Fic - Downton Abbey - "The Fox Hunt" - part 2.1
So this chapter had to be split.
It was amusing to him, in a way, how having Mr. Crawley back had somehow eased the household work load, but Charles Carson had to admit, the last week had been very light indeed. Of course, part of it was that Lord Grantham had put a halt on any entertaining at all until Mr. Crawley was “less out of sorts”, but part of it was a certain feeling, a lightness in the air. It was certainly good to see Lady Mary happy again, even if she also seemed quite worried.
She had reason to be worried, of course. Mr. Crawley was a sad miserable mess who clearly didn’t remember much of his prior life except for his manners. The poor fellow barely made a move unless someone told him to join in. It was painful at times to see the man barely able to look anyone in the eye.
He’ll get better, Carson told himself. Lady Mary was certain of it, and he had confidence in her assessment. He agreed with her, that it would take time and gentleness and allowing him to find his footing. He took a seat in the servants hall, for the afternoon meal. It was pleasant and unsurprising until Mr. Crawley walked into the hall.
To give the man credit, he realized instantly that he’d committed a faux pas although he obviously had no idea what the faux pas was. “I… Lord Grantham wanted some tea brought to the library.” He looked around at everyone standing, a blush rising to his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to disturb you….”
Carson was pleased to see Mrs. Hughes take the lead. She gestured for people to take seats. “It’s no disturbance at all, Mr. Crawley,” she said pleasantly. “It’s just a surprise because you just need to ring the bell and one of us will come to see what you need.” Mrs. Hughes looked at Bates for confirmation.
Bates nodded. “The bells are right by the electric light switches, Mr. Crawley. Did I show you?”
A kindness, Carson realized, because Bates had talked to him about making sure Matthew knew how the house worked, that he didn’t want to assume the man remembered the way the house was run.
“Yes… yes you did, Mr. Bates.” If anything, Mr. Crawley turned even redder. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt you all. Lord Grantham would like tea in the library.” He looked down at his feet and then turned. He managed to make one step before he crashed into Daisy, who carrying soup. She managed to fling the hot liquid away from herself and Mr. Crawley.
“I’m so sorry!” Daisy cried, even as the dishes hit the floor. She dropped to her knees, and Carson was horrified to see Mr. Crawley drop almost as quickly.
“It’s my fault,” Mr. Crawley said, cringing on the ground, carefully gathering the broken pottery. “Please don’t punish the girl, it was my fault. I was the clumsy one not her.”
The worst part, Carson realized, was that it was Mr. Crawley who looked terrified at being punished, not Daisy, who knew beyond her outburst that it was an accident that couldn’t have been helped. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. “ Carson said quickly. “Daisy won’t be punished.”
“There was no way to avoid it, it happens all the time with this doorway being here, people going in and out,” Mrs. Hughes said helpfully. She knelt down and began picking up the pottery shards and then put her hands on his shaking ones. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. We don’t punish people for accidents. Isn’t that right, Daisy?”
Oh please let the silly girl say the right thing, Carson prayed as he glared at Daisy. She looked at him and then at Mr. Crawley and gulped nervously. “It was no one’s fault, Mr. Crawley. Sometimes…. Sometimes people run into each other. I won’t be punished, isn’t… isn’t that right, Mr. Carson?”
“Of course, Daisy,” Carson said carefully. Even if it hadn’t been the damaged heir to the earldom who had caused the breakage, it was the sort of accident that happened with new hall boys and maids, it wasn’t unusual at all. He didn’t applaud when the staff broke things, but there was carelessness and accidents and part of his job was to know the difference.
Mr. Crawley looked at him, terrified, and flinched. “Let me help you clean up,” he said worriedly to Daisy. “I’m so clumsy… I’m a big bloody oaf who breaks things all the time. I’m rubbish at being useful, all thumbs and dropping… I can barely move without breaking something….” He looked up at Carson fearfully. “It *was* my fault, please don’t blame the girl, Mr. Carson.”
It hurt. It hurt him to hear such a thing, especially from any man cringing on the floor of the servants hall of Downton Abbey, because it told him how unpleasant and lacking in honor other estates were. It hurt to see a man he had never disliked once he had understood how honorable the chap was about everything cringe in fear at the very sound of his voice. Someone had taught Matthew Crawley to profoundly fear the wrath of the butler of an estate and it hurt him and angered him beyond belief.
“Mr. Crawley,” he said carefully. “It was an accident, and I don’t punish anyone for accidents. Daisy is in no trouble for this. You should… go upstairs and remember that this sort of request is something you need just ring the bell for.” He gave Bates a look and the man nodded. It was awkward, because he was skilled enough to see that at some point, Mr. Crawley had worked for a very bad master indeed, but it was not something he wanted the younger servants speculating about. Better to get the man out of the servants hall before things got worse. But he couldn’t allow one thing to stand, not in his house “I feel I must correct you on one point, “ and he ignored that Mr. Crawley flinched back. “I’m the butler, I work for you, Mr. Crawley, not the other way around. You should call me Carson, not Mr. Carson.”
But….” Mr. Crawley looked nervously at him and Mrs. Hughes. “I am sorry. I didn’t…. I didn’t mean to break things.” He stood, but kept his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry to make a mess, I always make a mess… Truth be told, I am just a walking mess, making more work for everyone but… Lord Grantham wants tea in the library.” He looked up for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He spun on his heels and left.
There was a long pause where no one said anything. “That poor man,” O’Brien, of all people, said finally. She looked around at the table. “We all know he’s been mistreated. More’s the pity it’s likely been our kind more than his.” She looked harshly around the table. “I don’t pretend to be better than anyone else, but Mr. Crawley was never unkind to any one of us, was he?”
“No,” Mosely said, “He’s a good man, the worst moment I ever had with him, he apologized almost immediately. I don’t like seeing him like this,” and Carson was pleased to see it was followed by nods all around the table.
“Mr. Crawley,” Carson said carefully, “Has been badly treated and used all around, I suspect he’s far too used to people being unkind…. Perhaps something we could all strive for is some kindness towards him?” He was pleased to see nods all around, even Thomas for a change. With that said, he turned his attention to Bates. “You do realize O’Brien is right? I know the story we’ve been told is that he was working as a laborer,” and was in and out of work houses which was horrifying, “but that man has been in service in someone’s household. The signs are all there. Does Lord Grantham know?”
Bates nodded. “Lord Grantham is well aware of it, and has been attempting to find out where Mr. Crawley was this last year. Unfortunately, Mr. Crawley, along with not remembering very much before his accident, doesn’t have distinct memories of the time directly after. The head injury is more than what it seems. He didn’t simply hit his head, completely forget his entire life but otherwise stay the same man.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Bates?” Mrs. Hughes asked. She glanced at Carson and frowned. “I’m not asking to be nosy, Mr. Carson. If he’s not well, we should know.” After a moment, Carson nodded to Bates to continue. If they were going to help, all the facts needed to be on the table, at least to the senior staff.
“He admits that he was quite muddled,” Bates said. “He wasn’t able to follow time or keep track of days. The estate work was very early on and he knows he was at a house that had a name, that someone was in charge but all the names are… beyond him.” Bates hesitated. “He knows very clearly that certain people rank above each other in service…. He’s quite bothered that I switched places with Mosely because he sees it as my losing a position, and worries far too much that Mr. Mosely and Mr. Carson will take the opportunity to be cruel to me.”
“Oh my goodness,” Hughes said. “Doesn’t he remember anything? I’m sure I have heard Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley talking about how much better he is.”
“He is remembering things, Mrs. Hughes,” Bates said quickly, “but it is colored by the last year of his life, and I think Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley and even Lord Grantham see progress in things that aren’t necessarily his remembering things, but just figuring out that they want him to act a certain way. I mean…. “ He sighed. “What he said to Daisy…. I’m sure he heard big bloody oaf often enough that he thought it was his name. I’m also quite certain that breaking a dish was never considered an unpunishable accident, and what he does remember is people lying to him and tricking him, and treating him badly because they could. So please do warn Daisy that he will come looking for her to make sure Mr. Carson didn’t take her out to the woodshed and beat her. Until things are clearer in his head, he is quite… nervous. Nervous, and worried that he’s being tricked or teased, because even though his thoughts are connecting, he mostly remembers the mistreatment.”
Carson sighed. “I would not wish this on anyone, but it seems especially cruel that it is Mr. Crawley suffering so needlessly. You really think he believes I’d strike one of the women over a broken dish?”
Bates shrugged. “I’m certain he thought you were going to strike both him and Daisy over a broken dish. He has not talked much about it but I doubt a day went by in that household he worked in where he wasn’t beaten for some reason. He told me that for a very long time, he thought his name was You Stupid Daft Footman. I will reassure him on the point, but please make sure Daisy knows he’ll likely seek her out and ask her about it.”
“I will,” Carson said. He began to set his mind to considering what estates he knew of where he didn’t trust the staff.
~*~
Robert stood when Bates entered the room. Mosely had the afternoon off, to visit his father, and it seemed like a convenient way to talk with Bates. It avoided offending or concerning Mosely, who genuinely was a good valet if a bit of a sad sack, and it allowed him to borrow Bates without it making anyone suspicious.
“Do you have anything?” he asked.
Bates shrugged. “Nothing that seems significant. You do understand I can only press so hard before he’ll question what my motivation is… and he’s quite quick to be suspicious of questions about where he worked. Frankly, your lordship, he is quite nervous with servants. I am trying to build his trust but it will take time.”
“What have you found out?” It had been two weeks. He had positioned Bates with Matthew for several reasons. Bates was steadier than Mosely, and it was more convenient for him to be more aligned with Anna’s schedule. But Bates was also a keen observer and the sort of fellow that people just naturally talked to.
“He worked at an estate. He says it was the Christmas holidays, but he also admits that he wasn’t able to keep track of time well, that days and weeks just flowed by. He says it was just a few weeks, but… I think it had to have been at least three or four months.” He waved his hand. “Even at the holidays we don’t entertain as much as he described. Parties every night, and guests constantly arriving. He also told me that he was hired by the lord of the house, who seemed to favor him, which made the other footmen resent him.”
“And you don’t believe him?” That was the impression he got.
“Forgive me, Lord Grantham,” Bates said after a moment, “but aren’t we doing this because you don’t believe him?”
“I believe he’s concealing something, not out of malice but out of fear.” At Bates’s questioning look, he asked tiredly. “He hasn’t undressed in front of you, has he?”
“I’ve seen the scars if that’s what you mean,” Bates said after a moment. “You think it happened on the estate he worked at?”
“He told Clarkson that, that he was demoted from footman, sent to the barns to work as a groom and mishandled a horse. I believe he was punished by a peer, on an estate but….” Robert looked at him. “It sounds off. I’d never demote a footman to a position outside the house, for example. It breeds discord, and it suggests I don’t trust Carson’s opinion. And if the issue was his hand and his ability to do the work, I can’t see working as a groom even being an option. Although his hand really doesn’t seem to trouble him.” It was something he didn’t quite understand. Matthew was quite sensitive about it but it caused him no real problems.
“With respect, your lordship,” Bates said, “Have you asked him to pick up a heavy tray? As it happens, I agree with you. He was very lucky it was his left hand and not his right, and he has adapted well. I haven’t seen him struggle. On the other hand, the injury has had more time to heal. A fresher injury hurts more… But even then, I wouldn’t think, in a good household, that there would have been no issue. If I ignore who he is to your family, if I just look at his ability to do the work… Mr. Carson would be more put off by his accent and how educated he sounds than by his hand. Also he didn’t tell me any story about being a groom. He told me he was hired as a footman and was often used as a valet and that the other servants didn’t like him because he was hired by the lord of the house and favored. And that he was fired because he dropped plates and platters too many times.” Bates hesitated. “I am quite certain the scars on his back don’t represent the only time he was physically punished, Lord Grantham. You and Lady Mary, and Mrs. Crawley don’t see it, because he tries very hard to not react badly, but he is very frightened of you, and of Mr. Carson. He expects to be struck for errors. He didn’t learn that from one out of the ordinary beating. What he has talked about is that he was constantly being chastised and punished. He doesn’t mention how but I have to assume it was physical and by the other servants, if not the master of the house as well.”
“Which seems odd if the master of the house favored him.” Of course, he’d nearly fired Bates over the other servants squabbling but in the end he hadn’t. That Matthew wasn’t telling the same story was also interesting.
“And there is the other possibility,” Bates said carefully. “You do wish me to speak plainly, correct?”
“Yes. Of course.” It did give him a chill, because he didn’t see any other possibility.
Bates hesitated. “Mr. Crawley is a good looking man. Handsome. He would look well in livery and he speaks well and is well mannered. It may not have been the *master* of the house who favored him. He also has an air of well, being slow to catch on, that I think comes from the head injury. He’s said as much that he was in a confused, befuddled state where the days didn’t make any sense to him and that he was often mocked for being daft in the head. Even in the best of times, Mr. Crawley was always a bit innocent about women. In a confused state, he might not have realized it was the lady of the house who favored him.”
“You’re suggesting a highborn woman decided to cavort with a man she thought was a simple minded servant simply because he was handsome?” Robert didn’t like it, but he had to admit, it put things in a different light.
“It might not happen in this house,” Bates said easily, “but you know I’m not suggesting the impossible. It would explain someone taking a lash to him. It would explain other servants striking him out of jealousy. He certainly would have been blamed for any indiscretion, and while he might not have understood at the time, he probably understands now that not only has he committed an indiscretion, he’s committed adultery as well. Which leads me to ask, how far do you want to pursue this?”
That was a good question as well and he decided to take Bates into his confidence. “The problem, Bates, is that Matthew was well introduced to the peerage. I can’t think of anyone who owns an estate within three hundred miles who hadn’t met Matthew and known what he looked like. I accept your theory as to why Matthew himself might not want to pursue this, but someone employed him, knowing how he spoke, and looked at him and had him wait on guests, possibly for months. And said nothing, but took pains to savagely beat him and terrorize him. We have spent a year in mourning when we could have had been helping him heal. I don’t understand why no one would have said anything.”
“Again, if I may speak freely?” Bates waited until he nodded. “I consider us friends, sir, but I am not Mr. Carson. I do not worship your family and I can consider the idea that not everyone likes you or Lady Mary, or Mr. Crawley. You didn’t lose your estate, when many others have, and that was due to Mr. Crawley. Lady Mary led many men on while she and Mr. Crawley made up their minds. And you see the peerage as you see yourself, honorable and unlikely to enjoy petty revenge whereas I can see where a peer, forced into a smaller home after the war, might find it amusing to see a member of your family brought low. Especially Mr. Crawley, not even a gentleman by many of the peerage standards. In many ways, he’s been almost too lucky for words.”
“Lucky? Surely you’re joking.” Talking with Bates was always intriguing, Robert realized. The man was far more clever than people realized.
“Not at all,” Bates said. “You’re not looking at it with jealous eyes. He was never meant to be an earl, and yet he will be. He’s managed to maintain his estate, in part because of his taking advantage of new ideas and in part because of a very lucky inheritance. He was severely wounded in the war and yet is fully recovered. He’s married to a woman that was highly sought after. Your household has been very lucky because of Mr. Crawley. You’re not petty minded but many are. There’s many a peer who would be amused at the idea of making the heir of Grantham serve them… and a few that would indulge themselves if the opportunity presented itself. Imagine, having the lucky fellow who got everything you wanted for yourself, bowing and scraping to you and not even knowing he was humiliating himself. It’s small minded and petty… and I must tell you, sir, your peers are not beyond petty, small minded cruel revenge. Using your son in law as a servant, letting the other servants torment him, essentially keeping him captive the way a child keeps a spider in a jar, playing with it by pulling its legs off… A guess, whoever the head of the house was, they realized after a while that the joke would backlash badly if they were found out. Add an unwitting indiscretion, and frankly I’m surprised Mr. Crawley walked away with just a set of scars and a terror of estates.”
The problem was that Robert could see it play out. The possible indiscretion made it awkward. He didn’t consider himself a man with enemies but Bates did sum it up well. The Grantham family, even with Matthew dead, was doing far better than any number of families, with debt and dead and wounded sons from the war, and widows everywhere. He still had an heir in George, he still had a well-endowed estate. There were many who had neither, and Matthew returned from the dead, even damaged, made them luckier than most. Particularly since Mary was right. Underneath the skittishness and the fear of giving offense, Matthew was there. Bates’s theory also explained why Matthew was so skittish and fearful and so convinced he was terrible at everything. Hazy about the time frame or not, if Bates was right, he’d spent most of his early recovery time being treated like a piece of trash. Add in the months tramping around the countryside, in and out of work houses, and doing whatever menial job he could find, it was no wonder Matthew had been looking quite shell shocked the last few days.
Plus, it was possible there was no real indiscretion at all on Matthew’s part. Bates was right, there were petty minded and hateful members of the nobility. A wrong look, a sudden realization that the lady of the house liked the new footman, servants were punished for less. “I still want to know where he was . Did you find out anything else?”
“He would have been using the name John Fox at the estate, and John or John Smith the rest of the time. He remembers the last six months fairly clearly and was moving steadily from west to east hoping to find something that seemed familiar. He was in Manchester for about a month, and couldn’t shake the feeling he knew the place, so he kept going through the neighborhoods.” Bates smiled slightly. “For such an unlucky man, he does have the luck when it counts.”
“It’s hard to call it that but you’re right.” Robert said. “If he says anything that would let me pin down where he had been, make sure to see me.” He wanted to know who it had been. He had already narrowed it down to about ten different places. He might not be able to go after them but he damn well intended to find out who it was.
.~*~
“Matthew, what are you doing here?”
Matthew jumped at the sound of Tom’s voice. Not the chauffer, he told himself, the estate manager, and Lady Sybil’s grieving husband. And if the man was in the barn that held the household cars, fiddling underneath one, it just meant that he was working on the cars.
Because Tom liked cars. He knew that, suddenly. “I was just… looking around. Dr. Clarkson was by, to check on me, and he and Mrs. Crawley… Mother wanted to talk… about me, I assume.” He wasn’t entirely certain on that point. It wasn’t as though he had made any progress at all. He felt quite foolish most of the time. No one made fun of him, or even asked him to lift a finger but aside from things feeling oddly familiar but not, he doubted there was anything for Dr. Clarkson to say. At least about him. He had the suspicion, not a bad suspicion, that the two older people were using him as an excuse to spend time together. It was sweet. And it let him get out of the house and away from all the stares and questions.
Tom stepped away from the opened engine. “Does anyone know where you are?”
“No…”
Tom smiled almost instantly. “Good. You’re a grown man, you’re not ill. If you want to walk around the estate, you don’t need anyone’s permission. Technically you own half of the estate, already.”
“I know… Robert and Mr. Murray explained that. I didn’t really follow how that had happened.” It wasn’t explained. People had been told by Dr. Clarkson to not explain things that they knew, in hopes that he’d remember on his own, so the not very helpful explanation had been that ‘something’ had occurred that had led to his owning half the estate he was already in line to inherit. It irritated him, partly because the ‘something’ seemed quite significant, and partly because he had the sense whatever it was made Robert awkward. “Mr. Murray said there would be even more paperwork to sign before everything was put back in my name, and removed from George’s and Mary’s.” He smiled, despite himself. Little George amazed him in that he’d never suspected that someone as useless as he was could have produced such a perfect little child. “Mr. Murray finds me quite amusing. He likes that I read the paperwork before I sign it.”
“I wish his lordship would do that more often,” Tom said. “I’m glad he’s making sure to get you back into things.”
“But… I didn’t work here before, did I?” It had puzzled him. Looking through papers and discussing the finer subtle points of inheritance law with Murray had been… almost remarkable. It hadn’t escaped him that Robert had simply sat and waited for the two of them to discuss the problems and go over the law books. It had felt like he was capable, that he knew something and knew it well, even if he couldn’t recall where he had learned it. “I was a lawyer, and I didn’t work as a lawyer here but I did… I did corporate law, mostly. I helped with Bates’s murder trial but criminal law isn’t my specialty.” He waited a moment. “I’m right, aren’t I? I didn’t work here. I didn’t even live until I was married…. Except after I was wounded….” The flash trickled away, and for a change he didn’t feel like chasing down the memory. The flash was of being in one of the first floor bedrooms, stuck in a wheel chair, and somehow it was darker and more awful than anything else he’d ever known. A different memory flashed suddenly, almost as if his brain wanted to be kind for a change. “You were at my wedding… You and Sybil…” It went away, again as if he missed his chance to grab the memory before he fell off the cliff in his mind. He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could just... grab ahold of my thoughts and make them stay.”
Tom smiled. “You worry too much, Matthew. You’ve been back two weeks. No one is expecting miracles, not after receiving the best miracle of all. You seem better, more yourself. I’m done here. Would you like to come with me into town? I have to pick up something for Sybbie and bring Cousin Violet out for dinner tonight. We could have a beer at the pub, and you could find something at the toy store for George.”
It did sound fun, and bringing George a treat just felt right but… “I can’t. I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t?” Tom seemed more surprised than he would have thought.
“I used everything I had to get here, and I still had to walk most of the way.” He shrugged. “I had a few pence left but I left the coins at Dr. Clarkson’s… He did so much for me.”
He was surprised that Tom bristled at that. The man covered it well. “I’ll spot you… I know you’re good for it, you do own half the estate. Come on, you deserve a bit of fun. We’ll take the car.” Tom held out the keys. “Do you want to drive the Rolls?”
Matthew fought the flinch he could feel rising. “I can’t… I can’t drive…. I don’t know how. And my hand…” The few times he had been in a car in the last year, he had realized that it was something he’d never be able to do. No one would ever trust him with a car, and Robert’s taste in cars was expensive. “I don’t… I don’t think I can shift the gears….”
Tom looked at him quizzically. “You do know how to drive, Matthew.”
“And this all started with me wrecking a car, didn’t it? Obviously, even if I did know how to drive, I’ve proven beyond all doubt that I’m not very good at it.”
~*~
It was too early for anyone, even the servants, to be up, and yet she could hear someone quietly rooting about. Mary found herself dressing quickly and simply, because she realized exactly who was up. It was Matthew, up before the sun had even risen. It was far too early to be up without a purpose. Before the accident, Matthew hadn’t been one to lounge in bed unless it was Sunday morning. On days where he worked in Ripon, he was up and about but it was too early, the sun wasn’t even up. That made her curious as to what he was up to. It hadn’t escaped her, since his return that he was very quick to conform to whatever behavior he thought was expected. She didn’t like it, even Isobel didn’t like it, because it came from fear. That meant though, that he typically showed up for breakfast when everyone else went. Which made it odd for him to be up at five in the morning.
She followed him as he went down the stairwell. Then he slipped out the front door. What are you up to, she wondered as she opened the door. Her initial fear, that he had gotten it into his head to leave, was relieved when she saw him sitting on one of the benches in the yard. She considered leaving it at that, and then decided against it. She hadn’t been pressuring him, she genuinely believed if she pushed him to be affectionate, all she would have was a man who felt forced to be with her, but at the same time, he was sitting outside in the predawn dark.
“What are you doing up so early?” she said easily as she took a seat next to him.
He jumped in surprise. “Lady Mary, I… hope I didn’t wake you.” He looked down at his feet. “I didn’t sleep well so I thought I would at least see the sun rise.”
“You didn’t wake me,” she lied. “Why didn’t you sleep well?”
“I kept having a terrible dream,” he said after a moment. “There were people, men, screaming and shouting and guns were being fired and I was running forward even though I was terrified, and the world exploded and then I was lying on a hard plank, on a boat, I think, and there were wounded men everywhere, screaming in agony. Everything was filthy, I was covered in vomit, blood, my own filth, and I kept wanting to get up but I couldn’t, and sometimes I could hear the doctor talking about me that he hoped I’d die before the boat arrived, since my life was over anyway.” He shuddered. “It was so real, I could smell and hear it all like it was happening.”
“You were dreaming about the war,” Mary said after a moment. That had happened before, although he’d never told her any real details. To go by what Matthew said about it, the war had been an occasionally dirty, unpleasant camping trip with Germans shooting. He’d never spoken so openly about it before. “You were in the war, you know.”
“Dr. Clarkson and Robert both said that. That I was badly wounded.” He chuckled suddenly although Mary didn’t get the impression his thoughts were that amusing. “Robert said it was much worse than even this, how I am now, and I thought, at the time, he was just trying to make me feel better. The memories that trickle back…. It seems much worse than now.”
“It was much worse,” Mary said. Despite her own rules of engagement, she took his hand, the one that was scarred, and held it. He was trembling and after a moment, he squeezed her hand. It surprised her, and gave her heart. He had been so closed off. “First you were missing, and then it took weeks to get you here, so you could be looked after, and you were paralyzed. You couldn’t walk, you thought you would never have children, you were filled with despair.”
“You were there… and… Lavinia.” He looked at her quizzically, until she nodded. “And she died, and we were supposed to be married and I treated her so badly.” He sighed. “I am quite the curse to be around.”
“I liked Lavinia,” Mary said after a moment. It pleased her to know she was being honest. “You and I… we’re far too much alike, we’re at our best with each other when we’re at odds, but Lavinia suited you.” He had been honest with her, he always had, and Matthew’s lies were usually lies of avoidance, like not telling her about the war, so it was time for her to be honest as well. “I should have backed away, because she would have been a much better wife for you. You would have argued less, at the very least. She loved you very much and you loved her and I couldn’t leave it alone because I loved you. And then she died and you felt terrible and I felt terrible because I had ruined your happiness yet again.”
“Again?” Then he nodded. “I asked you to marry me, before the war and….”
“And I hesitated, like a fool, and lost years with you. And when I thought… when I thought you had died, I thought it was my punishment, for being so foolish and for hurting Lavinia.”
“You’re not exactly winning a prize in marriage now,” Matthew said.
She squeezed his hand again. “Yes, how awful it is, my husband is alive, holding my hand, reminiscing about the number of times he asked me to marry him.” She leaned into him, grateful that he didn’t flinch away for the first time. “I hope at least you’re no longer convinced we were forced to marry. “
“I suppose we weren’t,” he said after a moment. “But you still have ample grounds for divorce.” Then he smiled.
“Are you flirting with me, or picking a fight?” she asked.
“With us, isn’t it usually both?” He chuckled. “Or am I misremembering things?”
She had to laugh, in part because he was right and because he seemed so much like himself, it almost hurt. “It’s so funny,” she said after a moment, “I feel like I have gotten to know you more in the last few weeks than since we first met.” She gripped his hand. “Does it still hurt?”
“My hand?” He let it close around hers firmly. “Sometimes. Not now. When I do the stretching exercises Dr. Clarkson showed me, my fingers hurt quite a bit but otherwise, only if I have worked all day or if I’m not careful with how I pick something up.”
“What kind of work did you do?” She had an idea but she wanted him to know she didn’t care.
“It’s only the last six months that are clear… before that, it’s all hazy.” He shrugged and seemed to relax against her. “Mostly farm work. I cleaned pens and stalls. I picked apples. I loaded boxes onto trains. I fixed roofs. I did roadwork. Roadwork was good because it would last a few days. If there wasn’t work… sometimes I slept in churches, or at workhouses.”
“How terrible,” she said reflexively.
He surprised her by smiling. “It wasn’t nice but it was much better than starving or sleeping outside. I walked here from Manchester and I slept in fields off the road, and every night I would be freezing and telling myself how stupid I was being. And every morning, the sun would rise and I could remind myself that I had to at least try to find out who I was.” She could feel him tense up. “I don’t know how to describe it except that I was so intensely alone, it was worth freezing cold nights in fields and nothing to eat just to try to find someone who knew me. I… I was so lonely.” He said it like he was ashamed to admit it.
“I was, too.” She said it without thinking. “Not in the same way, I don’t pretend to think it was the same but…. Oh Matthew I missed you.” Despite her own concerns about pressuring him, she kissed him. Much to her surprise, he returned the kiss passionately and in seconds they were embracing as if there had been no lengthy time apart. And she didn’t care in the slightest.
~*~
It was amusing to him, in a way, how having Mr. Crawley back had somehow eased the household work load, but Charles Carson had to admit, the last week had been very light indeed. Of course, part of it was that Lord Grantham had put a halt on any entertaining at all until Mr. Crawley was “less out of sorts”, but part of it was a certain feeling, a lightness in the air. It was certainly good to see Lady Mary happy again, even if she also seemed quite worried.
She had reason to be worried, of course. Mr. Crawley was a sad miserable mess who clearly didn’t remember much of his prior life except for his manners. The poor fellow barely made a move unless someone told him to join in. It was painful at times to see the man barely able to look anyone in the eye.
He’ll get better, Carson told himself. Lady Mary was certain of it, and he had confidence in her assessment. He agreed with her, that it would take time and gentleness and allowing him to find his footing. He took a seat in the servants hall, for the afternoon meal. It was pleasant and unsurprising until Mr. Crawley walked into the hall.
To give the man credit, he realized instantly that he’d committed a faux pas although he obviously had no idea what the faux pas was. “I… Lord Grantham wanted some tea brought to the library.” He looked around at everyone standing, a blush rising to his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to disturb you….”
Carson was pleased to see Mrs. Hughes take the lead. She gestured for people to take seats. “It’s no disturbance at all, Mr. Crawley,” she said pleasantly. “It’s just a surprise because you just need to ring the bell and one of us will come to see what you need.” Mrs. Hughes looked at Bates for confirmation.
Bates nodded. “The bells are right by the electric light switches, Mr. Crawley. Did I show you?”
A kindness, Carson realized, because Bates had talked to him about making sure Matthew knew how the house worked, that he didn’t want to assume the man remembered the way the house was run.
“Yes… yes you did, Mr. Bates.” If anything, Mr. Crawley turned even redder. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt you all. Lord Grantham would like tea in the library.” He looked down at his feet and then turned. He managed to make one step before he crashed into Daisy, who carrying soup. She managed to fling the hot liquid away from herself and Mr. Crawley.
“I’m so sorry!” Daisy cried, even as the dishes hit the floor. She dropped to her knees, and Carson was horrified to see Mr. Crawley drop almost as quickly.
“It’s my fault,” Mr. Crawley said, cringing on the ground, carefully gathering the broken pottery. “Please don’t punish the girl, it was my fault. I was the clumsy one not her.”
The worst part, Carson realized, was that it was Mr. Crawley who looked terrified at being punished, not Daisy, who knew beyond her outburst that it was an accident that couldn’t have been helped. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. “ Carson said quickly. “Daisy won’t be punished.”
“There was no way to avoid it, it happens all the time with this doorway being here, people going in and out,” Mrs. Hughes said helpfully. She knelt down and began picking up the pottery shards and then put her hands on his shaking ones. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. We don’t punish people for accidents. Isn’t that right, Daisy?”
Oh please let the silly girl say the right thing, Carson prayed as he glared at Daisy. She looked at him and then at Mr. Crawley and gulped nervously. “It was no one’s fault, Mr. Crawley. Sometimes…. Sometimes people run into each other. I won’t be punished, isn’t… isn’t that right, Mr. Carson?”
“Of course, Daisy,” Carson said carefully. Even if it hadn’t been the damaged heir to the earldom who had caused the breakage, it was the sort of accident that happened with new hall boys and maids, it wasn’t unusual at all. He didn’t applaud when the staff broke things, but there was carelessness and accidents and part of his job was to know the difference.
Mr. Crawley looked at him, terrified, and flinched. “Let me help you clean up,” he said worriedly to Daisy. “I’m so clumsy… I’m a big bloody oaf who breaks things all the time. I’m rubbish at being useful, all thumbs and dropping… I can barely move without breaking something….” He looked up at Carson fearfully. “It *was* my fault, please don’t blame the girl, Mr. Carson.”
It hurt. It hurt him to hear such a thing, especially from any man cringing on the floor of the servants hall of Downton Abbey, because it told him how unpleasant and lacking in honor other estates were. It hurt to see a man he had never disliked once he had understood how honorable the chap was about everything cringe in fear at the very sound of his voice. Someone had taught Matthew Crawley to profoundly fear the wrath of the butler of an estate and it hurt him and angered him beyond belief.
“Mr. Crawley,” he said carefully. “It was an accident, and I don’t punish anyone for accidents. Daisy is in no trouble for this. You should… go upstairs and remember that this sort of request is something you need just ring the bell for.” He gave Bates a look and the man nodded. It was awkward, because he was skilled enough to see that at some point, Mr. Crawley had worked for a very bad master indeed, but it was not something he wanted the younger servants speculating about. Better to get the man out of the servants hall before things got worse. But he couldn’t allow one thing to stand, not in his house “I feel I must correct you on one point, “ and he ignored that Mr. Crawley flinched back. “I’m the butler, I work for you, Mr. Crawley, not the other way around. You should call me Carson, not Mr. Carson.”
But….” Mr. Crawley looked nervously at him and Mrs. Hughes. “I am sorry. I didn’t…. I didn’t mean to break things.” He stood, but kept his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry to make a mess, I always make a mess… Truth be told, I am just a walking mess, making more work for everyone but… Lord Grantham wants tea in the library.” He looked up for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He spun on his heels and left.
There was a long pause where no one said anything. “That poor man,” O’Brien, of all people, said finally. She looked around at the table. “We all know he’s been mistreated. More’s the pity it’s likely been our kind more than his.” She looked harshly around the table. “I don’t pretend to be better than anyone else, but Mr. Crawley was never unkind to any one of us, was he?”
“No,” Mosely said, “He’s a good man, the worst moment I ever had with him, he apologized almost immediately. I don’t like seeing him like this,” and Carson was pleased to see it was followed by nods all around the table.
“Mr. Crawley,” Carson said carefully, “Has been badly treated and used all around, I suspect he’s far too used to people being unkind…. Perhaps something we could all strive for is some kindness towards him?” He was pleased to see nods all around, even Thomas for a change. With that said, he turned his attention to Bates. “You do realize O’Brien is right? I know the story we’ve been told is that he was working as a laborer,” and was in and out of work houses which was horrifying, “but that man has been in service in someone’s household. The signs are all there. Does Lord Grantham know?”
Bates nodded. “Lord Grantham is well aware of it, and has been attempting to find out where Mr. Crawley was this last year. Unfortunately, Mr. Crawley, along with not remembering very much before his accident, doesn’t have distinct memories of the time directly after. The head injury is more than what it seems. He didn’t simply hit his head, completely forget his entire life but otherwise stay the same man.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Bates?” Mrs. Hughes asked. She glanced at Carson and frowned. “I’m not asking to be nosy, Mr. Carson. If he’s not well, we should know.” After a moment, Carson nodded to Bates to continue. If they were going to help, all the facts needed to be on the table, at least to the senior staff.
“He admits that he was quite muddled,” Bates said. “He wasn’t able to follow time or keep track of days. The estate work was very early on and he knows he was at a house that had a name, that someone was in charge but all the names are… beyond him.” Bates hesitated. “He knows very clearly that certain people rank above each other in service…. He’s quite bothered that I switched places with Mosely because he sees it as my losing a position, and worries far too much that Mr. Mosely and Mr. Carson will take the opportunity to be cruel to me.”
“Oh my goodness,” Hughes said. “Doesn’t he remember anything? I’m sure I have heard Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley talking about how much better he is.”
“He is remembering things, Mrs. Hughes,” Bates said quickly, “but it is colored by the last year of his life, and I think Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley and even Lord Grantham see progress in things that aren’t necessarily his remembering things, but just figuring out that they want him to act a certain way. I mean…. “ He sighed. “What he said to Daisy…. I’m sure he heard big bloody oaf often enough that he thought it was his name. I’m also quite certain that breaking a dish was never considered an unpunishable accident, and what he does remember is people lying to him and tricking him, and treating him badly because they could. So please do warn Daisy that he will come looking for her to make sure Mr. Carson didn’t take her out to the woodshed and beat her. Until things are clearer in his head, he is quite… nervous. Nervous, and worried that he’s being tricked or teased, because even though his thoughts are connecting, he mostly remembers the mistreatment.”
Carson sighed. “I would not wish this on anyone, but it seems especially cruel that it is Mr. Crawley suffering so needlessly. You really think he believes I’d strike one of the women over a broken dish?”
Bates shrugged. “I’m certain he thought you were going to strike both him and Daisy over a broken dish. He has not talked much about it but I doubt a day went by in that household he worked in where he wasn’t beaten for some reason. He told me that for a very long time, he thought his name was You Stupid Daft Footman. I will reassure him on the point, but please make sure Daisy knows he’ll likely seek her out and ask her about it.”
“I will,” Carson said. He began to set his mind to considering what estates he knew of where he didn’t trust the staff.
~*~
Robert stood when Bates entered the room. Mosely had the afternoon off, to visit his father, and it seemed like a convenient way to talk with Bates. It avoided offending or concerning Mosely, who genuinely was a good valet if a bit of a sad sack, and it allowed him to borrow Bates without it making anyone suspicious.
“Do you have anything?” he asked.
Bates shrugged. “Nothing that seems significant. You do understand I can only press so hard before he’ll question what my motivation is… and he’s quite quick to be suspicious of questions about where he worked. Frankly, your lordship, he is quite nervous with servants. I am trying to build his trust but it will take time.”
“What have you found out?” It had been two weeks. He had positioned Bates with Matthew for several reasons. Bates was steadier than Mosely, and it was more convenient for him to be more aligned with Anna’s schedule. But Bates was also a keen observer and the sort of fellow that people just naturally talked to.
“He worked at an estate. He says it was the Christmas holidays, but he also admits that he wasn’t able to keep track of time well, that days and weeks just flowed by. He says it was just a few weeks, but… I think it had to have been at least three or four months.” He waved his hand. “Even at the holidays we don’t entertain as much as he described. Parties every night, and guests constantly arriving. He also told me that he was hired by the lord of the house, who seemed to favor him, which made the other footmen resent him.”
“And you don’t believe him?” That was the impression he got.
“Forgive me, Lord Grantham,” Bates said after a moment, “but aren’t we doing this because you don’t believe him?”
“I believe he’s concealing something, not out of malice but out of fear.” At Bates’s questioning look, he asked tiredly. “He hasn’t undressed in front of you, has he?”
“I’ve seen the scars if that’s what you mean,” Bates said after a moment. “You think it happened on the estate he worked at?”
“He told Clarkson that, that he was demoted from footman, sent to the barns to work as a groom and mishandled a horse. I believe he was punished by a peer, on an estate but….” Robert looked at him. “It sounds off. I’d never demote a footman to a position outside the house, for example. It breeds discord, and it suggests I don’t trust Carson’s opinion. And if the issue was his hand and his ability to do the work, I can’t see working as a groom even being an option. Although his hand really doesn’t seem to trouble him.” It was something he didn’t quite understand. Matthew was quite sensitive about it but it caused him no real problems.
“With respect, your lordship,” Bates said, “Have you asked him to pick up a heavy tray? As it happens, I agree with you. He was very lucky it was his left hand and not his right, and he has adapted well. I haven’t seen him struggle. On the other hand, the injury has had more time to heal. A fresher injury hurts more… But even then, I wouldn’t think, in a good household, that there would have been no issue. If I ignore who he is to your family, if I just look at his ability to do the work… Mr. Carson would be more put off by his accent and how educated he sounds than by his hand. Also he didn’t tell me any story about being a groom. He told me he was hired as a footman and was often used as a valet and that the other servants didn’t like him because he was hired by the lord of the house and favored. And that he was fired because he dropped plates and platters too many times.” Bates hesitated. “I am quite certain the scars on his back don’t represent the only time he was physically punished, Lord Grantham. You and Lady Mary, and Mrs. Crawley don’t see it, because he tries very hard to not react badly, but he is very frightened of you, and of Mr. Carson. He expects to be struck for errors. He didn’t learn that from one out of the ordinary beating. What he has talked about is that he was constantly being chastised and punished. He doesn’t mention how but I have to assume it was physical and by the other servants, if not the master of the house as well.”
“Which seems odd if the master of the house favored him.” Of course, he’d nearly fired Bates over the other servants squabbling but in the end he hadn’t. That Matthew wasn’t telling the same story was also interesting.
“And there is the other possibility,” Bates said carefully. “You do wish me to speak plainly, correct?”
“Yes. Of course.” It did give him a chill, because he didn’t see any other possibility.
Bates hesitated. “Mr. Crawley is a good looking man. Handsome. He would look well in livery and he speaks well and is well mannered. It may not have been the *master* of the house who favored him. He also has an air of well, being slow to catch on, that I think comes from the head injury. He’s said as much that he was in a confused, befuddled state where the days didn’t make any sense to him and that he was often mocked for being daft in the head. Even in the best of times, Mr. Crawley was always a bit innocent about women. In a confused state, he might not have realized it was the lady of the house who favored him.”
“You’re suggesting a highborn woman decided to cavort with a man she thought was a simple minded servant simply because he was handsome?” Robert didn’t like it, but he had to admit, it put things in a different light.
“It might not happen in this house,” Bates said easily, “but you know I’m not suggesting the impossible. It would explain someone taking a lash to him. It would explain other servants striking him out of jealousy. He certainly would have been blamed for any indiscretion, and while he might not have understood at the time, he probably understands now that not only has he committed an indiscretion, he’s committed adultery as well. Which leads me to ask, how far do you want to pursue this?”
That was a good question as well and he decided to take Bates into his confidence. “The problem, Bates, is that Matthew was well introduced to the peerage. I can’t think of anyone who owns an estate within three hundred miles who hadn’t met Matthew and known what he looked like. I accept your theory as to why Matthew himself might not want to pursue this, but someone employed him, knowing how he spoke, and looked at him and had him wait on guests, possibly for months. And said nothing, but took pains to savagely beat him and terrorize him. We have spent a year in mourning when we could have had been helping him heal. I don’t understand why no one would have said anything.”
“Again, if I may speak freely?” Bates waited until he nodded. “I consider us friends, sir, but I am not Mr. Carson. I do not worship your family and I can consider the idea that not everyone likes you or Lady Mary, or Mr. Crawley. You didn’t lose your estate, when many others have, and that was due to Mr. Crawley. Lady Mary led many men on while she and Mr. Crawley made up their minds. And you see the peerage as you see yourself, honorable and unlikely to enjoy petty revenge whereas I can see where a peer, forced into a smaller home after the war, might find it amusing to see a member of your family brought low. Especially Mr. Crawley, not even a gentleman by many of the peerage standards. In many ways, he’s been almost too lucky for words.”
“Lucky? Surely you’re joking.” Talking with Bates was always intriguing, Robert realized. The man was far more clever than people realized.
“Not at all,” Bates said. “You’re not looking at it with jealous eyes. He was never meant to be an earl, and yet he will be. He’s managed to maintain his estate, in part because of his taking advantage of new ideas and in part because of a very lucky inheritance. He was severely wounded in the war and yet is fully recovered. He’s married to a woman that was highly sought after. Your household has been very lucky because of Mr. Crawley. You’re not petty minded but many are. There’s many a peer who would be amused at the idea of making the heir of Grantham serve them… and a few that would indulge themselves if the opportunity presented itself. Imagine, having the lucky fellow who got everything you wanted for yourself, bowing and scraping to you and not even knowing he was humiliating himself. It’s small minded and petty… and I must tell you, sir, your peers are not beyond petty, small minded cruel revenge. Using your son in law as a servant, letting the other servants torment him, essentially keeping him captive the way a child keeps a spider in a jar, playing with it by pulling its legs off… A guess, whoever the head of the house was, they realized after a while that the joke would backlash badly if they were found out. Add an unwitting indiscretion, and frankly I’m surprised Mr. Crawley walked away with just a set of scars and a terror of estates.”
The problem was that Robert could see it play out. The possible indiscretion made it awkward. He didn’t consider himself a man with enemies but Bates did sum it up well. The Grantham family, even with Matthew dead, was doing far better than any number of families, with debt and dead and wounded sons from the war, and widows everywhere. He still had an heir in George, he still had a well-endowed estate. There were many who had neither, and Matthew returned from the dead, even damaged, made them luckier than most. Particularly since Mary was right. Underneath the skittishness and the fear of giving offense, Matthew was there. Bates’s theory also explained why Matthew was so skittish and fearful and so convinced he was terrible at everything. Hazy about the time frame or not, if Bates was right, he’d spent most of his early recovery time being treated like a piece of trash. Add in the months tramping around the countryside, in and out of work houses, and doing whatever menial job he could find, it was no wonder Matthew had been looking quite shell shocked the last few days.
Plus, it was possible there was no real indiscretion at all on Matthew’s part. Bates was right, there were petty minded and hateful members of the nobility. A wrong look, a sudden realization that the lady of the house liked the new footman, servants were punished for less. “I still want to know where he was . Did you find out anything else?”
“He would have been using the name John Fox at the estate, and John or John Smith the rest of the time. He remembers the last six months fairly clearly and was moving steadily from west to east hoping to find something that seemed familiar. He was in Manchester for about a month, and couldn’t shake the feeling he knew the place, so he kept going through the neighborhoods.” Bates smiled slightly. “For such an unlucky man, he does have the luck when it counts.”
“It’s hard to call it that but you’re right.” Robert said. “If he says anything that would let me pin down where he had been, make sure to see me.” He wanted to know who it had been. He had already narrowed it down to about ten different places. He might not be able to go after them but he damn well intended to find out who it was.
.~*~
“Matthew, what are you doing here?”
Matthew jumped at the sound of Tom’s voice. Not the chauffer, he told himself, the estate manager, and Lady Sybil’s grieving husband. And if the man was in the barn that held the household cars, fiddling underneath one, it just meant that he was working on the cars.
Because Tom liked cars. He knew that, suddenly. “I was just… looking around. Dr. Clarkson was by, to check on me, and he and Mrs. Crawley… Mother wanted to talk… about me, I assume.” He wasn’t entirely certain on that point. It wasn’t as though he had made any progress at all. He felt quite foolish most of the time. No one made fun of him, or even asked him to lift a finger but aside from things feeling oddly familiar but not, he doubted there was anything for Dr. Clarkson to say. At least about him. He had the suspicion, not a bad suspicion, that the two older people were using him as an excuse to spend time together. It was sweet. And it let him get out of the house and away from all the stares and questions.
Tom stepped away from the opened engine. “Does anyone know where you are?”
“No…”
Tom smiled almost instantly. “Good. You’re a grown man, you’re not ill. If you want to walk around the estate, you don’t need anyone’s permission. Technically you own half of the estate, already.”
“I know… Robert and Mr. Murray explained that. I didn’t really follow how that had happened.” It wasn’t explained. People had been told by Dr. Clarkson to not explain things that they knew, in hopes that he’d remember on his own, so the not very helpful explanation had been that ‘something’ had occurred that had led to his owning half the estate he was already in line to inherit. It irritated him, partly because the ‘something’ seemed quite significant, and partly because he had the sense whatever it was made Robert awkward. “Mr. Murray said there would be even more paperwork to sign before everything was put back in my name, and removed from George’s and Mary’s.” He smiled, despite himself. Little George amazed him in that he’d never suspected that someone as useless as he was could have produced such a perfect little child. “Mr. Murray finds me quite amusing. He likes that I read the paperwork before I sign it.”
“I wish his lordship would do that more often,” Tom said. “I’m glad he’s making sure to get you back into things.”
“But… I didn’t work here before, did I?” It had puzzled him. Looking through papers and discussing the finer subtle points of inheritance law with Murray had been… almost remarkable. It hadn’t escaped him that Robert had simply sat and waited for the two of them to discuss the problems and go over the law books. It had felt like he was capable, that he knew something and knew it well, even if he couldn’t recall where he had learned it. “I was a lawyer, and I didn’t work as a lawyer here but I did… I did corporate law, mostly. I helped with Bates’s murder trial but criminal law isn’t my specialty.” He waited a moment. “I’m right, aren’t I? I didn’t work here. I didn’t even live until I was married…. Except after I was wounded….” The flash trickled away, and for a change he didn’t feel like chasing down the memory. The flash was of being in one of the first floor bedrooms, stuck in a wheel chair, and somehow it was darker and more awful than anything else he’d ever known. A different memory flashed suddenly, almost as if his brain wanted to be kind for a change. “You were at my wedding… You and Sybil…” It went away, again as if he missed his chance to grab the memory before he fell off the cliff in his mind. He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could just... grab ahold of my thoughts and make them stay.”
Tom smiled. “You worry too much, Matthew. You’ve been back two weeks. No one is expecting miracles, not after receiving the best miracle of all. You seem better, more yourself. I’m done here. Would you like to come with me into town? I have to pick up something for Sybbie and bring Cousin Violet out for dinner tonight. We could have a beer at the pub, and you could find something at the toy store for George.”
It did sound fun, and bringing George a treat just felt right but… “I can’t. I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t?” Tom seemed more surprised than he would have thought.
“I used everything I had to get here, and I still had to walk most of the way.” He shrugged. “I had a few pence left but I left the coins at Dr. Clarkson’s… He did so much for me.”
He was surprised that Tom bristled at that. The man covered it well. “I’ll spot you… I know you’re good for it, you do own half the estate. Come on, you deserve a bit of fun. We’ll take the car.” Tom held out the keys. “Do you want to drive the Rolls?”
Matthew fought the flinch he could feel rising. “I can’t… I can’t drive…. I don’t know how. And my hand…” The few times he had been in a car in the last year, he had realized that it was something he’d never be able to do. No one would ever trust him with a car, and Robert’s taste in cars was expensive. “I don’t… I don’t think I can shift the gears….”
Tom looked at him quizzically. “You do know how to drive, Matthew.”
“And this all started with me wrecking a car, didn’t it? Obviously, even if I did know how to drive, I’ve proven beyond all doubt that I’m not very good at it.”
~*~
It was too early for anyone, even the servants, to be up, and yet she could hear someone quietly rooting about. Mary found herself dressing quickly and simply, because she realized exactly who was up. It was Matthew, up before the sun had even risen. It was far too early to be up without a purpose. Before the accident, Matthew hadn’t been one to lounge in bed unless it was Sunday morning. On days where he worked in Ripon, he was up and about but it was too early, the sun wasn’t even up. That made her curious as to what he was up to. It hadn’t escaped her, since his return that he was very quick to conform to whatever behavior he thought was expected. She didn’t like it, even Isobel didn’t like it, because it came from fear. That meant though, that he typically showed up for breakfast when everyone else went. Which made it odd for him to be up at five in the morning.
She followed him as he went down the stairwell. Then he slipped out the front door. What are you up to, she wondered as she opened the door. Her initial fear, that he had gotten it into his head to leave, was relieved when she saw him sitting on one of the benches in the yard. She considered leaving it at that, and then decided against it. She hadn’t been pressuring him, she genuinely believed if she pushed him to be affectionate, all she would have was a man who felt forced to be with her, but at the same time, he was sitting outside in the predawn dark.
“What are you doing up so early?” she said easily as she took a seat next to him.
He jumped in surprise. “Lady Mary, I… hope I didn’t wake you.” He looked down at his feet. “I didn’t sleep well so I thought I would at least see the sun rise.”
“You didn’t wake me,” she lied. “Why didn’t you sleep well?”
“I kept having a terrible dream,” he said after a moment. “There were people, men, screaming and shouting and guns were being fired and I was running forward even though I was terrified, and the world exploded and then I was lying on a hard plank, on a boat, I think, and there were wounded men everywhere, screaming in agony. Everything was filthy, I was covered in vomit, blood, my own filth, and I kept wanting to get up but I couldn’t, and sometimes I could hear the doctor talking about me that he hoped I’d die before the boat arrived, since my life was over anyway.” He shuddered. “It was so real, I could smell and hear it all like it was happening.”
“You were dreaming about the war,” Mary said after a moment. That had happened before, although he’d never told her any real details. To go by what Matthew said about it, the war had been an occasionally dirty, unpleasant camping trip with Germans shooting. He’d never spoken so openly about it before. “You were in the war, you know.”
“Dr. Clarkson and Robert both said that. That I was badly wounded.” He chuckled suddenly although Mary didn’t get the impression his thoughts were that amusing. “Robert said it was much worse than even this, how I am now, and I thought, at the time, he was just trying to make me feel better. The memories that trickle back…. It seems much worse than now.”
“It was much worse,” Mary said. Despite her own rules of engagement, she took his hand, the one that was scarred, and held it. He was trembling and after a moment, he squeezed her hand. It surprised her, and gave her heart. He had been so closed off. “First you were missing, and then it took weeks to get you here, so you could be looked after, and you were paralyzed. You couldn’t walk, you thought you would never have children, you were filled with despair.”
“You were there… and… Lavinia.” He looked at her quizzically, until she nodded. “And she died, and we were supposed to be married and I treated her so badly.” He sighed. “I am quite the curse to be around.”
“I liked Lavinia,” Mary said after a moment. It pleased her to know she was being honest. “You and I… we’re far too much alike, we’re at our best with each other when we’re at odds, but Lavinia suited you.” He had been honest with her, he always had, and Matthew’s lies were usually lies of avoidance, like not telling her about the war, so it was time for her to be honest as well. “I should have backed away, because she would have been a much better wife for you. You would have argued less, at the very least. She loved you very much and you loved her and I couldn’t leave it alone because I loved you. And then she died and you felt terrible and I felt terrible because I had ruined your happiness yet again.”
“Again?” Then he nodded. “I asked you to marry me, before the war and….”
“And I hesitated, like a fool, and lost years with you. And when I thought… when I thought you had died, I thought it was my punishment, for being so foolish and for hurting Lavinia.”
“You’re not exactly winning a prize in marriage now,” Matthew said.
She squeezed his hand again. “Yes, how awful it is, my husband is alive, holding my hand, reminiscing about the number of times he asked me to marry him.” She leaned into him, grateful that he didn’t flinch away for the first time. “I hope at least you’re no longer convinced we were forced to marry. “
“I suppose we weren’t,” he said after a moment. “But you still have ample grounds for divorce.” Then he smiled.
“Are you flirting with me, or picking a fight?” she asked.
“With us, isn’t it usually both?” He chuckled. “Or am I misremembering things?”
She had to laugh, in part because he was right and because he seemed so much like himself, it almost hurt. “It’s so funny,” she said after a moment, “I feel like I have gotten to know you more in the last few weeks than since we first met.” She gripped his hand. “Does it still hurt?”
“My hand?” He let it close around hers firmly. “Sometimes. Not now. When I do the stretching exercises Dr. Clarkson showed me, my fingers hurt quite a bit but otherwise, only if I have worked all day or if I’m not careful with how I pick something up.”
“What kind of work did you do?” She had an idea but she wanted him to know she didn’t care.
“It’s only the last six months that are clear… before that, it’s all hazy.” He shrugged and seemed to relax against her. “Mostly farm work. I cleaned pens and stalls. I picked apples. I loaded boxes onto trains. I fixed roofs. I did roadwork. Roadwork was good because it would last a few days. If there wasn’t work… sometimes I slept in churches, or at workhouses.”
“How terrible,” she said reflexively.
He surprised her by smiling. “It wasn’t nice but it was much better than starving or sleeping outside. I walked here from Manchester and I slept in fields off the road, and every night I would be freezing and telling myself how stupid I was being. And every morning, the sun would rise and I could remind myself that I had to at least try to find out who I was.” She could feel him tense up. “I don’t know how to describe it except that I was so intensely alone, it was worth freezing cold nights in fields and nothing to eat just to try to find someone who knew me. I… I was so lonely.” He said it like he was ashamed to admit it.
“I was, too.” She said it without thinking. “Not in the same way, I don’t pretend to think it was the same but…. Oh Matthew I missed you.” Despite her own concerns about pressuring him, she kissed him. Much to her surprise, he returned the kiss passionately and in seconds they were embracing as if there had been no lengthy time apart. And she didn’t care in the slightest.
~*~