Angsty And Fun - Tumblr Posts
Matthew and Mary Ficlet #2
Prompt: Matthew plots how to get Mary to visit a pub with him
A/N: Though I set out to wright something light and fluffy, the angst took over. Unfortunately, setting it between the trial and the Servant’s Ball is a fairly angsty time for Matthew so the tonal shift is probably truer to character.
Matthew rested his head on the back of the train seat and closed his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day. He and his mother had risen early and gone to York for a murder trial. His cousin’s valet had been charged with the murder of his first wife and had, unfortunately, been convicted. Matthew and Isobel had chosen to support Mr. and Mrs. Bates along with Mary, though if Matthew was honest with himself, he had only gone for Mary. Mary’s maid, Anna, was the unfortunate Mrs. Bates and he knew that Mary would be by Anna’s side. Matthew had worried that Mary would need as much help as possible to help keep Anna calm, and as a lawyer, Matthew felt he could help explain the proceedings to the two ladies.
After the verdict, Robert and Mr. Murray had suggested that they take Anna to a pub to help calm her nerves and explain the next steps. Isobel, Matthew and Mary decided to join in as well, Mary devoutly holding Anna’s hand the entire time. As Mr. Murray and Matthew talked over how to get the sentence commuted to life imprisonment rather than death, Matthew couldn’t help but think about how much he would be enjoying himself to be sat in a pub with Mary under different circumstances. As it was, he kept sneaking glances at her, seated to his left side, arm around Anna and eyeing her pint suspiciously. He had placed it in front of her with a flourish when they first sat down, and she had given him one of her sharp glares. “Do they not serve tea here?” was her only response. She had yet to touch the glass. Matthew suppressed a smile, noting to himself that this was not the time for one of their sparing matches.
However, now that they were on the train back to Downton, Matthew’s mind was free to wander. There was not much conversation in the carriage. Mr. Murray had gone directly to London. Robert and Isobel occasionally would attempt some small talk and Mary was sitting with Anna as tears streamed silently down the maid’s face. Matthew’s fingers itched to reach over and hold onto Mary’s hand which was sitting on her lap tantalizingly close to his own. He could feel the eyes of his mother—and her father—watching him and didn’t dare. He contented himself to instead catalogue the image of Mary in a public house into his brain. He smiled inwardly as he recalled the way she took one single sip from her drink with a pinched look on her face before turning to him and saying “there, I drank it. Happy now?”
He was not, it seemed, happy now. All he could think about was how to manage another pub outing with Mary. One where he would be free to tease her. Preferably without an army of chaperones or, heaven forbid, her odious fiancé. She had offered to come with him to lay Reggie Swire’s ashes in Lavinia’s grave; perhaps he could suggest that they go to the Gratham Arms and drink to his memory? No, that wouldn’t work. Isobel would be bound to join them in the churchyard, and he couldn’t very well not invite his mother to the pub with them. He thought of the time, years ago now, that he had invited her to inspect the refurbished cottages with him. That was the type of outing he would need to come up with. They had never managed to go see them. He had gotten mad at her for some misunderstanding and by the time they were friends again too much time had passed. And after that, well then there was the failed attempt at an engagement and the War.
He bitterly thought of all his regrets from the past six years, and now he would soon lose her forever. She hadn’t set a date for her wedding yet, but she had stubbornly insisted that she would still marry Sir Richard Carlisle. He had told her that she didn’t have to, that she would always be welcome with him, but it made no difference. Her grandmother had once told him that she still loved him. It wasn’t that he doubted Violet’s words—and there had been that one glorious kiss—but as her engagement to Carlisle dragged on, he couldn’t help but feel despair mounting inside him. He could feel her slipping through his fingers. He simply had to do something. Even if it was just to find a way to have one drink with her in a pub.
He and Isobel bid Robert, Mary and Anna goodbye at the station and walked home together in silence. Once they got to Crawley House, they had a quick supper and Isobel announced that she would retire early. Matthew kissed her cheek and wished her good night. His head was still reeling from his turbulent thoughts, so he padded off to his study to read before turning in. He picked up his book, but soon cast it to the side, as it only kept Mary in his mind. She had given it to him for Christmas a little over a week before. He had picked out the same book for her and they were both reading it; planning to get together in a few days and discuss it. He caught sight of the notes he had begun to scribble in the margins and felt a pang in his heart. Would this be the last book they read together? He stood up and poured himself a healthy serving of whisky and downed it. He told Molesley to lock up and that he would not need any further assistance tonight. The last thing he wanted was for Molesley to fuss over him. He undressed quickly and climbed into bed, willing sleep to come quickly.
Unfortunately, it did not. He lay, staring at his ceiling, thoughts of Mary filling his brain. It wasn’t just the day’s memories that he puzzled over. There was also her assertion that she had to marry Carlisle and that he would despise her if he knew the reason. He had known—and loved—her for the past eight years. He could not imagine anything that could make him despise her, and he was plenty able to come up with horrifying scenarios to keep them forever apart.
As the hours crept by and sleep evaded him, his mind kept returning to moments in his past. The first time he ever saw Mary; how he had been lamenting the current Earl and Countess pushing one of their daughters at him, only to find himself face to face with the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. One of their earliest dinners; she had challenged him, likening him to a hideous sea monster. The first time he held her hand; offering her sympathy over the unfairness of her father’s home and mother’s fortune being passed to him. The time they had laughed over a salty pudding and planned a visit to see the cottages; he thinking that maybe she did not despise his very existence, only to have his hopes dashed as she rushed to greet the “old bore” her mother had been pushing her at that night. He cursed himself for not listening to her the next day when she tried to apologize to him. Instead, he let his bruised ego brush her off. They had barely spoken to each other for months after. It wasn’t until Christmas that they had mended their fences. Every year the Crawley’s played charades on Christmas night and Robert put Matthew and Mary on a team together, hoping to break the ice between them. Matthew and Mary had surprised everyone by winning every round that night. It was that night that Matthew first had the idea to leave books for Mary. He spent the next few months hiding books around the Abbey for Mary to find. She never directly mentioned them but would make offhanded comments that let him know that she had read the books and suspected their origin. Before long he found a book sitting on a side table in his own drawing room that smelled faintly of Mary. Next, he recalled a terrifying night: the night of the 1914 election. Mary’s younger sister had been injured in a fight. He had been in the right place at the right time to bring her home from the election and once he had ensured Sybil was in his mother’s capable hands, he rushed to the Abbey to fetch Mary. Mary was horrified to hear of her sister’s injury and to thank him for his gallant deed arranged for a supper of sandwiches to be served to him in the dining room. It was that night that he had kissed her for the first time, unable to hold back the emotions any longer. It was also then that he proposed. A rushed and sloppy proposal that had tumbled out of his mouth before his brain even registered that he was speaking. Mary had said she needed to think. He waited months for her answer, finally withdrawing his proposal, convinced that she did not love him. Another rash decision: one that he desperately wished he could take back.
Finally, he made the resolve that if nothing else, before the week was over, he would find some excuse to get Mary to join him for a friendly drink. They could laugh and joke and pretend that they had their whole futures together. And then he would bow out, move back to Manchester and leave her to her own life. His heart ached at the thought of life without Mary, but he knew he could not witness her life with Carlisle.
* * *
He woke more tired than he had felt the night before. He composed a note to Mary letting her know when to meet him to place Reggie’s ashes. In it, he included what he hoped was a casual invitation to go see the long-forgotten cottages. He hadn’t been around to see the job completed, after all. He had tried to think of some other ruse, but his mind kept returning, as if those blasted cottages had been the catalyst for all their missed chances.
He was pleased to receive a return note at teatime. Mary would be happy to join him on a tour. He began planning. He asked Mrs. Bird to pack a picnic lunch for him, sandwiches, preferably the same as they had eaten that night in 1914. He wondered if Mary would notice. She probably would, she was sharp enough, but would she catch the significance of them? They would place the ashes tomorrow and go on their outing the following day. He breathed a sigh of relief that at least his plan was in action.
* * *
Laying Reggie’s ashes did not go as Matthew had planned. It was a somber affair, which Matthew had expected. What he had not expected was Mary’s startling announcement. She pronounced that she would soon be leaving, from the sound of it, much sooner than he was prepared for. The even more shocking announcement was when Isobel stated, as a matter of fact, that Mary was still in love with him.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s as plain as the nose on your face,” she said bluntly.
Taken aback, Matthew said, “I thought you didn’t like her for throwing me over.”
“That’s a different conversation.”
“Mother, it has to be like this,” he protested. “I’m afraid I can’t explain why, at least…I’m not going to.”
“Something to do with Lavinia?”
“Maybe”
“Well, you see, I think you’re wrong,” Isobel began. “Lavinia wouldn’t have wanted this. She was a sweet girl, a kind girl. She wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Matthew cut her off. “I deserve to be unhappy. So does Mary.”
“Nobody your age deserves that!” She turned to him, “and if you are, and you can do something about it and don’t, well, the war has taught you nothing.”
“That’s your opinion,” Matthew said, looking away from her.
“Yes, it is.”
Matthew shifted his weight and then stomped off out of the churchyard, his mother’s admonishment ringing in his ears.
* * *
That night as they entered the Abbey for dinner, Isobel once more implored her son to fight for Mary. She knew Matthew was stubborn, but she also knew that there was no one in the world that he loved more, nor was there anyone Mary loved more than Matthew. As it turned out, the fight for Mary became much more real than Isobel could have predicted. Mary had made the decision to call off her engagement to Sir Richard, something he was not prepared to take lying down. Soon the other members of the party could hear his raised voice emanating from the library. Matthew, unable to bear the thought of Mary dealing with his temper alone, rushed in to help. Isobel did not hear all of what was said, and Matthew certainly did not fill her in afterwards, but apparently a small scuffle had broken out between the two. Matthew emerged from the library, hair disheveled and bow tie askew announcing that he was ready to go home. He did not wait for Isobel or the car to be brought round, instead he stomped off into the darkness.
* * *
Isobel was shocked the following morning when Mary showed up at Crawley House. Molesley showed her into the drawing room and Isobel noted that she had clearly taken great care in selecting a fetching walking suit, one Isobel suspected was a favorite of Matthew’s.
“I’m sorry to surprise you, this morning” Mary began, perching on the sofa. “I had expected Matthew to come up to the House but when he didn’t, I thought perhaps I had gotten the time wrong. Since I was ready, I decided to come and meet him here.”
“Do you have plans with Matthew today?” Isobel asked, surprised. “He never said.”
“Oh,” Mary frowned, her perfect mask slipping for the briefest moment before she smiled and added, “it was nothing, really. Maybe he forgot, or I got the day wrong.”
Isobel was not used to seeing Mary seem so unsure of herself. She assured the girl that Matthew had probably lost track of the time and she would go find him for her. What she found was Matthew, holed up in his study and brooding. “You do know Mary is here to see you?” she asked tentatively.
Matthew looked up, startled by Isobel’s voice. “No, I didn’t know. Why?”
“She seems to think the two of you had made plans for today.” Isobel answered. “She had expected you to collect her and when you didn’t, she walked here.” She noticed the color drain from Matthew’s face as he leapt to his feet.
“I completely forgot!” He seemed almost frantic as he started looking around his study. “I need to check with Mrs. Bird about the sandwiches, and I’m not dressed for walking!” Isobel watched with amusement. It was the liveliest she’d seen Matthew in ages.
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.” She said supportively.
“Offer Mary some tea and tell her I’ll be down in a minute,” he said, turning around wildly. “I still can’t believe I forgot.”
Isobel assured her son that she would and turned to find Molesley. She ordered the tea and returned to find Mary reading a book that had been sitting in the drawing room. “He had a bit of a late start this morning,” she assured Mary, “but he’s just coming now. I’ve asked Molesley to bring you some tea while you wait.” She paused, noticing the book in Mary’s hands, “What were you reading? I don’t recognize that one.”
“Oh, this?” Mary shrugged. “It’s The Secret Garden, I loaned it to Matthew ages ago. He laughed at me for loving it so much, but I read A Little Princess to Sybil when she was young and it’s by the same author.”
Molesley brought the tea and the two women chatted politely about the weather and wondering if Mr. Murray had made any progress for Mr. Bates yet. Matthew burst into the room, still seeming flustered but there was no denying the sparkle in his eyes as they fell on Mary. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” he began as she rose from her seat. “I suppose we better head off while the weather is with us.”
Mary followed Matthew to the hall and noticed the basket that he was picking up. “What’s this?” she asked with a coy smile.
“I figured since I kept you waiting, we might miss luncheon. Mrs. Bird was kind enough to make us up a few sandwiches.” He smiled and opened the front door, stepping aside to let her pass through, thankful that his error had made the sandwiches seem more natural.
They set off down the lane, chatting amicably. He suspected that she knew that the whole outing was just a cover to spend time with her but at this moment he did not care. He hadn’t spent time without the added difficulty of one of them being engaged to someone else since before the War. They arrived at the cottages and rested against a wall eating their sandwiches.
“Of course,” Matthew began, “They’re occupied now so I can’t give you a tour of the inside changes like I would have when the work was being done.”
“Do you suppose Papa would have let us go into them on our own like this?” Mary said, the smile on her lips again. “It would be very scandalous, the two of us with no chaperone inspecting the dark nooks and crannies.” She tore a little corner of her sandwich nervously.
Matthew gulped. The thought of hiding away in some dark corner with Mary was almost too much to bear.
“You know, this kind of sandwich always makes me think of you.” She said, her voice low.
“Whyever for?” He asked, hoping against hope, it was for the same reason that they made him think of her.
“You probably don’t remember,” she said, her eyes trained on her hands, “but they’re what we ate together the night you proposed to me.”
Matthew swallowed the urge to whoop with joy and instead tried to put on a casual air as he said, “Oh? I hadn’t noticed. Given that you never even answered me, I’m surprised that you remember.”
“Oh Matthew,” she said, reminding him even more of that fateful night, “I’m so sorry that you ever doubted me. You must know that it wasn’t because of Mama’s pregnancy or even that I didn’t love you enough. Everything was so complicated, and I just couldn’t tell you. I still can’t. I know you’ll hate me all over again, and I just cannot lose your friendship.” She turned suddenly; Matthew too spellbound to ask what she could have meant by that confession. The wind picked up and she shuddered. “Golly, it’s cold today. Maybe a walk wasn’t the best idea.”
“You know,” he said, seizing the opportunity, “we’re not that far from the Grantham Arms. We could pop in there to warm up before I take you home.”
She turned back and gave him an appraising look. “You’re not just trying to get me to drink beer again, are you?”
“Why would you say that?” he asked, feigning innocence as they began the walk back to the pub.
“It’s just a thought,” she said smiling. “Don’t think I didn’t see all those glances checking to see if I drank the last one. I’ll go, but I don’t want beer.”
“I suppose beer is too middle class for you?” he asked chuckling, and very pleased at how well his plan was working.
“Don’t push your luck.”
“After you milady,” he said with a slight bow as he held open the door for her. “I’ll go fetch us drinks while you get a table.” Mary pursed her lips in derision but hurried off to find a place to sit. There were two tables available: one was right in the middle of the room and very public. The other was tucked back in a quiet corner. She knew which one she would prefer, the question was, how much trouble would she be in if word got back to mother, or worse her grandmother? In the end she chose the table that was more removed. She figured in the end that though the repercussions would be worse, the chances of her being spotted were less and those were odds she could deal with.
Soon, Matthew appeared by her side with two pints. “Now, before you say anything, yes, I do expect you to drink this.” He held up his hands to stop her protests. “It’s no use arguing with me, it will warm you up more than any cup of tea.” She made a face and took a sip. Matthew couldn’t help but laugh. He picked up his own glass, “No, you’ve got to do it like this.” He took a large swig.
“I will not!” she cried indignantly.
“You can’t say you drank beer if you’re only going to take those pitiful little sips.”
“Who says I want to say I’ve drank beer?”
“I think you’re afraid.” He teased. “You think people will think you’re too middle class if you do?”
“I am not afraid.” She eyed her glass. Slowly, she picked it up and raised it to her lips. Then she lowered it slightly, opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, took a deep breath and began to chug down the beer. She finished it, placed it on the table and placed both hands on either side of it and panted slightly, trying to regain her composure.
“Brava,” Matthew said, clapping. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” She looked up and glared at him, her expression clearly telling him to wipe that smile off his face. “Would you like me to get something else more to your liking?”
“Yes” she panted.
Matthew got up to fetch her a cup of tea, still smiling. He was still troubled by her imminent departure and her conviction that he would despise her, but he’d deal with that later. For now, he would treasure this moment.