Chapter Text
“There’s one for you, Sir,” Molesley said, holding out a silver tray. Matthew looked up from the piece of toast he was liberally applying jam to with a slightly confused look on his face. He took the letter and was surprised to see Lavinia’s handwriting on the envelope. Whatever would she be writing to him about? He hadn’t spoken to her for the past six days. Not since she had told him that she had witnessed him—no, he couldn’t think about that.
He had tried to talk to her many times. But he had always been turned away from her door. She was sleeping or resting, the doctor was in with her; there was always some excuse. He had needed to talk to her though, and no one seemed to be willing to let him do so. It had been the most miserable week of his life. He needed to explain to Lavinia, and he obviously couldn’t talk to—no, he still couldn’t think about that.
In the time since, he had thought of all the things that he should have said in the moment, but he had been too stunned by Lavinia’s words to form any sort of coherent thought. How could she think that they should call off the wedding? Everything had already been arranged. If she really thought this was best, why had she even come back in the first place? Especially if she had already been having doubts about him and—NO!
Well, there was nothing for it, he would have to open the letter and see what she had said. Maybe she’d changed her mind and was asking for him to come see her. He picked up the letter opener and ripped open the envelope. Shaking out the letter, he felt his jaw drop as he read the words:
My Dearest Matthew,
I hope you will be able to forgive me, but by the time you read this I will already be on my way back to London. I simply cannot marry you, as much as I may want to. I have already explained the whole situation to your mother, and she has graciously offered to take care of everything for us. Even she agrees with me. I had thought of writing to Mary as well, but I really think you should be the one to tell her yourself.
Please, Matthew, know that I am doing this for you. I cannot allow you to deny yourself real love after all you’ve been through. You are a good and honorable man, and I love you so much for it. Please know that I don’t think you never loved me. I just don’t think that you love me as much as you love her. I truly am not angry. Nothing would make me happier than knowing that you’re happy, so please, don’t waste this opportunity with feelings of guilt or regret. Isn’t this better? Please, be happy, for all our sakes.
With all my love,
Lavinia.
Matthew stared down at the letter in his hand and his abandoned breakfast. He read through the letter a second time, this time sticking at “even she agrees with me.” He looked up suddenly to see his mother watching him closely.
“She’s off, then?” Isobel asked, her face remarkably clear.
“How long have you known about this?” Matthew asked, his voice pained.
“She told me of her plans several days ago,” Isobel said picking up her cup of tea and taking a sip. “She asked me not to say anything—to anyone—until after she left.”
“How could you have kept this from me?”
“She asked me to.” Isobel fixed Matthew with a piercing glare. “She didn’t want to argue about it and her mind was quite made up, and Matthew, I can’t say that I disagree with her.”
“So she says,” he handed the letter to Isobel. He watched her as she read through it quickly. “How much did she tell you?”
“You mean, did she tell me that she thinks you’re still in love with Mary?” Isobel asked, setting the letter down beside her plate. “Because she didn’t need to tell me that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice raised in slight panic.
“Matthew, everyone knows how you feel about her. Just as everyone knows how she feels about you,” Isobel sighed. She knew Matthew wouldn’t want to hear it from her, but it was high time someone did tell him.
“Yes, we all know how Mary feels about me…” his voice trailed off bitterly. Violet, her grandmother, had said that Mary was in love with him, but if she’d loved him—for some time, apparently—then why would she have refused him? And why would she have engaged herself to Carlisle, of all people?
“Do you know how Mary feels about you?” Isobel had that sharp look in her eyes again.
“Of course I do,” he said crossing his arms in front of himself like a petulant child.
“Well, obviously,” Isobel said feeling her patience with him beginning to wane. “You’re acting exactly like someone who has everything figured out.”
“Really, Mother, what would you have me do?” his voice rising a bit. “Run up there and make a fool of myself so she can reject me all over again? She’s marrying someone else! Just like I told Lavinia when she suggested we call of the wedding.”
“You did not!” Isobel said, shocked. “She told me that you had tried to change her mind but not that your reasoning was that ‘Mary is marrying someone else.’ What a horrible thing to say to her.”
“Why is that such a horrible thing to say? It’s true.”
“You can’t see why saying that you’re marrying her because the woman you’re clearly in love with is marrying someone else might be hurtful?” she shook her head. “Matthew, I don’t even have words to describe how disappointed I am with you.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Now, we have quite a few things to do today. I suggest you finish your breakfast and get ready to go up to the Abbey with me because I very much agree with Lavinia that you need to be the person who tells Mary.”
“It won’t make any difference,” he said morosely.
“Either way, you need to be the one to tell her.” She paused before adding in a slightly softer tone, “you might be right, but you also might be very wrong. I think you owe it to Mary either way.” With that, she turned and left the dining room, leaving Matthew to stew, his appetite quite gone.
The car ride up to the Abbey was tense. Matthew was still furious at Isobel for keeping Lavinia’s plans from him and was refusing to even mention Mary. Isobel was perfectly happy to not talk about it, knowing that anything she said at this point would probably come out ruder than she meant it to be. She had watched Matthew suffer through the heartbreak of losing Mary before, only this time there was no war to run off to. She wondered if he would pack up and move back to Manchester if Mary refused him again. That was probably a needless concern though. Anyone with eyes could see that Mary still loved Matthew as well. Isobel had suspected as much from the first time she told the family that Matthew had signed up to fight and her opinion only became firmer as the war had dragged on. Isobel would also never, as long as she lived, forget the sight of Mary calmly and quietly wiping sick from Matthew at his absolute lowest. If anyone had asked which of the three Crawley sisters Isobel would guess to be the most dedicated nurse, she’d never have thought of Mary. Yet there she’d been, absolutely devoted to Matthew’s care, no job below her, not if she could be of help. No, Isobel thought to herself, Mary would not be likely to break Matthew’s heart again if she could help it.
The car came to a stop with a lurch and Isobel heard Matthew let out a heavy sigh, gripping the handle of his walking stick before getting out. They were greeted at the door by Thomas, who told them that Lord and Lady Granthem were in the library.
“And what about Lady Mary?” Isobel asked him, giving her son a pointed look.
“I’m not sure, ma’am.” Thomas said, noting the strange looks that Matthew and Isobel were exchanging. “I could find out and let her know you’re here, if you’d like.”
“Yes, thank you, Thomas,” Isobel said.
“Should I have her join you in the library?”
“I think I need some air,” Matthew said suddenly, his face paling at the thought of actually having to talk to Mary for the first time in a week. His knuckles were white on his stick. “I think I’ll actually go out for a walk.”
Isobel’s eyes narrowed at Matthew before she turned back to Thomas and said, “yes, Thomas, that would fine. Thank you.”
Matthew turned abruptly and headed back out the front door. He gulped down the fresh air and wiped his face with his free hand. He couldn’t do it. He felt sick at the thought of having to face Mary. He turned to walk back to the village, but his legs felt weak and he’d yet to attempt that far of a walk. He decided instead to go over to a bench and wait until Isobel had had time to tell the family. He began making his way over the familiar path slowly.
Back in the library, Robert, Cora, Violet, Edith and, unfortunately, Sir Richard Carlisle looked up in mild surprise as Thomas announced Isobel.
“Mrs. Crawley, Milord,” Thomas said before curtly closing the door.
Isobel gulped. Well, at least everyone was here. That would make the task easier, only having to do it once. She wondered briefly if she should wait until Mary had been cooked out and joined them but decided that she would still rather have Matthew tell her himself and jumped in without preamble.
“I don’t know if you’re aware yet,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “but Lavinia has returned to London this morning. She asked me to thank you all for your kindness and to tell you that she’ll miss you all and that…” she gulped again, before pressing on, “she regrets that she probably will not be seeing any of you again.”
“What?” Cora was the first to speak, she still looked pale in her own recovery. “What does she mean? Of course she’ll see us again.”
“Well,” Isobel said slowly, acutely aware that Sir Richard’s eyes were boring into her. “The thing is, she and Matthew have decided to call off the wedding. She asked me to relay the news. She wanted to slip away with as little fuss as possible.”
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Robert. “What could have possibly changed?”
Isobel thought for a moment how best to explain but Violet had got there before she could. “I would imagine it’s more a case of nothing having changed and a realization of that fact.” Violet was watching all the gathered members closely. Robert was rubbing his forehead, obviously in thought; Edith seemed mildly interested but rather unbothered by this strange turn of events. Cora and Sir Richard were, however, exchanging concerned looks while Isobel shuffled her feet uncertainly.
“Where’s Mary?” Cora asked, a slight hint of fear in her voice.
“She said she was going for a walk,” Edith supplied. “Shall I go fetch her?”
“No…” Cora glanced again at Sir Richard. This news would have to be contained. Just because Matthew was no longer marrying Lavinia, nothing else would need to change. She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but worried that she hadn’t quite conveyed her meaning. “I suppose this means, we can focus on your wedding now, Richard,” she tried to sound light and airy, “given that we don’t have to reschedule the other one…”
“Quite. I’ll go find Mary and give her the news.” Sir Richard said as he strode from the room, an almost thunderous look on his face.
Mary was sitting on her favorite bench on the grounds trying to read the book in her hands: The Hound of the Baskervilles. It was her third attempt to read it, and while Matthew kept touting its praises, she just couldn’t enjoy it. She sighed in frustration as she heard the sound of gravel crunching and looked up. Matthew limped into view leaning heavily on his stick with a deep frown on his face. “Why do you look so cross?” she asked, “is Lavinia still refusing to see you?”
Matthew startled at the sound of her voice. “What? I…no. Well, not exactly.”
“Ah, well, she’ll have to talk to you sometime,” Mary said treading carefully. He hadn’t spoken to her at all since the night they’d danced, and she didn’t think he’d be likely to be talking to her now if she hadn’t caught him off guard.
“No, she won’t.” He said, sitting down heavily on the bench beside her. Mary was intrigued but didn’t want to push. She looked at her hands instead. The silence between them was deafening, and just as she was about to speak, Matthew sighed heavily. “She’s gone. She left this morning. Apparently, Mother helped her pack, and I was none the wiser.”
“Oh,” Mary said softly, “I…I’m so sorry, Matthew.”
“Why?” He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. “Why would you be sorry?”
“Matthew…” she trailed off, words failing her. What could she possibly say to him to make this better?
“She heard us, you know?” he said. “She heard everything I said…and saw…when I…” he shook his head. Mary felt her eyes fill with tears. Her throat suddenly dry.
“I…I didn’t know…” she struggled for something to say to help. “I am sorry, Matthew. But you must know, I don’t regret it.” Her voice was so quiet that Matthew barely heard her.
“You don’t?” Matthew said with a bitter laugh. “Could have fooled me.”
“Why would you say that?” Her voice sounded hurt; he hadn’t expected that. He looked back to her to see her staring at him with an incredulous look on her face.
“Come on, Mary,” he said, his anger rising. “You’ve always treated me like a plaything. You flirt with me when it’s convenient, you string me along for months, I’ve always loved you and you’ve never loved me!”
“I’ve…never…” Mary began, taking deep steadying breaths, “I think you’ve had a shock today and you must be very tired after…everything. Maybe you should leave.”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said, crossing his arms again.
“Well, that’s new,” Mary said, throwing him a dirty look. “Isn’t that what you do when things get too hard to deal with? Run away?”
“I have never run away,” he grumbled.
“What do you call it, then? You were already planning on moving back to Manchester and then you went and joined the army. You wouldn’t even talk to me. I didn’t refuse you, Matthew. You did that to us.” Her voice was calmer now and though her perfect mask was in place, Matthew could see a slight flush to her cheeks as she stared him down. “You disappeared for two years and then showed up here with a fiancée that you’d known for all of five minutes and asked me to take care of her.”
“Mary, I…”
“No, Matthew,” Mary held up a hand to silence him. “I had to sit here by myself with no word of how you were, what you were doing, nothing. I was constantly worried about you. Even when the family did know what you were doing, they tried to keep it all from me. No one wanted to tell me you were missing, no one wanted to tell me the details of your injury, the only reason I knew as much as I did was because I refused to leave your side! But yes, you’re right, I must have never loved you.”
The silence following was so much worse than anything that she’d said to him. He sat there, staring at his feet. “I…” he began, “I didn’t think about it that way.”
“Well, maybe you should.” She stood up, lip trembling, and smoothed her dress before turning to him and saying with an icy voice, “I don’t care if you go or stay, but I’m going back inside.” She began to walk away and as she heard the bench creak as he began to rise, she added, “don’t follow me, I think we both need a moment.”
He watched her, her back still to him, reach up and wipe her eyes before continuing back to the house. He sat there feeling wretched. He didn’t know what had possessed him to say that she hadn’t loved him. He thought back over the war and realized that everything she’d done had been an act of quietly professing her love for him. If she hadn’t loved him, why would she wake at dawn to see him off at the station? Why would she have given him her lucky charm? What of that look on her face when he and William had walked into the library while she was singing? What of all those hours sitting with him at the hospital? What of Cousin Violet telling him that she did love him, and he’d ignored it all. Too stubborn, his pride still too bruised to see it for what it really was. It had never occurred to him how hard the war had been on her, watching from a distance. He thought of Lavinia, constantly professing her love for him, crying on Mary’s shoulder about all her fears of losing him, like in a bloody Austen novel. And he’d thrown it all back in her face, saying it had all been a game to her. He wanted to chase after her, apologize, but he knew she wouldn’t talk to him now. He sighed, and got to his feet and began the slow, agonizingly long walk back to Crawley House.
Mary was able to make it all the way up to her room without seeing anyone. As she shut the door behind her, she leaned up against it and felt the tears finally fall freely from her eyes. She felt her body quake with sobs as she slowly slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. She hadn’t cried like this since that awful summer day when she thought she’d lost Matthew forever. She didn’t realize how long she’d been sitting there like that until she felt someone try to open the door. She scrambled out of the way to see Anna come in. She attempted to wipe her eyes and say something, but no words came to her.
“Milady?” Anna asked. “What are you doing up here?”
“I can’t be down there.” Mary sobbed. “I had an awful fight with Matthew, and I just can’t bear the thought of being around anyone. Can you please tell them all I’m feeling unwell?”
“Of course, milady,” she thought for a moment, “would you like me to help you into something more comfortable? And then I’ll bring up some tea for you.”
“Thank you, Anna, that would be wonderful.”
* * *
Isobel stayed in the library with Violet and Cora for quite a while going through all the things that would need to be done with the wedding called off and organizing the gifts to return. At any sound she’d jump slightly, hoping to see either Matthew or Mary but as the hours stretched on and neither appeared, she began to worry. Eventually Sir Richard returned, not looking any happier than he’d been when he’d stalked from the room earlier that morning.
“Did you find Mary?” Cora asked hopefully.
“No, she seems to have quite disappeared,” he said, casting a suspicious look at Isobel, who looked calmly back, silently wondering where Matthew had gone off to as well. She didn’t think they would still be together somewhere, but she also knew that they could very well be. She glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece, it was quite late in the afternoon by now, perhaps she should go back home. Matthew might have walked home by now.
She rose to her feet saying, “It’s later than I thought it was. I should get back home to Matthew; he’s probably wondering where I’ve gotten to.” She hoped that Sir Richard would believe that Matthew had been home all day, but even at that thought she chided herself. As far as she knew, Sir Richard had no quarrel with Matthew and wouldn’t. “Do you suppose the car could be brought round for me?”
“I think I’ll go with you,” Violet added. “Save them getting the car out again.”
Cora rang for the car and when Thomas came in, she asked after Mary, hoping to still be able to smooth Sir Richard’s nerves.
“Anna said she’s upstairs in bed, Milady.” Thomas answered. “She didn’t feel well after her walk and asked to have a tray in her room tonight.” He nodded at the ladies and left to summon the car.
“Oh,” said Cora frowning, “I do hope she’s not sick now too.”
As soon as the car began to pull away, Violet turned to Isobel with a piercing look. “What do you know that you’re not telling the rest of us?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Isobel began to protest but one look from Violet quelled her instantly. “I don’t know much, anyway. All I really know is that Lavinia called off the wedding because she felt that Matthew loves Mary more than he loves her. I get the impression that there’s more to it, but I don’t know what it is.”
Violet sniffed. “Well, at least she figured it out before the wedding. I wonder what the rest of it is. You don’t suppose it has anything to do with Mary’s sudden bout of illness?”
“What are you suggesting?” Isobel asked incredulously. “Nothing too improper, I hope.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Violet said with a wave of her hand. Mary wouldn’t be that foolish again and she doubted Matthew would go along with it anyway. “With Mary not being around at all today, do you suppose she knows anything about it yet?”
“If you don’t say anything to Sir Richard…” Isobel began, as Violet scoffed. “Well, Matthew was supposed to tell her today, but he barely even came into the house. I suppose they could have happened to see each other in the garden but I won’t know anything until I find him.”
“Hmm,” Violet sniffed. “Well, I hope he’s at home when you get there. Do tell me if you learn anything useful. I wonder how we’ll be able to rid ourselves of Sir Richard now. Matthew would make a much more suitable husband for Mary.”
“Hello, Ma’am,” Molesley greeted her as she came in front door of Crawley House.
“Have you seen my son anywhere by any chance?” she asked, removing her hat and handing it to him.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, his eyes flickering in the direction of Matthew’s study. “He came home a while ago and locked himself in his study. He hasn’t been out since. I tried to offer him some lunch, but he said he didn’t want any. Is there anything I get for you?”
Isobel pursed her lips. If Matthew was determined to act like a petulant child, well then that was how she’d treat him. “Yes, Molesley, some tea would be lovely. Have it sent to the study when it’s ready.”
Molesley nodded and left as Isobel steeled herself for the impending argument. She didn’t know all of what had happened between him and Lavinia—or him and Mary—but she would have to drag it out of him. He was far too old to punish, but perhaps she could still intimidate him. She knocked on the door to his study and when he didn’t respond she called out, “Matthew, I know you’re in there. Molesley already told me. You must let me in, my dear. A worry shared is a worry halved.”
She listened, and when he didn’t respond still, she decided to push in. She turned the nob and the door opened with a slight creak. The room was dark, with all the curtains drawn and only one lamp on. She saw Matthew slumped in his chair, a glass of whisky in his hand. He glared at her but didn’t protest so she continued into the room and sat down in the chair across from him. “I assume you talked to Mary?” she asked.
“Why would you assume that?” He grumbled, staring into his glass.
“Well, no one has seen hide nor hair of her all day,” Isobel said, casting him a sideways look, “and since you seem to be in such a lovely mood yourself, I wondered if you had anything to do with her suddenly feeling so poorly.”
At that, Matthew’s head shot up. He turned wide eyes to his mother as he asked, “she’s not sick too, is she?”
“I frankly have no idea.” Isobel took a breath. “All we know for sure is that at some point before we arrived this morning, she told Edith she was going out for a walk and that some point after that she told Anna she wasn’t feeling well and had retired for the day. Since you were outside in that same time, I wondered if you had seen her.”
“Yes, Mother” he sighed. “I did see her. I wish I hadn’t, but I did.”
“Did…you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She said she was very sorry.” He downed his drink. As he stood to pour himself another, Molesley came in with the tea. “No thank you, Molesley. I don’t want any tea.”
“Mrs. Crawley asked for it, Sir,” Molesley said timidly.
“Yes,” Isobel said, “I did. And you will have a cup, Matthew. Have you eaten anything today?”
“No.”
“Molesley, please ask Mrs. Bird to send some sandwiches as well,” Isobel asked, ignoring Matthew’s grumbling.
“She already added some to the tray, Ma’am,” he said, “would you like me to serve?”
“No thank you, Molseley.” Isobel said, rising to prepare a cup for Matthew. “I need to talk to my son. I’ll ring if we need anything else.” She pushed the cup into Matthew’s hand and put her hand on his shoulder to push him back down into the chair. When the door clicked shut behind Molesley she turned back to son. “Now, you really expect me to believe that this mood was caused by Mary saying she was sorry.”
“Well, it is!” He growled.
“Matthew, there has to be more to the story than that.” Isobel stood over him, being as imposing as she could. He looked to the side in an effort to avoid eye contact.
“We might have said other things as well…” he mumbled, glaring at his tea.
“And what would those things be?”
“I don’t want to talk about it with you.”
“Well, who would you rather talk to?” she asked, exasperated. “Should I call Robert down here? How about Sir Richard?”
“Definitely not.”
“Well, then I guess you’re stuck with me.” She sat down and sipped her tea. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I said something really stupid,” he took a reluctant sip. Isobel raised her eyebrows but when she didn’t say anything he sighed and continued. “I told her that Lavinia had…overheard a conversation between us. When she said that she was sorry, but that she didn’t regret anything, I don’t even know… Something inside me snapped and every ungracious thought I’ve ever had about her came out.”
“Oh, Matthew,” she said reaching over and putting her hand on his knee. “What did Lavinia overhear?”
“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” he said, then thought better and added, “no offense. I just don’t want to talk to my mother about my relationship problems.”
“And who would be better?” she asked sympathetically.
“Honestly,” he sighed heavily, “I wish I could talk to William Mason.”
“Well, how about you do? He’s next door in the graveyard.” Matthew gave her a withering look. “Or you could talk to me and just pretend it’s him. I won’t say anything. Unless you want me to, of course.”
“I don’t know that that will help,” Matthew said slowly, “You’re still my mother.”
“It can’t hurt to try, surely?”
He sighed. She was right, it couldn’t hurt. And if what she’d said that morning was true, she already knew that he loved Mary and nothing he had to say would be too much of a shock. “I’m not proud of any of this,” he began, “but when you and everyone else went upstairs with Dr. Clarkson that first night, Mary and I were alone in the hall and…” he swallowed, “I asked her to dance.”
“That doesn’t sound too shocking,” Isobel said hopefully. He gave her a dirty look and she stopped talking.
“We didn’t just dance,” he heard her breath catch, but she didn’t interject again so he pressed on. “I told her that I wished I could marry her instead of Lavinia and then I kissed her. Lavinia caught us at that point. I actually hadn’t talked to her at all since then.”
Isobel waited a moment and when he didn’t go on, she ventured a question, “and Mary doesn’t regret kissing you?”
“Apparently not,” he said wearily into his teacup. “But, oh Mother,” he looked up suddenly with tears in his eyes, “if she doesn’t regret it and if she does love me like Cousin Violet says, why is she marrying Sir Richard? Is it the money? Am I really not enough for her?”
Isobel looked at her son, her heart breaking for him. She wanted to gather him to her like she had when he was a little boy and tell him everything would be alright, but this was so much bigger than a skinned knee or a lost toy. “Did Mary say that she’s still planning to marry him?” Isobel asked simply.
“She didn’t have to,” Matthew sobbed.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I…” he began, “I don’t know.”
“Are you sure you’re being fair to her?” she asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” he moaned. “I wish William were here, he always knew how to keep me together.”
“Well,” Isobel was pensive, trying to think of the right thing to say, “what would he say to you if he were here?”
Matthew closed his eyes and thought. What would William say? William had prized honesty and communication. He always said just the right thing or asked just the right question to guide Matthew without making it sound preachy or like he was giving advice. Talking to William made it seem like you had all the answers all along, you just didn’t know it at the time. He smiled and opened his eyes to see his mother’s expectant gaze on him. “I suppose he’d say I’m being an arse and I should just talk to her.”
Isobel chuckled, “That sounds like wonderful advice,” she patted his arm and then added, “why don’t you come with me and have some dinner and then get some rest and you can go up and talk to Mary tomorrow.”