AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know how to apologise to you for such a long hiatus of that story. Other than the problem with less time for writing, I suffered from an awful writer's block. This story has been nearly completely written in summer 2022. Each posted chapter underwent a thorough revision, sometimes significant enough to be rewritten from scratch, and some parts of the story were changed a lot, but in general I've been following this original rough draft. The problem is, the draft was missing the last 4 chapters before the ending. The ending is already written but I agonised over how to get the story to that point. I think I finally figured it all out and the next chapters should follow quickly - or at least not after 4 months, I promise!
I hope some of you are still waiting to see this story come to its finale and as always, I love and treasure every review and PM, even if I don't always have the time to respond to it properly.
"My dear, unshakable Mary,
How I miss you! The war is over and as I'm trying to wrap my head around it while surrounded by a crowd of equally stupefied, disbelieving strangers in Paris, I yearn for your stoic, pragmatic presence something fierce. You've read that right, I'm in Paris. When our unit was disbanded, I got a letter from Papa, expressing his hope that it means I'm done with my foolishness and ready to come home and be a proper young lady again. Well, I'm not, so I ran away to Paris instead. Dear Papa sent me some money with the letter, which I didn't hesitate to use for a room at the Ritz for a week. Oh, Mary, the tub full of hot, soapy, bubbly, fragrant water! I thought I was never going to leave it! How long were you bathing when you first returned home?
Anyway, the money ran out after a week in luxury, but I still didn't feel like being a proper young lady, so I'm staying with some friends at Montmartre and earning my living as a model for several artists. It's cold like hell and everybody is a little crazy, but I feel like I'm living again – and like I'm surrounded by life, exhilarating and intoxicating life, not death. I will return home at some point, I suppose, and I'm wild to see you, Sybil, Matthew and Tom then, but I need this time in-between, when I'm neither Phryne the ambulance driver nor The Right Honourable Miss Fisher. Right now I hardly know who I am, to be honest. I have no idea how you managed to step into your old shoes so effortlessly, but I imagine that golden haired husband of yours had something to do with it. I've always found him delightful.
Please write back, dear Mary, and let me know how you all are and how you find this brave new world we're entering. Raise a glass of something bubbly and expensive to the fact that we lived when so many others had died.
Yours, still stunned to be alive, but enjoying this fact very much,
Phryne"
Mary puts Phryne's letter down on her vanity and rests her chin on her hand, looking through the French window of her bedroom at the January landscape outside, dusted with light snow. So, Phryne, in her usual fashion, is throwing caution and propriety to the wind and living another adventure. Mary is honestly not sure whether it's a good or a bad sign regarding Phryne's state of mind. It's the opposite of what she herself has been doing, but well… She nearly snickers at her friend's misconception.
Mary is very far from stepping into her old shoes.
She's trying, oh yes, she is trying. She's utterly determined to get her old life, just with the added blessing of being married to Matthew – but she knows perfectly well, even if most other people don't, that she's far from succeeding at it – very far. She may go through the motions – pay calls, order new clothes and dress up for dinner – but the way her mind works and the way she sees the world is irrevocably different. She feels so apart from the girl she used to be before the war started that she hardly recognises her as her past self.
But then, she muses as she looks down at Phryne's letter again, this is normal for most people in her generation. Maybe you simply can't go back after living through four years of unimaginable horrors. Maybe you can't see the world and the people running it in things big and small the same way as you did beforehand; not when you saw the worst humanity has to offer.
Before the war, Mary's life was simple – frustrating and confining in many ways, but simple. She knew how her future was going to look like, even after Patrick had died. She was supposed to marry someone titled and rich, lead the society while throwing the most talked about parties of the season and give birth to a son who would prolong her husband's line. In a way, this is what her life looks like now – she's married to a heir to an earldom, she's the future Countess of Grantham, just as she always wanted, she's pregnant and with any luck she will give birth to a boy – but it feels nothing like what she used to imagine.
For a start, she never imagined marrying for love.
But the restlessness, the impatience with the status quo she used to chafe at but ultimately never truly questioned, is very real. She has everything she's ever wanted and she can't help wanting something more, something different – even if, to her own frustration, she can't begin to name what it is.
xxx
It's obvious, Mary thinks this evening as the women are sitting in the drawing room of Downton Abbey, finally free of hospital beds and wounded officers, that she's not the only one who's restless and dissatisfied.
Sybil is practically vibrating with excitement. Tonight is the night she is finally going to announce her decision to apply to a medical school and to ask Papa to pay for the tutors she's already arranged. If Papa refuses – a regrettably likely scenario – Matthew will do it instead, but Mary dreads that scenario. She agreed, of course she agreed – she could not imagine not helping Sybil out in achieving her dreams – but she can't see how any course of action in which she and Matthew defy Papa for Sybil's sake won't be treated like an utter betrayal by him. She's never hesitated to oppose Papa or to tell him to his eyes that she thought him unreasonable, but she still hates the thought of being at odds with him. Especially after all the support he showed Matthew and her since they came back.
It's not just that, she thinks morosely, angry with herself for this realisation too. For everything that happened, everything she went through and all the ways she grew up in recent years, somewhere in her there is still the little girl who craves her Papa's approval and is heartbroken by the fact that as a girl she's never going to be good enough for him.
The men join them and Mary can't stop herself from tensing. The showdown is going to start soon. She feels her left hand start to tremble and she pushes it impatiently under a fold of her dress.
She thought she was over this damn trembling but apparently not.
It both annoys her further and touches her that Matthew spots immediately what is going on and rolls his chair to her side, gently taking her shaking hand in his as soon as he reaches her. She hates appearing so weak and useless in front of him, like a trembling, hysterical heroine of some 19th century romance, but she can't also deny that it's nice to know how he still always, always has her back. She shouldn't still need such support – it's Downton's drawing room, for God's sake, not a trench in France! – but it's comforting to know she has it nonetheless. Matthew always knows when she's in distress.
Which makes her guilty because she is aware that he's struggling with something too. Something which he doesn't want to tell her. He does his best to hide it, but she's not stupid and she knows him too well. Besides, Matthew has always been wearing his heart on his sleeve; he's good at keeping other people's secrets but definitely not his own feelings. And right now he is feeling something deeply, something big enough to keep him awake long into the night and rub his frowning brow as if plagued by headache when he thinks she doesn't see him. As soon as he notices her nearby, the frown disappears and he smiles at her as if everything was alright with his world, but Mary is not fooled. She tells herself to be patient, to give him time to come with her with whatever it is which troubles him so, but the longer he stays silent the more afraid she grows and the more she fears the angrier she is. If there is something Mary hates with a passion, it's being afraid, and there aren't many things which frighten her more than something bad happening to Matthew. The theory that the secret he is hiding concerns some catastrophic development of his health is all too probable.
"Are you alright, darling?" asks Matthew softly, careful not to draw any attention to her. His blue eyes are full of concern and love for her and, nearly against her will, Mary feels her shoulders relax and her tremble lessen. She pushes her thoughts away for now and does her best to smile at him.
"Perfectly," she says, pleased that her voice sounds even. "Only waiting for the inevitable fireworks."
Matthew grimaces slightly. For all his determination to stand for Sybil however he can, Mary knows he's not looking forward to the fallout any more than she is.
"It's going to be alright," he assures her and probably himself as well. His slender hand tightens grasp on hers. "It might be unpleasant, be it's going to be alright. Eventually."
Mary scoffs lightly and turns her attention to the general conversation which appears to concern the changes in fashion.
"I nearly came down in a dinner jacket tonight," says Robert, earning an immediate rebuke from his mother.
"Really? Well, why not a dressing gown Or better still, pyjamas?"
He looks heavenwards with a long suffering expression.
"That's why I didn't."
"I like the new fashions," Isobel jumps in, because of course she does. Mary feels a fond smile on Matthew's face at his mother's predictable reaction. "Shorter skirts, looser cuts. The old clothes were all very well if one spent the day on a chaise longue, but if one wants to get anything done, the new clothes are much better."
"I'll stick to the chaise longue," announced Violet who never, as long as Mary remembers, used one for anything else than sitting with her back ramrod straight.
"But Granny, you don't really want things to go back to the way they were, surely?" asks Sybil earnestly and Mary's hand trembles again. She takes a deep breath as she feels Matthew's thumb caressing her knuckles.
"Of course I do, and as quickly as possible," comes Violet's staunch and predictable answer.
"What about you, Papa?" asks irrepressible Sybil although how she can hope for any better answer from him than from Granny, Mary doesn't know.
"Before the war, I believed my life had value. I suppose I should like to feel that again."
There is a melancholy in this that makes them uncomfortable.
"Well," says Sybil gamely after a brief silence, "it's the opposite for me. The war was the first time I've felt that my life had value – that I was doing something important with my time. Something useful. And I would like to feel that again."
Mary notes Edith, sitting so far quietly – probably sulking, she thinks uncharitably – raise her head and look at Sybil in awe.
"Why," she says with wonder, "this is how I feel too."
Robert, visibly disconcerted by Sybil's words, grimaces visibly when Edith joins in as well.
"We are all proud of your contribution to the war effort," he says, "but surely nothing like that is necessary in peacetime."
Edith's shoulders sag visibly.
"No, I suppose not," she says resignedly which Isobel of course can't possibly accept.
"There are always plenty of things necessary to be done, in war or in peace," she says firmly. "There are so many causes – so many people in need! More than there are people who are able and willing to help them, that's for sure. If any of you girls wish for employment, I'd be more than happy to suggest some to you."
Robert gives Isobel an evil eye, his brow frowning in displeasure.
"Surely we're not desperate enough that we need an earl's daughters to work."
Cora, more astute in certain matters than her husband, sees a brewing storm in her youngest daughter and intervenes quickly.
"Cousin Isobel means charity work, darling," she says calmingly. "Nothing more proper for the girls, and she's right, there is an enormous need for volunteers."
Edith looks hardly convinced and no wonder – they were all on enough charity committees since their teens to know that most of them are mindbogglingly boring, at least for the foot soldiers; Mama and Isobel seem to thrive on them, but then they are in charge, something extremely unlikely to happen to a girl in her twenties. But before this way of thought can be explored further, Sybil throws in her bomb.
"She might mean charities, but I have something different in mind," she announces in a clear, ringing voice, her head held high. "I plan to study medicine and become a doctor."
For a long, long moment everyone is staring at her in silence. Sybil, undaunted, takes a sip of her coffee.
"You can't be serious," says Cora faintly. Violet scoffs.
"Of course she is," she says acerbically. "When was Sybil not serious about one of the mad scrapes of hers?"
Sybil takes a deep breath but doesn't fall for the trap of getting offended by Granny's words.
"Granny's right," she says instead. "I am perfectly serious about it. I researched several medical schools and wrote to them about conditions for enrollment and I plan to study to sit my entrance exams in the summer."
"That's absurd!" erupts Robert, still looking more stunned than angry but Mary knows that it's not going to last. "Since when can women even be doctors?"
"Since 1865, actually," says Isobel, looking as stunned as everyone else, but warming up to the topic. "The first woman who managed that, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, went to create the London School of Medicine for Women nine years later."
Robert throws her a glare, making it clear that this was supposed to be a rhetorical question.
"The Crawleys didn't even have a male doctor in the family! How can you think that it's an acceptable path for a girl?" he asks Sybil, but it's not his daughter who answers him.
"The Crawleys had a doctor in the family," says Matthew with deceptive calmness. "He might not have been a lord, but he was a Crawley – and the descendant of the 3rd Earl."
Robert gapes at him, wrongfooted, but has too much of a good breeding to mention that Reginald Crawley was too low on the family tree to count – not to Matthew and Isobel's faces.
"Even so," he turns towards Sybil again, "it is an absurd, inappropriate and foolish idea – and you're going to never mention it again."
Sybil's chin rises up.
"I am going to mention it again," she says, her eyes flashing. "Since I'm going to London in a week to start studying for the exams with my tutors."
"And how, pray, are you going to pay for it?" demands Robert and Mary stiffens. "Because I sure as hell am not going to fund such a foolhardy expedition!"
"I was hoping that you would," says Sybil. "But if you don't, I will get the money elsewhere."
"Where?" demands Robert, casting a suspicious look at Cora, Isobel and even Violet, as improbable as it is.
Mary stiffens but nods slightly to Matthew, giving him permission.
"From us," says Matthew quietly but firmly. His eyes don't falter as he looks straight into Robert's. "Robert, let me tell it as one of Sybil's patients – she is a fantastic nurse. Competent, smart, quick thinking and cool under extreme pressure. I saw her working under literal gunfire. I saw how determined she is to save lives, to help to make the world a better place. I truly believe that she will make an equally amazing doctor."
For the first time during that discussion, Sybil's face softens as she looks at Matthew in surprise, visibly touched by his earnest praise.
Robert, unfortunately, is not swayed at all.
"How dare you?!" he explodes instead. "So you knew about this mad plan? And you didn't tell me? But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised – you never feel that I need to be informed about anything concerning my family or my daughters! Just like you didn't think I was entitled to know that you married Mary, nevermind asking for my consent!"
Matthew blanches. Mary knows how guilty he feels about this part still, even though Robert has forgiven him long ago – although apparently his forgiveness doesn't hold in light of this new perceived betrayal.
"We both knew," she admits calmly, bringing Robert's furious gaze upon herself. She hates it, she hates to be at odds with him, but if she is forced to take sides, she can't abandon Sybil and Matthew to Papa's ire. Not when she was in on Sybil's secrets and kept them for her for over a year and the one they're fighting over now is not even the worst of them. She wonders with dark amusement what Papa will do when he learns of Tom if he disinherits Sybil now. "We talked with Sybil a lot about it, Papa, and had many of the same doubts you have. But she truly thought it through and has a reasonable plan for all of it. Please, let her explain it to you, Papa. It's not conventional, but it's the right path for her."
She's pleading by the end of her speech, but she can see it's falling on deaf ears. Papa is so red she's starting to be afraid for his health.
"I can hardly believe it!" he bellows. "You three, conspiring again! And yet I should, since it appears to be par for the course! Running away to the front! Marrying in secret! Now this! What else don't I know?!"
Plenty, actually, thinks Mary wryly, but she is not stupid enough to say it out loud. She catches Granny's sharp eyes on her and realises that she, at least, suspects enough to be wary.
But it is Sybil who has enough of the drama.
"There is no conspiracy," she says, standing up, her fists balled. Her fiery gaze meets Robert's inch for inch. For all her physical resemblance to her mother, it's her father's temper which burns in her now, much to his chagrin. "I simply discussed my ideas with the audience which was most likely to be sympathetic at first. I'm telling you now, I never intended to keep it secret from anyone. I'd hope you would support me in it – that you'd be proud of me as you were when I served at the front, however much you all worried about me while I was there – but if you can't, I'll do it anyway. It is my life, Papa, and I can't live it as if the war never happened and I never saw it close. I saw so many men die horribly and needlessly – and while the war is over, people are still dying from preventable causes for lack of doctors, medicines, food or adequate housing. There's so much injustice and suffering in the world. If there is anything I can do to alleviate it a little, it's my duty to act. I can't sit on a chaise longue, change my dresses four times a day and drink sherry while I'm waiting for a husband to appear out of sheer air. I would suffocate."
Her speech is passionate enough that it makes even Robert speechless for once.
It is Cora who answers first, looking at both Sybil and Robert imploringly.
"Darling, I understand that you want to help, but surely becoming a doctor is not the only way you can do that? It's such a hard path – harder than you may think. You'd need to study for years, so hard, and be among all kinds of sick people… with the most distressing diseases. I'm not sure a heart as tender as yours could stand it."
Sybil, Mary and Matthew look at her with equal incredulity.
"Mama," says Sybil gently but with clear exasperation, "I've been at the front."
She doesn't elaborate and Mary wishes she did. She burns with the need to say it herself – to yell it to all of them – that Sybil has seen it all – that there's no hospital on the planet which can possibly be worse than the things Sybil has seen – that they've all seen, those who've been there. She wants to yell about the thousands killed in one day and thousands more taking longer to die, about their screams, their corpses, the everpresence of death and horror until you were too numb to take it all in. But she feels Matthew's hand squeezing hers, grounding her, and sees his head shaking imperceptibly in warning. She bites her lips and forces herself to remain silent.
As freeing as it would be to let out the scream containing all the inhuman horrors her mind cannot forget, it would not help anything. She couldn't possibly make them understand. She stays silent but both her hands are trembling now, for all Matthew's effort to steady them.
"I… I know," says Cora weakly and it's obvious how much she hates to acknowledge it, how hard she's pushing that knowledge away to cling to her illusion of Sybil remaining her innocent little girl. "But even so – have you thought about your future? What will happen when you meet somebody you will want to marry? Why embark on a course of study which is impossible to reconcile with being a wife and mother?"
Mary's head shoots up as she prays with all she's got that Sybil doesn't betray her last, worst secret and ruin it all. Miracle of miracles, she doesn't.
"I won't want a husband who can't understand it, Mama," she says instead. "And as for children – millions of mothers work. In factories, on farms, in schools and hospitals. At least as a doctor I will have enough money to afford a nanny."
Robert scoffs at that, finally and regrettably overcoming his temporary muteness.
"You can't seriously compare yourself to a working class woman. That life you're describing – it's not one a Lady Sybil Crawley could ever possibly live! It's not the life we've brought you up for!"
Sybil tosses her head.
"It is a life I'm choosing for myself," she states. "And if my name can't remain Crawley to do so, then so be it. I'll find myself another."
She walks towards the door but pauses before she crosses it.
"Matthew, Mary, I think it may be better if you go home now," she says, throwing a look over her shoulder at her father. "I'm grateful for your support and will never forget it, but I don't want you to be under fire for my decisions and as for me, I had enough for tonight. Please excuse me, everyone, I feel I'm developing a headache and am going to retire. Goodnight."
She leaves, the door closing with a quiet thunk behind her.
"Well," says Isobel carefully. "I'm not sure it's her wisest decision – I think you raised some very good points, Cousin Cora – but she certainly seems determined."
Violet scoffs.
"Isn't she always?" she asks acerbically. "She has all the Crawley stubbornness and then some, this one, for all her sweetness." She looks critically at Mary and Matthew. "And you're truly supporting this madness?"
Mary bristles, the tension brewing in her from the beginning of this horrid evening reaching its boiling point.
"What else could we do?" she asks bitterly. "It's Sybil, Granny! You said it yourself, she's the most stubborn of us all. If none of us helps her, she will do what she wants anyway – only she will do it in a more risky way and alone. She won't get the money to study medicine? Very well, she will go to volunteer as a nurse in the worst hospital in the East End or Dublin and live in some dingy little flat while doing so. If you hope you can talk her out of it and keep her home, you're delusional. Don't you think I tried? She's of age, she will do whatever she feels right, money or no money. The best we can do is be on her side and make sure she's as protected as possible."
"Oh, I'm sure you tried!" exclaims Robert, pacing around the room in agitation. "Like she tried to talk you out of marrying in France without telling a soul, I assume – so not very hard at all!"
"Oh, drop it, Robert," says Violet peevishly. "No need to beat a dead horse when we have a new problem to handle."
Robert turns towards her furiously.
"Don't you see this is all connected? Ever since they ran away to France it's one mad escapade after another and they keep encouraging each other. It was the same when Mary decided to go back to France after she was nearly buried alive – it was the same when she and Matthew eloped – and it's the same now! One bad decision after another and all in clear defiance of me and the family!"
Mary's hands don't tremble anymore – they're shaking. Her chest feels suddenly heavy, the edges of her vision darken. She clings desperately to the reality of her surroundings – the soft firmness of the sofa cushions under her, the warm solidity of Matthew's long fingers interlaced with hers, the smell of the firewood in the air and crackling of fire over the logs. Anything to convince herself that she's not there; that it's not the weight of the soil and a dead soldier bearing down on her and making it impossible to breathe.
"Don't you think that the connection is not what you think it is?" asks Matthew quietly by her side. "Robert, your daughters were together in a war. You know how it is, what kinds of bonds it fosters. How can you not see it for what it is here?"
Before Robert can answer, Mary gets up, swaying slightly on her feet. Matthew's hands immediately reach to steady her, his concerned questions following.
"I'm fine," lies Mary, stumbling out of his reach and walking towards the doors. "But I'm feeling tired. Sybil's headache must be catching. I'm going home."
She takes big gulps of air when she reaches the hall, blessedly spacious and empty and void of any quarrelling relatives or upsetting topics. She breathes in and out, leaning against one of the columns, and trying not to think at all.
"Mary?" she hears a quiet voice from the stairway and she startles until she recognises Sybil sitting in the shadow of the balustrade. "Are you alright?"
"Perfectly fine," she says, abandoning the pillar and walking over to Sybil to sit down on a step next to her. She frowns in sudden realisation. "You know, before the war I would never do something so undignified as sitting on those stairs."
Sybil chuckles next to her, her warm arm against Mary's shoulder.
"No, me neither," she agrees. She rests her head on Mary and Mary allows her, reaching to stroke Sybil's hair. It's unbelievably comforting. "There were a lot of things I'd never have done before the war. Like throwing the whole family into chaos by announcing that I'm going to be a doctor."
Mary snorts.
"Wait till you tell them that you're engaged to the chauffeur," she says dryly, then immediately sends Sybil a sharp look. "Actually, don't tell them yet. I need to get my breath back first after today's fiasco."
Sybil chuckles again, but Mary can see how tired she is by the confrontation.
"Don't worry," she promises. "I'm not quite ready for that battle either. Not yet."
She sighs, cuddling closer to Mary as she used when she was a child.
"I hate this," she says quietly. "I love them all so much, I hate hurting them and fighting with them. I know they only want what they think is best for me. But they drive me so mad!"
"That they do," agrees Mary, feeling equally tired. "They're really good at it."
"Thank you," mutters Sybil. "Thank you for having my back in this. I know you hate it too."
Mary shrugs with one shoulder, careful not to dislodge Sybil resting on her other one.
"I'm always on your side, darling," she vows. "Even when I think you're mad too. You should know that by now."
"I do," Sybil assures her fervently. "I do know it, Mary."
They don't have to wait long for a soft thread of Matthew's wheels to sound in the great hall.
"Mary?" he asks, not seeing them at first in the dim lighting and behind the balustrade.
"Here," she says but doesn't feel equal to getting up quite yet. The last remnants of the near avoided panic attack disappeared some time ago, but left her utterly drained. She feels so proud of herself though for not allowing it to overwhelm her as it did back in November. Maybe, finally, she's leaving the whole thing behind.
Matthew wheels himself to them, his face drawn with worry. It relaxes a little when he finds both of them there.
"I'm so sorry, darling," he says contritely. "I should have taken you home instead of trying to reason with him."
Sybil snorts lightly.
"As if anyone had a hope of reasoning with Papa when he's like that," she says fiercely and Matthew shrugs, a wry smile appearing on his face.
"If it's any consolation, Cousin Violet was not very impressed with him. She was giving him quite an earful when I was leaving the room."
"It does console me," admits Sybil, some of her mischievousness returning to her. "Very little, but it does."
"Do you want to stay at our house tonight, darling?" asks Mary with concern. She can't imagine Papa is going to be a pleasant company at the breakfast table tomorrow, not after quarrelling with them and being scolded by Granny to boot. Whatever hope they have of him finally seeing reason on the issue of Sybil's plans, none of them expects such a miracle by morning. A week is the most optimistic bet they're willing to make, with a month being probably a more realistic one. In the meantime, Mary is fiercely glad that she and Matthew have their own house to hide in.
But Sybil shakes her head, her face stubborn.
"I have done nothing wrong," she announces. "I see no reason to leave this house until I plan to."
She gives Mary one last hug and gets up, offering her hand to Mary to pull her up from the stairs. At over five months pregnant Mary's belly is still quite small, but puts her slim figure off its centre enough that it sometimes impacts her balance.
"Thank you both," she says again, kissing Matthew's cheek in goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow. I am not going to hide like a criminal but I think that staying in the same house as Papa the whole day may end up in murder."
"And it won't be Sybil's body on the floor," mutters Mary to Matthew as they walk slowly to pick up their coats and wait for William to help push Matthew to their cottage.
"No, it won't," agrees Matthew with conviction. "I hope she will visit us early enough to prevent the bloodshed though. I don't feel ready to become the 8th Earl of Grantham quite yet."