AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry it took me so long to update this story again. This chapter turned out to be very frustrating to write until I finally found the way to say what I wanted in it - plenty of setting up things for the future events, mostly - and Ambulance Driver took my brain hostage and demanded I tell that story instead. But I am most definitely not abandoning this one, and having finally gotten over this hurdle, I am truly excited for the next several chapters to come. The plot is going to pick up speed again ;)
Matthew's Study, Downton Abbey, May 1917
Matthew looked seriously at Barrow seated on the other side of his desk.
"I hope you do believe my estimate that she is a serious threat."
Barrow nodded with a grimace.
"It's always dangerous to underestimate deranged people just because they're women," he said with bitterness which seemed to come from personal experience. His next words confirmed that. "The most twisted thing I've ever known someone do was done by a woman bent on getting revenge when she thought herself wronged."
Matthew exhaled with relief. The more time passed since his encounter with Vera Bates, the more he doubted the rationality of his alarm – and yet, he could not dismiss it completely.
"Who do you think could be her informer at the house, if she has one?" he asked. "You know the staff very well."
He saw in an instant flash in Barrow's eyes that he had a candidate in mind, but he visibly hesitated. Matthew frowned.
"Tell me," he demanded. "Even if you aren't sure."
"I don't want to cast accusations without proof," protested Barrow, but Matthew could see that he wanted to share his suspicions, even if reluctantly.
"Tell me. I won't take any action without proof, but if you have reasonable suspicions, I want to be informed of it."
Barrow puffed his lips and caved in.
"If it's anyone in the house, it might be Miss O'Brien. She likes to stir trouble, that one. To be fair, she might not know that it would be trouble for you, or for Lady Mary, only for Mr Bates."
Matthew raised his eyebrows.
"She does not like Mr Bates?"
Barrow shrugged.
"Neither do I," he admitted casually. "But I wouldn't go tattling to his loony wife. Especially not about you coming and going, sir. I would never betray you like that."
"And you think Miss O'Brien would?" asked Matthew seriously, locking his eyes with Barrow's, who nodded.
"I don't know if she did it," he stressed. "But I think if anyone did, it might have been her."
Matthew looked at him speculatively.
"Could you find out?"
Servants' Hall, Downton Abbey, May 1917
It was barely dawn when Anna and Mr Bates met at the servants' hall after getting Lord Grantham and Lady Mary ready for very early breakfast. There was nobody around yet; only Daisy and Branson were up, but she was busy with the fireplaces and he was getting the car ready to drive Lord Grantham to York.
"Who do you think it could be?" asked Anna with a frown. "Who here even met Vera besides me and Mrs Hughes?"
John frowned unhappily, straining his memory.
"I can't say. When I was summoned, Mrs Hughes was already taking her to her sitting room."
Anna pursed her lips.
"She was talking with Ethel when I came in," she said.
John started in surprise.
"Ethel? Why would she tell Vera anything?"
"She was eating Vera's speech like a baby bird. I think she could be roped into helping her if she thought it made her a heroine of some grand drama. Isn't Vera wily enough to make up a story like that?"
"She certainly is, but I don't know…"
Anna shrugged and took a sip of her tea.
"It might be Miss O'Brien or Thomas, of course, as usual."
John frowned again.
"Normally I would agree with you," he said thoughtfully. "And I do about Miss O'Brien. But Thomas… He came back changed from the war."
Anna scoffed.
"Surely not very changed. Have you seen how he orders poor Daisy around?"
"Oh, I do, and I am definitely not saying it's a very great change," agreed John with a smile at her. "But he seems truly grateful to Lord Grantham for whatever passed between them there to make his lordship get Thomas transferred here. I don't think he would agree to spy on him, even if he saw it as a chance to get me in hot water."
"You think it's genuine?" asked Anna with scepticism, but seemed to accept John's judgement when he nodded seriously.
"I'm not saying he is a good man, or that I like him any better than I did before. But I know the bonds formed in a war. It's not something a man would ignore easily just to settle a petty score."
"Good," said Anna, putting her cup down with a devilish look in her eyes. "It narrows our list of suspects rather nicely. Now, Ethel is easy, but which one of us is more likely to get the truth out of Miss O'Brien?"
Dining room, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"You didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn for me," said Matthew chidingly over the breakfast table. It was indeed still dark outside.
"And miss sharing breakfast with you?" asked Mary with raised eyebrows. "I thought I made my position clear on all the previous occasions we had this conversation. I can always sleep when you're gone."
"But I am only going to York, not back to France."
They both stilled for a moment; the spectre of his eventual return there and all it meant hanging in the air between them.
"Doesn't mean I want to waste even a second I could spend with you," said Mary in a deliberately light tone. "I see you little enough as it is."
Matthew's eyes gentled as he looked at her in response to that.
"And I treasure every second we do, darling. Even if I hate to see you foregoing sleep for me. You sleep too little as it is."
"It's actually gotten better recently," said Mary with a smile. "Having you temporarily out of danger helps. Not to mention, I don't have to fret about you disdaining me for my secrets anymore. The sheer novelty of having this fear put to rest is incredible."
Matthew looked at her seriously, grasping her hand over the table.
"I hope you will never again have a reason to fear my reaction to anything, whatever happens. There is no thing on Earth which could make me stop loving you."
Mary squeezed his hand gratefully.
"I like it," she said, gesturing with her other hand at the empty dining room. "Sharing breakfast just with you alone. I wonder if we could arrange for it when we're married."
"Haven't you told me that you intend to eat your breakfast in bed then, like a proper married lady?" asked Matthew teasingly.
Mary tossed her head.
"And I will. But maybe you could share it with me."
Matthew laughed.
"Won't we scandalise Carson utterly if we try it?"
"Of course we will. But he will forgive me and put it down to your uncivilised middle class origins," answered Mary smugly, making him laugh more.
"I have no chance at all to ever have him on my side, have I?"
"None whatsoever. But he might keep you in his good graces, if you take care to remain in mine."
Matthew placed a fervent kiss on her hand.
"I promise to devote my life to keeping you happy," he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers. "I just hope it will be long enough to ensure I will do it until we're both frail and grey."
Mary swallowed, her eyes not leaving his either.
"See that you do," she whispered back. "Or I will release all of Carson's wrath upon you."
Road from Downton to York, May 1917
"I hope your heart troubles are not serious," said Matthew earnestly as they were driving to York.
Branson smirked wryly.
"Only enough to spoil some plans of mine. But the doctor claims I'm unlikely to drop dead if I keep away from the front. Which, come to think of it, is true for most people."
Matthew laughed in agreement.
"I'm glad you don't have to go, and not only because I don't want the ladies to be left without a chauffeur," he said seriously. "Lady Mary told me that you were not keen to go and I hate the idea of forcing people to. It's necessary, of course, with our losses... But I'm still glad you were not one of those sent there against their will."
Branson's head jerked in surprise.
"You don't mind me not wanting to go, my lord?" he asked warily.
Matthew shrugged with a sigh.
"I hardly know you, but from what I hear you're an Irish patriot and a socialist. I would have been surprised to find you in favour of the war with this set of views."
"Well, yes," stammered Branson, even more wrong-footed. "But don't you mind?"
Matthew gave him a wry smile of his own.
"We are all entitled to our own opinions, Branson. Even if we aren't always free to express them."
"That's a very liberal way of looking at things, my lord. Especially now."
Matthew looked through the window at the passing landscape, so green and idyllic it was hard to believe it was real after the months he'd spent in wartorn France and all the devastation he had witnessed there. He hadn't even realised how much he missed grass until he saw it again.
"It might surprise you, Branson, but I am not very good at being a typical English aristocrat, whatever my current title. Wrong upbringing for that, I guess."
Branson's mouth twitched.
"I don't think raising one would be a priority for Mrs Crawley."
Matthew laughed quietly.
"It wasn't."
They drove for some time in companionable silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, before Branson asked:
"What's General Strutt like? Mr Carson said that he is coming for a visit."
"Yes, he's going to inspect the convalescent home. There probably will be press as well, although the details are yet to be confirmed," answered Matthew. "As for what he's like… He's rather important, but easy to work for if you do your job well. He communicates his wishes and orders clearly, and while his standards are high, you know them in advance and are praised when you meet them. I could imagine serving a much worse CO than him."
"They call him 'Hero of the Somme', don't they?"
Matthew rolled his eyes.
"That's propaganda for you," he said dryly. "In fact, he had pretty little to do with planning that particular disaster. He was responsible for part of the front, but the overall plan came from the HQ, and he was fulfilling his own orders just as we were fulfilling ours. But the press needed some positive spin and General Strutt is a truly brave man, with a DSO from South Africa, so he was chosen for some feature articles."
"A figurehead and a symbol…" commented Branson thoughtfully. "I bet any events he is honouring with his presence on this tour are all well-reported?"
"Very extensively. At least after the censors at the War Office approve them."
Branson's eyes flickered to him.
"Is the censorship so tough?"
"Oh, yes. The newspapers know the drill, so they are good at self-censoring their articles, but the government censors are still going through every one of them with a tight-toothed comb. Playing the part of liaison with the press, or more accurately a go-between for them and the War Office, is a big part of my current job and the amount of correspondence going back and forth is ridiculous considering how well everyone knows how to toe the line."
"So if there is any sign of dissent, it's not likely to be reported? Even if it's public?" asked Branson carefully.
"Not in any mainstream newspaper," answered Matthew decidedly. "I mean, have you seen any reports of this kind?"
Branson grimaced.
"No," he admitted. "But I thought there maybe weren't many."
"There aren't many, but there are some. You must have read about it in some of the socialist or pacifist bulletins, haven't you?" asked Matthew astutely, making Branson grimace again.
"Yes, but they are read by those already convinced. If the general public is to be turned against the war, the message would need to be spread by different channels."
Matthew shook his head.
"No chance of that with the current laws," he said seriously. "The government can't afford to have the war questioned or the general support for it wane. Not with all the sacrifices which are demanded of us all."
"For a pointless war between imperialists," commented Branson bitterly, then seemed to recollect that as emboldened as he got by their discussion, he was talking to his employer and an English officer. "Beg your pardon, my lord."
Matthew's mouth twitched in a wry smile.
"You're lucky the Army didn't want you, Branson. You wouldn't last a week with this mouth of yours."
Garage, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"Why are you in such a bad mood?" asked Sybil, observing Branson washing the car furiously.
"Because it seems all my plans aren't worth a damn," he muttered angrily. "Not with the British government stifling any voice of dissent in the country!"
"Then maybe you should make better plans," pointed out Sybil, feeling rather relieved that whatever reckless idea he had been harbouring now was not apparently going to be attempted.
Branson glared at her.
"I'm trying!"
For a moment, the only sound in the garage was the sliding of the cloth over metal.
"You used to think that gestures of protest were important," said Branson accusingly.
"And I still do!" answered Sybil, undaunted. "But we all have something more important to worry about right now. Besides, I think that so many women participating in the war effort, either by volunteering or by taking jobs which used to be performed by men, will ultimately prove that we should have the right to vote and to be treated as equal to men better than any protest ever could."
Branson scoffed.
"The misguided Irish volunteering for dying at the front won't change a thing for my country," he grumbled.
"And you landing yourself in prison will?"
"Apparently not," answered Branson bitterly. "Lord Grantham made it plain enough that whatever I do, nobody would ever hear of it, or at least not enough people to matter."
Sybil's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"You talked about it with Matthew?"
"Obliquely. He is shockingly open minded for an English toff."
Sybil rolled her eyes.
"If you opened your mind and stopped seeing all people as part of their class or nationality, you would be less shocked by the world around you," she said, leaving the garage. He was being impossible today.
Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, May 1917
Matthew walked with apprehension through the crowded ward towards the place where they told him he should find Davis. For all his bracing himself, he was still stunned to see how emaciated his batman was looking.
"Hello Davis," he greeted him through a choked throat. "I've heard that you're going to live after all."
"That I am, sir," rasped Davis in response, looking at him mournfully. "But they tell me I'm not going back. Too weak to carry a rifle, and the cold and wet could do me in."
"I will miss you, Davis," said Matthew sincerely. "You're a damn hard act to follow for whoever will take your place. But I am glad you will be out of it too. Ellen and the children must be over the moon, and your mother too."
"They are," said Davis, but then looked away, adding quietly. "Even if Ellen worries how we're going to get by, what with me unable to work."
Matthew frowned with concern.
"Surely you will get a disability pension?"
"I will, sir, but it's going to be only 20 shillings per week," said Davis heavily. "They rated my disability as 50%."
Matthew swallowed, trying to imagine how far that amount could stretch for a man with a wife, three small children and an elderly mother all depending on it.
"I'm still a lucky chap," said Davis, obviously deciding to cheer his officer up, which was ridiculous in the circumstances. "The doctors say I should get better when I recover more. Maybe even well enough to go back to the factory. The pay is good there."
"Davis," said Matthew slowly. "You know that I am an earl now…"
"No, sir," answered Davis immediately and adamantly. "Don't even think of it. I might be poor now, but I got my pride."
"I know you do, Davis," said Matthew gently. "But you served me amazingly well and I would like to give some parting gift to you as my thanks. For your children, too. Your stories of them cheered me up in many grim moments."
"No. I just can't accept, sir. Wouldn't be right."
Matthew nodded. He understood Davis's perspective perfectly, but it still rankled that he was given no choice but to abandon him to ill health and poverty.
"What would you say to come to my estate as a guest?" he asked, his brain working fast to get the details right. "With your family? I could give you a cottage there until you get better. I'm sure the fresh air would be better for your lungs than what passes for it in Manchester. And life is cheaper in the country."
Davis looked up at him in astonishment.
"As your guest, sir? So without rent?"
Matthew rolled his eyes slightly.
"I could charge you rent, if you insist," he said. "But it is normal practice to give cottages free of rent to pensioned employees of the estate. Were you working for me any less faithfully than any of my servants there? I would say that you earned it twenty times over for all the good care you took of me."
Davis stared at him for a long moment.
"I'd have to talk it over with Ellen and my mum," he said finally. "But I would take you up on it, sir. If you charge me rent."
"I will, Davis," answered Matthew with a smile. "But don't expect it to be high."
Terrace, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"Would you care for some company?" asked Mary lightly, approaching Evelyn, sitting apart from others and looking at the horizon with a rather pensive expression. "Or am I disturbing your solitude?"
Evelyn's head jerked upright at the sound of her voice and he immediately stumbled to his feet, despite the pronounced wince his awkward movements caused. Mary winced herself, feeling guilty for startling him so.
"Mary! Of course you're not disturbing me. I've had quite enough of solitude and my own thoughts."
"Then I will gladly sit here with you for a moment and escape from mine," she said with a smile, sitting in the chair by his and this allowing him to fall gratefully back into his. "Your side is still bothering you, I see."
Evelyn winced again, this time in irritation.
"You would have thought it would heal by now," he muttered. The nasty scratch, as he called it in his letter to Mary, turned out to be a deep bullet graze along the right side of his ribcage, resulting in four broken or bruised ribs as well. The wound was indeed taking its time to heal and needed frequent and painful care to stave off infection.
"At least you have the benefit of spending the best months of spring somewhere nice," said Mary, striving for a cheerful tone. "From what I hear, there is not much left to look at in northern France."
Evelyn smiled wryly in response.
"An understatement if I ever heard one," he said, then sighed. "I'm not really looking forward to going back, you know, but somehow I find that being forced to be still after being active for years makes me more restless than rested."
"I can only imagine," said Mary softly. "For many women the war is the first time we have any reason or opportunity to be active. I suppose some of us will experience the same kind of dissatisfaction with the return to idleness you are complaining of now, when the peace comes."
"Do you expect to be one of the dissatisfied ones?" asked Evelyn curiously. "I am in true awe ever since I learnt you're not only running the estate for Lord Grantham, but that you're doing it without an agent."
"I managed to scare our old agent off," Mary said dryly. "So I have no choice but to hobble along best I can."
"I heard you're doing a marvellous job. Lord Grantham is very lucky. And wise, come to think of it, to pick you as the person in charge in the first place."
"He didn't have much choice, but I am extremely grateful to him for trusting me so much. Especially since we were rather estranged at that point in time," admitted Mary candidly.
Evelyn looked at her with amusement.
"Considering the wedding invitation I've received, I hope this is no longer the case."
"No," answered Mary with a smile. "It isn't."
She looked at Edith, bustling among the convalescing soldiers and taking their orders for books, stationery and whatever else they needed.
"Speaking of being busy, here comes Edith. I hope she took good care of you."
"I have everything I need," he said as his eyes flickered between Edith and Mary. "Lady Edith is most gracious and attentive to all the patients."
Mary exhaled impatiently.
"I suppose it makes her feel needed and important," she muttered. "But I must sadly admit that she is doing a very good job."
"I assume that things haven't improved much between you two?" he asked delicately.
Mary swallowed, the memory of him telling her it was her own sister who spread the rumours about her vivid in her mind.
"They have improved," she answered. "The war has put many matters in perspective. We will probably never be best friends, but we get along rather well those days."
She looked at Edith again and added dryly.
"It helps a lot that we don't live together anymore. Even a house as big as Downton was too small for the two of us."
Library, Loxley, May 1917
"How is the plan for renovating the bedrooms going?" asked Mary politely and took a sip of her tea.
It still felt very strange to visit Loxley and have Edith welcome her as the hostess and mistress of the house. When she was coming to Downton, it was easy to forget that she was married, even if she came with besotted Sir Anthony trailing after her like a faithful golden retriever. Seeing her at Loxley, ordering the servants around and walking confidently through the rooms, was making it impossible, but still so very hard to wrap her head around.
"It's going well," answered Edith with enthusiasm. "I'm nearly done with choosing the fabrics and papers, so I should be ready to start placing orders any day now. We won't be doing all of them at once, Anthony prefers to spend the money over a longer period of time, but we will get our bedroom, dressing rooms, the main guest room and the nursery completely redone by the end of summer."
Mary shied away from thinking too much of Edith's revelation that she and Anthony did not have separate bedrooms. Some things did not bear contemplating.
"The nursery?" Cora asked, which in Mary's opinion was not at all better. "I see you're thinking ahead."
Edith lowered her head with a bashful blush.
"We're hopeful," she said happily. "Anthony is a bit apprehensive if he will make a good enough father, with his arm as he is, but I keep telling him it does not matter at all. I hope to show him as soon as possible."
For a moment, Mary felt bitterly jealous of Edith, with her crippled husband. Yes, his arm was immobile – so what? At least he was safe, he was never going to be sent back, he was not going to leave Edith for months on end only for her to fear for him every second.
He was not going to die.
Unlike Matthew who could die within weeks of their wedding.
She didn't wish a disabled arm on Matthew, of course she didn't, but she would take it with gratitude if that meant he was otherwise safe.
"What colours are you thinking of?" she asked and drank more tea as Edith eagerly babbled.
Mary's bedroom, Downton Abbey, May 1917
"My dearest Matthew,
You can't even imagine the frenzy of the last minute preparations for the General's visit. Every inch of the house is scrubbed and the nurses, orderlies and servants are all lectured most sternly by your mother, Sergeant Barrow and Carson on the proper behaviour in his presence. Mama and Isobel don't even hide the open rivalry they have going on and Major Clarkson looks like he's developed a permanent headache as a result. I do hope the visit will go well, or otherwise I am afraid there will be heads to fall!
I am mostly avoiding it all by focusing on finalising the preparations for the wedding, which also has the advantage of being the only topic able to distract our mothers from their quarrels – even though yours is still unhappy that we are going to disturb the routine of the convalescent home for two days. Most of the officers don't seem to mind though and express honest anticipation for the event. I dare say quite a lot of them crossed from enjoying the peace and quiet into boredom and are looking forward to some entertainment. The musicians are arranged, the flowers decided for and ordered, and Mrs Patmore promises she is able to get all the ingredients for the feast which has been planned, including suitably impressive wedding cake, war or no war. The officers sent a delegation offering to form a line made of those who are most well outside the church and most of the guests confirmed their arrival, as did several reporters from major newspapers and magazines. It seems we are going to start our married life with all the splendour owed to an earl and a countess, even if the wedding will be necessarily smaller than it would have been in peace time. Which in turn makes Granny and Mama happy, although your mother finds it excessive considering the circumstances.
Aunt Rosamund invited me to London for several days in mid June, with the expressed purpose of supplementing my wardrobe and visiting some party in Kent on the last day. I'm looking forward to it very much. I will be coming back on the 13th and expect to have nothing else left to do but to count the remaining days till our wedding. Oh, darling, I so can't wait! I can hardly believe that we are going to be husband and wife in less than a month. After all those years I've spent believing it impossible and mourning the fact that I managed to ruin everything so utterly, to realise now that I am getting all my dearest dreams fulfilled seems perfectly surreal at times.
There is some news on the Vera Bates front, but nothing too alarming. Bates was able to find out that she was staying in a pub in one village over, but it was only for several days at a time. It seems unlikely then that she's surveilling the house on a regular basis and so the theory that somebody from the house itself tipped her regarding your visit seems more and more likely. Carson, Sgt. Barrow and Mrs Hughes had their talk with the staff under their supervision and we hope that whoever the informer is, he or she realises now that it's quite a risk to continue associating with her.
I hope you are well, my darling, and looking forward to the wedding as much as I am.
Your excited fiancée,
Mary"
Great Hall, Downton Abbey, June 1917
The tour was finished and everyone was going to their rooms to dress for dinner, when Thomas waylaid Matthew.
"Sir, could I have a word with you?"
"Of course, Sergeant." he turned to Mary. "Darling, do you think you could come to my study fifteen minutes before dinner? There is an important matter I would like to discuss with you and I don't know how much opportunity we're going to have afterwards."
Mary nodded, clearly curious, but unwilling to pester him for answers in front of Thomas.
"I will see you then," she said and went upstairs, as Matthew and Thomas walked to a quieter corner of the corridor.
"What is it, Sergeant?" asked Matthew, hoping it was not anything related to Bates' wife.
As it turned out, Thomas had a completely different subject in mind.
"Sir, I heard you mention that you lost your soldier servant and haven't replaced him yet."
"I did," answered Matthew, his throat constricted when he thought of Davis. "He is going to be a damn hard act to follow."
Thomas nodded.
"I've been wondering if you would consider WIlliam Mason. He's been trained as a valet, you know, to serve guests who come without one. He knows how to handle uniforms, he's been helping out with the officers. And he's an obedient lad, won't give you too much trouble, unless you are annoyed to death by overeager puppies."
Matthew looked at him in surprise.
"You know I can't protect him."
"Nobody can," Thomas's eyes bore into Matthew's intently. "But you will take care of him, I know you will. And not every officer would."
"I didn't think you two were friends."
Thomas shrugged uncomfortably.
"We're not," he muttered. "But sir, he thinks it's all a grand thing, a glorious and honourable duty. He's going to have a rough awakening as it is. If I can get him landed with a good CO... Well, I had to try."
"I will ask him," said Matthew. "If he wants the post, it can probably be arranged."
"Just don't tell him I was the one to suggest it," said Thomas, smiling wryly. "If he knows it was my idea, he may refuse on principle."
Matthew's Study, Downton Abbey, May 1918
Mary entered Matthew's study to find him looking pensively through a window, too lost in thought to notice her come in. She took a moment to admire how well his mess kit became him, the cut flattering his trim figure and the vivid red the golden shine of his blond hair. And yet she hated seeing him in it too, so much. It was the most unavoidable, in your face reminder that he was going to be taken away from her soon and very possibly permanently.
"What have you wanted to discuss with me?" she asked, feeling guilty when he visibly startled at her voice.
"I'm sorry, darling, I was miles away," he said, coming over to kiss her lightly and lead her to the sofa in the corner of the study. He took her hand in his as soon as they sat down.
"Mary, I need you to understand something," said Matthew with grave seriousness which instantly put her on edge. "Since we are getting married, I made a new will of course. That's why I met with Murray last week."
"I don't want to talk about it," she immediately and vehemently protested.
"We must," said Matthew firmly, but caressed her hand comfortingly. "I don't really want to think or talk about it now either – especially not now! – but we must. This is too important."
"Very well," said Mary with clear displeasure. "What do you need to tell me?"
"That you don't have to worry about having a son or not," said Matthew gently, watching her eyes grow wide. "If I die before we have any children, the title will go extinct and you inherit everything, just as it was spelled in my old will: Downton, your mother's fortune, everything that is mine now except for the house in Manchester which goes to Mother. If we have a daughter, it will be the same – I made a provision for her settlement, but she would necessarily be a baby, so again you get everything and be in full control of it. If we have a son," he stopped for a moment, then continued softly. "Then of course he will become the 9th earl of Grantham and the estate will necessarily go to him, but I made you his trustee in such a case until he is 25 and hopefully able to take the responsibility for it all. Until then, you're in charge."
Matthew sighed heavily and looked at Mary intently.
"That's why we needed to talk about it now. So you know that there is no pressure on you to have a boy. Whatever happens, be there a boy, a girl, or no children at all, Downton will be yours for the foreseeable future. I hope we will have children, but we don't have to worry whether there is an heir or not. You are my heiress, Mary, and it's final. I just hope to God I will get to live with you for 50 years and nothing of it turns out to be necessary – but if my luck runs out, you will be taken care of."
Mary felt tears gathering in her eyes. She wanted to say something, thank him maybe, for understanding her situation and the pressure she did feel, very much – how could she not, with the issue of heirs and importance of the duty to provide one drilled into her head from early childhood? – but at the same time she felt such overwhelming rage that they needed to discuss it at all, that they were going to have just nine days to try to make this hypothetical baby, that there was such a real, valid need to discuss Matthew's will of all things ahead of their wedding, that she couldn't say anything at all. She just kissed him, trying to convey all those complicated feelings, the gratitude, the grief, the anger and, most of all, the impossible, desperate love she felt for this man, hoping that he would understand it somehow even if words completely failed her.
Judging from the way he kissed her back, his eyes so tender and sad, he did.
Dining room, Downton Abbey, May 1917
To Mary's relief, the dinner was going very well. She could live without General Strutt singling out Edith of all people for praise, but at least it nicely stepped over the rivalry between Mama and Isobel. Looking at Edith, flushed with pleasure at the recognition she received, and at Sir Anthony beaming proudly at her, Mary magnanimously decided that Edith deserved this moment in the spotlight. Even if she suspected it was going to make her sister insufferably smug for some time.
She was seated on the General's right, with Matthew seated at the other side of the table, as the host. She enjoyed looking at his animated face and exchanging significant looks with him, but mourned the lack of a chance to talk with him. She reminded herself sternly that when they were married, all formal dinners they hosted together would have them seated opposite each other.
She still wished she could throw the etiquette to the wind and sit next to him instead.
"Speaking of praise, I hope you won't find me presumptuous for expressing a hope that you are satisfied with my fiance's work for you," she addressed General Strutt. "I know that he has always spoken of the assignment with genuine pleasure."
"On the contrary, Lady Mary," answered the General pleasantly. "I don't mind admitting that I could not be more satisfied with Captain Crawley's work. In fact, I would love to keep him as a permanent member of my staff and I offered it to him, but he insisted and made me promise to send him back to his men when this tour is over. Which is commendable, of course, but I will be sad to lose him."
For a moment, Mary could not find enough breath to speak.
"I'm glad to hear that you think so highly of him," she managed to choke out finally and she's never been so grateful to her mother as she was right now for addressing the General and getting his attention momentarily away from her, leaving her free to stare at Matthew over the table.
He could stay out of it, safe. Even if General Strutt went back to France, being on his permanent staff would keep Matthew out of the fighting. He would be working in an honoured position, with a perspective for further advancement in the Army and doing what he excelled at and truly liked.
He would be assured to come home to her when this was all over.
And instead he gave it all up and lied to her, telling her that his return to the trenches was inevitable and unavoidable, when it turned out it clearly wasn't.
Mary did not know how she survived through the rest of the dinner.
There was not a moment of privacy for her to discuss any of it with him. It seemed like no time at all when they all lined up to make their farewells to the General, with Matthew only managing to approach her for a rushed and very public goodbye.
"The next time I see you we will be getting married," he said, kissing her hand, and she nodded numbly, unable to say anything for fear of either bursting into hysterical sobs or scratching his eyes out.
Before she could have any hope of gathering her wits, he was gone.