Author's note: I've used some dialogue from the show in this chapter and weaved it into my story.
July 1914
'But how long will you be gone?' Mary said, staring at Anna in dismay.
'His lordship said about a week. They need to do the operation and then Mrs Patmore has to rest for a while before they check if it's worked,' Anna said.
'But who's going to cook for us if Mrs Patmore is out of commission?'
'Mrs Bird, the cook at Crawley House, is coming up to run the kitchen.'
'Goodness. I'm assuming Matthew and Isobel will be joining us for dinner every night then if we're stealing their cook. Sybil will be happy.'
'I believe that's the plan, milady.'
'But why do you have to go to London, too?'
'Well, it'll be nice for Mrs Patmore to have someone there she knows. Truth be told, I think she's terrified of the thought of the doctors operating on her eyes. I can't say as I blame her either. Anyway, Mrs Hughes thought it would be best for me to go with her, and his lordship agreed.'
'And Mrs Hughes can't send anyone else?' Mary persisted, upset at the thought of losing her maid for a week.
'It seems not. I don't mind, milady. There are some things I need to do in London anyway,' Anna said, hoping her mistress would not forbid her from going to the capital, not when so much was riding on it.
'Like what?' Mary asked, curiously.
'There's a matter I need to get to the bottom of, so I need to see a few people. Check a few things,' Anna said, unwilling to go into the details of how she planned to help John Bates wriggle out from the net Thomas and Miss O'Brien had thrown around him.
'Has this got anything to do with this business with Bates?' Mary asked, wondering if her suspicions that her father's valet was the mysterious man Anna had told her she was in love with were correct.
Anna hesitated before raising her head defiantly. 'Yes. I know Mr Bates and I don't believe the story we've heard is the whole story. I intend to investigate it further while I'm in London.
Mary nodded, slowly, knowing that Anna would not let it lie if she cared for Bates and believed him to be innocent. It did all seem a little strange. Tom had told her a few things and her father had also mentioned his shock at hearing that his valet may not be the decent man they had all thought he was.
'Is it anything I can help with?'
'I don't think so, milady,' Anna replied, the tense line of her shoulders relaxing a little as she realised Mary wasn't going to forbid her to poke around while she was in London.
'Well, if you think using my name or Lord Grantham's will help you open a few doors, don't hesitate to use it,' Mary said, more than willing to help Anna out after all the times she'd had her back during her affair with Tom.
'Thank you,' Anna said, gratefully.
'Well, safe travels, Anna. I will see you when you get back,' Mary said, resigned to losing her confidante for a while.
This trip to London couldn't have come at a worse time. Anna's absence would make it harder for her and Tom to exchange messages just when they needed to stay away from each other in public because of Edith's suspicions.
Miss O'Brien stomped into the servants' hall, her packet of cigarettes in her hand, looking for Thomas. When she caught his eye, she jerked her head viciously towards the back door, and then turned tail and stomped out again.
Thomas glanced around, saw that nobody had batted an eye at Miss O'Brien's behaviour, took a big swig of his tea and then got to his feet to follow her to find out what was going on. She hadn't even stopped for a cup of tea, so something was up, that was for sure.
'Took your bleeding time, didn't you?' she snapped when he arrived by the stack of crates she was pacing in front of, smoking furiously.
'What's up?'
'His lordship wants her to sack me!'
Thomas paused, his lighter halfway to his cigarette, looking at his colleague in surprise. 'What? How do you know that?'
'I heard him tell her! I was in the dressing room when he swans into the bedroom, mithering on, and that's when he said it.'
Thomas narrowed his eyes at her. 'What have you done?'
'Me? Nothing! But he blames the both of us – me and you,' she said, jabbing her finger at him, ' – for all this Bates' business. He said old Carson told him we've been working against that old cripple since he got here.'
'Well, he's not wrong, is he?' Thomas said, taking a first pull on his cigarette.
Miss O'Brien glared at him.
'What? We have!' Thomas said, not backing down.
Miss O'Brien resumed her angry pacing. 'Ten years of my life! That's what I've given her! Ten bloody years!'
'But did she say she'd sack you?' Thomas asked, calmly.
'It's obviously what he wants,' Miss O'Brien said, her lip curling at her reference to the earl.
'So, when will they tell you?'
'When they find a replacement! Heaven forfend she should have to put a comb through her own hair!' Miss O'Brien slid him a spiteful look. 'And if I'm going, you won't be far behind.'
Thomas looked away and tapped ash off his cigarette, finding he wasn't as bothered by that prospect as he might once have been. 'Oh, so what? Sod 'em. There's a war coming, and war means change. We should be making plans.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Well, put it like this. I don't want to be a footman anymore, but I don't intend to be killed in battle neither.'
'So, what? You're going to just quit?' she asked, astonished.
'No, of course not. Not until I've got something else lined up anyway.'
'Like what?' she asked suspiciously.
'Never you mind. Let's just say I've got an iron in the fire that will hopefully get me out of here and somewhere safe for however long this war that's coming lasts.'
'So, that's it, is it? You're just giving up and leaving me twisting in the wind, are you?'
He shrugged. 'Nowt I can do if they want to sack you, is there? It's not like they are going to listen to a character reference from me, is it?'
'Well, I'm not going quietly, I'll tell you that for nothing. I'll take one of them down before I go, I promise you that,' Miss O'Brien said, darkly.
'Oh, yeah? Which one?' Thomas asked, a slight smile twisting the corners of his lips at her vindictiveness.
'Dunno yet. Whichever one presents the best target. And you're going to help me,' she said, jabbing her finger in his chest. 'Redouble your efforts to find out if the chauffeur is giving it to Lady Mary.'
'He's not going to tell me if he is.'
'Then watch him. Watch him like a hawk,' Miss O'Brien ordered. 'He'll slip up. They always do.'
Edith smiled, tipping her head back to feel the sun on her face as she bowled along in Sir Anthony's car.
Things were looking up. The baronet had arrived unexpectedly at Downton Abbey to invite her for a drive. If that wasn't a sign of him being interested in her, she really didn't know what was. And he'd given her such a big, happy smile when she'd said yes.
Mary could go to the devil with all her talk of Sir Anthony being old. He might not be in the first flush of youth, but he was still a very nice man, and she could tell from his open, pleasant face that he must have been handsome in his youth.
She was quite sure he would still be able to perform marital duties, whatever they were. Nobody had yet explained to her quite what that involved. Even with the recent focus on her mother being with child once again, Edith wasn't clear on how the child came to be in her. It must be something to do with the "iron rod" Mary had mentioned when she claimed Mr Pamuk had attacked her. Mary seemed to know all about it, but Edith would be damned if she was going to ask her for an explanation.
'I'm so very glad you were free to come with me, Lady Edith,' Strallan said beside her, raising his voice over the sound of the wind and the engine.
'Not at all, Sir Anthony. I'm delighted to be able to join you. Delighted,' Edith said, giving him a big smile.
In the woods just beyond him, she caught sight of a figure in a white dress slipping through the trees. Edith screwed up her eyes against the sun, squinting for a better look at who it might be. By the looks of things, it was Mary. Idly, Edith wondered where she was going. This area of the estate held nothing of any interest. To her recollection, the only things around here were the scattering of cottages various estate workers were given as dwellings.
Suddenly, Edith sat up straighter, her eyes widening as a thought occurred to her. The chauffeur had a cottage. That was one of the perks of his role, she was sure of it. Could it be that Mary was going to see Branson at his cottage? What other reason could she have for wandering around the woods in this particular part of the estate?
That was a thought she would examine in greater detail later she decided. For now, she would enjoy her drive with Sir Anthony.
'So, Sybil is engaged, and it appears Edith may also be close to matrimony with Sir Anthony,' the Dowager Countess observed to her daughter-in-law. 'That only leaves Mary. Do we have any hopes or expectations in that area?'
Cora sighed, picking up her teacup. 'No, not that I am aware of. I had hoped that she might change her mind about Evelyn Napier, but she is quite adamant that she will not have him as a husband.'
'Branksome's boy? No, I couldn't see that as a match. Our dear Mary would eat him alive. He'd never be able to stand up to her. You and I both know she needs a strong hand on occasion to save her from herself.'
'I suspect Mary herself knows that, too,' Cora said, sipping her tea.
'We shall have to cast our net wider, my dear,' Violet said thoughtfully, flipping through her mental list of acquaintances and their progeny. 'It will not do for her to be unmarried when both of her younger sisters are either betrothed or married. It's almost unheard of for a deb to still be without a husband after four seasons. Five would be an embarrassment.'
'We can't magic up a suitor, Mama,' Cora said, thinking of all her machinations in trying to do just that, none of which had come to fruition. 'Besides, it turns out that Mary is very particular who she will take to husband. She turned down Matthew, she scoffed at Strallan, and she dismissed Mr Napier.'
'Particular is as particular does but beggars can't be choosers. She must marry and marry she will,' Violet countered. 'We simply have to find a suitable candidate. Perhaps someone older, someone experienced, but not quite as long in the tooth as Strallan.'
Cora slid her mother-in-law a look. 'Don't let Edith hear you refer to Sir Anthony as long in the tooth.'
'My dear, even Edith cannot delude herself that the man is a spring chicken. I'm quite sure I heard his knees creak when he sat down for dinner the other day,' the Dowager said, caustically.
'Do we really think he can make Edith happy?' Cora said doubtfully, ignoring an observation she privately agreed with. 'I can't see how they can possibly have anything in common.'
'I don't think that really matters, do you? If they marry, they do not have to spend much time in each other's company. They can each follow their own interests, such as they are,' Violet replied, ever the pragmatist. 'And Edith seems content to accept him should he propose. The important thing is that she will be married. That will be one less of them to worry about. And we never really had high hopes for Edith, did we?'
'Poor Edith,' Cora said, feeling like that was a phrase she constantly uttered when it came to her middle daughter.
'At least with Strallan, she'll have the respectability of marriage even if it may only be for a short time. Better to be a short-term wife and a long-term widow than an eternal spinster,' Violet observed, very matter of a fact.
'Mama!'
'Do you disagree, Cora? Because I think Edith would feel the shame of spinsterhood more keenly than either of the other two.'
Cora sighed, finding she could not disagree at all. Edith, the child who always felt herself second or third best would definitely not cope well with being an eternal spinster, especially if both her sisters married.
'And Mary?'
'Mary will not remain a spinster. She attracts too much male attention for that to happen. The biggest obstacle to Mary's matrimonial prospects – apart from those wretched rumours – is her own obstinacy,' the Dowager said with conviction. 'She must learn to bend a little. Compromise is the key in these matters.'
'Hmm. Well, I think that may be easier said than done,' Cora replied, tiredly. She cupped her hand over her small bump. 'Even apart from the fact that Robert would love a son to inherit the earldom and the estate, I hope this little one is a boy just to spare us the trials and tribulations of finding a husband for yet another daughter.'
'That will be your problem if it is a girl, Cora. I shall likely be long dead and buried by the time this child grows to be of marriageable age,' Violet pointed out, quite sure of that.
Cora sighed again, suddenly feeling very old.
Mary pottered around Tom's cottage, making herself a cup of tea before she had to head back to the Abbey.
She was feeling quite domesticated, having already made the bed after her nap and then made the tea. As she sat in his tiny parlour sipping from her teacup, she looked around, asking herself if she could really see herself living in these kind of conditions.
Tom's cottage was comfortable, and it did feel like a kind of home to her after her many visits, but it was shabby, with many of the fixtures and fittings having seen better days. And it was tiny. The whole footprint of the cottage would likely fit into her bedroom at the Abbey.
The kitchen was in many ways a mystery to her. Tom kept the fire in the range banked, stoking it whenever necessary, riddling the ashes, but Mary had no idea how to do any of that or, indeed, how to start a fire. She'd never had to lay and set a fire in her life.
And then there were the plumbing arrangements. Living in a house like Downton Abbey, she had never had to suffer the indignity of an outside lavatory. The house had had indoor plumbing for as long as she could remember and even before that, there had been several earth closets, apparently bought by her grandfather or great-grandfather, and still gracing an unused room on the third floor.
Outdoor lavatories were for the lower classes, not people like her. Even when she visited Tom's cottage, she tried not to have to use the facilities except in an absolute emergency, disliking as she did the sense of being a moment away from exposure when doing her business.
She tipped her head back, leaning it against the high back of Tom's armchair, considering whether it was at all feasible that she could live like this, Sybil's words echoing in her mind that it was at least worth thinking about if it meant she could be with the man she loved.
Because she did love him. Of that, she was entirely sure. But it was the only thing she was sure of; everything else was less clear. But as she looked around Tom's cottage, it only served to strengthen her conviction that she was not equipped to lead a working-class life.
She could not keep house. She would not have the first clue where to start. She could not cook. She could just about scramble eggs, but she could not bake either bread or a cake. She could not make a stew or a roast dinner. She would not be able to feed her husband or herself or their children should they have them. She could not imagine birthing and rearing children in a house like this with so few creature comforts.
She'd never been the kind of girl to imagine her future children, but if she ever did think of it, those children were perfectly dressed and brought to her by their nanny once a day as she herself had been brought to visit with her parents in her childhood. She had certainly never imagined herself standing by a cast iron range with scruffy children dressed in ill-fitting clothes tugging on her skirts.
No, the more she thought about it, the more it became increasingly clear to Mary that she could not swap her current life for one with fewer advantages. And that was before she added in the likelihood that she would be cast off by everyone she loved, save Tom.
And as it was unlikely that Tom would be able to step into her world, that left her back at square one, contemplating a secret life with him, where she was still the lady of the house, and he was her devoted servant.
That would be the public story anyway. Behind closed doors, they would be the equals they had been for over a year now. But it would remain a love hidden in the shadows. There was no other choice.
Depressed by the conclusions she'd come to at Tom's cottage that afternoon, Mary sat on the sofa after dinner, watching apathetically as her mother asked Edith about her afternoon with Sir Anthony.
'So, how was your drive?'
'Oh, it was lovely. Only…' Edith paused, giving her mother a breathless, excited look.
'Yes?' Cora prompted as a sinking feeling came over Mary. Edith had some kind of news to impart, and she looked far too happy about it for Mary's liking.
'Well, he said he had a question to ask me. He told me he'd ask it at the garden party. And he hopes I'll say yes!' Edith replied, flushed with excitement.
Cora gazed at her, torn between being pleased for her daughter and wary about the huge age gap between her and Sir Anthony. 'You must think very carefully about what your answer will be,' she cautioned.
A wave of anger swept over Mary at the prospect of Edith being happy after everything she'd done. She could not let it stand.
'Yes, I should think very carefully about a lot of things,' she intervened, determined not to let Edith savour a moment that she did not deserve after all her shenanigans.
With that she stood and walked away, leaving her mother staring after her, puzzled, and Edith clenching her jaw with both anger and trepidation that Mary was about to reveal the secret of her letter to the Turkish ambassador.
Without Anna there to help her, Mary did not dare try to escape Downton Abbey to spend the night with Tom. Instead, she contented herself with booking the motor and getting him to drive them to what they both now thought of as their glade.
Mary sat on the blanket Tom had taken to stashing in the motor, carding her fingers through Tom's hair as he lay with his head in her lap.
'Lady Edith hasn't asked me about my correspondence again,' Tom said, his eyes closed as he savoured the feeling of Mary petting him.
'Lady Edith is probably too busy imagining her wedding to that old booby, Strallan,' Mary said, scathingly. 'You know, that romantic moment when she walks down the aisle dressed in white and her ancient, decrepit groom turns towards her and wonders whether he remembered to put his false teeth in that morning.'
Tom snorted a laugh. 'You are mean about her.'
'Well, she deserves it.'
'Do you think she's really going to marry him?'
'Yes, I do. But then he's the best a plain, mousy, little thing like Edith could hope for,' Mary said, spitefully.
'She's not that bad,' Tom said, feeling a bit sorry for the middle Crawley daughter.
Mary poked him in the shoulder. 'Whose side are you on?'
'Yours, mo chuisle. Always yours,' he replied, reaching up to rub his thumb over her bottom lip.
'I should think so, too,' Mary said, opening her mouth and sucking briefly on the pad of his thumb.
In her lap, Tom groaned. 'Oh, you are a tease.'
Mary grinned down at him. 'And it will only be a tease until you redeem yourself. Honestly, sticking up for Edith. What on earth are you thinking, Tom?'
'I feel sorry for her, is all,' he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
'Do all the staff feel sorry for her?' Mary asked, curiously.
'I'm not sure, but I've heard Mrs Hughes say something along those lines a few times.'
'Has she said anything about the match with Sir Anthony?'
'Only that it seems a shame that such a young woman should be saddled with a much older man.'
'Does she talk about me?'
'No, not really. Not that I've heard anyway. Whenever she's spoken about any of you, it's been about Lady Sybil's engagement, the new baby, or Lady Edith's hopes with Sir Anthony.'
'And the other servants?'
Tom shrugged. 'Most of the talk around the table is about the war everyone thinks is coming.'
Mary sighed. 'Papa and Matthew have been talking about that, too. Is it really inevitable, do you think?'
'Looks like it. There's an awful lot of sabre-rattling going on on the Continent, and the papers are full of it. Britain's offered to mediate with Russia and the Germans are intervening with the Austrians and Hungarians, but if they can't get them all talking, there's going to be some kind of war.'
'But surely we won't be involved?'
'If you mean Britain, I can't see how the British government can avoid being dragged into it because of all the international agreements in place. Russia is backing Serbia, France is backing Russia, and Britain is part of the Triple Entente, so if they both declare war, Britain will have to follow suit to back them up. The Germans will back the Austrians. It's like a pack of dominoes. If one falls, the others will all follow in their various camps.'
'And so we'll go to war because some Serbian terrorists killed an Austro-Hungarian archduke. It doesn't seem right.'
Tom gazed up at her, his face serious. 'One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, Mary.'
She looked down at him in surprise. 'You're not condoning what they did?'
'No, murder is never right, but I can understand wanting to get out from under the control of an imperial power. Sometimes that means hard choices must be made.'
Mary eyed him, trepidation trembling in her chest. 'I don't need to worry about you getting it into your head to go haring off to join the army to be part of this adventure, do I?'
Tom laughed. 'No, you don't. There's absolutely no chance of that happening.'
'Do you promise?'
He sat up, cupping her face. 'I promise.'
'Because I know about men and their penchant for charging on in and glorifying things like war.'
'Do you?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'How?'
'I read books.'
Tom smiled, tipping her chin up a little. 'Well, don't worry, I'm not going to go rushing off to fight for the British Empire, Mary. I can promise you that.'
'Because you don't approve of the British Empire.'
'No, I don't.'
'But I'm a part of that. Part of the fabric of British society,' she said, gazing at him, feeling uncharacteristically uneasy.
'Hmm, yes, I suppose you are.'
'So, are you saying that you love me against your will?'
'No. I just love you,' Tom said softly, leaning in to kiss her, his hands planted on either side of her hips.
Mary clutched his waistcoat, holding him against her. 'I'm glad. I couldn't bear to wave you off to war and spend every day worrying about you.'
He kissed her nose affectionately. 'Well, you won't have to.'
Mary shivered, getting the strangest feeling, almost like someone had walked over her grave. She pulled him closer. 'Kiss me.'
Tom slipped his arm around her, lowering her to the blanket, covering her body with his, and kissed her, long and slow and deep.
Mary clung on to him, trying to lose herself in the kiss and shake the feeling of foreboding that had suddenly crept over her.
When Tom handed her out of the car back at the Abbey, Mary knew immediately that something was wrong by the look on Carson's face as he hurried towards her in the Great Hall.
'Milady, thank goodness you're back,' he said, his deep voice thrumming with something unsaid.
'What? What's happened?' Mary asked, bracing herself for bad news.
'It's her ladyship. She's had a fall and… well, Dr Clarkson is with her now.'
'A fall?' Mary said, wrenching off her white, summer gloves and handing them to the butler. 'What kind of a fall?'
'She slipped getting out of the bath.'
Mary stared at him, her stomach dropping. 'The… the baby?'
Carson bit his lip, looking down. 'The doctor is with her, but…'
'Oh. Oh, no,' Mary said, her hand flying to her mouth as the implications of what Carson was carefully not saying sank in.
'His lordship is in the small library. I suspect he would greatly appreciate your company, milady,' Carson said, tactfully.
'Of course, of course. Can you send in a pot of tea, please, Carson?' Mary said, reaching for the pins in her hat. 'Where are my sisters?'
'Lady Edith and Lady Sybil went to visit the Dowager Countess earlier this afternoon. Before… before the incident.'
'So, my father is alone?'
'Yes, milady.'
Mary and Carson both looked up as a scream rang out from the upper floors, echoing down the great stairs. As it died away, they exchanged a look, sorrow on Carson's face as Mary bit her lip, deciding she would be more help focusing on her father than her mother at the moment.
'If you can bring the tea, Carson,' she said, trying not to let her voice shake.
'Yes, milady,' the butler said with a respectful nod, taking her hat from her.
Mary squared her shoulders and headed to the small library to comfort her father while her mother miscarried their much-wanted fourth child.
Several hours later, Mary walked out of the Abbey and climbed into the back of the motor, looking pale and tired.
'I'm so sorry, mo chuisle, about her ladyship and the baby,' Tom said softly as he drove down the long driveway.
Mary met his eyes in the mirror. 'It was a boy. Dr Clarkson said it was… it was a boy,' she said, her voice breaking as tears began to fall. She dropped her face into her hands, sobbing as the stress, strain and sadness of the afternoon finally overwhelmed her.
Tom pulled over at the end of the drive, tucking the motor behind one of the empty lodge houses bracketing the junction with the road. He got out of the car, opened the back door, and got in beside Mary, pulling her into his arms, comforting her.
She leaned against him, her fingers clutching his jacket, unable to stop crying.
'It's all right, love. Let it out,' Tom soothed, stroking his hand up and down her arm, dropping a kiss on the top of her hat.
'Mama is distraught. And Papa is devastated,' she whispered, wiping tears from her face. 'He always wanted a son.'
'I'm sure he'd have been just as devastated if the babe had been a girl. When all is said and done, it's his child.'
'But a son would have changed everything.'
Tom held her close and rocked her, wishing there was something he could do to ease her sadness.
Eventually, Mary calmed down and sat up straight, looking around them, worried that they might be seen in the back of the car together. 'Where are we?'
'By the lodges at the end of the drive.'
'Isn't that a bit risky?' she asked, looking around them in concern. 'Somebody might see us.'
'Well, that's unlikely. The lodges are unoccupied and we're out of sight of the road.'
'Still, if one of the groundsmen comes along, we couldn't explain what you're doing in the back of the car with me,' Mary said, still glancing around uneasily.
'We could just tell the truth – that I stopped the car because you were upset.'
Mary stopped scanning the countryside around them and looked directly at him, grateful but still worried someone might have seen them. 'But you still shouldn't be in the back with me.'
'I couldn't just sit in the front and watch you cry, mo chuisle. I had to hold you, comfort you.'
She glanced around again and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his mouth. 'I know, my darling. And I'm grateful. But we have to go. I have to tell Matthew the news.'
'Couldn't that have waited?
'Papa was anxious that Matthew should know the situation, but he was in no fit state to tell him himself, so I volunteered to go to Crawley House and let him know.'
'So, Mr Crawley is back to being the heir then.'
'Yes,' Mary said, heavily. 'He will definitely be the next earl now. I can't see that Mama will conceive another child. Not now.'
They sat quietly for a moment, Tom's arm still around Mary's shoulders, his other hand holding hers in her lap.
'We should go. I should make sure Matthew knows the news before the gossip starts to spread,' Mary said, turning her face towards Tom's.
'Are you sure you're ready for that?' he asked, softly.
'Yes. I am,' she said, once more squaring her shoulders, ready to do her duty.
Tom leaned forward and kissed her once more, and then he released her, opening the door to go back to the driver's seat, ready to take her where she needed to go.
Thomas looked up as Miss O'Brien came out into the yard. She hesitated when she saw him, still shocked by the brawl between him and William, but then she walked towards him.
She lit a cigarette and watched as he patted gently at the bruise on the side of his face where William's punch had connected. 'Does it hurt?'
'Bit.'
'You shouldn't have said all those horrible things. Not about her ladyship's baby. Or William's mother. You should have some respect.'
'Oh, what do you care? You wanted to take one of them down with you, and I suppose you have in a way.'
'Don't say that!' she cried, taking an angry step towards him.
'Well, they've lost their precious heir, haven't they? Don't tell me that doesn't give you a bit of satisfaction. Not when she's about to sack you.'
Miss O'Brien shook her head. 'I didn't want this. I didn't want her to lose her baby.'
'Well, you should have been careful what you wished for, then, shouldn't you?'
'It was my fault,' Miss O'Brien said suddenly, shame and regret written all over her face.
'What?'
'She dropped her soap, and I only picked up half of it. I deliberately moved the other half to where she might step on it as she got out of the bath,' she confessed, looking at him guiltily.
Thomas stared at her, torn between grudging respect at her willingness to go down a dark path and shock at the fact that she'd actually crossed that line. 'So, it's your fault the baby died, then?'
'Yes.' She stepped forward, grabbing hold of his waistcoat, getting in his face. 'But if you tell anyone, I will end you. I promise you that.'
He reached up, peeling her fingers carefully away. 'I won't tell anyone. Why would I tell anyone?'
'You'd better not. I don't know what came over me. That's not me. That's not who I am,' she said, stepping away and shaking her head.
'Well, it looks like that is who you are now,' Thomas said, pulling his clothing back into place.
'No, it's not. I don't want her hurt. Not anymore.'
'Even when she's set to sack you? If she knows you left half the soap there, you're definitely gone. I give you a day or so, tops, until she's in a fit state to sack you.'
'She doesn't know that. And I'm going to look after her. Try to make up for it,' Miss O'Brien said, determined to make amends.
'Make up for killing her unborn kid?' Thomas scoffed. 'Yeah, I don't think you can do that.'
'Shut up. I can try,' Miss O'Brien vowed.
'What about our plans for taking Lady Mary down a peg or two?'
Miss O'Brien shook her head. 'No, I don't want anything to do with that business now.'
'No?'
'No. I'll not see my lady pained in any way. Not now.'
'Well, I don't see it that way. If my plans to get out of here come to nothing, I'll need some cash behind me. Selling a story to the papers would get me a bit of brass.'
Miss O'Brien sniffed, looking him up and down. 'You do what you must, Thomas, but I'll not help you.'
'You'll change your tune when she gives you her marching orders, you see if you don't,' he said, put out by the loss of his partner in crime.
'No, I won't,' she said, stubbing out her cigarette. 'I've got to get back to my lady now. She needs me.'
'She needs you like she needs a hole in the head,' Thomas muttered as he watched her walk away, his fingers returning once more to the bruise on his face.
When Mary left her mother's bedroom and returned to her own room for the night, she found Sybil sitting on her bed, waiting for her.
'How's Mama?'
'Sleeping. Dr Clarkson gave her a draught. She couldn't stop crying,' Mary said, bleakly. 'O'Brien's with her. She refuses to leave her side.'
'Papa told me the baby was a boy,' Sybil said, sadly.
'Yes, apparently so,' Mary said, sorrow for her parents' loss settling over her once more.
'He also said you went to tell Matthew.'
'Yes.'
'How did he take it?' Sybil asked, wishing she could have been there for her fiancé.
'I don't think he really knew what to say. He was sad for Mama and Papa, of course, he was. But it does mean his prospects are once more improved.'
'Are you trying to say you think part of him was glad?' Sybil said, indignantly. 'Because I can't believe that's true for one minute!'
'No, that's not what I'm saying at all. If anything, I think he feels guilty that once again he is the heir because nature has intervened,' Mary said, attempting to soothe her sister's ruffled feathers. 'First, he stands to inherit because we three are girls, and then Papa's only son dies before he even has a chance to draw breath.'
Sybil shook her head and looked down at her lap. 'It's so sad, isn't it?'
'Yes. I think we will need to tiptoe around Mama and Papa for a while to come as they come to terms with it.'
'I wonder what they would have called him? Our little brother,' Sybil said, a sheen of tears in her eyes. 'I wonder if they had a name picked out.'
'Well, for goodness' sake, don't ask them!' Mary said, looking at her sister in horror. 'Not unless you want to finish Mama off!'
'Poor Mama. She must feel so guilty,' Sybil said, softly.
'Why? She didn't fall on purpose. It was an accident. Sometimes these things just happen.'
'I know but I'm sure when you're expecting, you just want your child to be all right, don't you?' Sybil said.
'Not always. I didn't when I thought I might have been pregnant with Pamuk's child. I just wanted to get rid of it,' Mary replied, thinking back to her own feelings at that fraught time. She would have welcomed a slip on a wet floor then as a solution to her problem, but instead, it had happened to her mother with terrible consequences.
'That was different. I'm sure you wouldn't feel the same if you were expecting a child by your husband.'
'Or my lover while I was married.'
Sybil stared, shocked by Mary's bluntness. 'Tom?'
'Of course, Tom. Who else?'
'So, you're still set on this idea then? Marrying one man – your confirmed bachelor – and having children by Tom?'
Mary shrugged. 'I can't see an alternative. I don't expect to love any man like I love Tom, but I can't marry him.'
'I still think you should give it some thought.'
'I have. I've given it a lot of thought and I keep coming back to the same answer – Tom and I, we can only be together in secret,' Mary said, heavily.
Sybil was silent for a moment, knowing this was a sensitive subject for Mary. 'Have you spoken to him about it? About your plans for the future.'
'Not as such, no.'
'Not as such?'
'I mentioned it once; the possibility of him coming with me to my marital home when I have one and being my lover.'
'And how did he react?' Sybil asked, her own friendship with Tom making her doubt that he would have been enamoured with the idea.
Mary hesitated. 'Not well. He doesn't like the idea of me being married to someone else.'
'Well, that's understandable,' Sybil said, feeling sympathy with Tom's point of view.
'It would still be him I loved, though!' Mary protested.
'But I suspect that would be scant comfort for him when he's watching you live your life with another man while he goes back to an empty home every night,' Sybil pointed out, her voice quiet but firm.
Mary huffed out an irritated breath. 'It's the only way, Sybil.'
'Not if you let him expand his horizons and improve his prospects,' Sybil countered, still firmly believing that was a better way to even up the social imbalance between her sister and her lover.
'I can't keep having this argument with you, Sybil,' Mary said, holding up her hand to stop her sister speaking. 'I sat in his cottage this afternoon and thought it all over, whether I could step into his world, and I can't. I can't do it.'
'But – '
'No. I know myself well enough to know that I would be miserable, resentful and angry all the time, and you know what I'm like when I'm miserable, resentful and angry. You saw it first hand when I was trying to get Papa to challenge the entail. And as much as Tom loves me, I can't imagine he would be happy putting up with a miserable, resentful, angry wife for the rest of his life. It would destroy us and then all the sacrifice would have been for nothing.'
'So, don't step into his world. Help him step into ours!' Sybil cried, trying to push her point home.
'I can't see how he can! Even if he gets a respectable profession, he'll always have once been in service! He won't be accepted!' Mary retorted, unable to imagine the sea change that would need to happen for people at her level in society to accept a former chauffeur amongst them.
'He might! You could at least let him try!'
'And if I marry him and he's not accepted? What then? Do I face thirty years of being ostracised by everyone I know until you and Matthew are the Earl and Countess of Grantham and buck tradition by inviting your disgraced sister and her working-class husband to dinner?' Mary threw back at her.
Sybil shook her head, mulishly. 'You don't know that Mama and Papa would cast you off. They love you!'
'Yes, I know they do, but that won't stop them being ashamed of me! I've been through that already with Mama, Sybil. I know all too well what it feels like when she's ashamed of me after all that horrid business with Mr Pamuk, and I can't go through that again. I simply can't,' Mary said with an air of finality.
Sybil gazed at her, her jaw set, looking for another way to further her argument.
'Look, I know you mean well, but I'm not you, Sybil. The man I love is not the heir to an earldom. He's not even a middle-class solicitor. We do not hold the same cards, you and I,' Mary said, willing her sister to understand her situation as it truly was.
'I know that.'
'I know you don't agree, but the best I can hope for is a secret love affair.'
'But what if that's not enough?'
'It will have to be. I'll just have to accept that.'
Sybil looked at her, shaking her head at Mary's answer. 'No, I meant what if that's not enough for him?'
Mary stared at her, shaken by the question. 'If he loves me enough, he'll stay and be my secret lover. If he doesn't…' she paused, her voice trembling a little. 'If he doesn't, then he won't stay.'
'Mary,' Sybil said, reaching out for her sister's hand.
'And if he leaves, then I very much fear that you may have to help me scrape myself back together,' Mary said, clasping Sybil's hand tightly. 'Because I don't know how I will survive without him.'
Sybil stood and wordlessly pulled her sister into a tight embrace. Mary clung on, wondering for the first time if there was a possibility that Tom might not stay if all she could offer him was a half-life, with their love perpetually hidden in the shadows.