Author's note: Thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate them.
14th August 1914
Downton Abbey
My darling Tom,
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I know you will never forgive me, but I want you to know that I am so very sorry.
I will never stop loving you.
Your Mary
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
'He's gone, milady,' Anna said quietly, holding Lady Mary's unopened letter to her lover out to her.
Mary bit her lip, tears rising again. How she had any tears left inside her was a wonder. She felt like she hadn't stopped crying all night.
'Did he… did he leave a forwarding address?' she asked, not holding out much hope.
'No, he didn't.'
Mary held out her hand and took the letter from Anna.
'Can I get you anything, milady?'
Mary shook her head, retreating to her bed. The only thing she wanted was the one thing she would never have again.
'Is Mary not coming down for breakfast?' Robert asked.
'No, Papa, I don't believe so,' Sybil replied, not yet ready to forgive her father for his part in breaking Mary's heart.
'Well, I suppose maybe we can allow it for one more day,' he sniffed, 'but she mustn't start making a habit of it.'
Sybil cast him a dark look, her jaw set stubbornly. 'She's heartbroken, Papa. I think we need to give her as much time as she needs.'
'Nonsense, of course, she's not heartbroken,' Robert responded, appalled to be dragged into a conversation about emotions, especially pertaining as it was to his eldest daughter's feelings for his ex-chauffeur.
'Yes, she is. She loved him very much,' Sybil insisted as Edith looked awkwardly down at her plate.
'No, she did not. It was, at best, an infatuation,' Robert said, glaring at his youngest.
'It was love. It is love,' Sybil declared, obstinately. 'You've got your way and he's gone now, but at least have the grace and the decency to acknowledge that Mary loves him, and she needs time to come to terms with the fact that she's lost him.'
'I will do no such thing. Now that's an end to it, Sybil. I will not discuss this matter any further,' Robert ground out, not prepared to suffer such talk at the breakfast table any longer.
'Fine,' Sybil snapped, setting her napkin on the table and rising to her feet.
Both her father and Edith looked up at her in surprise.
'Where are you going?' Robert demanded.
'I'm going to take breakfast in my room. I find the air in here too oppressive for my tastes,' Sybil said firmly, her heart banging in her chest at her small rebellion against her father.
'Sybil! Sybil! Come back here this instant!' Robert roared, pushing to his feet as she made to walk out of the room.
Sybil turned, her head tipped defiantly up. 'Are you prepared to admit that Mary needs time to recover because she's in love with Branson?'
'Absolutely not, no!'
'Then I shall not breakfast with you, Papa,' Sybil said, steel in her voice.
Robert gawped after her as she turned and stalked out of the room. He turned back to the table, slamming his napkin down, both shocked and furious that Sybil should have acted like that.
'Well, I… I… this is completely unacceptable,' he snapped, sitting back down in his chair. He glared at Edith, who returned his look warily. 'Should I be expecting you to stage a walkout, too?'
'No, Papa,' Edith said, meekly.
'Good. It seems at least one of my daughters hasn't lost her head over this unfortunate business,' Robert replied, picking up his cutlery again.
Edith pressed her lips together and reached for her coffee cup. She couldn't help but think that perhaps a wider gulf was opening up between her and her sisters than simply her being the only one still taking breakfast with their father.
Quite obviously, Sybil was on Mary's side over this whole Branson business. Indeed, it appeared Sybil had known about Mary's affair for some time. If Edith were being entirely honest with herself, she couldn't help but feel a little stung that Sybil had known but had not said a word to her about it.
She'd always hoped that she was the sister Sybil felt closest to, but all of this business made her think that perhaps she wasn't, and that was yet another area where Mary was taking the spoils from her.
The little carved cat gazed at her reproachfully, silently asking her how she could have been both so cruel and so stupid.
Mary lay on her bed, staring back at it, sitting there so mutely judgemental on her bedside cabinet. She remembered Tom's answer when she'd asked him why he'd chosen to carve her a cat, heard his voice telling her she reminded him of a cat sometimes.
Because you're sleek and beautiful and affectionate in private, he'd said. And then he'd said, when a cat trusts you, it trusts you for life.
Yet another tear slipped from the corner of Mary's eye, trickling over the bridge of her nose. That was still true for her. She would always trust Tom, but if they ever met again – which didn't seem likely – she doubted he would ever trust her again, not after she'd broken his heart like she had.
She rubbed her thumb over the wooden heart she was clutching tightly. It should feel jagged, broken, sharp-edged, she thought, like her own rotten, miserable heart. Instead, it remained stubbornly smooth to the touch.
Mary rubbed it again, a reflex action, feeling the full force of the pain of losing Tom, seeing him walk away from the Dower House once again, and she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
Carson looked on in dismay as Anna came downstairs with yet another untouched tray.
'Has she eaten anything?' he asked, worried by Lady Mary's refusal to take any nourishment.
'No, I don't think so. She drank the water, but that's it,' Anna said, setting the tray on the kitchen table.
Mrs Patmore wandered over, eyeing the tray critically. 'She wasn't even tempted by the apple crumble? She normally loves apple crumble, Lady Mary does.'
'It's been several days now. Do you think she's sickening for something?' Mr Carson said, wondering if there was perhaps something physically wrong with Lady Mary. 'Should we send for the doctor?'
Anna flicked a disbelieving glance at him, trying not to lose her patience. 'Only if he can mend a broken heart. If she's sickening for anything, it's Mr Branson.'
The butler pursed his lips, distaste on his face at the sound of the former chauffeur's name being mentioned in relation to his favourite Crawley daughter.
'No, I can't believe that,' he said, unwilling to accept that Tom Branson had been telling the truth when he'd asserted that the love between him and Lady Mary was mutual.
Anna gazed at him steadily, determined not to back down in her assessment of the situation. 'Begging your pardon, Mr Carson, but you've never been a woman in love forcibly separated from the man she loves.'
Carson blinked, taken aback by Anna's uncharacteristically firm and not-a-little chastising tone.
'Right, well, if it's a broken heart we're dealing with, she won't touch a three-course meal,' Mrs Patmore said, all practicality. 'We'll try soup. Chicken soup. That's her favourite. A nice thick soup with some fresh bread. That'll tempt her into eating, I'll warrant.'
Privately, Anna wasn't so sure.
Dubious that Mrs Patmore's chicken soup – delicious as it was – would be enough on its own to get Lady Mary to start eating again, Anna enlisted the help of Lady Sybil when she took the tray up to her mistress that evening.
'You try first, Anna,' Sybil whispered as they made their way towards Mary's bedroom door. 'And if that doesn't work, I'll give it my best go.'
Anna nodded, silently hoping for the best as Lady Sybil opened the door for her.
'I've brought you some soup, milady,' she said brightly as she crossed to the bed.
'Take it away. I don't want it,' Mary mumbled, lying in a hump, hunched up in her bed covers.
'You need to eat, or you'll make yourself poorly,' Anna tried again.
'Don't care,' came the response.
Anna glanced across at Lady Sybil and shrugged, pulling a worried face.
'Come now, Mary, darling, you have to eat,' Sybil said, leaning down to tug the covers down a little, so she could see her sister's face.
'Why?' Mary responded, staring dully across the room, not meeting Sybil's gaze.
'Because you'll fade away if you don't, and I can't have that,' Sybil said, firmly.
'But what's the point?'
'The point is to help you get back to yourself and start living your life again,' Sybil said, pushing the hair off Mary's forehead.
'Why would I bother? I'm never going to be happy again,' Mary muttered, trying to pull the covers back up over her.
Sybil grabbed the edge of the blanket, holding tight to it. 'Yes, you will. Maybe not in the same way, but you will be happy.'
'No, I won't.'
'Really? So, you won't be happy when you go out riding on Diamond? You won't be happy the next time you outwit Edith? You won't be happy for me when I marry Matthew?'
'No, I won't.'
Sybil sat on the bed, stroking back Mary's sweaty, messy hair from her face. 'Yes, darling, you will. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you will. And do you know who would be the first to tell you that?'
Mary said nothing, but she looked up at Sybil.
'He would. Tom would. He would hate to see you so sad and broken-hearted, you know he would,' Sybil said gently, invoking the only name she thought might stand a chance of getting through to her sister.
Mary was quiet for a moment more and then shook her head. 'Maybe he wouldn't mind so much now after I sent him away.'
'No, I'm sure that's not true. I know I didn't know him as well as you, but the Tom I knew wasn't small-minded. He'd be devastated to see you punishing yourself like this.'
'Lady Sybil's right, milady,' Anna said, adding her voice to the task of persuading Mary to eat. 'He loved you so much. I know he did. He told me often enough. And he would hate to see you like this.'
'There, you see,' Sybil said, gently, patting Mary's shoulder. 'If you won't eat for you and you won't eat for me or Anna, eat for Tom.'
Anna held her breath as her mistress lay still for another moment and then finally pushed herself upright and let her place the tray across her legs.
Sybil put her arm around her sister's shoulders and squeezed as Mary hesitantly picked up the spoon and took a small sip of the soup.
'That's it, darling. Just a little more.'
Anna met Sybil's eyes over Mary's head, and they exchanged a small smile, glad to have persuaded her to eat even a little.
17th August 1914
Downton Abbey
Tom, my love,
I didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much.
I thought I'd missed you as much as was humanly possible when we were separated while I was in London, but that was a drop in the ocean compared to the pain of knowing that I will never see you again.
Even writing those words is so very hard.
I feel like It's almost a grief too much to bear. It's like you've died. In many ways, you might as well have died because I know that you and I will never see each other again.
I can't stop thinking about it, Tom. That I will never see your lovely face again. Never hear your soft, soothing voice. Never hold you or lie in your arms again. Never feel your body against mine.
I can't bear it, Tom. I really can't bear it. It hurts so much. And the worst thing of all is that I have done all of this to myself. I have taken a dagger and slashed it through my own heart.
I am a fool, Tom. A stupid, prideful fool. I should have come with you. I should have cast all my doubts and fears aside and come with you. Because however hard our life together might have been, it couldn't have been worse than this. And at least we would have been together.
But now you've gone, and I don't know where in the world you are. If I did, I would come to you. I would run all the way to be in your arms again and kiss your darling face. I wouldn't care how far I had to go or how we would live afterwards. I just want to be with you again.
I just want to be your Mary again.
I am so sorry, my darling.
I am a fool who will always love you.
I will always be your Mary in my heart.
Always.
Mary sprang out of bed, energised for the first time in days by the decision she'd made. She ran to the bell pull, tugging on it to summon Anna. She'd need her help.
Reluctant to wait for her maid to arrive, she threw open the doors of her wardrobe and began pulling out one outfit after another, focusing on the ones she knew Tom liked to see her in. Impatiently, she threw some aside when she realised they would be difficult to wear without a maid to help her into them.
When Anna arrived, she found Mary in the middle of an explosion of clothes.
'Milady? Whatever are you doing?' she asked, trying not to let her heart sink at the mess and piles of clothes that would need ironing and rehanging in the wardrobe.
'Ah, Anna! I need my trunk! Or maybe just a suitcase at first. Perhaps you could forward on my trunk when I have an address to send it to,' Mary cried, whirling around to face her maid.
'Are you going somewhere?' Anna asked, taken aback by the almost manic movements of her mistress after days spent in bed, barely moving.
'I'm going to go to Tom!' Mary confided, her eyes bright with excitement.
Anna's mouth fell open. 'Have you heard from him? Do you know where he is?'
'No, I don't. I'm going to find him,' Mary announced.
'But… how? Where will you even start?' Anna asked, misgivings stirring in her belly.
Mary shrugged. 'I'll go to London first, ask at each of the newspapers in turn, see if any of them have taken him on.'
'Is that wise, milady? What if he didn't go to London?'
'Where else would he have gone?'
'Well, if he's gone to work for a newspaper, he could be in any city or town in the country. There are local newspapers everywhere. He might not be able to get a job with a national paper without any experience. He might even have gone back home to Ireland.'
Mary dropped the dress she was holding and sank onto the edge of her bed, her newfound flash of energy draining out of her as her admittedly slight plan collapsed at the first challenge.
'I can't bear it, Anna. I can't bear being without him,' she whispered, looking up at her maid, her eyes filling with tears again.
Anna crossed the room, stepping over the piles of dresses, skirts and blouses, reaching out to take her mistress' hands in hers.
'I miss him so much,' Mary choked out, feeling the pain that had briefly receded when she decided to find Tom flooding back.
'I know, milady, I know.'
'I should have gone with him, Anna. I should have said yes to him,' she whispered, a tear slipping down her face as she closed her eyes again. 'I should have been braver.'
'You had your reasons, though, didn't you?'
'Did I? Or was I just too scared to leave behind the life I knew for one I didn't?' Mary muttered, hating herself for being too weak to try. If she wasn't always so practical, so pragmatic, maybe she'd have found the courage to leave with Tom and then she wouldn't have to feel this overwhelming black despair every minute of every day.
'Do you want me to fetch Lady Sybil?' Anna asked, her heart going out to the young woman in front of her.
Mary shook her head. 'No. The only person I want is Tom. And I can't… I can't have him, can I? I'm never going to see him again, am I?'
Her face crumpled and she dissolved into tears again. Anna leaned in, the rules of propriety and etiquette going out of the window as she put her arm around her mistress' thin shoulders and held her as she sobbed.
18th August 1914
Downton Abbey
My dearest, darling boy,
Where are you? I wish I knew where you were. If I knew, I'd come to you. I would crawl over broken glass on my hands and knees to spend just one more minute with you.
There never was a sorrier, more wretched woman than I, Tom. I look back at that moment when I let you go, and I don't know how I could have done that. I don't know what I was thinking. How could I have put my worries about material matters above our love?
I know now that nothing was more important than you and I being together. Nothing. I would live in a hovel and wear rags for the rest of my life if only I could do that with you.
I live in hope that you will write to me and let me know where you are. And if you do, I will come to you, I give you my word.
I love you, my darling. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Tá grá agam duit.
Yours forever and ever,
Mary
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
'I'm so worried about her,' Sybil whispered to Anna in the corridor outside Mary's room.
'I know, milady. Me too,' Anna whispered back, looking anxiously at the closed bedroom door.
'Did you try to persuade her to get out of bed again this morning?'
'Yes, but she won't get up. It's all I can do to get her to change her nightdress for a fresh one.'
'It's been a week, Anna. She can't go on like this.'
'What do you suggest we do?'
'As much as I hate the thought of it, I think we might have to try bullying her out of it,' Sybil said, heavily.
Anna bit her lip, looking down, hating the thought of having to bully her mistress into getting out of bed, getting washed and dressed, and living a normal life.
'I know, I don't like the thought of it any more than you do,' Sybil said, blowing out a sigh. 'Perhaps we'll try cajoling again first. Granny has invited us for tea at the Dower House this afternoon. Maybe we can persuade her to come to that.'
'Maybe,' Anna said, doubtfully.
'Right, well, let's try,' Sybil said, reaching for the door handle. 'Put your best game face on, Anna.'
Sybil squared her shoulders and pushed the handle down, breezing into Mary's room.
'Are you awake, darling?' she asked, brightly.
There was no response from the bed.
'Only Granny's invited us to tea this afternoon. I thought it might be nice to go and see her. Get a bit of fresh air.'
Silence from the bed.
'Come on, Mary. Why don't you come with me?'
'No.'
Sybil glanced at Anna, relieved to have got a word out of her sister.
'Oh, go on. Look, Anna's here with me. She'll wash your hair and make you feel nice and clean and ready to face the world.'
'No.'
'But Granny would love to see you, darling. She really would,' Sybil persisted.
'I said no.'
'But what would I tell her if you don't come? She'd be so upset not to see you.'
'Tell her I'm sick.'
'But you're not sick, Mary,' Sybil said, her tone becoming sterner.
'If you try to make me get out of this bed, I will stick my fingers down my throat and make myself sick,' Mary said, her voice a monotone.
'No, don't be silly. Of course, you won't,' Sybil said, shooting a worried look at Anna.
'Watch me.'
'You… you don't really mean that, Mary,' Sybil said, aiming for a cajoling tone, but falling well short.
'I know you mean well, Sybil, but please just leave me be. I don't want to do anything, and I don't want to see anyone.'
'But you can't just stay here, wallowing in your own misery.'
'I can and I will,' Mary said, resolutely. 'Because that is exactly what I want to do.'
Sybil exchanged another worried look with Anna, who shook her head and then jerked it towards the door.
Sybil nodded, casting another look at her stubborn sister. 'Right, well, we'll go then.'
Mary said nothing, relieved to have been left alone.
'Mary, darling, it's Mama,' Cora said softly, approaching the bed where her eldest daughter lay unmoving.
'Go away, Mama.'
'I can't. I'm worried about you, sweetheart.'
Mary sighed. 'I suppose Sybil sent you, did she?'
'She may have mentioned you didn't want to go out, but I came because this has to stop, Mary. You can't waste your life in bed like this.'
'I can if I want to. It's my life. Such as it is.'
'No, darling, you can't. You have such a bright future ahead of you. You must start to look forward, not back.'
'What's the point?'
'The point is that life is for living, and you have so much living to do.'
Mary didn't answer that, hunkering further down in her bed.
Cora tried again. 'I know you were fond of Branson, but he won't be the last man you have fond feelings for, I promise you that.'
Mary stiffened, and then heaved herself upright, outraged by Cora's words.
'You think I was merely fond of him?' she asked, scowling at her mother. 'Fond? I loved him, Mama. I loved him with all my heart!'
'I know you think you did, but you – '
'Think? I think I did?' Mary interrupted, anger coursing through her. 'Why can't you accept that I loved him? I still love him! I will always love him!'
'Then you must try to forget about him, Mary,' Cora said sharply, her patience wearing thin.
Mary narrowed her eyes, sending a fierce glare her mother's way. 'You think it's as easy as that, do you? Would you be able to forget about Papa if you lost him? Would you be able to get up and go on as if nothing had happened less than a week after losing the man you loved?'
'That's entirely different, and you know it!' Cora protested, crossly. 'Your papa and I have been married for 24 years! It's not remotely the same!'
'And if Tom had been a gentleman or I had been a maid, we would have married too! Can't you see that?' Mary shouted, her voice shockingly loud in the quiet of her room. 'I should have said yes to him! I should have accepted when he proposed to me!'
'But you didn't,' Cora spat, ready to draw a line under this unseemly disagreement. 'You didn't.'
'No, and I will never forgive myself for that! Never!' Mary cried, her cheeks stained an angry red.
Cora drew herself up, standing stiff and tall. 'There's no point talking to you when you're like this.'
'Like what? Heartbroken and devastated?'
'Argumentative and unreasonable.'
Mary glared resentfully at her mother. 'Then why don't you just go and leave me in peace, Mama?' she snapped.
Cora took a step back and then turned to leave. This would not do at all. Not at all.
Mary sighed as she heard the door to her room open once more. Could they not just leave her in peace?
'Whoever it is, go away,' she called over her shoulder.
'I most certainly will not,' a familiar voice said, quite unequivocally.
Mary closed her eyes, knowing straight away that her grandmother would not crumble and leave without a fight.
'Please, Granny. Just leave me be.'
'Your mama says you are being most unobliging,' Violet said, seating herself on the easy chair, her skirts arranged neatly around her.
'Mama thinks I am just being difficult,' Mary replied, bitterly.
'And are you?'
'No.'
'Then why will you not get out of bed?'
'Because I'm sad and upset and heartbroken that I have lost the man I love,' Mary said bluntly, waiting for the rebuttal that was sure to come.
'I know you are. And yet you have to rise above that, hold your head high and face life with dignity.'
Mary closed her eyes, ridiculously grateful that her grandmother had not blithely dismissed her feelings for Tom as imaginary or irrelevant. 'I don't know that I can do that, Granny.'
'You can. I know you can. Do you know why?'
'No. How can you possibly know that when I don't?'
'Because you are a Crawley. ' Violet paused for a second as Mary sighed and shook her head. 'More specifically, you are a Crawley woman, and we are made of strong stuff. And you are my granddaughter. If I could do it, I know you can, too.'
Mary turned over and looked across at her grandmother in surprise. 'What do you mean? Are you talking about when Grandpapa died?'
Violet returned her look, compassion in her eyes. 'No. I am not talking about your grandfather.'
'Then, who?'
'I am going to share a confidence with you, Mary, one I am trusting you to keep to yourself,' Violet said, waiting until Mary nodded her agreement. 'When your father and your Aunt Rosamund were small children, I fell in love with a man and he with me.'
'You had an affair?' Mary murmured, astounded by this disclosure.
Violet nodded. 'It never became physical, but it was an affair. An intense emotional affair for both of us. I have never felt for any man what I felt for him. We were... we intended to leave our respective spouses.'
'But you didn't.'
'No.'
'What happened?'
'His wife discovered us and dragged him home as we were preparing to leave. I never saw him again.'
'Not even at court?'
'He was not British, so he was not at Queen Victoria's court.'
'Did Grandpapa know?'
Violet gave an elegant shrug. 'If he did, he was discreet enough never to mention it.'
'And you really never saw him again.'
'No. So, I do understand how hard it is, Mary.'
'How did you cope with it?' Mary asked, pushing herself up and propping her back against the headboard. 'I feel like I will never get past it. It's like this constant, huge weight on my chest, crushing me.'
'I found the trick was to take things minute by minute, hour by hour until eventually, minute by minute, hour by hour becomes day by day, week by week, month by month.'
Mary was quiet, thinking about that. She looked over at her grandmother curiously. 'Do you still think of him?'
'It was a very long time ago, Mary.'
'But do you?' Mary pressed, anxious to know if the pain she felt now would ever go away.
Violet hesitated and then nodded. 'Yes. Not every day, not anymore. Not even every week, but sometimes I do find my mind turning to him, and I wonder what became of him.'
'That's one of the hardest things, Granny, knowing that not only will I never see Tom again, but I'll also never know anything more about him or his life. What he makes of himself.'
'No, you won't. And you will come to accept that, I promise you will. But now you have to focus on yourself, Mary. You must find the strength to let Branson go and come back to the life you have chosen. Because you have chosen this life.'
'But I don't know if I want it anymore,' Mary mumbled, miserably.
'And yet you chose it. And it is the only option left to you,' Violet reiterated, firmly. 'Branson is gone. He will not return. And you must pull yourself together and face all those who would condemn you if you fail to lift your head high and carry on.'
'They will condemn me anyway,' Mary pointed out, morosely. 'My name will be mud. Even more so than it already is.'
'No, it will not. Nobody knows about you and Branson. And nobody will know,' Violet assured her.
Mary snorted. 'It wouldn't bet on that, Granny. Edith knows and she has already proved that she can't hold water. If she thinks she can ruin me, she will. She'll do it at the first and every opportunity.'
'No, she will not. Leave your sister to me,' Violet said, decisively. 'Now, I will ring for Anna and you will get up and let her help you wash and dress. You will dine with us tonight.'
'Must I really? Can't I start afresh tomorrow?' Mary sighed.
'No. You will have dinner with your family this evening. It's the first step, Mary, and you must take it,' the Dowager asserted.
Reluctantly, Mary nodded.
24th August 1914
Downton Abbey
Oh, Tom. They are forcing me back to life as I once knew it. But it will never be the same. How can it be without you in it?
Nothing is the same without you. The skies are greyer, the rain more persistent. Even Mrs Patmore's finest fare turns to dust in my mouth.
Please don't abandon me. I know I sent you away, but please, please come back and give me another chance. I'm begging you.
Come back to me, my love.
Your Mary
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
'Granny, you're a miracle worker,' Sybil said, sotto voce as she sat next to her grandmother in the drawing room after dinner. 'What did you say to her?'
'That, my dear, is between me and Mary,' Violet replied, pleased to see her eldest granddaughter up and back in the land of the living, even if she looked pale and drawn in the black dress she had insisted on wearing.
'She even ate a little at dinner. Not much, but more than I thought she would.'
'We must encourage her. Small steps, Sybil. Little and often is the key here.'
'Don't worry, Granny,' Sybil said, reassuringly. 'Between us, we'll bring her back to the Mary we know and love.'
30th August 1914
Downton Abbey
My sweet, sweet man,
What I wouldn't give to hear your voice again. To see your smile. To rest my head on your chest.
I wish I could tell you how much I miss and love you. Maybe you can feel it. I hope you can.
I love you, my darling, more than you will ever know.
Write to me. Please. I beg of you. Let me know where you are.
Yours forever,
Mary
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
September 1914
'You're finally out and about then?' Edith said, eyeing her elder sister curiously as she sat quietly on the bench under the huge cedar tree near the house.
'Looks like it, doesn't it?' Mary responded, barely able to summon the energy to be sarcastic.
Edith sat down on the other end of the bench, shooting wary glances at Mary.
'You've been withdrawn for a long time. Is that really because of Branson or are you just upset that you got caught and you're not the favoured child anymore?'
Mary turned her head, skewering her with a look filled with anger and dislike. 'If you'd ever been in love, you wouldn't need to ask that question.'
'I have been in love!' Edith retorted, indignantly. 'I was in love with Sir Anthony!'
Mary snorted, turning away to look back out across the rolling lawn.
'What? I was!' Edith protested, irritated by Mary's dismissal of her feelings.
'Really? Were you really?' Mary snapped, swivelling to confront Edith. 'Tell me, Edith, how did you feel when Sir Anthony left to rejoin his regiment?'
'Well, I was… I was very sad,' Edith said, taken aback by the pain etched on Mary's face.
'Sad?'
'Yes.'
'Did you feel like your heart had been wrenched out by the roots? Did you feel like there was a black hole in your chest consuming you until you thought you'd never be whole again? Did you think there was no point in living anymore because he's not here with you?' Mary hissed, her eyes filling with tears.
'I… er… I…' Edith stammered, shocked by the passion behind her sister's words.
'Did you think you would be glad if you didn't wake up in the morning because you couldn't live with the knowledge that you'd hurt the person who means the most to you in the whole world?'
Edith stared at Mary in astonishment, finally seeing and believing that she did actually love Branson and that this wasn't just some game she was playing, a ploy for sympathy after blotting her copybook so badly.
'Did you… did you really love him that much?' she asked, tentatively.
'Yes. That much and more,' Mary snapped, turning her head away again.
'But…'
'But what?'
'He wasn't… he was a servant.'
Mary closed her eyes, her sister's ignorance and naivety piercing through her. She shook her head, willing away the tears again before she spoke.
'Tom is more of a gentleman than almost all of the men I know. He's certainly more gentlemanly than many of those who would consider themselves his betters. Percy Allingham for one. Larry Grey for another.'
Edith paused, wondering whether to ask her question, but then her curiosity got the better of her.
'If you really think that, then why didn't you marry him?'
Mary was silent for long enough that Edith assumed she wasn't going to answer her.
'Because I wasn't good enough for him,' Mary finally said, roughly brushing away a tear as it slipped down her cheek.
Edith stared at her, more amazed by that statement than anything she'd ever heard her sister say before. Mary never believed she wasn't good enough for anything. On the contrary, nothing was ever good enough for her. So, for her to say she wasn't good enough to be the wife of a man who had served their family was staggering.
'What do you mean?' Edith asked, finding she was truly interested in hearing what Mary was going to say.
'I didn't have the courage to go with him when he asked because I don't have the skills I'd need to live how millions of ordinary people do,' Mary said, bleakly. 'And because of that, I've lost the only man I'll ever love.'
'You don't know he's the only man you'll ever love,' Edith replied, quite sure that Branson would not be the last man who would capture her sister's attention. Lord knows enough of them seemed to find her attractive.
'Yes, I do know that. Nobody will ever come close to Tom and how I feel about him,' Mary said, not an ounce of uncertainty in her voice. 'I know you don't understand it, Edith, but I love him. I will always love him even if I never see him again.'
Edith sat back, leaning against the bench, surprised to find herself feeling sympathy for the sister she disliked so much. When Sir Anthony had left Yorkshire, she'd been irritated and embarrassed that he had gone without saying goodbye to her but, if she was completely honest with herself, she hadn't felt anything remotely like the pain Mary had described. Perhaps Mary really did love Branson after all.
13th October 1914
Downton Abbey
Tom, my dearest, my darling,
It's been two months since I last saw you. Two months of misery and pain.
Are you feeling it too? Is your heart as battered and bruised as mine feels? I can barely take a breath without feeling the pain of losing you deep within my soul.
I am sorry. I am sorry to the very bottom of my heart that I was naïve and foolish enough to believe I could live without you. Because I am not living, Tom. I am merely existing. Some mornings I awake and I find myself shocked to still be alive. Sometimes I am convinced my heart will break wide open in the middle of the night and I will not survive until morning.
Part of me hopes to God that you are not suffering as I am. But part of me quite wickedly hopes you are and it will draw you back to me.
Come back to me, mo chuisle. I beg of you. Come back to me.
Your Mary
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Christmas Eve, 1914
Anna clutched the small gift she had for her mistress, debating for the umpteenth time whether to give it to her or not. It may give her some comfort, but then again, it may serve to tip her over the edge.
For days now, she'd prevaricated, wobbling back and forth. In the end, she'd asked Lady Sybil's advice.
Sybil had looked at the gift and sighed.
'What do you think I should do, milady?' Anna asked, anxiously.
'I think you should give it to her, Anna,' Sybil had said, deciding that if it set Mary back, they would simply have to pick her up again.
'Are you sure?'
'No, I'm not sure, but I think she would love to have it, even if it brings her pain. Eventually, she'll be able to look at it and remember the good times they had together.'
Now, Anna was back to doubting whether it was a good idea. Just as she was wondering that, the door from Lady Mary's bathroom swung open and the woman herself walked into her bedroom, her robe wrapped around her.
'Anna? What have you got there?' she asked as she walked across to her dressing table.
'Um, it's a gift, milady. For you,' Anna said, biting the bullet.
'For me?' Mary echoed in surprise.
'Yes. I… I hope you like it. I hope I haven't done wrong by giving it to you,' Anna said in a rush.
Mary stared at her, even more surprised by her words.
'What is it?' she asked, holding out her hand to take the small, wrapped packet from her maid.
Anna bit her lip, remaining silent as Lady Mary began to unwrap her gift.
Pulling the ribbon open, Mary pushed aside the brown paper, looking down at the velvet back of a small frame. Turning it over, she gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
Staring up at her from the small silver frame was a picture of Tom. He was in his uniform, his hands clasped behind his back, his head turned slightly to the side, yet he was looking directly at the camera. Directly at Mary.
Her eyes filling with tears, she looked up at Anna. 'Where did you get this?'
'A photographer came earlier this year and took pictures of us all,' Anna said quietly, still wondering if she'd done the right thing. 'I'd forgotten about it and then Mr Carson received a parcel last week with the photographs in it.'
Mary looked back down at the photograph, her fingertip tracing over Tom's face. 'I'm surprised Carson let you have this. I know he disapproves very strongly of Tom.'
'He didn't,' Anna said, simply. 'He threw it out. I, um, retrieved it from his wastepaper bin.'
Mary glanced up at her and threw her a brilliant smile.
'Did I do right, milady, giving it to you?' Anna asked, still anxious about that.
'Yes, you did. I don't have a photograph of him,' Mary murmured, her gaze drawn back to the picture of her lost love.
'It's not going to upset you?'
Mary shook her head. 'No, it makes him… it makes him more real. Not like a lovely dream I once had.'
'You might have to keep it hidden, milady,' Anna said, conscious that most of the Crawley family would not thank her for giving Lady Mary a memento like this.
'I know. I'll keep it just for my eyes only.' She looked up again, gratitude in her eyes. 'Thank you, Anna. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.'
'You're welcome, milady,' Anna said, pleased now that she'd listened to Lady Sybil and given the photograph to her mistress.
Mary lay in bed gazing at the picture of Tom, now propped up on her bedside cabinet, the little carved cat he'd made her next to it.
She couldn't stop looking at it, her eyes greedily roaming over him, every plane of his face, every single line, thinking about all the times she'd kissed every inch of it, from his lips to his brow to the end of his nose and the dimple in his chin.
Looking at the face she'd never thought she'd see again, an unexpected peace settled on her. She would always, always miss him. Always love him. But at least now, she could look upon him, frozen in one moment of time. Her chauffeur lover. Her once and forever love. Her Tom.