AUTHOR'S NOTE: It was supposed to be one chapter, but Matthew's thoughts made it so long that I had to split it in half. Then again, he had a lot to consider. Part 2 should be hopefully posted within the next few days.
The objective is clear: during the last debacle, the Germans managed to push back the British line for about a kilometre. The ground they gained included part of well-fortified and well-positioned trench, which would be nice to have for the winter, so the command demanded that an offensive patrol should be sent and get it back, if at all possible. Since the trench in question has been a part of the British line, it is an advance post for the Germans; there is a chance that while they undoubtedly posted a strong party there, they wouldn't have much in terms of support when attacked.
So here they are, crawling in the darkness, already about a thousand yards away from the new British line. Their progress is slow, considering lack of any light which could bring the enemy's attention and fire to them, but they know the terrain well; after all it has been theirs until three weeks earlier, and Matthew's unit has been stationed here for months after getting relocated from the Somme. He checks his watch with its fluorescent numbers and sees that they are making good time. They are close now, about 200 yards and...
Turns out, the Germans had a similar idea. They happen at a small patrol of them practically without warning.
"Fire!" yells Matthew and sees one of the enemy soldiers fall while the rest of them run away, clearly unprepared for a confrontation.
Or just wanting to clear the way for their machine guns which promptly start shooting at the British.
Matthew curses something fierce and reaches for his Lewis gun. From the lights of the blasts he can see that there are two of them. He aims at one as accurately as he can in near complete darkness and keeps shooting rapidly until it stops firing at his men. He barely has time to feel triumphant and turn his attention to the other one when he sees a dark shape flying towards them in the moonlight.
A grenade!
He jumps as far and as fast as he can, falling into a roll to get away from the explosion. Suddenly the ground under him gives way and he panics when he starts falling, hands desperately searching for anything to grasp but finding nothing but empty air. The fall must have lasted mere seconds, yet it seems to him that eternity has passed before he lands with a thud on hard, uneven ground.
xxx
Mary cannot sleep.
She is not sure what woke her up, but now she is staring at the play of moonlight on the ceiling, full of unfocused dread and extremely annoyed by it. She has an early shift in the morning and needs sleep but she is so alert that she knows she is not likely to get enough of it.
As often happens when she has too much time on her hands, her thoughts go to Matthew.
Right now she wonders what the hell she and Matthew are doing.
It is clear to her that the extreme circumstances they have found each other in changed something between them. Quite a lot, really. There is an understanding, trust, intimacy which they have never shared before, or if they did, never to this degree. This... she is not even sure what word to use for whatever this is... bond? Relationship? Well, whatever this is, it feels so nice. Peaceful. Safe. Warm. Good.
As nice as nice can be, really.
But... neither of them has put any of that into words. It seems that as much as everything has changed, nothing has. He remains engaged to Lavinia. He has never mentioned anything about love. It's clear that he considers Mary important, but... what if it is just as a friend and a cousin? He would be more than justified, of course. He did offer her his heart and she trampled all over it in her fear and hesitation. It's unbelievable that they are so close as they are, considering the pain she caused him.
She pushed him into volunteering for this damn war, after all. It's no wonder he prefers Lavinia who would never, ever do anything like that.
A small, ugly part of herself snarls that Matthew was hers first and is hers now, but she quenches it mercilessly. When Lavinia met Matthew, he hasn't been Mary's for nearly a year already and it was Mary's own fault. Lavinia has never done anything wrong except loving a man whose heart Mary managed to break so thoroughly he couldn't even force himself to visit his own home while on leave from the war, in fear of encountering her there. No, Mary is absolutely the last person to claim any rights regarding Matthew's love. But right or wrong, she craves it , and the scruples which stopped her from taking Carson's advice and confessing her feelings nearly a year ago haven't maybe disappeared but definitely weigh on her less. She doesn't feel good about taking Matthew from Lavinia, she winces in guilt and compassion at the thought of pain it would cause that nice girl, but she is honest enough with herself to admit that she is nearly beyond caring right now if it would mean that Matthew would be hers again. Of course, this is a depressingly far-fetched prospect. She has hopes... Oh God, she hopes so much that she's not misinterpreting things; that the connection she feels she shares with Matthew would be impossible without him loving her back... But what if she is misinterpreting things? What if it is just the deep friendship and comradeship born out of surviving in this hell together? Something strong enough to last for life, but not necessarily of a kind to lead to a marriage?
She doesn't even want to consider the other possibility: that Matthew does love her still but that he might stop when he learns about Kemal. He said he could never despise her for anything she has done, but... what she did is a big deal. Not that the other thing, the one Matthew meant when he said it, isn't. She wonders how confessing to losing her virtue with a handsome stranger can be any worse than shooting someone dead in front of Matthew's eyes, but somehow it still is. On one hand taking a life is of course a more serious sin, but well... She somehow doubts Matthew will be able to see any noble motives in her conduct with Pamuk since there weren't any.
Mary covers her eyes and tries to force herself to sleep.
xxx
Matthew is not sure if he has just gotten winded from the fall or if he has been unconscious for some time, but he opens his eyes in perfect darkness. It is quiet, too, which is even more concerning in its own way, because it most likely means that the fight is finished, and he managed to miss its conclusion. Whatever happened to his men, clearly they are not here anymore.
Wherever he is, he is alone. And the enemy is near, although hopefully not searching for him.
He takes stock of his injuries and is happy to discover that all his limbs are in working order. His body aches all over and he suspects that he's going to have some truly impressive bruises, as well as possibly cracked or broken ribs, maybe a concussion if he's unlucky enough. All in all, better than he expected when he found himself falling.
Now, where has he ended up?
He dares not lighting his pocket torch, lest he brings the enemy fire on himself, so he just reaches carefully with his hands, checking the ground around. He soon encounters a brick wall in front of himself which appears to be going long in either direction. Quick search behind him informs him that he has fallen into some kind of trench or, considering the building material, some kind of ruined basement corridor. It sounds familiar, actually, and he strains his memory to bring up the picture of the detailed maps of the area, when a sudden moan from the right puts him immediately on his guard.
Seems he is not alone here, after all.
Matthew makes himself as still as possible, barely daring to breathe. Whoever is in the darkness with him is audibly stirring and moaning some more. Then the mystery figure curses hoarsely and Matthew grins, his tension disappearing completely. He knows that voice.
"Fucking hell."
"I'm sure Mrs Hughes would make you wash your mouth with soap for such language, Mason, not that I disagree with your estimate of the situation," he says, nearly giddy with relief. He laughs at William's yell of surprise.
"Sir? Is that you? Are the others here as well?" he asks in quick succession and then adds after a small pause. "And where is here ?"
"It's definitely me, Mason, and we are the only ones here as far as I can tell. As to where is here, it's a very good question."
Reassured of temporary lack of enemies in the vicinity, Matthew resumes his exploring. The bricks pique his interest and he touches them carefully again. Their size and texture is wrong somehow, at least wrong for a modern building... He gasps when he realises the obvious answer.
"We're in the ruins of the church, Mason. The one by the quarry."
"Ah. That would explain the smell, sir. The lads sometimes came down here when the latrines were full."
That it would, although Matthew tried very hard to ignore the stench as much as possible. He frowns, focusing on finding the way out instead.
"Do you remember where the stairs were, Mason?"
"I think I would," answers William hesitantly. "If I knew where exactly in the ruins we are now. I cannot tell in all that darkness."
Neither can Matthew, unfortunately. The ruins are mostly without cover, the basement ceiling caved in and shelled into rubble with the rest of the building, but the night sky is completely covered with thick clouds, leaving no stars or moon to orient themselves by.
"We cannot stay here," he says firmly. "As soon as dawn breaks, we will be sitting ducks for the Boche. Are you alright to move?"
"Yes, sir. Just a bit banged up from the fall."
"Then we go alongside the left wall until we reach the end or recognise some detail. Even if we reach the wrong end, it will tell us something about our relative position."
He cannot see to be sure, but he thinks William nods.
xxx
Sybil notices Mary's red eyes at breakfast, of course.
"Oh darling, whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing," mumbles Mary, reaching for her toast, but without any hope of getting away with that pathetic attempt at avoiding conversation.
She's right. Sybil doesn't even dignify it with response and just stares at her expectantly.
"Oh, alright," snaps Mary, in a truly beastly mood after mostly sleepless night. "I couldn't sleep and I was thinking about all the things I managed to ruin in my relationship with Matthew. Now may I eat my breakfast in peace?"
"Mary," says Sybil intently. "You two act like the most devoted couple I've ever seen. There is this bond between the two of you, the intimacy, clear as day. How can you even pretend there is not?"
"Because, in the end, he intends to marry someone else," answers Mary quietly, too worn down to keep up the pretence that she doesn't care.
"But," challenges Sybil, "would he keep this engagement if he knew what you feel? In no ambiguous terms?"
"Doesn't he? You don't think I'm very subtle about my feelings," says Mary bitterly.
"Yes, but he has a reason to be wary of what he sees and how he interprets it, doesn't he? He thought you loved him before the war and of course you and I know that he was right about it, but he clearly believes he was mistaken, that he deceived himself and took his wishes regarding you as facts. He is not likely to act on his wishes again until he is certain that what he sees and thinks is true. You must tell him."
"I... I think I will. But, you see, for him to believe me... I would have to tell him everything."
"What do you mean, everything?"
"I would have to tell him why I didn't accept him in the first place."
"And why didn't you? I never believed for a moment that it was about the baby."
"No," admits Mary quietly. "It wasn't about the baby."
"Then why?"
But Mary bites her lower lip and just shakes her head, her eyes haunted, so Sybil reluctantly drops this line of enquiry.
xxx
It takes them most of the night just to get out of that church.
It's not just because the church – or what is left of it – is big, although it is. It's not even the near complete darkness they are forced to crawl in. No, what makes it near impossible to navigate are heaps of rubble blocking their way, rising like mountains in front of them, or forming cave ins which make them check the ground carefully with their hands before taking a step forward. But finally they do find the stairs and then a narrow path from the church to the quarry behind it, which they know is full of both natural and man-made caves and hiding spots.
The only problem is that they know it is also definitely behind enemy lines.
It is a problem to figure out later though. They are both exhausted, awake since previous day's dawn, aching from both their fall and the hours of crawling and climbing over rubble, and hungry. So they find what they hope will be safe enough little nook and drop tiredly on the ground.
"We will rest here until evening, Mason," says Matthew, reaching for his water canteen and noting with concern that it's half empty already. "We will try get back to our forces when it's dark again."
William only nods, his eyes half closed.
"Sleep now," says Matthew, rubbing his own. "I will take the first watch. I'm too wired too sleep yet anyway."
It says a lot about William's state that he doesn't even attempt to protest and immediately curls down to sleep, his side against Matthew's for some warmth in the freezing December dawn.
Leaving Matthew free to ponder how precarious their position really is.
So he does what he always does when he is cold and lonely and so very scared: he thinks of Mary. This morning, he imagines kissing her long creamy neck. He did it once, behind the rose bushes in Grantham House gardens during Sybil's ball, and he never forgot the feeling. How silky soft her skin felt under his lips, the way her neck arched under his touch to give him better access. The soft whimper Mary made when he dared to kiss her lower, where her neck met her shoulder, and then travelled upwards again, along her pulse, until he reached the point behind her ear. He releases a shuddering breath remembering how his teeth bit her earlobe - gently, so very gently - and how she shivered in response. He imagines now going downwards and reaching the top of her breasts. He imagines how soft they must be and reaches with imaginary hand to pull her dress down and release them fully to his sight. He has spent hours pondering the question how they would look - the corset unfortunately always obscured their shape so he has just his imagination to go on.
It works. Of course it does, it always has.
And then inevitable wave of guilt and shame comes, only stronger now after his last conversation with Mother.
He can't... He shouldn't indulge in fantasies like that while engaged to Lavinia and intending to marry her. It is wrong, it is disloyal, it is immoral.
He needs to stop. He needs to be a better man.
But he has tried. Oh God, how he has tried! And it hasn't worked!
His mind goes back to his last leave.
Oh yes, he did try then.
xxx
Doing better turns out to be very easy during the day. They read together, talk, laugh, sometimes dare to kiss. When the weather permits, they take walks on the grounds. In the evenings, they eat dinner with Isobel or with the family at the big house, and Matthew is gratified to see how well Lavinia fits into the small circle, how genuinely they all like her. Even Cousin Violet cannot force herself to be rude to her.
But the nights... Matthew tries, he really, really does. He falls asleep to visions of Lavinia and their future together. But the spectre of Mary is up to her usual tricks and haunts his dreams as if she owns them, easily chasing away any thoughts of her replacement. Matthew can deal with it if the dreams are of the pleasant kind. He wakes up wistful and full of might have beens, but he usually is able to shake off such thoughts by breakfast. There is no sense in dwelling on things long past and always impossible after all.
The nightmares though... they shake him beyond belief. His unconscious mind is full of horrors and Mary stars in so many of them. He wakes up trembling, gasping, screaming in terror and grief. Twice he has ended up actually sick. And it's completely impossible to not think of Mary when he is so very worried about her after every dream of this kind. It's impossible not to consider how utterly devastated he would be if anything happened to her. It takes all he has to walk downstairs for breakfast with Mother and Lavinia without biting someone's head off when concern and worry in his chest resemble a snarling beast.
He gets a letter from Mary on one of those days and he has never been so happy to receive one. He's so eager to read it he opens it right there, at the breakfast table, in full view of Lavinia and Mother, which in hindsight wasn't his smartest move.
"Dear Matthew,
I hope you have good time on your leave and enjoy your break from it all. I'm trying not to be envious imagining you at Downton while I sadly remain here, but I only succeed by reminding myself sternly that you've been here for years while I enjoyed all the comforts and safety of home. The ratio of fairness against pettiness in me depends entirely on how cold and muddy I am at any given moment though.
Things are pretty calm here this week, not too many trains, which is a very pleasant change of pace, of course, but does leave me restless and even a bit bored. It surprised me how bored one can get here when one is not deadly afraid and so exhausted one is in danger of falling down on one's face. It shouldn't, you complained about it often enough, but somehow I've always thought you were exaggerating. Well, I don't think so anymore and I'm sorry for ever doing so. Write it off as naivety of a novice please.
Smith is teaching me card tricks as we wait to be called, and I try them out later on Sybil and Branson. I am getting better by a day. Beware, by the time you come back, I am going to turn into quite a card sharp.
I'm rereading this letter and see it contains mostly complaints. Well, it shouldn't surprise you. You've always called me awfully spoilt. But you being home fills me with nostalgia and discontent. I think I will write a letter to dear Carson now. Avoiding mentioning anything which could give him a heart attack should be a mental exercise strenuous enough to get me out of this temporary melancholy. Although after his reaction to learning that I am making my own tea, I am sometimes tempted to refer casually to washing and mending my clothes. I have valiantly resisted this evil impulse so far.
I sincerely hope you are doing well. I know that for all the pleasure home and family bring to you, leaves haven't been always easy for you.
Please give my warmest greetings to Cousin Isobel and Lavinia.
Your affectionate cousin,
Mary"
He can hardly tear his eyes away from the letter, written in her elegant, clear handwriting. It's a poor substitute for having her near, very poor, but the proof that she is thinking about him, feeling concerned for him, makes some pleasant warm feeling spread through his chest.
"Who's the letter from?" asks Lavinia, and Matthew's first instinct is to hide it in his pocket with a snarl. The letter is his . He takes hold of himself, feeling ridiculous, and offers it to Lavinia instead.
"From Mary. She's sending her greetings to you. Here, read it yourself," he says easily. The letter is nice, short, cousinly; there is no harm in giving it to Lavinia to read. It's only his own absurd feelings for the writer which make it special.
"How is Mary?" asks Isobel. "Robert has been complaining about the frequency of her letters."
"She is well. She has been unfortunately quite busy, but the fighting is stopping now. She should have much more time to write soon," he answers, trying not to grin at the thought that when she did find time to write a letter, she decided to write it to him.
Lavinia gives Mary's letter back to Matthew, asking him to convey her greetings back. He packs it into his pocket with what he hopes is casual disinterest. His fingers caress a toy dog hidden there.
xxx
"No, not this bench," says Matthew. "Let's walk a bit further."
"It has very nice view of the grounds," protests Lavinia, but allows him to guide her away.
"It's too close to the house. We will be constantly interrupted by patients and nurses."
He cannot tell her the real reason behind his reluctance. It is their bench, his and Mary's, and the last thing he wants to do while he is trying to be a better fiancé to Lavinia is to sit in a place so full of all kinds of memories of Mary. Their first shy attempts at flirting, their passionate kisses, their awful fights... This bench has seen it all and Matthew doesn't want to see which ghosts it would bring to the front of his mind. He is relieved to leave it behind.
They do find another bench, one with the view of the house.
"It is lovely here," says Lavinia slowly. "But I still cannot think of it as a 'home'."
"I can well understand it," agrees Matthew, although he has to admit that Downton has grown on him, or he has grown comfortable here. He still hopes he won't have to take it over for decades yet. He doesn't think anybody is praying for Robert's longevity as fervently as he does. "Although I think it might be more difficult for you to see it in a different light when it's functioning as a convalescent home."
"It doesn't help, no, but I don't think it's the most important thing. It's just so big. And so very formal, even now in the wartime. The dressing gong, the white tie and evening gowns every day... Is that how you want to live?"
"No," answers Matthew honestly. "But we're not going to. We're going to have a house of our own."
"And you will work with Papa, as you discussed? Move your practice to London?" she asks and he notices how wistful she sounds.
"Yes," he answers firmly, happy to see her smile. One thing he is very sure of: if he wants to have any chance of his marriage to be a success, he cannot spend his married life as Mary's neighbour. She will of course marry and move somewhere else eventually, but he thinks that erring on the side of caution and putting some distance between him and her and Downton straight away is the wisest thing to do. He doesn't delude himself that it will make him forget her, but he knows from bitter experience that paying proper attention to Lavinia is exponentially easier if Mary is not in the same room.
"I am an industrial lawyer anyway," he continues. "London is a much better fit."
"Won't your cousins be disappointed?" she asks shrewdly.
"They will be, of course, and I like to flatter myself that it wouldn't be just because I happen to be the heir. But they will understand and it's not like we will never visit. I think it will be much better for both of us to live in London though."
"I agree."
Lavinia's smile makes her whole face glow with happiness and it's very easy to kiss her then. He scarcely thinks of Mary at all.
But he dreams of her again that very night.
xxx
So yes, he can honestly say that he did try. But... for the very first time he asks himself if he wants to spend his whole life making this kind of effort. If he wants to spend his whole life lying to himself and others.
He flinches at the term, instantly wanting to deny it – he is not lying to anyone, he does love Lavinia, he does want to marry her and be a good husband to her – but something in that bitterly cold winter dawn, with his stomach twisting in hunger and William sleeping trustingly next to him makes him brave or desperate enough to face his feelings without the usual safeguards.
Yes, he does love Lavinia. She is very dear to him and he hates the thought of ever seeing her unhappy. But she will never be the only one for him. She will always, always be the second one to the other woman in his heart and mind, the one who bewitched him and captivated him so much from the very beginning that he has never managed to free himself of her, however much he fervently wished to at times.
He laughs quietly, remembering being stuck in a dugout with some of his men, waiting out the shelling and telling all kinds of stories to each other to both pass the time and quench the fear of one falling straight on them and burying them alive. He tells them the story about how valiant, beautiful Lady Mary practically called him a sea monster to his face, with William nodding sagely and confirming every word, and the lads roaring with laughter. He doesn't tell them how her words put a vivid image of her own naked body tied with chains to a rock in his mind – not an image he was ever going to forget, thank you very much – or how hard it was to form witty retorts and appear composed with a resulting raging arousal. He was angry at her unprovoked and undeserved attack, aroused, utterly captivated and ready to strangle her for making him feel all of this.
Funny how it is one of his most favourite memories now.
But how can he marry Lavinia when he feels all of this? How will she feel if she hears him calling Mary's name in his sleep?
Or worse, while making love to her?
He shudders at the horror of that thought and tells himself he would never do something like this, but a sliver of doubt remains. As much as he finds Lavinia attractive, so much of his passion is focused on Mary and Mary alone. What if he did make such a grievous mistake while in the midst of things? The very fact that he cannot write off such a possibility completely gives him the answer he has known for months but doesn't want to acknowledge.
He cannot marry Lavinia. She deserves better.
He recoils from that thought but cannot deny its rightness . All the reasons which made him run away from this conclusion are selfish. He doesn't want to face her pain when he breaks their engagement. He did have some experience with breaking things off, after all, and the tears on Mary's face haunt him still even though his own anger and hurt helped him to get through it at the time. He is not in the slightest angry with Lavinia; she hasn't given him any cause to be, so he knows it's going to be simply awful . And he will have to face Reggie as well... A man he considers his good friend and whom he has gladly thought of as his prospective father-in-law for a year and a half now... Oh God, he is going to feel so angry and disappointed with him now... And Lavinia so devastated...
But he reminds himself with a newly found resolve that continuing with the engagement would just cause them all more heartbreak in the long run. His head and heart are just too full of Mary to leave space for anybody else. He loves Lavinia, he does care about her, but this love is like a candle against the sun when it comes to the love he feels for Mary, and he can't fool himself that it's otherwise, not when he finally admitted the truth to himself.
But he wants, oh how he wants to! Because the prospect of breaking his engagement to Lavinia scares the hell out of him. Not just because he hates the prospect of confrontation and the guilt for causing her pain, but also because it will leave him fully vulnerable and exposed to rejection by Mary. His engagement is the last line of defence against it and with it gone... He will have to face the truth of Mary's feelings for him and after the last time he risked it and lost, everything in him shrinks in fear at doing it again.
This cold, merciless, rational part of him which he has managed to keep quiet for way too long, points out now that it all boils down to cowardice with him. He has known for months that he loves Mary still, despite everything. He has realised that it is not likely to change, even if he marries Lavinia. He has known, even if he refused to acknowledge or accept it, that it is wrong to proceed with his engagement in those circumstances. He has told himself multiple reasonings, half-truths and outright lies to justify it, but really, he has been a coward. He has been just so afraid of both causing heartbreak and making himself vulnerable to experiencing it himself after it nearly broke him before that he shied away from doing what was right .
What is right is to end the engagement with Lavinia and be honest with Mary about his ongoing feelings for her.
And if she doesn't love him back... Well, he has been living with this knowledge for years now, hasn't he? He will survive.
He rebels against it though. Why should he destroy his chances of love and happiness for a woman who, however beloved she is by him, does not love him back and is unlikely to ever return his affections? Why shouldn't he move on? But the rebellion lasts only as long as it takes him to admit the final sad truth to himself.
He cannot move on because he never has . He's never gotten over Mary and until he does, he won't be able to have an honest and happy relationship with anybody else. And as much as it scares him, he starts to suspect that he might never be able to.
That he will never be happy with anyone else as long as Lady Mary walks the Earth.
xxx
The next two days are busy but not very hectic. Battle of Cambrai, short but unexpectedly brutal, finished a week earlier and now Mary is mostly busy transporting the wounded between casualty clearing stations, the hospital and the medical transport trains taking them to Britain for convalescence. The work is busy, with thousands of men to ferry one way or the other, but without the urgency of fresh casualties straight from a battlefield. Those men were already taken care of as best as they could have been, nobody is going to die because Mary slows down to get around a new crater in the road or because her ambulance gets stuck in traffic behind a row of missile carrying lorries.
She still sighs with relief at completing her long shift and drags herself wearily through the town on the way to her billet. She nearly stumbles into a familiar figure in her tiredness.
"Captain Summers!" she greets him in surprise, looking around eagerly. "Is Captain Crawley with you again?"
Captain Summers looks stricken for some reason and Mary's stomach drops.
"You haven't heard?" he asks and immediately shakes his head. "No, I guess they wouldn't notify the family quite yet."
"I haven't heard what?" asks Mary, clinging to her composure by mere fingertips. Her heart starts to race so fast she's afraid she is going to faint, for the very first time in her life.
Captain Summers' eyes are serious and regretful when he answers her.
"Captain Crawley and his batman went on a routine patrol two days ago and nobody saw them since."