July 1914
After a night with even less sleep than usual, Mary rose early and went for a ride on her beloved horse before breakfast. Riding helped to clear her mind, and she desperately needed to stop thinking about Sybil's words of the night before.
All night, she'd tossed and turned, dwelling on what Sybil had said, her words ricocheting around her mind. What if Sybil was right? What if it wasn't enough for Tom to simply be her secret lover? What if he couldn't accept that as his life?
The more Mary thought about it, the more convinced she became that he would leave Downton – leave her – if that was all she could offer him. He hadn't reacted well the first time she'd mentioned the possibility. And he'd been quiet and withdrawn when she'd refused to answer him when he asked her if she'd be prepared to leave with him if he was dismissed.
He said he loved her, and she believed him. But the question was did he love her enough to stay and live a half-life? Did he love her enough to give up all thoughts of marriage and children he could acknowledge and bring up with her as his own?
Now, after handing her horse to the groom, Mary needed to see Tom, needed to hear him tell her he loved her. English or Gaelic, it didn't matter. She needed to hear the words directly from his lips.
As the groom took Diamond to the stables to rub him down and feed and water him, Mary turned and headed for the garage.
At the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor of the garage, Tom looked up from where he was crouching, shining the headlamps.
'Milady,' he said in surprise, his eyes automatically flicking behind her to the yard. 'What brings you here so early?'
Mary glanced over her shoulder and then hurried towards him as he rose to his feet. 'I needed to see you.'
Tom looked at her in concern, sensing something was amiss. 'What's wrong? What's happened?'
'Nothing. Nothing. I just… you do love me, don't you?'
'Of course, I do,' he said, visibly surprised by the question. 'You know I do. I tell you often enough, don't I?'
'Tell me again. Tell me now,' she said urgently, her hand going to his chest as she reached him, laying directly over his heart as if she could feel the truth of his words.
Tom tossed his buffing cloth onto the bonnet of the car and pulled her close, his hands on her hips, worried now that something was very wrong. 'I love you. I love you with all my heart.'
'Really and truly?' Mary asked, gazing into his eyes as if trying to see right into his heart.
'Really and truly. What is this, Mary? What's wrong? What's brought all this on?' he asked, pulling her tighter against him.
'I just… you're not… you're not going to leave me, are you?' she asked, her voice full of trepidation.
'Leave you? No. Why on earth would you think that?' Tom said, puzzled as to what could possibly have got her so agitated this morning, what could have made her doubt his love for her.
'I… I don't know. I didn't sleep well, and I… I started to think that maybe if all I can offer you is this, then maybe you wouldn't stay, maybe you'd go and… I can't bear the thought of that, Tom, I can't,' she said in a rush.
He stared at her, taken aback by the sudden torrent of words and the sentiment behind them. He slid his arms around her, holding her close.
'Oh, mo chuisle. How could you even imagine that I'd voluntarily leave you? You're everything to me. I love you to the very depths of my soul. To the ends of the earth and back.'
'But if I can't marry you, if we can't be together like other people…' she whispered, breaking off as her voice began to crack.
'We'll find a way, love,' he murmured, lifting the veil on her riding hat and running a finger gently down her cheek.
'But what if we can't? What if it's impossible?' she questioned, panic still fluttering in her chest.
'We'll find a way. I promise we will,' he said softly, leaning in to kiss her, hoping physical proof of his love would calm her. 'I love you. Never doubt that, mo chuisle. Never.'
Mary let out a small sigh, sagging slightly against him as he kissed her once more, feeling less agitated now she was in his arms, the mere fact of his solid presence soothing her.
'Are you around today?' she asked, hoping to be able to book the motor and spend the afternoon with him.
'No, not today. I'm taking your father to the barracks in York. We'll be gone all day.'
She bit her lip, her disappointment even greater than it would normally be after all the worry of her sleepless night ruminating on Sybil's words. 'Ah, yes, of course. I remember him mentioning it now.'
Tom curled his finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. 'Go to the cottage and sleep this afternoon, sweetheart. You'll feel better when you've got some rest.'
Mary nodded, knowing that her tiredness was making her anxiety worse, but doubting that it would completely put her mind at rest.
'Curl up in my bed and imagine I'm there with you, holding you close, telling you over and over how much I love you. Because I do. More than you'll ever know,' Tom murmured, dropping kisses on her face, the final one landing on her lips.
Mary responded, letting herself sink into the kiss, to take comfort from this show of affection.
A clatter in the stable yard outside made them pull apart.
'Oi, watch where you're going,' Thomas' voice said irritably from close by. 'I don't want any of that muck on my livery.'
Quickly, Tom let go of Mary and stepped away, putting a yard or so between them, seeing her tug her veil back down just as the footman appeared in the doorway.
Thomas saw Mary immediately, his eyes widening and brows rising. 'Milady, I didn't expect to see you here.'
'No, I expect you didn't,' she said, pulling at the hem of her jacket. 'Well, I must be off. Thank you, Branson.'
With that, she swept out of the garage without so much as a backward glance, her head held high, the haughty aristocrat replacing the fretful lover.
'What was Lady Mary doing here so early? She's not even had breakfast yet,' Thomas said suspiciously, turning to stare after the eldest daughter of the house as she hurried back towards the Abbey.
'Is that any business of yours?' Tom countered, fervently wishing Thomas hadn't been the one to appear in the garage when Mary was there.
'She's not usually up this early.'
'I think she's been out riding,' Tom answered.
'What and then she just popped in to say hello to you, did she, Tom?' Thomas said sarcastically, one eyebrow arching in disbelief. 'Because you two are so close, eh?'
'No, of course, she didn't,' Tom said, trying hard not to give in to the temptation to snap. 'She came to ask if the motor was available today. But it's not.'
'Surely she'd know that,' Thomas persisted, narrowing his eyes at Tom. 'She knows his lordship is off to the barracks today.'
Tom shrugged. 'Maybe she forgot. They have had a lot to deal with lately, what with her ladyship's fall and her losing the baby.'
'Hmmm, maybe,' Thomas said, unconvinced.
'Why are you here, Thomas?' Tom asked irritably, desperate now to get rid of the nosey footman. 'Have you got a message for me?'
'Yes, I have as it happens. His lordship says you'll be leaving for York half an hour later than planned.'
'Right. That's it, is it?' Tom asked, checking his watch.
'Yes.'
'Then if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to polishing the car. Don't want the top brass at Imphal Barracks thinking we're letting standards slip just because it looks like there's going to be a war, do we?' Tom said, picking the buffing cloth up from the bonnet of the car.
'I think they've got bigger fish to fry at the moment, Branson, don't you?' Thomas said, rolling his eyes before turning and leaving.
On his way back to the house, Thomas mulled over Lady Mary's early morning visit to the garage.
She'd looked a bit… strange. Jittery almost. And she hadn't wasted any time leaving when he arrived at the garage.
He couldn't help wondering whether he might have missed a chance to catch Lady Mary and the chauffeur in flagrante. When he arrived at the garage doors, it had looked like she might have been pulling the veil of her riding hat back over her face. That was odd. Why would she need to lift her veil to speak to Branson? She wouldn't… but she would have if she'd been kissing him, he thought, pursing his lips.
He'd long thought that if they were having an affair, they must be conducting a good part of it in the garage, as unlikely and as uncomfortable as that might seem. It was Branson's space, unlike any other part of the Abbey. And after all, this wasn't the first time he'd caught the two of them alone in the garage.
Perhaps if he'd got there a few minutes earlier or if that stablehand hadn't nearly walked into him just before he reached the garage, he might have found them doing something they shouldn't have been. Something newspaper worthy. Perhaps he might have walked in to find them snogging or canoodling.
He blew out a breath, irritated that he might have been so close to discovering a scandal. Not to worry, though, he'd be keeping an eagle eye out for anything that might give them away.
Sitting on a bench under a tree, Edith looked up from the book she was reading. The afternoon was bright and sunny, but she'd sought the shade of the big cedar tree, settling in to enjoy reading in peace and quiet, away from the sadness cloaking the house.
Across the garden, she saw Mary walking quickly towards the woods. She must be going on one of her endless walks. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Mary was going in the same direction she'd been heading in a few days ago when she'd spied her from Sir Anthony's car. Now, wasn't that interesting?
Closing her book, Edith set it down on the bench and stood up deciding to follow her sister and see where she was going. She hurried towards the woods, anxious not to lose her. Halfway there, it occurred to her that she would have to be stealthy. If Mary realised she was being followed, Edith had no doubt that she would change her destination, and she was curious to know where she was going.
As it turned out, tailing Mary through the woods was easier than she'd thought. In her blue dress, her sister stood out as she slipped through the trees. Edith was both careful enough and far enough away that Mary did not appear to hear her. And she never once looked back behind her, seemingly intent on reaching her destination.
The only time Edith lost her was when she reached a cottage and walked around it, out of sight. Impatiently, Edith waited in the trees, looking to see if Mary reappeared, but after five minutes, there was no sign of her. Perhaps this then was her destination.
Cautiously, Edith edged out of the trees, walking over to the cottage. There was no indication who the tenant was, and beyond knowing from her conversation about the pamphlet with Branson that the chauffeur had a cottage, Edith had no notion of which of the servants enjoyed the perk of having their own dwelling. Carefully, she slipped around the edge of the cottage to the front of the house. The door was shut, no sign of Mary or whoever lived in the cottage.
Feeling somewhat exposed, Edith flattened her back against the wall, worried about being seen from the window. Screwing up her nerve, she crept towards the window's edge and craned her neck to peer in.
She found she was looking into a kitchen, the sink directly below the window, not a soul in sight. She twisted around and cupped her hands around her eyes, stepping up close to the window for a better look. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath, a triumphant jolt echoing through her chest.
There on the kitchen table lay the hat that Mary had been wearing not ten minutes ago.
Edith stepped back, thoughts tripping through her mind. What was Mary doing here? If she'd taken her hat off, she obviously intended to stay for some time. Was she alone in there or was she with someone? Was it Branson as Edith strongly suspected?
This, Edith realised, could be the answer to her prayers. If she could catch Mary in the middle of an assignation with the chauffeur – or any other tenant for that matter – she would have the ammunition she needed to prevent her from telling their mother that Edith had penned the letter to the Turkish ambassador.
She walked forward again, peering through the window, looking for any clue as to who lived in the cottage. Apart from Mary's hat on the table, the kitchen was spick and span. There was a dresser to one side, bearing crockery on the shelves but nothing personal to indicate who lived in the cottage.
She stared at the door, wondering if she should simply go inside. After all, Mary was in there. But that thought alone stayed her. She didn't want Mary to know that she'd found out where she was going on her walks. No, she needed to keep her powder dry, not tip her sister off that her secret was discovered. She'd have to learn what she could from outside the cottage.
Edith circled around to the back, using the same stealthy tactics to look in the window of the room there. Again, the room was empty, which begged the question of where precisely was Mary. She could only be upstairs, which was potentially a scandal greater than the Pamuk affair. Edith tried to still her excitement at that thought and concentrate on what she was looking at. It was a small parlour with a table and chairs and a couple of armchairs that looked like they had seen better days. On the mantelpiece was a selection of books and a photograph.
Her nose almost squashed against the window, Edith tried to make out the subject of the photograph. It was hard to see, but it looked like it was of a group of people, a family perhaps, a big family, with people of different ages lined up in ranks. Try as she might, though, in the end, it was too far away for her to make out any faces.
Disappointed, her eyes fell on the table near the window where a book lay. The gold lettering on the cover and the spine glinted in the sunshine announcing the title: A History of the British Isles Vol II.
Edith pursed her lips, a thought occurring to her. It looked like the kind of book that might have come from her father's beloved library. And if it had, then the person reading it must have signed it out in Papa's heavily enforced ledger.
She stepped back, a smile on her face. She knew precisely what her next move was going to be.
Mary lay on Tom's bed, unable to sleep. She'd hoped that she would drop off straight away after the sleepless night she'd had, but she still couldn't stop the thoughts going round and round in her head.
He'd said they'd find a way to be together, but the only way she could see was for him to come with her to her new home when she married, to remain her servant.
Sybil's ideas of helping Tom to better himself were all well and good, but for him to do that, he would have to leave Downton to pursue his ambitions. And if he did that, how could they hope to continue their love affair? She didn't see how it was possible. She could hardly visit him if he went to London or Manchester or – heaven forbid – Dublin to become a journalist or a politician. And he would not be able to visit her at Downton.
Mary sighed, plumping up the pillow under her head. If only she had someone to talk to with experience of these matters. Sybil was supportive, but she had little to no real experience of life. She'd already proved herself an eternal optimist, driven by a romantic view of the world, unable to look at the situation with pragmatism.
Similarly, Anna was not a suitable sounding board either, if for very different reasons. She may be a lot more capable than Mary, but she was not experienced in or knowledgeable about Mary's world. All she could tell her was just how hard Lady Mary Crawley would find it to suddenly start living a working-class life after 23 years of luxury and privilege.
Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. Some time ago, when she was pushing Sir Anthony Strallan as a potential candidate for Mary's husband, Mama had mentioned Aunt Rosamund, giving her as an example of a woman who took a lover. Indeed, it had been a cautionary tale about why choosing a lover of a different class was a bad idea. The logical assumption from what Mama had said was that Rosamund had had some kind of affair with a man from a lower class and it had not gone well.
Was it possible that she could speak to her aunt about such matters? To find out what her situation had been and how she had dealt with it. She would have to be careful, of course, Aunt Rosamund was as sharp as the proverbial tack. She was most certainly not a woman to be trifled with – she was, after all, her mother's daughter – but if Mary could frame the questions well enough, she would not have to confess her affair with Tom to her aunt to find out what she needed to know. If Rosamund had made mistakes, perhaps Mary could learn from them.
And Rosamund was on her way to Downton, coming to join them for the weekend and the upcoming garden party.
Mary chewed her lip, thinking it over. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like an opportunity to sound out how it could work, keeping a secret lover under the noses of both family and staff alike while running a household. At least Aunt Rosamund apparently had experience of doing just that, unlike either Sybil or Anna.
She'd sleep on it, Mary decided, already feeling a little better that she may perhaps be able to talk to someone, albeit obliquely, about her situation.
Decision made, she turned on her side and closed her eyes.
Back at the Abbey, Edith discarded her hat and gloves and made a beeline for the library and her father's ledger of library books.
Opening it up, she flipped to the last used page and ran her finger down the column of book titles, looking for the one she'd seen on the table in Mary's mystery cottage.
Down, down, down she went and then stopped, staring at the page. There it was in black and white.
A History of the British Isles Vol II. Borrowed by Branson on 26th July 1914. No date in the returned column.
'Got you,' she whispered, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.
That evening, Tom found himself loitering at the big house, waiting to go to the station to pick up Lady Rosamund when her train got into Downton. He was also scheduled to ferry the Dowager to and from dinner with the family.
All day, he'd worried about Mary and what might have got into her this morning to make her feel so insecure about his love for her, but he'd had no opportunity to see her again.
When Anna came downstairs after readying the daughters of the house for dinner, he caught her eye and tipped his head discreetly towards the back door. She nodded almost imperceptibly and briefly flashed five fingers at him. He nodded back and went to wait for her out in the kitchen yard.
'Is something wrong?' she asked when she joined him outside.
'I don't know. She came to see me first thing this morning and she was a bit on edge like she was upset about something. She kept asking me if I loved her and if was I going to leave her.'
Anna frowned. 'Really?'
'Yes. She said she'd hardly slept. Did something happen to upset her last night?'
'Not that I know of. She was fine when I helped her get ready for bed. Although she was a bit distracted this morning. And she took me by surprise when she said she wanted to go out riding so early. Come to think of it, she only does that when she's got something on her mind,' Anna said, thoughtfully.
Tom gazed at her, his worry still niggling at him. 'How was she tonight?'
'Same as she usually is. Calmer than she was this morning at any rate,' Anna said with a shrug. 'She did say she'd been to your place this afternoon and had a nap.'
He nodded slowly. 'I told her to go there and rest. I'm glad she did.'
'Maybe she was just overtired this morning,' Anna suggested. 'You know how tiredness sometimes makes you act unlike yourself. We've all experienced that.'
'Maybe. It was just… strange. She was so… so desperate to know that I wasn't going to up and leave her.'
'And you haven't given her any reason to think you would?'
'No. Not that I can think of.' Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a note. 'Can you give her this tonight, please?'
'Of course, I can,' Anna said, taking the bit of paper from him and pushing it into her pocket. 'I'm sure everything's fine. You know what trouble she has sleeping at night.'
'Yes, I do. But I don't want her to go to bed tonight thinking I don't love her.'
Anna smiled and patted his arm. 'Oh, Tom. I don't think that's going to happen. I can see how much you love her, so I'm sure she can, too.'
'Well, as long as nobody else sees it. Thomas was sniffing around earlier. He came into the garage while she was there and I think he was suspicious,' Tom said, his uneasiness about the footman's ability to pop up at inopportune times reappearing.
'Did he see anything? Or hear anything?' Anna asked, warily.
'No, I'm sure he didn't. He ran into a stablehand or something in the yard and shouted at him, so we heard him coming.'
'Good, that's good,' Anna replied, relieved that Thomas hadn't got close enough to spot anything intimate between her lady and her lover. 'Well, I'll give her your note tonight.'
'Thank you,' Tom said, gratefully. 'Hopefully, it will put her mind at rest.'
'Are you all right this evening, milady?' Anna asked as she helped Mary into her robe that evening.
'Yes, I'm fine, thank you, Anna,' Mary said, turning towards her maid as she tied the sash on her robe.
'Only you seemed a little out of sorts this morning.'
Mary sighed, sitting down at her dressing table to take off her make-up. 'I was rather. I'd had an even more sleepless night than usual.'
'Mr Branson said you went to see him this morning. He's worried about you,' Anna said, coming to stand beside her mistress.
Mary looked up at Anna, feeling guilty for worrying Tom. 'Will you see him tonight?'
'Possibly. I think he was going to stay for a cocoa with us after taking the Dowager Countess home this evening.'
'Please tell him not to worry. Tell him I'm all right now.'
'He sent you a note,' Anna said, delving into her pocket and pulling out Tom's piece of paper.
Mary felt her heart jump as she took the note from Anna.
'I'll let you read it in private,' her maid said tactfully, withdrawing to collect Mary's evening clothes.
Eagerly, Mary opened the note to see what Tom had to say.
Tà grà agam duit, mo chuisle.
Always and forever.
She gazed at his words in his lovely, precise handwriting, tears pricking at her eyes, love for him swelling in her chest.
They would find a way to be together. They would. They had to.
August 1914
It took until Monday for Mary to find a suitable moment to speak to her aunt about such a personal matter. She knew she had to pick her moment carefully, positive that Rosamund would not want to speak about such things within earshot of either the staff or any family member.
When Rosamund expressed a desire to walk around the estate and reacquaint herself with her childhood haunts, Mary readily agreed to accompany her. After an hour or so of walking, they stopped at the folly overlooking the lake to admire the view and rest for a while.
'I forget sometimes just how beautiful it is here,' Rosamund said, gazing out over the lake.
'This is one of my favourite spots to come and read,' Mary shared, also taking in the view.
Rosamund smiled. 'Robert used to do that too. Sneak a book out here and read what he wanted to read instead of whatever his tutor had told him to read.'
'While we're alone out here, Aunt Rosamund, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,' Mary said, deciding to grasp her opportunity.
'Oh? Well, that sounds intriguing. What is it, my dear?'
'You know how Mama has been trying to marry me off to make me respectable in the face of these rumours?'
'Yes, I do. You're not about to tell me she's been successful in finding a suitor, are you?' Rosamund replied, raising an eyebrow.
'No, she hasn't. But when she was championing Sir Anthony Strallan – ' Mary smiled as Rosamund rolled her eyes.
'That old duffer.'
'Yes.'
'He seemed old when I was a girl, and he is not that much older than your papa.'
Mary laughed, entertained by her aunt's frank opinion of Edith's beau.
'I understand we're expecting him to offer for Edith's hand now,' Rosamund continued, disdain evident in her voice.
'So Edith seems to think,' Mary replied, irritation rising within her at Edith's imminent prospect of getting engaged, even to someone as patently undesirable as Anthony Strallan.
'I barely know how she can contain her excitement,' Rosamund said, dryly. 'I'm sure any young woman would be trembling in anticipation of the touch of Sir Anthony.'
Mary let out a surprised laugh, delighted with her aunt's assessment of the situation. 'I'm sure Edith is. But then I suspect she's more in love with the idea of being in love than with Sir Anthony himself.'
'I am quite sure you are right, my dear.'
'I was firmly against marrying Sir Anthony, and Mama… well, she made a quite unorthodox suggestion to make me understand that my life might not be over if I married him.'
'Did she, indeed?' Rosamund asked, her eyebrow rising again. 'Do tell what that was.'
'She suggested that I take a lover when I was married to Sir Anthony.'
Rosamund's eyebrows rose sky-high at that morsel of information. 'Cora said that?'
'Yes.'
'Goodness. Then she is perhaps not quite as prudish as I had thought.'
'She suggested it as a possibility if Sir Anthony proved incapable of carrying out marital relations,' Mary said, delicately.
Rosamund laughed. 'Well, well, well. I wonder if she has had the same tête-à-tête with Edith.'
'I suspect not. Mainly because Edith will go to her marriage bed a virgin whereas I will not,' Mary said, succinctly.
'Yes, I know, my dear,' Rosamund said, sympathy in her eyes. 'But perhaps she should have the conversation with Edith after her wedding night. It may be useful to her then. Even if Sir Anthony is capable of doing the deed, she may prefer to try it with a younger man, too.'
'I can't think of any young man who'd be willing to bed Edith,' Mary said, cattily.
'Now, now, Mary. We must not be unkind about your sister. Besides, you'd be surprised how many young men would be willing to bed a woman simply because she asked them to and they can,' Rosamund replied, a knowing look on her face.
Mary stared at her aunt, her eyes wide. This was a side of Rosamund she had not encountered before: frank to the point of bluntness about matters that were never talked of in polite conversation.
'Is that what you want to talk to me about? Taking a lover?' Rosamund asked, gazing directly at Mary.
'I… well, yes. Mama… she… well, she intimated that you have… um… that you've… well, um…' Mary faltered, suddenly finding it terribly indiscreet to ask her aunt about her love life.
'Taken a lover?' Rosamund supplied, a slight, amused quirk to her lips as Mary tripped herself up with her words.
'Um, yes.'
Rosamund sighed. 'Cora never could keep a secret.'
'I don't think she meant to tell me. I was cross with her and I asked her who she would suggest I take as a lover when I became Lady Strallan, whether I should pick a local man of a lower class or limit myself to our own class.'
'And what was her advice?' Rosamund asked, curiously.
'She cautioned me against a man outside our own society.'
'Hmm, yes, I suppose she would,' Rosamund said, once more gazing out across the lake.
'She did say your love affair was after Uncle Marmaduke died.'
'Yes, it was. I would never have been unfaithful to Marmaduke,' Rosamund said, firmly. 'No matter what Mama thinks, we were well suited and very happy together.'
Mary nodded. 'Yes, I remember. I always thought he was a nice man.'
'Just not top drawer enough for your grandmother,' Rosamund said, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
'I just wondered why Mama cautioned me against taking a lover from a lower class,' Mary said, coming around to the question she wanted to ask.
Rosamund slid a considering look at her niece, debating whether to go into details about her private affairs. 'Well, I suppose you have first-hand knowledge of what happens between a man and a woman in the bedroom, even if that was not under the best of circumstances.'
Mary waited, saying nothing.
'The truth is that I have taken several lovers since Marmaduke died,' Rosamund said, deciding to speak frankly with her niece. 'Your unfortunate experience notwithstanding, when you marry, you will learn that marital relations can be very pleasurable.'
Biting back the urge to agree with her aunt, Mary stayed silent, hoping Rosamund would continue.
'I missed that side of things after Marmaduke passed. It's quite hard to go back to being the untouched woman you once were after you've been married,' Rosamund said, casting a look at Mary. 'Most of my encounters have been… passing affairs, where neither myself nor the gentleman involved have wanted to take things further and marry. But there was one man who fell in love with me and wanted more than I was either prepared or able to give him. I suspect he is the reason your mother cautioned you against taking a lover from a lower class.'
'Was he a servant?' Mary asked, wondering if this was where she found out about Rosamund's Tom. She pictured some of her aunt's male servants and wondered which of them it might be.
Rosamund shook her head. 'No, he worked for Marmaduke at the bank. We became better acquainted in the months after Marmaduke's passing. As the main beneficiary in my husband's will, I became involved in some of the decisions concerning the bank and Arthur became my conduit to the board. We spent quite a lot of time together and, eventually, we became intimately involved.'
Mary pursed her lips. 'But if he was a banker, it sounds like he was a perfectly respectable gentleman.'
'He was. He is. But he was middle-class at best. He came from a family that was not at all well-to-do, but he had pulled himself up the ladder and bettered himself. But he was not from our world. He wanted to marry me, but I was not ready for that. Not so soon after Marmaduke.'
Rosamund paused, turning her head to look out across the lake again. 'I do wonder now if perhaps we had met a little later, I might have accepted his proposal, but at the time, I was not ready. To be blunt, I wanted his company in my bedroom but not by my side in society.'
'Why?'
'Because Mama was scathing enough about Marmaduke, and he had a substantial fortune and a baronet in his family. Arthur's family was nothing until the railways came and his father rose in the ranks of one of the rail companies. I would never have heard the end of it if I had married him.'
Mary frowned, surprised that her grandmother's views held such sway with her aunt when she'd already married a man Granny hadn't approved of and had been well into her thirties when she was widowed.
'But surely if he made you happy…'
'Happiness is relative, Mary. He did make me happy, particularly in the bedroom, but he did not know our ways and our rules. It wasn't just the thought of Mama's disapproval that dissuaded me from accepting his proposal. The rough edges I enjoyed in private would have become an embarrassment in polite society. And I know myself well enough to know the good opinion of my peers is important to me.'
Mary chewed her lip, thinking about Tom and how Rosamund's story echoed her own thoughts and feelings about trying to introduce Tom into her world. If Rosamund considered that her banker lover had rough edges, what would she think about Tom, whose origins were even more lowly?
'So, what happened?'
'We parted company. He decided he could not continue our relationship without the prospect of it becoming formalised as husband and wife. It was not an amicable ending. He was quite upset about my decision not to take things further. I did end up retreating to Downton for a while, hiding behind my brother. You might not remember it, me coming back to live here for several months; you were quite young at the time. But that is why your mother is using Arthur as a cautionary tale.'
Mary was silent, seeing parallels to her own situation with the one Rosamund had described. Except in her case, her lover was even lower down the social scale.
'May I ask you a question?' Rosamund said, breaking into Mary's thoughts.
'Of course,' Mary replied, feeling slightly nervous.
'Why are you asking me this when you are no longer in danger of having to marry the mature and possibly impotent Sir Anthony?' Rosamund queried, her eyebrow once more rising curiously. 'You're not thinking of taking a lover anyway, are you?'
Mary flushed, not knowing quite what to say.
'I would advise you not to take such a course, even though you will not be a virgin on your wedding night. But if you choose to do so, I would counsel you to be exceedingly discreet. You know from excruciating personal experience how rumours can shred your reputation to pieces. And I would most certainly counsel you to stay within your own class.'
'Why?' Mary asked, genuinely curious as to what her aunt would say.
'Because there is always a temptation for the have-nots to blackmail the haves, no matter how much he may claim to care for you,' Rosamund said, bluntly. 'Our lives can seem very rich and decadent to those from the lower classes, and sometimes they see it as unjust that we have so much when they have so little. It can lead to very unpleasant situations.'
'Has that happened to you?' Mary asked, her eyes wide, wondering if perhaps her aunt had taken a servant as a lover after all.
'Not to me, no, but a dear friend of mine found herself being blackmailed by a footman after being foolish enough to sleep with him,' Rosamund said, crisply. 'A handsome face does not always sit atop a handsome personality.'
'No, I suppose it doesn't,' Mary agreed, an image of Thomas Barrow's face floating into her mind.
'So, is that your intent? To take a lover?' Rosamund asked, fixing Mary with a piercing look.
'I… I… um, no, no, of course not,' Mary stammered, hoping her face was not giving her away.
'Because if you are, my advice to you would be to choose a man you know beyond doubt that you can trust,' Rosamund said calmly, watching Mary keenly, not yet sure she believed her protestations that she was not thinking of taking a lover.
'Someone I trust?' Mary echoed.
'Yes. Someone perhaps like Evelyn Napier.'
'Evelyn?' Mary squeaked.
'Yes, I understand from your mother that he is quite keen on you. And I've seen him at dances with you. He always seems remarkably attentive towards you.'
'No,' Mary said, firmly. 'No, I do not intend to take Evelyn as my lover. He is a dear friend, and I would not wish to complicate things in such a way.'
Rosamund raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on her lips. 'You may be wise to rethink that position, my dear. A friend you can trust and be intimate with should both of you agree on such a thing can be invaluable.'
Mary gawped at her aunt, taken aback by such frank advice.
'Don't look so shocked, my dear,' Rosamund said, amusement in her eyes. 'It is a practice that could stand you in good stead if you find yourself in a state of frustration.'
Mary blinked, shaking her head. 'I… I… I'm sure it could but, no, I don't believe Evelyn could be that kind of a friend for me.'
'Are you sure?'
'I think he would fall in love with me. He has already indicated that he would be willing to marry me. But I know I will never fall in love with him. I can't… I don't feel it would be right to do that to him.'
Rosamund gazed at her with understanding. 'He would be your Arthur.'
'Yes, I believe he would. In some ways anyway.'
'So, is there another gentleman you have in mind?'
Mary shook her head, avoiding her aunt's eyes.
Rosamund studied her niece, almost sure there was something else that Mary was not saying. 'Is there a man you are attracted to who would not be considered a gentleman in our circle?' she asked, astutely.
Mary bit her lip, debating what to say. 'And if there was?' she asked eventually, her heart hammering in her chest.
'Is he from the middle classes?' Rosamund enquired, wondering who the young man could be to whom Mary had apparently formed an attachment.
Mary hesitated and then shook her head. 'No.'
'Ah, I see,' Rosamund said, her eyebrows rising as she found herself quite unable to hide her surprise at this revelation.
Of all her nieces, Mary was the last one she would have suspected of looking outside her class for love. Edith had always had crushes – all unrequited – and Sybil was a romantic idealist, who would not consider class important, hence her engagement to a middle-class lawyer, albeit one with aristocratic expectations. But Mary… Mary had always been the sensible one, the one who knew her duty and her place in the world, the one who had been due to marry for convenience and gain, not for love.
'You are shocked,' Mary said, her heart sinking.
'I am… surprised. And concerned. If the young man in question is not from the upper or middle classes, I can only assume he is working class.'
Mary said nothing, unwilling to give her aunt any more information.
Rosamund tipped her head, fixing Mary with a stern look. 'Then I would strongly urge you not to act on whatever attraction you may feel for him. Nothing can come of it.'
'But…'
'But?'
'What if…'
'What if what? What if you were to marry a footman or a shopkeeper or a tradesperson? Do you think that would end well, Mary? Do you imagine your mama and papa would delight in your situation?'
'I… I…'
'You know they would not. And can you imagine your grandmother's reaction?' Rosamund continued, relentlessly making her point. 'You would risk putting her in an early grave if you told her you were marrying far below you. She had a fit of the vapours when I told her I was going to marry Marmaduke, and he was most definitely not working class.'
Mary ground her teeth together, her jaw clenching as her aunt outlined everything she had feared would be the case if she were to come clean about her relationship with Tom.
'Is it just an attraction?' Rosamund asked sharply, suddenly suspicious that perhaps Mary had already taken steps towards intimacy with this unnamed, working-class, young man. 'Or has it already become something more?'
'No, Aunt Rosamund,' Mary said, lying through her teeth, lifting her head to look her aunt in the eyes to deflect her suspicions. 'Nothing has happened.'
'Does he work at Downton Abbey?' Rosamund queried, running through the young men she knew of in her brother's employ.
'No, he does not,' Mary said firmly, wishing she'd never started this conversation and desperate to put her aunt off the scent of her relationship with Tom.
'Then where did you meet him?'
'I don't wish to elaborate. Nothing has happened and nothing will. I just… I found him attractive, that is all.'
Rosamund narrowed her eyes, studying Mary intently. 'You would not lie to me about this?'
'No, of course, I wouldn't,' Mary said, surreptitiously crossing her fingers against the lie. 'I was just curious, that's all. After what Mama said, I thought perhaps you were the only person I could ask about such things.'
'And that is all?'
Mary sighed. 'Look, I was curious, I admit it. I don't expect to marry for love – I never have. And with the rumours circulating about me, I don't expect to have any offers. At least, not from any reputable suitors. I am damaged goods in the eyes of many in our circle. I just thought that perhaps if I could consider taking a lover at some point, my future might not seem so… dismal.'
'And this young man?'
'Is merely a handsome face I see out and about from time to time,' Mary said, mentally apologising to Tom for being so dismissive of him but needs must. 'But he's not from the upper classes, which is why I was curious when Mama advised me not to take a lover from a lower class. I thought, perhaps, it wouldn't matter if I had an affair with a man outside our world simply because I was attracted to him, especially if I am married to a man I don't love at the time.'
Rosamund pursed her lips, still looking consideringly at Mary. 'Well, things might well be different once you are married. And you will marry, of that I have no doubt. You will receive offers. But for now, my advice to you is not to take a lover, and certainly not one from a lower class. In my opinion, that would be a recipe for disaster, especially with the Pamuk rumours hanging over you.'
Mary nodded, looking down and folding her hands into her lap, willing herself to appear relaxed in front of her aunt despite the thoughts whirling through her mind and her heart racing in her chest.
Rosamund had confirmed all her fears about Tom not being accepted by her family. No matter what Sybil thought, there was no chance that her parents, her grandmother or her aunt would accept a chauffeur – or even a former chauffeur – as a suitable husband for her. That much was abundantly and depressingly clear.