Mary spends every night of the next two weeks in Matthew's bed.
They are careful – very careful – but they are also getting more confident with every night they successfully avoid discovery. Mary sneaks in an hour after everyone went to bed and sneaks back out at five, woken up by Matthew's alarm clock, a good hour before Daisy makes her rounds.
Neither of them has slept so well in months, if not years.
They aren't only sleeping, of course, as much as they try to be good. After their second night becomes a close repetition of the first, they do realise something needs to be done if they are not to find themselves in a hell of a lot of trouble. So with a lot of blushing and stammering, they do discuss it on Matthew's bed at the beginning of the third night and establish basic rules to keep themselves in check.
"The clothes stay on," says Mary firmly, very happy that Matthew is looking everywhere else but at her because she is afraid she is as red as a tomato. "All of them."
Matthew nods and swallows thickly, still avoiding Mary's gaze.
"And we shouldn't... press so closely together when we're kissing," he says with difficulty, trying very hard not to remember how exactly it feels and failing miserably. "It makes things... difficult."
Mary nods in agreement, trying not to think how wonderful it makes her feel when they are close like that, and how it makes her crave more. More of Matthew's skin, and Matthew's touch, and... well, this is exactly why they are putting a boundary there, isn't it?
"You can touch me though," she says hastily, feeling terribly wanton but unwilling to give up the sensations Matthew is inspiring in her with his clever fingers if he doesn't mind. "Through the clothes. If it's alright with you."
Matthew has to swallow again, the direction of his thoughts at the memory of Mary's amazing body under his hands clearly showing him that he should refuse, but he throws caution firmly to the wind. Besides, he is as greedy for her touch as she is.
"It's alright. And you can touch me too," he says boldly, even if he is still unable to meet her eyes.
Feeling on a bit firmer ground after that discussion – and very relieved to have it over and done with – they quickly discover that two people can make each other very happy with their clothes on and without pressing their bodies together while they're kissing.
"You do realise," points out Mary when she is settled in her now customary spot against Matthew's chest, with his arm around her, "that if we are found out, people will care very little about the precise distinction of what we have and have not done?"
Matthew's arm tightens around her.
"I do," he answers guiltily. He does feel like an utter cad if he allows himself to think about their nightly activities for too long. As natural and right and good as they feel in the moment, he is very aware that they are behaving so shamelessly they went well past inappropriate. "Do you want to stop coming here?"
Mary shakes her head.
"I sleep better with you," she answers, her hand caressing Matthew's chest through his pyjamas. She remembers how it felt to touch his naked skin there and reminds herself sternly to focus. "But are you sure you want me here?"
Matthew laughs softly.
"I want you in my arms forever," he says huskily. "I just can't wait to be able to get it without sneaking around. Or without our clothes on."
They both blush at his boldness, but Mary does not disagree and Matthew does not apologise.
They once again fall asleep in each other's arms.
Two weeks into Matthew's recovery, on the day a photographer is scheduled to come to take a photo for their engagement announcement, Carson brings the newspapers into the dining room with a wholly uncharacteristic excitement.
"My lord," he says, the same excitement evident in his voice as he hands Robert The London Gazette and throws circumspect glances at Matthew. "You may want to start with this one."
"If you say so, Carson," answers Robert, baffled, but soon he is dropping the paper on the table and staring at Matthew in astonishment, which quickly turns into joyful pride. "My boy! You're getting a Military Cross for your actions!"
Before Matthew has time to respond, Robert takes the paper again and reads aloud:
"His Majesty the KING has been graciously pleased to award a Military Cross to the undermentioned Officer: Captain Matthew Reginald Crawley, Duke of Manchester's Own, for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in rushing to a dug-out in which men had been buried by shell fire and attempting to dig out the men, aided by two other officers. He himself was in a state of collapse but insisted on helping to carry the wounded to a dressing station under shell fire. Owing to their quickness and perseverance six of the men were got out alive out of eleven, and the example of fearlessness which he set was magnificent."
When he lowers the newspaper again, there are tears in his eyes.
"My boy, I've been proud of you for a long time now, but never as much as today."
Matthew finally regains his ability to speak.
"Were the other officers awarded as well?" he asks. "Or William? Even the description mentions that I wasn't alone there."
Robert scans the newspaper.
"Acting Major Edward Summers and Lieutenant Thomas Anderson are mentioned in despatches. As is William! Carson, you may bring the staff's attention to his distinction as well. He acted very bravely and helped to save multiple lives."
Matthew, Sybil and Mary studiously avoid looking at each other, although each of them is wondering what kind of reaction they would cause if any of them mentioned who exactly was among the people Matthew and William rescued that day.
"I will do it straight after breakfast, my lord. This is a very proud day for this house, a very proud day indeed!"
He takes his usual position by the board, but the looks he is giving Matthew are nicer than he has ever given him before.
The news spread like wildfire, of course, and nobody is as pleased as Cora when she immediately makes an amendment to the engagement announcement to include Matthew's new distinction.
"It's so good we waited with it!" she says with satisfaction. "Now we will have a beautiful picture, with no bandages in sight and the MC after your name. It's so lucky that all your wounds and shorn hair are on the back of your head and neck, Matthew."
Mary bites her tongue very hard and doesn't say anything.
It's nearly noon before the three of them manage to get a moment alone in the small library.
"Why did they write that you saved six men?" asks Sybil with indignation. "There's no mention of Mary at all!"
Matthew sighs, his mouth thin and turned downwards in disapproval.
"They hardly wanted to admit that they put a woman in so much danger," he says bitterly.
"I don't mind," says Mary immediately. "The last thing I need is to get famous for it. But I am very glad your actions were honoured properly."
Matthew looks at her seriously.
"Should they be though?" he asks. "When it were you in there? I hardly spared a thought for anybody else."
"You still got them out and organised their transport to the dressing station," answers Mary stubbornly. "Besides, are you going to tell me honestly that if I wasn't there and you got the news that a dugout collapsed, you would have left those men to their fate?"
Since Matthew cannot in good conscience claim that, as she well knew, Mary exchanges smirks with Sybil.
"I am so proud of you, Matthew," says Sybil, hugging him. "And so thankful for what you've done. It's just a pity that nobody else in the family knows how grateful they should be."
"There's no need to be grateful," says Matthew, his eyes meeting Mary's over Sybil's shoulder. "I couldn't have done anything else. I owed a debt to Mary anyway."
xxx
The announcement is printed in The Times two days later, with a photograph of Mary and Matthew posing in the library accompanying it.
"The engagement is announced between Lady Mary Josephine Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham, and Captain Matthew Crawley MC, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, son of the late Dr and Mrs Reginald Crawley of Charterhouse Square, Manchester and Downton Village, Yorkshire."
After much deliberation, Mary decides to wear her hated uniform for the photograph. As unflattering as she finds it, she knows that they would not be engaged now if not for her hasty decision to join Sybil at the front. While she also acknowledges that it is going to make the family and her personally look good, to have so many of the family members joining the war effort, in addition to allowing their house to be used as a convalescent home, she does not expect quite how much interest they are going to get. She is astonished when she is informed by Carson that there is a journalist, a Mr Gregson from The Sketch, on the phone and wanting to speak with her.
"He wants to come and interview Matthew and me," she explains to the family when she comes back to the small library where they all sit, except Matthew, who is getting his wounds checked. "He says that I am second Lady Dorothie Feilding and that our wedding is going to be as much of an event as hers was last year."
Cora and Violet's eyes lit up at the prospect of the positive press, while Robert's chest puffs in pride at the recognition his heir and daughter receive. As much as he is still far from being reconciled to Mary and Sybil's presence at the front while he sits safely at home, he is truly proud of them both and Matthew.
"What about Sybil?" asks Edith, annoyed at the attention Mary is getting even if she tries to tell herself to get over it. Their relationship has much improved since the war started, but they haven't miraculously changed into bosom friends.
Mary looks at Sybil apologetically.
"He can only come in three days, after you will be gone. I am going to tell him all about you as well. Edith is right, you are the one who volunteered first and have been working longest."
Sybil cheerfully waves away any need to be interviewed.
"There's no need to apologise," she assures Mary, then looks at her significantly. "I don't want or need to be famous. It's hard to lose the press attention once you get it and then they are interested in all kinds of things. What you are doing, who you marry... And the papers aren't just read in London and Yorkshire. I am perfectly happy to remain anonymous."
Mary nods, getting Sybil's point. She neither wants any attention brought to her relationship with Tom now nor to her own background when she goes to Ireland. She notices with alarm Granny's sharp eyes observing Sybil intently and searches desperately for another distraction.
"You go back tomorrow then?" she asks, hoping that a change of topic will be sufficient.
Sybil nods.
"My leave was generous as it is."
"But you can stay longer, Mary?" asks Cora and Mary cringes inwardly.
"FANY is more generous than VAD," she lies. "There isn't much need for ambulances right now, thankfully. I will probably go when Matthew does."
xxx
Mary and Robert accompany Matthew to Buckingham Palace for his decoration by the king. Mary wouldn't mind spending some days more in the city, but Matthew has only a day pass from Doctor Clarkson – as a patient, his movements are restricted – and she prefers spending as much time with him as she can to shopping.
She is dressed in an elegant red dress with a matching coat and hat, appropriate for the resplendent surroundings she finds herself in, and she realises with relief that she is finally getting more comfortable wearing her own clothes. Maybe it won't be so hard to be Lady Mary Crawley again when this is all over.
The last person she is expecting to compliment her on her looks is Sir Richard Carlisle who approaches her while she waits for Matthew in the antechamber after the ceremony and Papa is busy talking with some of his friends.
"You look much better than in your engagement photo, Lady Mary. I've never taken you for one to wear a uniform."
"We haven't known each other long, Sir Richard," she answers. "Or very well."
"Apparently not," he agrees, eyeing her in the way which makes her somehow uncomfortable which in turns angers her. She owes nothing to this man and has no reason to feel guilty over her treatment of him. She made him no promises to break later. "I've never taken you for a woman to steal another woman's fiancé either. How is dear Miss Swire? Or don't you know?"
"Since I've been in France since August and only in London for today, I didn't have time to catch up," says Mary coldly. Sir Richard is the last person to lecture her about Lavinia, considering his own atrocious treatment of her. "And I didn't get an impression that you were much of a friend to her."
Sir Richard smiles cynically, clearly unperturbed by Mary's hint to his use of Lavinia to get dirt on her uncle.
"We had our moments," he says lightly, as if amused by Mary's sudden hostility. "You didn't care much before."
She didn't, did she? Mostly because she didn't want to admit, even to herself – especially to herself – that the man she picked to replace Matthew when she thought she lost him forever was neither good nor kind and what it could mean for her, even as she was defending his ruthlessness to Granny.
She feels the weight of Matthew's engagement ring on her finger and is so relieved by its presence there and all it signifies that it nearly overwhelms her.
"I've had some time to rethink my priorities," she says with a studiously disinterested shrug.
"Endangering your life and sacrificing your comforts for king and country? Or rather for your golden haired soldier?" he asks mockingly but fails to provoke her. Mary is far too happy and cares for his opinion far too little to allow herself to be provoked by his taunts. And he is certainly not the person she is going to confide her feelings to.
"Whatever my reasons are, it's clear to me now, as it should be to you, that we are not as well suited as we considered last year."
His look on her gets uncomfortably intense again and she sees his arm twitch, as if he barely stopped himself from grabbing her. She's not worried – they are in Buckingham Palace and surrounded by a crowd of very important people; neither of them wants a scene – but she barely restrains a shudder at the thought that she did seriously consider tying herself to him just a year ago. Only now it starts to occur to her that she might have been playing with something more dangerous than she ever suspected at the time.
"We could have been great together, Lady Mary," he says and she sees the restrained anger in him, understands how much he must have hoped for their match. "We could have built an empire."
"We could have," she admits, because she believes him on this score. They could have ruled London together, that's true. "But in the end it isn't what I want."
His mouth twists unpleasantly.
"You do realise that families like yours will be falling left and right after the war? Yet you intend to go down with them, as long as you have your noble captain?"
Mary narrows her eyes.
"Whether my family is going to fall remains to be seen," she answers icily. "But if they do, well, at least my fiance has a profession."
"So let's just hope he will survive the oncoming battles," he taunts with a nasty smile and if they weren't in the damn Buckingham Palace of all places, Mary would have slapped him.
Thankfully Matthew approaches them before the conversation takes an even worse turn than it already has. He greets Sir Richard politely, but Mary takes notes of the possessive way he immediately offers her his arm and caresses her left hand when she accepts it. She barely restrains a smug smile.
"I'm afraid we need to find your Papa and leave, darling, before we miss our train. Sir Richard, It was nice to meet you again," he says dismissively and it takes all Mary has to stop herself from laughing. She doesn't know what amuses her more; Matthew's white knight routine or Sir Richard's disgruntled expression. There's nothing Sir Richard can do though other than make his farewells and let them go, so in mere moments they are on their way to locate Robert.
"I cannot believe you were considering marrying that man at one point," mutters Matthew, sending Sir Richard one last distasteful look on their way out. "He's obnoxious."
Since Mary does not feel inclined to explain to him that her primary motivation in noticing Sir Richard at all was to show Matthew she moved on as well and her secondary one was to set herself up as advantageous as she could when she thought she had ruined any chance for love and happiness forever, she just shrugs.
"He made a good first impression," she says, which is true enough. She did find him charming in his own rugged way at Cliveden. "Unfortunately for him, he did not gain much by closer acquaintance."
xxx
Mr Gregson comes to Downton a day after they are back from London themselves, mere days before they are due back in France, with Doctor Clarkson giving Matthew a clean bill of health. He is a nice man, with unassuming manners and a hint of a dry sense of humour, and it doesn't take them long to settle into a naturally flowing conversation in the small library. Matthew relaxes further when he explains that he has been in the Army himself until he was discharged on medical grounds after the Somme.
"I was unfortunate enough to catch tuberculosis," Mr Gregson says with a wry smile. "But since I managed to get better and was never very seriously ill in the first place, I am not sure if unfortunate is the right word to describe the situation."
Yes, he does know what they both have been dealing with – what they both are going to keep dealing with – so his questions are tactful and informed. He seems genuinely interested in their answers too, and all in all Mary thinks the interview is going very well.
"When are you going back to France?" Mr Gregson asks her and Mary feels Matthew stiffen by her side. When she answers that she expects to return soon, his grip on her hand becomes painful and Mary suddenly realises that he didn't know she has always intended to come back, that he thought she would stay home, safe. The middle of an interview with the editor of one of the most popular magazines in England is not the time to discuss it with him though, so she just discreetly caresses his hand with her fingers and smiles at Mr Gregson.
"Why?" he asks, and Mary feels Matthew's eyes boring into her with the same question, even though she is not looking at him and doesn't see his face.
"I'm needed there," she says calmly. "There is such great need for ambulances and nurses, and it is only going to grow with the coming spring and resumption of big offensives."
This is both a statement of fact and a blatant lie. Oh, the need for ambulance drivers, nurses and medics is unfortunately very true, but the thing is Mary doesn't really care about the big picture or contributing to the war effort. As always, her decisions are made basing on her own feelings, and they are in such a chaos currently that she can hardly make sense of them herself. She doesn't want to go back, that's for sure. In fact, she is terrified of going back, nearly out of her mind, really. But then she imagines staying home and dressing for dinner while Matthew and Sybil are there, and she doesn't know whether either of them is alright, if they are even still alive, and all the while she is forced to make some inane conversation and cut her meat into dainty little pieces with silver cutlery while having those thoughts and she just wants to scream and scream and scream.
No, she cannot stay. She would go mad. As much as it scares her, she needs to go and be with them, whatever happens.
But as Mr Gregson praises her patriotism and devotion to duty, she feels Matthew's painful grip on her hand and she knows she's not going to get much support from him on this issue. On everything else, but not on this.
xxx
As soon as Mr Gregson leaves, Matthew turns towards Mary and explodes.
"What do you mean by saying you're going back? How can you even consider it after what happened? And without telling me?"
"I didn't tell you because I assumed it was obvious that I'm going back," answers Mary in a collected voice which only gets Matthew angrier. "Just as you assumed that I'm staying. We should have obviously talked instead of making assumptions, but I guess we both thought there was no need."
"Mary," says Matthew desperately, closing his eyes against the assault of memories of digging with his bare hands and not knowing if he was going to get to her in time, if she wasn't already dead under the earth and rubble. "You cannot go back. If you think it was dangerous before, it's only going to get worse. The Germans will attack within weeks and God only knows what's going to happen. You cannot be there."
"Where you go, I will go," she says, glaring at him defiantly with steely determination. "We're in it together. On any terms, do you understand? I won't be coming back home until you're coming back with me."
"I love you so terribly much for saying so," answers Matthew hoarsely, his grip on Mary's hands so tight that he fears it must pain her, so he forces himself to relax it. He hasn't even noticed when he has grasped them. "But darling, I just cannot stand the thought of losing you. I don't think I could survive it."
"And you think I would?" challenges Mary immediately. "If I stay here, with nothing to do but worry about you day and night, I'll go mad. I went through it before, you know. For years. Only now it would be so much worse. Unbearable. Because you are mine to lose now and it's not acceptable. So stop quarrelling with me because you are not going to succeed in anything other than upsetting me."
"I won't let you," growls Matthew, knowing that it's a mistake, that there is nothing more likely to make Mary dig in her heels than attempting to order her to do something. He knows, he knows, but he is too terrified to think straight.
Predictably, Mary's eyes narrow.
"And how exactly are you going to stop me?" she hisses, and he knows he has lost, but he's not going to give up, not yet. Not if there is any chance at all to keep her safe.
"I don't know yet," he admits through clenched teeth, letting go of her hands and walking out of the library. He desperately needs to think, to find a way to deal with it, and he's not going to be able to do that while he's looking at her stubborn, beautiful, beloved face. "But I will."
xxx
In hindsight, it should have been obvious to Mary what Matthew was going to do. Nothing he was going to say would convince her and they both know it, so what else could he do but to get allies? But she hasn't thought of it and is completely blindsided when it happens.
They sit through dinner with barely a word or look exchanged with each other and not many more with the rest of the family. Mary notices concerned and puzzled frowns, of course, but she eats her food and drinks her wine, with her eyes set stubbornly on her plate. She knows that scowl on Matthew's face well enough to not expect anything good out of it and she is on her guard.
The axe falls when they are all together in the small library afterwards, the voices of officers drifting over the partition, when Cora asks Matthew how the interview went.
"Well enough," he answers crisply. "Until Mary announced she is going back to France soon."
If Matthew expected astonishment from the family, he must be disappointed, thinks Mary viciously. They all sigh and look resigned, but not in the least surprised.
"I would prefer she'd stay, of course," says Cora with a soulful look at Mary. "But since Sybil went back last week, I knew there was no chance she would stay."
Mary sees Matthew's jaw tighten, sees his anger growing at his own wilful blindness stopping him from realising what has been clearly no mystery for anybody else, but still does not expect the words which are going to come out of his mouth in response.
"Yes, but Sybil was not buried in a collapsed dugout and saved only by the grace of God as Mary was."
Mary's eyes widen as she stares in shock at Matthew. The silence in the small library, only heightened by the rambunctious noises from behind the partition, is so thick it can be cut with a knife.
It only lasts a moment, of course.
"What?" bellows Robert, silencing the recovering officers, as Cora attempts to quiet him down despite her own distress at the news, and Mary is glaring at Matthew with more force than she has done since 1912. She thinks she truly hates him at that moment.
"Mary was one of the people I had to dig out from that dugout which they gave me a medal for," says Matthew bitterly but calmly. "She was sent to the field ambulance post when my unit ran out of male drivers and was there when the Germans started shelling us. She nearly died. I really don't think she should go back after surviving something like that. I've known men who went into shellshock in similar cases."
"Mary!" groans Cora, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Edith is staring at Mary in disbelief, Granny's face is an inscrutable mask, but the hands on her cane tremble briefly, and Robert is demanding explanations why nobody told him about it, thankfully in a bit more moderate tone of voice. The officers in the big library resume their game of table tennis.
"I didn't want you to know," says Mary simply, her glaring eyes not leaving Matthew, who is scowling and does not look repentant in the slightest for betraying her and throwing her to the wolves. Oh yes, she does hate him at the moment. "There was no need for you to. It was ghastly, but Matthew saved me and I am perfectly alright."
"No need for us to...!" Robert nearly chokes in indignation, but it is Violet who looks sharply at Mary and tells her son to be quiet.
"Never mind why she didn't tell us and neither of the others did either," she snaps. "What's important is that she seems determined to go back."
"Darling, you can't!" exclaims Cora in distress. "I've had no idea you are facing such dangers! You cannot risk your life like that!"
Mary valiantly stops herself from asking her mother what she has imagined her daughter is facing at the front. After all, it wasn't as if she told Cora anything to give her a more accurate picture.
"Of course she is not going!" says Robert firmly, keeping his voice down only due to a pointed glare from his mother. "There is no question of her putting herself in such danger ever again!"
If Mary had a weapon right now, Matthew would be dead. Or at least severely injured. She sees that he is staying out of it after dropping his bomb, and that he is not exactly satisfied by the pandemonium he has started, but he is not sorry either, and she grits her teeth in anger.
"I am going," she says with equal firmness. She does not know where she is getting the strength to keep her voice calm and cold, except maybe from years of practice in hiding her feelings from the world. "It's nobody's decision to make but mine."
"But why would you want to?" asks Cora with tears in her eyes and Mary wonders tiredly how on Earth she can explain something she doesn't properly understand herself.
"I have to," she says only.
"You don't," objects Matthew quietly. "You're in a volunteer organisation. You can quit any time you want."
"As you could stay permanently on General Strutt's staff?" Mary shoots right back with a glare and sees him startle in surprise.
"That's different!" he quarrels immediately, his mouth turning down in that stubborn grimace she absolutely hates.
"I don't see how," says Mary coldly. "You chose to risk your life at the front and I can do the same if I want!"
"But why do you want to?" asks Violet inquisitively and stops the battle of wills between Mary and Matthew in its tracks.
Mary wants to answer Granny. She wants to list calm, logical arguments which would end this distressing and thoroughly unnecessary debate, but she doesn't have any. She has only a bunch of uncontrollable, wild feelings all whirling around in her head until she scarcely knows what she feels and thinks anymore, and she has no idea how to give voice to any of them. At least not without sounding like a madwoman.
"I just have to," she says, reaching desperately for the same empty phrases she gave Mr Gregson. "It's my duty. I'm needed there."
"I'm going to take away your settlement if you go!" threatens Robert and even as Mary rolls her eyes in response, she can see the fear behind his anger, and she curses Matthew anew.
"Discuss it with Matthew. It would be legally his when we marry anyway."
"We won't get married if you get yourself killed!" snaps Matthew and it silences everyone in the room again. It is more than Mary can stand.
"It goes both ways, you know," she says, looking straight into his eyes. "I will resign from FANY as soon as you get yourself a safe post in London."
She gets up, feeling strangely as if she is going to sway on her feet, but somehow managing the ramrod straight posture she has been trained to keep all her life.
"It's my decision to make," she says forcefully. "And I think I am going to retire now. I have quite a headache."
She leaves the room before any of the others have a chance to speak.
xxx
Of all the people Mary expected to come after her, Edith was the last one. Yet here she is, standing hesitantly in the doorway of Mary's bedroom, as if afraid to get her head bitten off if she takes another step.
"Oh, get in," snaps Mary from the bed, the headache she has used as an excuse truly growing behind her eyes now. "What do you want?"
She gives Edith points for bravery when she actually comes in and sits on the edge of Mary's bed.
"Are you alright?" she asks and Mary would have rolled her eyes if they weren't aching so.
"No," she answers curtly and honestly. "Not really."
Edith hesitates again, but then plunges in. She has never known when to leave well alone.
"Is it so very terrible there?"
Mary wants to laugh. Or maybe cry, she is not sure.
"Worse," she says in the end. "Unimaginably worse."
She sees Edith swallow.
"Is Sybil in as much danger as you?" she asks quietly and Mary is again not sure what to answer.
"Not normally. She works at a base hospital, not in a field dressing station or even a CCS. She's not in the direct proximity to the front."
"But?"
Mary swallows.
"The Germans are bombing French towns, especially the ones with military presence," she whispers. "They often target hospitals even though they shouldn't."
Edith nods.
"And you're in the direct proximity of the front?"
Mary shrugs.
"Not all the time. Depending on where I'm needed. When I first came, when the Battle of Passchendaele was going strong, I was mostly serving in the convoy transporting the wounded between the ambulance trains and the hospital. Then it finished and I was going to the local trenches after every attack or skirmish. Then it was the trains again, when the Battle of Cambrai was going on. And now..."
"And now?"
"And now we are preparing for the Germans to come," Mary whispers again, her mouth dry. "The battalions are being reorganised; troops moved around. They sent me there to the field ambulance post because they ran out of anybody else. It should not happen again."
Edith takes her hand and Mary thinks that Edith's can only feel so warm if her own is icy.
"You're afraid to go back," she says matter-of- factly and Mary can't fathom why she admits the truth to Edith of all people. Maybe because she doesn't care about Edith's opinion of her, or maybe because she knows it's not very high anyway.
"Terrified."
"But you will go back."
Mary nods.
"This place is driving me mad now," she hears herself saying. "I can't stand the thought of staying here when Matthew and Sybil are there."
Edith nods again.
"I feel mad with worry for you all too," she says in a choked voice. "And I know you have worried about Matthew the whole time. But I see it's different for you now. Stronger."
Mary doesn't answer but she thinks Edith is right. It is different. So many things are different. She herself is different than she used to be, all her usual defences gone or useless. Yes, she did worry for Matthew ever since he enlisted. Of course she did. She prayed every night for his safety, after all, when she hardly gave God a token thought before, even while she was dutifully attending church every Sunday. But now... now...
Now she thinks she would die if she lost him. She thinks back to Lavinia saying something like that once and needs to stop herself from laughing hysterically. She thought it was such a melodramatic statement at the time, more worthy of an infatuated schoolgirl than an adult woman. And yet she truly feels like that now, as if her love and need for Matthew is a visceral, living and vicious thing, buried in her chest and waiting to destroy her if he is ever torn from her. She needs to be where he is. She needs to be nearby if something goes wrong. She knows it's irrational, illogical – there is no guarantee she would be anywhere near enough to get to him in time. She knows all too well how fast a life can be lost there. She might be yards away and it could be as she was still in England for all the difference it would make. But she is not rational right now; she is nowhere close to cold and calculating and whatever else she was striving to be or was known for. She barely knows who or what she is now, but she knows she needs to be where Matthew will be. Even if she still wants to strangle him.
Anything else is unacceptable.
And then there is Sybil too, and even preoccupied with Matthew as Mary is, she still has this thought that if things get truly hopeless, she can drive now. She can, if necessary, throw Sybil into her ambulance – or any other car for the matter – and get her to safety. She does not trust the Army to evacuate her little sister in time, and she is determined to be there for her and do it herself in such case.
She doesn't even notice when Edith leaves.
xxx
As the door of the small library slams behind Mary, Matthew drops his head into his hands, barley noticing Edith getting up to follow her.
He tried. He did everything he could to stop her from this madness.
He knows he has failed.
Oh, there will probably be more quarrelling, pleading and threatening between Mary and the rest of the family. He knows them all too well to expect either of them to give up easily. But as soon he saw Mary taking this defiant stand to their unified front, he knew they were not going to win. Not with Mary determined like that.
If only he knew why!
The visions of digging for her dance in front of his eyes once again, however fervently he tries to stop them. He barely listens to Robert ranting and Cora's attempts at soothing him, although she sounds close to tears herself. It takes Violet's hand on his sleeve to shake him out of his desperate fight with his own memories.
"Thank you for what you attempted to do here," she says. "Even if it misfired."
Mathew looks at her with desperate hope. If anybody is able to convince Mary to see reason, it is Cousin Violet.
"Do you think there is any way to stop her from going? She might listen to you."
His heart sinks when she shakes her head slowly.
"She didn't listen to any of us when she and Sybil first volunteered," she points out, not unkindly. "And she seems only more determined now."
"But why?" asks Matthew helplessly. "After she nearly died?"
Violet's hand trembles on his arm and he regrets his choice of words. For the first time, he starts regretting his decision to inform the family at all. What has it brought besides making them distressed and Mary furious with him?
"It's not something I want to contemplate," she says heavily. "I did try to talk with that insufferable young woman, Grace McDougall, when I met her in London, but she turned out to be utterly unreasonable. Said that Mary is doing a great job and she refused to send her home without a cause. As if her family's concern was not reason enough!"
Despite his mood, Matthew feels his lips twitching when he imagines that conversation. From everything he has heard from Mary about Sergeant-Major McDougal, Cousin Violet has met her match.
"Well, it's probably because she is driving an ambulance herself most of the time," he observes drily. "Mary says she even got married in khaki."
Violet scoffs, but doesn't comment on that. Instead her grasp on Matthew's arm tightens.
"Thank you for pulling her out," she says, and Matthew is startled to see that her eyes are glistening. She blinks the tears away before they have the chance to fall, with a frown so identical to Mary's that his heart clenches painfully again. "We all owe you a great debt."
"But most of the time I won't be there with her," confesses Matthew in a tortured voice. "And I don't want her anywhere near the places where I am likely to be!"
"Then we just have to trust that she won't need your help when you're not there to protect her. And remember that the same qualities which exasperate us so very much in her are also the reason we love her."
Matthew wants to protest that as far as comforting words go, those are woefully inadequate, but looks closer at Violet and realises she knows that. Truth is, there isn't anything they can say to make it all better. Mary is determined to go and they cannot stop her. The only thing left for them to do – like for millions of other families – is to pray and trust that she will come through it.
The thought that this is exactly what his family has been forced to endure regarding him for years now weighs uncomfortably on Matthew as it never has before, at least not to this degree.
xxx
Matthew sits in his opulent guest bedroom and nurses a glass of brandy he brought upstairs.
He doubts that he is going to have a peaceful night ahead of him, not with his head in such a turmoil.
He doubts even more that Mary is going to come to him that evening.
He wouldn't take back his desperate attempt to stop her by informing the family of what she went through – he had to try to do something and she was not listening to him at all – but now that he knows it hasn't worked, he can't say he doesn't regret it. He can't escape the terrible thought that in two days they will part, possibly forever, and there is no guarantee they will ever see each other again. It's the beginning of March; whatever move the Germans are planning is going to take place soon. They can't part like this, angry and bitter, they just can't. He can't stand the thought of dying with her still angry at him.
He tells himself he is an idiot, a damn fool, but he still looks at the clock and calculates how likely it is that everybody is already asleep. Of course, Mary is most likely asleep which makes the whole idea even more idiotic. He should be reasonable and wait for the morning to talk with her as any sane man would do, but he doesn't feel very sane right now. All his love, desperation and anger are shouting at him in unison and demanding action. He has to fix things with Mary, now, nothing else will do.
The clock strikes midnight when he finally opens his door carefully and listens for any sounds in the sleeping house. He hears some movements downstairs, probably the night nurses doing their rounds among the most severely wounded who need monitoring, but nothing in the family wing. With a silent prayer, he leaves his room and goes in search of Mary's.
The very first night she came to him she told him that her room is but two doors down from his. At least that is what he remembers and he prays he got it right. Walking into Edith's bedroom would be painfully awkward and he doesn't even want to contemplate what an utter disaster it would be to barge into Robert's. With his heart in his throat, he knocks lightly on the door he hopes to God belong to Mary's room. Who might be asleep, of course, but there is light under them, so there is a chance she's still awake. Maybe she can't sleep for the same reasons he can't.
For a long time, there is no answer, and Matthew is not sure if his knocking was too light to be heard or if she doesn't want to acknowledge his presence. Or maybe she is asleep, after all. He's contemplating whether to knock again or regain his senses and go back to his room, when he finally hears her voice through the door.
"Who's there?"
"It's me, Mary," he says quickly, watching around the corridor nervously and feeling awfully exposed. "May I come in?"
"What for?" comes the hostile answer and he winces. If he had any hopes of Mary's fury with him lessening by now, they have just been dashed.
"To talk. I really think we should."
"I'm not feeling particularly talkative right now," she says, but he takes courage from the fact that she hasn't told him to go away.
"Please, Mary," he says, leaning against her door. "We're going back there in two days."
There's a long pause, but then he hears a muttered "very well" and the door opens. He gets in quickly, relieved beyond measure both that she relented and that he is not inviting discovery by standing in the hallway anymore.
He mechanically takes in the details of Mary's room: the red walls, the vanity filled with bottles and jars and trinkets, and the canopy bed, clearly unslept in, despite Mary's nightclothes. She notices the question in his gaze and shrugs.
"I was sitting up, reading," she says, glaring at him. "Didn't feel like sleeping yet."
"Me either," admits Matthew. "Not with things between us as they are. Why have you let me in, Mary?"
She looks at him in surprise, not expecting that question, but answers honestly, her eyes narrowed and piercing.
"Because you said that we are going back in two days. Does that mean that you abandoned your attempts at forcing me to stay?"
"Not entirely," answers Matthew honestly. "I'm just losing hope of any of them working."
"They won't," states Mary firmly. "And where does that leave us?"
Matthew rakes his hand through his hair.
"At an impasse, I'm afraid."
For a long moment they are just staring at each other in the dim light of Mary's bedside lamp. She breaks first.
"You must have had something in mind to come here," she snaps. "Unless you have been hoping that I am going to give in after some quiet reflection."
"I haven't expected a miracle of such magnitude," answers Matthew drily, but then looks at her, standing there with arms wrapped around herself and a defiant expression, and thinks only how terribly he loves that infuriating fierce woman. "Oh God, Mary, I am so sorry for telling them. I do understand why you didn't want them to know and I am sorry for going against your wishes. But you see, I was desperate. I still am."
Mary's glare doesn't relent in the slightest.
"You had no right to tell them! What good has it done?"
"None," admits Matthew bitterly. "But only because you insist on putting yourself in danger against all reason!"
Mary throws her head stubbornly.
"It's my decision to make! Just as you made your own!"
Matthew wants to insist that it was different for him, that he has a duty, whether he likes it or not, but she can stay away from it all, she has already done more than her part, she has no obligation to go again and no shame in staying – but he realises that it will get him nowhere.
"I am terrified, Mary," he says instead. "All the time we are here, I am haunted. I only don't talk about it because it doesn't help. You see, when I'm here, I like to think it's not real. That I won't have to go back. But of course it never leaves me."
He raises his eyes to meet hers.
"I don't want to go back," he whispers. "I hate thinking of it. And when I think of you going back there as well… I can't stand it, Mary. It makes everything worse. I can't breathe when I think about it. I'm back there, in the trenches, trying to dig you out, not knowing if you're dead or alive, and I can't breathe at all."
Before he knows it, she crosses the distance between them and wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug.
"I'm sorry," she whispers fervently. "I'm so sorry, darling. I hate the thought of going back as well. I hate everything about it, from the clothes to the constant fear of dying. But I can't stay. I just can't. I could before, although it has always been torture, to be here and go about my life as if nothing changed, worrying about you all the time, but I can't anymore. I feel like I'm going mad. I will go mad if you go back without me, I know I will. I simply can't stay, not without you and Sybil staying as well. I can't."
Matthew hugs her back, clutching her to him desperately and thinking that he is going to go mad if he loses her.
"It cannot last very long now," says Mary in a voice he can say is only controlled by the sheer force of her will. "We just need to take care for a little while longer and it's all going to be over. You said you believe that, remember? That we will get through it, and we will get married, and everything will be alright."
He did say it, didn't he? It didn't feel like a lie when he did, but it sure does now.
"Nothing I'll say is going to change your mind?" he asks in resignation and is not at all surprised when she resolutely shakes her head but hugs him harder at the same time. "God, Mary, I don't know whether I love you for your strength or hate you for your stubbornness more."
She raises her eyes from his chest to look at him saucily.
"You better make up your mind soon. After you marry me, you cannot give me back to Papa."
He must kiss her after that. His fears are not at all put to rest, not in the slightest, but as he loses himself in her lips kissing him fiercely back, in her body seemingly merging into his, in her soft hair wrapped around his fingers, he feels he can breathe again, if only for a moment.
xxx
They are standing on the ferry, observing approaching shores of France in silence. It's the first week of March and the wind is still bitterly cold, but neither of them offer going down under deck. They are holding hands, their fingers laced tightly together. In just a few hours, they will have to go their separate ways and they can't be sure when they next see each other. Matthew is going back to his old unit - not a given after being sent to England for convalescence, but Summer's promotion to Major has been made permanent and the Army did not manage to find anybody to fill Matthew's post yet. His unit is being sent to a new location, to strengthen the line more exposed to the potential German offensive, and he doesn't even know yet how far from Mary's post it's going to be. He tries very hard not to think that their approaching goodbye may very well be forever and he knows that she is trying very hard to avoid the very same thought.
But for now, they are holding hands. They are still together.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The announcement of Matthew's Military Cross - and the whole episode with the collapsed dugout - is based on actions of an incredibly brave officer, 2nd Lt. Francis Victor Wallington, M.C., R.F.A., who got awarded MC twice.
Female ambulance drivers were not routinely sent to the trenches - they were usually transporting the wounded between hospitals and ambulance trains which didn't necessarily mean less danger due to frequent air raids - but it did occasionally happen when things got hectic or desperate enough. In such cases, they were assigned to field dressing stations, picking up wounded from the edge of a battlefield or even delivered medical supplies and medics.