The next morning Mary is sitting on her bench and reading idly while Matthew is busy with physical therapy when Edith approaches her.
"Congratulations on your marriage," she says in a friendly enough way, but there is something which makes Mary bristle. Maybe just the fact that it is Edith speaking. "I wanted to say it the other night but I couldn't get a word in."
"It was a bit of a pandemonium," agrees Mary dryly. "Thank you."
For a moment, they sit in an awkward silence.
"It just struck me when I read that article that you asked Sybil to be your witness but neither of you ever told me," blurts out Edith. "I know the two of you got so much closer serving together in France, but sometimes I really feel left out."
Mary stares at her in pure disbelief.
"The last time you learnt a secret of mine you sent a letter meant to spread the tale as widely as possible and ruin my life," she says incredulously. "How in heavens can you expect me to trust you with another?"
Edith flinches.
"It was five years ago!" she exclaims defensively. "You can't think I would do such a thing now!"
Mary bites her lip. Isn't that exactly what she told both Matthew and Sybil? That they shouldn't make a big thing out of it because it was years ago and she and Edith settled their score? And yet, and yet...
"I hope you wouldn't," she says slowly. "But then I am blackmailed by someone threatening to publish that story, or I hear whispers and titterring behind my back, and I am beset with doubts all over again. Once burnt and all that, I suppose."
Two bright red spots show up on Edith's pale cheeks.
"Isn't it enough that you ruined my life in revenge?"
Mary scoffs.
"It was only that old booby Strallan. I still can't believe you actually wanted to marry him. Considering everything, I think I did you a favour."
"A favour!" cries out Edith, truly mad now. "Just because you're lucky, as usual, and got to marry Matthew..."
"Lucky?! How can you think of Matthew's injuries, see him in his chair, and call me lucky?"
"You got to marry the man you love!" exclaims Edith hotly. "Something I would give my right arm for and which you prevented not once, but twice!"
Even as Mary is rolling her eyes hard, she can't help but find it ironic that it is Edith of all people, probably the person with the lowest opinion of her character, who actually believes that Mary is sincere about being happy to be married to Matthew even as he is now.
"You can't mean Patrick," she says derisively. "I had never prevented him from paying court to you in any way."
"You let everybody think that you would marry him!"
"Yes," agrees Mary, but then points out mercilessly. "But that hardly stopped him from changing his mind and asking you instead. You know that the family would not have cared which one of us married him, as long as Downton and Mama's fortune stayed in the family. He never formally proposed to me anyway, so he wouldn't even have had to break an engagement with me, not really. He just never wanted to."
She feels only slightly guilty when she sees tears appearing in Edith's eyes. After all, it was Edith who started it and accusing Mary of taking Patrick away from her when it was plain to everybody who knew him that Patrick never cared for Edith in any other way than a little cousin he was fond of was simply absurd.
"You really are cruel at times," whispers Edith accusingly and Mary nearly flinches at the truth of that statement. Only nearly, because she is not about to show Edith that she does start to regret being so blunt about it. Although seriously, Edith should have known better than to bring Patrick into their quarrel! If she wanted sympathy, she picked the wrong sister to raise the topic with.
But then she thinks of that moment when she quarrelled with Matthew about going back to the front and it was Edith who came to check on her, and finds herself making an effort.
"I'm sorry," she apologises, probably surprising herself even more than Edith who gapes at her in astonishment. "I know you truly cared for him."
"I did," admits Eidth tearfully, still staring at Mary incredulously. Seriously, it's not as if she never apologises! Well, maybe not often to Edith… "Just as I did for Sir Anthony!"
Why, oh why does Edith insist on making it so damn difficult to be kind to her?! It takes all Mary's strength to stop herself from pointing out that if one oblique hint was enough to make him run for the hills without even checking with Edith if what Mary said was true or if she even meant him in the first place then maybe he was not worth crying over him four years later.
"You don't know half of the damage your charming little letter has done over the years," she says instead, thinking not only about herself but also Matthew, Anna and even Bates. "How much it is still doing."
Edith frowns in puzzlement.
"Still?" she asks with honest surprise. "But you haven't even been in London for over a year, not properly. How can this old gossip still matter?"
Mary scoffs.
"I don't have to go to London for a Season for the story to follow me. It's always going to be out there, hanging over me like Damocles's sword. Honestly, Edith, sometimes I wonder if you really are so naïve or if you just play at it."
Edith flinches but then frowns in thought.
"You mentioned being blackmailed with a threat to publish it," she asks tentatively. "Was it Sir Richard?"
For a moment, Mary considers lying, but in the end confirms it with a shrug.
"Matthew helped me to get him off my back," she says. "That's why he wrote that article about our marriage, to get back at us."
"Oh," says Edith, wide-eyed, but then snickers slightly. "You sure know how to pick them."
Mary glares at her.
"I picked Matthew," she stresses through gritted teeth. "Besides, you're one to talk!"
Edith gets red in a way which piques Mary's curiosity. None of her known crushes was bad enough to justify this kind of reaction, so could it be possible that mousy Edith is actually hiding something more unsuitable?
"I'm sorry that Matthew has to deal with this kind of insinuations on top of everything else," says Edith sincerely, even if clearly aiming to change the topic. "Can anything be done about it?"
"I'm working on it," says Mary determinedly. "I'm just waiting for answers to some letters."
xxx
Mary shows up at Gregson's office with Lavinia in tow.
She can hardly believe that they are sitting there together, side by side, united in their earnest desire to defend the honour of the man they both love and to whom they have been both tied at different points, but here they are. Lavinia does even grasp her hand in support during the most harrowing parts in Mary's narrative.
Mary can tell that the interview itself is going well. She has prepared for it carefully, choosing which stories to share and which ones to keep buried, and Gregson is sympathetic. She doesn't say a word about killing a man to save Matthew, of course, but admits she was one of the people he got a Military Cross for rescuing, just as he was one of the people whose rescue gave her a Military Medal. She rather thinks mutual heroism and devotion should appeal to the public. Her voice softens when she speaks of Matthew's kindness, intelligence and sense of humour. She describes Wakefield's story about the coat and the Corporal's desperation to get help for his Captain. She speaks of William's injuries incurred while he saved Matthew's life from that shell and his story of Matthew taking a bullet for him earlier. Everything she can think of to show how honourable, beloved and wonderful man he is and how little he deserved having his name besmirched by that vile article. She actually wrote to William, Corporal Wakefield, Sergeant Stevens and Jack Weatherby and got replies full of willingness to serve as Matthew's character witness, permission to be named as the source of the stories in the article and indignation against Carlisle. She feels both touched and deeply validated as she hands the stash of letters to Gregson.
Lavinia joins in, speaking candidly and earnestly of her own whirlwind engagement to Matthew, his long standing friendship with her father, her own visits at Downton and her friendship with Mary.
"In the end, we decided to part ways," she says calmly. "We came to the conclusion that for all our fondness of each other, we will be better off as friends. Our engagement was finished months before the announcement of Captain Crawley's engagement to Lady Mary was published and it had nothing to do with her."
Mary does her best not to gape at that partial, but blatant lie. Who would have thought Lavinia Swire had such a perfect poker face?
Instead she describes the desperation they felt through those awful months of German Spring Push, how very afraid they were that they would never see each other, and how all of this led to their secret wedding in France ahead of the Battle of Amiens. Phrased like that it does sound awfully romantic, she hopes.
She doesn't forget to mention snidely that they can hardly be accused of keeping their marriage secret from their families if her own sister served as a witness at their wedding and they visited Matthew's mother on the return from their honeymoon. Lavinia is not the only one who can stretch the truth, after all.
As the coup de grace she hands Gregson a copy of their wedding photo, one of those Sybil took with the little borrowed Kodak camera. Matthew and her are looking at each other, laughing, and their faces are so obviously full of joy and love it frankly leaps off the paper.
"Does any of us look like it was a forced wedding?" she asks scathingly and Gregson looks at her with compassion.
"Not at all, Lady Mary. I'm only sorry that you two had to suffer such awful and untrue accusations, especially as Captain Crawley is still recovering."
Then his smile turns devious, his eyes crinkling.
"And in a few days half of England will know it."
Mary's responding smile is sharklike and Lavinia's doesn't look any nicer.
xxx
Matthew is waiting for her in the small library when she comes down after hurriedly dressing for dinner. The train was late, of course.
"Why did you go to London without telling me?" he asks immediately with a frown as she bends down to kiss him on the cheek, mindful of the presence of others.
"Because I went to arrange a surprise for you," she answers brightly. She feels positively giddy inside despite the way the long train journey made her nausea even worse and how her whole body aches from exhaustion. She has a really good feeling about Gregson's article.
Matthew's frown only deepens.
"You haven't confronted Carlisle without telling me, have you?" he asks suspiciously.
"Of course not," scoffs Mary, then adds viciously. "If I was planning to meet him, I would have come to borrow your gun first."
Matthew looks at her chidingly, obviously not finding her joke very funny. Which might be right, considering that Mary is not completely sure she was joking.
She caresses Matthew's shoulder gently as she takes the handles of his chair to push him to the dining room.
"I really just met some friends to arrange a surprise for you," she says reassuringly. "A nice surprise, I promise."
Matthew looks like he believes maybe half of her assurances, but allows her to change the subject.
xxx
Come Saturday, Mary is smiling again as she reads the newest issue of The Sketch with her breakfast. The article came out even better than she expected, and their engagement and wedding photos make for a very nice front page. Her smile widens as she reaches some choice allusions Gregson chose to add regarding rejected suitors and bitterness based on jealousy. He even put in a joke about sour grapes.
Take that, Sir Richard Carlisle.
When she finishes the article and reaches for her tea, she makes a mental note to send Mr Gregson a case of some especially nice wine from Carson's stock. She doesn't even notice that she leaves her breakfast completely untouched when she gets up to find Matthew and show him her surprise. She's too nauseous to be hungry anyway.
She meets Matthew in the small library and hands him the magazine with a triumphant smile and a joyous exclamation of 'surprise!'.
"You laid it rather thick, didn't you?" observes Matthew drily after he has read the article as well.
Mary shrugs.
"Subtlety wasn't my goal here," she points out smugly. "And I didn't say one word which wasn't true."
"You painted me as some kind of romantic hero," he quarrels, because of course he does, but she is unperturbed.
"That's how I see you, at least when I'm not annoyed with you half to death," she answers calmly. "And after that drivel Carlisle spewed, you deserved for the general public to learn how you truly are. Not to mention all the people mentioned in the interview: Corporal Wakefield, William, Sergeant Stevens, the men you rescued from that dugout with me – they all sent the letters with permission to be quoted in support of you."
Matthew rubs his forehead. He cannot deny it and he knows it, but then he asks quietly:
"How did you get Lavinia to participate in this? I would have thought she would be the last person to jump to my defence."
She noted he's gone quiet when he found the side piece with Lavinia's story, his face full of disbelief, and decides she may just as well tell him.
"She wrote to me first, you know, after Carlisle's article, and offered any help she could."
Matthew's eyes widen.
"She did?"
Mary nods.
"She said that she knows you and she knows me and she doesn't believe one word of that rubbish Carlisle wrote because she knows him too."
Matthew remains quiet for a long moment.
"That's very generous of her, in the circumstances."
"It is," admits Mary. "But then you've always had good taste in women."
She smiles when she succeeds in getting Matthew to burst out laughing.
She missed that sound so much.
She gets up to kiss him and for a moment she thinks she is just dizzy from happiness or getting up too fast, but then the floor somehow buckles and sways under her feet and she finds herself falling. Matthew's terrified voice is the last thing she hears.
xxx
Matthew can't say later how he managed to catch Mary when she fainted without falling out of his chair but somehow he did. He tries to describe what happened to Sybil and Robert and seemingly half of Downton Abbey brought down by his cries for help, but he can barely speak, his heart in his throat as he keeps holding Mary, unconscious and limp, pulled somewhat awkwardly onto his lap, her head lolling against his shoulder.
"She got up from the sofa," he says, his eyes boring into Mary's closed ones, wordlessly begging her to wake up. "Then she suddenly went pale, swayed on her feet and before I knew it she was falling. I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards me so she didn't fall on the floor or against the table, but she was already unconscious when I caught her."
God bless Sybil, because she takes control before he completely falls apart. She sends people to fetch Major Clarkson and summons two orderlies with a stretcher to take Mary to a bed. Best of all, she takes one look at Matthew's desperate face and the way he tightens his arms around Mary, panicked at the thought of handing her over only for her to be carried somewhere he can't follow, and orders them to bring Mary to Matthew's room.
"It's closer," she says against someone's protests. "And she will be jostled less if we don't take her up the stairs."
She disperses the crowd and pushes Matthew herself just behind the stretcher with Mary.
"It looks like she just fainted for some reason," she says tightly. "Major Clarkson will be here in a moment."
"Mary doesn't faint," says Matthew with bloodless lips. "She's always told me it was Edith's thing."
Sybil doesn't have an answer to that.
Anna rushes into the room as soon as the orderlies leave it, her face tight.
"Is she bleeding?" she asks sharply, reaching with practised hands to take out the pins holding Mary's hair and to loosen her clothing. Matthew is not sure if he saw right but he thinks she surreptitiously checked Mary's skirt when she opened its buttons.
"No," says Sybil, touching Mary's forehead to check for fever. "Matthew caught her before she hurt herself in any way."
Matthew looks at Anna piercingly when he sees her purse her lips in response to Sybil's assurance.
"Anna, do you know anything which could be responsible for this? Is Lady Mary ill?"
He could swear that Anna is fighting with herself how much of Mary's confidence to betray and it may be good that he is trapped in his chair because he is not sure he would have stopped himself from shaking her otherwise.
"Tell us!" he insists, using his officer voice. He is going to apologise to her later, when he knows whether Mary is going to open her eyes again, that he's not going to lose her.
"Not ill as such," says Anna. "But she has been poorly for weeks. She barely eats, she is often sick, and I know she can't sleep due to bad dreams most of the nights. It might be all to it, really."
Sybil raises her head sharply.
"How long has it been going on?"
Anna shrugs, avoiding their eyes.
"Nearly since she first came back from France."
Matthew's nails dig into the flesh of his palms, his insides twisting with guilt. How could it have been going on for weeks and he remained none the wiser? How could he have been so oblivious to his wife's suffering? He thinks of all the times he noticed her lack of appetite, but accepted her excuses without further thought and he is nearly sick himself.
Before he can question Anna further, Mary starts to stir and Matthew's whole attention is immediately brought to her.
"My darling?" he asks, his voice trembling. "Are you awake?"
Mary's eyelids flutter and then, thank God, she opens her eyes.
"Matthew?" she asks groggily. "How come we are in your room?"
"You fainted, darling, and scared me half to death," explains Matthew as he caresses Mary's face. Thankfully she doesn't appear to be feverish.
"We had you brought here because it was closer," joins Sybil. "Besides, Matthew would have a fit if we took you upstairs."
Matthew would have glared at her but that would mean taking his eyes off Mary's face and he's not ready to do that yet.
"Milady," asks Anna from behind his back. "Do you feel anything unusual?"
There's first incomprehension, followed quickly by fear on Mary's face, and Matthew's heart breaks witnessing it. He hoped that he was never going to see her afraid again now that they are safe.
Although it's painfully obvious that they are not safe from everything.
"My darling?" he asks gingerly. "Is everything alright? The doctor should be here in a moment."
Before Mary can answer, Clarkson does finally come, clearly relieved at finding her conscious.
"Right," he says after getting the story from Matthew and Sybil. "I must examine Lady Mary and to do that, I need more space and privacy, considering the size of the room. If all of you except one person could leave us for the time being – Lady Mary, who would you like to be present?"
Matthew thinks that Sybil looks as disappointed as he is when Mary names Anna. She does look apologetically at them, but shoos them away weakly.
"We'll wait in the small library with the others," agrees Sybil with barely concealed bad grace and pushes Matthew's chair out of the room.
"I get sending you out," she grumbles. "But why me? I'm her sister and a nurse!"
But Matthew thinks of Anna's questions and the way she was clearly censoring how she answered theirs, and he can't stop himself from forming a suspicion that Mary has a secret Anna is privy to, but no one else.
He just prays it's not a very bad one.
xxx
"Lady Mary is awake now, but quite weak," says Major Clarkson to the anxious crowd gathered in the small library some time later. "She admitted to sleeping badly and an upset stomach – not unusual in someone who went through a lot of stress in the last few months, not to mention a traumatic injury – but I took a blood sample for testing just in case it is something more than just a nervous exhaustion."
"What could it be if not her nerves?" asks Cora anxiously before Matthew has a chance. "What are you testing for?"
Clarkson purses his lips for a moment.
"Anaemia, among other things," he says finally, but with an air of a man who is holding something back and it makes Matthew's heart speed up again in renewed terror. "I will come back in the afternoon, with the tests' results and to examine her further, and then I should have more definite information for you. For now, I ordered some light gruel for her and a nap afterwards. I suggested to Lady Mary that she should be more comfortable in her own bedroom, especially since Captain Crawley will need his bed to rest as well, but she insisted she wanted to stay there for now and requested the presence of her husband only."
Matthew barely has to look pleadingly at Sybil before she starts pushing him towards his room.
"Have you noticed that Clarkson didn't want to tell us something?" he asks anxiously, not at all calmed down when Sybil nods in affirmation.
"He likes to be sure before he gives a diagnosis," she says reasonably. "Whatever he suspects, he apparently needs more evidence."
"Is anaemia dangerous?"
"It can be," admits Sybil reluctantly. "Depends what kind of anaemia it is. But it's likely that all which will be needed to make Mary better is eating more and some iron pills. Don't fret yet, Matthew, there might be no need for it."
But how can he not? The scene of Mary swaying and falling, the feeling of her limp body in his arms, the sight of her pale, unresponsive face are all relentlessly haunting Matthew. She must be alright, she must, but he doesn't know if she's going to be, he doesn't know what is really wrong with her, and the necessity of waiting for answers is driving him mad. For all Sybil's calm and reassuring speeches to him he thinks he can tell that she is hardly as unmoved as she pretends to be and he suspects she is only doing it for his benefit.
They find Mary finishing a small bowl of gruel from the tray with visible distaste.
"If this is what they are feeding the invalids here, it's a wonder anybody gets better," she grumbles.
"You wouldn't have to eat it if you weren't skipping so many of your meals," points out Sybil mercilessly, parking Matthew's chair by the bed. "Now, do you want to go upstairs? Major Clarkson is right about Matthew's need to rest as well."
Matthew sends her a look of betrayal.
"I'm fine," he says through gritted teeth, his hands clenched over the armrests of his wheelchair. The prospect of Mary being upstairs where he can't follow and thus will be forced to rely on messengers to bring him any updates on her condition is not at all more tolerable now than it was when she first fainted.
Mary throws him a concerned look which is ridiculous when she is the one who is sick then turns to Sybil.
"Will it be alright for Matthew to wait a little bit longer with me?" she asks. "I would like him to sit with me until Major Clarkson is back, but of course I will go upstairs if it's going to be too much time in the chair for him."
"Of course it will be alright," says Matthew immediately, glaring at Sybil to dare her to contradict him.
Sybil looks entirely unimpressed by Matthew's glare, but she does agree with him after some thought.
"It should be alright for two or three hours. You will just need to make sure you will lie on your stomach until dinner afterwards, maybe with hot water bottles for your shoulders and back."
Mary frowns unhappily and starts to rise from the bed.
"If I'm going to cause him harm, I won't stay here."
Matthew's hand shoots out to keep her where she is.
"You heard Sybil," he says firmly. "I will be alright. I will stay with you as long as you need me."
Sybil just shakes her head in visible exasperation at them both and leaves the room with Mary's tray. Matthew pushes himself a little closer to the bed, closing as much distance between him and Mary as he can, and grasps her hand, frowning in worry at the clammy coldness of it.
"How are you, my darling?" he asks. "What has the doctor said?"
She looks at him disbelievingly.
"Are you trying to make me believe that he was not accosted by everyone as soon as he left this room and pumped for information?"
Matthew's mouth twitches upward despite his worry.
"Of course he was. But the information he's provided us with was frustratingly lacking."
Mary smiles wryly.
"That's because he needs to check some things first, so he hardly had anything to say. But don't worry, darling. Most likely I just need to rest and eat more."
Matthew's stomach twists guiltily.
"Between me and Carlisle you've hardly had any time to rest and take care of yourself since we came back."
Mary rolls her eyes, which he notices are deeply bruised from exhaustion. How in hell hasn't he noticed that before? The obvious answer that he just got used to her looking like she barely had any sleep at all serves only to make him hate himself more.
"Don't compare yourself to him," she says sternly. "You haven't set out to cause trouble."
"Doesn't mean I haven't caused chief share of it for you anyway," says Matthew gloomily. "Or that I haven't neglected you outrageously to wallow in my own troubles."
"Which are not inconsiderable," points out Mary impatiently. "Seriously, darling, whatever is wrong with me is nothing compared to your own injury. Can you stop blaming yourself for now and just sit with me for a bit while I try to sleep? I hope that with you here I might be able to."
Matthew swallows, feeling rightly chastised. Voicing his guilt, however much he wants to expiate for his sins against her, is not what his wife needs right now. He thinks back to the peaceful sleep he was able to grant her during their previous recovery at Downton, when she was sneaking into his bedroom for it, and hopes he still possesses the power to do so, even if he is sitting by her bed instead of lying in it with her.
"I will be right here, my darling," he says gently. "Close your eyes. I will be here if the nightmares come."
xxx
Mary wakes up not long before the doctor returns, bearing not only the results of her blood test, unfortunately confirming she's anaemic, but also certain tools he hasn't expected to need while checking on his patients in the convalescent home. Matthew is once again shooed out; for all his hurt looks Mary is not even for a minute entertaining the thought of letting him stay for this kind of exam. Besides, she wants to hear the doctor's verdict before she tells Matthew about it at all. If there is a need to tell him anything, of course.
Doctor Clarkson has delicate hands, but the mortification of anybody but Matthew seeing her like that makes Mary's face crimson. She closes her eyes so at least she doesn't have to look at him doing that, but the sensations are impossible to ignore.
At last, Doctor Clarkson covers her back and straightens, putting his tool away as he walks to the washbasin.
"There can be no doubt, Lady Mary," he says while he washes his hands. "You're pregnant."
Mary's first, irreverent thought is that at least the most uncomfortable medical examination of her life has not been in vain. Only after that the impact of the doctor's words actually reaches her.
"You are sure?" she asks desperately. "And my fainting spell caused no harm?"
"None whatsoever," Clarkson assures her. "Although it is imperative that you take better care of yourself now. As I said before, your blood sample confirmed that you do have anaemia, most likely triggered by the blood loss you suffered when you were shot, but undoubtedly compounded by your pregnancy – pregnant women are at bigger risk of anaemia as it is. Anaemia and the nausea caused by pregnancy are probably also compounding your lack of appetite, but this is a vicious circle; the less you eat, the worse they both will get. You must eat, Lady Mary, preferably something which you can stomach, in small portions but at short intervals. Meat, if you can keep it down, and beetroot, is especially beneficial. I will of course also prescribe iron pills which you will need to take daily. But there is also another matter."
He frowns concernedly as he sits by her bed and looks at her seriously.
"You have been exposed to more stress than any woman should. The nightmares, the insomnia, volatile emotions, the shaking of the hands – it all points to a nervous exhaustion, caused by prolonged straining of the nerves, or even a mild case of shellshock. This is serious, Lady Mary, extremely serious. Stress is not good for a lady in your condition. It's imperative that you rest and avoid anything which makes you anxious. Otherwise, you may be putting this pregnancy at risk and, as we both know, there won't be any other."
Mary feels her mouth go dry at his implication. He doesn't need to spell it out in more detail; the spectre of her little stillborn brother is very much on her mind.
"This kind of warning is hardly conducive to the peace of mind and avoiding anxiety," she points out, trying to hide how truly terrified she is of losing this baby she has been yearning for so much that she was too afraid to even believe in its existence.
"I realise that, Lady Mary, but I had to let you know how truly important it is that you rest and relax. If you do, I see no reason the outcome won't be all that you and Captain Crawley could wish for."
"The anaemia won't harm the baby?" asks Mary with trepidation, but relaxes at Clarkson's shake of the head.
"Not if we manage to get it under control. So far everything seems to be progressing normally and I have every hope that if you follow my instructions, you will get your baby in your arms by the end of April. Now, if that is all, I know that your husband and the rest of the family are most anxious for news."
Mary stops him in his tracks before he can leave.
"Doctor Clarkson, please tell them about the anaemia and the… nervous exhaustion, I suppose," she shies away from the word shellshock and all it implies. "But not about the baby. I want to tell Captain Crawley myself, if you could send him here. Actually, please wait for a bit until I tell him, I'm sure he will have many questions for you when I do."
Clarkson smiles in understanding.
"Of course, Lady Mary. I will send Captain Crawley here at once. And accept my most heartfelt congratulations."
When he leaves, Mary turns to Anna, sitting quietly in the corner.
"Oh, Anna!" she says, tears gathering in her eyes. "It is true!"
"It is, milady," answers Anna with a brilliant smile. "You and Captain Crawley are going to have a baby."
xxx
When Clarkson pushes Matthew into his room, he finds Mary sitting on the bed. He grasps her hands immediately, barely noticing the doctor's exit, his attention wholly focused on his wife.
"How are you, my darling?" he asks anxiously. "Clarkson told me of the anaemia… and shellshock."
The last word burns his mouth. He thinks of all the signs he has observed for months but has said or done nothing about and he curses himself bitterly all over again for his self-absorption and selfishness.
Mary's brilliant smile is so incongruous with the situation that he blinks.
"I'm much better, darling," she says gently and her smile just gets brighter. "In fact, I'm feeling wonderful. You see, Doctor Clarkson has confirmed the anaemia and suggested some nervous exhaustion, yes, but he has also just confirmed something else, so much more important. I'm pregnant."
Matthew stares at her in complete disbelief.
"Pregnant?" he asks. "Are you completely sure?"
"Yes," she nods emphatically. "If all goes well, you are going to be a father after all. We really made a baby!"
"Oh God…" says Matthew, trying valiantly to wrap his head around it after weeks of mourning the perspective of parenthood for either of them. "We really did? Truly?"
Mary nods again, squeezing his hands.
"Truly. I've been suspecting for some time, I've been so nauseous and sick, but I've been too afraid to believe it so I did not admit it even to myself. I've feared so much to be wrong! But Doctor Clarkson confirmed it beyond any doubt."
As stunned as Matthew is by the news, Mary's mention of getting sick brings him abruptly down to Earth.
"But darling, you're not well," he says, the words barely passing through his constricted throat as he looks at her in renewed fright. "All those things Clarkson said…"
"Haven't he told you that I'm going to be perfectly alright after I rest a bit, eat better and take my iron pills?" asks Mary reassuringly and he wants to believe her so much.
"And the baby? Will it be alright too?" he asks and despite his concern he feels such warmth just from saying this word. The baby. His and Mary's baby. They're going to have a baby.
"Yes," says Mary, taking one hand out of his grasp but only to caress his cheek soothingly. "The baby should not be harmed at all if I take better care of myself from now on, and I will, I promise. Now that I know for sure, nothing is more important."
Matthew nods, leaning into her hand. A baby…
Suddenly, he snickers.
"I never thought I would say it, but I think we owe Carlisle a favour," he says in response to Mary's inquiring gaze. He laughs at Mary's eyebrows shooting upwards at his unexpected statement.
"How so?" she asks, clearly shocked.
"By publishing our marriage certificate he explained very nicely to the general public how you came to be with child despite your husband's widely known impotency. This should put any awkward questions about the child's paternity to rest."
Mary's face darkens with anger.
"If he didn't publish private details of your injury, there wouldn't be any questions at all!"
Matthew waves a hand dismissively.
"Everyone with half a brain would figure it out anyway. The whole family knew well before the article."
"Well, whatever people will gossip about, at least there is no question of the child's legitimacy," says Mary curtly, visibly unhappy with the turn of conversation. "You were obviously right to insist on a quick wedding. It would be a much more awkward announcement otherwise."
Matthew has it on the tip of his tongue that what would have been better was him showing some proper restraint, but for once his brain catches with him before he speaks. Mary has just told him they are going to have a baby. This is the worst time possible to dwell on what if scenarios and bemoan their situation.
"I was wondering about it," he says quietly instead. "Before that final battle. I even wrote of it in a letter to you, in case I was going to die and never see that hypothetical baby. But it wasn't hypothetical, it was already there."
He looks at her in wonder.
"It was already there when you drove into the battlefield to get me out and got shot."
"Well, it's not like I knew!" Mary laughs shakily. "But you see how strongly this little creature clings to life. I hope he will remain so strong and stubborn for the rest of his long life, even if it's going to drive me crazy at times."
"He?" questions Matthew with raised eyebrows.
Mary shrugs.
"One can hope. It would solve a lot of problems if it was a boy."
Matthew looks at her seriously.
"This baby is a miracle, whether boy or girl," he says firmly. "And we will always cherish it as such. Don't worry about it even for a second. If it is a girl, I promise that I am going to find a way to break the entail. Maybe they will be abolished anyway, there are rumblings in the House of Lords after so many heirs were killed in the war. But whatever we end up doing about it, it doesn't ultimately matter. What matters is that we're going to have a baby and it's simply wonderful."
Mary nods and he sees tears in her eyes.
"It truly is," she whispers. "I'm so happy I hardly know what to think, but this I know."
He pulls her to him in a hug, thinking again about the letter he wrote to her and the baby he feared he was never going to meet, and for the very first time since he woke up after Amiens and understood what had happened to him he feels so incredibly grateful to be alive.
xxx
His elation lasts only until his subsequent talk with Clarkson. The doctor, while encouraging and reassuring, doesn't mince words when it comes to the seriousness of Mary's ailments and the threat they pose to the outcome of her pregnancy if she is not adequately taken care of.
"Lady Mary went through things which no woman should have ever been exposed to," he says grimly. "It is a shame for our country that we resorted to sending women to war, especially such refined, delicate ladies as Lady Mary, wholly unprepared for facing hardships of any kind. She has been lucky not to come back in an even worse condition, but it's imperative that we ensure she has proper nutrition, plenty of rest and most of all, nothing to make her anxious or unnecessarily excited. Any stress is posing a risk of further damage to her nerves."
As seriously as Matthew treats the doctor's warnings, he barely holds a snicker at his description of Mary as 'delicate'. He truly wonders how somebody who has known her from childhood could ever underestimate her in such a way. Any amusement he takes from it is momentary though, his mind preoccupied both with wild concern for Mary and the baby and the dark thoughts he's gotten well used to during the last weeks. He is still beyond happy about the baby – how could he not be? – but thinking about the baby and Mary inevitably leads to the conclusion that he is going to be more a burden than anything else for them, just when they both need him the most.
All the joy in the world can't conceal the fact that he can't even share a bed with his shellshocked wife and comfort her from the nightmares plaguing her because her bedroom is upstairs. He's supposed to take care of her, protect her, cherish her and yet here he is, bloody useless and unable to do any of that, defeated by something so simple as a flight of stairs. Not to mention that even if she could reasonably join him permanently in his bedroom downstairs, which she can't, considering the size of the room, there is not an insignificant matter that he can't stand the thought of Mary actually sharing a bed with him. As much as he misses her – and he misses her desperately – he breaks out in cold sweat when he tries to envision it. The only way he has managed to find so far to reconcile himself to the life he has to live right now is to compartmentalise it into tightly separated parts. Mary is the best and brightest part of it, hands down, and now the baby too. The moments he gets to spend in her company are the ones when, if he concentrates hard enough, he can nearly believe that his life is still worth living. But it's only possible because he shuts other parts of his life, the humiliating, painful ones, ones which make him want to curse something fierce in helplessness and frustration, very safely away from her. Those parts are for the nurses and orderlies and Bates to witness, since unfortunately the big part of the problem is that he can't deal with any of it alone, but never, ever for his wife. This is the only way he can preserve an illusion of some dignity and normalcy, and so he clings to his boundaries desperately.
But now Mary and their baby need more of him than this carefully selected part; they need and deserve so much more. Mary is not well. She needs care and peace and love and safety. He must give it to her, both for her sake and for the sake of their baby, but he's so utterly lost when he tries to come up with a way to do it.
And yet, as terrified and lost as he feels while deliberating over it all, he realises that there has never been a moment since his injury when he has been so determined to get better, stronger, as well as he can possibly get. Mary doesn't need his frustration and despondency, however justified he finds those feelings considering his situation. She needs to be able to rely on him, pathetic as he is right now. However ridiculous it still sounds to him in the circumstances, he is her husband. He's going to be a father of their baby. He needs to find a way to be useful to them or, at the very least, to not be such a burden as he currently is. To take care of them however he can.
He needs to find a way and will to live his life.
For them.