in hand, we won't be running it as separate farms. We'll find another use for some of the farmhouses..."
"If I may, Lord Grantham," interrupted Jarvis testily. "You are very new to our way of life here..."
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Mary, her eyes lighting up in anger. Matthew briefly noted that she looked magnificent like that. "Even if he was – and he is not, my father has been preparing him for it for years – I am not! You cannot say I don't understand how Downton works and how things were always done here."
"And it was working!" quarrelled Jarvis angrily. "Nobody questioned it until now!"
"The past is not much of a model though," Mary didn't back an inch. "The third Earl nearly went bankrupt, the fourth only saved the estate by dying, and what we would have done in the nineties without my mother's money?"
"Must we talk in this way?" asked Jarvis, raising his eyes heavenward.
"Yes," answered Matthew firmly. "I'm afraid so. From every report Lady Mary has sent me and every book I've reviewed myself, it is increasingly clear that we need investment, increasing productivity and reducing waste -"
"Waste!" exclaimed Jarvis, getting alarmingly red.
"Yes. The estate has been run very wastefully for many years -"
"I won't listen to this! Am I to stand here, after forty years of loyal service, to be accused of malfeasance and corruption!" yelled Jarvis, getting even redder.
"Nothing of that sort!" said Mary. Matthew could see that she barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Jarvis sent her a poisonous look.
"No? That's what it sounded like to me! Can I rely on you to give a fair account of my career here?"
Matthew started. For all Jarvis's loud and consistent protests and obstruction, he was not expecting his resignation.
"Mr Jarvis, if I have offended you, then I offer my sincerest apologies," he said, striving for more diplomatic tone, but Jarvis just set his mouth even more stubbornly.
"Thank you, my lord. But I can see that my time here is done. I'm the old broom, my lord. You are the new. I wish you luck with your sweeping."
With that parting shot, he left the library. He didn't even deign to say goodbye to Mary.
Library, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Matthew flopped on one of the red sofas, too exasperated to care about propriety. Not that Mary seemed to mind, throwing herself into the armchair, with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.
"I apologise," said Matthew, covering his face with his arm.
"What for?" asked Mary, glaring at him. She did look rather fearsome. Scarily like Cousin Violet, actually.
"For ever thinking that you exaggerated a bit when you were complaining about Jarvis in your letters. I see now that you were much too kind in your descriptions of him."
Mary snorted.
"Well, he resigned now. I should have listened to you and started searching for his replacement months ago."
"You didn't want to be left alone with running everything before you learnt more about it," protested Matthew immediately. "As stubborn as he is, he has been doing it for forty years."
"But the problem is locating somebody who can help us manage the estate, won't have qualms about working for a woman for the foreseeable future and won't get drafted a week into the job," said Mary gloomily. "All in time where there is a shortage of men for any position, because so many of them are needed at the front."
"You will find someone," promised Matthew with more confidence than he felt. Mary wasn't wrong about the shortage of potential candidates. "And in the meantime, I'm sure you will manage to oversee everything yourself, with Sir Anthony's help. But I am sorry to place such a burden on you."
Mary's glare intensified.
"This is the last thing you should apologise for," she said curtly. "Quite besides the fact that I do care about Downton and I do care about you, I actually do enjoy running it more than I ever thought I would. I would just prefer to have an agent I could rely on, that's all."
Matthew had to swallow hard at her candid admission of caring for him. He knew that, of course – how could anyone read the letters she wrote him or see how tirelessly she worked to secure his estate for him and think otherwise – but it still it struck him forcibly to hear it from her own lips. He was immensely glad for the arm still shielding his face from her sight, because he had no idea what expression it was currently showing. One of open love and longing, he suspected with a sigh.
"But they will all see me as a failure, scaring Jarvis off like that with my meddlesome ideas and questioning of long established practices and traditions," continued Mary bitterly and Matthew felt forced to intervene. He raised his arm and looked straight at her.
"Firstly, strictly speaking, Jarvis endured working with you for six months and only resigned after one meeting with me."
"Only because you supported my point of view over his."
"Still technically more my fault than yours and I cannot be truly sorry for it anyway. He's been obnoxious and obstructive beyond belief. Secondly, you have been right to question the state of affairs at Downton and seek alternative solutions. There has been gross mismanagement and waste for decades and it cannot be allowed to go on if we are to keep Downton afloat. Even before the war the new taxes were starting to cripple estates like ours and God only knows how the economy will look like when the war ends, considering unimaginable expenses it requires. The last word I would use to describe you as the Downton manager is a failure."
Mary nodded slowly, her posture straightening.
"Thank you," she said solemnly, "I truly appreciate it. And I agree, of course. But that doesn't change the fact how I will be perceived now and how badly people will be speaking of your judgment for putting me in charge of your estate."
"Then you will just have to show them how mistaken they are," pronounced Matthew firmly. "Because I fully know that if I find Downton standing and prosperous when I come back, it will be only thanks to you."
Drawing room, Downton Abbey, September 1916
"It looks like the whole problem of entail might be resolved after all," noted Dowager Countess of Grantham, looking at her eldest granddaughter talking animatedly with the current Earl.
"I would be pleased," said Cora, pursuing her lip worriedly and surreptitiously checking if Isobel was anywhere in possible hearing distance. "If it wasn't for the fact that in a week he might be killed or, even worse, crippled in some horrible way. I wouldn't want Mary to be forced to deal with something like that. She should find somebody else, somebody who is going to be nowhere near that beastly war."
Her mother-in-law stared at her in evident disbelief.
"And to think that you were the one in supposedly loving marriage," she said scathingly, then pointed at Matthew and Mary with her cane. "How can you look at that and plan how to get her married off to someone else?"
"My marriage didn't start as a love match," quarrelled Cora stubbornly. "Love may come later, as it did for me and Robert. I just have Mary's best interests at heart."
Violet rolled her eyes.
"If she was unattached, I would agree with your reasoning," she answered, slowly like she was addressing a dim-witted child. "But she is clearly madly in love with him. If you think that you are going to just talk her into picking somebody else now, with the argument that he is facing too many dangers, then you are a bigger simpleton than I took you for."
"So you are perfectly alright with Mary becoming a widow at twenty five or a nursemaid to a cripple?" asked Cora indignantly.
"No, I am not," answered Violet crisply. "But I do not believe there is anything but his expressed disinterest which could dissuade her from pursuing him. And he does not look disinterested to me."
Cora glared at Matthew, talking animatedly with her eldest daughter, his face more alive than she had seen since before the war started. No, he did not look disinterested to her either.
She turned her eyes to Mary again. Mary, laughing genuinely and unconsciously touching Matthew's arm, her eyes shining and full of open adoration. Only a fool wouldn't see that there was only one person in the room she paid any attention to. Cora sighed. She liked Matthew. He was Lord Grantham now; the estate and her fortune were his as well. If it wasn't for the war, there was nothing Cora would have loved more than to get him and Mary married. But the awful news she was receiving seemingly every day now of young men killed or horribly maimed scared her. She did not want Mary to deal with a scenario like that.
"If he died now, she wouldn't mourn him any less than if they were married," said Violet, as if reading Cora's thoughts. Cora glared at her.
"Maybe not," she snapped. "But her chances of another match would be much better as a rich, unattached heiress than as one of numerous war widows. And what if he lives, but requires constant care, like Lord Appleton's heir? Have you thought of that?"
"I did," answered Violet heavily. "And it would be extremely unfortunate. All the more reasons we should get them married and with an heir as soon as possible. Because believe me, such passion does not end well if it is not bound in a proper marriage."
xxx
Matthew was looking at Mary, sparkling and vibrant as she was telling Sybil about their encounter in the village, sending him laughing looks which went straight into his heart – and, to be perfectly honest, other body parts. God, he wanted her so much he sometimes thought he would go mad from longing for her.
The last three days... they were incredible. Not just due to the usual disconnection between his existence here and the nightmare of the trenches, but mostly because they seemed to be entirely filled with Mary.
Her very presence was taunting him. Every time he saw how clever and competent she was, every time he felt they made such a good team, he was struck with longing to have this partnership official and permanent. He could not imagine anyone else he could rely on to such degree, to truly trust with everything, whether it was managing his new riches and responsibilities with him or confessing his most personal thoughts to. They were just so right together. Yet they were not truly together, weren't they?
But was it possible to feel such connection, such bond with her if she didn't reciprocate his feelings? Could it feel like that if his love and admiration was entirely one-sided? It was impossible to think so. Mary's very noticeable preference for his company, her staunch loyalty to him she showed in so many instances big and small, the complete ease he felt having her by his side, the way she was sometimes looking at him – he could not have imagined all that, certainly? He was warning himself sternly not to get carried away again, not to allow himself to build another castle on shifting sands, not until he was sure – but it was impossible not to hope when confronted with all the evidence in front of him.
As much as he feared to act on this conviction yet, he was more and more convinced that Mary must finally love him back.
Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, September 1916
Mary wondered if there would be at least one night of Matthew's leave during which she would be able to fall asleep immediately, without tossing and turning for ages.
She rather doubted it.
How could she sleep, however exhausted she was – and she really was, she didn't remember how it was to function without bone-weary tiredness – when Matthew was so close to her and yet with such an impassable gulf separating them? And with the awful countdown never leaving her mind, counting every minute until he had to go again and the overwhelming terror for his life would begin anew?
She was tortured by the thought that if only she had acted differently before the war, she would have been spending the night in his arms instead of in her bedroom, filled with nightmares, bed memories and regrets. She had made so many mistakes and now she was paying for them dearly. She tried not to dwell on them now – she was trying to focus on the present, on having Matthew safe and here, on spending such wonderful time with him – but it was impossible to think about any of that without her regrets and fears encroaching on the more pleasant recollections.
Even thinking about some of the looks or smiles Matthew was directing at her – so like before the war, but somehow even more intense – all those wonderful moments of intimacy and connection, giving her wild hope that somehow, however much it beggared belief, he still loved her – were immediately tempered by cold realisation that it could not last. Even if he did miraculously love her, could it survive her confession? It felt like she was never going to be free of her dilemma. She could get everything she desperately wanted, but it would be built on lies and deception or she could act honestly and do the right thing – but she would lose everything. One option was unacceptable – darling Matthew deserved better, so much better! - but the other was excruciating to face. So she was sentenced to linger in that awful, torturous limbo, suspended in it by her indecision and fear.
It was again a long time before Mary fell asleep.