He is missing. Oh God, he is missing, and she knows only too well what terrible things could have caused it. He might have been blown up into such small bits they would never be recovered. He might have been so badly torn or burned his body would be collected for burial, but never identified. He might be lying dead, or worse, mortally wounded and waiting for death, in some ditch or muddy field, with nobody the wiser until they stumbled upon his corpse weeks or months later.
She has seen all of those scenarios happen to other soldiers. She has seen the bodies or what was left of them. So many bodies.
Is Matthew one of them now?
"Lady Mary? Would you like me to escort you to your billet?"
Captain Summers's concerned voice pulls her out of such terrifying visions for a moment. She's sure they are going to return as soon as she is alone. But it's not the main reason she decides to accept his offer. She is desperate to know all the details.
"Yes, please, if you would be so kind," she answers, keeping her voice as composed as possible. She hardly thinks he will tell her anything if she looks hysterical. "I'd appreciate it."
He walks her home without any of his usual jokes and over the top flirting. In fact, neither of them exchanges a word.
xxx
William wakes Matthew up around 3 PM, when the sun is getting low on the horizon. They share some of the hard biscuits and a ration of bread they had in their pockets, the meagre meal hardly assuaging their hunger but better than nothing, and start to plan.
"There are three paths out of the quarry, other that the main road," says Matthew, recalling the map of the area. "The road is too dangerous; they might have a sentry there. One of the paths leads to the church, this is the one we used. The other two lead either to the river or to the village."
"But both are behind the enemy lines, aren't they, sir?"
Matthew nods grimly.
William hesitates.
"Wouldn't it be best to climb back to the church, get around it, and crawl back the way we originally came?"
Matthew considers it and nods again.
"Now that we know when we are, and if there is just a little bit more light at night, it might be worth the risk. We would be passing the Boche very closely, but it is the fastest and most direct route to our lines."
So this is what they set out to do as soon as it gets dark. The climb through the path is relatively easy and when they find the ruins, this time they don't get in but attempt to circle it, keeping close to the walls so they don't get lost in the darkness. They are nearly past it and Matthew starts to feel a cautious hope when a sudden spark of light and a curse in German stops them in their tracks. Matthew strains to listen to the conversation which follows, his German less perfect than his French, but sufficient enough to understand.
"You idiot!" hisses the voice in front of them. "Put it out! Do you want the tommies shoot your bloody head off? You want a smoke so badly, go down to the ruins!"
"It stinks there," answers another voice sullenly. "And I was shielding the light with my hand."
"As if you smell like roses!"
The quarrel continues, with other voices joining in, and Matthew realises that there is quite a party posted in front of the ruins, directly in his and William's path. Apparently the Germans do not want a repeat of last night's sneak attack on their new position. They could attempt to get around them, but he has no idea how widely they are spread and he would rather not learn by crawling into somebody's lap. With a supressed sigh, he grasps William's arm and silently directs him to go back to the quarry.
They will have to attempt one of the other routes.
It's with an air of dejection they settle back in the nook they started from. The night is still young, since the sun set after 4 PM and when Matthew checks his watch he finds out that their aborted attempt at getting back to their own forces took them only about two hours.
"We will rest for a moment and then take the other path," he says with more calmness than he really feels. The direct route they have just found to be blocked by the enemy would be just about a thousand yards. Either of the alternative paths available would mean a trek of several miles.
"Which one, sir?" asks William, and Matthew is in awe of the younger man's composure. He has long considered William to be the brave one, while he himself only tries to act bravely. He finds though that William's courage usually inspires his own and strengthens his resolve; he cannot act more scared than his batman, after all, even if he is .
"There is higher risk of an encounter of some kind if we approach the village," he starts thinking aloud. "But on the other hand, if this is going to take longer, there is a chance of finding some food there. I don't know about you, Mason, but I really could use one of Mrs Patmore's dinners right now."
"I would give a year of pay for a roast beef sandwich," agrees William mournfully, but since there is exactly zero chance of finding one in the quarry, they set off again.
It takes them some time to find the path, although weak moonlight helps a lot in navigating among stone and rocks. Then they follow it through frosted over fields and sparse copses of trees. They hide in one when they finally reach the village around midnight.
As villages near the front go, this one is in quite good shape; only some of the houses suffered from shells and bullets. Matthew thinks of the villages and town near the Somme battlefield which the Germans razed to the ground as they were retreating, leaving behind a lifeless wasteland, and shudders at the memory. He definitely does not regret that his unit has been reassigned further north from this ghastly scene of death and annihilation.
With effort, he brings his mind back to the village in front of them. It's dark and quiet, with sparse lights here and there. He hears a squawk of a hen and swallows. It's been well over a day since his last proper meal and he is starving. They should walk past the village, then circle back and walk about three further miles west, but if they are going to encounter any kind of obstacle again, they would need some sustenance.
"Have you ever stolen apples from an orchard, Mason?" he asks.
Predictably, Mason shakes his head.
"Me mum would have my hide if I did," he says firmly.
"Me neither. Which is unfortunate, because it means neither of us have any experience with stealing."
William sighs in agreement.
"We could've used Thomas right now," he mutters, eyeing the village resentfully.
"You're the farm boy though, aren't you, Mason?"
"Yes, sir. My dad has a tenancy on the estate next to Downton."
"Then tell me, where would one be able to find anything edible on a farm in December? Preferably without breaking into a house?"
Mason purses his lips thoughtfully.
"The winter pantry," he says. "It would be a half-buried cellar for cold storage. Mostly potatoes, maybe some salted or smoked meat or fish if we're lucky. Apples. This kind of stuff."
Matthew swallowed against hunger pangs in his belly.
"Somehow I don't think I'm going to be picky, Mason."
William smiled grimly, his own stomach audibly growling.
"Me neither, sir. Me neither."
xxx
"Why are you so gloomy? You could at least pretend that you want to engage in it," chides Ivy Pierce, a fellow volunteer, as they are helping with decorating a hospital ward for the oncoming concert.
"Leave her alone," says Phryne, pulling her away from Mary. "Her cousin is missing in action."
"That nice blond officer?" she hears Ivy asking. "What a shame."
Mary fights the urge to laugh hysterically. What a shame indeed! Yes, it would be such a shame if Matthew was never found! A shame, an injustice, an absolute travesty. Why him of all people? Why him ?!
She realises that both her eyes and fists are tightly closed, her fingernails digging into her palms, and forces herself to open her eyes and relax her hands. She needs to keep it together. They don't know that he's dead and she is not going to mourn him until they know for sure there is a reason to . She refuses to accept how improbable it is for him to be alright after being missing for four days. Until it's confirmed one way or the other, she is not going to mourn him .
But she is so very, very afraid.
xxx
The heist at the village was the only piece of luck they have encountered following that godforsaken patrol.
First of all, it was still occupied by some of the French villagers. Many of the villages near the front were either abandoned by refugees or forcibly evicted and filled with soldiers instead. While there were clearly German soldiers billeted in the village, the farms on the outskirts still belonged to their original owners and they somehow managed to sneak into some cellars and fill their pockets with apples, hard cheese, sausage and potatoes. Matthew, feeling guilty over the stealing, however unavoidable, left some francs on top of the shelf in payment.
In the last yard they visited, they had to run away from a guard dog and, fearing that his barking was going to bring more attention than just an enraged farmer, they left the village altogether and hid in a nearby forest.
"The problem is," said Matthew, after swallowing a big bite of the sausage, "that we cannot really use the cover of darkness from now on. We would manage if we used the road, but it's too dangerous, the Germans will be using it too to move the troops and supplies at night to avoid the shelling, same as we do. But if we have to cross miles through fields and forests, we need light of day if we don't want to be hopelessly lost."
William nodded in agreement, not happy with the prospect, but seeing the logic in it.
This is when their luck runs out. If they are not stopped by coming across a swamp, they have to manoeuvre around German patrol. It seems the whole area is simply crawling with them and they spend more time hiding from them than actually walking. It's been three days since they left on the patrol and Matthew starts to worry that the Army is going to notify Mother soon. He hates the thought of how frantic she or Mary, who would necessarily get the news as well sooner or later, would be when it happens. He's glad that he at least didn't notify Lavinia that he expected leave, so she's not waiting for him.
So here they are again, hiding under the bushes and branches from the Germans just on the path over them, chatting idly and smoking. A cigarette butt lands by Matthew's feet, and he gestures to William to go, hoping against reason that they won't be spotted.
No such luck.
They end up surrounded on both sides, the Germans shouting and shooting, and all they can do is run as fast as they can, jumping between trees to hopefully make themselves a more difficult target. Suddenly, Matthew sees a German taking aim straight at them between the trees, his gun trained on William and he swerves to push him out of the line. William stumbles and falls, apparently unharmed, but Matthew feels as if someone took a red-hot poker to his side. He gasps, grabbing his side instinctively and finds it wet with blood.
"Sir!" exclaims William in horror as he scrambles to his feet. He is a well trained soldier though and focuses on neutralising the threat before attending to Matthew. He shoots his gun and either hits the German or at least makes him retreat and take cover, because for a blissful moment nobody is shooting back.
"Sir, we must go! Can you run?" he asks anxiously.
Matthew straightens with effort and gasps in pain, but he nods. The wound, while incredibly painful and bleeding profusely, seems to be superficial – he hopes at least – and so they start running again, William supporting his arm firmly from the moment he notices Matthew's faltering step. He's dragging him along, really, and it slows him down significantly.
"Go ahead, Mason," says Matthew, looking over his shoulder. They left the Germans behind somehow, but they are going to be soon in hot pursuit. "Even if they catch me, at least they treat officers better than they do rank."
"No way, sir," hisses William through clenched teeth. "You took that bullet for me. There is no fucking way I'm leaving you here now."
Matthew doesn't have enough breath to argue.
xxx
"Do you think we should tell Isobel?" asks Mary miserably, picking at her supper.
Sybil purses her lip uncertainly.
"I'm not sure... If he is found in a day or two, we would just make her suffer unnecessarily."
"But wouldn't she want to be informed? He is her son..."
Sybil looks at Mary critically.
"Are you happy you know? Wouldn't you prefer to remain ignorant if there is going to be a happy ending after all?"
"But what if there won't be one?" asks Mary with bloodless lips and tightens her fists so hard that the nails dig into the skin of her palms. "Won't she blame us for keeping it from her then?"
"You must keep faith," says Sybil firmly. "You said you're not going to mourn him until we know for sure that there is a reason to."
"I try," whispers Mary and Sybil's heart clenches at the sight of her expressionless face and even more at the sight of her eyes which are the opposite. "I really try, Sybil, but I am just so afraid for him."
She laughs briefly.
"Actually, I wish I hadn't met Captain Summers until a day or two later. I could have faced it all with one more night of sleep."
Sybil grasps her hand.
"He will be alright, you'll see. He must be."
Mary swallows painfully.
"It's been three days, Sybil. How can he be alright with nobody knowing where he is?"
Sybil shrugs helplessly.
"Maybe he's been taken prisoner. It wouldn't be ideal, of course," she hastens to say at Mary's expression. "But it's still would be better than many other possibilities. Or maybe he is lost or trapped somewhere, but he will find his way back yet. Or maybe he is in a field hospital somewhere and nobody bothered to notify his unit, you know how chaotic things can be."
"None of those scenarios are good," points out Mary testily.
"No," admits Sybil. "But any of them would mean that he is alive and where there's life, there's hope."
Mary squeezes Sybil's hand gratefully.
"I still think we should tell Isobel though. She's working for the Missing Enquiry Bureau. She might have the resources to actually find him."
"This is a good point. Should I send a telegram in the morning?"
Mary shakes her head.
"No," she says grimly. "She cannot learn something like that from a telegram if it can be avoided. If Captain Summers won't send word, I will go to Boulogne tomorrow after my shift and tell her myself."
xxx
William's face is grim over him.
"Please let me see it, sir," he says, reaching for the buttons of Matthew's jacket. Matthew notes idly that the right side of it is drenched with blood. He nods slightly, too winded from their run to speak, and relaxes against the frozen ground, taking big gulps of air as William deftly unbuttons his clothes and moves them aside to inspect the wound.
"It's not bad," he says with clear relief in his voice and Matthew dares to take a look himself.
Well, it's certainly not pretty and it hurts like hell, but he has to agree with William's assessment. The bullet grazed his side just under his ribs, leaving a deep bleeding line of torn flesh about eight inches long, but this is not a kind of wound which is going to cause him any long term problems. Unless it gets infected, of course, and Matthew braces himself for the necessary steps to avoid it. William, as familiar with the procedure as he is, carefully pours antiseptic all over it and it's only the fear of drawing the enemy's attention which stop Matthew from screaming bloody murder. He bites his lips so hard they're bleeding too. Thankfully, William is soon done and applies field dressing before buttoning Matthew's uniform carefully over it.
"I think it should be stitched," he says with a frown. "But hopefully the dressing will lessen the bleeding for now."
Matthew grasps his arm in gratitude and reassurance.
"I'll live," he says. "Thank you, Mason."
William looks at him fiercely.
"You only got shot, sir, because you pushed me out of the way."
"And so we both will live. Not an outcome to complain about, is it?"
"No, sir," admits William, but his concerned frown remains in place. "But I wouldn't mind getting you to a dressing station and some food into our bellies either."
Since all their stolen food has been eaten long ago, not much chance for it now.
"The night is soon coming," says William, looking at the setting sun. "Let's huddle to sleep for a bit. Then we can try to crawl through the darkness again. We must be close to our lines, aren't we, sir?"
"We must be, yes," answers Matthew tiredly. "I think it's worth a try. Let's just pray we won't stumble into another swamp."
He tries to sleep but is unsuccessful. His side hurts too much, it's too bloody cold and his thoughts are racing. As much as he tries to remain strong and optimistic for William, doubts and fears start to overwhelm him. They are close to their own lines, yes, but they still need to get past the Germans without running into any of them, and with him injured and slowing William down, they will be an easy target if that happens.
He feels blood seeping slowly through the field dressing and wonders if this is how he's going to die. The wound is not so bad, no, but if they are found and shot, or if it gets infected from lack of proper care... It may happen. He can really die here and never see Mary again.
His heart clenches at the cruelty of this thought. He still is not sure if she loves him back – he rather thinks she doesn't, as much as it pains him – but to know now that he loves her so terribly much, without attempting to hide from that realisation; to plan to end things with Lavinia and fight for her, and yet being forced to acknowledge that he might never get the opportunity to do so... It's beyond terrible. They must get out of it, they simply must. He cannot accept that he will never see her again. He cannot accept that he will never be able to tell her how much she means to him. Even if she doesn't love him back, he's burning with the need to confess everything to her.
He must get back to her.
xxx
Mary looks up at the building housing the Red Cross chapter in Boulogne and swallows hard. She doesn't think she would have ever found the courage for the conversation ahead if she wasn't desperate.
She steels herself and goes in. The place is busy and full of people and paperwork, but to her relief she is soon led to a cramped little room with two desks, one of them thankfully empty at the moment and the other occupied by Isobel, who gets up to greet her with obvious surprise.
"Mary! It's very nice to see you, but whatever on Earth are you doing here?"
Mary gives her a shaky smile.
"Maybe we will sit down first?" she asks. God, this is even more difficult that she has expected. How does one inform a mother that her only son, her only child , went missing in the middle of a warzone? Especially when you yourself feel like curling in a corner and screaming in fear and grief?
Isobel looks at her shrewdly, clearly not suspecting yet the true nature of Mary's mission but sensing enough to know that it cannot be a pleasant one.
"But of course!" she says graciously, gesturing for Mary to take the chair by the empty desk. "My sister is out, so you can sit here. Should I ask someone to bring tea?"
Mary shakes her head. She would love a cup of tea to calm her nerves, but she cannot stand the suspense any longer.
"Isobel," she starts and then just blurts out the words, unable to find a delicate way to deliver them. "Matthew is missing."
She's never seen anybody blanch so fast. It is as if all colour just bleached out of Isobel's face in an instant.
"How?" she asks, and Mary can tell that the steadiness of her voice takes an enormous effort. "When? And why haven't I been notified?"
"He went out with his unit for an offensive patrol on the night of December 14th," she answers quietly, Captain Summers explanation imprinted on her brain so vividly she could recite it in her sleep. "They met resistance which was stronger than expected and retreated. When they arrived back, Matthew was not with them and neither was William Mason, his batman. In the morning they sent the medics to pick the wounded and dead but could not find Matthew and William. Nobody has seen them since."
"The 14th?" exclaims Isobel in disbelief. "But I've met him then! How could he have gone missing the very same night?!"
For a moment, she looks as if she is going to break down and Mary panics internally at the prospect, with no idea how to console her if she does, but then she inhales sharply, straightens and looks at Mary intently.
"What else do we know? And how do you know all this when I haven't been informed?"
"We don't know anything!" says Mary desperately. "It's as if he just vanished, and William with him. I don't know whether anybody is even searching properly for them or if they're just waiting to see if he comes back on his own. You haven't been notified because he is not yet officially declared missing in action, I've been told it's too early for that. I've only learnt because I happened to run into a friend of his, Captain Summers, and he told me everything I've just told you when I casually asked about Matthew."
Isobel nods with the same forced calm.
"I see. Yes, that would make sense," she looks questioningly at Mary. "Why have you come to tell me?"
Mary frowns, puzzled at the question.
"I hoped that you would know what else can be attempted to find him, given your current occupation. Can anything be done?" she finishes anxiously.
"Yes, of course," answers Isobel briskly, but still with the same questioning look. "This is what we are doing here. We will make enquiries with all the field hospitals and dressing stations, we will interview the men from Matthew's unit and we will contact the German Red Cross to ask if he has been taken prisoner. But I want to know why you came here in person? You could have sent a telegram."
"Because I cannot think of a more terrible way to be informed than to get news like that over a telegram," answers Mary plainly. "And since I didn't know that you have a sister here, I didn't want you to be alone among strangers when you do."
Isobel remains silent for a long while.
"Thank you, Mary," she says finally. "I really appreciate it."
"It's nothing," says Mary dismissively, feeling rather awkward about the whole thing. She is very aware that she is not Isobel's favourite person and is not at all surer how to handle her gratitude than she would have been with handling her grief. "I must go back to St. Omer, I only had enough time to catch the train here and back, really – but you will let me know if you learn anything? Anything at all?"
"It's the very opposite of nothing," declares Isobel firmly, but then her eyes soften. "And of course I will. As soon as I have anything to report."
xxx
They make it. Matthew doesn't know how – he recalls little details of that nightmarish night, to be honest – but they make it. They stumble through a dark forest, William supporting him the whole way, stopping at any suspicious noise, until they reach a road and see the most wonderful sight of a convoy of British supply lorries. One of them gives them a ride to the nearby dressing station, where they take one look at them and immediately admit them. Matthew's wound is inspected, cleaned thoroughly – he allows himself to scream this time – and stitched. Then he's given some morphine pills for the pain and falls gratefully into sleep, feeling finally, finally safe enough to relax.
xxx
When Matthew wakes up again, his mother is sitting by his bed.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again!" she says sternly but he can see how truly shaken she is and he feels tremendous guilt at upsetting her so.
"I am truly alright, Mother," he says. "They must have told you there is nothing really wrong with me."
"Just a deep bullet graze, mild frostbite, borderline hypothermia, bruised ribs and a concussion," lists Isobel briskly and Matthew closes his eyes.
"Nothing which won't heal," he stresses quietly and winces at her sharply indrawn breath.
"Well, then you must concentrate on healing," she says, her voice deliberately bright.
"I'm planning to," he assures her, adding dryly. "Nothing else to do here anyway. But what about your new job? How did they let you get away so soon after arriving?"
Isobel stares at him incredulously.
"My only son went missing and was found wounded. There was no task or job which could keep me away from you."
Matthew squeezes her hand in apology, but her words surprise him unpleasantly.
"I wouldn't have thought they would notify you so quickly. I rather hoped that it was too soon to give you any reason for worrying."
She looks at him strangely.
"The Army hasn't notified me, of course. I learnt that you were missing from Mary."
"Mary? " he asks, feeling even more guilt squirming in his stomach. "How did she know?"
"She learnt from Captain Summers," she looks at him sharply, clearly reading his anger at his friend. "And good thing he did tell her! Do you know that nobody here thought to notify your unit? If I haven't left a request to notify me immediately if anybody with your name or description was admitted, nobody would have known where you are for days yet!"
"But it would be just my unit to worry about it," quarrels Matthew, deeply upset about this course of events. "Not you and Mary!"
"We would have learnt anyway. William was expected at Downton and when he didn't show up, Robert made inquiries at the War Office. He then telegrammed me, asking if I know anything more."
"And does Mary know I'm alright?"
His heart sinks when Mother shakes her head.
"Not yet. I wanted to see you myself first and learn how you really are. I will telegram her as soon as I'm back in Boulogne."
"She must be frantic," whispers Matthew, feeling crazy with worry for her himself. He imagines how he would have felt if she was the one missing and recoils in horror. He must go to her; he must let her know he's alright. He sits up without thinking, wincing a bit when he pulls the stiches in his side.
"Whatever are you doing?" asks Mother in her best disapproving voice as she stops him from getting up from the bed.
"I'm fine, Mother," he says impatiently. "They were going to release me soon anyway. I must go to her."
"No, you don't," she objects firmly. "As we were just discussing, you must heal. I will let Mary know, I promise."
But it's not good enough. He must see Mary. Not just to ease her worry but because he's desperate for the sight of her. All of the churning feelings and revelations of the past five days pass like a lightening through his head: the realisation of the depth of his love for her, his determination to finally do the right thing, to fight for her; his despair that he was never going to get a chance to do any of it, that he was going to die without ever seeing her again. He must see her now. There is nothing truly wrong with him and he cannot wait a second longer.
He does realise though that he must wait at least until Mother is gone or there will be an unholy war, so he settles back in bed, feigning docility which clearly makes Mother suspicious. He sees her talking with the doctor after making her goodbyes to him and leaving with a stern warning to be good and let himself heal, but he's not worried. From his own former talks with the man he knows that Major Robinson is burnt out and apathetic to the extreme; if Matthew insists that he is well enough to be released he is not going to care enough to prevent him from doing so.
As it turns out, he is right. As soon as Isobel is safely gone, Matthew demands his freedom and is granted his wish, just with a reminder to take it easy. William, following his bad example and equally impatient to see his Daisy, immediately requests to be released as well and, being less injured than Matthew, is allowed to go with even less concern. They manage to snatch a place in a delivery lorry within the hour and reach St. Omer after another three.
Mary's house is empty and dark and with some effort Matthew realises that it's the night of the concert at the hospital. Thankfully the walk there is short and seemingly in no time he enters the former monastery, now filled with wounded soldiers crowded in front of makeshift stage and singing along with a girl standing on it. Matthew's eyes widen when he realises that the singer is Mary.
She's been right to keep up with it when she dropped the piano. She is incredible.
And the song... Matthew recognises it instantly, the sentimental piece Summers likes to play on his Victrola when he's feeling especially maudlin and misses his wife, however little he respects his marital vows in the normal course of things. But now, in Mary's voice, the words sound different to him, the sentiment expressed in them resonating with his own feelings so much that he needs to blink his eyes to restrain his tears. What wouldn't he give right now for Mary to be the only girl in the world – doesn't he see her as one anyway? – and him the only boy, with nothing and nobody else to matter!
He tries to stand discreetly in the back, unwilling to disturb Mary's performance, but she notices him from her vantage point and her voice trails off as she stares at him in complete disbelief. He realises that his sudden appearance must be akin to him coming back from the dead for her and cringes both at his lack of delicacy and the embarrassment of becoming an object of dozens of stares.
"I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to interrupt anything," he apologises, feeling the blush rising up his cheeks. Mary is still staring though, clutching the piano for support, and he looks desperately at Phryne who is seated there, begging her to come to his rescue and resume playing.
"Come on, don't stop for me," he insists again, and thank God, Phryne listens and starts to play. Seeing that Mary is still silent, he takes it as his cue and walks up to stand next to her, singing along. He's heard Summers's record enough times to know the lyrics and he means every word now.
"I would say such wonderful things to you..."
To his delight and relief, Mary regains her composure and joins him, their voices mingling together in a perfect harmony.
"There would be such wonderful things to do..."
And now the whole room takes up the refrain, but Matthew hears only Mary, sees only Mary, the crowd around them disappearing from his attention completely as they finish the song.
"If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy."
There is a thundering applause and Mary is looking at him with her eyes so full of what he can only read as love and wonder and he doesn't even realise he is going to kiss her until he does, and the applause includes quite a lot of laughter and wolf whistles now, but Matthew doesn't care because he is kissing Mary and Mary is kissing him back .
Just for this moment, they are the only girl and boy in the world and he never wants to stop kissing her.