Infantry Training Camp, York, May 1917.
"My lord!"
Matthew started, not expecting being thus addressed in the middle of an infantry training camp through which he was just walking. His surprise disappeared when he recognised William's broad, honest face under the helmet.
"It's Captain Crawley here, Wil... Private," answered Matthew with a smile. "It seems we both need to learn a new form of address. I'm embarrassed to have to ask, Private, but what is your surname?"
"It's Mason, sir," answered William with an easy grin. "And you shouldn't be embarrassed. You've never had a reason to ask before."
"Still, it does seem wrong to have to ask for the surname of a man I've known for five years."
William shrugged cheerfully, clearly sincere in his lack of offence on this score.
"How was Lady Edith's wedding, sir? Mrs Patmore wrote that it was a grand affair when she sent me a package of biscuits."
"It was a grand affair, but also a very happy one," said Matthew, his mind going to Edith's radiant face, Sir Anthony's disbelieving one and his own magical dances with Mary. "Lady Edith looked beautiful."
"I wish I was there to see it," said William wistfully. "Although, since the reception was at Loxley, I would not have seen it anyway. But I wish I could see your wedding, sir, with the house all done up."
Matthew did a quick calculation in his head.
"You will be done with your training by then, won't you?"
William nodded seriously.
"I will be, sir, and I expect to be at the front, as is only right. It did not sit right with me to stay safely at home as others were doing their duty. I will be happy to go, even if I miss home very much."
Matthew looked at William in understanding. This was a sentiment he mostly shared with the younger man, even if he wouldn't describe himself as happy at the prospect of going back.
Matthew's Study, Downton Abbey, May 1917
Mary's head shot up from the accounts and orders she was perusing at the sound of a teasing voice from the doorway.
"Can this hot and dusty traveller come in?"
"Matthew!" she exclaimed, getting immediately up from her chair and running into his waiting arms. She laughed when he picked her up and spun her around the spacious room. "What are you doing here? How long do you have?"
She reflected briefly how grateful she was to him for coming to greet her in private. She would have never run into his arms with witnesses around. He was the only person in whose presence she felt she could allow herself to be playful, even silly at times. Things that most people didn't suspect her capable of.
"Right now, I am expressing my joy at seeing my fiancée," he answered, putting her down and bowing his head to kiss her instead, his arms still tight around her. "And the General won't have a need for me until Monday, so I have the rest of the afternoon and the whole of Sunday off."
Mary's eyes lit up with joy at the prospect.
"And as usual, you didn't give us any warning or the opportunity to send a car for you," she said chidingly.
Matthew grinned unrepentantly.
"The weather was much too good to resist a walk and I dearly needed one after being cooped behind the desk for days on end. Besides, do we even have a chauffeur at present?"
"We do," answered Mary, leaving his arms reluctantly to pull a bell for a servant and order some drinks for them. It was an unseasonably warm day and Matthew must be parched. "I guess I forgot to write to you, Branson was sent back home after his medical. It appears he has some kind of heart trouble."
Matthew frowned, taking a seat with her on the settee in the corner of the room.
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
Mary shrugged uncertainly.
"Not as far as I know. Serious enough for the Army to not want him. A gain for us though, and for him as well, I think, since from what I've heard he was not keen to go, with his political convictions."
Carson entered, gaping briefly at the sight of Matthew sitting by Mary.
"My lord! I didn't know to expect you!"
"Don't worry, Carson, I did not notify anybody. Until 4 hours ago I didn't know that I was going to get a weekend off myself. I will be staying until Sunday night," Matthew assured him with a smile.
"Carson," said Mary. "Could you bring us tea here? I would also like you to make sure that his lordship's bedroom is made ready for him and alert Bates his services will be needed. And of course that Mrs Patmore knows there will be one more person at dinner."
"Of course, milady. At once."
Carson left with a bow, leaving Mary and Matthew looking at each other in companionable silence for a long moment.
"How is Edith?" Matthew broke it finally. "She is back from her honeymoon, isn't she?"
Mary rolled her eyes slightly.
"Yes, she's back, and she is the most annoyingly gushing bride I've seen in a while. Whenever I see her, she is practically chirping. Anthony this, my dearest husband that, our house, our wonderful time together… I understand that she is happy, but seriously."
Matthew laughed.
"I take from it that you're not going to gush about the great happiness of getting married to me?"
Mary tossed her head.
"I have some dignity to uphold. And I've never gushed over anything in my life."
Matthew was still chuckling over it when Carson came back with the tea set. Mary noted with amusement how his eyes lit up at the sight of fresh scones.
"I wanted to talk with you about something," she said, pouring him a cup of tea, exactly as he liked it. "Namely, our honeymoon."
Matthew swallowed a bite of scone hastily.
"What about it?"
"Well, where you would like to have one, obviously."
"I kind of assumed we would just stay here…" answered Matthew slowly, his eyes lighting up again now that he learnt he was wrong. "Where can we go?"
"I've always dreamt about the Riviera, but it's obviously out," said Mary wistfully. "Then I thought Whitby or Scarborough, but I am not sure if I am ready to risk going there either."
"No," Matthew shook his head vehemently. "Not there. Nowhere on the east or south coast."
It had been years since the attack on Whitby and Scarborough, and after the Battle of Jutland and the blockade of German ports the probability of one from the sea was probably slim, but now there were air raids to consider instead. The last thing either of them wanted was to have German bombs start falling on them while they were on their honeymoon.
"But obviously we won't be staying here, with the whole crowd," said Mary distastefully. "We could always ask someone from our extended family to have a use of some estate or other, but I was thinking about going to London, actually. We could stay at Grantham House, take just a few servants with us – Bates and Anna, obviously, there is the housekeeper there, Mrs Bute, and some maids helping her to keep the house in order. But we could be alone otherwise and it's a huge house. We could go to see plays or shows or a gallery – or not, if we don't feel like it."
She looked at him flirtatiously.
"What do you think?"
Matthew swallowed, visions of what they could do to occupy themselves if they didn't feel like going out dancing in front of his eyes.
"I think it's a marvellous idea," he agreed thickly.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"I have news," announced Matthew over dinner. "I told General Strutt about the amazing work you are all doing here for the wounded officers and he thinks it's exactly the sort of thing people like to read about. Supporting our boys at the front. He would like to visit Downton at the end of May and possibly bring several journalists along."
Mary noticed how her mother and Isobel's eyes lit up in excitement, only to give each other a side eye immediately after, and nearly groaned. She could easily predict how this was going to go.
"What time would you all come?" she asked quickly, before either of them could start.
Matthew's eyes twinkled when he looked at her to answer and she could see he understood the situation perfectly.
"We would come here straight after visiting factories in Darlington, so probably around five. The plan would be to start with the walk of the wards, then show him the recovering men at play. And after that, a fairly grand dinner. I'll tell them to bring a mess kit.
"That is my challenge, m'lord," said Carson gloomily. "How to make the dinner sufficiently grand with no footmen in the house."
"Plenty of people give dinners without footmen," Matthew assured him seriously and predictably without any effect.
"Not people who entertain Sir Herbert Strutt, hero of the Somme."
"I'm sure he'll have seen worse things at the front than a dinner with no footmen," said Isobel in her very sensible voice which also predictably set Cora off.
"Carson only wants to show the General proper respect. We will not criticise him for that."
"Indeed we will not," Clarkson, ever the exhausted peacemaker, joined the fray. "But I think Lord Grantham's plan is a good one, with or without a footman."
"I think I should go round with him," said Isobel brightly, instantly causing Clarkson to speak up before Cora could.
"You and Lady Grantham will both come with us."
"But won't he want to talk about treatments?"
"The treatments and the house," he said firmly.
"Shouldn't Mary be the one to lead the tour, as Matthew's fiancée?" asked Cora sweetly, her eyes shooting daggers at Isobel.
"She is not really so involved with the convalescent home," said Isobel, throwing an apologetic glance at Mary, but not giving an inch.
"It's alright with me," answered Mary, before Cora could. "I may be the future mistress of the house, but right now it is you two who manage this side of things. I will be glad to allow you to explain things together."
"I still think you should be the one to welcome the General as the hostess, in the circumstances," said Cora with a challenge.
"Well, she isn't one yet," Isobel answered right back, as Clarkson muttered something about there being plenty of time to discuss the details.
Matthew and Mary exchanged exasperated looks.
Apple orchard, Downton estate, May 1917
Sunday was simply lovely. They ate breakfast together, alone – Sybil was sleeping off a nightshift, Cora of course got her tray in bed, and Edith was happily living at Loxley and only gracing Downton with her presence for an afternoon shift at the convalescent home several times a week and an occasional dinner, which suited Mary perfectly. Then they attended church, had a nice lunch with Isobel at Crawley House – very pleasant without Cora there and with everybody determinedly avoiding any potentially contentious topics – and now she was strolling with Matthew through the apple orchard in full bloom.
"This one is owned and tended by us directly, isn't it?" asked Matthew, obviously recalling the map of the estate.
"Yes," said Mary, a pleasant warmth spreading through her chest at his use of 'us'. "I inspected it with Mr Higgins, the head gardener, last week, and he predicts it should be a good year for apples if the weather holds."
"Do we use all the fruit ourselves or do we sell some?"
"We use about half of it in the kitchen," explained Mary. She had not realised how proud being able to answer Matthew's questions would make her. Considering how little she had known last March, when she had first started learning her way around the management of the estate, she came very far. The estate was truly hers now and she loved Matthew so much for making it possible. "Fruit platters, jams, cakes, all kinds of other dishes. The rest we sell, most of it to a jam factory in Thirsk."
"Could we start making jams ourselves, on the estate?" asked Matthew, eyeing the trees speculatively. "There might be more money for us if we cut out the middlemen and as far as I know the production process is not overly complicated."
Mary's eyebrows rose.
"We could, in theory. If we spend a lot of money to set it all up and if we find people to do the work."
"We would have to consider the numbers carefully, of course, but we might well recover our initial investment within a few years. As for labour, it is of course a challenge at present," he admitted. "So we might wait for the end of the war with such projects. But it would be seasonal work for us, so maybe we could find local people willing to earn some additional money."
Mary nodded, accepting it.
"I will look into it," she promised, squeezing Matthew's arm. "So when the war finally ends, we will be ready to start."
Matthew sighed, but didn't give voice to his thoughts.
Train from Downton to York, May 1917
When he finally lost the sight of Mary waving him goodbye from the platform, Matthew settled against his seat with a sigh. He was already missing her. He told himself it was silly – he would see her again within weeks, maybe even days if General Strutt could spare him again while they visited Darlington and Middlesborough – but in truth he wanted to spend every minute with her. He firmly pushed away the thought that soon he would be back in France and separated from her for months. He did not want to think about it. Not yet. Not until he had to.
He blinked in surprise when the door to the corridor opened and a handsome woman in a purple suit looked in.
"Excuse me, may I take a seat here?"
Matthew nodded politely, soon falling back into thoughts of Mary. It didn't take him long to notice though that the woman kept staring at him with what he could only describe as uncomfortable intensity.
He looked at her more closely. Her suit and hat were well-made, but seemed too modest for the first class. She had dark hair, pale skin and disconcerting blue eyes. Her stare seemed to imply that she knew him somehow, yet he could have sworn he had never met her before.
Her eyes flickered between Matthew and the newspaper she was holding.
"You're the lord, aren't you?" she said suddenly. "The one who just got engaged to Lady Mary Crawley?"
She pushed the newspaper towards him and his eyes widened when he recognised their engagement announcement, with the big photograph of them both on their bench at Downton.
"I am," he admitted, looking at her questioningly. "But it can hardly be said that we just got engaged; the announcement has been published over a month ago."
Which begged the question why this woman had a month old newspaper with her, one with the photo of him, while joining him in the train compartment.
Her eyes narrowed.
"So you're the one my Batesy works for."
Matthew felt himself tensing when he realised who he was dealing with. It must be Mrs Bates, Bates' estranged wife.
The woman who attempted to blackmail Mary.
"Mr Bates is my valet, yes. And you're Mrs Bates, I presume?" he said calmly.
She smiled and Matthew thought that it was not a nice smile at all.
"I see someone talked to you about me. It's nice to know I'm not my Batesy's dirty little secret anymore. Can you imagine that the first time I visited him at Downton I discovered nobody there even knew he was married? Such a cold man, Batesy. Secretive, too. So many secrets I could tell if I wanted to."
"Secrets about Bates?" asked Matthew, trying not to show how tense he was. He had no idea why she decided to accost him like that, but he did not expect her motives to be anything good. He repressed a shiver at the realisation that she must have followed him and Mary to be able to get on the same train as him, all without neither him nor Mary noticing.
Mrs Bates' smile turned predatory.
"Oh, not only about him. Not at all."
"What do you want from me, Mrs Bates?" asked Matthew, refusing to go for her bait.
Her smile disappeared, her mouth turning into thin lines.
"I want my husband back," she said firmly. "I can't stand the thought of him cavorting with that blonde hussy of his in your house. I want you to sack him so he will come to me."
Matthew felt the hair on the back of his neck stand out.
This woman was clearly delusional and obsessed.
Dangerous.
All his instincts, well honed in France, were screaming at him so.
"Even if I sack him, Mrs Bates, it does not guarantee that he will go to you," he said, making sure to keep his voice gentle and polite. "Especially since he told me he doesn't even have your address."
She laughed shortly.
"Oh, but I have his. He has my unlamented mother-in-law's house now; he will go there with nowhere else to go. And I will be waiting for him there, to be his proper wife again."
For all that Matthew disapproved of divorce, he was rapidly gaining a wholly new understanding of Bates' determination to get one.
"I'm afraid it won't be possible, Mrs Bates," he said, still in a deliberately gentle voice. "I don't have any complaints about your husband's work or any other grounds to dismiss him. In fact, I am extremely satisfied with his services and would like to keep him in my employ."
"You don't need him now though," she challenged. "You're hardly ever home, why keep paying a valet you never see?"
Matthew shrugged with studied carelessness.
"I can afford it. I like knowing he is going to be there when I do go home."
Mrs Bates's eyes narrowed to slit and flashed angrily. Matthew had to stop his hand from reaching instinctively for his Webley.
"Oh, you're so high and mighty, aren't you? A rich lord, engaged to a fancy lady, too important to care about a woman missing her unfaithful husband. And yet we are not so different, you and I."
"In what aspect, Mrs Bates?" asked Matthew, suspecting he knew.
Her lips twisted into a crooked smile.
"Your stuck up fiancée is no better than my straying husband," she said viciously. "All posed and proud, but happily spreading her legs for a handsome Turk the moment he smiled at her. Are you sure she is not doing the same for all kinds of men while you are gone? Plenty of them in your house now. Although maybe it'll serve you well if she learns how to please you without sucking life out of you."
For a moment, Matthew felt as if he were back in the trenches, facing a German attack. Before now, he had never felt such a rush of rage and adrenaline anywhere else. But this woman, this abominable woman, was insulting Mary. She mocked her horrible experience. She betrayed her secret to him, in the worst manner possible, assuming him none the wiser, with a clear intention to harm, which must mean she would not hesitate to do the same to others. She was a danger to her, a real danger, and in the last three years he had been extensively trained how to react with violence to threats to himself and people who were under his protection.
He had to forcibly remind himself that he was in England, on a train, facing an unarmed woman, but some of the violence he was now capable of and which he was controlling only with great effort must have shown in his eyes or in his voice, because he saw Vera Bates flinch from him as he spoke.
"You will never speak another word about my fiancée if you know what's good for you. To anyone. Do you understand?"
He did feel shame when he noticed her fear. Was that what he had become now – a brute attempting to frighten a woman? And yet, his instincts were telling him that there was something deeply wrong with her, something worse than her stated intention of selling Mary's story to the scandal sheets. Something more disturbing. He'd seen enough of her type in the trenches, whether born or made, to know that there was nothing besides fear of retribution which could keep them from harming others. If the only language which he could use to get through to her and protect Mary were threats then by God, he could be threatening.
Even if it made him feel sick.
As it turned out, it wasn't enough. For all her fear, her eyes flashed with hatred right back at him.
"It's not over yet, for any of you," she hissed. "Not for John Bates, not for his harlot, and not for you and that stuck up bitch you want to marry, for sheltering them. You will all live to regret it."
Just then a ticket inspector came in and demanded to see their tickets, oblivious to the tension in the compartment. He frowned when he saw Mrs Bates's one.
"It's a third class ticket," he pointed out.
"Oh, is it?" said Vera Bates sweetly. "My, I must have made a mistake then. I will go to the right carriage at once."
She got up and, with one last glare at Matthew, was gone.
xxx
Matthew got out and changed trains at the very next station.
He needed to get back to Downton and warn them.
He did feel foolish, running home like that in a panic over vague threats of one spiteful woman – but he had seen men driven to madness in the trenches, he had seen what kinds of acts they were capable of, and when he looked into Vera Bates' eyes he saw the same madness and rage staring back at him. He couldn't say what she was going to do, but as melodramatic as it sounded, he was deeply convinced that she was capable of great evil. The last thing he wanted was to leave his household, to leave Mary, without a warning.
He considered again her initial flinching from him when he attempted to warn her off and her subsequent bouncing back from it. He saw that terrible awareness in her, in the way she was initially eyeing him in fearful speculation – that he killed people so his threats should be taken seriously. He wondered bitterly if she was right to fear him or if she was right to dismiss him in the end, apparently coming to the conclusion that he was not a threat; that whatever atrocities he had committed at the front he would never commit unlawful murder or even physically harm her.
As much as getting her to fear him would have been helpful, Matthew found himself happy that someone as wily and shrewd as Vera Bates looked at him and could not see him as a murderer.
Entrance hall, Downton Abbey, May 1917
Considering he had seen Matthew getting into the car to be taken to the train station some two hours previous, there was no wonder Carson didn't manage to hide his astonishment at seeing him back.
"Something unexpected came up, Carson. Has Lady Mary already gone up?"
The frown on the butler's face deepened in reaction to Matthew's serious, urgent tone.
"Not yet, my lord, only Lady Grantham has. Lady Mary and Lady Sybil are still in the small library."
"Then please ask Lady Mary to join me in my study, discreetly if you can. I need to talk with her in private first."
Carson nodded, too professional to attempt to draw more information despite his evident curiosity.
Matthew sighed and walked quickly towards his study.
Matthew's study, Downton Abbey, May 1917
Mary entered Matthew's study with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Carson's message that Matthew was back, not even two hours after he left, and needed to speak with her urgently in private was highly unlikely to mean anything good. Her worry only increased when he saw him pouring himself a splash of brandy.
"Matthew? Whatever has happened?"
He straightened and gestured for her to sit on one of the armchairs in the corner, taking one by her and grasping her hand.
"Mrs Bates joined me on the train as soon as it left Downton," he said plainly. Mary felt her eyes widen, her mind whirling with possibilities.
"What did she want?"
"She asked me to sack Bates."
"Of course she did," Mary rolled her eyes. "Since she didn't manage to convince him to join her or to blackmail me into doing it, she went to the higher authority. Took her long enough."
Matthew frowned.
"It did and it didn't. On one hand nobody heard from her since you confronted her back in September, but while she didn't approach me during my leave in April, how did she find me now, during a spontaneous one day visit home? How could she board the same train as me?"
A shiver went down Mary's spine.
"You think she was spying on us somehow."
"She must have. Not all the time, probably, since she didn't make her move in April, but she must have now."
"What was her reaction when you refused to sack Bates?"
Matthew took a deep breath, his grip on Mary's hand tightening.
"She told me, in an extremely insulting way, about Pamuk."
For a moment, Mary thought she lost her ability to breathe.
Then she slowly reminded herself that Matthew knew the truth of it all already. Vera Bates's vindictive attack did not matter, because, ironically enough, Matthew proved her earlier lie true; he knew all and didn't mind. She started to breathe again and raised her face to smile at Matthew in gratitude, when a sudden realisation froze her smile before it had a chance to appear.
"If she told you, she won't stop from selling the story either," she whispered with horror.
"It's possible," admitted Matthew seriously. "Although there is a chance that she won't. You threatened her with reporting her to the police for blackmail if your story appeared in print; she might think that telling me is not breaking the bargain you made with her."
"Or she might be too much ruled by anger to care or be rational," said Mary with forced composure which obviously did not fool Matthew for a minute.
"Even if she does it, however ghastly it's going to be, it won't be as bad as it would have been before," he said urgently. "We are going to be married next month. You will be the Countess of Grantham. A potential scandal will be unpleasant, to say the least, I do know that, but it is not going to ruin your life."
Mary bit her tongue before she could lash out at him, saying that he wouldn't be the one to deal with it. Firstly, it wasn't true. She could not imagine him remaining unaffected by seeing her name besmirched in such a way, even if he wasn't here to witness it all. And secondly, how could she lash out at him about it when he accepted her with full knowledge of what she had done, against all her fears and expectations, and loved her anyway? The only reason she wasn't facing a complete ruin right now was due to him and his big heart and open mind.
"At least if the scandal breaks out now, it's not like I will suffer from many missing invitations. I barely have social life as it is," she said instead, striving for levity she definitely did not feel. "Although I would prefer if she waited until after the wedding. There will be hundreds of guests and the press there…"
She shuddered, imagining all too well what a nightmare it would be if Vera Bates published her story before. All those people… All judging her and making scathing comments behind her back, if not to her face, all wondering how she got Matthew to marry her anyway…
She startled at the touch of Matthew's hand on her cheek, too lost in the horror of that vision to notice him moving closer to her.
"There's no reason to think she will do it before the wedding or at all," he reassured her firmly. "But we have to find out how she knew where and when I'm going to be, and discuss what to do about her threats. She mentioned us, Bates and Anna specifically, so of course we need to summon them. Anyone else?"
Mary bit her lip in thought.
"Carson and Mrs Hughes," she answered with conviction. "They both need to be aware of any serious issues involving the servants, and frankly, if you want to investigate the matter properly, you will need their help."
Matthew nodded in agreement and got up to ring for Carson.
xxx
With Carson, Mrs Hughes, Bates and Anna all gathered in Matthew's study, he quickly informed them about the situation, leaving out only the specifics of her attack against Mary.
"My visit this weekend was spontaneous and yet Mrs Bates was waiting for me at the train station, a newspaper with my photograph in hand," stated Matthew seriously. "Which means that she has been either spying on the house for some time or she has an informer who contacted her with the news of my arrival and expected departure. I don't like either of those possibilities."
"Surely it could be nobody on the staff, my lord," said Carson, aghast at the possibility. "Why would anyone work with a woman like her?"
Matthew noted that Mrs Hughes was not looking as assured of that as Carson and neither did Anna.
"There are multiple possibilities," he said. "She could have offered money. She could have given some kind of fabricated sob story to induce sympathy. We don't know it, but I would like you all to consider the matter and investigate it if possible."
"And if she is spying on the house herself, my lord?" asked Bates grimly.
"Then we should be able to find it out. In such a case she must be staying somewhere close – at an inn, a boarding house in one of the nearby towns, some lodgings. People would see her regularly and remember her. We must make enquiries and see if we find her."
"I will do it," volunteered Bates. "I'm her husband, however little I like it, it will look the least strange for me to ask questions. And if she learns it is me searching for her, she might even approach me to talk."
"But what will it help?" protested Anna. "You talked with her before and she only got angrier."
Bates's silence acknowledged her point.
"I really think I should just leave, my lord," he said finally. "Before I bring more of my troubles to this house."
Matthew thought Carson looked approving of this idea, even if regretful about the necessity of it, but Mrs Hughes pursed her lips determinedly.
"Now, Mr Bates, your wife's behaviour is not your fault. There is no reason you should give up your livelihood and people who are fond of you just because she cannot be reasonable."
Anna nodded emphatically in agreement, but Bates did not look convinced.
"Then what can we do?" he asked hopelessly. "She really is unpredictable. How are we to prevent her from doing some kind of harm?"
"By being vigilant," said Mary, who stayed mostly silent until now. "And not giving her any opening. Carson, Mrs Hughes, do talk with the staff and make sure they know Mrs Bates is not welcome in this house and anyone feeding her information will face dismissal without character. I will ask Isobel to have a similar conversation with the nurses. Carson, make sure all the doors are either locked or watched. Bates, make inquiries in the village to find out whether she is staying somewhere here or came only when alerted by someone else – and if that's the case, we will have to find out who it is."
"Anybody could see me coming here from the station on Saturday or attending church on Sunday," said Matthew thoughtfully. "But only somebody from the house would know when I intended to go back. So if we know when she came to the village, we should learn where her information came from."
"I think we all know what to do," said Mary authoritatively, moving her eyes from one person to another, all of them nodding. "Let's all go to bed. Carson, please send someone to notify Branson that he will be needed to drive Lord Grantham to York at 5.30 in the morning. And have a small breakfast ready for 5."
"Carson," added Matthew as the servants were leaving the study. "Please send Sergeant Barrow to me. I must talk with him briefly before I retire."
Carson acknowledged the request with barely a grimace and left the study, leaving Matthew alone with Mary. He found himself pacing nervously as she leaned tiredly against the beck of the armchair, relaxing her usually ramrod straight posture now that there was only Matthew to see her.
"Well, at least we have a plan," she said, her voice calm and controlled despite her paler than usual face. His intrepid, brave Andromeda. "I knew it was too much to hope that I managed to scare her off for good back in September, but so many months passed I've started to hope."
Matthew stopped his pacing and turned towards her.
"I hate the thought of leaving you with that hanging in the air."
Mary scoffed.
"The last thing you can say is that you're leaving me alone. The house has never been so brimming with people as it is now. She is just one woman. She can sell my story and there is nothing we can do to stop her, but you seem to fear something worse. What exactly do you think she can do?"
Matthew raked his fingers through his hair in agitation.
"I hardly know," he admitted with evident frustration. "I just know that when I talked with her I felt she was dangerous. And knowing she is spying on the house, following us… I don't know what she can or wants to do, but I don't like leaving knowing she might be lurking in the shadows at this very moment."
Mary looked out through the window into the darkness outside, exacerbated by heavy clouds.
"Hopefully not this very moment if she hopes to stay dry," she said sardonically, but then got up and walked to Matthew, reaching to touch his cheek lightly. "Don't worry, I am not ignoring your fears. I just think that with the servants on the alert and with plans in motion to locate her and find out her intentions, we are all as safe here as we can possibly be."
Matthew sighed, leaning into her slender hand.
"I know," he said quietly. "And I will probably calm down soon and be rational about it all. I just can't often be when it is you, my darling, I worry about."
Lady Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"Anna," said Mary with concern as her maid was brushing out her hair for the night. "Are you alright?"
"After learning that Mr Bates's wife is spying on us and threatening us with all kinds of things?" her lips twitched upwards. "I've been better, milady, but I'm not afraid of her. At least I know for sure that it's only right for Mr Bates to divorce her, mad as she is."
"Isn't that the truth!" huffed Mary in irritation, putting away her earrings. "I can understand being unhappy that her husband wants nothing to do with her anymore, but frankly if anybody worked hard to achieve such a result, it was her. Vile woman!"
"Do you think she will sell the story?" asked Anna seriously.
Mary bit her lip.
"I don't know," she said tiredly. "I guess we will find out in time. I hoped that she would not, after so many months passed, but she did tell Lord Grantham now…"
"At least Lord Grantham has already known," said Anna comfortingly. "At least he hasn't learnt that way."
Mary shuddered at the prospect. Thank God she and Matthew had talked when they had!
"Do you think she can be getting information from someone at the house?" she asked. She didn't miss the look on Anna's face when Carson was proclaiming such a thing impossible, and as much as she loved the butler, she knew Anna was the shrewd one.
Anna pursed her lips unhappily.
"I won't cast accusations until I know more," she said firmly. "But I will say that I wouldn't be surprised."