AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope this chapter is not too long... And of course, as always, that you will enjoy it! I also wanted to thank you once again for every review; they mean so much to me.
Sybil and Matthew don't even discuss the fact that they want to talk the matter over, they just go together to the Countess' Cottage by mutual if silent agreement and entrench themselves in the library.
As anxious as Matthew is for Mary, keeping such a huge thing secret from her is sitting wrong with him, very wrong. Unsurprisingly, Sybil instantly agrees with him.
"She will want to kill us if we keep our mouths shut," she says firmly. "And she will be right. You know what Downton means to her. You and I could give it all up and be perfectly happy – well, I'm going to do that soon anyway – but she won't be. She's like Granny and Papa, for good or ill."
Matthew rubs the bridge of his nods in resignation.
"I'm very well aware of it," he says. "But this is exactly why there is no way she is going to react to this news calmly."
Sybil bites her lip and crosses her arms.
"But do you think she will be any way calmer if she learns of it later, with the added knowledge that we kept it from her on purpose? She will hit the roof."
"If we prove that he is a fraud, would we need to ever tell her?" asks Matthew hesitantly, but his own feelings in reaction to his question give him the answer before Sybil can. Everything in him tells him it would be wrong and dishonest. Besides, he promised not to keep anything from her.
Sybil evidently sees it on his face, because she nods in agreement as she answers.
"It would be wrong. It is her future which is in balance," she looks at him worriedly. "Do you think there is any chance that we won't prove he is a fraud?"
"If he is, we will prove it," answers Matthew confidently. "But you're a better person than me to answer whether there is a chance he isn't."
Sybil leans back against the sofa, her arms still crossed.
"I can't see anything of Patrick in him," she says slowly. "But he has managed to convince Edith completely and to rattle Papa with doubt. I'm not sure if it's different for me because I am more discerning or because I don't want him to be Patrick. Which, as Edith's pointed out, is rather horrid of me."
Matthew shakes his head.
"It isn't," he protests. "It's the other way around. If you believed him to be Patrick, I'm certain you would be happy he is alive. But since you don't, you only see the way he is bringing trouble and aiming to hurt Mary."
They both ponder it for a while.
"This is why I am not angry with Edith, you know," says Matthew. "She does believe him wholeheartedly and since she does, she's trying to do the right thing. If it is Patrick, after all, it's only right that he resumes his place in the family. We only buckle against it because we don't believe his claim."
Sybil looks at him searchingly.
"So if you got convinced that he truly is Patrick, you would gladly move aside and try to forge some life for you, Mary and your baby?"
Matthew exhales with frustration.
"If I was whole, I would not have even hesitated. I had to go through this thought process once already, when your mother was pregnant, and I know I could do it. But I have so little to offer Mary and our baby now... We could survive it, of course, we would hardly be poor, even if no longer wealthy, but to see Mary facing losing Downton as well, in addition to everything else she has already lost with my injury... It seems grossly unfair."
"But you will tell her?"
Matthew nods grimly.
"I will," he says heavily. "I promised not to keep things from her and I won't. I just hope desperately that she won't take it hard enough to impede her health in any way."
"Do you want me to be there?" offers Sybil, biting her lip in worry, but Matthew shakes his head.
"I think it will be better if I do it myself. I will let you know how it went."
xxx
Matthew sits at his desk, deep in thought.
Most of their small library's furniture has been brought from Matthew's study at Crawley House, where it was first brought from his house in Manchester. It is not as luxurious as some of the other similar sets at Downton Abbey, but it is elegant enough and it makes the room truly and comfortingly Matthew's. Another thoughtful gesture of Mary's, Matthew reflects. For such a normally self-absorbed person she really can be surprisingly devoted to the small group of people she loves.
He is fully convinced that she will make a wonderful mother.
The appearance of self-proclaimed Patrick Crawley has truly shaken him. He finds it rather ironic that just when he came to appreciate the prospect of his inheritance, it could end up being taken away from him again. Perhaps he deserves it for his arrogant disdain for it which he kept for so long, clinging to his independence – but Mary does not. She does not deserve to lose her home and the only thing which he is still capable of giving her. Not to mention that it is the only kind of security he is able to give their child.
His resolve hardens at the thought. If he was the only person in the equation, he thinks he could even have felt relieved – no pressure to become a crippled earl, no guilt for his inability to provide the estate with an heir – but he is not alone in this mess. If there is a shade of doubt that Major Gordon is in fact Patrick Crawley, he is determined to fight and find it out. For Mary and the baby. Because if he can't give them anything else, he will be damned if he gives up the prospect of her beloved Downton and the title without a fight.
Gordon is a threat, different from shells and bullets, but no less dangerous, and there is no way in hell he is going to allow that bastard hurt her.
xxx
He is wholly convinced about the rightness of his intention to confess everything to Mary and yet he falters when she enters the library, all happy after their wonderful night and her trip to a dressmaker. Robert, Cora, Mother, they all agreed that something so upsetting should be kept away from her; Major Clarkson was so adamant about the danger of stress to her… Can he really ignore it all in the name of what he considers right? Is it right to wipe away her smile and destroy whatever fragile peace of mind she has managed to reach in the last few days?
But he made a promise to her.
"How was your trip? Have you managed to order everything you need?" he asks, trying to buy time before he can decide what is the right thing to do in that situation.
Mary comes over to his desk and leans down to give him a kiss.
"I hope so," she says brightly, clearly satisfied. "Of course, it is only Ripon, so I'm not expecting miracles, but I brought my own fashion plates and Mrs Prewett promises faithfully that I should be able to show my face in London in those clothes. Anyway, there's no need to spend too much on the clothes I am going to be wearing for just a few short months. I can visit proper fashion shows later, after the baby is born."
The implication that Mary won't have any need for pregnancy clothes after this baby is hanging briefly in the air, but Matthew has more immediate things on his mind and Mary notices it.
"Darling?" she asks with a slight frown, keeping her still gloved hand on his shoulder. "What is it? Has something happened?"
As much as he fears disobeying doctor's orders, he can't lie to her.
"Yes," he says, taking a deep breath and grasping her hand. "Come to the sofa and I will tell you."
He feels a slight tremble in the hand he's holding at the seriousness of his tone and he bites his lip, beset with doubts. Oh God, what if he is making a huge mistake by telling her?
After she sits down and he parks his chair facing her, he takes her hands in his and meets her questioning gaze. Mary's face is impassive; she is clearly bracing herself for whatever bad news she is going to hear, and Matthew swears that if Gordon is indeed an impostor, he is going to make him pay for all the distress he is causing with it all.
"There is a patient here, at Downton, Major Gordon – have you had an occasion to talk with him?"
Mary frowns slightly.
"Only briefly. Nothing beyond hello, really. He is the one with burns, isn't he?"
"Yes," Matthew takes a deep breath. "He claims he is Patrick Crawley."
Mary blinks incredulously.
"What? How on Earth could he be?"
"He claims," says Matthew carefully, "that he survived the Titanic's sinking, but suffered from amnesia, with no memory of who he was and no means of identification. He made a new life for himself in Canada, with a new name of Gordon, and he didn't remember anything at all until the explosion at Passchendaele. He supposedly started to recall his past while recovering in the hospital."
Mary scoffs immediately.
"A likely story. He's only started to remember when his face was burnt beyond recognition. As if anybody would believe that!" she looks at him in sudden alarm when he doesn't immediately agree with her. "Tell me that nobody believes that. Surely nobody could?"
Matthew exhales heavily.
"Edith does," he says quietly, his grasp on Mary's hands tightening. "She talked with him at length and she is utterly convinced he is truly Patrick. Robert talked with him as well, and while he is by no means sure, he has enough doubts that he sent his story to Murray and asked him to investigate the whole matter. Everybody else is just shocked."
Mary narrows her eyes.
"Everybody else… Am I the last to be told? When have you learnt?"
"Only this afternoon, while you were in Ripon," says Matthew immediately. "Edith told Robert only yesterday and he called the meeting of the family the very next day."
"But conveniently left me out," points out Mary and Matthew knows there is no way to keep this part from her either.
"He was afraid of upsetting you," he said gently. "We all are. But Sybil and I agreed that you should be told."
"Of course I should be told!" cries out Mary, her eyes flashing. "How could you even think of hiding it from me? When was I supposed to be told, when this scarred fraud throws me out of my house?"
"He won't," says Matthew firmly, feeling the dreaded tremor in Mary's hands and swallowing again a fearful thought that he is making a huge mistake. "If he is an impostor, we will prove it. And if he is indeed Patrick, nobody is going to throw us out. We will have time to figure things out. It's all going to be alright, darling."
He must have said the wrong thing, because Mary's eyes flash again and she pulls her hands out of his to get up and pace the room in agitation.
"We won't be alright! I know that you don't care about Downton – you never did – maybe it's even a blessing in disguise for you, but I do! And I won't accept losing my home to him!"
"That's not true," protests Matthew with more sincerity than he would be able to use not so long ago. "I obviously do not care about Downton as much as you do, and you're right, it was never my ambition to be an earl, but Mary – you are my wife and this is your beloved home. It's important to you. It's going to be our baby's legacy. How can you think that I don't care about saving it for you?"
His impassioned question stops her in her tracks as she looks at him intently.
"Do you mean it?" she asks. "Will you truly fight to keep Downton for us? Even if they all will believe him?"
He wheels himself to her and takes her hand again.
"I promise, Mary," he vows seriously. "I promise that I will keep fighting unless I am convinced he is truly the rightful heir. Then and only then I will start to make alternative plans with you."
To his great relief, he sees some of the tension leave Mary. Her hands are still noticeably shaking, but it's less pronounced than before.
"Thank you," she says, allowing him to lead her back to the sofa. "And I'm sorry for assuming you were ready to give it all up."
"If he is proven to be the rightful heir, I will of course be forced to do just that," acknowledges Matthew in all fairness. "But it's premature to assume so at this stage."
"Of course he's not the rightful heir," she scoffs. "It's absurd to think he might be!"
For all that Matthew agrees with her, Edith's conviction and Robert's doubt have shaken him.
"How can you be sure he's a fake? Without even speaking with him properly?"
Mary rolls her eyes.
"Aren't you? If you woke up after being rescued from Titanic, without any knowledge of who you are, wouldn't you go to the papers the very next day? With all the interest in the disaster, would he even find one which wasn't interested in publishing his story and helping him find his family? If he was too weak and confused straight after, why not later, during the inquest? How could he be truly Patrick and make no move whatsoever to discover his identity for six long years?"
"You make some very good points," admits Matthew thoughtfully. "And I agree with you, the whole story sounds very unlikely and far-fetched. But how was he able to convince Edith so thoroughly and your father enough to make him have some doubts?"
"Edith is a gullible fool," she says derisively. "She imagined herself in love with Patrick for years and is likely imagining herself in the middle of a fairy tale or a trashy romance right now. Patrick not only came back from the dead, but also abandoned the wicked sister for the poor overlooked Cinderella. I bet he didn't have to say much more than imply his heart lies with her."
"And your Papa?"
Mary hesitates.
"He must have shown some knowledge of Patrick and us, I imagine. I have no idea how he acquired it, but he must have done or said something to rattle Papa. Papa loves you, Matthew. He would never willingly do something to harm you in any way. There must have been something which made him doubt enough to convince him he might have to act against your interest even though it is killing him. He must be completely miserable about the whole matter."
"But didn't he love Patrick?" asks Matthew, perplexed. "From what I understand he was practically raised here and you were all very fond of him."
"He did and we were," admits Mary. "But not like he loves you. He was very fond of Patrick, but you became a son to him, even before he learnt that you married me. You must know that."
Matthew looks down bashfully. He does know that. In all those horrible months since his injury Robert's affection for him has remained obvious and unwavering, despite his disability and all its implications both for the estate and his marriage to Robert's daughter.
He looks up with renewed resolve. Robert does not deserve to be deceived either.
"Then we must prove that Major Gordon is not Patrick," he says firmly. "If he is claiming his identity for fraudulent purposes, namely to put himself in line for a major inheritance, then he is committing a crime. Maybe we should remind him that such actions carry a pretty big risk."
Mary's eyes shine.
"Maybe we should. But only after we gather enough evidence that he isn't who he is claiming to be. So we are not accused of bullying him."
"Did Patrick have any identifying marks? Scars or birthmarks maybe?"
Mary regretfully shakes her head.
"None that I know of, at least. But we can ask Papa to consult Dr Clarkson. He did treat Patrick on occasion over the years, like when he broke his arm when he was ten."
"Was this the time you goaded him into climbing a tree?" asks Matthew with a playful smirk. Mary blushes slightly.
"I only pointed out I could do it!" she cries out indignantly. "And I was right!"
Matthew laughs and shakes his head fondly.
"If he is an impostor, even one with very thorough research and maybe even some personal knowledge of Patrick or the family, he cannot know everything. I think we could try feeding him some untrue information and see if he falls for it."
"That we can easily do," agrees Mary rapidly, focusing on possible ways of proceeding. "We have to recruit some other members of the family or staff to do it though. I think he would be very suspicious of either of us. He can always claim that his amnesia didn't clear completely and that he is confused on some matters."
"Murray will make any possible inquiries into the list of Titanic survivors," says Matthew. "As well as into any information the Army may have on Major Gordon. Even if he gave slight details while enlisting, they will tell him where he did it and he can follow up with research into his whereabouts in Canada. The more we will uncover by backtracking his steps there, the more it is likely that we discover he could not possibly be Patrick Crawley."
"It will take time though," frowns Mary unhappily. "And in the meantime, we will have to suffer his scheming presence and Edith's insufferable behaviour. I rather think I would prefer to refuse any dinner invitations from Mama until this whole matter is cleared up. Otherwise I cannot guarantee I won't attempt to scratch Edith's eyes out over the dining table."
Matthew assents with amusement. He finds he is not averse to having more private time with his wife anyway and he is so relieved she is taking it all so well that he could sing.
xxx
As it happens, they are invited to the big house for dinner that very evening and contrary to what she's said earlier, Mary accepts.
"I must show them both that I know what's going on and that I'm not falling apart in a corner," she says fiercely when Matthew reminds her of her previous decision. He groans at her current one.
"You're going to throw me to the wolves then, aren't you?" he asks resignedly. "If Robert doesn't kill me for telling you everything, your mother might. Or mine."
"Oh, don't worry, I will defend you," says Mary impatiently. "They are the ones in the wrong, not you."
He raises his eyes heavenwards, not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation in the slightest.
The dinner itself goes peacefully, since nobody raises the topic – the family because they remain convinced Mary doesn't know anything about Gordon and Mary because she prefers to avoid the scene in front of servants. She doesn't want any gossip among them to give additional power to Gordon's claim. She doesn't wait long though after Robert and Matthew join the ladies in the small library.
"You don't have to keep your mouth shut anymore," she says as soon as Carson leaves after serving them coffee. "I know about Major Gordon's absurd claim."
Robert gapes at her briefly then swivels to glare at Matthew.
"How could you –" he starts, his face getting alarmingly red, when Mary interrupts him.
"It was my right to know," she says firmly. "And I am alright, truly. Just upset that we're wasting time and money giving that fraud any attention at all."
Robert might have wanted to have a proper fight about it, fully supported by Cora judging from her pinched expression, but Mary's words turn out to be too much of a provocation for Edith.
"Well, it's no wonder you don't want to believe him! You would wish Patrick dead rather than give up becoming a countess, wouldn't you?" she erupts and Mary sees red.
The news of Patrick possibly rising from the dead hit her like a sledgehammer. The implications are obvious and terrifying – if his claims are deemed true, Matthew and Mary's carefully built life, still so fragile, will be shattered once again. She doesn't even want to think how it must affect Matthew, who is barely regaining any belief in his own self-worth after the injury. To learn now that possibly his financial security and prospects for the future are in jeopardy, in addition to everything else he has lost – it is inconceivable. He is keeping a brave face for her, which she appreciates so much, but it's obvious to her that he can't be as indifferent to this threat as he professes to be. She feels ready to strangle the impostor and her dear sister for believing and supporting his claim. And to think she was trying to improve her relationship with her!
"I cannot wish dead somebody who already had been for the last six years! But you are obviously pathetic enough to become an accomplice to an apparent fraud, just because he found you gullible enough to exploit you in his plan to steal Matthew's rightful inheritance. I don't know how you can look into the mirror, doing that when Matthew has been through so much!"
"Oh, it's all about Matthew? You're so noble you are not giving a thought to all that you would lose, are you? We all know how impatient you were to marry him when his inheritance was in doubt before. Such a pity that you are tied to him now whatever happens. No wonder you are in denial that Patrick really has survived!"
Mary feels the blood draining from her face in fury, but before she can react, Matthew grabs her hand tightly. To be honest, she's afraid to look at his eyes and see how Edith's words affected him.
"Don't speak about issues you have no idea about!" he says sternly, glaring at Edith, then turns towards Mary. "Darling, I think it might be best if we go home. The emotions are clearly flying high tonight."
Mary can only nod in mute agreement. She takes a moment to approach Edith though when William helps Matthew into his coat.
"Was it really necessary," she hisses, "to put it all like that in front of Matthew? You scored a point or two with me, congratulations. I hope you feel proud of wounding a man, your supposedly dear cousin and friend too, who suffered so much already. It was not enough for you to support that fraud's claim, you must have also twisted the knife by making him feel totally disregarded by the family and doubting my faith in him as well?"
For the first time Edith looks a bit uncomfortable, but she raises her chin defiantly all the same.
"If he has any reason to doubt you, it's because you gave him plenty of them yourself. And I am sorry that it makes his future uncertain, but Patrick is alive and it is only right that he is recognised as Papa's heir. You getting angry is not going to change the facts."
Mary folds her hands into fists and leaves the room hastily before she scandalises the family by slapping Edith. It takes all she has to stop herself from doing so. She stomps hastily into the entrance hall and accompanies Matthew and William back to their cottage. Maybe it's the presence of William who is pushing Matthew's chair, maybe Edith's words hanging heavily between them, but neither of them speaks until they reach home and go to their separate rooms.
xxx
Mary stays in her bedroom for a long time after dismissing Anna, staring mindlessly into her vanity mirror.
What is she supposed to do now? Gordon is obviously a fraud and an impostor – she doesn't believe for a second that he is truly Patrick coming back from the dead. He will be dealt with eventually, one way or another, there is no chance he could be able to convince anyone but damn Edith of the validity of his claims. But what to do about Matthew? How to convince him that she would stand with him no matter what, that his inheritance and prospects are not what she values most about him? It has taken months to convince him she doesn't care about his disability; she can't stand the thought of getting on another merry-go-round if he starts doubting her again. Edith's poisonous words about her hesitation to accept him when his prospects were in doubt before resonate in her head unpleasantly. Matthew must know that it isn't true now and it wasn't true then! He must know that it was just her shame and dilemma over confessing the incident with Kemal that stopped her from giving him a straight answer!
But is it true? She swallows thickly, facing unwanted and unusual introspection. It is true, but not completely. Her whole life she had been instructed on what was expected from her regarding her marriage and it wasn't deep love for the groom. She had been expected to make a brilliant match, to get a title, a fortune and a majestic house of her own, befitting the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter. From childhood she had been told that the best way to achieve it was by marrying Patrick, whether she loved him or not. She accepted it as her lot and duty without questioning it – she was not Sybil to truly rebel, whatever her parents thought. Then Patrick died and they tried to do the same thing with Matthew and it made her see for the very first time how little her or her happiness counted in all that. So she fought it, she fought Matthew, she flirted with Kemal Pamuk and nearly destroyed her life, and somehow along the way she had fallen in love with the very person she was told to marry and refused to even take into consideration.
That love had totally blindsided her. It was unexpected, unsettling and unwished for. It was a complicating factor in an issue which, according to everything she had been taught all her life, demanded clear sight and practical approach. One was not supposed to make such an important decision as marriage based on love. Not if one was a member of the aristocracy. If it came, it was a bonus, but it was never supposed to be the deciding factor.
Her initial hesitation was only because of what happened with Kemal, yes. But then Mama was pregnant and Mary was completely lost. All the practical reasons were against accepting Matthew until they knew more. Even Granny, pushing her to accept him, was advising it only with an engagement long enough for the baby to be born. It soon became clear to Mary that Matthew looked at it differently though. To him basing decision about marriage on practical and material considerations was an anathema, a sign of heartlessness and mercenary intentions. It was one of many, but the most serious symptoms of class and cultural divide between them. On such a fundamental issue they both had been raised with completely opposite values. How could it have ended in anything but misunderstanding and disaster, even without the chaotic element of the incident with Mr Pamuk?
And yet, Mary is deeply convinced she would have accepted him eventually if only he gave her more time then. She would have accepted him before the baby was born and if it was a boy she would have followed him to Manchester or London and made the best of it. She would do it now if by some miracle that fraud turned out to be Patrick. She followed Matthew into artillery fire. She had not a moment of doubt about keeping her vows to him after his injury, even when he gave her an out and insisted for her to take it. She has no doubts that she belongs with him, whatever his fate or prospects.
Just how is she going to convince him about this truth?
xxx
Matthew settles against the pillows with a weary sigh. This day definitely took a very sharp turn from the elation of last night and morning.
He is beset with doubts whether he did the right thing in telling Mary about Gordon. Robert and Cora certainly disagreed and he knows that he has not escaped hearing exactly what they think of it; they are likely to accost him as soon as they get him without Mary's presence, with Mother joining in and not on his side for once. On the other hand, so far Mary seems to be bearing the whole thing well enough, although she is of course not at all pleased by this development, and he knows that facing her wrath if he kept it secret would be ten times worse than dealing with the rest of the family put together. Still, he can't help worrying. It's Mary's and their baby's lives on the line and there is nothing, absolutely nothing more important to him than the two of them.
He sends a look at the door connecting his room with Mary's and wonders whether she's going to join him tonight. He laughs ruefully at how one night was enough to change his stance on sharing a bed with her so completely, but it did. Now that he knows that this is a possibility, he feels all the yearning for her presence and her touch with all the strength of repressing it for months. It's not even making love with her, although it would be glorious to repeat the experience and confirm once again that it was all true; he needs Mary nearby, where he can see and touch her. He missed her so terribly much, all those nights in the hospital and then in his room at Downton; he doesn't want to spend even one more night apart if he can help it.
He reflects on how quiet Mary was on the way home. Was it because she was upset over what Edith said or because she thought that he was? If it's the latter, he hopes she will trust him enough to talk with him about it, so he can reassure her that she has no reason to fear that. Granted, it wasn't nice to be reminded of those awful months before the war and all the heartbreak he had felt then, but by now he blames himself much more than he does Mary. Knowing now what an awful secret she had been carrying then, and how much she had loved him, he can't help being angry at his own blindness. If he had only given her more time, they would have had years together, maybe even children. And if there had been children, Mary wouldn't have gone to the front and suffered so terribly. He wants to kick himself whenever he thinks too long about all the would have beens.
Finally, he hears a light knock and he quickly bids her to enter. It pains him when he notices how carefully, how hesitantly she comes in, a guilt of a different kind overwhelming him. He is so tired of making her treat him with kid gloves lest he snaps at her. He misses their fiery exchanges and playful banter. He misses how they were with each other. He misses himself, to be perfectly truthful. He truly abhors the bitter, gloomy and nasty tempered person he has become, even if he sees the first signs of improvement in himself. Several pleasant days don't make up for months of ill-humour.
Mary does not deserve that either.
"How are you?" asks Mary quietly and he smiles at her as reassuringly as he can.
"Perfectly well," he answers lightly. "Except for missing you. Are you joining me tonight?"
He sees her startle at that, but also relax, her mouth twisting into familiar smirk.
"I see you've remembered what you've been missing by keeping me away."
"With crystal clarity," agrees Matthew. "So, will you come to bed?"
Instead of answering, she eagerly climbs in and settles in her familiar spot with her head resting on his chest. Matthew exhales slowly in full satisfaction.
This is what he's been missing.
"I wanted to talk about what Edith said," Mary starts with a studied calmness which most probably means she is anything but calm.
"What specifically? You both said quite a lot today," he asks, although he is fairly certain which part of Edith's speech bothers her so.
Mary remains quiet for a long moment.
"About how sad it was that I was tied to you now, when the last time your prospects were in question, I was apparently in no hurry to tie myself to you."
Matthew strokes her soft, long hair tenderly.
"Don't think about it too much," he says. "We're long past that."
Mary looks up at him, determination clearly shining in her eyes.
"She was wrong," she says firmly. "Both about what happened before and how the matters stand between us now. You know what made me hesitate before the war. You know that I was unable to give you the answer to your proposal well before I learnt about Mama's pregnancy. It did further muddle the issue, I won't deny that, but it was never the primary reason and it would not keep me away from you ultimately, even if I did have a living brother. I'm not sure there is any reason which could make me stop wanting to be your wife."
Matthew smiles.
"I know, darling," he says confidently. "Truly, you don't have to worry about it. You proved how you feel about me over and over again, and in all honesty, it's me who should apologise to you for what happened then. If I showed you just a little more understanding and patience; if I bothered to listen to you, to believe in you, we would have avoided years of heartbreak. If it was anybody's fault, it was mine."
Mary rolls her eyes.
"Oh, it wasn't," she says. "I know very well what mistakes I made and how much I hurt you then. Besides, you have already apologised to me for it."
"I did?" asks Matthew, frowning as he tries to recall that discussion.
"Yes, you did," answers Mary quietly. "In the letter you wrote to me before Amiens."
Matthew gapes at her when he realises which letters she must mean.
"You've read it? Why?"
Mary looks away from him as she nods against his arm.
"It was after you first learnt how bad your injury is and you did your utmost to push me away," she explains softly and his heart clenches with guilt at the pain he caused her in his despair. "I came from the hospital and learnt that Vera Bates is threatening to sell my story. I got that letter with the other personal items you had on you and I couldn't resist reading it that night. I needed to see proof that you loved me."
He pulls her tighter to himself.
"Of course I do, darling," he says thickly. "Always. I will love you until the last breath leaves my body. I'm just so very sorry that I failed to prove it to you at times when it really mattered."
Her embrace of him is just as tight and he feels her tears on his pyjamas.
"Me too, my darling," she says. "Me too."
xxx
When Anna comes to the sitting room next morning to announce that Edith came to visit, Mary nearly tells her to close the door in her dear sister's face.
Nearly.
"Please let her in, Anna," she says with a sigh. "And bring tea."
Anna gives her a concerned look, but obeys, of course, and within a moment Edith is hovering in the doorway.
"Oh, do come in," snaps Mary impatiently. "I suppose you came here for a reason."
"Yes," answers Edith determinedly, taking a seat opposite Mary on one of the green sofas. "I wanted to apologise for what I've said and implied yesterday."
That is enough to startle Mary properly.
"Why?" she asks incredulously. "I don't dare to expect you've come to your senses regarding that impostor?"
Edith bristles, but visibly controls herself.
"He is Patrick, truly," she says firmly. "But I can understand why you have serious doubts about it. You did not speak with him at all. If you do, I'm certain that you will see it too. Papa didn't believe it either until he spoke with him."
Mary rolls her eyes, but before she can answer, she is interrupted by Anna coming in with the tea tray. She waits for her maid to place it on a side table between the sofas and leave them again.
It is Edith who speaks first though.
"Before we talk further about Patrick, I wanted to tell you why I apologised," she says, looking Mary into eyes. "I accused you of not caring about Matthew beyond his prospects, in his hearing, when I knew both that it isn't true and that it was cruel to say it with him still so vulnerable. It was wrong of me and I apologise for that."
"Then why did you say it?" asks Mary, incensed all over again by the memory.
Edith gives her an exasperated look.
"Isn't it obvious? Because you infuriated me by dismissing Patrick without even speaking to him and I lashed out at you with the most hurtful thing I could think of. Isn't it how we always are with each other?"
Mary stares at her sister for a long moment before she shrugs.
"Fair enough," she acknowledges. "But just to set the record straight, I would marry Matthew now if we weren't already married, with all his current limitations, even if he wasn't the heir. It never even entered my head to regret being married to him and it won't."
"I know," says Edith sincerely. "You went back to war for him. As I said, I was angry and lashing out. But can't you see why I was? When you were willing to abandon Patrick, after everything he went through?"
"I do, but I can't agree that I abandoned Patrick in any way. He is dead and has been for six years. What is it that Gordon told you to convince you so utterly?"
"All kinds of things," explains Edith earnestly. "About our childhood here and about the family – if you only talked with him yourself, you would see that his memories are true!"
"I don't need to," answers Mary with exasperation. "I remembered how we played, and your pony and your birthday, and how we hid in the garden from the nasty governess. Isn't that what he told you?"
This is apparently so like what he did say that Edith is momentarily silenced. Mary looks at her with contempt.
"What other memories would you have of a childhood spent here?"
Edith visibly collects herself.
"This is not all he told me," she says determinedly. "He spoke about me, about us. Only the real Patrick would know those things."
Mary rolls her eyes again.
"He implied that it was you he loved all along, didn't he?" she asks derisively, seeing her answer in Edith's blush. "Edith, how can you not see that this man is playing you? He is using your grief for Patrick and your feelings for him against you. Against all of us."
Edith shakes her head stubbornly.
"If Matthew was presumed dead and then showed up years later, scarred beyond recognition, wouldn't you recognise him anyway? In your heart?"
"I would recognise him in any shape or form," says Mary firmly. "If it was truly him. There is no feature of his that I don't have memorised. But in the scenario like what we are actually facing now, I would know it was a fraud. I would not let wishful thinking cloud my judgement and make me see things which are untrue."
"You are not considering that he may be speaking the truth at all," points out Edith. "You're so afraid to lose Downton and the title that you are closing your eyes to the facts. It is your judgement that is clouded by your feelings."
"It's not!" Mary denies immediately, her eyes flashing.
"Then come with me to the house and talk with him," challenges Edith. "Listen to him with an open mind, if you can, and see for yourself what you think afterwards. Unless you're too much of a coward to confront the prospect that he is really Patrick."
Mary stands up.
"Very well," she says coldly. "I will talk with him. But you stay out of it and don't speak for him!"
"I won't need to," answers Edith, wholly satisfied. "He will convince you all by himself."
xxx
Even as they are walking briskly to the Abbey, Mary is aware that Matthew would have heartily disapproved of her confronting Gordon by herself, and he probably wouldn't be the only one. Edith must have an inkling of it too, because they both look around for any stray member of the family before they reach the Great Hall where Gordon is sitting alone at one of the tables, staring at a newspaper with his only working eye.
"Talk to him," mouths Edith, leaving Mary to approach the officers playing cards at the other table and ask them if they need anything.
Mary narrows her eyes, staring at his bandaged, burnt face piercingly. There is no spark of recognition in her; no feature of his that looks familiar. Yes, the height and hair and the eye colour do match her recollections of Patrick roughly, but she thinks Patrick's hair and eyes were darker. All in all, there is nothing in the major's appearance to make her change her mind.
"So you are supposedly my cousin Patrick?" she asks, her voice dripping with scorn.
"Mary!" he exclaims, startled and possibly a bit discomfited. It's hard to tell with how little of his face is both visible and mobile. "That is, Lady Mary."
She scoffs.
"It's definitely Lady Mary to you. I have not given you permission to call me by my Christian name and I do not foresee a reason to grant it any time soon."
"Ah, but you did, at one point. Or do you prefer Queen Mary? You used to like when I called you that."
Mary doesn't flinch, but it's a close thing. Instead, she shrugs carefully.
"I'm neither a child to play childish games anymore nor you are the boy who was pretending to be a knight," she says coldly. "That boy has been dead for six years."
"And yet I remember playing with you," he answers, staring at her with his one seeing eye. "Bringing flowers and tokens for Queen Mary, sitting imperiously on the stairs of her palace."
She's not going to show him how affected she is by this. She is not. She curls her hands into fists in case they are going to start shaking.
"That's interesting," she notes, her tone deliberately bland and dismissive. "What tokens were those?"
She takes quite a pleasure at seeing him taken aback for a change.
"What tokens?" he asks. "I hardly remember... Flowers and small gifts and the likes. That was long ago."
"And yet I do," answers Mary smugly.
"Maybe if you were caught in an explosion and half buried alive, you would also not be able to boast of a perfect memory," he spits viciously and suddenly Mary is there, in the collapsing dugout, with the sparks and soil and beams falling on them and Andy's body pushing her to the ground as she screams. There is an iron band around her lungs – or is it Andy's weight on her? – and she can't breathe, oh God, she can't breathe, she's going to die in here, like this...
There are voices all around her but she can't discern the words among all the screaming and the shells exploding in her head until she hears one name which means something to her.
"Someone fetch Captain Crawley!"
Yes, let them fetch Matthew, he will save her, he will dig her out again…
She thinks she feels hands on her, leading her somewhere, making her sit, but she's so busy simply trying to breathe, to get some air past this iron band on her lungs, that she can't even say who it is. Not until her hands are grasped by another pair, so dearly familiar, and an equally dear and familiar voice reaches her even while she's trapped underground.
It's alright, darling, just breathe, and she tries, she really does, but she can't. She feels his hands tighten on hers, his thumbs caressing her knuckles, and does her hardest to focus on his voice, so calm and sure, not on the feeling of being buried alive. You can, darling, you can. Just breathe, in and out, slowly, even if you feel you can't. I promise you that the air will get in.
"Darling?" asks Matthew anxiously as she blinks and sees his brilliant blue eyes first and then the rest of the Great Hall behind him. She is seated on one of the chairs, with Matthew in front of her and some officers and Edith hovering around. The band on her lungs slowly eases off and she gulps the air thirstily.
"I'm alright," she says, even though she is very grateful she is sitting down because she is not at all certain her legs would support her if she tried to stand up. "Just a little turn."
Matthew's stare is frankly incredulous.
"You're not alright," he says through gritted teeth, then asks louder, addressing the crowd around them. "Could someone fetch Lady Mary a glass of water?"
"At once," says Edith and within a moment she is handing Mary a blissfully cool glass, which she accepts gratefully. She's thankful that the glass is only three quarters full; her hands are shaking so much she is afraid she would have spilled the water if it was fuller.
She finishes drinking and puts it down on the table, taking another wonderfully easy breath.
"I'm better," she tells Matthew with more confidence. "We can go now."
He eyes her dubiously but must understand her need to escape the crowd and the commotion her turn has caused because he offers her his hand to help her get up. She accepts it gladly and is even more glad to find her legs steady.
Or at least they have been until a voice from behind Matthew startles her badly enough that she sways lightly on her feet and it's only Matthew's iron grip on her hand which prevents her from tripping.
"I'm so sorry for distressing you, Lady Mary," says Gordon contritely. "I have not realised what you've been through."
Yet another allusion to the dugout makes Mary pale and Matthew's head turns rapidly to him with the most threatening expression she has ever seen on him.
"You will never speak to my wife again," he hisses and it's so clear that he means it, that he is going to make Gordon sorry if he so much as breathes in Mary's direction, that the major takes a step back. It doesn't even occur to him, or to anyone else present in the room, to dismiss the danger Matthew radiates for him being in a wheelchair. Matthew glares at Gordon for a moment longer then, satisfied that he has been understood, turns back towards Mary.
"Let's go, darling," he says gently. "You need to lay down."
xxx
Matthew doesn't remember the last time he's been so terrified as when Anderson came running to him just as he was done dressing up after his daily physiotherapy, saying breathlessly that Lady Mary took a turn.
"She was speaking with Gordon," he says, running now next to Matthew's chair as William is pushing him as fast as possible towards the Great Hall. "And that bloody idiot started goading her about being caught in an explosion and getting buried alive."
Matthew's blood runs cold.
He often thinks that there is no chance he will ever be less affected by the memory of digging for Mary in the mess of soil and debris which used to be the ambulance post dugout. As soon as he thinks of it, it's as if he is instantly transported right back there, his nails torn and his fingers bleeding, the shells exploding all around him and that desperate, choking terror that he is too late, that she is dead, tearing at him like a vicious beast. It's his worst memory in the four years worth stash of them and one of his most frequent recurring nightmares ever since it happened.
And this is the event which caused Mary's shellshock in the first place. He dreads to find out what Anderson means by taking a turn if it was in reaction to a mention of that.
They reach the Great Hall in record time and Matthew's heart nearly stops when he sees Mary.
Edith is just sitting her down on a chair and speaking to her, as are several soldiers gathered around them, but it's obvious that Mary doesn't hear a word of it. Her face is stark white, nearly translucent, her eyes dark and vacant, staring unseeingly into space, and her bloodless lips are gasping desperately for air as her hands claw at her chest.
"Mary!" he exclaims and grasps her hands as soon as William pushes him close enough. She doesn't react to his voice or touch and it terrifies him even more.
"I didn't know it would happen!" cries out Gordon behind him, to his credit sounding genuinely distressed, not that Matthew has any thought to spare for him now, his attention wholly focused on his wife.
"You cretin, don't you read?" he hears behind him as he desperately attempts to bring Mary out of it. "She was at the front and she got buried by a shell in a dugout. Bloody idiot."
He tunes them all out and starts speaking, forcing himself to keep his voice calm and firm.
"It's alright, darling, just breathe," he keeps repeating and his heart skips a beat when Mary gasps that she can't. He's reaching her! His thumbs caress her knuckles and he feels another surge of hope when her fingers respond to his grasp.
"You can, darling, you can. Just breathe, in and out, slowly, even if you feel you can't. I promise you that the air will get in," he says and finally, finally her rapid, gasping breath starts to calm down and she blinks, her eyes starting to focus on him.
"Darling?" he asks anxiously and feels close to tears when she blinks again and looks at him, truly looks at him. He's brought her back and only now realises how terrified he was that he won't be able to. Visions of shellshocked soldiers, locked forever within their own heads, fill his brain and make him shudder at what might have been.
If that was her fate, it would have been all his fault. Why couldn't he listen to the others? Why did he tell her about Gordon and put her at such a risk?!
He was never going to forgive himself for it.
"I'm alright," Mary says in a voice which is a very good approximation of her usual control. "Just a little turn."
Matthew stares at her incredulously.
"You're not alright," he says through gritted teeth, then speaks louder, addressing the crowd around them. "Could someone fetch Lady Mary a glass of water?"
"At once," says Edith and within a moment she is handing Mary, which she promptly drinks. Matthew sees her hands shaking wildly and curses himself with the bitterest words he can think of.
"I'm better," she tells him when she's done. "We can go now."
He eyes her dubiously but notices immediately the way her eyes dart around as if in need of an escape. The crowded Great Hall must be the worst possible place for her to calm down further; as much as he is concerned about making her walk so soon, it probably is best to get her home. He offers her his hand and she seems stable on her feet, at least until damn Gordon opens his bloody mouth again, making her stumble.
"I'm so sorry for distressing you, Lady Mary. I have not realised what you've been through."
Yet another allusion to the dugout makes Mary pale and Matthew's head turns rapidly to him.
"You will never speak to my wife again," he orders threateningly and he means it, by God he means it. All the violence, the rage which he was forced to learn in the trenches is surfacing in him now and it must show because Gordon recoils from him and steps back.
Satisfied that the immediate threat is over, Matthew turns back towards Mary.
"Let's go, darling," he says gently. "You need to lay down."
xxx
When they come home, Matthew insists on Mary going to bed and thanks God that for once she decides to listen to him. He doesn't know whether it is because she is genuinely shaken and tired by her panic attack or whether she's just humouring him, but he's grateful beyond belief to see her go to rest.
With shaking hands, he pours himself two fingers of brandy as he waits for Anna to get her ready, and drinks it in a few desperate gulps.
He can't stop thinking that he nearly lost her today.
What would he have done if he didn't manage to bring her back? If she truly ended up like those other victims of shellshock, trapped forever inside her mind, relieving her worst nightmare? He tells himself he is overreacting; that it was just a panic attack, but he recalls her sightless eyes and closes his own against the sheer terror of that moment.
He nearly lost her today, in one of the worst possible ways, and it is all his fault.
He doesn't even realise he's dropped his head into his hands until Anna comes into the dark sitting room and he raises it to look at her.
"She is ready to see you, sir."
He nods to Anna gratefully and wheels himself into Mary's bedroom.
To his astonishment, Mary looks extremely satisfied, if still rather pale against the pillows.
"He is a fraud," she announces. "I know it!"
"You've been saying it from the beginning," points out Matthew tiredly. To be honest, he couldn't care less about Gordon's identity at the moment.
"But now I am sure," she tells him and smiles triumphantly. "It was worth a flashback."
"What have you learnt?" he asks, leaving aside the matter of whether gaining any kind of information was worth her endangering her health like that.
"He called me Queen Mary and mentioned bringing me tokens," she explains with an angry frown. "Which did throw me for a moment, I admit. It was Patrick's nickname for me and it did come from a game we played. But then he messed up."
"How?" asks Matthew, getting curious despite himself.
"We had a game, Patrick and Edith and I," she says, with the same smug smile. "I was the evil queen, sitting in my palace – the Temple of Diana, of course – and he was the knight on the quest to rescue the fair princess who I was keeping prisoner. I was willing to release her in exchange for a token, a very specific token, you see. I wanted a rose from the Monk Garden, a biscuit from Mrs Patmore's jar and one of Mama's fashion plates. And the thing is, it was a proper quest, cause we were not allowed to pick the roses from the Monk Garden, eat the biscuits before tea or touch Mama's fashion plates without somebody to supervise us to see whether our hands were clean and whether we were careful with them. There is no way Patrick would not remember all the sneaking around, attempts at charming Mrs Patmore or bribing a footman for help. But obviously he never specified those details when recounting this story to Gordon – because Gordon must have heard it from Patrick. He probably only made a joke about me being the same Queen Mary demanding tokens and attention as when I was a child."
"So you see, darling," she concludes triumphantly. "He is a fraud and now we can act without any concern for him. He does not deserve any."
"We also know that he must have been close to Patrick," says Matthew thoughtfully. "And since Patrick never got to America, he must have known him in England. That should make the search for his true identity much easier."
Mary smiles smugly.
"We're going to find him out," she declares decidedly. "And we will make him sorry."