AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry it takes me so long to post another update nowadays. I know I got you used to a much faster pace of writing. The trouble is, I wrote the most when my mental health was not at its best. It was a wonderful escape from reality for me, but unfortunately not the healthiest one since it was done at the expense of other important things in my life.
I feel much better now, but it means I have my priorities in much better balance. I still love writing and hearing back from you is the best thing in the universe – and I intend to complete all my stories – but I have significantly less time to write now so it will take me longer. I hope you will still be here to see my stories to their conclusion.
Darlington Railway Station, May 1916
It was only Mary's lifelong practice at keeping decorum at all times which stopped her from jumping on her toes as she saw the train bearing Matthew roll with clouds of steam to the platform. The doors started opening and releasing a stream of people – and there was already quite a crowd at the station – and for an agonising moment Mary despaired of ever finding Matthew among all the people and the steam obscuring her view – and then suddenly there he was, in front of her, leaner and tanner and so impossibly handsome in his lieutenant uniform and beaming at her that all thoughts of decorum flew out of her head and she jumped straight into his eager arms.
"My darling," his dearest voice whispered into her ear. How could she have forgotten how deep and warm it was? "How I missed you!"
"Surely not more than I missed you!" she said and slid out of his embrace to grab his arm instead and lead him off the platform. "Come, we need to get out of this crowd. I want to welcome you properly and I can hardly do it here!"
Matthew's blue eyes darkened in the look Mary knew very well and she barely restrained a triumphant smirk. Good to know she didn't lose her power over him in the four months of separation.
"God, Mary, don't speak like that when I can't even kiss you!" groaned Matthew as they reached the entrance to the station and exited to the broad street outside. "I've been dreaming of you every night since I left. Literally."
This time Mary did smirk, it would take more than she had in her to stop it.
"Then you can thank me for driving here myself," she said airly and gestured gracefully towards Matthew's sports car parked by the sidewalk.
Matthew's eyes lit up.
"No chauffeur?" he asked, his voice getting lower.
"I don't have one at the moment," answered Mary, grasping his arm tighter as she got close enough to whisper into his ear. "Just don't mess up my hair, Anna would never forgive you."
Eryholme, May 1916
Mary inspected her hair critically in her hand mirror as Matthew turned from the main road into the lane leading to their home. Thankfully he managed to keep to her instructions regarding not messing it up.
Mostly, at least.
Then again, Anna would hardly be surprised or scandalised. It wasn't as if she hadn't witnessed worse.
Mary barely restrained a girlish, happy giggle threatening to erupt. She didn't giggle. But she did feel giddy, silly, exuberant. Matthew was here, by her side, alive and well and so in love with her, and she could keep him for the whole week.
She resolutely did not allow herself to think about what was coming afterwards. Not right now, not when her lips still stung slightly from the force of his kisses.
Her euphoria fell a bit when she put the mirror back into her purse and saw the downturned, worried expression on Matthew's face.
"What is it?" she asked immediately.
Matthew shook his head ruefully.
"It's silly," he said. "But I'm truly afraid to face Irene."
"Why?" asked Mary incredulously.
Matthew's mouth twitched in a wry smile.
"I don't want to see her shy away from me or God forbid cry. I know she likely won't remember me… But I still dread the moment when she looks up at me and sees a stranger."
"If it happens, you will just have to bond with her again," answered Mary staunchly. Inwardly she prayed that her efforts to keep Matthew in Irene's mind bore at least some fruit. "She's a very sociable baby and makes friends easily. Quite like Sybil, really. We're lucky she didn't turn out like Edith," Mary shuddered theatrically, hoping to lighten Matthew's mood. "She was such a screechy, fearful, annoying baby."
It worked, Matthew laughed, and before long they parked in the driveway of Eryholme, with the neat if short line of servants in front of it.
Matthew greeted all of them with a sincere smile but his head pivoted in search of one conspicuous absentee.
"Where are Miss Irene and Nanny Lewis?" he asked. Clearly his eagerness to see his daughter was larger than his dread of the initial meeting.
"In the garden, sir," answered Molesley.
"I thought it might be easier for you and Irene to meet while she's at play than to try to keep her in the waiting line here. Her patience is rather limited at present, I'm afraid," explained Mary as they walked the path around the house to the spacious garden behind it.
Matthew threw her a grateful look, probably both for attempting to make the reunion a success and for ensuring it happened in privacy.
The garden looked idyllic in the full bloom of May and the warm sunshine adding vibrancy to its colours. They heard Irene happy babbling before they could see her. There she was, just behind the bend in the path, pulling herself upright by holding a cast iron bench and trying to reach a bright red flower hanging from a bush just over her head. Nanny Lewis was sitting on the bench next to her, but got up and curtsied immediately at the sight of Matthew and Mary.
"Welcome home, sir," she greeted Matthew with a smile.
Irene turned around to see who was coming and lit up at the sight of Mary.
"Ma!" she cried out, letting go of the bench and promptly falling on her bottom as the result. She was hardly bothered by it though, pointing instead excitedly at the out of reach flower. "Ma, loo!"
Matthew, still like a statue by Mary's side, startled a bit at hearing Irene speak.
"She grew so much," he whispered incredulously. "And she speaks!"
"Not very much," said Mary, kneeling down in front of Irene and obediently looking at the flower she wanted to show her. "Most of it is still incomprehensible. And you got all the photographs I've been making."
"Yes, but it is no less startling to witness in person," said Matthew, continuing to keep careful distance from them and holding himself painfully still. Irene hardly paid him any attention and Mary's heart broke at the memory of her rushing towards her beloved daddy every time he entered the room before going away. She didn't even want to imagine how much her current indifference was breaking Matthew's.
"Miss Lewis," she said composedly, "that will be all for now. We can take it from here."
"Of course, milady," said Nanny Lewis with another curtsey and promptly left them alone.
Mary got up and lifted Irene, directing her gaze at Matthew.
"Look who joined us, darling," she said softly, praying with all her strength that it went well. "It's daddy, see? Your daddy is back and wants to say hello."
Irene's brown eyes looked curiously at Matthew who seemingly stopped breathing in fear of upsetting her in any way. Then, to Mary's extreme relief, she smiled widely and flapped her little arms.
"Da!" she cried proudly, pointing at Matthew and checking with Mary whether she got that right. "Dadadada!"
Mary laughed, more in sheer relief of tension than from half-realised joy, and kissed Irene's plump cheek proudly.
"Yes, my darling! It's your daddy! Matthew, look, she remembers you!"
She wasn't sure if Irene's recognition came from true memory of Matthew or from her own daily efforts with his photograph, but she didn't care. What was important was Matthew's disbelieving, joyful face as he approached them tentatively and reached a trembling finger to tickle Irene lightly as he used to do.
It still worked and Irene giggled, patting his hand away.
"Hello, my darling little girl," said Matthew thickly. "I missed you terribly."
Irene pointed at the flower she was attempting to reach previously and released a string of babbling syllables, looking at Matthew intently.
"You want to get a closer look, princess?" he asked, hesitantly reaching for her. "Will you allow me to take you there?"
Mary handed Irene to Matthew, both of them holding their breaths now.
Irene looked over her shoulder to ascertain that her mama was still there, but afterwards agreed easily enough to be carried back to the bench by her dad and sit in his lap as he sat next to the flower. He allowed her to inspect it thoroughly, but took it away when she attempted to put it in her mouth.
"It's not something to eat," he said gently to her thunderous face. "It's better to leave it be so you can see and smell it again later. Here, would you like that instead?" he reached into his uniform's pocket and took out a colourful rattle which Irene eagerly grabbed and promptly bit on. She grinned over it at Matthew in clear approval.
Mary felt the last of the tension leaving her shoulder as she observed Matthew and Irene's getting reacquainted. She had no doubt that they were going to be best of friends again before the day was over, but it was not only joy and tenderness which filled her at the charming scene in front of her.
Irene got to experience the reunion which George had never had a chance to.
Master bedroom, Eryholme, May 1916
Unsurprisingly, Matthew and Irene were practically inseparable for the rest of the day. Matthew reluctantly allowed her to be taken to the nursery while he and Mary sat down to dinner, but he ran there himself straight after dessair was over. To his utmost delight, Irene allowed him to rock her to sleep, but it was only Mary's insistence that he should come to bed that forced him to leave her in her crib under the watchful eye of Nanny Lewis, observing the scene with amusement.
If Mary didn't find him so ridiculously endearing, she might have been miffed with him.
"I see I was entirely eclipsed in your affections," she noted dryly while they were walking the short distance to their own room.
Matthew laughed bashfully.
"Hardly," he said, looking at her in the way which promised all kinds of things. "But I did have at least your letters while I was gone, and no interactions with her at all."
"There are a lot of things one can't share through the letters," said Mary, soaking her words with meaning. "But if you prefer to spend the whole night in the nursery instead, be my guest."
"Oh, don't worry, darling," promised Matthew, his gaze getting more intimate and intense with every word. "I have no intention to spend the night anywhere else than our bed."
Neither of them rang for Anna or Molesley – not that any of the servants was surprised or seriously expecting to be needed.
Mary woke up with a gasp and a tear streaked face, as usual.
What she managed to get unused to – again –was the pair of comforting arms reaching for her in the darkness and a solid chest to lay her head on as she was calming down. She closed her eyes tightly and focused on listening to Matthew's heartbeat under her cheek.
Alive alive alive alive alive alive.
"It hasn't gotten better, has it?" asked Matthew sadly.
"No," answered Mary curtly, her eyes still closed.
No, it hadn't gotten any better. More often than not, her nights were full of loss and terror, and the closer she was coming to the time when Matthew was going to face actual mortal danger again, the worse it got. She had no idea how she was going to survive when the Battle of Somme started in several weeks.
Maybe she would stop sleeping at all.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said, raising her head to pear at Matthew in the dim light of the moon. "I don't want to think about it either."
"Then what do you have in mind?" asked Matthew softly, caressing her hair. She could see, even in the dark, how serious and worried he was and it was also something she didn't want, not tonight.
There would be plenty of time for that later.
Instead of an answer, she kissed him – hard, intensely, not at all gently. He gasped under this sudden assault on his lips, but responded eagerly.
Soon, he was pulling her face gently away from his though and trying to look into her eyes.
"Are you sure that this is what you want now?" he asked and Mary scoffed impatiently.
"Yes," she said exasperatedly. She couldn't say it – she didn't really know how to express it – but she needed to feel that he was alive and well and hers and here – at least for tonight – and she couldn't find a better way to ascertain it after the brutal reality of her nightmare than to have him make love to her until she wasn't able to think at all.
Fortunately, as usual, Matthew turned out to be perceptive enough to pick up on the things she didn't say. His touch switched from restraining to caressing, then, reading her mood correctly again, to possessive and passionate. Mary's body trembled again under it, but in the very opposite of fear.
Yes, this is what she wanted. What she needed.
"Matthew," she whispered as she felt his lips and teeth on her neck and breasts, his hands lower. Her own prayer, the most heartfelt one. "Matthew."
She could see that it was driving him wild – that his genuine concern for her dissipated as more feral feelings took over – but felt utterly safe in the knowledge that even at his most passionate he would never ever hurt her or do anything she didn't want to. Not her Matthew, the gentlest, most honourable man she'd ever known.
"Matthew," she gasped as the world shattered around her and she got her wish, she could not think at all. "Matthew!"
"I'm here, darling," he said, his arms tight around her as she floated. "I'm here."
Their other wake up followed not long after the first one, still in the middle of the night.
Irene was crying in the nursery.
"Ugh," groaned Mary. "Sometimes she sleeps through the night or allows Nanny Lewis to settle her, but of course it won't be tonight."
She sat up, reaching blearily for her robe.
"Better put something on," she muttered to equally sleepy Matthew. "If she doesn't stop crying, Nanny Lewis will bring her here for nursing."
Matthew, hearing the nursery's door opening down the hall and the crying getting closer, got to his feet and into his robe in record time.
"Alright, I didn't miss that while I was away," he commented dryly, earning himself a poisonous glare from his wife.
"I didn't have the occasion to miss it," snapped Mary, walking towards the door and accepting the wailing baby from the nanny. "She still has to grow out of night feedings."
Matthew watched with fascination as she sat down in bed and loosened her robe to allow Irene access to her breast. The crying immediately ceased and not long after Irene's eyes fluttered closed and her breath grew soft and steady.
"It's better to wait a few minutes before we bring her back to the nursery," said Mary wearily. "Otherwise she may wake up again."
Matthew sat carefully down next to them and lightly caressed Irene's head.
"Could she stay here with us?" he asked.
Mary gave him an incredulous look.
"Why?" she asked. "She will kick you in the face during the night – you have no idea how much she moves in her sleep – and she will wake us up at some ungodly time in the morning."
Matthew laughed softly.
"I know," he admitted, caressing Irene's blonde locks again. "You're perfectly right. But I can't help wishing to cuddle both of you as I go back to sleep. Call it making up for all those months I had to lay in my bed alone and miss you two terribly."
Mary sighed, too tired to deal with it.
"Oh, alright. But if she gives you a black eye, it won't be my fault," she muttered as she lowered Irene carefully between the two of them and settled on her own pillow. "But better hope she won't aim for me."
The last thing she heard was another soft laugh from Matthew.
Matthew was rudely woken up by somebody pushing a very small finger into his eye.
"Ow!" he grunted, opening both eyes and pulling Irene's hand away from his face. She scowled briefly for having her exploration of his features interrupted, but soon started climbing all over him instead. The sun was shining brightly through a gap in the curtains and a squinted look at the bedside clock told Matthew it was just after seven.
"What are you doing awake, little miss?" asked Matthew, earning himself an exuberant squeal. With an apprehensive look at a still sleeping Mary, Matthew quickly got up, threw on a robe, and picked Irene up from the bed. To his delight, she showed no sign of fear or displeasure at that and allowed him to carry her away from her mama without protest.
"We should let your mama sleep, princess," said Matthew, walking with Irene into his dressing room where he put her down on the carpet as soon as he closed the door to the bedroom. He looked at her with a critical eye. "Can you give me five minutes? I promise I can get dressed in that time."
Irene looked sceptical of it but thankfully got distracted by the row of Matthew's shoes on the shelf. By the time he got dressed in his day suit – he was supposed to wear his uniform at all times but he decided there was nobody to hold him accountable for dressing like a civilian for breakfast in his own home – she managed to pull all of them out and was contemplating how to put one in her mouth. She whined loudly in protest when Matthew lifted her from the floor with a sigh which turned into a laugh when she glared at him in perfect imitation of Mary.
"Oh, you are your mama's daughter," he said, kissing her nose and tickling her lightly until she stopped scowling at him and giggled. "I know it was a wonderful game, but believe me, you wouldn't want to have the taste of shoe polish in your mouth and I know Molesley applies it generously."
He sent a guilty thought to Molesley regarding the shoes strewn everywhere and briefly contemplated cleaning them up, but Irene's impatient wiggling in his arms decided the matter for him. He rather suspected that she was fully capable of making another mess somewhere else while he was busy with the shoes. Surely Molesley wouldn't begrudge him giving him something to do for once.
He went downstairs instead and entered the empty dining room. Molesley had clearly been already at work there – the breakfast dishes were placed on the warming trays – but to Matthew's disappointment coffee was not brought in yet.
"Should have slept more," he murmured, covering a yawn then glared playfully at his daughter who promptly attempted to stick her hand into his mouth. Irene giggled when he kissed her fingers instead. "You're a cheeky little monkey, you know that?"
Irene giggled again and gave him an extremely sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Matthew thought that a wet cheek was well worth the warm feeling in his chest at her gesture.
"Oh, isn't she a sweetie?" asked somebody behind him, making Matthew turn rapidly around and colour in embarrassment. Irene squealed happily at the sudden movement and Matthew made a mental note to include it in his play with her later.
It was the maid Edna, standing in the doorway with the blessed pot of coffee.
"That she is," agreed Matthew easily, looking between the coffee and his daughter and trying to judge if it's safe to put her down on the floor for a moment or whether it would be better to ask Edna to fetch Nanny Lewis. The second option was probably the more sensible one but he was loath to part with Irene, even for a moment.
He could not stop the awareness that he might never see her again after this week.
Edna astutely grasped his dilemma, put the coffee pot on the sideboard and offered to take the baby from him.
"I can hold her, sir, or carry her upstairs," she said, smiling at him over Irene's blond hair. "It's no trouble."
"Thank you," said Matthew feelingly, wasting no time in pouring himself a cup and adding a liberal portion of sugar and milk. "Just let me drink this cup – I will wait with breakfast until Lady Mary comes down."
He felt awkward sitting down while Edna was standing there and decided to stand by the sideboard but, again irving her perceptiveness, she walked to the window and started showing Irene the birds on the nearby bush. Matthew sat at a table and took the first hasty sip of his coffee with a smile.
Heaven.
Irene issued a stream of excited babbling as she frantically gestured at the birds. Edna laughed and pointed out some of their antics to her.
"You're good with her," observed Matthew, taking another sip of his coffee. Edna smiled at him over her shoulders.
"I like children," she said. "And Miss Irene is really sweet."
"Do you have younger siblings?" asked Matthew with interest. In his experience that was the most common way for the servants to learn how to interact with the little ones.
Edna shook her head.
"I've been an orphan since I was five," she explained and bounced Irene, making her laugh. "But I was taking care of some cousins before I went into service. Not as cute as you though, Miss Irene."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Matthew, the memory of losing his own father making him feel for her. He couldn't imagine losing both of his parents so young.
He finished his coffee and got up from the table to take Irene back from Edna. He felt the same wonderful warmth in his chest again when his daughter eagerly jumped into his arms.
God, he loved her so!
"You're a good father, sir," said Edna, observing them both from the side. Matthew smiled at her briefly before turning back to his baby who was pointing the birds to him.
"It's easy to be a good father to her," he said.
As Edna curtsied and left, he couldn't help the despairing thought that to be a good father, one had to be present – or, at the very least, alive.
Matthew's Study, Eryholme, May 1916
"Good of you to come, Branson," said Matthew affably, gesturing for the newly appointed land agent to take a seat opposite his desk. He took note of the way Branson did it – confidently and naturally, with no trace of bashfulness or uncertainty which would be normally common at someone so recently promoted from a servant's position. Branson took the seat as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him; as if he was long used to being treated as an equal or nearly so. It was surprising but, Matthew thought, perhaps not wholly unexpected. Branson was a socialist and believed passionately in the equality of people and the injustice of the class system. He probably did feel an equal to Matthew and perfectly justified in taking a seat in his presence as if he belonged in the study just as much as in the servants' hall.
Not that Matthew disagreed with this view – he simply found it interesting to see this visible proof that Branson had no feelings of deference most of the servants showed to the upper classes. Maybe that was one of the reasons he succeeded in piquing Mary's interest in him.
"I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion," he said, still eyeing Branson with curiosity. "Lady Mary wrote to me that as unusual as it was, it was a well deserved one."
Branson looked him straight into the eyes.
"I'm glad she thinks so, sir," he said steadily. "I hope with time you will come to think so as well."
There was no obsequiousness or desire to please in his face or tone – just simple acknowledgement that he hoped to prove himself and that he expected he would succeed at that.
"I trust Lady Mary's judgement," answered Matthew truthfully. "She's been running Eryholme by herself for nearly three years now and I've only seen good results so far."
Branson nodded in agreement.
"Lady Mary knows what she's doing and has a very pragmatic approach to things," he said candidly. "And when she doesn't know something, she's willing to learn and keep an open mind, which is not exactly a common approach among her class."
Matthew's mouth twitched in amusement.
"I take you approve of that trait of hers," he said dryly. "Don't you mind working for an aristocrat to keep her estate though? I'd suppose it's not a task which would be a true socialist's first choice."
Branson smirked.
"Socialists have to eat too, sir," he said, making Matthew laugh. "Besides, with the way our world is arranged now, I would face a choice between working for a capitalist or an aristocrat in most professions available to me. At least as an agent part of my job is to ensure the tenants and farm labourers' well-being, as well as the prosperity of the estate. It's not a goal my conscience objects to."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Matthew sincerely. "Lady Mary will need reliable support while I'll be at the front – and I know she came to rely upon you."
The look Branson gave him was startlingly serious.
"You may trust that I will support Lady Mary to the best of my ability, sir," he promised. "Whatever she needs – if it will be in my power to help her, I will."
Matthew found that he believed him. He reflected that he'd seen the same genuine care in Mary's relationship with Carson and Anna. He shouldn't be surprised that the bond she developed with her then chauffeur, leading her to see in him the potential for something more, was just as valid. For all of Mary's snobbery, he often observed that she was willing to cross class barriers for people she cared about, even if she didn't do it in the flag waving way characteristic of Sybil.
Garden, Crawley House, May 1916
"You're sure you won't come in?" asked Matthew at the gate of Crawley House as Mary handed Irene to him and turned to get into the car. It still shocked him to see her driving one after how afraid she used to be of them for years.
Mary smiled and kissed both him and Irene on the cheeks.
"I'm sure," she said. "Isobel and you deserve some time to talk privately, and I will see you both at dinner at Downton. Besides, I need to talk with Edith about her ideas for Coulter's farm and it's best done without witnesses."
"Will I need to help you hide her body?" asked Matthew, only half-joking. Mary working together with Edith was even more mind boggling than her driving.
"No promises," said Mary gloomily. "But we both are trying."
She drove off with a graceful wave of hand and Matthew walked the familiar path to the house which briefly used to be his.
The sight of his mother's joy after she opened the door to find him and her granddaughter there filled him with the peaceful, painfully familiar warmth.
She was another woman he had missed dreadfully over the last four months.
"Matthew!" Isobel exclaimed, hugging him and Irene. "How wonderful to see you two! Is Mary coming?"
"She said she needed to discuss something with Edith and that she'll see us at dinner," said Matthew, following Isobel into the hall. "But I suspect she mostly wanted to give us time to talk."
He saw an appreciative glint in his mother's eyes. She liked Mary, he knew, but it didn't change the fact that both she and Matthew enjoyed some time when it was just the two of them, as they had used to be for years.
"Let's go to the garden," said Isobel eagerly. "Irene can play there and I will have Becky bring some cake and tea for us."
Sitting among the blooming flowers and bushes of Crawley House's cosy garden, eating Mrs Bird's delicious cake and watching his daughter chasing butterflies and rolling on the grass, it was hard to believe that in less than a week he was going to be in France, attempting to kill other men to survive. The bite of cake turned heavy in Matthew's mouth.
His mother noticed, as always.
"What troubles you, Matthew?" she asked shrewdly. "Don't even attempt to deny – I can see that something does."
"I'm afraid, Mother," admitted Matthew through a suddenly tight throat. "I should be braver, I know – lots of lads are – but I'm afraid. And I can't tell anyone but you. I'm an officer, I have to be the brave one – but I don't know how. I'll have to fake it until I make it, I suppose."
Isobel frowned with concern.
"What about Mary?" she asked. "Can't you talk with her? She opposed you volunteering but surely she would understand and wouldn't judge you for being afraid – which is much more common than you think. It's rational and natural to be afraid of a war."
Matthew shook his head.
"I can't talk with Mary about that," he answered with conviction. "Mother, she worries over me so terribly already – she's been suffering from horrifying nightmares ever since the war started – I can't give her any more reasons to worry. I'm sorry that I'm burdening you with it instead, but – I truly don't have anyone else to talk to about it."
"Never be afraid to bring any topic to me, my darling boy," said Isobel, grasping Matthew's hand tightly over the garden table. "But as for your wife, don't underestimate her either. She might be worried about you and with a good reason, but do you know why she came to me with the idea of turning Downton into a convalescent house?"
"No," said Matthew with curiosity. "She didn't even say that it was her idea, just that she, you and Sybil were working together on making it happen."
"It was hers," said Isobel calmly. "And the reason she gave me was that if you were injured and needed to convalesce somewhere, she wanted it to be close to home. She's facing her fears outright, Matthew, and confronts them by doing something about them. She's stronger than you give her credit for."
Matthew's throat tightened again.
"I never questioned her strength or bravery," he said thickly. "My storm braver. But I know she doesn't allow people to see her fragility. This is what I'm trying to protect."
"But she shows it to you, doesn't she?" pushed Isobel. "Then why should you be afraid to show the same vulnerability to her?"
Flabbergasted, Matthew floundered in search of an answer. Keeping the facade of bravery in front of Mary seemed a natural and right choice, one which didn't require an explanation. Wasn't it what all soldiers were supposed to do? To go to war, possibly to their death, bravely and stoically? Avoid frightening the women in their lives? Wouldn't he be making everything even more difficult for Mary if he unloaded his doubts and fears on her?
Or was he just afraid of making himself pathetic in her eyes by confessing how terrified he was?
"I… I volunteered to go, Mother," he said finally. "I fought with her bitterly to do so. What right do I have now to seek comfort from her for the consequences of my own choices?"
"The right of a husband whose wife loves him very much," answered Isobel matter-of-factly. "And tell me that: do you think Mary would appreciate you keeping things from her or pretending to be someone you're not?"
"What do you mean by pretending?" asked Matthew with a frown.
"You're not a natural soldier, Matthew," said Isobel as if it was obvious. She raised her hand to stop him before he could say a word. "You're too gentle and kind and you've always been, ever since you were a little boy. You're going because you feel it is your duty to go and because you want to do the right thing, as always – and as much as it pains me to say it or to think of you in any kind of danger, it is the right thing to do. But Mary knows what kind of man she married. She won't think less of you for being yourself."
Matthew allowed himself to ponder it for a long moment.
"She might not," he agreed eventually, "but Mother, I still don't think it's right to burden her with that. You don't know… and I don't think I should tell you… how utterly terrified she is of the war. If I can do anything to protect her from the ugliness of it, I should do it."
Isobel shook her head, not convinced.
"I think you're wrong," she said bluntly. "Better think longer on it, my boy, or you may make a very big mistake."
Master bedroom, Eryholme, May 1916
Mother's words did hang heavily over Matthew through the rest of the day, dinner at Downton and the long drive back to Eryholme, but they didn't change his conviction that there was no way to share his darker thoughts and fears with Mary. She was terrified enough as she was without adding his own doubts of his survival to hers.
Yet all his resolve crumpled when it was his turn to wake up with a cry, shaking and gasping, terrified out of his mind.
God, was that how Mary felt so many nights for years? How was she still sane?
He barely restrained himself from weeping when he felt her arms around him and her calm voice in his ear.
"It's alright, darling, it's perfectly alright," she was speaking in perfect cadence with the soothing motion of her hand on his back. "You're home, you're safe. It's alright."
Matthew shuddered.
"I dreamt I was a ghost," he said thickly, too caught up in the terror of the dream to realise what impact his words were likely to have on Mary. "You were all there – you, Irene, Mother – all needing me and mourning me and I could not touch you or make you hear me."
Mary's arms tightened around him.
"You're alive," she said fiercely. "And you're going to stay alive for many long years yet."
Matthew clung to her, words falling out of his mouth without any conscious decision to do so.
"I'm afraid, Mary. I'm afraid of it all. Of the bombs. Of getting killed. Of having to kill other people. Hell, I'm even afraid of having to live without a proper bathroom," he laughed nervously then added softly. "And I'm very afraid of turning into somebody else there. Of the war changing me into a man I won't recognise anymore – and neither will you."
Mary's heart clenched with all the things she wasn't allowed to tell him. Memories of his – his other self's – haunted eyes and lined face nearly overwhelmed her. He had never told her much of what he had gone through in France, but what little she had known from the papers and much more told silently by the horrific injuries of the patients at Downton, coupled with his own months long excruciating recovery and accompanying despair, was enough now to nearly bring her to tears while she was looking at his innocent, impossibly young face. He was an adult, capable man – he was thirty one years old – but in this moment she could only see a scared young boy and it was breaking her heart.
"I'll love you always, however you change," vowed Mary fiercely. "Do you hear me, Matthew Crawley? Out of all the ghastly things there, you don't have to fear that."
I loved you when you were utterly broken, body and spirit, she added silently. I loved you when you belonged to another girl and were never going to be mine. I loved you when you were in your grave. I loved you when you looked at me like a stranger. There's no universe where it wouldn't be true.
"Thank you," he said feelingly then, after a brief hesitation, asked, "And the rest? You don't think less of me for fearing them?"
Mary scoffed.
"I would think you a halfwit if you didn't," she said scornfully. "And I know for a fact that you are a very clever man."
Matthew laughed, hugging her close.
"Still not touched by the patriotic favour, are you?" he asked fondly, somehow feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
"Not in the slightest," admitted Mary dryly, then looked at him seriously in the darkness. "Listen to me: I don't care if you act like a hero there or not. I don't care if you get any shiny medals or bring glory to Downton and the Crawley name. I just want you to come home, whatever happens. So do what you must there to assure that. I think it's going to be horrible – but I only care that you come back to me at the end of it."
Matthew hugged her tightly again, hiding his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling the smell of her perfume, vanilla and iris.
"I promise, Mary," he whispered. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to come back to you."
Darlington Railway Station, May 1916
There was quite a crowd gathered at Darlington Station to send Matthew off – Mary, Irene, Mother, Cora, Sybil, Edith and Anthony – and Matthew was honestly not sure how he felt about it. It felt way too final to have them all here; a silent acknowledgement that it might be their last chance to see him. He thought he would have preferred to have a private goodbye with Mary and the illusion that it was just for a journey to another training camp – but maybe it was selfish of him. His family deserved a proper goodbye of their own.
Especially if he wasn't coming back.
His throat tight, he talked and embraced briefly with each of them, slowly making his way to the ones dearest to him. Mother had tears in her eyes as she hugged him, whispering prayers and entrusting him to God's mercy, and he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard to stop his own tears. He had no choice, he had to go and do his duty, but he couldn't stand the thought of leaving Mother alone. He was all she had, had been for years, and he knew that as strong as she was, losing him to the war might be enough to break her.
Then it was the time to say goodbye to Irene and he feared it was enough to break him.
He took her from Mary – his bright, smiling little girl – and hugged her so tight she cried out in protest. Guilty, he loosened his arms immediately and peppered her wispy locks with kisses, wishing with all his heart that he would come back to her and see her grow up. That she would never be the sad half-orphan he saw in that ghastly dream.
And then it was Mary in front of him. Mary, so terribly brave, despite facing what he knew to be her greatest fear. Looking for all the world to see perfectly composed if one didn't look closely into her eyes, so big and dark and intense on him as if determined to ensure his survival through her sheer will alone.
"Remember what you promised," she whispered, her eyes not leaving his. "You will come back – you must."
"I will," he vowed, praying the fate was not going to make a liar out of him. "I will my darling."
He boarded the train and waved at them all with a smile – at least he thought he managed a smile – and then he was sitting, the train bringing him away from his family and closer and closer to hell.
It still felt not real to him, any of it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Matthew's goodbye with his family is based on my own family's lore regarding my great grandfather. He was conscripted into the army in September 1939 and while saying goodbye at the train station to his infant daughter - my grandma - he hugged her so tightly she started crying. It was the last time he had seen her. He was 27 years old and he died several weeks later.